ruebossanova

[ruebossanova]

professor o'connell: the mini series - 2

college prof!billie x student!reader

word count: 2.0k

warnings: older!billie x younger!reader, slowslowslow burn, eventual smut, college life, hella tension, quiet/shy reader

summary: liora, a quiet student at westburn college, becomes increasingly drawn to her enigmatic professor, billie, after billie reads her writing aloud in class. subtle glances and intimate conversations blur boundaries, leaving liora shaken and longing. by night, she writes about the feelings she can’t name—haunted by billie’s presence, and unsure if what’s growing between them is safe, or inevitable.

————————————————————————————

thursday came like fog. slow, quiet, cold at the edges.

liora stood outside the classroom door for a second longer than she needed to, pretending to check her phone, pretending her palms weren't a little sweaty. it was silly. it was just class. just a room. just a woman who had only said her name once.

still, her fingers tingled as she pushed the door open.

billie was already there.

this time, she sat on the edge of the desk, one foot resting on the seat of the chair in front of her, her elbow on her knee. she wore a dark crewneck and soft gray trousers cuffed at the ankle. her hair was loose today—longer than it looked when tied back, falling in lazy waves across her shoulders.

she looked up when liora walked in. didn't smile, didn't speak—just watched her.

liora swallowed and took her seat in the same row as before. second from the front. close, but not too close. not enough to be obvious.

a few more students trickled in. someone bumped into liora's desk and muttered sorry. she didn't answer. her attention stayed locked on the front, even though billie wasn't doing anything except... existing. which somehow still managed to occupy all the space in the room.

"okay," billie said finally, pushing off the desk and stretching her arms slightly. her voice cracked the silence like warm water on cold glass. "anyone want to volunteer what they wrote?"

silence.

a few people shifted in their seats, avoiding her gaze. someone in the back coughed. billie gave it a beat, then raised an eyebrow.

"cowards."

soft laughter. liora smiled without meaning to.

billie glanced at her notebook, flipped it open, and scanned something with a faint nod.

"fine," she said. "i'll read one."

the class perked up slightly. she looked around the room, pausing for a beat before she said it:

"liora rai."

liora blinked. she felt her stomach drop in the way it does when the rollercoaster starts moving and it's too late to get off.

"you mind if i read yours?" billie asked. "you didn't mark it private."

liora didn't remember marking anything. didn't even remember breathing properly when she turned it in.

but now billie was waiting. so was the whole room.

"sure," she said quietly.

billie nodded once, then began to read. her voice low, unhurried, like she was reading a letter.

"some songs don't need lyrics. they're already saying too much. maybe that's why i like the sound of strings. they don't try to explain anything. they just feel. and sometimes, that's all you can do. feel. even when you're not ready to."

liora couldn't look up. she stared at the edge of her desk, tracing the grain of the fake wood with her fingertip. the room was too quiet. no one laughed. no one whispered. just silence.

billie cleared her throat.

"i liked this one," she said, voice softer now. "not because it was polished. it's not. but because it's honest. and you'd be surprised how rare that is."

liora finally looked up.

billie was looking directly at her.

and something in her expression—something small, something unreadable—shifted.

"thanks for letting me share it," she said.

liora nodded, barely. "yeah. sure."

but inside, her pulse was a wildfire. and she wasn't sure if she was relieved or terrified that billie had seen so much.

class let out five minutes early.

people took their time gathering their things, maybe because they were shaken by how personal everything felt. maybe because billie had read aloud from someone's soul like it was nothing. liora moved slowly, unsure if she felt exposed or seen—or if there was a difference.

her notebook was still open on her desk, the edges slightly curled from her grip. she reached for it, but stopped when she heard footsteps.

"liora."

she turned.

billie stood next to the front row, arms crossed loosely, voice quiet.

"can i talk to you for a sec?"

not a question, not really. but soft enough that it felt like one.

liora nodded. followed her instinctively toward the side of the room near the windows, out of earshot from the few students still packing up.

billie didn't speak right away. she leaned against the sill, looking out for a moment like she might say something else entirely. then her eyes flicked back to liora.

"i didn't mean to catch you off guard with that," she said. "i should've asked you first. properly."

liora shook her head quickly. "it's okay. i just wasn't expecting it."

"no one ever is," billie said, almost to herself. "but you handled it. people don't always."

liora looked down. "i just wrote what came out. i wasn't trying to be good."

"that's exactly why it worked."

a pause. long enough for liora to feel the silence stretch between them like thread. thin, taut.

billie shifted slightly. she wasn't looking at her like a professor would. not like someone older trying to teach or correct. it was something gentler. more curious. like she was trying to read her again, the way she had read her words.

"do you play?" billie asked suddenly.

liora blinked. "music?"

"yeah."

"a little. mostly violin. not well."

billie smiled, barely. "i doubt that."

liora felt something in her throat tighten. she looked at her feet, then back up. "why?"

billie met her gaze. "you write like someone who hears things deeply."

liora didn't know what to say to that. didn't know how to respond when someone saw through her so fast. she just nodded, heart stuttering.

someone called out a goodbye across the room. billie waved a hand in return, but her eyes stayed on liora.

"you ever want to talk music outside class," she said, softer now, "i'm usually here early. before nine. or in the practice rooms after hours."

liora's breath caught.

"okay," she said.

billie's mouth curved into something close to a smile—but only for a second. then she turned, walked back toward her desk, and picked up her bag like the moment hadn't just changed something.

liora stood there a second longer than she should have.

then left, carrying a silence that felt heavier than words. liora didn't go back to her dorm right away.

instead, she wandered. across campus, past the edge of the quad where someone was setting up folding chairs for a student film screening, past the old music building with its ivy-covered windows and faded paint. her boots scuffed softly over the stone path, every step somehow echoing.

everything billie said replayed in her head, not in order, not even clearly—just little shards of sound:

you write like someone who hears things deeply. if you ever want to talk music. before nine. after hours.

she didn't know why it stuck the way it did.

maybe it was nothing. maybe billie said that kind of thing to everyone. maybe it was just encouragement. professional. polite.

but it didn't feel like that.

it felt personal. not inappropriate. not obvious. but intimate, in a way liora couldn't explain without sounding ridiculous.

she ended up sitting in the music building stairwell, notebook in her lap, pen hovering.

the building was quiet. not silent—there was a soft hum of a cello from somewhere upstairs, distant and slow. but the air itself felt still. like the walls were waiting.

she opened to a blank page. started writing.

sometimes the words are fine. sometimes they say exactly what you mean. and still, it's not enough. not because they're wrong. but because they're too quiet. or maybe i am.

she paused, tapped the pen against her chin. then, lower down the page, she added:

i think she hears the quiet parts, too. i don't think that's fair.

her pen stopped moving. she closed the notebook. her fingers pressed into the worn cover.

on a whim she hadn't planned, she stood and walked quietly down the hall.

just to see.

the door to the faculty practice rooms was closed, locked as usual after hours—but the light under the door flickered faintly. someone was in there.

she didn't knock.

she stood there for a moment, just listening. waiting. hoping—for what, she wasn't sure.

then turned and left, the sound of a piano key lingering like a held breath behind her. friday morning came slow.

gray light filtered through liora's window as her alarm buzzed quietly at 7:43. she stared at the ceiling for a while, then sat up, heart already pulling toward something unnamed.

her roommate mumbled something in her sleep, still cocooned in blankets. liora didn't bother saying goodbye. she dressed in silence—black leggings, oversized hoodie, hair pulled into a soft, low braid that hung between her shoulder blades.

she didn't know why she was going in early.

she told herself it was to use the printer. or to revise her notes. or maybe to drop off something at the front office, even though she knew she wouldn't.

she just wanted to see her. maybe not even talk. just... see.

the classroom door creaked when she opened it, just before 8:50. she expected the room to be empty.

it wasn't.

billie was there. alone. sitting cross-legged on the floor by the whiteboard, back against the wall, earbuds in. her laptop rested beside her and a coffee cup balanced on a thick novel she clearly hadn't touched yet. her head was bowed, long hair falling around her face in a curtain, fingers scribbling in a composition notebook.

liora froze in the doorway.

billie looked up.

there was a second of recognition. then—

a soft, lopsided smile.

she pulled one earbud out. "morning."

liora swallowed. "hi. sorry. i didn't mean to interrupt."

"you're not," billie said. she set her pen down, eyes soft but unreadable. "just journaling. i do it before class, otherwise my brain doesn't shut up."

liora nodded. "same."

billie quirked a brow. "what time does yours usually stop talking?"

liora gave a quiet laugh. "hasn't yet."

"mm. dangerous."

liora's heart stuttered at that. not the word. the way she said it—low and casual, but weighted, like it meant something more.

she walked to her usual desk and dropped her bag slowly. billie watched her the whole time. not staring. just... noticing.

"you're early," billie said.

liora shrugged, fingers fidgeting with her sleeve. "couldn't sleep."

billie leaned her head back against the wall, looking at her upside-down. "you write anything last night?"

liora hesitated. "some."

"was it honest?"

liora nodded. "too honest."

a beat of silence passed. billie tapped her pen against her knee.

"that's the best kind," she said again, softer this time.

liora's fingers tightened around the edge of her desk.

billie sat up straighter, stretched her legs out, and glanced toward the clock. "we've got ten minutes."

liora blinked. "until what?"

billie met her eyes, and something in her expression was quieter now. more careful.

"until the room stops being just ours."

liora couldn't answer. not really. not with words.

so she just sat there. breathing, listening to the clock tick, watching billie lower her gaze back to her journal like nothing about that moment was dangerous.

but it was. and she knew they both felt it. the rest of the day passed in pieces.

liora moved through it, but not in it. she answered questions when people spoke to her. nodded at professors. ate half a sandwich she barely remembered ordering. but everything felt a little off, like her body was two steps behind her thoughts.

her mind kept circling back to that morning. to billie. to the way she'd said: until the room stops being just ours.

she had meant it as a joke, maybe. or maybe not. maybe that was the whole problem — it was impossible to tell where the edges were with her. nothing about billie felt standard. nothing about her felt safe.

and liora wasn't sure if that scared her, or made her want more.

she spent that night curled up at her desk, the soft hum of music playing from her speaker — something instrumental, no lyrics. she couldn't handle words right now. hers were already too loud.

her notebook lay open beside her laptop. blank page. staring back.

she didn't know what she was trying to write. she just knew it was there, somewhere under her skin, and it needed out.

after a while, she started, slow:

i'm not trying to want this. i'm not even sure what this is. but i know how it feels. like walking toward thunder. like the space between two notes where silence is too loud.

she said it like it was nothing. but i think she felt it too.

her hand stilled.

she didn't finish the page. didn't close the notebook, either.

instead, she leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling, the soft glow of her desk lamp casting blurred shadows on the wall. outside, it was raining — the kind of quiet, steady rain that made everything feel further away.

except her.

billie.

she was still too close. in her thoughts. under her skin. and now, there was no unfeeling that.

[ruebossanova]

her watch: the series - part 10: wanting more

bodyguard!abby x female!reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: SLOWBURN, olderlabby x younger!reader, reader is spoiled & bratty but sweet, nyc rich socialite vibe (think gossip girl)

summary: graduation, last kisses on rooftops, whispered promises under stars. abby becomes yours, fully and without hiding. greece is sun-drenched and slow, full of soft touches, firsts, and shared futures. she’s no longer just your protector — she’s your partner. and you choose each other, again and again.

masterlist

————————————————————————————

the final stretch of senior year was a strange, weightless blur. the hallways that once felt suffocating now carried a hum of excitement, lockers being emptied, final papers submitted, yearbooks passed around like sacred artifacts. your classmates buzzed with plans, college talk, summer dreams. but all you could think about was her.

abby.

she stood beside the car each morning, doors unlocked before you reached her. she walked a step behind you through the school gates, cool and unreadable, but you caught the way her eyes lingered longer these days. the way her fingers twitched ever so slightly when they brushed yours. she was easing into this again — slowly, cautiously, but fully.

on wednesday, the last official day of classes, you tugged her up to the rooftop of your brownstone just after sunset. the city was glowing, a soft warmth in the air. you carried a blanket and two strawberry sodas and kicked off your shoes, plopping down at the edge of the rooftop.

"we survived," you said, breathless from the stairs, smiling as you looked out over the skyline.

abby didn’t sit at first. she hovered behind you, hands on her hips. "barely. i thought i was going to kill your english teacher."

"he liked me!" you laughed.

"he liked the sound of his own voice," she muttered, finally lowering herself beside you.

you leaned your shoulder against hers. "you’re softening."

"mm," she grunted. "don’t tell anyone."

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward — it never was with her. it was full, warm, like sitting in a familiar room. your heart felt heavy in the best way.

"i used to think about this," you whispered.

she looked down at you. "what?"

"this moment. graduating. being done. being… here. with you."

her hand found yours. her grip was light, but steady.

"you deserve it," she said simply.

that friday was graduation practice, and even though it was chaotic and boring and your name got mispronounced twice, you couldn’t stop smiling. because abby was there, watching from the gym’s corner. she looked every bit like security detail, arms crossed, sunglasses hanging from her shirt collar. but when your eyes met hers, you saw it — pride.

she looked proud.

saturday came with its own kind of chaos. your gown had a wrinkle that refused to come out. your heels hurt by the time you walked downstairs. your mom fussed with your hair while your dad checked the camera settings again and again.

abby leaned against the doorway, dressed in black slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled. her hair was half-up. and she was smiling. small. private. just for you.

"you look like trouble," she said.

"i look like a graduate," you corrected.

she stepped forward, tugged lightly on the end of your honor cord. "you look like a problem."

"you like problems," you whispered.

her gaze darkened. just a second. just long enough to set your heart racing.

"come on," your mom called. "we’re gonna be late!"

at the ceremony, the sun beat down on the rows of students in navy gowns. your name echoed across the stadium, and as you crossed the stage, you looked to the crowd. you saw your parents. your friends. and there — at the very back, just behind the barrier — abby. standing tall. her hand resting lightly over her chest.

and when you stepped off that stage, diploma in hand, you felt lighter than you ever had.

later that night, after the party, the laughter, the hugs, and the cake — you sat curled on your couch, your legs draped over abby’s lap. she was rubbing gentle circles into your shin.

"you still up for next week?" your mom asked as she passed by with a stack of plates.

"greece, baby," you said, raising your arms. "family trip of a lifetime."

abby raised an eyebrow. "are you sure you want me there?"

"are you kidding? you're not just invited," you said, sitting up straighter. "you’re coming. and you’re not working. you're relaxing."

abby blinked. "i don’t relax."

"you will."

the house was quiet, the soft hum of the city settling into night beneath you. your family was long asleep, their breathing steady and calm through the walls. but abby tugged gently at your hand, her eyes dark with something urgent as she led you out onto the fire escape.

the air was cooler up here, tinged with the scent of asphalt and distant rain. the city lights stretched out below like a sea of stars, but it was the sky above — hazy, vast, scattered with real stars — that held your attention. the world felt endless here, and with abby close, it was like time slowed down just for you two.

abby’s fingers slid around your waist, pulling you flush against her. her breath was warm against your cheek, voice low and husky. “i’ve been waiting for this all day,” she murmured.

you tilted your face up to meet her lips, and the kiss was slow at first — testing, savoring — before it deepened, teeth and tongues meeting in a desperate dance. her hands roamed over your back, sending shivers where her touch burned beneath your skin.

“god, you taste like everything i want,” abby whispered between kisses, voice thick with need.

you gasped when she pressed you back against the cool brick wall, her hand sliding down to cup your thigh, fingers teasing the bare skin above your skirt. “tell me what you want,” she demanded softly, eyes searching yours.

“you,” you breathed, “all of you.”

abby’s lips curved into a smile before she dipped lower, teeth grazing your jaw as her hand slipped beneath your shirt. her fingers were warm and bold, tracing lazy circles over your ribs, sending sparks that made your breath catch.

“so fucking beautiful,” she growled, sliding her hand further until her fingers brushed the wet heat between your legs. you bit your lip, arching into her touch as her fingers teased, stroked, finding just the right rhythm.

she groaned softly at the way you fell apart, under her, for her and only her. it drove her insane, each time. she mesmerized what parts made you the weakest, where she needed to press and prod to make you moan just a little bit louder.

“please,” you whimpered, hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer.

abby’s mouth was on you then, lips and tongue worshipping your skin, hot and wet and urgent. she licked, sucked, and kissed her way down your neck to the sensitive spot just below your ear, her hands never stopping their exploration.

“i want to hear you,” she said, voice a breathy command as she looked up at you, eyes dark and hungry. "want to hear you tell me you're mine. no one else can have you like this hm?"

you shuddered, letting go with a low moan as her fingers curled inside you, slick and sure. "i-i'm yours abby, promise. always gonna be." you moan out against her, your hands clutched her hair tighter, hips lifting involuntarily, desperate for more.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” abby whispered against your skin, fingers moving with increasing urgency, coaxing your pleasure higher and higher.

when you trembled on the edge, she didn’t stop—slow, steady strokes driving you over the brink until you spilled into her hand with a soft cry, breath ragged and heart pounding.

abby pulled you close again, her mouth finding yours in a searing kiss, tasting your release as her fingers slipped free, slick and glistening. “now it’s my turn,” she said, voice teasing.

your hands eagerly roamed her back and hips, pulling her closer as you traced the curves you’d only just begun to know. lips found the sensitive skin at her collarbone, down to the hollow of her throat, then lower—teasing, exploring.

“touch me,” abby breathed, fingers sliding beneath your shirt to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over hardened nipples. “i want to feel you.”

your mouth moved in sync with your hands, worshipping every inch, your fingers tracing her sides, exploring, learning, awakening.

she moaned softly, arching into you, breath hitching. “you’re driving me crazy,” she confessed, voice trembling with need.

you kissed her deeply, the city lights flickering around you as the two of you lost yourselves in each other — the night alive with whispered promises, urgent touches, and the beginning of everything good.

⸻

the air in greece felt different — sweeter, maybe, or lighter. the moment your feet hit the worn stones of the small island village, it was like the weight of the last few months loosened its grip. cobblestone streets stretched beneath golden light, and pale houses with blue shutters climbed the cliffs in neat rows like something out of a painting.

you stepped off the ferry with your parents just ahead, already wrapped in sightseeing chatter. abby walked beside you, this time not as your bodyguard, but something softer. something you were still learning how to hold — and how to keep.

she wasn’t in her usual black. instead, she wore a loose white linen shirt rolled at the sleeves and dark sunglasses pushed into her hair. casual. relaxed. but still abby — that quiet storm always humming just beneath her calm.

“you ever been here?” you asked, brushing your hand lightly against hers as you walked.

“no,” she said, glancing toward the sea. “first time.”

“you look like you belong here.”

she turned, lips twitching. “you trying to say i look like a greek god?”

“i’m saying the locals are lucky,” you murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. “that’s all.”

her grin cracked wider. “you’re impossible.”

you bumped her shoulder gently, heart already full. the group made their way up winding steps to the villa — an airy home carved right into the hillside, with whitewashed walls and a view that stole your breath. the aegean stretched wide in every direction, turquoise and endless.

after unpacking and claiming your room (which conveniently had a balcony perfect for sneaking abby onto at night), you changed into something light — a sundress that danced with every step — and joined your family outside for dinner in the courtyard.

your parents were glowing in the soft greek light, sipping wine and laughing over plates of grilled vegetables and fresh fish. it was the kind of dinner that stretched on forever, full of warmth and the kind of peace that only shows up when no one’s checking the clock.

abby sat across from you, more relaxed than you’d ever seen her. she even laughed — actually laughed — when your mom told a story about your first horseback riding lesson. and when the string lights overhead flickered on with the fading sun, you caught her looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

later, after everyone went inside and the moon rose like a pearl over the water, she found you out on the villa’s terrace. the air smelled like salt and jasmine. your bare feet were curled beneath you on a cushioned bench, a glass of lemonade in your hand.

she leaned against the railing, arms crossed. her voice was quieter now. “i’ve been thinking about something.”

you tilted your head. “yeah?”

she exhaled slowly, like she was working up to something. her gaze stayed on the sea. “i’m not really good at… stuff like this.”

“stuff like what?”

“asking for what i want. letting myself want it.”

you set your glass down gently. “you want me to help you?”

that made her smile again, soft and crooked. “maybe.”

you stood and crossed the small space between you, the sound of waves crashing below filling the silence. your hands found her waist — familiar, grounding — and you waited.

she looked down at you, and for a long moment, didn’t speak.

your heart thudded hard behind your ribs. the kind of beat you could feel everywhere.

you surged forward, arms winding around her neck, mouth pressed to hers in a kiss that was less heat and more relief. her arms wrapped around your waist tightly, pulling you flush, and everything in you hummed.

you rested your forehead against hers, the sea breeze tugging lightly at your hair. the stars above you shimmered, like they’d been waiting for this too.

and for the first time in what felt like forever — the future didn’t scare you.

it was yours. together.

⸻

the next morning started slower than usual — not from tiredness, but from a sense of ease you hadn’t felt in months. you woke tangled in soft linen sheets, your skin still warm from the way abby had held you all night. it was early, the villa hushed except for the sound of waves crashing below and cicadas humming in the lemon trees outside.

you rolled over and found her already awake, propped up slightly against the pillows, scrolling through her phone with that same furrowed brow she always had when she was reading something serious.

“are you reading the news?” you asked, voice still raspy with sleep.

she looked over, her expression softening immediately. “just checking in.”

“you’re not working this trip, remember?”

“old habits.” her hand found your thigh under the sheets, fingers curling loosely. “besides, i didn’t want to wake you.”

“you should’ve,” you murmured, scooting closer. “i like waking up to you.”

she let you press against her chest, her chin dipping to rest on your crown. “you’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

you smiled into her shirt. “already have.”

by the time you made it downstairs, the sun had climbed high over the coast, and your parents were already out in the courtyard. your mom wore her wide-brimmed sunhat and sunglasses, a book open on her lap. your dad was sipping coffee, tapping at his phone like he was planning the day’s itinerary.

“we’re going to the market,” your mom said as soon as she saw you both. “it’s saturday. the local vendors are out with fresh bread, fruit, everything.”

“you coming?” your dad asked, not even looking up.

you nodded. “yeah, we’ll meet you there.”

abby caught your hand as you passed through the gate, her fingers brushing yours until they laced completely.

the village was already alive — vendors calling out prices, children weaving between stalls, sunlight reflecting off baskets of peaches and jars of golden honey. the smell of fresh herbs and baking bread filled the air.

you tugged abby toward a stall where tiny pastries were dusted in powdered sugar. “we’re getting these.”

“you haven’t even tried them,” she said, eyeing the flaky pastries suspiciously.

“i don’t need to. look at them.”

she rolled her eyes, but her hand dipped into her pocket to pay anyway. you bumped her shoulder as you took the paper bag, your grin victorious.

“you’re so whipped,” you whispered.

“maybe,” she said, reaching in and stealing one of the pastries. “but only for you.”

you wandered the market like that — stealing bites, admiring hand-woven goods, and sharing soft, quiet smiles that didn’t need words. you tried on gold rings at a jewelry stand, turning them over in the light. abby stood behind you, her fingers brushing your wrist as she helped you slide one on.

“this one,” she murmured.

“you think so?”

“yeah. it suits you. bold, but still delicate.”

you glanced up at her. “sounds like someone else i know.”

her ears turned a faint pink, but she didn’t argue.

when you finally found your parents again, your arms were full — a fresh loaf of bread, a small bundle of lavender, two bottles of olive oil your dad insisted on buying.

the rest of the day melted like warm butter — lunch on the terrace, a slow afternoon nap, and then a sunset walk down the cliffside path that led to a secluded beach.

you and abby walked just a little ahead, your hand slipping into hers again like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“this feels unreal,” you said, watching the sky melt into shades of apricot and rose.

“it’s not,” she said. “it’s just... finally right.”

you stopped walking and turned to her.

“do you think it’ll stay this way?” you asked softly.

she paused. “i don’t know,” she admitted. “but i know i want to try.”

you stepped into her arms then, right there on the path, the smell of salt and citrus thick in the air. her hands settled on your waist, her lips brushing your temple.

and in that quiet moment — just the two of you, wrapped in gold light and possibility — you knew. it was already more than trying. it was choosing. every day.

and right now, you were choosing each other.

⸻

the night air was warm, fragrant with rosemary and jasmine. the villa’s windows were open wide, letting the sounds of cicadas and distant music float in. after dinner — a long, laughter-filled affair shared over grilled halloumi, roasted vegetables, and too much wine — your parents retreated to their room, leaving you and abby alone on the terrace under a sky dusted in stars.

you were curled on the cushioned bench, legs draped over abby’s lap, a half-empty glass of sparkling lemonade on the table beside you. she was tracing idle circles on your calf, her touch soft and absentminded like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

“i’m gonna miss this place,” you said quietly, looking out over the dark sea.

abby hummed in agreement. “it’s easy to breathe here.”

you glanced at her. “you ever think about doing something totally different? like… not being a bodyguard?”

she tilted her head, her jaw working slightly before she answered. “sometimes. i guess. but it’s hard to imagine. it’s all i’ve ever really done.”

“you’re good at it,” you said. “but you’re more than that. you know that, right?”

her fingers paused their tracing for just a second. then resumed.

“sometimes i don’t,” she said honestly. “but with you… i feel like maybe i could be.”

you sat up slightly, shifting closer until your legs were tucked to your side and your shoulder brushed hers. “i’ve been thinking,” you started, nervous even though you’d been holding this question for weeks. “what if you… came with me to school?”

she blinked. “to penn?”

you nodded. “not as my full-time guard or anything. just… to be there. nearby. maybe do security part-time, if something opened up. or take some classes.”

abby leaned back slowly, her gaze searching your face. “you really want that?”

���abby,” you said gently, placing your hand over hers. “i want you in my life. in every version of it.”

she didn’t speak for a moment. the waves below filled the silence.

then — “i’ve never really… had that. someone who wants me like that.”

“you do now,” you whispered. “and i’m not going anywhere.”

she reached up and cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing beneath your eye like she needed to memorize you again. “if there’s a way… i’ll find it.”

you smiled, leaning into her touch. “we’ll figure it out together.”

later, you lay in bed, bodies tangled, breath slowing to the rhythm of the fan above.

“you really think i could be good at something else?” she asked softly into the dark.

you turned, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “i think you could be good at anything, if you let yourself try.”

she held you tighter after that. and neither of you said another word.

but in the quiet, you could feel something shift again — not big and dramatic, but deep and steady.

a promise.

a future beginning to form, one slow, golden thread at a time.

⸻

the sky over santorini bled into layers of lavender and coral, casting golden light across the curve of the whitewashed villas. the caldera stretched out in the distance like spilled ink, deep and endless, the sun slipping slow behind it. it was the kind of sunset you swore was made for poets — the kind you’d never forget.

abby led you down the narrow cobblestone steps, her hand steady at your back. she wore a crisp linen shirt with the sleeves pushed up, tan skin kissed pink by the greek sun. her hair was pulled into a low bun, but loose strands framed her face, softening her usual sharpness.

you wore a different sundress the color of pressed roses, the straps thin and the fabric light against your skin. you could feel her eyes on you when you weren’t looking — how they lingered at your shoulder, your collarbone, the way your hand fit so easily into hers.

you ended up at a small cliffside restaurant she had reserved — quiet, tucked away from the busier streets, with only a few candlelit tables and a view that made your breath catch.

“this place,” you said softly as the waiter pulled out your chair. “abby, it’s… perfect.”

“i wanted it to be,” she murmured, sliding into the seat across from you. “you deserve perfect.”

your cheeks burned at that, but you smiled, tucking your hair behind your ear as you looked at her — really looked. the way she was already watching you like she’d been waiting years for this exact moment. the way her fingers twitched just slightly beside her wine glass, like she was holding something back.

dinner passed slowly. laughter, shared bites, your feet brushing beneath the table. she told you about the one trip she’d taken with her sister when they were younger — a road trip down the coast, just the two of them and bad diner coffee. you told her about the time you snuck out to meet a boy at the park and got caught because your perfume gave you away.

she laughed, low and rare. “you’re too much trouble for your own good.”

“you like that, though,” you teased.

“i do,” she admitted, quiet. “too much.”

the sun had disappeared entirely now, and the stars blinked one by one into view. the candle between you flickered gently, casting dancing shadows across her face.

and then — she stood up.

you tilted your head. “what are you—?”

“come here,” she said, voice low but sure, offering her hand.

you took it.

she led you to the edge of the overlook, the restaurant soft behind you, the sea stretched endlessly below. her hands came to your waist, steady and warm.

“i’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” she started, her voice nearly swept away by the wind. “maybe longer. i just didn’t let myself say it.”

you searched her face, your heart hammering. “say what?”

abby exhaled, her thumbs brushing bare skin where your dress met your hips.

“i want to be yours,” she said. “not just when it’s quiet. not just in secret. i want to be your girlfriend. if you’ll have me.”

your breath caught.

and for a second, all you could do was stare — at the way she looked at you, completely unguarded. no mask. no professionalism. just abby. wanting.

“of course i’ll have you,” you whispered, your throat tight, your smile slow and breaking across your face like the tide. “i already do.”

her relief came all at once — a quiet exhale, a small, crooked smile that she rarely let slip. and then she was kissing you. soft at first, like a thank you. then deeper. fuller. like she couldn’t help herself.

your arms wrapped around her neck, pulling her closer as the wind tangled your hair and the stars burned brighter overhead.

you kissed until the candle went out, until the waiter politely cleared his throat in the distance, until you were breathless and warm and so full of everything you’d ever wanted.

and when you walked back up those steps hand in hand, the world felt changed.

not because something new had started — but because you had finally given yourself permission to call it what it was.

yours.

⸻

the room was warm, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows across the walls. you and abby sat close, the space between you electric, every glance charged with anticipation.

abby’s fingers traced lazy patterns along your arm, sending shivers that made your breath hitch. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this,” she murmured, voice low and rough, the usual armor softened by desire.

your hands found her waist, pulling her closer, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. “then don’t hold back,” you whispered, voice trembling with need.

slowly, carefully, abby’s hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing skin that burned with want. her touch was gentle but insistent, exploring, teasing, making your body hum.

“tell me what you want,” she breathed against your neck, her voice a seductive promise.

you swallowed hard, voice shaky but honest. “i want you. all of you.”

abby smiled, a dark, hungry curve of her lips. she kissed you then—deep, slow, demanding—her hands moving with purpose, sliding beneath your shorts, fingers pressing into the heat that pooled between your legs.

“you’re so fucking beautiful, and so mine” she groaned, eyes dark as she continued to explore you, each touch lighting fires that spread through your whole body.

your breath caught when her mouth found you, warm and wet and eager, every movement melting away doubt, every sigh a confession. she tasted like desire itself, and you felt yourself unraveling, losing control in the most delicious way.

“fuck, baby,” abby whispered against you, voice thick with need, “i’m yours.”

when she finally let you touch her, your fingers brushed over skin taut with tension, tracing the lines of her hips, the muscles flexing beneath. she gasped, arching into your hands, lips parting in a soft moan.

“don’t stop,” you begged, voice husky, “i want to feel you.”

her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as the two of you moved together in a slow, desperate rhythm, the room filled with whispered promises and breathless confessions.

“you’re driving me insane,” abby groaned, “i want to make you feel everything.”

and in that moment, with hearts pounding and skin slick with need, you did — each touch, each kiss, each shuddering gasp binding you closer, making the night yours, yours alone.

when it was over, you lay tangled, bodies slick and warm, breaths mingling as abby pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“you’re mine,” she murmured, voice tender and fierce.

“always,” you whispered back, the word a vow sealed in the quiet intimacy of the night.

⸻

the morning light filtered softly through the sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room where you, abby, and your parents sat around a small breakfast table in the cozy villa. the air was warm with the scent of fresh coffee and the distant sea breeze carrying the faint sound of waves.

your mom smiled warmly, her eyes full of kindness and understanding as she looked between you and abby. “we just want you both to be happy,” she said, voice steady but gentle. “and we know how important this is.”

abby sat close beside you, fingers lightly intertwined with yours, her usual guarded expression softened by the comfort of the moment.

your dad cleared his throat, folding his hands on the table. “i want to make one thing clear — abby is part of this family now. she’ll be with you at upenn, helping keep you safe, yes, but also as someone who cares for you deeply. we trust her.”

abby glanced at you, a small smile breaking through her usual seriousness. “i’m committed to this — to her, and to doing this right.”

you squeezed her hand, heart swelling. “i want abby there with me — in classes, in the dorm, everything. it’s not just about protection anymore.”

your mom nodded. “we’ll work out the details with the university. it’ll take some adjusting, but it’s worth it. love and safety can go hand in hand.”

your dad looked at abby, sincerity in his eyes. “you’ll have to keep up your professionalism. but you have our support.”

abby met his gaze, her voice steady. “i will. this is more than a job now.”

the conversation drifted into plans — classes, schedules, how abby would balance being your bodyguard and your partner while also navigating college life. laughter and hopeful chatter filled the room, the tension of past struggles melting away under the promise of new beginnings.

later, as the sun climbed higher, you and abby stepped onto the terrace overlooking the sparkling mediterranean. abby pulled you close, voice soft but certain. “we’ve got this. whatever comes next, we face it together.”

you smiled, the future wide open and full of promise. “together.”

[ruebossanova]

her watch: the series - masterlist

summary: assigned to protect a bratty but irresistibly sweet young socialite in the heart of new york city, abigail “abby” anderson thought this would be just another high-profile babysitting gig. but between designer tantrums, sharp-tongued teasing, and late-night glances that linger too long, lines begin to blur. as tension builds and boundaries are tested, abby finds herself dangerously drawn to the spoiled girl she’s supposed to keep safe — and control becomes a game neither of them are playing fair.

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part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

part 9

part 10

part 11

part 12

part 13

part 14

part 15

[ruebossanova]

౨ৎ wild mustang; b. eilish

౨ৎ military!billie x wife!reader ౨ৎ angst & fluff & smut ` ౨ৎ warnings; slight daddy kink, strap, oral, breeding kink, manhandling…???

⋆˙⟡ being a military wife is hard, especially when separation forces you to bring another man into your house ౨ৎ wc; 4,5k

one year, three months and two days.

that's how long it's been since you last saw your wife. when you last felt her gentle touch, saw her smile live, felt her skin under your fingertips. exactly one year, three months and two days ago, you woke up in the morning, finding your bed unusually cold and her side empty. too empty, as if she'd been gone for hours.

but that wasn't the main thing when you suddenly hear a quiet mooing in the next room. maternal instincts override curiosity and you slowly stand up, blindly searching for your house slippers with your feet. the cool air envelops your sleepy body and you shiver slightly, wishing you could go back to bed and let the warmth of the comforter warm you up again. but it doesn't matter as soon as you enter the nursery, noticing your five-month-old daughter lying in her crib, fidgeting excitedly.

taking your baby in your arms, you left a gentle kiss on her tiny forehead, and the girl smiled, proudly showing her two baby teeth. holding her against your chest, you finally got rid of the fog of sleep in your eyes, now intent on finding your wife.

the journey down the stairs to the first floor was silent, apart from the adorable yawns your daughter let out as she weakly grasped the strap of your nightie with her fingers.

looking around the house, you feel a strange emptiness in your chest that spreads like poison ivy through your body with each passing moment. as soon as your feet touch the floor, you swallow hard, taking a few more steps to lower your child onto the soft couch in the middle of the spacious living room. biting your lower lip, you glance around the space, which is filled with simple but harmonious furniture, some of which billie made herself. a faint smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

as you continue your wife's 'search' through the small house, you come across the kitchen table where you used to eat, noticing a small piece of paper. wrinkled, already scribbled with a pen; apparently one on which billye had already made notes earlier. your eyes narrow at the increasing paranoid thoughts that immediately fill your mind. you remember that you cleaned up the kitchen last night, and billye wouldn't have left trash on the table. she liked order in her house, where her family lived. you shallow.

as you unfold the note, you notice the small written text. billye's handwriting, only more sprawling, shaky, some of the letters unfinished. she was in a hurry, a great hurry, while writing this. and it didn't bode well, knowing her job and her superiors. knowing her dedication to her duty and her country. it was something no one could ever take away.

your eyes finally focus on the text. but you better damn well never read it, because your heart shatters into a million pieces as soon as you read the first few words.

“i'm sorry, my love. i don't know what happened. i don't know when i'll be back. kiss lily and tell her mommy loves her. i'm so sorry, i love you.”

your eyes ran over the lines dozens, hundreds of times until you finally realized what had happened; she’s not here. but what was scarier? how suddenly and spontaneously she left. had something terrible happened? was she in danger? would

she even be able to come home? the questions swarmed in your head, but none of them could be answered by you or the universe. none of them could, because you were a military wife. because she was involved in covert operations.

“gosh” you whisper to yourself as your thoughts dart from one corner of the room to the other. besides your wife, you have a daughter to worry about. or rather, you should worry about your daughter first, but it's so hard to even take a full breath right now, your chest clenched so tightly it feels like it's been pulled with thick barbed wire.

the seconds seemed like an eternity, until you were gripping the kitchen counter with your hand, trying to stay upright on woozy legs. your head was spinning, and so were your thoughts that you couldn't concentrate on any of them for more than half a second. the world seemed like an abyss into which you were about to fall until you saw her face again. her blue eyes, her plump lips. until you knew she was all right.

but now, when there's a baby lying a few feet away from you, your baby who is completely defenseless without you around him 24 hours a day, you realize that you shouldn't feel sorry for yourself. you have no right to. you knew who you were marrying when you said yes to billie, looking into her eyes with tenderness and promise. you promised that you could survive every moment of separation, no matter how long it lasted. no matter how many lonely days you had to fall asleep in a cold bed. she swore that she would come back. no matter what happened, she would come back to you. with a broken head, without a limb, covered in scars, but she would come back to you. you knew it, you always knew it, it's just that sometimes the waiting is exhausting, it ruins the hopes of coming back, the hopes of a happy life, but no waiting lasts forever.

a month ago lily turned one and a half years old. the little girl already speaks some words, understands basic requests, and with such sadness, like you, looks at the pictures of billye, standing on some shelves in your house, as if she really understands that her mother is not around for a long time, even if she barely remembers her.

but you don't consider yourself a single mother, not since the moment your close friend alex started helping you with lily. and no matter how skeptical you were at first, he really helped you, he was always there for you, supporting both you and your daughter. lily loved him, loved him very much, almost considered him daddy, but when she first called him that, you corrected her, explaining that alex was a friend, that she has a mom, she was just far away now. you didn't wanna think about the fact that billie might not come back and alex would really be your daughter's daddy. you loved him, appreciated him endlessly, and were always grateful to him, but he wasn't lily's parent, and he never would be, no matter how much he wanted to.

darkness creeps up quickly, and you both don't notice the sun hiding behind the horizon and the cool evening setting in. lily stops actively crawling, yawning, mostly staring at one point, or lazily trying to climb into your arms. her little head rests on your chest, her fingers grasping the edge of your silk robe.

"let me put her to bed. you're already tired" alex says quietly so as not to wake your daughter, who apparently passed out in your arms in a matter of minutes, and you, knowing that you are wildly exhausted, decide not to resist, carefully handing the girl into the man's arms. he tells you to go to sleep before disappearing to the second floor.

as soon as you were alone, your thoughts were once again filled with the one person you missed so sincerely and deeply. although you probably miss a very different billie. it's been a year and you've both changed a lot.

as luck would have it, you notice the only unwashed plate from dinner resting on the dining table. your perfectionism doesn't allow you to leave it until tomorrow morning, so you get up, dripping a few drops of detergent on the sponge and scrubbing the frozen mashed potatoes off the ceramic surface in a couple of minutes. you're not as tired, but you can still feel your eyes closing, deciding to go to bed as you'd been advised. until the unexpected ringing of the doorbell interrupts your plans. you sigh heavily, not realizing who could have been brought to your doorstep close to midnight.

without much enthusiasm, you open the front door, and your expression immediately changes and the blood drains from your cheeks. you see your wife in front of you. with a different hairstyle, a different build, a more tired face, but still with the same eyes, the same look. a downpour is roaring outside, and it has a strong effect on her clothes, which are now completely soaked, her hair, part of which was covered by her military cap, although her long curls were drenched. for the first seconds, which seemed like an eternity, you were silent, staring into each other's eyes, until billie finally dared to break the silence.

"can i come in?" she asked quietly, but you notice immediately that her voice has changed; colder, rougher, and hoarser probably from the number of times she's had to shout out her companions. you snap out of your daze, muttering an apology to yourself underneath before stepping aside and letting billie pass, then closing the door behind her.

big boots clang on the floor as she takes a few steps and places the heavy bag of belongings on the wooden floor. her gait has changed too; it has become heavier, weightier, her posture is perfect.

but as soon as she inhales the smell of her home, you can see her shoulders relax and a sigh of relief escapes her plump lips. you still stand by the doorway, looking at your wife with tears pinching your eyes. as if sensing this, billie finally turns around, looking at you, seemingly without a single emotion on her stern face.

"baby…" as soon as the word escapes her lips, you cover your face with your hands, trying to suppress the sobs sitting in your chest. you missed her so much, but now that she's a few meters away from you? you're still left with the same nasty feeling that you're thousands of light years apart.

you can hear how hard she's sighing. not out of annoyance, but out of fear. what if you pushed her away and told her to get the hell out of this house? she was afraid.

"please say something" she takes a hesitant step forward and you can feel her perfume, no, her cologne hit your nose. it was intoxicating.

the silence between you stretches for an eternity before you can speak.

"i thought i'd never see you again" you confess, finally removing your hands from your face to meet her intense gaze filled with longing, regret and melancholy. you didn't need to speak, you just read each other's eyes.

she moves closer to you again until she's close enough for your body to be caged between her body and the wall. a forgotten but so familiar warmth spreads through your veins, making your heart beat again, beat for her.

it's only now that you realize how much she's changed. her hair is cut short, but it still reaches to her shoulder blades. her body has grown larger, even in her military uniform you can see how tight the fabric is around her biceps in some places. the veins in her neck are more prominent, her freckles are clearly bigger, her palms are covered in calluses. you feel it when her hands gently touch your cheeks, gently holding your face.

"i'm so sorry, my love" her nose scratches yours in an affectionate touch, letting you feel each other's breaths on your lips. there was so much you wanted to say, but right now those words were enough to make you remember what it was like to feel loved and desired by a woman again.

"i wanna kiss you so badly" billie whispers as her lips hover millimeters from yours. "i beg you."

you give in forward, finally forcing your lips to touch in a languid long kiss. your hands travel up her body, first clutching her shoulders, then wrapping around her neck, scratching her scalp as you pull her head closer to you. her fingers clutching your waist move further to wrap their arms around your waist, tightly, forcing your body against hers. you let out a quiet whimper against her lips as your bodies sink into each other, being as close as seems impossible.

"god, i missed you so much," she moans against your lips, making you clutch harder into her hair. you're lost in each other until there's not a drop of oxygen left in your lungs. you try to pull away to take a single breath, but billie bites your bottom lip, not letting you move an inch away. when she said she missed you, she meant it; not a day, hour, or minute went by that she didn't think of you, or hum to her companions about what a wonderful wife she had. and she never forgot to mention that you gave her a daughter. the most beautiful, beautiful little girl.

"so you're like a milf?" one of the men suddenly asks billye, distracting her from ranting about you. she smiles, running her tongue over her white teeth. "yeah, i'm a mom" she says proudly, popping the last piece of saltless boiled beef into her mouth; it tasted lame, but she didn't have much choice.

"wife was pregnant? bet she's not that hot anymore" the other man's comment, although joking, billye never, absolutely never let anyone insult you in any form. "shut up, asshole, you're talking about my wife" she leans closer, a mischievous smile playing on her face "and man, she looks like an angel—no, like a goddess. every damn day" she made it clear to everyone without exception how proud she was to have you.

"billie…" her name coming off your lips in a way that made her feel like a moan was about to escape her throat. it was unbearable thinking about you every night, breathing heavily and dreaming of your touch as her hand snaked under the elastic band of her boxers.

as soon as your lips separate, you rest your cheek on her chest as her face burrows into the corner between your neck and shoulder. wet lips touch delicate skin, weightlessly at first, but then it transitions to a trail of kisses down from your jaw to your collarbones. billie's body immediately tenses as she hears a strange man calling your name in her house.

"uh—oh…" alex sighs as he catches the picture in front of him. you'd have to be a fool not to realize what's going on here.

billie frowns, removing her hands from your body to turn to face him, her back almost completely covering your more frail figure. her arms cross over her chest, and you can both notice alex's gaze lowering to her arms. to where her uniform is stretched tightly around her biceps.

"and who are you?" billie asks sternly, and you almost can't understand how she went from loving wife to company commander in a matter of seconds. sexy but amazing.

realizing that alex is a little scared, you step forward to introduce them to each other. "billie, this is alex. my… friend. he's helping me with lily—"

"helped" she snaps, and you both look at her in bewilderment. "what do you mean?" you ask quietly, trying not to stoke the fire further.

"he helped you with lily, and now.." she pauses, opening the front door and clearly showing the man that it's time for him to go home. "we don't need your help anymore."

your mouth opens in silent protest, your gaze running between an equally stunned alex and your obviously disgruntled wife. blinking a few times, you grab billye's hand, not hard, but you need her to pay attention to you "you can't kick him out! most of his stuff—" but billie doesn't listen, only boils harder.

"oh, you don't think i can kick him out?" the question sounds like a challenge, and you know better that she very well could kick him out of your house like a yard dog. your eyes narrow as you look at her, realizing that you have nothing to fight back so he can stay.

about a minute passes in silence between the three of you until alex coughs, realizing how much tension is in the air and that he is clearly interrupting something. and he was very reluctant to leave your house with billie's help.

"you know babe, i think i'm gonna go home" he calls you 'babe' on purpose, and before either of you can process it, he's lurking behind the threshold, closing the massive wooden door behind him on his own.

billie's mouth is ajar as she looks up at you. "baby? did he fucking call you baby?" and before her hand reaches for the doorknob, you intercept it, trying to pull her to you, but it's a harder task considering she's standing still like a goddamn rock. you swallow. not a single one of her muscles tensed.

"just leave him alone!" you have to raise your voice, just slightly, so as not to wake your daughter sleeping on the second floor. billie's fatigue is mixed with frustration and anger at the situation at hand, and she has no choice but to push you against the wall with one hand, causing your back to bang against the ceramic brick. not hard, but enough to assert her dominance at this point.

"let me get one thing straight, princess" she places her hands on either side of your head, enclosing you in a makeshift cage. not that you're trying very hard to get out. "you. are. mine" her voice drips with possessiveness, so sweet and long awaited, making your thighs press against each other slightly harder. "you're my wife, my woman, you're the mother of my child" her intense gaze never leaves your eyes, making your lips flush and your pupils dilate with arousal. the way she said those words with confidence and authority, fuck, it was too much for you and your poor pussy.

"and when i go back to my wife after a year of separation, baby, i don't want to hear a word against mine" and as manipulative as those words sound, you only nod slowly, causing a satisfied smile to slowly spread across her face. predator. "that's my good girl."

a whisper is heard right at your ear, and you let the first whimper slip through your lips. this is exactly what billie wanted. to see his sweet little wife again, looking at her like she was the whole world.

"fuck" she exhales heavily, not wasting another moment and lifting you in her arms as if you weigh nothing. your stomach collides with her shoulder as she takes a measured stride towards your bedroom, shamelessly groping your bare thighs. the silk robe and short pajama shorts didn't help in any way, only encouraging your wife to continue spreading her arms.

once you're on the second floor, billie's footsteps become slower and quieter so that the baby in the next room definitely won't hear how much her mommies missed each other. the thought of having to be quiet sent a wave of frustration through your body.

as soon as your back hits the soft mattress, you relax, letting billie hover over your body, leaving soft, then more passionate kisses until her teeth begin to embed themselves in your skin. dark trails blanket your neck and collarbones. you moan in quiet, sweet, unison. she from the bliss of your taste, you from the feel of her tongue on your pulse point. there was nothing you could ever miss.

"you're like a damn drug, baby" she mooed, moving to rid your body of the extra clothing. in a minute you were completely naked, completely for her hungry gaze while she was fully clothed. you embarrassedly tried to cover your breasts with your hands, but she immediately grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. her one hand was enough to hold both of yours. even if you did try to escape, you wouldn't stand a chance.

"don't make me tie this lovely body up, yeah mamas? you'll be my good girl, won't you?" your body wriggles, your hips rising desperately, wanting to feel even the slightest friction. billie sees it. of course she fucking does. her uniformed body moves closer to you until her knee presses against your bare pussy, which immediately drenches it with your arousal. you try to rub against her, but she lowers her hand, holding your thigh tightly. "answer the question, then you can ride my thigh like the desperate slut you are."

you whined again, again because of how sexy her voice dropped when she talked to you like that. as if you were her goddess and nothing more than a one-night stand. the way she skillfully did it made your legs shake in ecstasy.

"i'll be your good girl, i promise.." you whisper, swallowing hard, knowing she's waiting for the cherished word. "..daddy."

in that same second, your bodies flip so that you find yourself on all fours, supporting your weight on your elbows. billie steps back, starting to fumble through a box lying in the bottom drawer of the dresser. her hands work on the heavy belt buckle, then the zipper of her pants. she doesn't bother to pull down her boxers, attaching the strap right over the thin fabric.

"don't even need lube to stretch this cunt" you feel the tip of her cock graze over your ass, teasing. your arousal started to flow down the inside of your thighs, so she really didn't have to use anything else to slowly plunge the thick nine inches into your tight pussy. "so perfect around my cock."

waiting for your permission, she begins thrusting, slowly at first, watching her length disappear into you, then thrusting sharply into you until she establishes a steady fast rhythm, making sure that with each thrust she enters all the way that she reaches your cervix, causing you to lower your head and bite the sheets to at least somewhat contain the dirty sounds that fly off your lips.

"fuck, so noisy" her left hand goes up to your neck, squeezing and pulling back until your back arches perfectly for her, until you're fully seated on her lap, feeling her cock get in even deeper. her fingers are replaced by her hand, her biceps and brachialis muscle straining around your throat, leaving little room for oxygen to enter. "feel how deep i am, baby? gonna put another baby in you."

her hips moving at an inhuman pace, the headboard of the bed banging against the wall with each thrust. you really had no idea how much more a year in combat had worn down her body, making it steel. but right now all you had in your mind was her cock, buried as deep as it had ever been before.

"will you give me another baby, mama?" she asks, but the question seems rhetorical, given that your mind is completely blank. the way her hand presses against your thigh, leaving bruises under your fingertips. the way her lips hover over your ear, the way her grip on your neck tightens every time she tenses her bicep. it's made your smart head a dumb mess. "can you carry my baby in this perfect body again?"

tears run down your cheeks as you whimper something resembling a 'yes', clutching her hand tightly, resting your head on her shoulder, starting to bounce on her cock on your own as she clutches your body tightly, feeling every shudder. she always knows when you're close.

"come on, my love, cum for me. cum on this cock" her words act as a lever for your body and you unravel on her strap, making no extra sounds only thanks to her other hand covering your mouth as you shake hysterically, stunned by the intense orgasm.

billie slowly lowers you down, back on all fours, her chest pressed against your back as you feel her warm cum filling your pussy, dripping onto the crumpled sheets. your body already seems exhausted while your wife's energy still boils.

"lie on your back, mama, let me see that pretty pussy" she mumbles in your ear, pulling back and slowly pulling out, mesmerized by the way her cum leaks out of you. you move on the bed barely trusting your cotton-wool legs, slowly lowering yourself onto your back, immediately spreading your legs slightly, inviting her in. billie hesitates, positioning herself between your thighs, using both hands to spread them wider, shamelessly gazing at your swollen cunt, covered in her and your own arousal.

she dives in without another word, moaning hoarsely when she feels your sweet taste on her tongue again after all this time, ready to devour you like a starving woman. "fuck, so fucking perfect" she moozes into your flesh, sending electrifying vibrations that make you squirm on the bed, now covering your mouth with your own hand.

"i'd burn the whole world for that pussy, do you hear me?" she pulls back, replacing her tongue with her thumb, rubbing your sensitive clit in slow circles, but it's enough to make your legs shake and your hips rise in search of more friction.

billie bites her lower lip, lifting and pressing your knees against your chest to change the angle, watching your frowning eyebrows for a few more seconds before returning her mouth to your wet folds, licking greedily, plunging the tip into your tight hole, making you shriek, which only encouraged her to push it in deeper.

her tongue worked tirelessly, flattening out in time, circling around the sensitive bundle of nerves as her two fingers slipped into you, pumping at a natural pace as if they were designed to fuck that perfect pussy.

she pushed so deep, curling her thick fingers, hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars. she didn't ask — you didn't speak, coming on her tongue and hand with a strangled moan. her hips flew up, pushing her face further between your legs, and you couldn't hold back a whimper, realizing how sensitive you were right now.

"mm, just like that, that's my girl" she praises, crawling up to hover over your body and leave a deep kiss on your lips, letting. you taste your own release.

after a few seconds she rolls onto the bed next to you, not taking her lips off your neck. "i wanna see our daughter," her melodic voice is muffled against your skin, and you giggle, starting to replay the shared memories in your head until she interrupts them with another nibble on your pulse point.

"and then i wanna fuck that pretty pussy of yours again. and i'm gonna do it every goddamn day, my love."

౨ৎ tags; @billiesbabygirll, @amara-eilish, @st0nerlesb0, @bxllxebxtch mystiquemm, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises, @too-sapphic-to-function, @thefeverburningalive, @peytonglazesbillieeilish, @1nn3rthOughts

[ruebossanova]

when reading smut and y/n says “daddy”

[ruebossanova]

her watch: the series - part 9: a quiet yes

bodyguard!abby x female!reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: SLOWBURN, olderlabby x younger!reader, reader is spoiled & bratty but sweet, nyc rich socialite vibe (think gossip girl)

summary: the heartbreak lingers as school days feel dull and heavy, with abby distant and professional under the father’s rules. the reader’s mom finally sees how broken she is and steps in to talk to her dad. together, the parents bring abby and the reader for a serious talk, setting rules for their relationship to continue. abby’s walls start to soften, and slowly, they begin to rebuild trust and hope for what’s next.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10

————————————————————————————

school days blurred together in grays and muted tones. you moved through them like a ghost, going through the motions — waking, dressing, showing up. your smile was a flicker at best, your laugh long gone. even the bright spring sun filtering through the windows felt too loud, too mocking in its warmth.

you sat in class, pen between your fingers but never moving. notes sprawled across your page, half-finished. sentences broken. like your focus. like your heart. the teacher's voice echoed in your ears, but none of it landed. not really. you watched the minute hand on the clock crawl forward, your mind elsewhere — always elsewhere.

abby was still there.

in the background, always near. her footsteps down the hallway. her figure by the car when school let out. her voice over the comm in your earpiece — short, clipped, professional. a stranger’s voice. but worse than her absence was her presence. she was still around, still doing everything right. keeping you safe. following orders. but the version of her who brushed hair from your eyes, who held your hand in the dark, who kissed you beneath italian skies — she was gone.

she didn’t look at you anymore. not the way she used to.

no more smirking eyes across the kitchen. no warmth in her voice when she asked how your day had gone. she drove you to school in silence now, hands tight on the steering wheel, her body held like armor.

“you don’t have to ignore me,” you said one afternoon, voice so soft it nearly disappeared between the purr of the car and the hum of the city. she didn’t look at you. didn’t even blink. “i’m not ignoring you,” she replied. cool. impersonal. like you were just another task to complete.

you swallowed down the lump in your throat. “you haven’t said a full sentence to me in three days.” “i’m doing my job.” your voice cracked. “and that’s all i am now? a job?”

silence.

you turned your face toward the window, watching the trees whip past in a blur of green and gray. she pulled up to the house. you opened the door and stepped out, but before you slammed it shut, you said — not looking back, not even daring to hope — “i miss you, abby.”

the door clicked shut.

inside, everything felt hollow. you sat on your bed that night staring at your closet, where her hoodie still hung. your fingers reached for it before you even realized. you pulled it over your head and curled into yourself, burying your face in the collar.

it still smelled like her. leather and cedar and something soft beneath it. you fell asleep like that. wrapped in memory. wrapped in absence.

⸻

the next morning, your mom poked her head into your room and frowned when she saw you still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, backpack untouched on the floor.

“you okay, sweetheart?” you sat up slowly, blinking the sleep away. “just tired.” “you’ve been saying that for a week.” she stepped inside, quiet footsteps, her hand reaching out to brush your hair from your cheek.

“do you want to talk about it?” you hesitated, but your throat was already tightening, tears threatening. “i just… i don’t feel like myself.”

she sat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “i noticed.”

and that simple sentence — full of love, of recognition — made something in you break. your face crumpled as the sob escaped, quiet and sharp. she pulled you in, held you while you cried. you didn’t say her name. you didn’t need to.

everything reminded you of abby. the way your jacket still smelled faintly like her — from that night in amalfi when she’d draped it over your shoulders. the untouched jar of lemon marmalade on your desk — a souvenir from a trip that now felt like a dream. even the songs that used to make you feel like sunshine and adventure — they now played like ghost stories.

"you don’t have to say anything right now,” your mom whispered, fingers stroking your back gently. “but when you’re ready… i’m here. okay?”

you nodded into her shoulder, too full of ache to speak. and later, when you were alone again, curled beneath your sheets with a lump in your throat and the weight of everything pressing on your chest — you whispered into the dark,

“i still love you, abby.”

and the silence that followed was louder than any answer.

⸻

you tried to study.

you stared at the pages of your textbook until the words bled together, black ink swimming across the paper. none of it stuck. not the formulas, not the historical dates, not the vocabulary words that used to be so easy for you. your grades, once pristine, had started to slip. nothing drastic — not yet — but enough for your teachers to start leaving concerned comments in the margins.

“See me after class.” “You’re not yourself lately — is everything okay?” “Talk to me if you need support.”

you didn’t answer. not them. not your friends. not yourself.

you tried to sleep.

but your bed felt too big now. too cold. your body curled in on itself each night, seeking out a phantom warmth that never came. and when you did sleep, your dreams betrayed you — always full of abby. of her voice. her scent. the way she whispered your name like a secret and a promise all in one.

you woke in the early hours, soaked in sweat, heart pounding, clutching the edge of her old hoodie to your chest like a life raft. the ache in your chest never dulled. it just settled there — constant. quiet. sharp.

you tried to forget.

but your body still remembered her hands. the way she held your face like you were breakable and holy. the way her touch had lit you up from the inside. the way she looked at you like you were hers, even when she never said it aloud.

abby hadn’t looked at you the same since that night your father came home.

her gaze now was cooler. controlled. she stood straighter when she was near you, more alert, more tense — not like a lover trying to resist, but like a soldier pretending the battlefield didn’t hurt.

you still saw her every day.

in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while you poured yourself coffee. in the car, hand steady on the wheel, eyes trained forward like you were invisible. at school, watching from a distance, always aware, always alert — but never close. never warm.

sometimes you caught it — that flicker of something soft in her eyes. a breath. a shift. a memory.

but it disappeared almost as soon as it came, smothered by guilt. or duty. or fear.

“do you need anything else?” she’d ask in the evenings. always the same words. always the same even tone.

you’d look at her from across the room. hair tucked behind her ear. lips slightly parted like she had so much she wasn’t saying. “no,” you always said.

you wished she’d just break the rules. just once. reach out. take your hand. press you against the door like she used to. kiss you like it mattered. like it still mattered. say something. anything.

but she never did.

⸻

one evening, you broke.

it had been a long day. school was brutal — a math test you forgot was happening, a pop quiz in chemistry, and a group project where your friends kept asking why you were so quiet lately. “you’re not like… depressed, right?” one of them asked, half-joking. you’d laughed it off. but your chest had tightened like a vice.

by the time you made it home, your hands were shaking. you dropped your bag by the stairs and walked straight into the kitchen, where abby stood at the stove.

sautéing something. her sleeves were rolled up. hair pulled back. expression unreadable.

she didn’t look up. “you’re home early.”

“i got out of class early.” your voice was rougher than you intended.

“good.” she stirred the pan once. “your dad’ll be home soon.”

you stood there in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “you don’t have to do that.”

“do what?”

“pretend like everything’s fine.” your voice cracked on the last word. you hated how small it made you sound.

abby’s jaw tightened. “i’m not pretending. i’m just doing what i’m supposed to.”

“and what about what we were supposed to be?” you asked, stepping into the kitchen. “was that just… nothing to you?”

she finally looked at you.

for a moment, her eyes were filled with everything — longing, pain, guilt, fear. but then the shutters came down again. her voice hardened.

“you know this isn’t about what i want.”

“but it is, abby. it always has been.” you took another step toward her. “and you want me. you’re just too scared to fight for it.”

silence.

she stared at you like she wanted to say something. but instead, she turned back to the stove.

“your dad trusts me. i won’t break that.”

you stood there for a moment, the words burning in your throat. but she wouldn’t look at you again.

you turned and walked away, blinking back tears as you reached the stairs.

and abby?

abby stood in the kitchen, hand gripping the edge of the counter so tight her knuckles turned white.

she didn’t chase after you.

not yet.

⸻

she hears your footsteps retreating up the stairs, each one like a nail in the coffin she’s built around her own heart.

don’t go.

she doesn’t say it. can’t say it.

her hands are still on the counter, gripping the edge like it might anchor her to this version of herself — the version that’s cold, distant, disciplined. the one your father demanded she be.

you looked at me like i’d broken you.

and maybe she has.

you were the best thing that had happened to her in… god, she didn’t even know how long. maybe ever. and she ruined it with silence. with obedience. with fear.

you don’t understand what it took to pull away. to let go of your hand in that kitchen. to pretend it didn’t destroy me.

she wanted to say yes. to everything. to you. yes, she missed you. yes, she wanted to touch you, kiss you, hold you again like the world hadn’t changed. but your dad’s words still echoed in her head every time she so much as breathed near you.

"you were hired to protect her, not love her."

like love was something she could turn off.

you’re eighteen. you’re smart. bright. meant for everything. and abby… she’s a bodyguard with blood on her hands and a past she never talks about. you deserve someone who isn’t made of walls and guilt and rules. someone who can give you softness without consequences.

but god, she wanted to be selfish.

just once.

just once, she wanted to follow you upstairs. say everything she hasn’t said since that night. take you into her arms and feel you melt against her, like maybe the world would disappear if she just held you tight enough.

but she doesn’t.

she picks up the wooden spoon again, stirring the pan like her heart isn’t breaking. like she isn’t counting the seconds until she hears your door shut upstairs.

and when it finally does, she lets her head fall forward.

i miss you too.

but the words never leave her mouth.

⸻

you broke down in your room one afternoon, sometime between school and nowhere. the weight had built slowly over the past week, pressing into your chest like something invisible but heavy, relentless. it wasn’t just abby — it was the loss of color, the silence, the ache of pretending like none of it mattered.

you didn’t even remember sitting down on the floor.

you just found yourself there — curled inward, knees pressed to your chest, fists trembling as they gripped your sweater like it might keep your ribs from cracking open. tears spilled silently at first, then faster, soaking into the rug, your breathing short and shallow as your body shook under the pressure.

you barely registered the sound of footsteps down the hallway. or the soft knock on your door.

but then it creaked open anyway.

“sweetheart?” your mom’s voice was tentative at first. but the second she saw you — the crumpled version of her daughter, broken open on the bedroom floor — something in her shifted. “oh, honey…”

she dropped to her knees beside you without hesitation, one hand brushing the hair away from your damp, flushed cheeks, the other resting gently on your arm. her touch was warm. familiar. safe.

you couldn’t speak.

you couldn’t even look at her.

but the words came anyway. cracked, shaky, barely-there.

“i can’t… i can’t do this anymore.”

your voice broke around the edges, thick with grief.

“baby, talk to me,” she said softly. “please.”

and for once — you did.

maybe it was the softness in her tone. maybe it was the exhaustion. or maybe you just didn’t have the strength to hold it in anymore.

“we fell in love,” you whispered, the words hitching on your sob. “me and abby.”

your mom froze — not in judgment, not in horror — just surprise. real, silent surprise. but her hand never left your arm.

“in italy?” she asked gently.

you nodded, pressing the heel of your palm against your eyes. “the whole trip… it was like — like nothing else existed. we laughed. we kissed. she held me like she meant it.”

your voice cracked again.

“and then when dad came home early and saw us in the kitchen… everything changed.”

your mom let out a quiet sigh, but it wasn’t angry — it sounded tired. maybe even regretful.

“he made her stop. he made her go cold. and she listens because she has to, and now she’s still here, but she’s not… she’s not here. not really. and i miss her so much it physically hurts.”

you choked on the last word, and your mother pulled you against her chest, wrapping her arms around you tight like she could shield you from all of it — from heartbreak, from confusion, from rules that didn’t make sense anymore.

“he thinks it’s wrong,” you mumbled into her shoulder, voice hoarse. “but it’s not. we didn’t plan it. i didn’t just… pick her out and fall for her. it just happened. i didn’t want to lose her, but i think i already have.”

your mom was quiet for a long time, her hand rubbing slow circles on your back as you cried into the fabric of her shirt.

“i’ve never seen you like this,” she finally said, voice low. “not even when you were little and scraped your knees bloody. not when friends hurt you. not even when you thought you failed your chem midterm.”

you gave a small, sad laugh — or something close to it — muffled by tears.

“you’re not a dramatic kid,” she continued. “you’ve always been the one who thinks before you leap. but this… this is different.”

you nodded into her chest. “because she’s different.”

your mom pulled back just far enough to look at you, her hand cupping your cheek.

“i may not fully understand it,” she admitted. “and your dad — well, he definitely doesn’t. but what i do understand is that you’re hurting. and if this person means this much to you, we need to talk to him. together.”

your brows knit. “he won’t listen to me. he already said—”

“he might not listen to you,” she interrupted softly, “but he’ll listen to me. trust me, sweetheart — he loves you more than anything. even if he’s going about it in the wrong way.”

you blinked at her, tears still heavy in your lashes. “so… you’re not mad?”

“i’m a little surprised,” she smiled gently. “but love isn’t something you get to schedule or control. and who you love? that’s not a mistake. it’s a truth.”

you wrapped your arms around her again, tighter this time. maybe for the first time in days, the tightness in your chest eased — not fully, but enough to breathe.

enough to hope.

⸻

it was past midnight when you woke, your throat dry and heart already beating too fast in your chest — not from a dream, but from that now-familiar ache that settled deep in your ribs.

you padded quietly down the hall, intending only to get a glass of water, but you paused on the landing.

light spilled from the kitchen, and voices floated up through the stillness. your mother’s, first — soft but unwavering. and then your father’s, lower, defensive.

you froze.

“she’s falling apart, alan,” your mom said, quiet but firm. “i can barely get her to eat, let alone smile.”

“she’s too young,” your dad replied, his voice tired. “too young to be involved in something like this. with someone like abby.”

“someone like abby?” your mom repeated, incredulous. “you mean someone who’s protected her, who’s watched over her day and night, who—”

“who’s supposed to be a professional,” he snapped. “someone we hired and trusted.”

there was a beat of silence.

you stayed perfectly still at the top of the stairs, heart thudding like a war drum.

your mother exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding it in all day. “and you think what they feel for each other somehow erases that trust? alan, have you even looked at her lately? our daughter?”

your dad didn’t respond right away. but you heard the scrape of a chair leg against the tile floor.

“i see her,” he said, but the words were low. “she’s quiet. she’s… not herself.”

“no, she’s not. because the person she loves won’t look at her anymore. and the people who are supposed to love her unconditionally made her feel like that love is wrong.”

“she’s eighteen, claire.”

“and you were nineteen when you proposed to me,” she said sharply, voice cutting through the kitchen like a crack of lightning. “were you too young to know what love was?”

another silence — thicker this time.

“this isn’t about whether or not it’s real,” he said after a moment. “it’s about boundaries. it’s about what’s appropriate.”

“and this is about what’s human,” your mother countered. “you keep painting abby as the problem because that’s easier than admitting we were blind to what was happening right in front of us.”

your father sighed — long, heavy, tired.

“she crossed a line—”

“she’s not the only one,” your mom interrupted, softer now. “we did too. by not seeing our daughter. by not listening to her. by forgetting that love doesn’t always wait until it’s convenient or clean or on a timeline that makes sense to us.”

her voice dropped lower, steadier, aching with truth.

“she’s not reckless, alan. you know that. she’s thoughtful. careful. she feels deeply. and this—” she paused. “this isn’t a crush. it’s not some impulsive teenage rebellion. this is someone who held her heart gently in the palm of her hand and didn’t let it fall.”

he didn’t say anything.

your mother pressed on.

“abby is good at her job. more than that, she’s been good for her. she makes her feel safe. she makes her laugh. she makes her feel seen.” her voice caught a little. “i don’t know about you, but i’d rather our daughter be loved by someone who treats her like she matters than be surrounded by people who pretend they know better.”

your dad’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “it’s not that simple.”

“no,” she said. “it’s not. but maybe it’s time we stop making it harder.”

there was a long pause. just the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of your pulse in your ears.

then — quietly:

“abby said she’d step back. she said she’d keep her distance, be strictly professional from now on.”

“and she has,” your mom confirmed. “but it’s killing both of them. you see it. i know you do.”

silence again.

“so what do you want me to do?” your dad finally asked, voice hoarse.

“i want you to talk to them. to give them a chance,” she said. “i want you to let go of the fear, and try trusting our daughter. trusting them. just… see them, alan. not the roles. not the age. just the people.”

you stood in the hallway, frozen. eyes wet. breath shallow.

because for the first time in weeks — you felt seen.

and maybe, just maybe…

hope flickered.

⸻

on sunday, the late morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting soft gold across the hardwood floors. you padded down the hallway, still in your pajama pants and a hoodie that hung too loose on your frame. your eyes were bleary, your body heavy — you hadn’t even fully registered your mom calling your name until she said it a second time.

you stepped into the living room and stopped short.

abby was already there.

she stood near the fireplace, posture rigid, hands clasped behind her back in a stance that was all soldier, no softness. but her eyes — they betrayed her. the second they landed on you, something flickered beneath them. something raw. something like longing.

your parents were seated across from her on the couch. your mom gave you a small, steady nod.

“sit, sweetheart,” she said gently.

your heartbeat doubled. what was this?

you moved slowly toward the armchair beside them, curling your knees up under you like a shield. abby remained standing — her jaw tense, her shoulders stiff. the distance between you felt unbearable.

your dad cleared his throat, folding his hands in front of him. “we’ve… talked,” he began. His voice was cautious, measured. “and we may have handled things poorly. especially me.”

your eyebrows drew together, mouth parting just slightly.

your mom reached over and laid a hand on your father’s arm, as if grounding him there. “we know this situation isn’t what we ever expected,” she said gently, “and it isn’t simple. but after a lot of conversation… and reflection… we’re trying to see it through your eyes.”

your father shifted forward, elbows on his knees. “i can’t pretend i’m thrilled,” he admitted, eyes steady on yours. “but what i can say is this — if abby can continue to do her job with the same level of professionalism and care, and if both of you are willing to be honest with us — no sneaking around, no hiding — then…”

he hesitated, letting the weight of his next words land before he said them.

“then we’re willing to allow this.”

you stared at them — stunned — and then your gaze snapped to abby. she was still standing, still frozen, but her eyes widened. hope bloomed slow and hesitant behind them.

“you’re… you’re serious?” your voice was barely above a whisper.

your mother nodded. “we are.”

“don’t make me regret it,” your dad added quietly, and though his tone was firm, there was no bite to it. “i’m trusting you. both of you.”

your throat tightened, the rush of emotion nearly too much. you looked back to abby, who finally — slowly — sank into the armchair beside you.

her eyes didn’t leave yours.

“i—” she paused, her voice quiet, low. “i never meant to… cross any lines. it just… happened. and once it did, i couldn’t imagine going back to pretending it didn’t.”

your mom glanced between the two of you, eyes soft. “it’s clear you care about each other. but just because we’re giving you space… doesn’t mean there won’t be expectations.”

“of course,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter. “we’ll be careful. we’ll be respectful.”

“and we’ll keep it professional in public,” abby added, her voice more certain now. “no boundaries crossed under your roof.”

your father gave a single nod. “that’s all we ask.”

a silence settled — but it wasn’t the kind you’d grown used to. it wasn’t heavy or suffocating. it felt… calm. tentative. like a door had finally cracked open, letting air into a room that had been locked shut for weeks.

you glanced at abby again, and this time, there was the ghost of a smile there. not full. not free. but there.

you knew it would take time.

but this?

this was the first real breath you’d taken in days.

⸻

even with the green light, things didn’t snap back into place.

there were no fireworks, no breathless reunions, no rushing back into each other’s arms. instead, it was like walking across thin ice — careful, slow, uncertain. and it wasn’t because the feelings were gone. they weren’t. if anything, they pulsed stronger beneath the surface. but that only made abby more cautious. more distant.

she still kept a careful distance, her touches rare, like they cost her something. even when the space was technically safe — your room, your home, quiet moments away from your parents — she held back.

like she didn’t quite believe it was real.

like she was still bracing to lose you.

that night, you sat on opposite ends of the couch. the TV flickered with a muted romcom you hadn’t really been watching. a blanket was draped over both your legs, a silent truce to the closeness you missed. but her body angled away slightly, her arm resting stiffly along the back of the couch. her fingers fidgeted every few seconds — with the edge of a cushion, with the hem of her hoodie, with the dog tag she wore tucked beneath her shirt.

you finally spoke, your voice gentle. “you okay?”

abby’s eyes flicked to you, then back to the TV. “yeah.”

you waited.

she sighed, shifting in her seat. “i just… don’t want to mess this up.”

you moved closer by a few inches — not enough to scare her off, but enough that she’d feel it. the warmth of your thigh just barely brushing hers under the blanket.

“abby,” you said softly. “you’re not going to.”

her jaw tensed, but she didn’t pull away.

“i think i already did,” she murmured after a moment, voice raw around the edges. “i should’ve fought harder. i should’ve said something sooner. instead i just—shut down. like a coward.”

“you weren’t a coward,” you said, eyes locked on her. “you were scared.”

“same thing, isn’t it?”

“no,” you whispered. “not when it comes to you. you’ve carried more than anyone ever should. it’s okay to protect yourself. but abby, you don’t have to protect yourself from me.”

she finally looked at you, really looked — her eyes tired and full and so full of love it nearly knocked the wind from your lungs.

“i just kept thinking,” she said slowly, “if i touch you, if i even look at you the wrong way… it’ll all go away. your dad will pull the plug. and i’ll lose you all over again.”

your heart cracked a little at the way her voice trembled on that last part.

you reached out, this time without hesitation, and took her hand in yours. her fingers were rough, familiar, trembling slightly as they threaded through yours.

“we already survived the worst of it,” you said, your thumb brushing across her knuckles. “we’ll figure out the rest.”

abby closed her eyes for a second, like she was holding those words close to her chest, letting them settle in all the hollow places she'd been guarding.

“you really think we can?” she asked, and her voice was so small, so unlike her usual steadiness, that it made your throat tighten.

you nodded. “i do.”

she didn’t answer right away, but she squeezed your hand — once, firm, like a silent promise.

you leaned your head onto her shoulder, careful and soft. and for the first time in weeks, she didn’t tense.

she let you rest there.

she let herself rest, too.

not all the way. not yet. but enough.

and in that quiet moment — no grand declarations, no sweeping gestures — you started to come back to each other.

inch by inch.

heartbeat by heartbeat.

⸻

slowly, abby began to come back to you.

it wasn’t sudden. it wasn’t loud. it was in the way her eyes lingered a little longer when you passed her in the hallway. in the way her hand would rest against your lower back just a beat longer than necessary when you walked through a door together. in the quiet, careful brush of her fingers down your arm when no one else was looking — not even your parents.

her smiles came back, too. hesitant at first, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be happy around you again. but they were real. they reached her eyes sometimes, crinkling at the corners when you said something stupid, or when you mumbled your way through a story about school, or when you made a joke just to get one — just one — soft laugh out of her.

it was slow, fragile progress. like the two of you were rebuilding something precious with your bare hands, stone by stone.

and then, one night — after dinner, after dishes, after your parents had gone upstairs — you were both in the living room. the TV buzzed softly with the tail end of some old movie neither of you were really watching. the light was low, warm and amber, wrapping the room in a sleepy glow.

you were curled up at one end of the couch with your knees to your chest, absently flipping through something on your phone. abby sat nearby, one arm draped along the back of the couch, head tilted like she was thinking too hard.

you glanced at her, then set your phone down.

“what’s going on in that big head of yours?”

she gave a faint smirk — just a twitch at the corner of her mouth — but didn’t look at you.

“nothing,” she said softly. Then, after a pause: “everything.”

you waited.

she took a breath, like it hurt a little to say it.

“i missed you,” she said, still not looking at you. “every day. every damn day. even when i was pretending not to.”

you felt your chest squeeze, throat thickening as your heart threatened to shatter again — this time from the sheer weight of how much you’d missed her, too.

“abby,” you whispered, moving closer.

she finally turned to face you, her expression bare, no walls, no armor. just her. and her eyes — god, her eyes — they looked so tired, but so open.

she leaned in, slowly, like she didn’t want to spook you, and pressed her forehead gently to yours.

you closed your eyes.

her voice was low, barely audible between you. “you have no idea how hard it was not to reach for you. every time you looked at me like… like you still loved me. i wanted to break.”

your fingers reached up to touch her jaw, the skin warm beneath your hand.

“i never stopped loving you,” you whispered. “not for a second.”

abby let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering shut.

and then — finally — you kissed her.

not like you had something to prove. not like it was the last time.

you kissed her like it was the first time. slow. soft. reverent.

like you were rediscovering the taste of her. like you were promising her, without a single word, that this — you — was still hers.

her hands found your waist, thumbs brushing under the hem of your shirt like they’d forgotten how to be bold, but not how to be gentle. you sighed into her mouth, your fingers threading through the short hair at the back of her neck.

when you pulled away, you stayed close, noses brushing.

“you still smell like sunscreen and salt,” you murmured.

she huffed a soft laugh. “you still drive me crazy.”

you smiled. “we’re even, then.”

and this time, when she kissed you again, it was with the certainty of someone who knew they were home.

[ruebossanova]

her watch: the series - part 8: don’t look away

bodyguard!abby x female!reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: SLOWBURN, smut, olderlabby x younger!reader, reader is spoiled & bratty but sweet, nyc rich socialite vibe (think gossip girl)

summary: after a warm spring break, the reader and abby return home to ny, where the reader’s father enforces strict boundaries, catching them in a tender moment and threatening to fire abby if things get personal. abby stays cold and professional, while the reader feels heartbroken and struggles with school. their connection is strained but not broken.

masterlist

————————————————————————————

the first thing you noticed was the cold. not just the actual weather — though the gray-skied chill of early spring in new york city was a brutal contrast to the sun-kissed warmth of the amalfi coast — but the way everything felt just a little dimmer. quieter. less alive.

you tugged your coat tighter around your body as you stepped out of the black car and stared up at the looming gates of your family’s mansion. the brick facade was the same, the manicured stoop spotless. nothing had changed… and yet, you had. you’d left a piece of yourself somewhere on the cliffs of italy, in the sheets tangled around abby’s body, in the sea breeze that carried her laugh across the boat deck.

abby stood silently beside you, duffel slung over her shoulder. back in uniform — plain black coat, holstered weapon, earbud in — like nothing had happened. like she hadn’t kissed you senseless against a sun-drenched villa window three nights ago. like her fingers hadn’t curled inside you while your breath hitched against her neck. like her arms hadn’t been the safest place you’d ever known.

you glanced sideways at her as she keyed in the security code. her jaw was set, her face unreadable.

“you okay?” you asked softly. her eyes flicked toward you. “yeah.”

just that. nothing more. not here, not yet.

the interior of the house was as pristine as ever — polished floors, gleaming light fixtures, the subtle scent of lemon cleaner lingering in the air. your father wouldn’t be home until the weekend, and the house staff had already stocked the kitchen and straightened your room. you felt… misplaced. as if you were stepping into someone else’s life.

school resumed the next morning. you wore the cardigan abby had draped over your shoulders on the plane and spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to catch her eye in the hallway as you left. nothing. her mask was firmly back on.

at school, your friends swarmed you with questions. your best friend clutched your wrist and leaned in, eyes wide. “okay, spill. was italy totally hot and romantic, or like, ‘dad-paid-for-this’ boring?” you smiled, brushing her off with a shrug. “a little of both.”

“ugh, you suck,” she groaned, looping her arm through yours. “you’re glowing, so i know you’re lying.”

you were. every memory of the trip was a hum beneath your skin — the feel of abby’s breath against your collarbone, the way she whispered your name like it hurt to say it, the taste of her laughter on your tongue. you texted her during lunch, sitting beneath a blooming cherry tree in the courtyard.

you: miss you already

you: you okay?

her reply came a few minutes later.

abby: all good. just settling back in. miss you too.

abby: be safe. stay focused.

it felt formal. too formal. but it was something.

the rest of the week passed in a haze. classes blurred together. the lectures on european history seemed laughably dull compared to living it. you drifted between subjects, your heart stuck somewhere between the amalfi cliffs and the cool detachment in abby’s voice when she dropped you off every morning.

thursday evening, she left for a four-day protection job in d.c. — some high-profile diplomat’s daughter. you watched her go with your arms wrapped around yourself, barely hiding the ache beneath your chest.

but she called you the second she landed. and again the next night. not long conversations — she wasn’t like that — but little check-ins. reminders that you still mattered.

on sunday, you lit a candle in your room, curled beneath your covers, and listened to her voice through your phone’s speaker.

“did you eat today?” she asked.

“barely. i missed you too much.”

her silence held for a second too long.

“me too,” she finally said, barely audible. “i’ll be home tomorrow.”

and just like that — you could breathe again.

⸻

monday came with a gray sky and a chill that made your teeth chatter as you waited by the front door, adjusting your uniform jacket and glancing out the window every few seconds. you weren’t sure why you were so anxious. abby had said she’d be back that morning. still, your stomach turned the longer the minutes stretched.

then the familiar black SUV pulled up.

you tried to play it cool, even as your heart leapt. the driver door opened first, and then there she was — abby, stepping out like no time had passed, like she hadn’t left you with only the sound of her voice to cling to for four days. she looked exhausted, but her eyes found you through the window instantly.

by the time she reached the front door, you were already opening it.

“hey,” you said, soft.

“hey.” her voice was gravel-warm, a little tired, a little fond.

you both stood there a beat too long before she finally nodded toward the sidewalk. “ready to go?”

you nodded and followed her to the car, resisting the urge to reach for her hand.

school was just school, but knowing she was waiting outside, even after all that had happened, made it bearable. and when the final bell rang, you sprinted down the steps like a girl possessed. you found her leaning against the car, arms crossed, face neutral — until she saw you.

“you ran,” she said, eyebrow raising just slightly.

“i walked very quickly,” you corrected, grinning.

“you’re lucky that’s cute.”

the ride home was quiet at first — soft music on the speakers, her hand gripping the wheel, your eyes watching the way the sunlight hit the scar on her jaw.

“i missed you,” you finally said.

abby glanced over, her lips twitching in something like a smile. “yeah. i missed you too.”

“you don’t have to be weird about it.”

“i’m not being weird—”

“you get all… ‘professional’ when you miss me.” abby sighed, drumming her fingers against the wheel at a red light. “i’m trying to be careful.”

“i know,” you said, leaning your head against the window. “but sometimes it feels like you’re pulling away.” there was a pause, thick and heavy. “i’m not,” she said, voice low. “i just… don’t know how to do this. not really.” you turned to look at her. “do what?”

“this.” she glanced your way briefly. “care about someone like this. not when i’m supposed to be… watching them. protecting them.” you smiled softly. “maybe that’s the part you’re doing right.”

her fingers brushed against yours on the console — just barely — and the moment passed in silence, but something between you had shifted again. just enough.

that week became a quiet, blooming thing. slow smiles exchanged over breakfast. late-night conversations in the hallway, leaning against opposite walls with your socks sliding on the floor. she was cautious, but less so. you could see it in the way her eyes softened when you laughed. in how she lingered after you’d walked past, like she wanted to say something but hadn’t figured out the words yet.

⸻

on thursday night, you convinced her to cook with you again. your father was still away, caught up in meetings in london, and the house felt blissfully like your own. you played music from your phone — a soft jazz playlist, the kind she liked even if she’d never admit it — and you made pasta side by side in the kitchen.

she chopped herbs while you stirred the sauce, shoulder brushing shoulder. occasionally, you leaned against her — not overtly, just enough to feel her warmth. she didn’t move away.

“you know,” you said, glancing up at her with a teasing smile, “you’re not a terrible cook.” abby smirked. “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“i’m in a generous mood.”

“oh, you’re generous now?”

“very.”

“prove it.”

you tilted your head. “how?”

abby’s hand slid gently to your waist, pulling you in just a little, her gaze dropping to your mouth before lifting again. “you’ll think of something.”

your breath caught. your heart did that fluttery thing again — the one it always did when she dropped the mask and looked at you like you were the only thing in the world.

you leaned closer. “abby…”

“yeah?”

before you could answer, before anything else could unfold, the front door slammed.

and just like that — everything shattered.

the sound of the front door slamming sent a jolt through your chest. it was too early. way too early. your dad wasn’t supposed to be home until sunday — it was only thursday night.

abby’s hand froze on your waist.

you both turned slowly, like in a dream where your body won’t move fast enough. the soft jazz playing from your phone suddenly felt too loud. the warm kitchen lights too bright.

“what the hell is going on here?”

your father’s voice cracked through the air like a whip.

he stood in the doorway to the kitchen, suitcase at his feet, still wearing his coat. his expression was thunderous — red in the face, jaw clenched, eyes bouncing between you and abby like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

his eyes landed on abby’s hand, still lightly resting on your waist.

she dropped it instantly, stepping back like she’d been burned.

“dad—”

“don’t,” he snapped, voice rising. “don’t you dare try to explain.”

you instinctively moved in front of her. “it’s not what you think.”

he laughed bitterly. “really? because it looks like the woman i hired to protect you has her hands all over my daughter in my kitchen.”

abby said nothing. she stood rigid, every muscle in her body coiled tight. eyes unreadable. jaw locked. it was her bodyguard face. the one she wore when she was preparing for damage control.

“sir,” she said finally, voice clipped. “i understand how this looks—”

“do you?” he barked. “because i trusted you. i let you live in my home. i paid you a very good salary to make sure she was safe, and you’ve been sneaking around behind my back?”

you stepped forward. “stop yelling at her!”

“you don’t get to defend her right now,” he snapped, turning on you. “you’re eighteen. you haven’t even graduated. do you have any idea how this looks? to the world? to my business?”

“i don’t care what the world thinks—”

“well i do,” he growled. “and so should you. because it’s not just your life this affects.”

abby still hadn’t moved. her hands were clasped tightly behind her back now, her expression unreadable — but you knew her well enough to see the storm raging beneath her skin.

“you’re fired,” your dad said finally, eyes locked on her. “or you will be, if i see one more sign that you’ve crossed a line. from this moment on, you are strictly her security. nothing else. no touching. no private conversations. no kitchen dinners. i want this professional.”

abby’s mouth opened, then closed again. she gave a sharp nod, her voice low and hoarse. “understood.”

“good,” he snapped. “because if not, i’ll make sure you never work private security again.” you felt like your lungs were collapsing. your voice came out cracked and small. “dad, please—”

“no. this is done.” he walked out of the kitchen without another word, the heavy thud of his suitcase wheels dragging down the hall.

the silence left behind was deafening.

you turned to abby. she was already moving — back stiff, jaw locked, her eyes hard and blank in that terrifyingly calm way she got when she was shutting herself down.

“abby…” your voice trembled.

she didn’t look at you. “you should get some sleep. it’s a school night.”

“don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“act like this didn’t happen. like we didn’t happen.”

that made her pause. her eyes flicked up, just barely meeting yours — and for a split second, you saw the heartbreak behind them. the ache.

but it was gone just as quickly.

“he’s right,” she said softly. “i shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

“you didn’t let anything—”

“goodnight, kid.”

and with that, she turned and walked out, leaving you standing alone in the kitchen, blinking back tears in the too-bright light, the pasta boiling over on the stove, the silence pressing down on your chest like a weight you didn’t know how to carry.

you never even got to taste the dinner.

the villa in amalfi had felt like a dream. new york felt like punishment.

⸻

you sat in the backseat of the black suv on the way to school, your face turned toward the window as familiar city blocks passed in a blur. abby was driving, like always. but now her hands stayed at ten and two, her posture unnervingly perfect, her sunglasses a barrier you couldn’t get past.

not a word had been spoken since you got in the car.

you fiddled with the hem of your uniform skirt, fingers twitching for something to hold. to reach for her hand like you used to — like yesterday. but now there was an invisible wall between you, built overnight, brick by painful brick.

“you should eat something,” she said finally. her voice was neutral. clipped. nothing like the soft, teasing warmth you’d grown used to. “you didn’t touch breakfast.”

“wasn’t hungry,” you muttered, eyes still on the window.

she didn’t press. didn’t ask. didn’t look.

at school, she parked the car and got out like she always did, walking you to the front entrance, a half-step behind like a shadow. it was her job, after all.

“i’ll be here at three,” she said. no goodbye. no smile. just that cold, professional tone you hadn’t heard in weeks.

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you turned and walked inside.

the day dragged.

you couldn’t focus in class. words on the page blurred. numbers didn’t compute. when your english teacher called on you to answer a question about the final exam prep, your mouth opened but nothing came out. she stared for a moment before nodding gently and moving on.

people around you moved normally — laughing, chatting, gossiping about prom — but it all felt far away, like you were watching life through a thick pane of glass.

every time your phone buzzed, your heart leapt, hoping. but it was never her.

by the time the bell rang, you felt like your skin didn’t fit right.

abby was waiting at the curb, standing outside the car this time, arms folded. she opened the door without a word. you slid into the passenger seat, chest tight.

the drive was quiet again, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional blinker click. your school folder lay in your lap, untouched.

“you okay?” she asked eventually. the words were polite, like asking a stranger if they needed directions. not like her.

you looked over. her jaw was clenched. eyes still forward.

“not really,” you whispered.

she didn’t answer.

when you got home, she followed you inside but kept her distance, posting up near the hallway instead of joining you in the kitchen or living room like she used to.

that night, your dad was already home, buried in work in his office. you didn’t speak. you didn’t eat. your homework sat in a heap on your bed while you lay beside it, face pressed to your pillow, listening to the silence through the walls.

and the silence had weight now — sharp edges, thick with what couldn’t be said.

⸻

the rest of the week bled together.

abby did her job perfectly. she escorted you to and from school, stood just close enough at social events, gave occasional reminders like a well-oiled machine.

but she never touched you again.

not your hand. not your arm. not even a brush of her fingers when she passed you a drink.

and every time she called you “kid” in that cool, detached tone, it cut deeper than the last.

the worst part was — she didn’t look angry. or heartbroken. or like she missed you at all.

just… blank.

you didn’t cry in front of her. but your grades were slipping. you blanked on two quizzes. your math teacher pulled you aside and gently asked if everything was okay.

you smiled and nodded like you weren’t unraveling.

but the ache was constant — like a phantom limb. like losing something that had become part of you.

you didn’t know how to mourn someone who still stood right next to you.

⸻

friday morning started gray.

not the soft, romantic kind of gray that came with lazy rain and cozy blankets. this was the heavy, fluorescent kind — thick clouds pressing down on the city, everything outside the window flat and colorless.

you stared at your phone, thumb hovering over the mail app.

you already knew what today was. your college decisions were out. top three schools. the ones your entire high school career had pointed toward. the ones your dad reminded you about every dinner. the ones you stayed up late studying for. the ones you and abby had talked about, once — in the middle of the night on the amalfi terrace, her arms around you, her voice soft with encouragement.

your stomach twisted.

you opened the app.

congratulations.

it was yale.

you blinked.

upenn. accepted.

princeton. waitlisted — but that didn’t even register, not when the other two were blinking up at you like bright little banners of success.

you sat on the edge of your bed in silence. the screen glowed in your hand. your heart thudded quietly in your chest. this was supposed to feel like a triumph.

instead, it felt like shouting into an empty room.

your fingers tapped out a text without thinking.

you’ll never guess

i got in. yale and harvard.

wish you were here to celebrate with me.

you stared at the message.

and then you did something you hadn’t done all week.

you didn’t send it.

⸻

the kitchen smelled like espresso and lemon zest. abby was by the stove, brewing her usual cup — black, strong, no sugar — her back to you.

you hovered by the doorway, clutching your phone so tight your knuckles ached.

“abby,” you said, and your voice cracked slightly. she turned, expression unreadable.

“what’s up?” she asked, tone even.

you hesitated. “i got in.”

her brows lifted faintly. “got in where?”

you swallowed. “yale. and upenn.”

a beat of silence.

then: “that’s… that’s incredible. congratulations.” her voice was calm. too calm.

you watched her. waited. hoped for something else — a flicker of pride, the old gleam in her eye, a smile that reached her dimples. something.

instead, she nodded and turned back to her coffee.

you laughed softly. it wasn’t a happy sound. more like something fractured and hollow.

“that’s it?”

she didn’t look back. “i’m happy for you.”

“are you?” the question slipped out before you could stop it. sharper than you meant it to be.

she turned slowly then, coffee mug cradled in both hands. “you want me to say more, but i can’t. you know why.”

“i know my dad scared you.” your voice dropped, low and tight. “i know he said it was just a job now. but you don’t have to pretend you don’t care.”

her mouth pressed into a thin line. “i’m not pretending.”

you stared at her, chest rising with each ragged breath. “bullshit.”

silence.

then she said it — the words you weren’t ready for.

“if i let myself go there again,” she said, voice quiet but firm, “i won’t be able to stop.”

your heart stopped.

she shook her head slightly. “and i can’t do that, not when your father’s watching. not when you’ve got so much ahead of you. schools like that—” she nodded toward your phone, “—a future that doesn’t need me ruining it.”

“you’re not ruining anything,” you whispered, barely audible.

“aren’t i?” her voice cracked for just a second, before she pulled the walls up again. “go celebrate. tell your dad. tell your friends. this is huge.”

you nodded numbly.

but you didn’t move.

because deep down, you didn’t want to celebrate with them.

you only wanted her.

the days that followed blurred into one another.

⸻

you went to school. you studied. you came home. abby was there — of course she was — but the space between you had grown impossibly wide. her presence, once your comfort, now felt like a reminder of everything you couldn’t touch. couldn’t say. couldn’t have.

it wasn’t that she was rude or cold. no. she was just… efficient. professional. like a switch had flipped and the woman who had once pressed desperate kisses to your neck in the golden amalfi sunlight had packed herself away behind a perfectly built wall.

she stood by the door each morning, gave a brief nod when you left for school. didn’t walk you in anymore. didn’t text at lunch. didn’t linger in the kitchen when you got home, didn’t ask how your day went, didn’t sit on your bed while you ranted about that one girl in calculus who wouldn’t stop asking if you were okay.

you weren’t.

and abby knew it.

but she didn’t say anything. and neither did you.

⸻

on tuesday, your chemistry exam sat heavy in front of you. the words blurred on the page, numbers swimming in front of your eyes. you knew this. you’d studied for it. back when your head wasn’t full of static and your heart didn’t feel like it was splintering from the inside out.

you stared at the last question for five full minutes.

your pencil didn’t move.

when the bell rang, you handed in the half-finished exam and walked straight to the bathroom. you locked yourself in a stall and pressed your back to the cold wall, throat tight, chest burning.

you didn’t cry.

but you wanted to.

⸻

that night, abby waited at the kitchen counter, arms crossed, eyes flicking up when you walked in. her stance was casual, but her jaw was tight — like she was holding herself in check.

“your school called,” she said. “missed two assignments. low score on that exam.”

you didn’t answer. just dropped your bag on the floor and went to the fridge.

“hey.” her voice softened. “are you okay?”

the question cracked something open.

“no,” you snapped, slamming the fridge door. “i’m not.”

she didn’t flinch. just nodded, slow and patient.

you turned to her, lip trembling. “i don’t know how to be okay when you’re pretending none of this happened.”

her eyes darkened, voice low. “i’m not pretending. i’m surviving.”

“well, i’m not.”

the silence that followed stretched long and cruel.

then abby looked away. “your dad’s home this weekend.

you scoffed. “of course he is.”

“he asked to talk.”

you didn’t need to ask about what.

⸻

you climbed the stairs that night with your shoulders slumped, your chest aching with every breath. when you reached your room, you hesitated. your fingers hovered over the doorknob.

and then — because you couldn’t help it — you turned and glanced down the hallway toward abby’s room.

the door was shut.

you stood there for a long time, hoping maybe it would open.

it didn’t.

the house felt colder once your dad got home.

not in temperature, but in tone — like someone had cracked open a window during a snowstorm and left it that way, letting all the warmth seep out.

he arrived late friday night, briefcase in one hand, phone pressed to his ear, already barking instructions to someone from the office. you didn’t even bother coming downstairs to greet him. instead, you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, heart hollowed out, waiting to hear the front door click shut.

it didn’t.

it stayed open.

and for the rest of the weekend, so did his mouth — questions, demands, passive-aggressive comments about “structure” and “boundaries” thrown around the house like confetti.

abby, of course, went into full bodyguard mode. clipped responses. military precision. she barely looked at you. and you couldn’t blame her — not with the way your dad watched her like a hawk, his jaw tense every time she so much as breathed near you.

⸻

on sunday morning, you caught her in the hallway, standing outside his office door.

“you okay?” you asked, quietly.

she didn’t answer. her lips just parted, then closed again. a muscle ticked in her jaw.

you reached for her hand without thinking.

she flinched.

it was subtle. barely there. but enough.

you let your hand drop.

she didn’t meet your eyes when she walked away.

⸻

by monday, the strain was unbearable. your dad worked from his home office all day, making his presence felt with every slammed door, every heavy sigh. you were in the kitchen prepping dinner when he finally walked in, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up.

“i see you’re making yourself useful,” he said flatly.

you didn’t answer. not worth it.

he moved past you, pulling open the fridge, then turned. “how’s school?”

“fine.”

“‘fine’ doesn’t match your grades.”

you stiffened. “i’m dealing with a lot.”

his eyes narrowed. “so i’ve heard.”

he didn’t say abby’s name. he didn’t have to.

the room filled with something sour and sharp.

he closed the fridge. “just remember: she works for me. this isn’t a game.”

you didn’t reply. just turned your back and kept slicing the vegetables.

you didn’t hear abby come in — only felt it, the air changing behind you.

your dad noticed too. he turned to her, his expression unreadable.

“anderson,” he said.

“sir.”

his gaze lingered on her for a moment too long. “we’ll talk later.”

abby didn’t flinch. “yes, sir.”

he left the kitchen, footsteps echoing up the stairs.

for a moment, the silence was unbearable.

then abby stepped beside you, careful not to touch. “need help with the chicken?”

you swallowed. nodded once.

she moved beside you, not too close, but not far either. she reached for the garlic and began peeling it with practiced hands.

you didn’t speak.

but it was the first time in days you’d stood that close without the weight of the world between you.

you glanced at her once — just a flicker of a look — and caught her already watching you.

she smiled.

small. tired. but real.

you smiled back, just a little.

and for a second, the air between you almost felt warm again.

the days blurred into a heavy fog of textbooks and restless nights.

you found it harder to focus on school, every word on the page slipping past your mind like water through fingers. the exams loomed closer, a storm on the horizon, but your thoughts kept drifting back to abby — or rather, to the distance between you now.

you tried to text her after class one tuesday.

hey. how was your day?

the reply came an hour later.

busy. you?

cold. clipped.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, staring at the screen. how had everything become so formal? so… distant?

at dinner that night, your dad hovered at the edge of the room, the ghost of his earlier outburst still thick in the air. abby sat across from you, poised and professional, but her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t read.

“you’re not sleeping enough,” she said quietly, passing you a glass of water.

you shrugged, forcing a smile. “just stressed. exams coming up.”

abby’s gaze softened, but she kept her tone firm. “you need to rest. you’re not invincible.”

the unspoken tension between you felt like a wall rising higher each day — thick, cold, impenetrable.

⸻

one evening, as you studied in your room, your phone buzzed with a message from abby.

can we talk?

your heart jolted. finally.

you rushed downstairs to find her waiting in the living room, arms crossed, eyes wary.

“i’m sorry,” she began, voice low. “for… everything.”

you swallowed, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. “me too.”

there was a long pause, filled with everything you both wanted to say but couldn’t.

finally, she sat beside you, close but not touching.

“i don’t want to lose what we have,” she admitted, voice cracking. “but your dad’s rules… they’re suffocating us.”

you nodded, relief and pain mixing in your chest. “i don’t know how to fix it.”

abby looked at you, determination flickering behind her guarded exterior. “we’ll figure it out. together.”

you wanted to believe her. you needed to.

but deep down, the doubt gnawed — how do you build something real on broken ground?

⸻

the next morning, you opened your email to find another letter.

this one was different.

a scholarship offer from one of your top choices: brown — generous, prestigious, life-changing.

but as you read it, your smile faltered.

what good was success if you had to leave behind the one person who made you feel alive?

you sank back into your chair, the weight of the future pressing down hard.

some days, it felt like you were fighting for everything.

and other days — like you were losing it all.

[ruebossanova]

professor o'connell: the mini series - 1

college prof!billie x student!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: older!billie x younger!reader, slowslowslow burn, eventual smut, college life, hella tension

summary: you never expected your literature professor to be young, sharp-tongued, and devastatingly captivating - but professor eilish is all that and more. between tense lectures, stolen glances, and secrets that linger after class, you find yourself tangled in a dangerous game of curiosity and control. how long can you keep it professional when the air between you burns with something more?

————————————————————————————

the hallway smelled like coffee and printer ink. lockers lined the walls even though no one really used them, and the sound of someone's sneakers squeaking across the linoleum echoed faintly. it was too early for anything to feel real, and liora was still half-dreaming when she pushed open the classroom door.

the light was soft inside, filtered through high windows that caught the morning haze. students filled the back rows first—classic. liora drifted somewhere near the middle, dropped her canvas bag beside the chair, and sank into the seat like she'd been holding her breath all morning.

she barely glanced at the front of the room at first, too busy unzipping her hoodie and smoothing out her notebook. then a voice—low, even, and almost too smooth—cut through the sleepy chatter.

"morning, everyone."

liora looked up.

and froze.

the woman at the front of the class wasn't what she expected. not even close.

tall, loose-fitted shirt hanging just right, her dark hair pulled back under a knit beanie like she hadn't tried at all and still managed to look—cool. cool in a way that made your chest tighten. her eyes, pale and unreadable, swept the room with a kind of calm confidence that didn't ask for attention but got it anyway.

professor o'connell.

liora didn't breathe until billie looked away.

billie set her laptop down on the desk and clicked something open on the screen. the soft tap of keys echoed, then stopped. she glanced up.

"so," she said, voice light but clear, "i'm professor o'connell. billie's fine, too, if that's more comfortable. i teach this course in creative composition and lyrical analysis—basically, it's english lit, but with more music and fewer essays you'll want to set on fire."

a few people chuckled, sleep still hanging off their voices. liora's stomach twisted. she didn't laugh, but her mouth tugged at the corner like it wanted to.

billie's eyes drifted back to the roster on her screen.

"let me just get a sense of who's here," she murmured, then started reading names.

"elliot abram?"

"here."

"cassidy baines?"

"present."

"liora... rai?"

"i'm here"

billie nodded slowly, her gaze lingering just a moment too long. "beautiful name," she said, like it meant something. "thank you."

liora stared down at her notebook. the top of the page blurred slightly before she forced herself to breathe again.

billie continued reading names, but the heat in liora's cheeks didn't go away. her full name never rolled off anyone's tongue like that—never without hesitation, never with intention.

when roll was done, billie leaned against the desk, her arms folded. "okay. i don't like icebreakers. they're awkward and fake and you all secretly hate them."

a few students laughed—this time, liora included.

"but i do want to know who you are. not in the cheesy way. in the why-are-you-here way."

she pushed her hair behind one ear and nodded toward the board.

"your first assignment's simple. it's not graded. i just want you to write a page about this question—what does music say that words can't?"

the room quieted.

billie continued, soft and serious now. "i don't care if you've never written anything in your life. this isn't about being good. it's about being honest."

someone raised their hand in the back. "can we write lyrics?"

"you can write in blood, for all i care," billie said, and a few students laughed again. "just don't be boring. if you're boring, i'll know."

her eyes flicked back to liora—quick, but unmistakable.

liora swallowed.

the lecture started slow.

not boring, just... soft. like billie was setting a mood more than teaching. she talked about metaphor, about musical phrasing as narrative structure, about the way a repeated lyric could punch harder than a paragraph. her voice never rushed, never cracked. she didn't fidget, didn't pace. she just leaned her hip against the desk, fingers tracing the edge of her water bottle like she was thinking out loud to a room full of ghosts.

liora watched her the way someone might watch a fire—entranced without realizing it.

she was used to professors being either stiff or overcompensating. too many tried too hard to prove they had authority. billie didn't do that. she just was. and it did something to the room. made everyone quieter. made the air feel heavier.

"there's something music can do," billie said, tapping the board with a dry erase marker, "that essays can't. it cuts through memory. not around it. through it. the right song doesn't remind you of a moment—it puts you in it. like time travel, but with better lighting."

liora didn't write that down, but she knew she'd remember it anyway.

the girl next to her had started doodling in the margins of her notebook. someone behind her was chewing gum too loudly. the boy by the window kept checking his phone. but liora didn't move. her pencil rested against the page, unmoving.

billie walked to the board and wrote:

"when language fails, music answers."

the chalk squeaked slightly. her handwriting was slanted, imperfect. under the lights, the ink on her exposed wrist caught liora's eye—lyrics tattooed in a fine line script she couldn't read from this far away.

"that's the quote we'll work from next week," billie said. "write it down. argue with it. prove it wrong if you want. just don't ignore it."

liora lowered her gaze. her fingers gripped the pencil. write it down, billie said. like it was just another sentence. like it didn't already live inside her ribs.

billie glanced toward the back row where a group of boys had started whispering. one of them smirked and said something too low for liora to hear, but she caught enough—something about billie's age, the word hot, the phrase bet she's not even a real professor.

billie didn't flinch. she let the silence stretch. then she walked slowly back to her desk, closed her laptop, and looked out across the room.

"if anyone's confused about whether i belong here," she said evenly, "you're welcome to drop this class. i promise your refund window is still open."

quiet.

no one moved.

liora felt something tighten in her chest. not pity. not admiration, either. something in between. like respect, but more personal. she hated the way billie had to defend herself for being young. for being her.

billie's gaze swept the room again, slower this time.

when it landed on liora, it didn't move away.

chairs scraped against tile as the clock hit the hour. papers rustled, bags zipped. the usual chaos of everyone rushing to leave—except for liora.

she moved slower. not on purpose, but something in her refused to follow the current. she tucked her notebook carefully into her bag, slung it over one shoulder, then pretended to fumble with the zipper a second longer than necessary.

billie was still at her desk, sliding her laptop into a worn leather sleeve, fingers moving with practiced ease. her head was tilted slightly, earbuds resting around her neck, a lazy kind of calm on her face that made it impossible to look away.

most of the room had cleared when billie glanced up—and caught her.

"you good?"

liora blinked. "oh—yeah. i just..." she hesitated, then stepped forward. "i had a question. about the assignment."

billie nodded once and leaned her elbow on the desk, fully facing her. "shoot."

liora hated how loud her heart sounded. she tried to ignore it.

"when you said we could write in any form... did you mean, like, lyrics? or poetry? or just... freewriting?"

"any form," billie said. "i meant it."

her voice was gentler now. less classroom, more personal. and now that they were this close—no rows of desks, no audience—liora could see the pale freckles scattered across her cheeks, the faint smudge of eyeliner just barely under her lashes. her eyes weren't just blue. they were gray, soft and stormy, with something behind them liora couldn't name.

"so if it's a poem that doesn't really make sense," liora said slowly, "that's still okay?"

billie tilted her head. "does it make you feel something?"

liora nodded before she could stop herself. "yeah."

"then it makes sense."

the words settled between them like warmth. not cheesy, not condescending—just simple. true.

liora looked down, letting her fingers curl around the strap of her bag.

"what do you usually write?" billie asked.

liora hesitated, then answered honestly. "stuff i never show anyone."

billie smiled—just barely. "those are usually the best kind."

she stepped around the desk then, close enough that liora caught the faint scent of something warm and clean—like sandalwood and fresh laundry. she reached for a printed syllabus on the edge of the table and handed it to her.

their fingers touched. just for a second. but it was enough to send a pulse through liora's spine.

"just in case you didn't grab one," billie said, casual again, but her voice had dipped lower. "i keep forgetting people actually read these."

liora took it with both hands, as if it were heavier than paper.

"thanks," she murmured.

billie gave a nod, slow and deliberate. "see you thursday, rai."

the way she said her name made liora's stomach flip. it wasn't just the pronunciation. it was the intention. like she wanted to say it again. like she liked saying it.

liora turned and walked out, heart pounding behind her ribs like it was trying to outrun her.

[ruebossanova]

my NEW mini series miss eilish is out in a few hours! i hope u guys love it as much as i do 😊😊! don’t worry her watch will still be continuing ;)

[ruebossanova]

her watch: the series - part 7: closer than close

bodyguard!abby x female!reader

word count: 4.0k

warnings: SLOWBURN, smuttttt af, olderlabby x younger!reader, reader is spoiled & bratty but sweet, nyc rich socialite vibe (think gossip girl)

summary: reader and abby escape to the stunning amalfi coast for spring break, their days filled with sun-soaked adventures, quiet moments, and growing closeness. a hesitant kiss on monday sparks new feelings, culminating in a raw, intimate breakthrough midweek where abby lets down her guard completely. the rest of the trip deepens their bond with playful days, vulnerable conversations, and tender nights. returning home, their connection is stronger than ever—setting the stage for a new chapter in their relationship.

masterlist

————————————————————————————

the night stretched out around you, full of possibility and quiet promises. you both knew that when you woke tomorrow, the countdown would really begin.

spring break was finally here — and with it, a chance to explore not just new places, but whatever this was between you.

the city outside had settled into a quiet hum by the time you finally climbed into bed. the soft glow of the bedside lamp cast warm pools of light across the room, turning everything a gentle amber.

abby was already there, sitting cross-legged against the headboard, her expression unreadable but calm. the day’s energy had faded, leaving something softer in its place — a quiet closeness that felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

you lay back against the pillows, watching her for a moment — the way her hair fell in loose waves around her face, the steady rhythm of her breathing.

“i’m glad you’re coming,” you said quietly.

her eyes met yours, a flicker of something vulnerable hidden beneath her usual steel. “wouldn’t miss it.”

the reality of the trip — the escape from routine, the unknowns of new places — felt less daunting with her there. a shield and a companion all in one.

you reached out, fingers brushing lightly over her hand. she didn’t pull away. instead, her hand closed gently over yours, grounding you.

“you ready?” she asked, voice low.

you smiled, heart skipping. “as ready as i’ll ever be.”

there was a pause — heavy and full. the kind of silence that crackled with unspoken words and feelings.

slowly, you shifted closer, your body finding the warmth of hers beneath the covers. abby’s breath hitched for a moment but she didn’t move away.

your fingers traced the line of her jaw, memorizing the sharp angles and soft skin. she leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed.

you felt a hunger — for closeness, for connection, for everything simmering just beneath the surface. your lips hovered near her ear, your breath warm.

“this trip,” you whispered, “it’s more than just a break, isn’t it?”

abby’s eyes snapped open, intense and searching. “yeah. it is.”

and in that moment, the air between you thickened — charged with possibility.

but just as your lips were about to meet hers, she pulled back slightly, a shadow of hesitation flickering across her face.

“not tonight,” she murmured, voice rough.

you nodded, heart pounding but understanding.

“but soon,” she promised.

you settled back against the pillows, her hand still holding yours tight.

the night stretched on, filled with soft touches and quiet breaths — a promise hanging in the air that whatever came next, it was just beginning.

and as sleep finally claimed you both, the anticipation of the days ahead wrapped around you like a warm, thrilling secret.

⸻

the plane’s wheels kissed the tarmac of naples airport with a gentle thud, a soft reminder that the adventure you’d been dreaming about for months had finally arrived. the air inside the cabin was thick with anticipation; you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you peered out the window, watching the italian landscape unfold in sweeping greens and sun-dappled hills.

abby was calm beside you, her posture relaxed but alert — eyes flicking over the crowd, scanning, always watching. still, there was something softer about her today. a quiet ease you hadn’t seen before. she caught your gaze for a brief moment, offering a small smile that warmed you from the inside out.

you stepped off the plane together, the mediterranean sun hitting your skin with a golden warmth. the scent of salt and blooming jasmine wrapped around you, promising something magical. from naples, you climbed into a sleek black car for the drive along the amalfi coast — winding roads hugged the cliffs, revealing breathtaking views of the turquoise sea stretching endlessly.

you pressed your forehead against the window, mesmerized by pastel villages clinging to the rocky shores, lemon groves dotting the hillsides, and fishing boats bobbing lazily in the harbor. abby stayed close, her arm occasionally brushing yours, grounding you in the moment. every so often, she’d glance out too, but her mind was clearly tuned to something deeper — to you.

when you arrived at the villa, perched precariously on the edge of a cliff, your breath caught. whitewashed walls framed by vibrant bougainvillea, and the endless sea glittering below like spilled sapphires. the terrace was a perfect sanctuary, with wrought-iron furniture and flowering pots spilling over with scent. the soft hum of cicadas filled the air, mingling with the distant lapping of waves.

as the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of peach and lavender, you found yourselves on the terrace, wine glasses in hand. the rich, velvety red was the perfect companion to the warm breeze and the intimate silence stretching between you.

“not quite what you expected?” you teased, your voice light but your eyes locked on abby’s.

she let out a soft chuckle, a sound so rare it felt like a secret shared just between you two. “it’s… better.”

there was a flicker of something vulnerable in her gaze, a tiny crack in the armor she usually wore so tightly. you wanted to reach out, to touch it, but you held back, letting the moment breathe.

“we should explore tomorrow,” you said, voice low, full of promise. “i want to see every corner of this place.”

abby nodded, her eyes glinting with something unreadable — anticipation, maybe? or something more.

the night settled around you like a velvet cloak, stars piercing the darkening sky. the air smelled of citrus and salt, and you could almost taste the possibility lingering in the breeze.

there, sitting side by side with the world at your feet, you realized something fundamental had shifted — whatever this was between you and abby, it was no longer just protection or duty. it was something quiet, dangerous, and beautifully true.

and you were ready to see where it might lead.

the morning sun spilled through the villa’s wide windows, bathing the room in soft gold. you woke to the faint scent of salt air mixed with fresh lemons from the groves just beyond the garden wall. abby was already up, standing at the terrace railing, eyes fixed on the horizon where the sea kissed the sky in endless blue.

you slipped out of bed quietly and joined her, the cool marble floor beneath your bare feet grounding you as the mediterranean breeze played with your hair.

“ready?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

abby turned, her usual serious expression softened by a rare, genuine smile. “let’s go.”

the day was yours to claim.

you wandered through the vibrant streets of positano, the town’s stacked pastel buildings tumbling down the cliffs like a cascade of candy colors. the cobblestone alleys buzzed with life — locals calling out greetings, artists displaying their work, the scent of fresh basil and baked bread swirling in the air.

abby stayed close, but not overly so — a protective shadow at your side rather than a wall. she watched the crowds with sharp eyes, but occasionally caught your glance and let her guard slip with a quick smile.

you ducked into tiny shops, trying on flowy dresses and delicate scarves, laughing when abby teased you about your obvious excitement. her hand brushed yours a few times, light and fleeting, but enough to make your pulse spike.

at a quaint café tucked between lemon trees, you shared a plate of bruschetta, the fresh tomatoes bursting with flavor, and sipped on rich espresso that bit pleasantly at your tongue.

“you’ve been quiet,” you finally said, nudging abby gently.

she hesitated, then shrugged, “just taking it all in.”

the afternoon stretched out lazily until you found a secluded beach — a small crescent of sand hidden by cliffs, the kind of place that felt like a secret kept just for you.

you kicked off your sandals, letting the cool water lap at your toes while abby stood a few feet away, watching the waves. the sun warmed your skin, and for a moment, the tension that always thrummed between you softened.

you stepped closer, the breeze carrying the faint scent of her shampoo mingled with the sea.

“thank you for coming with me,” you said, voice low.

abby met your eyes, something unreadable flickering there. she took a slow breath and then leaned in.

the kiss was tentative — soft lips barely brushing, testing, learning. your heart hammered, skin tingling where her hands rested lightly on your waist. time seemed to stretch, the world narrowing to just the two of you, the sound of waves a quiet drum in the background.

when you pulled away, her eyes searched yours, vulnerability raw and beautiful.

“we shouldn’t…” she murmured, but her breath hitched, betraying her words.

you smiled, fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “we don’t have to.”

hand in hand, you walked back to the villa, the weight of the moment settling comfortably between you.

the evening awaited, full of possibility.

⸻

the morning dawned soft and quiet, sunlight filtering through the linen curtains in a gentle glow. you woke to the sound of the sea rolling against the rocks below, a calming rhythm that made your chest feel strangely light.

abby was already awake, sitting on the terrace with her phone in hand, a small smile tugging at her lips as she read your text from early that morning — a playful little message that made her eyes flicker with warmth.

you slipped out of bed and joined her, your feet warm on the cool stone floor. the air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and salt, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

“morning,” you whispered.

abby looked up, surprise quickly melting into something softer. “morning.”

your fingers brushed hers, tentative but full of meaning, and she didn’t pull away.

the day stretched ahead, lazy and slow. you spent hours by the villa’s pool, the sun casting glittering patterns on the water’s surface. abby lounged beside you, her usual guard softened, replaced by gentle touches — a hand grazing your arm, a finger tracing circles on your palm.

words came easier today. abby shared bits of her past, stories you’d never heard before, the walls she kept so tightly around herself beginning to crack. you listened, your heart opening with each quiet confession, feeling honored by the trust she placed in you.

as afternoon melted into evening, you cooked dinner together — fresh pasta tossed with ripe tomatoes, basil picked from the garden, and olive oil so fragrant it seemed to sing of the land it came from. laughter bubbled up between you, light and easy, the kind that made your chest ache with happiness.

when night fell, you settled side by side on the terrace, the stars wheeling overhead in their endless dance. abby surprised you by letting you brush her hair, your fingers threading through the silky strands as she closed her eyes, a peacefulness washing over her usually tense frame.

you fell asleep like that — close, tangled in warmth and new trust, hearts beating in a quiet, steady rhythm that promised something deep was blooming between you.

⸻

the morning light filtered softly through the sheer curtains, casting pale gold patterns across the rumpled sheets. the air was thick, heavy with a quiet anticipation that wrapped around you both like a secret. your heart hammered in your chest, nerves fluttering beneath the skin, mingling with a raw, pulsing desire that had been building for days — weeks, maybe.

abby lay beside you, her breath slow and steady, the rise and fall of her chest mesmerizing in its calm. when her eyes fluttered open and caught yours, there was a flicker there — something vulnerable, almost fragile, but laced with fierce intensity. you could see the war behind her gaze, the part she rarely let anyone touch. and now, it was all for you.

your fingers trembled just slightly as you reached out, your hand hovering for a moment before settling gently over hers. her skin was warm, the roughness of callouses on her palms grounding you, reminding you she was real, here, present. you intertwined your fingers slowly, the silence between you thick but comfortable.

“i’m scared,” she whispered, voice low and rough, the admission so raw it made your chest ache.

“me too,” you breathed back, voice barely above a sigh. “but i want this. i want you.”

her lips parted in a ghost of a smile, and she pulled you closer until your bodies brushed, the heat radiating between you a quiet promise. then, with a trembling boldness that took your breath away, she tilted her head and pressed her lips to yours — soft at first, tentative, like testing the waters of a new ocean.

but the moment the warmth of your mouth met hers, everything inside you ignited.

abby’s hands didn’t hesitate anymore. one slid under your dress, fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path down your side before dipping beneath the hem, finding the bare skin of your thigh. the touch was electric, sending jolts of fire pulsing up your spine. her thumb brushed against the sensitive patch just above your hipbone, a teasing, possessive caress that made you shiver.

“you’re so beautiful,” she murmured against your lips, her voice thick with something between awe and hunger.

you smiled against her mouth, breath hitching as you tangled your fingers in the soft strands at the nape of her neck. “tell me what you want,” you whispered, voice trembling with need.

her eyes darkened, half-lidded with desire. “i want to make you feel so good, you won’t remember how to breathe.”

the promise sent a delicious shiver through you. her hand slid lower, warm fingers tracing the curve of your hip, dipping beneath the waistband of your underwear with slow, reverent care. she circled her fingertip over your wetness, teasing the slick folds, making your breath catch and your hips tilt instinctively toward her.

“fuck,” you gasped softly, biting your lip as her fingers pressed just right, slow and sure.

“shh,” abby hushed, her mouth trailing down your jawline, teeth grazing lightly over your pulse point. “let me take care of you.”

her fingers found your most sensitive spot, curling inside you with a rhythm that was both gentle and insistent. waves of pleasure rolled through you, mounting quickly, your body arching into her touch, craving more. your hands roamed her back, tracing the taut muscles beneath her shirt, memorizing every inch like a sacred map.

“abby,” you moaned, voice barely steady, “please… don’t stop.”

her lips found yours again in a deep, desperate kiss, tongues swirling together, tasting, claiming. the kiss was hungry and messy, filled with need and something softer — a silent confession of trust and longing. her fingers moved faster, deeper, your skin slick with sweat, heart racing out of control.

“you’re mine,” she whispered fiercely between kisses, “and i’m yours.”

your hands slipped beneath her shirt, fingers pressing into the warm skin of her back, pulling her closer until your bodies were flush, heat radiating from every touch. you could feel her pulse pounding beneath your palm, mirroring your own frantic heartbeat.

“say it again,” you breathed against her lips, desperate for more.

“you’re mine,” she growled softly, voice thick with want.

the world shrank until it was only you and abby — two bodies tangled in sheets, hands exploring, mouths devouring, every touch a promise and a plea.

finally, you came around her fingers beautifully, back arching up against her body that held you. your foreheads rested together, breaths ragged and shallow.

“i’ve wanted this for so long,” you confessed, voice trembling.

“me too,” she admitted, voice low and raw. “i was just afraid i’d lose control.”

“you don’t have to,” you said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “we’ll figure it out. together.”

she smiled, a fierce, radiant thing that made your heart leap. “together.”

you lay together, skin flushed, hearts open, the quiet aftermath heavy with something new — a fierce, tender intimacy that would change everything.

you woke tangled in each other’s arms, the soft morning light spilling across the sheets like honey. it painted abby in gold, highlighting the line of her jaw, the curve of her collarbone, the way her lashes fanned out against her cheek. her body was warm against yours, one arm slung over your waist, hand resting low on your stomach like it had found its place and never wanted to leave.

the night’s intensity lingered like heat after a storm — not chaotic, but charged, humming beneath your skin. the villa was quiet, wrapped in a kind of stillness that made everything feel sacred.

you shifted slightly, brushing your fingertips along abby’s back, tracing the dip of her spine, the familiar rise of scar tissue under your touch. she stirred, a low hum in her throat, and nuzzled closer.

“you okay?” her voice was rough from sleep, deeper than usual, and laced with something tender.

you nodded into her shoulder. “better than okay.”

she pulled back just enough to see your face, her eyes sleepy but clear, searching yours like she needed to confirm you were really there. her hand cupped your jaw, thumb stroking just under your cheekbone.

“last night…” she paused, brow furrowing. “that wasn’t too much?”

“no,” you whispered, shaking your head. “it was… everything. abby, it was perfect.”

she exhaled, relief flickering across her face. “i didn’t want to rush you.”

“you didn’t,” you said, leaning in to press a kiss to the center of her chest, where her heart beat steady beneath your lips. “you made me feel safe.”

her fingers threaded into your hair, holding you there for a moment. “you make me want things i thought i couldn’t have.”

you pulled back just enough to smile softly at her. “you can have this. me.”

for a long second, abby just looked at you, like your face was a language she was learning to read. and then she kissed you again — slow, lingering, not urgent but full of quiet longing.

eventually, you rose from bed, bodies still aching in the sweetest way. the villa was filled with golden light, the sea beyond the windows calm and glittering. barefoot and in oversized shirts, you moved around each other in the kitchen — brewing espresso, slicing fresh fruit, the kind of domestic ease that made your heart swell.

“so,” you said, hopping up on the counter, legs swinging. “are you gonna keep pretending you’re still on duty? or can i officially call this a vacation?”

abby turned from the stove, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “i’m still technically working.”

“uh-huh.” you pointed at the tiny lemon slice she’d tucked on the rim of your glass like a cocktail. “that seems very professional.”

“you’re a high-value target,” she deadpanned, handing you the glass. “hydration is essential.”

you laughed, nudging her hip with your knee. “thank you, agent anderson. i feel very protected.”

“you should.” her smile softened. “but i like seeing you happy even more.”

you froze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. “you make me happy, abby.”

she looked down, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “i didn’t think i deserved that.”

you cupped her face in your hands, tilting her head until she looked at you. “you do. every bit of it.”

the rest of the day unfolded in a gentle rhythm — long walks through lemon groves, your fingers brushing as you walked side by side. the smell of citrus and salt filled the air, and the sun warmed your skin until everything felt soft and golden.

abby stopped occasionally to glance around, always scanning the area like habit. but her eyes always came back to you, her expression softer each time. you caught her watching you more than once, like she couldn’t quite believe you were real.

at one point, you picked a small lemon blossom and tucked it behind her ear. “there,” you whispered. “now you look less like a bodyguard and more like my summer romance.”

“is that what this is?” she asked, her voice quiet, curious.

you leaned in, brushing your lips against hers. “i think it’s the start of something bigger.”

you found a small café nestled on a cliffside, weathered chairs and sleepy cats adding to its charm. you shared a flaky pastry and two tiny cups of espresso, legs pressed together under the table. abby reached over once, took your hand without a word, and traced slow circles against your palm.

“tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” you said.

she looked out at the sea for a long moment. “i used to dream about this kind of peace,” she said. “but i never let myself want it too much. felt dangerous.”

you squeezed her hand. “does it still feel dangerous now?”

“yeah,” she said, looking back at you with a soft, almost shy smile. “but in a good way.”

twilight found you walking slowly back to the villa, the sky painted in strokes of coral and violet. the first stars blinked to life above as you curled up together on a lounge chair, her arms wrapped around you, your head tucked beneath her chin.

“what happens when we go back?” you asked.

abby was quiet for a long beat. “i don’t know. but i know i’m not ready to let go of this.”

“good,” you murmured. “me either.”

the next morning arrived with the cry of distant gulls and the gleam of sunlight across the sea. you boarded a boat just after breakfast, the deck rocking gently beneath your bare feet. the salty air tugged at your hair and clothes, and abby stood close beside you, her hand on your lower back in a way that made your breath hitch.

she wore sunglasses and a slight smirk, her arms crossed over her tank top. “don’t go falling in.”

“you’d save me,” you teased.

“yeah,” she said, deadpan. “but i’d be pissed about it.”

you grinned, dipping your hand into the water. “i’d make it up to you.”

she arched a brow. “oh?”

you only winked.

later, when you both slipped into the sea near a quiet cove, the cool water wrapped around your sun-warmed skin, and you swam close until abby’s arms slipped around your waist, pulling you to her.

“you know,” she murmured against your ear, “you’re kind of impossible to stay professional around.”

“then don’t,” you whispered, kissing her — quick and salty and full of something playful.

that night, beneath a sky strung with fairy lights, you danced slowly together in a tiny piazza lit with warmth and music. her hand was steady on your back, yours resting against her chest, feeling the beat of her heart beneath your palm.

“this week has ruined me,” she whispered.

“good,” you whispered back. “you deserve to be ruined by something soft for once.”

you kissed her again — not rushed, not tentative, but full of intention. and she kissed you back like she believed you.

⸻

the first day back at school felt strange—like the world was the same, but you weren’t. your phone buzzed softly in your pocket during class, a message from abby lighting up the screen.

miss you already.

you smiled, heart fluttering with a warmth that had nothing to do with the spring sun outside. texts came throughout the day—light teasing, quick check-ins, little jokes that only the two of you understood.

once you guys arrived home on sunday, monday morning she headed to a work trip over in california for a few days, something with your parents business and all the main security staff were required to go. she would be back thursday, but it felt like a lifetime.

abby’s usual cool, professional tone had softened, her replies carrying a subtle warmth and even a hint of flirtation. it was like she was letting down walls you hadn’t seen before, inviting you into a private space just between the two of you.

flashbacks of amalfi flooded your mind—sandy beaches, late-night talks, her touch that had been both fierce and tender. those memories anchored you, reminding you that what you shared was real, something powerful and lasting.

you carried that feeling with you—confidence blossomed, a quiet strength rooted in being seen and wanted. the day ended with you texting abby one last time before bed.

i can’t wait to see you again.

and her reply came almost instantly.

me too.

time skip: thursday

after school, your heart raced as you waited by the door, knowing abby would be here soon. when she arrived, a small package was in her hand—a delicate ceramic lemon painted in bright yellows and greens, a little piece of amalfi to bring home. she must’ve gotten it before you guys left.

“thought you’d like this,” she said quietly, her voice softer than usual.

you smiled, taking it gently, feeling the weight of the trip and everything that had changed between you. the afternoon slipped by in a warm, easy rhythm—cooking together in your kitchen, laughter spilling over simmering pots and chopping boards.

you caught her glancing at you from time to time, the tension between you tender and electric. when the dishes were done, she finally closed the distance, her hand finding yours.

the kiss was soft at first, lingering with promise—a delicate brush of lips that said more than words ever could. her fingers curled into your hair, pulling you closer, deepening the connection.

it was the start of something new, something neither of you had dared to name fully, but both felt in every look, every touch.

as the evening darkened outside, you lay tangled together on the couch, the lemon souvenir glowing softly on the shelf—an unspoken reminder of the journey you’d taken, together.

the future was uncertain, but for now, you had this—warmth, trust, and a love that was quietly growing, stronger every day.

[ruebossanova]

(via elliesbagpin on twt)

[ruebossanova]

౨ৎ wild mustang; b. eilish

౨ৎ military!billie x wife!reader ౨ৎ angst & fluff & smut ` ౨ৎ warnings; slight daddy kink, strap, oral, breeding kink, manhandling…???

⋆˙⟡ being a military wife is hard, especially when separation forces you to bring another man into your house ౨ৎ wc; 4,5k

one year, three months and two days.

that's how long it's been since you last saw your wife. when you last felt her gentle touch, saw her smile live, felt her skin under your fingertips. exactly one year, three months and two days ago, you woke up in the morning, finding your bed unusually cold and her side empty. too empty, as if she'd been gone for hours.

but that wasn't the main thing when you suddenly hear a quiet mooing in the next room. maternal instincts override curiosity and you slowly stand up, blindly searching for your house slippers with your feet. the cool air envelops your sleepy body and you shiver slightly, wishing you could go back to bed and let the warmth of the comforter warm you up again. but it doesn't matter as soon as you enter the nursery, noticing your five-month-old daughter lying in her crib, fidgeting excitedly.

taking your baby in your arms, you left a gentle kiss on her tiny forehead, and the girl smiled, proudly showing her two baby teeth. holding her against your chest, you finally got rid of the fog of sleep in your eyes, now intent on finding your wife.

the journey down the stairs to the first floor was silent, apart from the adorable yawns your daughter let out as she weakly grasped the strap of your nightie with her fingers.

looking around the house, you feel a strange emptiness in your chest that spreads like poison ivy through your body with each passing moment. as soon as your feet touch the floor, you swallow hard, taking a few more steps to lower your child onto the soft couch in the middle of the spacious living room. biting your lower lip, you glance around the space, which is filled with simple but harmonious furniture, some of which billie made herself. a faint smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

as you continue your wife's 'search' through the small house, you come across the kitchen table where you used to eat, noticing a small piece of paper. wrinkled, already scribbled with a pen; apparently one on which billye had already made notes earlier. your eyes narrow at the increasing paranoid thoughts that immediately fill your mind. you remember that you cleaned up the kitchen last night, and billye wouldn't have left trash on the table. she liked order in her house, where her family lived. you shallow.

as you unfold the note, you notice the small written text. billye's handwriting, only more sprawling, shaky, some of the letters unfinished. she was in a hurry, a great hurry, while writing this. and it didn't bode well, knowing her job and her superiors. knowing her dedication to her duty and her country. it was something no one could ever take away.

your eyes finally focus on the text. but you better damn well never read it, because your heart shatters into a million pieces as soon as you read the first few words.

“i'm sorry, my love. i don't know what happened. i don't know when i'll be back. kiss lily and tell her mommy loves her. i'm so sorry, i love you.”

your eyes ran over the lines dozens, hundreds of times until you finally realized what had happened; she’s not here. but what was scarier? how suddenly and spontaneously she left. had something terrible happened? was she in danger? would

she even be able to come home? the questions swarmed in your head, but none of them could be answered by you or the universe. none of them could, because you were a military wife. because she was involved in covert operations.

“gosh” you whisper to yourself as your thoughts dart from one corner of the room to the other. besides your wife, you have a daughter to worry about. or rather, you should worry about your daughter first, but it's so hard to even take a full breath right now, your chest clenched so tightly it feels like it's been pulled with thick barbed wire.

the seconds seemed like an eternity, until you were gripping the kitchen counter with your hand, trying to stay upright on woozy legs. your head was spinning, and so were your thoughts that you couldn't concentrate on any of them for more than half a second. the world seemed like an abyss into which you were about to fall until you saw her face again. her blue eyes, her plump lips. until you knew she was all right.

but now, when there's a baby lying a few feet away from you, your baby who is completely defenseless without you around him 24 hours a day, you realize that you shouldn't feel sorry for yourself. you have no right to. you knew who you were marrying when you said yes to billie, looking into her eyes with tenderness and promise. you promised that you could survive every moment of separation, no matter how long it lasted. no matter how many lonely days you had to fall asleep in a cold bed. she swore that she would come back. no matter what happened, she would come back to you. with a broken head, without a limb, covered in scars, but she would come back to you. you knew it, you always knew it, it's just that sometimes the waiting is exhausting, it ruins the hopes of coming back, the hopes of a happy life, but no waiting lasts forever.

a month ago lily turned one and a half years old. the little girl already speaks some words, understands basic requests, and with such sadness, like you, looks at the pictures of billye, standing on some shelves in your house, as if she really understands that her mother is not around for a long time, even if she barely remembers her.

but you don't consider yourself a single mother, not since the moment your close friend alex started helping you with lily. and no matter how skeptical you were at first, he really helped you, he was always there for you, supporting both you and your daughter. lily loved him, loved him very much, almost considered him daddy, but when she first called him that, you corrected her, explaining that alex was a friend, that she has a mom, she was just far away now. you didn't wanna think about the fact that billie might not come back and alex would really be your daughter's daddy. you loved him, appreciated him endlessly, and were always grateful to him, but he wasn't lily's parent, and he never would be, no matter how much he wanted to.

darkness creeps up quickly, and you both don't notice the sun hiding behind the horizon and the cool evening setting in. lily stops actively crawling, yawning, mostly staring at one point, or lazily trying to climb into your arms. her little head rests on your chest, her fingers grasping the edge of your silk robe.

"let me put her to bed. you're already tired" alex says quietly so as not to wake your daughter, who apparently passed out in your arms in a matter of minutes, and you, knowing that you are wildly exhausted, decide not to resist, carefully handing the girl into the man's arms. he tells you to go to sleep before disappearing to the second floor.

as soon as you were alone, your thoughts were once again filled with the one person you missed so sincerely and deeply. although you probably miss a very different billie. it's been a year and you've both changed a lot.

as luck would have it, you notice the only unwashed plate from dinner resting on the dining table. your perfectionism doesn't allow you to leave it until tomorrow morning, so you get up, dripping a few drops of detergent on the sponge and scrubbing the frozen mashed potatoes off the ceramic surface in a couple of minutes. you're not as tired, but you can still feel your eyes closing, deciding to go to bed as you'd been advised. until the unexpected ringing of the doorbell interrupts your plans. you sigh heavily, not realizing who could have been brought to your doorstep close to midnight.

without much enthusiasm, you open the front door, and your expression immediately changes and the blood drains from your cheeks. you see your wife in front of you. with a different hairstyle, a different build, a more tired face, but still with the same eyes, the same look. a downpour is roaring outside, and it has a strong effect on her clothes, which are now completely soaked, her hair, part of which was covered by her military cap, although her long curls were drenched. for the first seconds, which seemed like an eternity, you were silent, staring into each other's eyes, until billie finally dared to break the silence.

"can i come in?" she asked quietly, but you notice immediately that her voice has changed; colder, rougher, and hoarser probably from the number of times she's had to shout out her companions. you snap out of your daze, muttering an apology to yourself underneath before stepping aside and letting billie pass, then closing the door behind her.

big boots clang on the floor as she takes a few steps and places the heavy bag of belongings on the wooden floor. her gait has changed too; it has become heavier, weightier, her posture is perfect.

but as soon as she inhales the smell of her home, you can see her shoulders relax and a sigh of relief escapes her plump lips. you still stand by the doorway, looking at your wife with tears pinching your eyes. as if sensing this, billie finally turns around, looking at you, seemingly without a single emotion on her stern face.

"baby…" as soon as the word escapes her lips, you cover your face with your hands, trying to suppress the sobs sitting in your chest. you missed her so much, but now that she's a few meters away from you? you're still left with the same nasty feeling that you're thousands of light years apart.

you can hear how hard she's sighing. not out of annoyance, but out of fear. what if you pushed her away and told her to get the hell out of this house? she was afraid.

"please say something" she takes a hesitant step forward and you can feel her perfume, no, her cologne hit your nose. it was intoxicating.

the silence between you stretches for an eternity before you can speak.

"i thought i'd never see you again" you confess, finally removing your hands from your face to meet her intense gaze filled with longing, regret and melancholy. you didn't need to speak, you just read each other's eyes.

she moves closer to you again until she's close enough for your body to be caged between her body and the wall. a forgotten but so familiar warmth spreads through your veins, making your heart beat again, beat for her.

it's only now that you realize how much she's changed. her hair is cut short, but it still reaches to her shoulder blades. her body has grown larger, even in her military uniform you can see how tight the fabric is around her biceps in some places. the veins in her neck are more prominent, her freckles are clearly bigger, her palms are covered in calluses. you feel it when her hands gently touch your cheeks, gently holding your face.

"i'm so sorry, my love" her nose scratches yours in an affectionate touch, letting you feel each other's breaths on your lips. there was so much you wanted to say, but right now those words were enough to make you remember what it was like to feel loved and desired by a woman again.

"i wanna kiss you so badly" billie whispers as her lips hover millimeters from yours. "i beg you."

you give in forward, finally forcing your lips to touch in a languid long kiss. your hands travel up her body, first clutching her shoulders, then wrapping around her neck, scratching her scalp as you pull her head closer to you. her fingers clutching your waist move further to wrap their arms around your waist, tightly, forcing your body against hers. you let out a quiet whimper against her lips as your bodies sink into each other, being as close as seems impossible.

"god, i missed you so much," she moans against your lips, making you clutch harder into her hair. you're lost in each other until there's not a drop of oxygen left in your lungs. you try to pull away to take a single breath, but billie bites your bottom lip, not letting you move an inch away. when she said she missed you, she meant it; not a day, hour, or minute went by that she didn't think of you, or hum to her companions about what a wonderful wife she had. and she never forgot to mention that you gave her a daughter. the most beautiful, beautiful little girl.

"so you're like a milf?" one of the men suddenly asks billye, distracting her from ranting about you. she smiles, running her tongue over her white teeth. "yeah, i'm a mom" she says proudly, popping the last piece of saltless boiled beef into her mouth; it tasted lame, but she didn't have much choice.

"wife was pregnant? bet she's not that hot anymore" the other man's comment, although joking, billye never, absolutely never let anyone insult you in any form. "shut up, asshole, you're talking about my wife" she leans closer, a mischievous smile playing on her face "and man, she looks like an angel—no, like a goddess. every damn day" she made it clear to everyone without exception how proud she was to have you.

"billie…" her name coming off your lips in a way that made her feel like a moan was about to escape her throat. it was unbearable thinking about you every night, breathing heavily and dreaming of your touch as her hand snaked under the elastic band of her boxers.

as soon as your lips separate, you rest your cheek on her chest as her face burrows into the corner between your neck and shoulder. wet lips touch delicate skin, weightlessly at first, but then it transitions to a trail of kisses down from your jaw to your collarbones. billie's body immediately tenses as she hears a strange man calling your name in her house.

"uh—oh…" alex sighs as he catches the picture in front of him. you'd have to be a fool not to realize what's going on here.

billie frowns, removing her hands from your body to turn to face him, her back almost completely covering your more frail figure. her arms cross over her chest, and you can both notice alex's gaze lowering to her arms. to where her uniform is stretched tightly around her biceps.

"and who are you?" billie asks sternly, and you almost can't understand how she went from loving wife to company commander in a matter of seconds. sexy but amazing.

realizing that alex is a little scared, you step forward to introduce them to each other. "billie, this is alex. my… friend. he's helping me with lily—"

"helped" she snaps, and you both look at her in bewilderment. "what do you mean?" you ask quietly, trying not to stoke the fire further.

"he helped you with lily, and now.." she pauses, opening the front door and clearly showing the man that it's time for him to go home. "we don't need your help anymore."

your mouth opens in silent protest, your gaze running between an equally stunned alex and your obviously disgruntled wife. blinking a few times, you grab billye's hand, not hard, but you need her to pay attention to you "you can't kick him out! most of his stuff—" but billie doesn't listen, only boils harder.

"oh, you don't think i can kick him out?" the question sounds like a challenge, and you know better that she very well could kick him out of your house like a yard dog. your eyes narrow as you look at her, realizing that you have nothing to fight back so he can stay.

about a minute passes in silence between the three of you until alex coughs, realizing how much tension is in the air and that he is clearly interrupting something. and he was very reluctant to leave your house with billie's help.

"you know babe, i think i'm gonna go home" he calls you 'babe' on purpose, and before either of you can process it, he's lurking behind the threshold, closing the massive wooden door behind him on his own.

billie's mouth is ajar as she looks up at you. "baby? did he fucking call you baby?" and before her hand reaches for the doorknob, you intercept it, trying to pull her to you, but it's a harder task considering she's standing still like a goddamn rock. you swallow. not a single one of her muscles tensed.

"just leave him alone!" you have to raise your voice, just slightly, so as not to wake your daughter sleeping on the second floor. billie's fatigue is mixed with frustration and anger at the situation at hand, and she has no choice but to push you against the wall with one hand, causing your back to bang against the ceramic brick. not hard, but enough to assert her dominance at this point.

"let me get one thing straight, princess" she places her hands on either side of your head, enclosing you in a makeshift cage. not that you're trying very hard to get out. "you. are. mine" her voice drips with possessiveness, so sweet and long awaited, making your thighs press against each other slightly harder. "you're my wife, my woman, you're the mother of my child" her intense gaze never leaves your eyes, making your lips flush and your pupils dilate with arousal. the way she said those words with confidence and authority, fuck, it was too much for you and your poor pussy.

"and when i go back to my wife after a year of separation, baby, i don't want to hear a word against mine" and as manipulative as those words sound, you only nod slowly, causing a satisfied smile to slowly spread across her face. predator. "that's my good girl."

a whisper is heard right at your ear, and you let the first whimper slip through your lips. this is exactly what billie wanted. to see his sweet little wife again, looking at her like she was the whole world.

"fuck" she exhales heavily, not wasting another moment and lifting you in her arms as if you weigh nothing. your stomach collides with her shoulder as she takes a measured stride towards your bedroom, shamelessly groping your bare thighs. the silk robe and short pajama shorts didn't help in any way, only encouraging your wife to continue spreading her arms.

once you're on the second floor, billie's footsteps become slower and quieter so that the baby in the next room definitely won't hear how much her mommies missed each other. the thought of having to be quiet sent a wave of frustration through your body.

as soon as your back hits the soft mattress, you relax, letting billie hover over your body, leaving soft, then more passionate kisses until her teeth begin to embed themselves in your skin. dark trails blanket your neck and collarbones. you moan in quiet, sweet, unison. she from the bliss of your taste, you from the feel of her tongue on your pulse point. there was nothing you could ever miss.

"you're like a damn drug, baby" she mooed, moving to rid your body of the extra clothing. in a minute you were completely naked, completely for her hungry gaze while she was fully clothed. you embarrassedly tried to cover your breasts with your hands, but she immediately grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. her one hand was enough to hold both of yours. even if you did try to escape, you wouldn't stand a chance.

"don't make me tie this lovely body up, yeah mamas? you'll be my good girl, won't you?" your body wriggles, your hips rising desperately, wanting to feel even the slightest friction. billie sees it. of course she fucking does. her uniformed body moves closer to you until her knee presses against your bare pussy, which immediately drenches it with your arousal. you try to rub against her, but she lowers her hand, holding your thigh tightly. "answer the question, then you can ride my thigh like the desperate slut you are."

you whined again, again because of how sexy her voice dropped when she talked to you like that. as if you were her goddess and nothing more than a one-night stand. the way she skillfully did it made your legs shake in ecstasy.

"i'll be your good girl, i promise.." you whisper, swallowing hard, knowing she's waiting for the cherished word. "..daddy."

in that same second, your bodies flip so that you find yourself on all fours, supporting your weight on your elbows. billie steps back, starting to fumble through a box lying in the bottom drawer of the dresser. her hands work on the heavy belt buckle, then the zipper of her pants. she doesn't bother to pull down her boxers, attaching the strap right over the thin fabric.

"don't even need lube to stretch this cunt" you feel the tip of her cock graze over your ass, teasing. your arousal started to flow down the inside of your thighs, so she really didn't have to use anything else to slowly plunge the thick nine inches into your tight pussy. "so perfect around my cock."

waiting for your permission, she begins thrusting, slowly at first, watching her length disappear into you, then thrusting sharply into you until she establishes a steady fast rhythm, making sure that with each thrust she enters all the way that she reaches your cervix, causing you to lower your head and bite the sheets to at least somewhat contain the dirty sounds that fly off your lips.

"fuck, so noisy" her left hand goes up to your neck, squeezing and pulling back until your back arches perfectly for her, until you're fully seated on her lap, feeling her cock get in even deeper. her fingers are replaced by her hand, her biceps and brachialis muscle straining around your throat, leaving little room for oxygen to enter. "feel how deep i am, baby? gonna put another baby in you."

her hips moving at an inhuman pace, the headboard of the bed banging against the wall with each thrust. you really had no idea how much more a year in combat had worn down her body, making it steel. but right now all you had in your mind was her cock, buried as deep as it had ever been before.

"will you give me another baby, mama?" she asks, but the question seems rhetorical, given that your mind is completely blank. the way her hand presses against your thigh, leaving bruises under your fingertips. the way her lips hover over your ear, the way her grip on your neck tightens every time she tenses her bicep. it's made your smart head a dumb mess. "can you carry my baby in this perfect body again?"

tears run down your cheeks as you whimper something resembling a 'yes', clutching her hand tightly, resting your head on her shoulder, starting to bounce on her cock on your own as she clutches your body tightly, feeling every shudder. she always knows when you're close.

"come on, my love, cum for me. cum on this cock" her words act as a lever for your body and you unravel on her strap, making no extra sounds only thanks to her other hand covering your mouth as you shake hysterically, stunned by the intense orgasm.

billie slowly lowers you down, back on all fours, her chest pressed against your back as you feel her warm cum filling your pussy, dripping onto the crumpled sheets. your body already seems exhausted while your wife's energy still boils.

"lie on your back, mama, let me see that pretty pussy" she mumbles in your ear, pulling back and slowly pulling out, mesmerized by the way her cum leaks out of you. you move on the bed barely trusting your cotton-wool legs, slowly lowering yourself onto your back, immediately spreading your legs slightly, inviting her in. billie hesitates, positioning herself between your thighs, using both hands to spread them wider, shamelessly gazing at your swollen cunt, covered in her and your own arousal.

she dives in without another word, moaning hoarsely when she feels your sweet taste on her tongue again after all this time, ready to devour you like a starving woman. "fuck, so fucking perfect" she moozes into your flesh, sending electrifying vibrations that make you squirm on the bed, now covering your mouth with your own hand.

"i'd burn the whole world for that pussy, do you hear me?" she pulls back, replacing her tongue with her thumb, rubbing your sensitive clit in slow circles, but it's enough to make your legs shake and your hips rise in search of more friction.

billie bites her lower lip, lifting and pressing your knees against your chest to change the angle, watching your frowning eyebrows for a few more seconds before returning her mouth to your wet folds, licking greedily, plunging the tip into your tight hole, making you shriek, which only encouraged her to push it in deeper.

her tongue worked tirelessly, flattening out in time, circling around the sensitive bundle of nerves as her two fingers slipped into you, pumping at a natural pace as if they were designed to fuck that perfect pussy.

she pushed so deep, curling her thick fingers, hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars. she didn't ask — you didn't speak, coming on her tongue and hand with a strangled moan. her hips flew up, pushing her face further between your legs, and you couldn't hold back a whimper, realizing how sensitive you were right now.

"mm, just like that, that's my girl" she praises, crawling up to hover over your body and leave a deep kiss on your lips, letting. you taste your own release.

after a few seconds she rolls onto the bed next to you, not taking her lips off your neck. "i wanna see our daughter," her melodic voice is muffled against your skin, and you giggle, starting to replay the shared memories in your head until she interrupts them with another nibble on your pulse point.

"and then i wanna fuck that pretty pussy of yours again. and i'm gonna do it every goddamn day, my love."

౨ৎ tags; @billiesbabygirll, @amara-eilish, @st0nerlesb0, @bxllxebxtch mystiquemm, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises, @too-sapphic-to-function, @thefeverburningalive, @peytonglazesbillieeilish, @1nn3rthOughts

[ruebossanova]

and the beauty of it all is that when i think tim mcgraw, i do in fact think of her

[ruebossanova]

her watch: the series - part 6: mine to protect

bodyguard!abby x female!reader

word count: 4.2k

warnings: SLOWBURN, olderlabby x younger!reader, reader is spoiled & bratty but sweet, nyc rich socialite vibe (think gossip girl)

summary: you and abby’s relationship was growing to be quiet, intimate, and full of slow unraveling. abby stayed—every night, every morning—letting you in little by little. shared touches, quiet breakfasts, soft teasing, and deepening glances built a rhythm that felt like more. school blurred, texts were flirty, the house felt like home. even without confessions, everything between you two cracked open gently—trust, desire, something deeper. abby didn’t run. you didn’t push. you both just stayed. together.

masterlist

————————————————————————————

the sunlight poured in through the sheer curtains, golden and lazy, casting soft shadows across the hardwood and bathing the room in a gentle warmth. the sheets tangled at your ankles were still faintly warm where her body had been. abby had gotten up a few minutes ago—quiet as ever—but her presence lingered like the scent of cedar and laundry soap in the air.

you rolled onto your back, blinking slowly against the light, and reached over to the empty side of the bed. your fingertips brushed the slight indentation in the mattress, the heat still nestled there. a small, knowing smile pulled at your lips. she’d stayed. really stayed.

you slipped out from under the covers, the silk of your pajama shorts whispering against your skin as your feet found the floor. you padded softly out of the room, wrapped in a throw blanket, and followed the smell of coffee like a trail of breadcrumbs.

in the kitchen, abby stood at the counter, hair pushed back messily, wearing the same black t-shirt from last night and a pair of gray sweats slung low on her hips. she looked domestic in a way that felt entirely disarming—casual, grounded, like she belonged there.

she didn’t turn when you entered. her hands were busy pouring hot water over loose leaf tea—your favorite. the pink mug with the gold initial sat waiting.

"you always wake up this early?" your voice was raspy from sleep, soft and amused.

abby looked over her shoulder, her expression unreadable but not cold. "used to it. habit."

you stepped up beside her, close enough that your blanket brushed her arm. she handed you your mug without a word, her fingers grazing yours just briefly. the contact was small, but it hummed.

"thanks," you murmured, curling your hands around the cup.

for a moment, neither of you said anything. the quiet wasn’t awkward—it was intimate. full. like something new had taken root in the stillness.

you sat at the kitchen island, blanket still wrapped tight, sipping your tea. abby joined you after a beat, her coffee in hand, and took the seat across from you. her gaze flicked over your face, lingering just a second too long at the hollow of your throat before she looked away.

"did you sleep okay?" you asked, resting your chin in your hand.

she nodded. "yeah. better than i expected."

"because of me?"

a pause. then—"maybe."

your stomach flipped. there was no teasing in her voice, just something honest and a little raw.

under the table, your toes nudged her shin. her eyes flicked to yours again, and this time, she didn’t look away right away. her lips parted slightly, like she might say something more—but then she just reached for her coffee.

something had shifted. not dramatic. not loud. but real.

the late morning spilled into early afternoon, slow and quiet, the kind that stretched long and soft between two people who had nowhere else to be. you padded into the bathroom with your toothbrush still hanging lazily from your mouth, music humming low from your phone in the corner. abby was already there, sitting on the edge of the tub in her black sleep shorts and tank, elbows resting on her knees as she scrolled through something on her phone.

you stood next to her at the sink, spitting into the basin before rinsing, then caught her watching you in the mirror. not in a rushed, flustered way—but openly. like she wasn’t pretending anymore.

"what?" you asked with a soft smirk, wiping your mouth with a towel.

"nothing." her voice was rough from sleep still, lips curling at the edge. "you’re just… always moving."

"and you like watching, huh?"

she raised a brow but didn’t answer, which felt like an answer all the same.

you spent most of the early afternoon cleaning your room—folding laundry, changing sheets, tidying the small messes you’d made during the week. abby didn’t hover, but she stayed close. sat on your bed while you moved around, occasionally pointing out a t-shirt that wasn’t yours or teasing you about the sheer number of skincare products lining your dresser.

at one point, she leaned back on her elbows, watching you refold a blanket you’d already folded twice.

"you always like things this neat?" she asked, her voice low.

"no," you said, still facing the closet. "just wanted it to feel nice. for you."

a pause. then the quiet sound of her shifting. when you turned, she was standing now—closer.

"it does," she said.

you looked up at her, searching her face for something you weren’t brave enough to name yet. there was still something unreadable in her eyes, like she was balancing carefully on some invisible line. but her hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear. fingers trailing lightly along your jaw as she did.

your skin warmed under her touch.

"abby—"

"i know," she cut in, barely a whisper. "just let me look at you for a second."

and you let her.

you stayed like that for a moment—standing in the golden afternoon light of your bedroom, air caught between you, unspoken things thick and humming. until her phone buzzed from the nightstand, breaking the spell.

"i need to respond to this," she said, reluctantly pulling away. "but after that, we’ll do whatever you want."

"anything?" you teased.

she looked back at you with the smallest smirk. "don’t push it."

but you already were.

abby’s work call dragged on a little longer than expected. she’d retreated to the den, pacing in slow, deliberate lines in front of the tall windows, her voice low and steady. you didn’t listen too closely to the details—something about scheduling, shift changes, logistics—but you lingered nearby anyway, curled into the corner of the couch with your laptop open and a single eye trained on her.

she looked different when she was focused. her brows drawn, her mouth pressed firm. commanding. it made something curl in your stomach.

you weren’t being subtle either. not really.

your knee bounced just enough to draw attention. your tank had slipped off one shoulder, and you didn’t fix it. when she turned mid-sentence and caught sight of you like that—lounged and watching—her eyes held on yours for just a beat too long before flicking away.

after she finally hung up, you pretended not to notice the silence she filled when she sat down beside you.

“so,” you said, nudging her arm gently. “do i get you back now?”

“you never lost me,” she muttered, stretching one long arm along the back of the couch.

you leaned into her without hesitation, your bare leg brushing against hers. the heat there was familiar now—comforting and electrifying all at once.

“let’s go out,” you said. “just for a little. i want to get iced coffee and maybe annoy you in public.”

she scoffed. “you already do that in private.”

you smiled. “so you admit i’m good at it.”

by the time you both stepped out onto the street, the sun was high, and the air was thick with late spring heat. abby didn’t complain once, though. she walked beside you with her usual quiet strength, letting you tug her into a tucked-away café you liked, where the baristas already knew your name.

you ordered a lavender latte, extra ice. she got plain cold brew, black.

you both sat in the corner by the window. it was quieter there. more hidden.

“i think you’re softening,” you teased, taking a long sip and raising your brows.

abby rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. instead, she stirred her drink slowly and asked, “why me?”

the question surprised you—not because she asked, but because of how softly she asked it.

“what do you mean?”

she looked down at her cup, then back at you. “why are you… trying so hard? teasing me, pushing. letting me in.”

you paused, watching the way her thumb traced along the rim of her glass.

“because you make me feel safe,” you said, voice quieter now. “but also—like i want to unravel a little. and that doesn’t happen much.”

her gaze lifted again. there was a flicker in it—something that looked suspiciously like understanding. or maybe it was surrender.

either way, she didn’t push back.

she just said, “okay.”

and that was enough to make your chest ache a little.

the walk back was quiet again, but not empty. her hand brushed yours once. and though you didn’t reach for her, your pinkies touched for half a block.

by the time you got back to the brownstone, the sun was already beginning its descent—casting long, soft shadows across the living room floor as you kicked off your shoes and tossed your purse on the entry bench. the air felt warm and a little sleepy, the way afternoons always did when they started bleeding into evening.

“movie?” you asked over your shoulder as you made your way toward the couch, already tugging your cardigan off and tossing it aside.

abby followed, slower. “sure. you pick.”

you grinned. “dangerous.”

you ended up queuing a movie you half-cared about—something light and pretty and easy to ignore when you needed to. you flopped onto the couch and patted the seat beside you. abby hesitated for just a second, then dropped down beside you, her body heavy and solid and warm.

you curled into her side like it was the most natural thing in the world. like you hadn’t spent days—weeks—waiting for her to let you.

your bare leg draped over hers. her arm rested on the back of the couch, just behind your shoulders. and slowly, bit by bit, her fingers found your arm, brushing lightly at first, then tracing aimless patterns against your skin.

you pretended to keep your eyes on the screen, but you felt every single point of contact like a live wire.

twenty minutes passed that way. maybe more.

and then you turned your face into her shoulder, nose brushing against the soft fabric of her shirt.

“you’re really warm,” you mumbled, half a truth and half an excuse.

she chuckled under her breath. “you always say that.”

“’cause it’s always true.”

a pause.

then her hand slid down your arm, slow, deliberate. her fingers curled gently around your wrist, thumb brushing over the inside like she was memorizing your pulse.

your breath caught.

you looked up at her, chin resting on her chest now. her face was close—so close—and the glow from the TV flickered against the lines of her jaw, the softness in her eyes, the way her lips were just slightly parted.

“abby…” you whispered, barely enough air to carry the sound.

“yeah,” she said, voice lower than you’d ever heard it. more open.

but she didn’t move.

neither did you.

because somehow, just being in her arms like that—feeling her heart beat steady under your cheek—felt like more than enough.

for now.

you stayed curled up like that through the rest of the movie. her fingers never stopped moving.

and when the credits rolled, she didn’t move away.

the house had gone still again.

it always did after dark. the outside hum of the city quieted, streetlights casting soft, flickering gold through the windowpanes. inside, the only sounds were the hum of the refrigerator and the whisper of the ceiling fan blades turning.

abby hadn’t left your side.

after the movie, she helped you clean up the empty cups from your drinks, her hand brushing yours again as you reached for the same mug. you both paused, fingers touching, but neither of you pulled away.

it was late, but neither of you said it. no suggestion to turn in. no mention of the time.

instead, you wandered into the kitchen together. you stood by the counter while she leaned against the fridge, arms crossed casually—but her eyes hadn’t left you once.

“you always this quiet at night?” you asked softly, opening the fridge just to glance inside.

abby shrugged. “sometimes. depends who i’m with.”

you turned, meeting her gaze over the open door. “and with me?”

another beat of silence passed, heavier this time.

“i try not to say things i’ll regret,” she said.

the way she said it—low, honest—sent something fluttering just beneath your ribs.

you stepped toward her, slowly, closing the fridge behind you.

“do you regret this?” you asked, voice quiet now. it wasn’t teasing. not tonight.

abby’s jaw tightened. “no.”

your heart thudded.

you waited.

“but i think about what happens if i stop pretending i don’t want more,” she added.

that stopped you in your tracks.

the space between you felt charged. pulsing. like a storm waiting to crack the sky open.

you didn’t touch her. not yet.

instead, you leaned your hip against the counter beside her, fingers resting gently on the marble edge, just a few inches from where hers were folded.

“i think about it too,” you said. “all the time.”

her breath hitched. it was subtle, but it was there. and when you turned and walked past her toward the stairs, you didn’t miss the way her eyes followed you.

she trailed behind you on the walk to your room. not too close. but close enough to feel.

at your door, you turned to her like always.

but this time, you stepped forward first.

you reached up, fingers brushing the edge of her shirt, the bare skin of her collarbone. and then your hand settled lightly against her chest—right where her heart beat steady and strong.

“stay again?”

she didn’t answer right away.

instead, she reached up and cupped your cheek with the warmest, softest hand you’d ever felt.

“yeah,” she whispered.

you both moved through your nightly routine like it had always been this way—soft voices in the bathroom mirror, her helping you take out your earrings, you offering her one of your oversized sleep shirts because she hadn’t brought anything upstairs.

by the time you were curled under the covers, the room lit only by the faint glow of the hallway light, abby was behind you, one arm draped loosely over your waist.

not tight. not possessive.

just there. grounding. quiet.

you felt her breath against your neck.

you reached for her hand under the covers, lacing your fingers through hers.

and for a long time, you just lay there like that, wordless and steady.

but it was all different now.

every breath, every inch of space between you.

and you both felt it.

abby stayed.

through the movie, the evening tea, the casual touches that had all grown bolder in their quiet ways. she stayed through your nightly routine—helping you take off your earrings, folding the cardigan you dropped across the back of a chair, watching with hooded eyes as you washed your face in the mirror.

when the lights dimmed, you curled into her side beneath your duvet like it had always been this way. like her arm belonged around your waist, and your legs belonged tangled with hers. she didn’t hold you tightly. just enough. enough to feel her there. to know she wasn’t going anywhere.

the night passed in stillness. her breath soft against your neck. your fingers curled loosely around hers under the sheets.

and in the golden hush of morning, something about it all felt new. not in a loud, explosive way. but like the air in the room had changed. like whatever invisible tether had been slowly pulling you both closer had finally started to knot.

wednesday morning came softly. you woke before your alarm, the shape of her still beside you. her hair a little mussed, face relaxed in sleep. the sunlight spilled across the bed in soft bands, and for a while, you just watched her.

when your phone buzzed with a school group chat update, you groaned and shifted. she stirred beside you.

"what time is it?" her voice was low, rough from sleep.

"almost seven."

she reached for her phone on the nightstand, blinking at it. "you need to get ready."

"five more minutes," you whispered, burying your face against her shoulder.

she let you. she even pulled you closer.

you left her there when you finally got up—made yourself breakfast, packed your bag, smoothed your skirt and fixed your lip gloss. and just before heading out the door, you crept back to your bedroom.

abby was awake now, sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through something on her phone.

you kissed her cheek. barely.

"see you after school."

her eyes followed you to the door. "be safe."

and when you stepped outside, the city felt warmer somehow.

as the week continued—wednesday into thursday into friday—your school days blurred into a rhythm of shared glances and secret texts.

miss you already.

focus on school.

a pic wouldn’t kill you.

you’re trouble.

and you like it.

abby never played into it too much, but her replies came quicker now. and they always came.

by the time friday rolled around, your stomach did flips the whole way home.

you found her in the living room, hair still damp from a shower, barefoot and dressed in black joggers and a fitted long-sleeve tee. she looked unfair.

while you did your homework at the dining table, she worked out in the other room. you could see her through the open archway, muscles straining, breath measured.

you didn’t get much done.

that night, you both cooked together—quiet music playing in the background, hands brushing as you reached for the same spoon.

and when you finally climbed into bed again, clean and sleepy and full from dinner, she lay beside you like she’d been waiting all day for it.

you curled into her, facing her this time.

her hand cupped your jaw gently.

you leaned in, lips brushing the edge of her neck.

just a taste.

she tensed—but didn’t stop you.

she exhaled slowly.

and that was all you needed.

thursday morning started the same way most did now: with warmth. not just the physical kind, from sun spilling across your comforter or the faint heat of tea steeping in your favorite cup—but the kind that made your chest feel full the moment you stepped into the kitchen.

abby was already there, barefoot in her usual black joggers and fitted tank, a mug in one hand and the other lazily resting on the counter. her hair was damp from a shower, and her eyes flicked toward you the second you padded in, curls still wild from sleep, hoodie too big, legs bare beneath.

“morning,” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“morning,” she said back, quieter.

it was so easy now, this dance. no hesitation as you walked to her side, brushing just slightly against her arm as you reached for your tea. she didn’t pull away. didn’t tense. just stood there, drinking her coffee, watching you out the corner of her eye like she was getting used to you being this close.

you liked mornings. not just because of her, but because mornings meant she was yours—for just a little while—before school, before the outside world pulled you away from her gravity.

your phone buzzed on the ride to school. it was her.

your curls are extra today.

you smiled.

you like?

you already know i do.

you stared at that text longer than you should’ve, fingers hovering over the screen before typing.

i like when you say it.

no reply. but when you glanced up at the tinted partition in the car window, you imagined abby sitting at home, staring at that message the same way you had with hers. frozen. tense. wanting.

school was a blur. thursday classes were stacked, but you floated through them—still flushed from the memory of abby’s eyes on you that morning. you texted her between periods. asked what she was doing. told her to send a photo. she refused, obviously.

just come home and see for yourself.

so you did.

the house was quiet when you got back. you kicked off your shoes and called her name softly down the hall. she appeared from the gym downstairs, wiping sweat from her brow with the hem of her tank, revealing the hard line of muscle along her stomach.

you stared. didn’t even try to hide it.

she raised an eyebrow. “like what you see?”

“always,” you said, sweetly, not bothering to play it down.

she shook her head, but the corner of her mouth twitched. later, while she showered, you sat on your bed, texting her.

can i join you next time?

no reply. and then—your door opened slightly. abby, towel over her shoulders, damp hair pushed back. eyes locked with yours. “careful what you ask for,” she said. and then closed the door again.

dinner was soft. quiet. you ate in the nook by the kitchen window, sitting across from each other like you had for the last few nights. it felt normal now, almost domestic.

“friday’s your last school day before the break?” she asked, chewing.

you nodded. “yep. then you’re stuck with me all week.”

abby didn’t smile, but she didn’t look unhappy about it either. “i think i’ll survive.”

you grinned, foot brushing hers under the table. her knee jerked slightly, like she hadn’t expected the touch.

“you’re getting used to me,” you said, almost teasing.

“maybe,” she murmured. “maybe i like having someone to cook for.”

you blinked. warmth bloomed in your chest. “you like taking care of me?”

abby didn’t answer right away. she just looked at you, long and unreadable.

“…yeah,” she said finally. “i think i do.”

that night, after dishes and another long silence shared in front of a show neither of you paid attention to, she walked you to your door again.

you turned to face her.

“goodnight,” you whispered.

she looked down at you.

“night.”

but this time, she didn’t move.

you reached up. tucked a piece of damp hair behind her ear. her breath caught, just faintly.

“do you ever think about it?” you asked, voice quiet, like you were scared to hear the answer.

her brow furrowed. “think about what?”

“what would happen if you let go?”

a beat passed. she swallowed. her voice dropped lower than usual.

“all the time.”

but then she stepped back. jaw clenched. “not tonight.”

you nodded. you understood.

but even as you curled into bed, staring up at your ceiling in the dark, you knew she was cracking. not breaking. not yet. but she was getting close.

and so were you.

you woke before your alarm, again.

by now, it had become your body’s quiet response to knowing she was next to you. not the nervous, overthinking kind of alertness, but something softer. steadier. like your heart had synced itself to the shape of hers during the night and didn’t want to miss a moment.

abby was still asleep, arm draped over your waist, fingers lightly curled against your stomach. her breathing was even, lips slightly parted, face slack with peace. you didn’t move—couldn’t, really. not when everything about the morning felt so still. so full.

you let yourself look.

you traced the slope of her brow with your eyes, the faint freckles along her nose, the subtle rise of her chest. this was new—her being here, like this, every morning. her choosing to stay. and not just in the physical sense. something was unfolding.

you reached for your phone eventually, checking the time.

6:43.

you had a half hour before you needed to start getting ready for school, but when you shifted just a little, abby stirred behind you.

“what time is it?” her voice was rough, thick with sleep.

“almost seven.”

she made a soft noise and tugged you back into her, face nuzzling into your shoulder. her warmth flooded across your back.

“five more minutes,” she mumbled. and you smiled.

friday passed slowly.

school felt unusually long. teachers droned, classmates buzzed about weekend plans, and you tried your best to stay present, but your mind drifted constantly.

abby hadn’t texted you since you left. not even a dry little have a good day. and for whatever reason, it made your chest feel tighter than usual.

you texted her at lunch.

you forget about me already?

nothing.

i’ll take that as a yes :(

still nothing.

you huffed to yourself, tapping your pen against your tray, then put your phone away with a dramatic little pout no one around you understood.

but when you got home later that afternoon, she was there.

in the kitchen. making something. her hair was up in a messy bun, and she wore soft black lounge pants and a grey tank that dipped low in the sides. when she heard the door, she looked over her shoulder—and smirked, just a little.

“someone’s pouty,” she said.

you blinked. “…you read the texts?”

“i always do.”

“you didn’t respond.”

she shrugged. “wanted to see your face when you walked in.”

“that’s mean.”

“you’ll live.”

you set your backpack down and walked toward her, letting your eyes travel—slowly—down her back, then up again. “you’re evil.”

“and you’re dramatic.”

you reached for a grape from the bowl on the counter and popped it in your mouth. “missed you.”

her hand brushed lightly against the small of your back. “i know.”

you ended up doing homework at the kitchen table while she wrapped up dinner. you liked the way she moved around the space—methodical but relaxed, sleeves pushed up, brows slightly furrowed in thought. like she was building something, piece by piece, and it mattered.

you caught yourself staring a lot.

by the time dinner was over and your assignments were shoved back into your backpack, it was dark outside. the house had dimmed with it—just the warm glow of a few lamps lit, music playing low on the speakers.

you ended up in her room.

you weren’t even sure how it happened. just a natural drift. a silent agreement.

you changed into something soft—a tank top and little sleep shorts—and crawled into her bed like it belonged to you. she joined a few minutes later, fresh from the shower, her hair damp and loose over her shoulders.

you curled into her side. her arm came around you without hesitation.

your fingers traced soft patterns along her stomach, idle. your cheek rested over her heart.

“abby,” you murmured, voice low.

she hummed.

“…what are we doing?”

she didn’t answer right away. just held you tighter. her chin rested atop your head, and she let out a slow breath.

“whatever it is,” she said eventually, “i don’t want it to stop.”

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t need to.

you just tilted your face up, pressed your lips softly to her collarbone, then her neck, barely-there kisses that melted into the heat of her skin.

she didn’t stop you.

and maybe that was enough—for now.

[ruebossanova]

i just died a little bit

OH MY GOD?!?!? IM SOAKEDDDD DOWN TO THE BONE, LORDDDDD HAVE MERCY. I CANT BREATHE

@/chitob_vp on ig

[ruebossanova]

her watch: the series - part 5: the crack in the door

bodyguard!abby x female!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: SLOWBURN, smut, olderlabby x younger!reader, reader is spoiled & bratty but sweet, nyc rich socialite vibe (think gossip girl), dry humping, making out

summary: the boundary between protector and temptation dissolves as you act on the tension that’s been simmering for weeks. a quiet moment in the night turns into something far more intimate—lingering touches, breathless silence, and a kiss that finally breaks through abby’s defenses. you share your first true taste of each other. in the days that follow, your bond deepens—through soft morning rituals, lingering stares, and quiet understanding. you both begin to move together, not just around each other. and when abby stays the night for the first time, something shifts. not spoken aloud, but felt in every glance, every touch. the two of you are no longer pretending not to feel it.

masterlist

————————————————————————————

you lay there for a while, the silence of your room thick and too loud all at once. the crack abby left in the door—small, intentional—replayed in your mind like a tease. like an invitation. like she wanted you to see it.

you pressed your thighs together, heart still racing from earlier, from her voice, her expression, that loaded look in her eyes when she became jealous over peter.

she wanted to kiss you. you knew it. you felt it. it was there in the slight tilt of her head, the pause in her voice, the way her eyes had dropped to your mouth for just a second too long.

and maybe... maybe she needed one more push.

you got up slowly. your skin still warm from the shower, your sleep shorts clinging just a little too close to your thighs, the silk camisole loose but not enough to hide the way your chest moved with each breath.

the hallway was dim. quiet.

your bare feet padded softly against the wooden floors, every step pulling you closer to her. abby’s door was open just a crack, like before. just like she left it. the softest invitation.

you reached out and tapped lightly on the wood before pushing it open. abby looked up from her bed, hair damp, tank top hugging her chest, sweatpants slung low on her hips. she was sitting against the headboard, arms folded across her lap like she’d been trying to distract herself with her phone. but she wasn’t fooling anyone.

her eyes landed on you, sharp and unreadable. "you okay?"

you nodded, stepping into the room. your voice was soft. "couldn’t sleep."

"you need something?"

"just... you."

it started slow. abby watched you cross the room like she was trying to convince herself not to stop you. her jaw was tight, her shoulders stiff—but her eyes betrayed her. they burned, hot and wanting.

you sat at the edge of the bed, turning to face her. your knees brushed. her breath hitched.

"you don’t have to pretend you don’t want me," you said quietly, your fingers grazing the inside of her wrist. "i see it. i feel it. you want me."

abby didn’t say anything. her hand twitched under your touch.

"say it," you whispered.

she looked at you like she wanted to fight it, like she wanted to stay strong. but she couldn’t. not anymore.

"i want you," she said, voice rough. "fuck. i want you so bad."

it was desperate.

her mouth crashed into yours like a dam breaking. her hands gripped your hips and pulled you into her lap, and you straddled her like you’d been waiting forever to do it. your fingers threaded into her damp hair, tugging just enough to make her groan.

she tasted like mint and something darker. her hands were everywhere—palming your waist, sliding up your back, pulling your body flush against hers.

when her mouth dropped to your throat, you whimpered. it was too much. not enough. everything at once.

"abby," you breathed.

"tell me to stop."

"don’t. don’t stop."

she laid back slowly, bringing you with her. your hips settled against hers, and you rolled them forward instinctively. her thigh slipped between yours, firm and warm and perfectly placed.

when you rocked down again, a moan spilled from your lips—loud, broken. abby groaned, her hands gripping your waist like she couldn’t take it either.

"you’re so fucking pretty like this," she murmured, voice low in your ear. "riding my thigh like you can’t help it."

"i can’t," you gasped, grinding harder, silk clinging to your soaked heat. "fuck, abby. please."

she didn’t stop you. didn’t slow you down. she watched you—eyes wild, lips parted, chest rising with every breath.

"my sweet girl, so fucking dirty just for me hm?"

you threw your head back, clit throbbing at the way she spoke to you. the way she observed you, studied you. every roll of your hips dragged you closer. your stomach tightened, your body pulsing with need.

"that’s it," she whispered, brushing your curls back. "cum for me."

you cried out, your body shuddering as release tore through you, sharp and hot and all-consuming.

you collapsed forward into her chest, breathing hard. she held you—strong, steady.

and for once, she didn’t say a word. she just held you like she’d never let go.

⸻

the room was still, the kind of quiet that made your breath sound too loud. you lay curled against abby, your bare thigh draped over hers, the sheets tangled between your bodies like they didn’t know where one ended and the other began. her arm rested around you loosely, the warmth of her chest rising and falling beneath your cheek.

but something was off.

she was quiet—too quiet. not in the way she was usually reserved, but in the way someone is when their mind is miles away. you felt her muscles tense just slightly, the shift of her breathing changing like she was trying not to be too still or too close. your fingers curled into the soft cotton of her wife beater, and for a moment, you let yourself stay there. warm. wanted. held.

then she moved.

abby pulled back gently, carefully untangling herself from you. “i should clean up,” she mumbled, not meeting your eyes as she swung her legs off the bed.

you sat up slowly, watching her cross the room. her broad back was rigid, her steps purposeful in a way that didn’t match the softness you’d just shared. “abby…”

she paused near the bathroom door, still not turning. “this shouldn’t have happened.”

your heart dropped. “do you regret it?”

a pause. too long.

“i crossed a line,” she said instead.

“i wanted it,” you said quickly, trying not to sound desperate, but your voice wavered. “abby, i wanted you. i still do.”

she turned her head slightly, jaw clenched. “that doesn’t make it right.” and with that, she stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. not a slam. not even a click. just a soft, almost apologetic shut.

you sat in the bed alone, the sheets still warm where she’d been.

that night, she didn’t return. not to her bed.

⸻

the morning light filtered through the windows as you made your way to the kitchen. abby was already there, making breakfast like she always did—eggs, toast, sliced fruit. calm. controlled.

she didn’t look up when you entered. “morning.”

“morning,” you echoed, trying to sound breezy as you slid onto a stool at the counter.

you watched her move around the kitchen in that same steady rhythm, eyes trailing the curve of her shoulders, the slight tension in her jaw.

“so,” you said casually, “that’s it?”

she glanced over, eyes sharp.

“you got what you wanted?”

her entire body stilled. the spatula in her hand hovered over the pan for a beat too long. then she turned off the stove and set it down.

“i didn’t do this for me,” she said evenly.

your smile faded. “what does that mean?”

abby looked at you then—really looked. “you know what it means.”

silence stretched, thick and pulsing. you felt something heavy settle in your chest, something between longing and confusion.

the day at school passed in a blur. you smiled at your friends, answered questions in class, sipped overpriced coffee during free period—but your mind was elsewhere.

abby hadn’t texted you back.

you finally caved.

you: do you regret it? because i don’t.

you: just be honest. i can take it.

the response came an hour later.

abby: no. i don’t regret it.

abby: but i’m scared.

when you got home, abby was in the kitchen. she looked up as you entered, the faintest trace of something vulnerable in her eyes.

“hey,” she said, voice low.

“hi.”

“can we talk?”

you nodded and leaned against the counter, heart thudding.

she didn’t pace. didn’t fidget. she just looked at you and spoke quietly.

“i want you. but i’m scared i’ll ruin you. ruin this. i can’t protect you and… want you like this.”

you stepped closer. “you already changed everything, abby.”

a beat.

“just don’t leave.”

her breath caught, barely audible.

“okay,” she whispered. “i won’t.”

that night was quiet. you didn’t talk much—words felt too heavy—but you sat together on the couch in the living room.

your legs touched. the soft brush of skin under a shared blanket. abby watched the room more than the movie, alert even in the stillness. but she didn’t pull away.

you rested your head on her shoulder. her hand came up to your thigh, warm and steady. nothing more.

and when your eyes fluttered closed, she didn’t move. didn’t shift away.

she just stayed.

the morning sun crept through the windows again, casting golden light over the hardwood floors of the brownstone. soft, warm light spilled across the plush rugs and up the ivory cabinets, and the house stirred with the quiet hum of another day. the smell of coffee reached you before anything else, grounding and sharp. your bare feet padded against the cool floor as you made your way into the kitchen, sleep still clinging to your lashes.

waiting on the marble counter, steam curling into the air, was your favorite mug—pale pink with your initial embossed in gold. the tea was already made, just the way you liked it.

abby stood at the counter across from it, leaning slightly against the edge, a dark mug in her hands. her shoulders were relaxed, muscles visible even under the softness of her black t-shirt. she looked up when she heard you, and her eyes found yours. there was something quieter in her gaze now. softer, maybe. something warmer hidden beneath the usual stillness.

"you made this?" you asked, touching the mug with a small smile.

"figured you'd want it when you woke up," she said. her voice was even, but it had none of the usual distance. it wasn’t as guarded. like the fortress she'd been living inside was finally letting a little light in.

as you passed behind her to grab a napkin, your hand brushed lightly across her waist. not an accident, but not bold either—just enough to feel her warmth. she didn’t flinch. didn’t stiffen. she let it happen.

the air between you had changed. not lighter—but truer. like you had crossed into a new current and were quietly drifting deeper together.

"i want to go shopping today," you said after breakfast, legs curled under you on the couch as you scrolled through your phone. "i need new things. and i want you to come."

abby raised a brow from her spot on the other chair. "don't you usually go with friends?"

"i want you," you replied simply. your voice had a bit of tease, but underneath it was sincerity. you wanted her opinion. you wanted her company. you just wanted her.

she sighed, almost amused, and stood. "fine. get dressed. nothing too dramatic."

you, naturally, ignored that last part.

by the time you were out the door, you were dressed in the perfect mix of casual and eye-catching—tight denim mini skirt, little lace tank top under an oversized knit cardigan, gold hoops that caught the light when you turned. abby wore her usual blacks and greys, but she looked devastating in them. tall, broad, eyes constantly scanning the city around you as you walked side by side down fifth avenue.

you dragged her through boutique after boutique, trying on outfit after outfit. she sat, arms folded, legs spread, like some immovable force in the room—but her eyes never left you.

"this one?" you stepped out in a sheer dress layered over a bodysuit, spinning slowly.

abby’s jaw flexed. she didn’t speak for a second.

"turn around," she said finally. you did, and when you looked over your shoulder, she was already standing. "get that one."

you smiled like you'd just won something.

hours passed like that. casual touches, glances that lingered longer than they should. quiet conversations over coffee, your fingers brushing over hers as you passed her the receipt, your knee resting against hers under the tiny marble table.

when you got home, your arms were full of shopping bags and your cheeks ached from smiling. abby carried half of your haul without a word, her hand brushing yours once on the stair rail.

that night, after dinner, you stood outside your bedroom door. she'd walked you there, as usual. but when you turned around, she didn’t step back.

she stayed close.

her knuckles brushed your cheek, soft and slow.

"you’ll stay tonight?" you asked, voice barely a whisper.

her gaze dropped to your mouth, then rose again.

"yeah," she said.

but you both knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

abby slipped into your bed after brushing her teeth, still wearing her t-shirt and soft lounge shorts. you shifted to make room for her, heart fluttering at the way her body fit beside yours, just close enough to feel the heat of her but not quite touching. the tension was delicate, suspended between your shared breaths and unsaid things.

you curled onto your side to face her, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the blanket between you. "do you always sleep this stiffly?" you teased.

she huffed a quiet laugh through her nose. "i'm not stiff."

"you're not relaxed either."

she didn’t answer, but her hand inched slightly closer, her pinky brushing yours under the covers.

"you don’t have to pretend anymore," you whispered. "i know you feel this, too."

her jaw tensed, eyes on the ceiling.

"you scare the shit out of me sometimes," she murmured. "not because you're dangerous. but because i don’t know what i’ll do if i let myself want this too much."

you shifted again, your leg brushing against hers. "abby… you already do."

she turned her face to yours, the smallest breath catching in her throat. your hand came up between you, brushing her bicep, lingering over the muscle with soft fingers. she closed her eyes for a second like she was trying to hold onto some resolve—but it was fading.

she finally moved. slowly, carefully, her arm draped over your waist, pulling you closer until your head tucked into the warm space beneath her collarbone. your arm settled over her stomach.

the moment was soft. not urgent. just full of something new.

"i don’t sleep in beds with clients," she murmured into your hair.

"but you’re not just sleeping," you whispered back. "and i’m not just a client."

she held you tighter at that, and for the first time since she arrived, she didn’t leave.

in the morning, you were still tangled together, and neither of you seemed in any rush to move.

[ruebossanova]

i’ve honestly been on a role lately… might be able to upload part 5 and 6 before tmr night!! 😊😊😊😊