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superobservationdreamwitch · 6 days ago

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VITAMINAS

SUMMARY: Abby taking care of you when you're sick

AN: I don't think I ever posted this but If I did pretend I didn't(???? I wrote this on the worst fever ever so ignore any horrible wording.

Imagine Abby coming home, her jacket smelling like your perfume as she puts it somewhere in the couch. Her shoes loud against the floor as she walks into the kitchen. She can hear your troubled breathing so she's quiet, using the loud rain from outside to quiet her steps here and there in the kitchen and the loud sound of the utensils she's using to cook you the most delicious chicken soup ever. She makes you a sweet tea and a not so delicious remedy with a hideous smell she already knows you're gonna pout about later.

She makes sure to put your medicine into one of those containers to separate the pills for day and hour just in case she needs to go out or can't work from home. Because oh yeah Abigail asked for a week of vacation the second you got sick and took you to the doctor Inmediatelly.

She takes some vitamins and puts them on a small napkin and takes everything to the room, quietly opening the door and leaving all on your night stand.

The bed is a mess, all pillows and blankets for you to use. Old worn clothes and socks everywhere in the bed and floor and tissues everywhere. The old medicine packages on her night stand.

She leaves the door open and leaves you sleeping as she goes for the rest of the manybthinfs she's prepared for you and hurries back as she hears your loud coughing. It's desperate, like you can't breathe.

And when she comes back she cuddles next to you, helping you sit and rubbing your back.

You're sweating and probably about to get fever again, and you can't breathe. Your eyes are teary and puffy from the kittle sleep you've gotten and the frustrated crying you let out last night, cuddling her and confessing how shitty you've felt for being so dependent on her these days, which saddened her because who had ever made her girl feel like a burden before when she was sick for her to think like that?

"Hey... deep breaths baby. You've got this." She murmured, her eyebrows slightly curved in pity. And you tried, you really tried to take a deep breath, but your throat felt too sore and achy and it always ended in a nonstop coughing that made you curve into a fetal position.

Your body was as sore as your throat. And you could barely talk before coughs would interfere.

Your voice was sore and huscky.

"My head hurts." You finally managed to say, barely audible. But Abby heard, touching your forehead just to make sure it wasn't another fever. "It's okay, 's probably just all the coughing and lack of sleep. Don't worry." She murmured. And noticed your discomfort at her words. She was trying her best to comfort you bit there' was only much she could do. "I can't give you anymore medicine. You know that."

And you sighed, turning your attention at all the things she brought for you. "Right. Wait." She kissed your forehead before turning to the opposite side of the bed, in front of you.

She dragged the chair from her desk and pulled it so she could sit in front ot you and the bed, next to the nightstand. "So... these are all the pills you have to take. I put the time too." She paused, holding a glass of water for you to take the pills. "Now... this is the tea you don't like." And just like she thought, you pouted.

She brushed your disheveled and tangled hair away from your sticky face, giving you a gentle smile. "Just take it. Then you sip this. It's sweet." She held the other cup of tea, one that was actually good. And you did, taking the first one in one sip that almost made you throw up again. And immediately you took the other one, a gentle sip that was more than enough to erase the old taste. "And... chicken soup, just like you like it." She held the bowl for you as you straightened yourself in the bed and pushed all the many pillows and blankets aside to properly eat.

"You're getting better." She murmured as if ti convince you. And you sighed. "I mean it. I think you should be better by this week." And you eyed her a little as you ate the soup.

You were mad and annoyed at the lack of sleep and the sore body and throat and the runny nose. The body pain and all the sweating. You felt dirty and dependent and useless and so so in pain.

And in a whole week it hadn't gotten better but worse.

"Thank you." You finally spoke, quiet and huscky. And Abby smiled because she didn't know how much she could miss your voice and your jokes and your laugh.

"When you are done with it you gotta take the vitamins." She held the napkin for you, a sheepish smile on her face. And you nodded.

"What do you wanna go when you get better?" Her tone soft and soothing as always. Like she was talking to a child, simply soft and tender.

You smiled at the thought of it. And she only smiled back, but god was she feeling relieved. She hadn't seen youbsmile since you got sick

"Dunno." You murmured, taking a sip from the soup.

Your breathing steady for once.

"Think about it, yeah?" She insisted, standing from the chair to press another kiss into your forehead and walking over the closet to take her shoes off and change her clothes into pajamas to spend the rest of the cloudy rainy day cuddling with you and taking care of you.

"Love you." She murmured, her arm wrapping around you as she covered herself with a thin blanket. And you looked back at her, smiling once again.

You could talk, but it wasn't needed.

She knew she was loved.

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superobservationdreamwitch · 12 days ago

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fuck-fuck-fuck not being able to kiss your super hot drummer girlfriend properly ‘cause of that damn tongue piercing.

cw # 18+, public sex, oral sex, bandmates!au, guitarist!reader, slight dumbification, vi’s hot as fuck i wont elaborate, 2.2k words of pure filth, pls take care of your fresh piercing and DONT eat your girl if its a tongue one thanks,,, art bellow by — robin-vb.

"you sure you don't want to try it out with the groupies out there?" it's a compromised position to even try to be a brat when her arm pushes you against the small space in between the piled transportation boxes behind the scenario, when her lips find yours and you cannot think of a response that's clever enough as her mouth trails an invisible path down to your jaw and you can feel the first traces of it, the metal that drags against your skin in a new, foreign sensation — "i mean, they are screaming your name, don’t you hear it?"

vi’s sure she can, but cannot bring herself to care when she lacks of decency like this. decency she should have as her hands got stuck beneath your shirt, stroking the skin that shivers beneath her touch like a chemical reaction. the concert has just ended, the fans keep screaming and demanding for more so there's no one around to make her think its a bad idea, not when you look so inviting in her arms, when your sweaty skin now feels warm in the drummer's own and it’s exactly what she needs to celebrate another successful night.

"you're not wearing a bra?" there's noise around, but vi remains unfocused, the rest comes to a second plane: of course you're not wearing a bra — "cheeky guitarist. why do you want a fan, huh? somebody else to watch? maybe she likes my piercing better than you do."

there's no real discussion at all, not when you miss her too much to even try to fight any witty comment she tosses at you when the drummer decided to get a tongue piercing out of nowhere a month ago, against your will at first cause she's unable to kiss you for the entire healing process, eat you out properly.

"fuck off, violet."

"nu-uh. nobody gets to see you this fucked but me," a problem. everything with her tends to be a problem when you first meet her years ago. "the view is reserved for my eyes only, sweetheart. let them get in line."

you knew it from before, when she knocked on your door months ago, claiming she had nowhere to go, soaking wet cause it's raining heavily and she cannot crash at the studio anymore when things get complicated with rent. treating your sofa like its heaven on earth, only an excuse to have you closer — push you against her half-asleep, wrap her arms around you in the minimal space of the squared cushions that work as an improvised mattress, you're the only one that's able to keep her alive in a cold night.

your rockstar girlfriend is an adrenaline junkie, cause she doesn't care about who could, or cannot see what she's doing behind the scenario with the promise it wont take more than ten minutes.

"what's the worst that can happen in ten minutes?"

so this whole secretive thing is getting out of hand when she's unbuckling your pants, when her saliva's visible in the flesh and vi only takes what she needs, even when it goes too far, even when her hands slide under the rough fabric of your jeans and her fingertips burn against your body. its like taking care of a thirst that she's been carrying all this time, not aware of the consequences cause she's too busy worried about your fun, your desires.

there's no way to point out she's undressing you in public, that it would take only one of the assistants to go and search for a storage box or just cross the scenario from one side to another behind the curtains to see what's happening; there's no use in hiding the need that drags you closer to her, that permission in the air when her finger circles around your clit tight and trapped in your jeans and you part your legs further apart to give her more space, more of you.

a lot can happen in ten minutes. you become aware of it now when she's all over you, unable to walk you to her dressing room when vi's too hungry to try to resist that magnetism that pulls you closer to her, insane and tangible. something explodes after all that playful games in front of the public, the damn band when you seated in her lap whispering how good she's hitting every note, how good she looks as her muscles do the effort to catch up every quick note, when her leg muscles hold enough force to make you jump each time she pushes the pedal on her right foot: hot, it’s fucking hot.

teasing her the entire concert — you really think she was going to be patient enough to wait for privacy? violet's bragging the entire day on how her appointment with her piercer went so good to the point she can now do all those things she once was forbidden with; did you really believe she wasn’t going to use it on you the first moment she gets you alone?

maybe that's why she's kneeling in front of you, why you moan as her tongue soaks down the fabric of your tee and the piercing slides against your hardened nipple making you thank on your choices of not wearing a bra, gasp cause it's much easier without underwear, safer if someone catches the filthy atrocities an impatient drummer rockstar cannot wait to do.

silver metal, you can feel it when she's placing kisses in your belly, marks that will last for the entire week when she takes their time with it — your girlfriend wants you to fall in love with it like she does, love the damn piercing like a treat she's patiently waiting to show you.

"be silent," it's a warning, but really, why for? is there a point when your moans blend with the screams outside? when the electricity is still palpable in the air and you can feel vi's mouth similar to the most delicious sin to ever exist? it's warm when her tongue traces the bones in your hips, as her lips suction the skin right over the waistband of your underwear to leave a mark she'll be able to look at every time she wants to, unbuckled pants already, you’re so pliant in her touch, reactive — "been fucking with me in the scenario all night but you can't shut up for a while? make a damn effort."

she's never mean. she's rough but she's always tender, holds you close to hear the sound of your heartbeat in her ear like a movie soundtrack, relishes on how your pulse flutters against her hand as she whispers the most filthy sentences against your ear, unspeakable lust, like the way your girlfriend looks on her knees.

it would be an utter embarrassment to fold this easily for you in any other circumstance, wear the redness on her knees like a new tattoo vi wants to get done the minute she walks away from the stadium. the grid on the floor pushes against her skin to leave new marks like the ones in your stomach, and the pain is deliciously good— she's been there before, tugging your pants down to your ankles and running her short nails against the skin of your thighs to leave a red path behind: she's been there before, enjoying you.

"vi-- someone will come in, we can go to my dressing room," the words come out choked of your throat and you understand at the same time that it's not the common adrenaline what turns you on in the first place, the subtle desire of being discovered, pry upon, but instead, the way your girlfriend whispers against your skin something about how you can take it, how you already let her go that far only to undress you this quickly hidden by some amplifiers.

you’re so good: let her keep going.

"cum on my tongue and all resentment is forgotten, i promise" what fucking resentment? what is she on? you chuckle, shit. will she bother to undress you properly? take off your already soaked panties or keep the insane behavior going? vi's smile widens at the sight of the slick underwear bare to her sight, something your girlfriend wants to hold in her memory as something dear: the darker hue that she can almost not discern in the dark but its there, filling the air in the backstage with your intoxicating scent — "be quick and no one will notice, do we have a deal?"

she could convince you to sign a contract with the devil itself, a demon sent to hold you accountable of every whispered promise you made swearing to higher forces of the universe without knowing she was listening. you're nodding, she got the most handsome cocky grin in history and you are greeted instead, by the most recent addition in her mouth.

cold, gentle and constant drag of the metal bar making their way against her your soaked underwear, and you don't even notice when she's using her hands to spread you further apart, the fabric clinging into your folds and leaving behind easy access to delve deeper, sink her face in between your legs until you're all she can breathe and taste is your fresh arousal leaking and sticking to the cotton.

"cat got your tongue?" funny. so fucking funny when her thumb find your clit already marked in your clingy underwear, stroking it with a practiced ease: she knows the rhythm you like, your own maddening course she has learned to the heart — "use that pretty mouth and answer me. you're good at that."

your rockstar girlfriend aims to please. that's why she got the tongue piercing done in the first place, cause she wants you to enjoy every second of it. a secret reward for vi herself, cause the love she feels on her stomach when your head falls backwards and she can hear the moans you're fighting to hold? should be damn studied, used as a reference for the increasing desire that manifest sticking to vi's underwear.

you understand now. the sounds outside become silent now when you distinguish the lewd, slurping sound she makes cause despite being in clear public, your girlfriend cant help but be a messy eater, dripping saliva against her chin, smearing against her face as your hips roll forward in almost an automatic proof of your need.

holding you in place, the sight of your knees shaking makes vi smile; damn right you cannot speak, damn right you move cause you're always so greedy, greedy little guitarist who's always asking for more.

swollen clit, it aches under her touch, the sensitive bundles of nerves responding to her — no need for fingers, no need to anything else more than a sinful tongue to get you there, your own hand covering your mouth to somehow stiff the moans as the other grips vi's cherry strands to hold her close to your cunt.

your bandmate satisfies your needs like no one else does, communicates with your body without having to talk with you first cause her hands now force you to move against her mouth, ground your hips against her mouth to get the perfect friction. the metal drags against your underwear, rubs between your folds and stimulates your already swollen g-point in a devastating bundle: there it fucking is.

vi can feel it too after a while, when your grip turns almost painful as you try to draw her closer: travels down your spine like a current of electricity waiting to strike. you're on the tantalizing edge of a delicious orgasm and vi's never felt more holy than in that very moment when you're biting your hand to hold in the moans of her name that threatens to be loud as hell, repeating like a prayer over and over again.

it's such an intoxicating feeling, to be wanted without an ounce of restraint.

your body convulses, and your girlfriend has to fight against the gravity to keep you standing, feasting on the white-ish discharge that now coats your underwear and she wishes to get on her tongue instead.

fucking greedy.

so how was it? everything's a problem with your bandmate/girlfriend. everything's a problem and it's so intense with her. the first make-out high on weed, the tattoo's she gave you at 3am after you both received the first paycheck, high on love, high on life, high on the devastating sound of the music.

"you think someone saw?"

"no," vi reassures you when you're using your thumb to clean the traces of you in the corners of her mouth — "what i'm really curious about, is what the tabloids will say about your flirting tonight."

"my flirting?" you question, fixing your outfit.

"do we think sitting in my lap and whisper filthy things to my ear will go unnoticed?" she chuckles likes its obvious, cause after all, it is obvious.. "i mean, even good guitarists have their limits, people can tell when you're looking at me with those eyes."

"what eyes?"

"you know what eyes. those fuck me eyes."

it's raw and unfiltered. when you kiss her vi's sweaty and it's clumsy and perfect, full of saliva, your own taste, metal and something that's uniquely your girlfriend.

ah. it was never fucking casual. you should have known from the start.

maybe it is time to tell the band, you can't really tell when vi's making you dumb on her kisses again: your girl's always playing dirty.

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