MARRIAGE COUNSELING W ART PLEASEEEEEEEE GOD THE DEVASTATION THAT TAKES PLACE ON THAT COUCH
i think about it alot. tashi staying with patrick, her injury never happening. your arts college girlfriend and now you're married and it feels fucking stagnant, your relationship. but neither of you wants to give up. neither of you wants to reveal to the other true feelings.
under the cut because this got long and i have a whole au in my hear around this concept
you're only in counseling because of tashi. because shes still in your lives, her and patrick. and she recommended it to art when they were having one of their 'friend' lunches. and now here you are, because of course art took her advice.
he hasn't said anything, though. despite pleading for this. saying he wanted to save your marriage, that he wanted to love you how you should be loved but he didn't know how.
so here you are, on opposite ends of the couch, with the counselor staring at the empty space between you like that in itself is very telling. you suppose it is, in a way. couples who want to stay together should be unified, shouldn't they? you imagine how it would feel, if art had sat next to you. put an arm around you. squeezed you to his side. would you even be able to relax into him? its been so long since you touched eachother that way.
"so im picking up on some distance here," your therapist says. shes a small woman. almost swallowed by her chair. her glasses are perched on her nose as she gazes imperiously at empty space separating you and art. "not just physical either, though thats rather obviously there. but emotional distance. do either of you wanna comment on that?"
you cut a glance at art, expecting him to speak up since this was his idea - well. tashi's. but he just looks down at his lap, quiet. spins his wedding band around his finger.
you feel an anger so intense it pricks your eyes with tears.
"well, i guess you could start with the fact that coming here wasn't even either of our idea. it was his friends."
and now. here art speaks. his head jerks up and she shoots you an annoyed look. "you don't have to say it like that. you always say it like that. her name is tashi and she is my friend. and it was her suggestion, yeah, but it was a good one."
you look at the therapist - janet. raise your eyebrows in arts direction like, get a load of this guy. your legs cross and you start picking at a stray string from the couch.
"first words of the session and its to talk about another woman."
arts inhale is sharp and you can feel his eyes on you but you dont look at him. you can't. you wont. you're right, anyway. he can try to deny it all he wants but you know - you know what you are to him. you know where all your problems stem. you dont need to be here to make any grand discoveries over a fact you've resigned yourself too.
"i see." janet says. "and art having a relationship with this other woman upsets you."
"everything upsets her." art cuts in, sounding tired. his elbow is braced on the arm of the couch and hes chewing on his thumb in one of his nervous gestures. he always did that, as long as you've known him. he was a nail biter, he'd chew his lips raw, he'd nibble on straws, the ends of his pens. he was either lost in thought or agitated. your guess was the latter. "nothing i do makes her happy."
"is this true? are you unhappy with art?"
your skin feels hot. you shift around in your seat. the attention is all on you, and it feels like you've done something wrong, even though you know its literally janets job to ask questions.
"more like i know I'm not what he wants and that makes me...... really fucking sad."
art knees almost knock against yours as he turns his body to face you, giving you his full attention the first time today. you cant meet his eyes still, so you look at the faded spot on his jeans. light blue, like his eyes. you wonder how hes looking at you. cant make yourself look up to see.
"what." he stops. seems to gather some thoughts. tries again, with a steadier tone. "what are you talking about."
you try not to roll your eyes. your arm flings out limply.
"just that this whole thing is a joke, art." and you let out an exasperated laugh, even though nothing is funny. nothing has been funny or light between you two in a long time. "we're only here because the girl you really wanted to marry, told you to get your fucking shit together. you didn't ask us to come here because you wanted to mend something, you're here to please tashi. because if playing a good husband is a role she wants for you - well, you want to play it right, dont you?"
its quiet after that. in the silence you cant help but think about those early days. when you'd been full of love and light and art seemed to be really happy with you. you'd go on dates to the movies, walk through the park together with your hands swinging between you. laugh together and steal kisses whenever you could. you felt high back then.
it didn't even matter that art had a crush on tashi, because hell, you had one too, at the time. but she'd started dating patrick, and they seemed to mesh well together. they were both so intense and passionate. back then, you'd been alot closer to tashi yourself. patrick too. you remember the way she'd rant about how much she fucking hated him, pacing around your room and calling him every name under the sun. and you'd sit there with eager curiosity, and ask her why she didn't end it then. if he makes you so angry, why stay?
and she'd get this faraway look in her eyes. kind of wistful. kind of sad. kind of happy.
"because he makes me feel fucking alive. hes like a - like a drug or something. i cant quit. its addictive, you know?"
that stuck with you. it still sticks with you. you remember being envious of that kind of passion. youe relationship with art had always been so easy. you dont think you'd ever fought by that point. you loved art. you felt safe with art. but were you addicted to him? if you broke up - would you feel withdrawal symptoms?
sometimes you layed awake at night and thought about starting a fight - breaking up for no reason. just to see if he'd fight for you back, if the missing of eachother would be so intense one of you would cave.
but somehow you knew that wouldn't be the case. thats just not how you and art operated. if you got angry, he wouldn't rise to meet you, he'd back down. if you ended things, he wouldn't chase you, he'd let you go.
patrick and tashi were fire and brimstone and you and art was ice and you were....... dirt. solid. walked upon. dependable and not at all exciting.
when art had proposed to you after college graduation it wasn't spur of the moment as it had been with patrick when he'd swept tashi up with a ring and a elopement to vegas. it was talked about and agreed upon and you knew it was coming.
you still said yes.
"you think," and arts voice has a barely concealed tremble to it that makes you look up, finally. you're shocked to see he looks wounded. so many of his expressions you can count on one hand - and this - this wasn't one of them. his eyes are dark, stormy. "you think i dont care about our marriage beyond what someone else has to say about it? you really think that?"
you hate the sliver of guilt you feel, because its not a crazy thing to feel.
"yeah, i really do."
because well, that's the truth of the matter isn't it? you and your husband stare at eachother. and it feels like you're looking at a stranger. not the man who's freckles you used to kiss. who's fears you knew. who's hands you know every callous of, every divot and fingerprint.
"it seems you two have very different views of how the other views this marriage." janet cuts in, sounding curious. she taps her pen against the open notepad on her lap. "art, would you like to chime in on why you wanted to come here? even at the suggestion of someone else?"
art stares at you for a long moment. his face is unreadable to you. his jaw works before his chest expands on an exhale and he looks away.
"i guess i - i just didn't realize how..... stagnant things had gotten until it was pointed out to me. harshly." he winces, and you wonder exactly what tashi had to say to him. you haven't talked to the other woman for some time. contact fizzling out after your marriage to art. he flicks a glance to you, then away again. "im not the best at being aware of shit going on around me." his hand comes up to rub nervously at his neck. "i guess you could say im good at brushing things under the rug. going through the motions. that sort of thing."
janet nods like this makes sense to her. well, great, you think. you know my husband more than i do.
"you're not a fan of confrontation, are you?"
art actually laughs. a genuine one. one that brings a dimple to his cheek and flashes his teeth. you stare at it, like its an exotic animal, and you wont see it again. quickly you catalog the expression in your memory, so you dont forget what he looks like when hes happy.
"yeah, no." he shakes his head. "but I think thats part of the problem. I've obviously let too much shit get put under the rug and now its so full other people are noticing."
you look down at your hands, lips pressed together. your face burns at the knowledge that tashi and by extension - patrick - know your marriage is in shambles. how embarrassing, to be caught lacking in such a momentous way. to come up short and have your husbands friends know about it. you wonder - does he talk about all the ways you make him miserable with them? does patrick shake his head, say, "she's sucking the life out of you, man." does tashi look at him with pity? like hes some poor abused cat that needs to be let in from the rain?
the rain of your marriage.
the rain of you.
you're the storm. you're the problem. you're not enough. art needs fire. you're not even dirt, you're glass. and you can feel yourself breaking.
"that clearly hit a nerve, my dear." janets voice is soft. soothing. she hands you a tissue and you realize you'd begun to cry. "do you want to explain what you're feeling about what art said?"
"i...."
you dab dab dab at your eyes. sniffle. look around the room, trying to collect your thoughts. they feel like flyaway dandelions. you dont know which of them to grasp.
a warm hand settles over yours in your lap and you startle. its arts hand. warm and calloused and tan, covering yours. the gold glint of his wedding ring winks at you, the engraved words etched into them, "my soft epilogue". a shortened version of your favorite qoute i think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love.
at the time, that's what art was to you. your life before him hadn't been easy. being with art had felt like coming home from a long day and falling into a soft bed. it had felt like being able to land after weeks of being made to fly.
you turned your palm up, so he could slide his fingers between yours. he squeezed your hand.
"i think, i. i think i just think - I'm a failure." your bottom lip wobbles. you look at your enterwoven fingers and it makes you so sad that you haven't done the simple gesture of holding your husbands hand in months. "the two most important people in your life are. are so passionate and loud. and i see. i see how happy they make you - and i cant - i cant b-be that for you. we aren't - im not - you dont need me. im not a limb for you how they are. you could extract yourself from me and be. be happier."
your breath shudders out of you.
"you don't need me." you echo.
you wait for him to pull his hand away. this is more than you thought you'd share. some of it you weren't even aware of till the words were spilling from your lips. but they ring true.
without patrick and tashi art would drown. without you..... he'd float just fine.
"and that's important to you." janet says. a statement not a question. "you want to feel needed by art, and you feel as though you aren't. that his needs are met better with his friends than with you."
you nod slowly.
"baby." the word sends a shock through you. not the word itself but how its said. art calls you baby all the time, in a monotonous kind of way. routine. now he says it softly. with feeling. he lets go of your hand in favor of cupping your cheek, still damp with tears, turning your face to his. he looks pained. "of course i need you. i know i haven't been good at showing it. i just - you shut down - after we got married. you've been like a fucking ghost. like you dont want me to touch you. like i could dissappear for all you care and you'd just carry on. i don't know. but i need you, okay? i. need. you."
both hands cup your face, he makes you stare right into him. the conviction in his voice takes your breath away. theres a fire burning there you've thought long put out.
"obviously we have shit to sort out, and we will. but you've got to. you've got to know that. tashi only pushed me to do this because she how - how desperate i was. that's all."
you inhale deeply. exhale. swallow hard. tears cling to your lashes. you reach a hand up to clutch at one of arts wrists. eyes fluttering automatically when you do. you feel grounded again. less like you might float away.
"okay."
"yeah?"
"yeah...." and you smile. it trembles across your lips. but its there. "we'll sort our shit."
art lets out a relieved breath. kisses your forehead, lingering there. the gesture so tender you get emotional again. you want to crawl into his lap, have him wrap you in his arms. you want to feel held by him, like you used to.
"our time is up." janet sets her pen down. smiles. "but i think that was a wonderful first session. i can see the love between you hasn't faded, and that's more i can say for alot of couples who come to see me. keep your chin up."
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all mine (pt.2)
closeted/in denial abby anderson x reader
pt.1: you told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame.
please click here!
tags: sub!abby, dom!reader, experienced!reader, mentions of owen, tbh trauma from owen, strap-on sex, cunnilingus, 69ing, dry humping, grinding, nonexplicit masturbation, lowkey voyeurism+exhibitionism ish? there’s plot i swear.
A/N: im well aware that i apologize in every post i make and that its redundant, but im still sorry that i took forever to write.
so. some of this may sound a little familiar from the first part, but it’s simply just drawing parallels between abby’s and your stances on one another.
this gets gradually worse and worse. i think the quality started landsliding once i reached the smut. enjoy!
it’s been near ‘round a week later, and abby’s avoiding you like the fucking devil. in fact— by the way she’s been acting, you think she might even believe so. she’s never felt so inexplicably thrown off. clickers, bloaters… couple of well-aimed shots and they’re no deal. but you? the ghost of your touches haunt her day and night. she’s like a woman possessed. and she’s insatiable.
her once weekly visits to the chapel have become daily: hour-long stays spent on her knees, prayers whispered hastily under her breath, eyes darting to paranoically try to catch potential eavesdroppers.
even owen, the air-headed asshole, has been left victim, or perhaps victor, to the effects of your actions. in a desperate attempt to ease her whirling mind, or rather, to ease the painful throbbing between her thighs, abby’s seemed to have turned to her boyfriend as a last ditch effort.
abby’s newfound flood of arousal, pooling and pleading, only to be met by owen’s two incher every night have had his ego blowing up fucking obnoxiously.
“god, abby, you’re fuckin’ desperate for my dick lately,” he’d gloat, hilariously blind to his girlfriend’s infidelity.
unfortunately for abby, her pathetic resorts have done nothing to quiet the moaning mess of guilt-filled memories. if anything, they’ve done quite the opposite.
she’s been left to the mercy of her palm, heel of it digging into her clit while she’s beside the sleeping figure of owen, straining every massive muscle in her body to give her that orgasm she so badly needs.
it’s to no avail, though. stuck gasping and tearing up against a pillow, her poor pussy crying for some semblance of relief. and what’s left is a week-long edged abby anderson, ms. “top soldier”, who’s back to shooting no better than a freshly new recruit.
what’s up with that, hm?
~
2am now, in the isolated west dormitory’s showers, and abby’s at it again. her body starving for your touch; your sinful, corrupting, addictive touch, and she’s failing to appease her needs once more.
“mmph- fuck, ah-please,” abby begs into her forearm, groaning as two thick fingers plunge deep into her sopping hole, thrusting in and out messily.
it’s exhausting to fuck the way you do. even with her arms the impressive size they are, it’s impossibly demanding to reach every nerve you had reached, filthy sounds echoing along the tile walls, taunting her.
abby knows what’s coming, or really, the lack of it.
skin pink from the heat of the water, she abandons her effort, shutting the stream off with a squeak and ventures the locker room to get dressed for the night.
her mind wanders to you— that’s all it ever seems to do as of recently, and she thinks about how she almost misses your antics. she can’t place her finger on what it is exactly about you that makes her chase every teasing interaction so masochistically.
maybe it’s your lopsided smile that lures her in, or that glint in your eye she gets caught up in. or maybe it’s just that she knows she shouldn’t want you, and it’s so deliciously wrong, and that’s why she’s got to have you.
towel flung over her shoulder, abby makes her way out, only to stop in her tracks when she hears the loud slam of a locker door.
what the fuck? wasn’t the bathroom empty when she last checked??
cheeks burning at the mistaking of her privacy, she swivels the corner, furious to see who the fuck else is using the west dorm showers at this hour. of all the hours.
and, well, abby’s frozen in place when she’s met with the sight of a mystery someone’s bare back. but oh, how she recognizes you, you and your wet hair, slinging droplets down your smooth skin, trailing lower and lower and-
you cough, breaking her trance. baby blue eyes dart up, caught, as you slide your tank on, smirking.
“hey, anderson.”
that just about does it for her. abby slams an open locker door shut, almost sprinting out of the room.
and really, there’s no choice but for you to follow her, practically hunting her down as she sharply turns down random hallways, clearly attempting to outrun you. abby makes a wrong turn soon enough, and you honestly think you might burst out into laughter because of the funny way fate seems to string the two of you together.
the blonde’s backed herself into a corner, and it just so happens to be your residential corner. you can’t help but wonder if she already knew where your room was located.
“scared, anderson?” slips out of your mouth, and it feels significant, reminiscent of the week before. you stare her down, wet strands clinging to her skin to match yours, and it’s like the two of you know what’s to come with your words. the inevitable.
you’re not sure which one of you moves first, rubber band of tension snapping as your lips collide in a catastrophic sort of way. you’re scrambling to blindly dial your dorm code in and tugging abby by her shirt in a tangle of limbs and saliva.
“i’ll play nice,” you pant, “even after that disappearing stunt you pulled last week.”
abby laughs, whispering, “whoops,” under her breath before pulling you in for another dizzying kiss, tongue eagerly curling into your mouth like she’s been waiting years for a taste.
you wrap your fingers around her hair with a tug, and the low groan that escapes from the back of abby’s throat has you repeating the motion again and again as you veer her backwards to fall atop your bed. you follow, straddling her, not wanting to spend a second apart from the fucking drug that her mouth is.
your hips grind down on their own, burning and desperate for stimulation. abby, in return, wraps a strong hand around your throat, pulling you even deeper into a sloppy kiss to swallow your moans as she pushes her hips up to meet yours.
“fuck,” you gasp, clit catching against the seam of your shorts with every roll.
abby’s mind has gone blurry with arousal, drunk off the satisfaction of finally getting what her body’s begged for. every pretty noise that slips out of your mouth sends pulses of pleasure straight through her bundle of nerves, and every touch of skin has her feeling set ablaze.
but as always, she needs more.
she maneuvers you easily under her big frame, your head tipping back in a soft whine as she latches herself onto your throat, biting and soothing your skin over.
she’s lodged a leg in between your own, mimicking your position as she wildly bucks her hips down onto you. “please,” she breathes out, tears welling in her eyes with how foreign this feeling is. she can’t bring herself to care about how needy she’s acting, because to starve, is to take anything.
“just like that, baby, you’re soaking my thigh,” you coo, continuing to dry hump her leg like she’s nothing but a toy to you. the whimper she lets out at the name you call her is downright criminal, and the way her movements pick up have you groaning it out again. “c’mon baby, make a mess of yourself for me,” you grab her meaty hips, grinding her harder down against you.
“gonna-“ she gasps into your neck, before shuddering against you as she cums with a cry, muscular thighs holding you so desperately tight in place. you almost scream, caught in the iron grip she has your body in, stopped so close to your own finish. you dig your nails into the flesh of abby’s hips, hearing her moan as the pain mixes with pleasure, and echo the sound yourself as the burning in your core starts up again.
“just let me, for a minute- i need you- just stay here, shit,” you ramble, gripping her hair for leverage while you fuck yourself faster against her thigh.
every twitch of a muscle beneath your soaked pussy has you reeling, unable to wrap your mind around what a massive fucking crime it is, for another woman not to have experienced the absolute blessing it is to have abby anderson’s defined-ass thigh to grind on.
you glance down at abby, and the fucked-out expression she has on, all watery doe-eyed as she peers up at you, mesmerized, has you throbbing enough to match your heart rate.
curse after curse flies out of your mouth as she attaches her mouth to your neck again, biting down as you let go of that coil tugging on your navel.
abby’s no sooner clambering atop you, diving in to taste your sounds as she scoops you onto her lap, practically growling, “fuckin’ get over here,” under her breath.
as your vision returns, she attacks your mouth with a sloppy kiss, colliding teeth, and you’re unbearably hungry for more.
“let me- i’m gonna taste you,” you breath out, shoving abby’s back down with a push.
she falls back with a soft thud, eyes not leaving you once. “please, fuck- taste me, have me,” abby affirms, scrambling to tug her shorts off.
the massive soaked patch at the center her boxers have your eyes rolling into your skull. “shit, anderson,” you run a finger over her clothed slit, giggling as she jerks her hips up.
“shut up,” she rasps, her words harsh, but the small smile on her face says otherwise.
you grin up at her, “didn’t say anything,” before licking a fat stripe up her covered pussy.
her response is immediate, hands fisting into your hair to pull your mouth closer, actions the epitome of more, more, more.
you flatten your tongue, licking, and meshing her arousal with your saliva to entirely soak her boxers wet. you wrap your lips around where you guess to be her clit, based off the place her legs tremble when your tongue reaches it, and suck hard.
“there,” abby whines out, back flying off the mattress, and you’re so very desperate to see what other fun reactions she has in store for you, you grab at her waistband to unveil her pretty dripping pussy.
up close, face to face, you get to really admire the work of art she is. the divets of muscle adorning her thighs frame her pussy almost in a greek-goddess sort of way. light brownish-blonde curls of hair that reach out to your mouth, trying to pull you in closer. she’s beautiful. you’re in complete control of her right now, and holding the reins of such an unreal being has you groaning into her slick eagerly, hands holding her spread wide open while you feast.
you’re dipping your tongue into her sopping mess, teasing and thrusting, feeling her gummy walls flutter around every brush of the muscle. you dart a thumb up to circle her puffy clit, red, from her earlier actions, and the way abby’s legs kick up— almost hitting you in the face, has you giggling again into her pussy. the vibrations of your laugh make abby squeal, thighs clamping around your head, and then she’s tugging at your hair, chanting, “stopstopstopstop,” and you, of course, oblige immediately.
your face comes up covered in her wetness, arousal dripping from your chin as you lick your lips in an halfhearted attempt to clean yourself up. “sorry, sorry, i- did you want me to stop?” you ramble, concerned that you might’ve gone a little too far this time, getting yourself involved with a taken straight girl.
abby’s face flushes a deep red, even darker than it had been from your actions, as she catches her breath and looks away. “no, i- can you, uhm.”
you catch on to her hesitation, newer to sex thats more than just, well, dick. you rub her calves soothingly, “use your words, baby, you got it.”
she visibly gulps, thighs pressing tight around your body, “can i?” she asks, almost sulkily as her hands move to tug at your shorts.
“oh-!” slips out of your mouth, surprised, “yeah, yeah you can.”
she lets out a soft okay, tugging harder now, slipping her calloused fingers under your waistband as well so as to drag both down together. abby’s groans, low and heady, at the sight of your glistening pussy, practically dripping down your thighs from just getting her off. “this too,” she murmurs, sliding your tank off before you can blink.
she’s pulling you in closer, as if she’s in a trance, as she wraps her lips hesitantly around one of your perked nipples. the high-pitched sigh you let out is more than enough encouragement for her to continue, warm tongue flicking at it as she sucks around your breast. “is this okay?” she pulls away to whisper, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she looks up at you, eyes wide.
“fuck- yes, just,” you push her head back in, her lips abiding immediately as they gently pull at your nipple, teeth grazing the most sensitive parts of your chest as you arch your back into it, quiet moans ringing in her air.
all of a sudden you’re being turned around, confused, until your hips are being lifted up towards abby’s stuck-out tongue and you’re shaking with your face pressed to her thigh while she experimentally kitten-licks around your hole, unknowingly teasing you.
her nose brushes ever-so-slightly over your pulsing clit as her tongue passes just over your dripping mess, and it has you crying out, “there, please- right there, please,” breath hot over her own throbbing pussy.
her hips jerk up at the sensation, and you take the hint— latching your lips around her own clit and stuffing two fingers easily into her hole, moaning at the feeling of her squeezing tight around you.
it’s no wonder abby’s the top soldier of wlf. for a girl who’s only ever been with the most lacking, vanilla man ever, she picks up fast. each action of yours is borderline self-serving, with the way abby’s mimicking every move not even a moment after, so adorably eager to please.
abby had this insistent need to pull every pretty sound from you, whether she got it through grazing her teeth against your clit, or curling a thick finger against your g-spot, she was determined to hear it— to the point where you thought she might’ve even needed it. and it’s what made sex with her so intoxicating.
she wasn’t like any of the other girls you typically hooked up with, and that’s not to say the girls you usually got with were bad to fuck… they just weren’t as invested in your pleasure as you were with theirs. and as the type to get off on giving rather than receiving, this was especially new. you’ve never been with someone like you. and god, does it take the cake.
abby’s really coming to terms with all the ways she can use her especially large everythings to make you feel good, murmuring into your pussy, “‘m fuckin’ splitting you open with my fingers, pretty,” as she pushes in a third finger to your sopping hole, relishing in the squelch that comes with the thrust.
your thighs shake around her head, stimulated beyond compare as you continue your ministrations on abby’s pussy, humming mhms into it to encourage more of her bolder ventures.
“mm-fuck, can feel you choking my fingers. you gonna cum, hm?” she mumbles cockily, the high from your reactions sending her mind into a frenzy.
“shit, please, need it so bad,” you croak out, taking only mere seconds apart from tonguing down her puffy clit.
“ah- god, me too, pretty. cum on my tongue,” she says, and the fucking vulgarity of it, so downright shocking to hear from ms. straight christian prude over here, has you riding your orgasm out, trembling heat overtaking your body like a california wildfire. matched moans come from beneath you, as abby’s hips fuck up against your mouth, legs flexing deliciously as the two of you reach your peaks together, the world slowing.
you slide your body off of hers, turning around to be met with a sight to behold. your cum, all over abby’s mouth, shining on the tip of her nose, remnants leaked onto her chin— and you have not a doubt you look the same mess. you yank her into a sloppy kiss, fluids mixing in your mouths in the most animalistic nature.
“i’m not done with you,” you say, eyebrows scrunched as you take in her fucked-out expression.
“i know,” she whispers, “give me more,” she breathes out.
abby slips out of her tank, finally, using the cloth to gently wipe your face and hers, action a bit too intimate for what you guys have, but neither of you decide to call out on it.
“you gonna let me fuck you?” you ask quietly, running a hand over her chest softly, enamored, as abby shivers from your words.
“please fuck me,” she whimpers, tone all pouty and petulant as she watches your hand trace ambiguous shapes over her skin.
“so polite,” you tease lightly, pulling her in for a brief kiss before reaching over to your bedside drawer and pulling out your favorite strap, just the one for the special girl in front of you.
8 inches, hot pink, with a slight curve to it, but most importantly, never been used on anyone other than yourself, by yourself.
“it’s so-“ she stutters nervously, thighs rubbing together in anticipation as you secure the toy onto your hips.
“pretty?” you finish, unable to help your laugh as she looks at you, so clearly not thinking of your response.
“yeah,” she shrugs, “suppose it is.”
it’s quiet in the room as you finish latching the silicone dick onto yourself, the two of you settling into the weight of your impulse-fueled actions.
you gently pull open her closed legs, settling yourself between them as you tease her entrance with the tip of the toy, covering it with her cum. you then spit down onto it, twisting your hand around to coat, and hear abby ask, “what’re you doing?”
you continue to prep the toy with easy motions, committed by memory, “i know you’re soaked, anderson, but it’s still a dick you’re taking, baby.”
“i just mean- i, you know,”
you hum, “owen doesn’t put in the effort, huh? and i bet you’re not even a quarter as wet for him as you are for me,” scoffing.
“don’t-“
“it’s the truth though, isn’t it?”
“…yeah.”
“that’s what i thought.”
you thumb her clit in circles, using her slick as lube to rub over it smoothly, relishing in the way abby’s head falls back and her hips jolt up. “that’s it, ease up for me,” you murmur.
you prod again at her entrance with the toy, sliding the tip in slightly as she hisses, “‘m sti-still sensitive.”
“and you’re gonna take it like the fuckin’ slut you are, anderson, aren’t you?” you tsk, pushing a couple inches more into her.
“shit- yes, yes ma’am,” she whimpers out, legs threatening to close from the new stretch.
“because even after all that time in the shower, nothing can fill you like i do,” you finish, thrusting the full length of you into her tight pussy, abby nodding repeatedly as her back arches up.
her moans pick up alongside your hips, voice breaking with every thrust as you push into that one sensitive spot deep inside with obvious expertise.
“so, s-so go-od,” she cries, hands gripping into the bedsheets as she searches for some tie back to reality.
you smirk satisfactorily, fast pace fueled by the sight of abby’s open mouth, drool spilling out the sides as her voice grows hoarse from constant use. you fuck her hard, strength channeled from the anger you bore against her homophobic attitudes, and jealousy you garnered towards owen and his idiotic male self.
you lock your eyes with abby, sweat dripping down your face as you zero down on her, slamming into her pussy with no reprieve. “no more owen,” you say, each word punctuated by another deep thrust.
“this is so wrong, this is so fucked,” abby rambles, nervous eyes darting around the room so as to avoid your gaze. her eyebrows are tugged together, head shaking no: but no to argue your words, or no to agree with them?
“has something so wrong ever felt so good?” you pant out, “tell me baby.”
“i can’t, i can’t, i can’t,” she repeats, torn between what felt right in her head, and what felt so right in her heart. “turn me over,” she babbled, not wanting to head-on face the fucking sin-filled act she was committing.
“you tried running, baby. and how’d that work for you?” you ask, fed up. “you’re still back here, a fucking mess, and all for me.”
“what’s it gonna take for you to face the fact that you’re getting fucked by a girl, and it’s so much better than anything you’ve ever experienced?”
abby’s eyes scrunch tight, trying to tune you out, but her moans still wrench out from the back of her throat, guttural and unstoppable.
you slide out finally, earning you a soft whine of disagreement, toy dripping with her slick with the tip pressed against her folds. “look at me, abby.”
and fuck. she’s never taken notice to the fact that you’ve never said her name before—but god does it sound so pretty coming out of your mouth. and god is it enough to make her wrestle her eyelids open and stare you dead in the eyes, blue clashing with the darkness you reeked in.
“say that again,” she whispers, look full of pleading. 4 letters, 2 syllables, but it has her core tensing and her heart racing a mile.
“tell me you’re mine, abby,” you breath, and she almost finishes right there and then.
“i’m yours,” she says, a single tear breaking free from her right eye, baptizing her skin, absolving her of guilt.
“good,” you choke out, bottoming entirely into her as she releases a cry. your movements quicken, ravenous, chasing the sweet whines that fill the room.
abby’s tits bounce with each thrust, and you reach down to give her sensitive nipples a pinch, making her reach an all time new height of pleasure. her chest heaves, curses slur, as she squirms under your touch, nearing an unbearably overstimulated state.
“feels- gonna cum,” she moans, barely holding on.
“cum for me,” you demand, needing to see her fall apart now more than ever as you pound into her harder, fingers rubbing harsh circles into her clit.
“s-shit,” she gasps, throwing her head back as her walls tighten around the toy, “‘m- fuck, god- fuck! ‘m cumming!”
loud squelching noises overtake the room, complete with the sight of abby writhing beneath you as spurts of her juices drench your moving cock.
her chest heaves, mouth open in a silent scream as she comes down from her high, squirming with overstimulation.
you can see the moment her brain clicks, panic in her eyes clear as her skin turns pasty white.
“i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to do that i don’t know how-“
“abby.”
“-that happened ive never done that before, like who-“
“abby.”
“-fucking pisses on someone like that i’m so sorry ill clean it-“
“ABBY.”
her eyes shoot up to meet yours, frame cowering as she mumbles a quiet apology again, so obviously uneducated in the realm of half-decent orgasms.
“you squirted, abby, you didn’t piss on me for christ’s sake. it was hot. now don’t worry about it, i’m very honored,” you chide lightly, cradling abby’s heated face in your hand.
you stand up, grabbing a clean towel and wetting it with warm water from your kettle. striding over, you spread abby’s legs lightly, running the towel gently over her worked-out center, breath hitching, hips jerking with your touch.
“why are you- you don’t have to-“ abby stutters, grabbing your wrist.
you pause, confused. “abby, i’m not a fucking dick, contrary to belief,” you scoff.
she doesn’t let go. “no that’s not what i- i didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, you know.” she waits for you to look up at her, before looking away. “you don’t have to fuss over me.”
a laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. “you mean owen doesn’t-? yeah, who am i kidding, of fucking course he doesn’t ‘do aftercare,’ god, what a dick!” you groan, facepalming.
“abby, baby, this is fucking normal. owen just sucks,” you smirk, her cheeks flushing at your words. “let me take care of you,” you continue more softly, nudging her grip off as you drag the towel over her sternum next, cleaning off any remnants left from the two of you.
abby’s quiet now, eyes following your every movement, curious almost, a bit hesitant— as if she’s not sure what to do with herself in the meanwhile. she’s stiff to the touch, frame shrunken now due to the sheer vulnerability of it all. bare as the day she was born, and touched like she’s never done wrong a minute in her life.
she doesn’t know how to feel about it. wisps of hair tickle her nose, and so she scratches it, pushing her hair away, tugging it behind her ears. and you’re right there on it, wordlessly turning her around as you begin to comb through her hair loosely, pulling it into a simple braid. the same hairstyle she displays everyday, always done by her own hand: tight, knot-free, and burning into her scalp. a reminder to remain true to her virtues, live by strict rules, and not stray from the lord’s path.
but the way you braid is so different. you’re careful to tie in the tickling wisps, but not harsh. effective, but not pushing. with owen she feels like an accessory, but you make her feel like someone worth worshipping. and so, the only burning she feels is not on her scalp, but behind her eyes.
you do notice the subtle tremble in abby’s shoulders, droplets trickling down her cheeks as you weave her hair through, but you make no comment on it. certainly not with the way your own hands fumble her golden strands, fingers shaking into the knots. you tie the end of it up.
“i should go,” abby whispers, standing to grab her scattered clothes.
you remain seated, mouth opening and closing like a fish, as your lips struggle to wrap around the words your heart is singing out for.
you settle on one.
“stay,” you blurt, louder than you intended, the word ringing in the tense air.
abby freezes, hand outstretched towards her tossed shirt. her head edged just the slightest bit towards you, like subconsciously, she was waiting for you to say something.
“just- stay,” you whisper this time, more unsure. waiting for the rejection you know is to come. and while your brain is screaming for you to let her go, your eyes are hooked onto abby’s figure— searching intently for the smallest signal of her response.
you see her breath catch in her throat.
“okay,” she whispers back, and her head turns just enough for your gazes to lock, matched desperation surging.
she’s drawn back to the bed like a magnet pulled to its twin, the mattress dipping as she settles in the space beside you.
and abby feels the heat of your drilling stare, one she refuses to return. she has no more fire left in her, not for you, just contemplation. a longing for more, an urge to savor, an ache to feel.
so abby faces the door, and you face her back, waiting for the day she’ll turn around.
so what did we think guys?!?? this was 4.7k words. crazy.
ok. so notice the tear coming from her right eye during that whole end part of the sex. note that it came from her RIGHT eye. scientifically speaking, that’s a tear of joy. BOOOOOOM MIC DROP.
i, unfortunately, shot for the stars and tried to make this deeper. hard to do that when you’re not in touch with your emotions. so now you guys are stuck being confused. good luck!
anyways. the final scene is supposed to represent where they metaphorically stand in their relationship. reader is trying to bond with abby, or at least making an effort to, hence her facing abby. abby can’t come to terms with all this, but she’s trying! she’s not fully accepted the homosexual part of herself though, the side that comes out with reader, so she’s facing the door. FACING IT, not leaving through it. ;)
also, yes, owen goes in dry. it’s canon. do not come at me.
taglist:
@pricefieldsuperiority @heartlexs @graviewaviee @liaphrodite @k1ngpin42 @deadbolted @be3flow3r @mrsabbyanderson
@rob1nbuckl3ys @vivispace @bookpagecandlescent
@thelosstvalkyrie for photo creds ty baby <3
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