c.

you arrived home for the summer only to find that your pa's weekend hobbies have changed since you left—for the better, you will acknowledge! no more acting like a hermit since the divorce, instead he's out there with a new group of friends he met while golfing.

you kept to yourself if they came round to the house, and it didn't surprise nor upset your father. he left you to your own devices, you're an adult now, not his little girl no more. that's why it took so long to meet abby, though your father often spoke highly of her in your presence.

she's nothing like you thought—gah, couldn't he have warned you she was perfection incarnate? you might have been able to preserve some of your dignity then. you wouldn't have stood there, floundering and fiddling with the hem of your skirt, while your pa bragged about your academic achievements to her.

totally. fucking. silent.

looking back on it, you can't remember if you were breathing in that moment.

how is one to react to abigail anderson? it can't just be you who feels so overwhelmed around her, unsure where to look. shiny blonde hair, biceps bigger than your head, and cute crow's feet developing around her baby blue eyes—she's experienced a life much longer than yours, clearly filled with joy.

the disney movies don't lie, love at first sight is true.

and it's lethal. feels like it, anyway.

abby made a comment about your apparent shyness, and your pa brushed it off by telling her you were always a sensitive and tender-hearted person. by that point, all you'd been able to do was wave in her direction, but your dad asked you to fetch a couple of beers for the two of them, a way to relax after some hard work around the house.

so you did, and in the process, abby's fingers brushed your hand. her hands dwarfed yours, and your face filled with warmth. even in your dreams, her hands on your body could make you cry.

since that day you have been acting a little dumbly, walking through life in this trance where the only name on the tip of your tongue is abby.

what might she be impressed by seeing you wear? you guess, and that's what you'll wear when she's coming over. what would abby like for dinner when she's over? she complimented your penne alla vodka, so you tend to make that often, omitting the fact that you stole the recipe from gigi hadid.

at your father's birthday party, things grew exhausting for you fairly fast. lots of socialising, lots of noise, although he and his buddies stayed outside for most of the night. your fondest memory from the night was waking up to abby sliding her hand under your knees and the other around your back, scooping you up from the couch where you'd fallen asleep.

it was so pleasant. you pretended you were still asleep while she carried you down the hallway and laid you into bed, but that was as far as it had gone. no kiss on your forehead or murmured well wishes; she just flicked the light off and the door clicked shut behind her. still, you listened for her footsteps to fade away before squealing.

you know now that her skin smells like pine and she's as gentle with touching you as you hoped.

abby's best attribute in your opinion, aside from the obvious, has to be her voice.

there's something deeply enticing about her voice. naturally sultry, mature. it's wired to make your legs want to open every time she speaks.

not to mention, the things she says.

why is it that abby refers to you so tenderly? why, in a group full of people who call you 'kiddo' and 'missy', does abby call you 'sweetheart'? it does things to you. you kind of hope she knows.

but if she does know what it does to you—what does that mean? should you be embarrassed?

there are many reasons to try and tempt abby anderson. you try your hardest, though you don't want to be shameless or lascivious—there's a line, and you're just toeing it. it's summer! you can relax in itty bitty bikinis and cardigans all day, doesn't matter if the days you choose happen to be only the days abby's over.

and if you walk around in just your leotard for a few hours too long after ballet in the morning? as far as abby knows, you're just planning to practise a little more in the afternoon. but she looks, she sees you, and that's all you care for.

physical strength is obvious. you once dreamt that she heroically rescued you from beneath a heavy car. anyone can see it in her body, she is mighty. but mentally, abby is much stronger than you realise.

because little do you realise, resisting you takes power. and abby's done well so far.

she would be foolish to not realise how much you want her. you're sickeningly attracted to her, and she can't rock the boat too hard. this is her buddy's daughter, young enough to be her own, but you have such a sweet need for her validation.

eh, it just . . . shocked her, a little bit, when she realised it went deeper than that.

the slightest hitch or change of inflection of her voice was powerful enough to turn you on, and she knew this because she'd catch you rubbing your thighs together often. even in a mundane conversation.

but abby doesn't get it, she doesn't understand how sultry her voice is. she doesn't understand how easy it is for you to imagine being under her, her hand delicately tracing the waistband of your panties . . .

that's why, when you're on the phone with her, you sound deeply worked up.

resisting only worked for so long, and now abby's lost her willpower. she gave in, she called you. she played it off at first. told you she hadn't heard from your pa, and the two had plans at the yacht club later. you both chuckled at him being 'so difficult to reach sometimes', even though she was lying through her teeth.

"you alright, sweetheart?"

"yes, yes, i'm fine," you respond quickly.

"you sound funny. you're nervous." maybe she's testing the waters. but it briefly wakes you from your trance. "is that because of me, doll?"

"ah . . ." heat pools in your tummy and settles down low, down in between your legs, immediately. doll. doll. "a little bit. i respect you a lot."

"you're the sweetest," abby replies, a smile in her tone. you lean back against some pillows, trying not to focus on the growing ache. "i noticed your admiration. it's special."

"admiration . . ?" you take a soft breath, and abby hears it hitch.

"mm. you come say hi, that's more than you'll do for the others, huh?" abby teases. "i think you like me a lot, am i wrong? y'know i see you getting squirmy when i'm around?"

"oh— oh. no. that's not . . . "

"it's not what? squirmy? you mean to tell me you rubbing your pretty thighs together when i talk is all in my imagination?"

you sit in silence for a moment, noticing how you do just that without meaning to; rubbing your thighs together, trying to ease the throbbing in your panties. fuck this, fuck this, fuck this, gotta touch.

"is it real?" abby asks, her voice quieter, softer. "or do i just imagine that? hm?"

"s'real," you confirm. it feels wrong to do, but you need this. you rub over your panties, right over your clit.

"it is. and it's fucking cute," she says. you push the phone closer to your ear, just as she continues, "what're you thinking, when you do that? you imagine me doing things?"

as much as you want to keep quiet, shyness overtaking you, you have to speak up. "yes."

"so do i," abby admits. it makes your jaw drop in surprise. "i shouldn't, but i do."

it's impossible to resist now, for you too. your hand slides beneath your panties and you circle your clit, muffling a shaky breath with your free hand.

"you don't have any woman that treats you right, do you?" she asks gently. "never got involved with any of those scummy girls at school?"

"no, i haven't, they're intimidating," you answer. in your mind, getting with any of those girls at college is just asking for a situationship. they couldn't take you seriously like someone like abby could.

"mm, well, don't. they only want one thing, sweetheart." she laughs, then murmurs, "believe me, i would know. i was one of them. isn't that funny? but now i know how to love on a good girl like you. so when i touch you, you'll feel safe."

"i do feel safe with you," you rattle off quickly, still slowly working your fingers around your clit. you need a little bit more still, so you try to pry. "how— how will you touch me?"

"oh, that's a big question, doll." abby hums in thought. "i think i'd like to hold you on my lap and work my way down your body, just take my time with you before i fuck you . . . is that nice to think about?"

"yes, mm— goddd." you seal your mouth shut after letting out such a breathy whimper, and unfortunately, the phone caught everything.

"are you fucking touching yourself right now, hm?"

you drop your hand onto the mattress instantly, eyes wide at the wall. "wh— no, no, no i'm not. gosh . . . that'd just be—"

"it'd just be wrong, wouldn't it? slutty," abby chides. "are you telling the truth?"

you hesitate, wiping your slick fingers against the linen of your bed. "no," you murmur. "i . . . it felt good."

"well, i hope you've stopped now, yeah, sweet girl? that's naughty. what would everyone say?"

you resort to rubbing your thighs together again, hand clenching into a fist. "i did stop."

"good girl," abby praises. "need you to wait until i'm the one touching you. i can do it better than you can."

is this really happening? you bite down on your lower lip, holding back some stupid moan at her words, her voice, her power. she's being condescending, but it's part of the appeal, part of what makes you so submissive to her. "you think you can?"

down the line you hear a rich chuckle and your thighs quiver yet again, but it's these words that have the most electric effect on you; "of course i can, my sweet girl. better than you, better than those girls at college. i'll make that pussy mine."

"mm-mmmmhh." your face fills with warmth out of embarrassment, sweet and shy moans flying out of your lips as you squeeze your legs together, hips bucking.

abby's quiet for a moment after, too. "did you just come?"

it may have been on the smaller side, but that was, no doubt, an orgasm. untouched.

"yes, i— but i wasn't t-touching. you just did that."

"i did that?" abby repeats, and you can hear the winning smile in her voice. "see, dolly, i think that pussy's already mine, isn't she?"

for about one month, you and sevika had been strangers.

despite this, it was impossible to escape her for so many reasons. the first reason was that you simply heard her name from everyone. sevika wasn't a small figure in the undercity and you'd known that when you first met her. however, it'd proven to be a significant downside to cutting her off. all you seem to hear is the dangerous tasks zaun's scary lady had performed.

the second reason is because figuratively, you'd find her everywhere. in your home, strands of her hair are still scattered about. sometimes, you'll catch a wisp of her smell, and it'll take you back to a time where things were good between you two. thing had ended badly between you, and all you can think about is how and why things ended the way it did.

both of you are stubborn, too stubborn to be able to reach out to each other first. so, for two months, you haven't spoken. occasionally, you'll see her, walking past each other on the street or seeing her at the last drop. part of you suspects that you'll speak again— this entire time, its been a sick and twisted game of who's going to cave in first. you solemnly swear it won't be you, you're not going to fall for this shit.

but really, its tearing you up inside. sevika is fucking gorgeous, and she knows it too. there has to be so many women interested, knowing that she's gotten rid of you. its probably spread like wildfire, and it only makes you wonder why she hasn't gotten with anyone else yet. everyone knows that she could have if she wanted to.

why doesn't she?

tonight, you sit at the bar by yourself, alone on a saturday night with no company but a glass of bourbon. when your lips press to the glass as you take a sip, you relish in the warm, burning feeling the bourbon provides as it travels down your stomach. this was going to be a long night. back turned to the dj, you try to block out the flashing lights. they hurt your eyes.

for a moment, your eyes instinctively move, trailing over to a moving figure. you make eye contact with sevika, who's sitting at the opposite side of the bar as you. her eyes linger as long as yours do, and she's looking at you the same way you're looking at her. finally, you pry your eyes away, returning them back to your glass of bourbon.

don't fold, you urge yourself. all you want is for her to talk to you. is that such a hard thing for her to do? deep down, you know that she's thinking the same thing, which is why this is making things so difficult. its repetitive, and quite frankly, absolutely exhausting.

suddenly, a voice catches your attention. "hey," the woman takes a seat next to sevika, and you can feel your head pounding. "a little strange that you're alone on a friday night, hmm?"

you're going to rip your eyeballs out. both of them. and then, you're going to throw one at that girl, and one at sevika. "not really." sevika's reply is monotone, absolutely no enthusiasm in her voice.

"and why not?" the woman replies. you're trying so hard not to look, but in your peripheral vision, you can see her running her fingers down sevika's arm.

sevika replies flatly. "because i kill people for a living." the woman opens her mouth to speak again, but sevika interrupts her. "best you leave now, doll." although its clear that whoever was flirting with her wanted to argue, she gives up without much fight.

she called that woman doll. you're going to lose your mind.

hands shaking, you try so hard to focus on the bourbon. you can't give in first. she's being immature. she's the one who started this whole thing, she should have to make up for it. this was her fault in the first place.

you are weak and pathetic. practically storming over, you grab her by the wrist and drag her out of the last drop. she doesn't resist. once you get outside, you turn to look up at her. "are you doing this shit on purpose?" you berate her. "ignoring me and then getting hit on by other people to irritate me?"

raising an eyebrow at you, sevika doesn't seem to sense an issue. "i didn't reciprocate."

"you called her doll," you retort.

"and?" sevika baits, and you can feel your heart pounding out of your chest. what are you supposed to say? that's something that she's only supposed to call you?

"you are an asshole, sevika. a fucking— a piece of shit!" you spit, your mouth quivering from pure anger. beneath your eye is twitching; she knew how to reach a nerve that no one else could.

sevika almost sounds smug as she replies, but keeps her face neutral. "then why did you drag me outside the bar?" both of your hands shake as they reach forward, holding each sides of sevika's jaw to pull her forward. your lips collide with hers with anger and pure lust. without skipping a beat, sevika's hands hold onto your waist, pulling your body against hers. your mouth moves against hers roughly, your tongue prevailing over hers. when you finally break away to catch your breath, she just has to open her mouth again. "knew you'd be back," she mutters, lips pressing against your jawline. "couldn't stay away?"

"shut your fucking mouth," you reply, chest moving up and down in rapid breaths. fuck, do her lips feel good against you.

"you seem a little angry," she taunts. "something wrong?"

you gently shove her head away from your jawline. "you're lucky i don't—" taking a deep breath, you try not to fall for her bait. "your place. now."

"does the princess want me to carry her?" sevika raises an eyebrow.

eyebrows furrowing, you feel inclined to chew her out again. "just come on," you mutter again, grabbing onto her wrist and dragging her along. you were very, very lucky that she lives nearby; if she hadn't, you're half convinced the two of you would've shagged in the alleyway. once you reach her familiar door, you open it up, and she shuts the door behind you. without a second to waste, her back is pushed up against the door, and your lips are on hers again. once your tongue presses against hers again, sevika's hands come to your waist, and she lifts you against her, your legs wrapping her hips. fingers intertwined in her hair, all you can focus on is how it finally feels to have her lips against your again. when you pull your face away, she lays you onto the bed gently, crawling onto it with you.

"wait," you pant quietly. "hell, sevika, couldn't you—" huffing, you try to catch your breath. "let me take my shoes off. you've got your dirty ass boots on the bed…" sitting up, you toss your shoes off, as well as your pants and shirt. they are ungraciously tossed onto the floor, where you presume you'll have to tiredly pick them up from later.

sevika scoffs, mirroring your actions. her shoes, pants, and shirt are tossed right beside yours. "didn't have much time before you started to seduce me," she replies. "that desperate, i see. don't think i didn't notice the way you were looking at me before."

turning back to her on the bed, you manuever her onto her back, straddling her. with your face hovering over hers, you reply. "you've been mine for three years, sevika," you tell her, and her hands gently come up to hold your waist. "and you think that i'm just going to let that go?"

"felt like it," she replied, her tone catty.

again, she just has a way of grating on your nerves. "well i wasn't," you retort. "why didn't you talk to me first, huh? why couldn't you just reach out?"

beneath you, she shrugs. "i wanted to know you still wanted me."

"oh, so you just want to be chased? is that it? just forget how i'm feeling, i guess. everyone wants you. you know that." you retort.

"not the way you do," sevika mutters. for a moment, it goes silent between you two as you take in her expression. she's going to send you into cardiac arrest with how angry she makes you. lips pressing into hers again, your fingers tangle through her hair, tugging as you kiss her roughly. sevika's hands hold onto your waist gently, guiding your hips to grind against her thigh. "you that desperate for it?" she mutters as she pulls away.

glaring down at her, your fingers remain in her hair. "i haven't been with anyone for a month. not because i can't get anyone, because i don't want anyone else. i don't want anyone but you. i haven't had sex in a month, sevika. consider yourself lucky i haven't ravaged you already."

"lucky isn't a word i'd use when i'm with you," sevika responds, raising an eyebrow.

again, your eye twitches. "take your fucking pants off and get your strap on."

"yes ma'am." sevika doesn't even waste a second, and you know that she's doing this to rile you up. being mean to her seems to turn her on, and when she's such an asshole to you, she makes it pretty easy. reaching into her nightstand, she pulls out the harness and attachment, slipping them onto herself quickly.

instinctively, she presses another kiss to your lips, crawling over you. a quiet moan escapes you as her hand gently massages your breast. quickly, your hand grabs onto her shoulder, and you flip her over and onto her back. "do you know how much i've been thinking about you?" you scowl. "a whole month without you—" sevika's thumb circles your clit, her middle and index finger making sure you're wet enough to take the strap bare. despite the way you're gushing, sevika knows its better to be safe. without taking her eyes off you, she grabs the bottle of lube from the night stand and squeezes some onto her hand. grabbing that same hand, you take the lube from her instead, using it to pump the strap. "you passed me on the streets and in the bar, and you didn't say a word to me. not a fucking word." chest pressing against hers, your mouth presses against hers again, and you moan into the kiss as you feel her fingers against your clit.

grabbing her wrist, you peel her hand away from your needy clit, despite how much you want it. you're not letting her get away with it this time. "you're an asshole, sevika," you practically whine, pulling your body back up. her hands never leave your waist, gently stroking up and down to make sure you know she's here. using your hand for assistance, you allow the strap to penetrate your weeping slit, and your eyes clench shut. "i've missed you so fucking much, and you wouldn't even talk to me—" your hips move against hers, fast and hard.

sevika is in absolute awe, watching you move on her. "don't think i haven't been thinking about you," sevika tells you. "if you'd have stopped moping and just talked to me, we wouldn't have been apart for so long." a shaky breath escapes her. "shit. you're gonna snap the damn thing off."

tears build up in your eyes; you need her more. "are you gonna lay there like a dead fish or are you going to fuck me, sevika?" you groan, hands pressed against her shoulders for stability.

a quiet laugh escapes sevika, her hands on your thighs. "thought you could do it yourself," she comments. "seems like you've been doing well so far."

"did you not hear what i said?" you snap. her arm wraps your neck gently, pulling you down onto her so that your chest is pressed against hers again. lifting her hips, sevika begins to thrust against you. a cry escapes you, and your finger dig into her scalp. a tear slips down your cheek as you move against her. "mmn, fu—" your words are interrupted as you whine. "harder, sevika!"

sevika's arms are wrapped around your back tight, hugging you as her strap pounds against you. absolutely filthy sounds of the dildo slapping against your skin fill the air, along with your lewd moans and cries. "i know, baby. i know what you want."

"don't fucking sweet talk me," you retort, and she responds with gentleness— and deeper thrusts. "shit— if you know what i want, then give it to me, sevika." her lip presses against your temple, and you don't even feel as she removes her mechanical arm until it slips beneath you. fuck, you forgot about that. the vibrations of her mechanical arm nearly gives you whiplash with the way your body responds. a guttural moan escapes from your throat, and your hips tremble as they bounce on her strap. "just like that," you whimper. "mmfn…". thighs beginning to tremble, your vision nearly goes white.

this isn't what you need. taking nearly all the willpower in your body, you pull her mech-hand away, and slip the strap out of you. her head had been propper up on the pillow before, but that was about to change. "lay down," your voice is shaking, but somehow, your demanding tone remains.

nodding quickly, sevika lays down fully, aware of what's to come. without wasting a second, you crawl over her, your thighs straddling her face. her hands, slightly soiled from your slick, gently hold your waist again. "i've missed you," she tells you.

"eat. now," you scowl.

a smirk relays on sevika's face. "yes ma'am." pulling you down onto her mouth, she laps at your pussy like she hasn't been fed in months. when you'd first met sevika, you'd been nearly afraid to sit on her face out of fear that you'd somehow hurt her. but now? you're grinding and humping against her face; if she died, at least she'd experience heaven before she ever reached the place. you tug at her hair once more, letting out moans of relief and frustration. you've been needing this so, so badly.

you missed her. even despite as mean as you're being to her, you missed this. her tongue thrusts into you, hitting the spot that she knows like the back of her hand. she knows what you want, she always has. another hot streak of tears run down your face as you feel your thighs tremble and your abdomen tighten. "don't stop," you beg her. "sevika, please…" her arms move to hug your thighs, and you let out a guttural whine as she removes you from her face. "what the fuck?" it nearly felt like a sob. "sevika, just--"

"ask me nicely," sevika baits again. "you've been mean to me this entire time. you think i'll just give you what you want?" she maneuvers you off of her face, and you sit beside her, angry and panting.

"yes," you scowl. "you've been mean. you've been an asshole to me, before we broke up and now. you're going to give me what i want, sevika. do you even want this?"

a smirk tugs at sevika's lips. she's so fucking infuriating. "you know i do. just want you to use your words inside of whining incoherently."

laying down on the bed, you tug sevika over you. in response, she braces her arms over you, not wanting to crush you. switching to just her mech arm, she rubs the tip of the silicone against your sensitive bundle of nerves. "if you don't let me come, i'm leaving," you scowl, a frustrated moan mixed into your anger. "fuck me like you used to. when you actually cared about how i felt."

sevika huffs quietly, slipping the length of the strap into your constricting walls. you're sure she's relishing in the way you're writhing beneath her. "i've always cared about you," she contends. your head falls to the side, your eyebrows furrowing shut as you adjust to the length again. you're so sensitive already, your walls clenching against the silicone inside of you. you need her to move. sevika presses a kiss to your jaw. "want to see how much i still care?"

you need to tell her off again. desperately. "just fucking move, sevika." an embarrassingly needy noise escapes you. "now. please."

slamming her hips forward, you cry out as sevika thrusts against your sensitive spots. both her arms brace over you, her lips hurried to meet yours once again. your moans are swallowed by her lips, arms wrapping her back. quickly, your arms fall to her sides as your nails dig into her back. "fuck, harder sevika-- mm--!" your thighs hug sevika's waist, allowing her to bury her hips deeper against your pelvis. every time she rolls her hips against yours, your vision gradually becomes whiter and whiter. "sevika," you cry her name in a tone she knows all too well. head buried into the crook of her neck, your thighs tremble as the stimulation become too much for you. body shaking, your teeth sink into sevika's neck as you muffle your moaning.

when sevika carefully pulls the strap out, she's sure to avoid overstimulating you. she ducks her head between your thighs, gently licking you clean; momentarily, your hips twitch as you feel her tongue part your folds, but it only curls in order to pull all of your release out.

fuck, you're exhausted. lightheaded, you lay down beside her, your chest heaving. "you're still," you mumble, your eyes shut. sevika wipes her face with her wrist, moving your cum towards her mouth instead of away. she takes every last drop in her mouth. "a jerk." sevika removes the strap and harness, tossing it onto the floor. that could be cleaned tomorrow, she decides.

sighing, she lays beside you, her lips pressing against your temple as her arm wraps your waist. "i know. but you are too."

rolling your eyes, you retort back, despite your exhaustion. "yeah, but it turns you on. it doesn't turn me on when you ignore me for a month and don't reach out."

"i wasn't ignoring you," sevika replies, and you turn to face her now. "i was being serious about what i said. i thought you wanted to leave for good. i didn't want to approach you first because i wasn't sure you still wanted me."

as you look at her, all you can see is how genuine she looks. "you know that i do," you murmur, and she presses her lips to yours once more. she seems comforted by your reassurance. when you pull away, your hand holds onto her cheek. "but if you call another woman doll again, i'll seriously leave you for good. and i'll take the strap with me so you can't have anyone ese."

"fuck, you're dramatic," sevika grumbles. "had to ruin a good moment, didn't you?" her fingers gently stroke your cheek, her gaze attentive. "you were right. i did do it on purpose. i didn't know how else to get you to talk to me." she pauses. "i paid her five dollars."

"that's all i'm worth you you?" you scoff. asshole. "well, it worked. you got what you wanted." sevika maneuvers you onto her chest, and you press your head against the crook of her neck, your eyes falling shut. "jerk." a quiet laugh escapes her lips, and now you're left with not the aftermath of a desperate hook-up, but the fact that you've gotten sevika back, likely for good. as her fingers gently rub comforting circles on your back, you sigh quietly, comforted by the quiet message it sends: i'm here, and i'm staying.

˚₊‧✩☆˚‧˚ᡣ𐭩︵‿༻☆༺‿︵ᡣ𐭩˚‧˚☆✩‧₊˚

thank all of you for your support! much love <3

you never in your life thought you’d fall in love.

when you were younger, relationships felt like too much work. they were messy, temporary things—like anchoring yourself to someone who, in the end, could only be a passing remedy for loneliness. 

you told yourself you were better off alone—that you didn’t need that kind of attachment. the idea of carving out space for someone felt impractical.

for a long time, you spent most of your days tucked into your routines: between classes, assignments, library hours, and hobbies. company was occasional, and love felt like something you didn’t care to learn about.

until you met abigail anderson. abby. pre-med major. broad shoulders, all muscle and warmth, with a smile so open it made you smile. she had this way of lighting up even the dullest room. lovely in every sense of the word.

despite you not being pre-med, your paths crossed when abby enrolled in one of your humanities electives to fill out her credit requirements. she sat near the front and paid attention in a way most people didn’t.

a group project forced you to work together. at first, it was just a matter of convenience—you’d split the work, coordinate schedules, and meet in the library. but between deadlines, you found yourself staying longer than you needed to. she asked about your favorite books, about your hobbies, about your thoughts, and abby listened—really listened—in a way that felt startling. 

before either of you realized, the project was the least important part of your meetings. you became inseparable in a matter of weeks. you clicked in a way you hadn’t with anyone before—and judging by the look in her eyes, neither had she.

then came the shift. subtle at first. the way you caught yourself looking for her before anyone else. how your shoulders felt lighter when she smiled at you. the way silence between you wasn’t heavy, but easy. 

you tried to deny it. told yourself it was just what happened when you spent too much time with someone. attachment. familiarity. nothing more.

but the truth began to press against you, undeniable. you were in love. and so was abby.

it showed in every glance, in the way her eyes softened when they landed on you. in how neither of you could hide it anymore, no matter how much you tried to keep things casual.

it was abby who broke first.

one night, after another study session that turned into an hour of talking about nothing and everything, she shifted nervously, fingers twisting around the hem of her hoodie. her usual confidence was stripped down to something vulnerable.

“would you—maybe—want to go out with me? like, not just… this. but a real date,” she said.

you’d never seen her so nervous, and it made all your defenses crumble. because the truth was already there, written across both your faces.

and you said yes. 

the first year of dating abby felt like a dream. everything was effortless. sweet. beautiful. perfect. she was thoughtful in ways no one else had ever been—carrying your backpack because she knew it was too heavy, cooking something good and healthy for you, texting you reminders before your exams like she was more worried about your grades than her own.

abby made you feel like the center of her world. in many ways, you were.

but then time passed. life got heavier. both of you were about to graduate, and reality pressed down hard. abby was chasing med school like her life depended on it—projects piling up, hospital hours, volunteering shifts, endless applications. every day, she looked more tired, her shoulders sagging under the weight of everything she was trying to balance.

she still loved you—so much you never doubted it. but love had to wrestle with time, and time kept slipping through her fingers. her calls grew shorter. texts became fewer. dates kept getting rescheduled, with excuses like “just one more shift,” and “one more meeting, just one more.”

you understood. this was her dream, her future. but understanding didn’t make it sting any less.

your second anniversary crept up. you wanted to celebrate it quietly, in a way that felt like the two of you: simple, soft, intimate. just you, abby, and a little dinner in your apartment. you had told abby two weeks ago and she loved the idea, saying she also wanted to treat you in some way.

you set the table, lit a candle or two, cooked something both of you liked, and dressed up in a red dress you knew abby loved. you wanted to look beautiful, wanted her to look at you the way she used to in those first months.

you waited.

seven o’clock 

eight.

nine.

ten

no knock on the door. no text. no call.

you told yourself she was busy. that she’d be here soon. that she wouldn’t forget your anniversary date. 

nevertheless, hours dragged on. the food went cold, and the candles burned down to wax puddles. you still sat at the dinner table, phone visible in case she called, eyes red from holding back tears that only spilled when midnight approached.

then, finally—a knock.

you stumbled to the door, mascara smudged below your eyes, dress wrinkled. when you opened it, there was abby—a bouquet of roses clutched in her hand, eyes wide and anxious, her whole body tense like she already knew how badly she’d fucked up.

abby looked at you—at the dress, at your ruined makeup, at the way you were still waiting for her—and her face crumbled. 

“baby…” her voice cracked, pleading. "please."

stepping aside, you let her in, even though every muscle in your body screamed to slam the door in her face instead. abby brushed past you, setting the roses down on the kitchen counter, their petals bright and beautiful against the dim light of your apartment.

“i’m sorry,” she started, tone laced with guilt. “my shift—baby, it was crazy. i just couldn’t leave, they needed—”

“abby, i planned this two weeks ago,” you cut her off. “two weeks. do you know how long i’ve been begging for a night like this?”

her jaw clenched. “they needed me. i can’t say no. you know that.”

you stared at her, tears spilling over again. “i needed you too.”

abby rubbed at her face, frustrated, like she was fighting a war on two fronts: the guilt of letting you down, and the grip of her dream.

“you don’t get it,” she said, voice rough. “the hospital needed me. if i don’t have the required hours, if i don’t give my everything, i don’t get into med school. i don’t become what i’ve worked for my entire life.”

your hands balled into fists at your sides, heart practically splitting open. “abigail, i get that. i truly do. but you couldn’t make a bit of free time for me? i told you weeks ago. i’m busy too. i have deadlines too. and yet, i dressed up, i cooked, i set this up because i wanted us to celebrate. because i needed you. and what happened? you weren’t here.”

her mouth opened, then closed as she looked down at you. “but you’re not about to become a doctor. you can’t even compare us like that, you're not like me—” she blurted, words spilling out before she could stop them.

the air left your lungs. a cold pain that spread through your whole body.

“oh,” your voice broke. “so my major isn’t as important as yours? my future doesn’t matter as much as yours? so, because i’m not in med school, i should just… bend? wait? be here when you want? stay silent when you aren’t here? take crumbs while you leave me to the side instead of letting me celebrate your—our achievements?”

abby’s eyes widened, regret flashing, but it was already too late. “that’s not what i—”

“but it is what you said,” you snapped. “do you even hear yourself? do you think before saying stuff? do you know how small you make me feel when you say shit like that? it makes me feel like i’m not worth anything.” 

her hands trembled, her whole body tense. “i didn’t mean—fuck, i didn’t mean it like that. i just—”

you shook your head, cutting her off. “abby, i love you. i’ve loved you through everything. but i can’t keep doing this if you’re basically telling me i’m just a placeholder until you become what you want.”

she stared at you, eyes glassy, trying to form words. “i need space—i need time, i need to focus.”

“what?” it gutted you. it tore the air from your lungs. 

abby’s face crumpled, but her voice was steady—as if she had rehearsed it in her head a hundred times. “i can’t handle this. med school. the pressure. us. i can’t give you what you deserve. i can barely hold myself together, and it’s not fair to you,” she wiped at her face, catching any tears before they even fell. “you don’t deserve this. i don’t deserve you. i’m sorry.”

the rational part of you—what little of it remained—understood. med school was her dream. her future. her everything. 

but the emotional part of you didn’t care. that side of you wanted to drop to your knees, wrap yourself around her, and beg her not to leave. the humiliation of even thinking it burned in your chest, but it was there, clawing at you.

abby looked down at you, shoulders slumped like the weight of the world was crushing her. she lifted her hand, cupping your face carefully, as if she was afraid of shattering you further. “you don’t deserve this,” she whispered. “i’m sorry. you’ll find someone who loves you the way you deserve to.”

the words twisted the knife in your chest. your tears spilled faster, messier, and ungraceful, snot clogging your nose, your cheeks wet and blotchy. she didn’t look away from the worst of you. instead, she used the sleeve of her jacket to wipe at your face, like it didn’t repulse her.

“why today?” you asked, unable to breathe properly. “why now, abby? why? today was supposed to be a good day—abigail—why? why?”

her face crumpled—she couldn’t stand the sight of your devastation. she leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips. it wasn’t hungry, it wasn’t even romantic—it was cold, final, and desperate in a different way. 

a kiss that wanted to give you everything while simultaneously tearing the ground from under you.

desperately, your hands clung to her jacket, body folding into hers like a child too afraid to let go, sobbing into her chest. she held you, rigid, trembling, her lips pressed to your hair.

“i’m so sorry,” she whispered, barely audible. “i’m so sorry, angel.”

the “space” abby asked for turned into weeks. 

then weeks into months. then years.

at first, you hated her. hated her for choosing ambition over you, like you weren’t worth the fight. you refused to even say her name out loud. when people asked, you brushed it off with a bittersweet smile, pretending it was nothing.

but the truth was different. the truth was that your graduation gown felt heavy without her hand to hold. your apartment felt empty and strange. your bedsheets and pillows never seemed to lose that stubborn trace of her smell no matter how many times you washed them.

and when friends nudged you to “get back out there,” and to “just meet someone new,” you never did.  you couldn’t bring yourself to—it wasn’t fair to anyone else—because no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you knew abby would be on your mind, you knew you’d always be comparing.

the bitterness dulled with time, but it never vanished. instead, it turned into something hollow. whenever you passed the coffee shop where she once kissed you softly. whenever you put on a dress she used to love. whenever you heard laughter that sounded almost like hers in a crowd.

years later, it still hurt. it still lived in you.

and then one day—it all cracked open again. you were scrolling through instagram, half-bored, thumb moving on autopilot. someone you barely spoke to anymore had reposted a photo from a local account with the caption “doctors who recently graduated med school volunteering at a children’s hospital today.” you almost kept scrolling.

almost.

but then you saw her.

abby.

in scrubs, hair tied back in her usual braid, broad shoulders filling the frame, a stethoscope looped casually around her neck. she was smiling—soft, bright, the same smile that once belonged to you.

you hadn’t seen her face in years. you’d avoided her on purpose. blocked her socials, blocked her name from your feeds, built walls so high around yourself you thought you’d buried her.

but in that one photo, the walls crumbled. it all came back—her hand in yours, her laugh in your ear, her lips against yours when she whispered that she loved you. 

your thumb hovered, trembling as you told yourself to scroll past and pretend it didn’t matter. however, your heart was racing, and your stomach twisting.

for the first time in years, you let yourself miss her. even if you wanted to ignore her, you saw that photo of abby—and you told yourself don’t do this again. don’t go back there. she left. she chose herself. she’s happy now. move on.

you found yourself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, asking questions you hated yourself for.

does she think about me?

does she still remember the way i looked at her?

does she still smell my perfume on old clothes the way i still catch her cologne in my memory?

does she love someone else now? a doctor? a nurse, maybe? or another med student who could stand by her side?

you hated the way your stomach twisted at the thought. jealous, desperate, pathetic. 

weeks passed. and you couldn’t escape it as the day came. what would've been your anniversary. the same date she had first asked you for space. it was cruel, how the universe circled back.

you tried to keep yourself busy, but the weight of it crushed you. by the evening, you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore. you ended up on the floor by your closet, pulling down the old shoebox you had sworn you’d never open again. 

inside—letters with her handwriting smudged from your tears. little gifts. ticket stubs. dried flowers. even the brittle roses from that night. 

you cried until your chest hurt, until your body shook. ugly, loud sobs that ripped out of you. when the tears slowed, your hand went searching for your old phone. the one you hadn’t touched in years, but still kept in your bedside drawer. 

you plugged it in—her number was still there, saved as “abigail anderson. DO NOT CALL HER.” your fingers trembled as you typed it into your new phone, breath unsteady.

the line rang. one beep. two. and then—it connected.

“dr. anderson speaking, how may i help?” her voice was older, steadier.

immediately, a sob tore out of you. “abigail,” you choked, the word trembling. “it hurts. i can’t do this—”

there was silence for half a second—then recognition hit her instantly. “angel,” she said, like it was a prayer.

abby also hadn’t heard your voice in years—and it was now reduced to sobs like they hurt to let out. her hand tightened around her phone, the sterile white light of the hospital hallway suddenly too bright. 

“hey—hey, breathe, okay?” she whispered, but her voice shook, betraying her. “i’m here. breathe for me.”

but you couldn’t. the words kept spilling, all jagged and messy. “i miss you, i miss you so bad it hurts. why did i see you—why now, why? abby, i can’t stop crying. i miss you too much—”

for years, abby had carried the weight of what she did. the nights lying awake convincing herself it had been the best. the constant ache when she reached for her phone and didn’t call. the regret that dug into her ribs every time she imagined what your life without her in it.

“do you still live in your old apartment?” she asked.

there was a pause, a whimper. “y-yeah.”

“okay,” she said quickly, already moving—pushing through the door, scrubs clinging to her skin. “okay. stay there. don’t go anywhere.”

you didn’t even register what that meant through the haze. you just kept crying, kept saying how seeing her face in that photo opened everything you thought you’d buried and how much you missed her.

and then, there she was at your door, knocking softly, and you put the phone down. 

“open up,” her voice came through, muddled, rushed. 

you stumbled to the door, hands shaking, cheeks raw and wet. when it opened, the sight of her nearly undid you all over again—abby, in her scrubs, hair braided back messily, chest rising fast.

and all you could think was: this is the first time she’s seen me in years. and i look horrible.

“i look like shit, sorry,” you muttered, choking on a sob. “you—this is the first time in years, and i’m crying. i’m pathetic, not even close to how i looked when you left—”

abby’s face cracked, but she didn’t argue. she just stepped in, gently locking the door behind her. 

“come here,” she murmured, guiding you with careful hands to the couch. you sank, trembling. she followed, hands steady on your arms.

you shook your head, the shame clawing up your throat. “you were at the hospital,” you rasped—clinging to her sleeve. “you’re in your scrubs, you should leave, finish your shift—i’m not that important—not worthy of your time. i miss you so much, but i’m not worthy of you. i’m not a doctor. i’m not anyone important. i’m nothing more than a—”

“hey, shh,” abby said firmly, her hand rising to your cheek, warm. “look at me.”

your eyes flicked up to hers at the change in her tone—steady, solid, and commanding. the way she always could be when you were spiraling. 

“stop,” she commanded, her thumb brushing a tear away. “i need you to listen to me, okay? we can’t talk if you’re like this. you need to calm down first. i need you to follow me, alright? just breathe with me.”

you tried to match her pace, breathing slowly and deliberate. you clung to her wrist until your sobs thinned out. abby’s thumb stayed at your cheek as you let your face fall downwards. 

“i’m sorry, i’m such a mess” you muttered hoarsely. “i saw that photo of you, at the children’s hospital, and it—it broke me. it brought everything back. and then today, this date, it just—it’s embarrassing, abby. years later, and i still think of you.”

instantly, abby shook her head. “i never stopped thinking about you either,” she admitted—guiding your face back up. 

she stared at you like she was measuring whether she had the right to say anything out loud.

“i regret it,” she said. “i regret leaving you every single day. i wake up and hate myself for it. i hated that i let my pride and fear of failing get in the way of us. i care about you, but i was scared of failing, of not being enough. i thought stepping away would make me less weak. but it just made me cruel, and i’ve hated myself for it.”

you didn’t think—your body moved before your brain remembered how fragile this was. you crawled into her lap, arms winding around her neck, hiding your face into the soft hollow of her throat. abby wrapped her hands around you without hesitation. anchoring you as your shoulders convulsed with fresh sobs. 

“shh,” abby murmured into your hair, rubbing slow circles along your spine. “it’s okay.”

even if you were a mess, salt and wet, and ridiculous with need, abby didn’t let go.

after a while, you calmed down enough to pull back and look at her properly. your cheeks were streaked with mascara, your eyes rimmed red, but there was a clarity in your voice that made abby wince with hope and guilt.

“abby,” you muttered. “i don’t care if we… never see each other like we used to again. if you want space, time, or whatever—you can have it. but, if you want to try, can i ask you something?”

she met your gaze, mouth a little parted, and nodded. “tell me, angel.”

you swallowed nervously, fingers trembling against the fabric of her scrubs. “i—i replay our last kiss on my head every night. it’s always cold. it felt… final. i can’t live with that. if you’re going to leave me again—if you think you might leave—please, kiss me. even if you go, at least let me have that.”

you were met by silence, you could even hear the refrigerator hum in the kitchen. abby’s eyes flicked away, and for a second, you felt pathetic, like you were standing at the edge of a cliff.

“i’m sorry—i shouldn’t have,” you started to apologize.

“don’t apologize,” she cut you off. “but—are you sure? you want that?”

you could feel your pulse in your throat as you nodded. “i’ve been thinking about it for years. please, abby.”

her face reflected all her emotions: fear, longing, shame, love. then, as if something inside her decided this was her chance too, she leaned forward.

the kiss started like a question—experimental and soft—just a tentative brush to test the water. her lips were warm and tasted faintly of mint gum. 

you sighed into her mouth, and that tiny, involuntary sound did something to her. whatever caution she’d been clinging to cracked. her hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair like she was mapping you out again.

abby inhaled, and then the kiss deepened. it became less careful, less worried about the future, and more about the present—about the way your body fit against hers; the small, helpless noises escaping you.

something primal woke in abby.

her grip lowered to your back, her mouth was claiming and hungry. you sighed again, and that was the match that lit the flame. abby’s hands moved with a speed you’d almost forgotten she had—one palm pressed to the small of your back to pull you closer to her, the other sliding possessively down your side.

when you broke apart, breaths mingling, foreheads still pressed together—the room felt electric.

“i’m sorry,” abby whispered. “i wanted—i want you still. i never stopped missing you.”

you smiled—small, incredulous—tears still shining. “i missed you too.”

for the first time in years, the cold of that last kiss melted into something messy and human. both of you were left shaking in its wake: scared, sorry, and impossibly hopeful.

your lips were still swollen from the first kiss when abby leaned in again, unable to stop herself. unlike the first, the second kiss didn’t start soft—it was desperate. it had years of silence and longing stuffed between your pressed lips. you whined, muffled and needy. her hands grabbed at your skin—thumbs digging into the curve of you, strong hands flexing as she pulled you closer and closer.

abby kissed you like she was starving—like this was her only chance—and her control frayed. she nipped at your lower lip, groaning when you opened for her, allowing her to taste you deeper, messier, and hungrier.

but then, abby felt herself gripping you too hard—her body too heavy with want, and she broke off with a gasp, panting against you. “fuck—sorry,” she murmured, voice ragged as if she was trying to wrestle her hunger back. “i didn’t mean to—i don’t wanna hurt you, i just—”

you cut her off by grabbing her face in both hands, forcing her to look at you. abby then realized how you were looking at her, like she was the only thing that you wanted, like none of the years apart mattered.

“fuck, abby, i don’t care. i need you so badly. i don’t care if we end up strangers again. i don’t care if this burns me down,” you whispered, your nails digging lightly into her jaw. “i just—please—i want this as much as you.”

your words punched the air out of her lungs. abby’s chest rose and fell sharply, pupils blown wide. her hands tightened on your waist again, but this time reverence, hunger, and a promise she couldn’t yet put into words.

and then she kissed you again, rougher, deeper, and it made your ribs ache. abby grabbed you, signaling for you to wrap your legs around her waist—helping you up, she carried you through the short hallway like it was instinct, like she never forgot the feel of you.

the second your bedroom door creaked open, it felt like time folded. she remembered this room perfectly—just different enough to show the years that passed. the bookshelf was more crowded, the desk was sleek and full of papers. but the same trinkets, the same clutter of little things that were you. your stuffed animals still lined your bed, some worn from how often you hugged them.

part of you had changed.

most of you hadn’t.

gently, she set you down on the mattress, her weight combined with yours sinking it, and her lips found yours again before either of you could think too hard. the kiss was soft at first, but then she tilted her head, she lowered her lips, teeth grazing your jaw, and then your neck. the sound that left your lips undid her—she missed those airy whimpers more than she could bear.

your hands fumbled at her scrubs top, pushing it up with a messy urgency, beneath it, she wore a plain black tank top that stretched over her chest, and your fingers slipped to her arms, squeezing at her biceps.

“mhm,” you whimpered, dragging your nails against the flexed muscle. “i missed you so much, abby.”

her hands slid under your hoodie, calloused fingers grazing your skin. she pushed it up slowly, revealing a plain black bra. the second the fabric left your body, your hands flew up, instinctively— trying to shield yourself.

but abby’s hands caught your wrists, firm but not rough, guiding them above your head. “hey, no. i wanna see,” she murmured, kissing just between your breasts, slowly. “don’t hide from me. you’re my pretty girl… i missed you too.”

her mouth pressed to the swell of your tits, trailing kisses lower. the grip on your wrists loosened.

“didn’t even try with anyone else,” she admitted, pressing her lips onto your skin. “couldn’t do it. not after you. i missed this. missed you.”

years of silence, of bitterness, suddenly drowned under the weight of her voice, her warmth, and her words. your eyes filled again, but this time the tears felt different—less like sadness and more like release. 

your back arched into her mouth as she kissed down your chest, your breaths uneven. abby glanced up, catching your teary gaze. “you don’t know how many times i dreamed of this,” she whispered. “and i’m not letting myself take it for granted.”

abby kissed the salty tears off your cheeks before kissing you again—it felt like stitching two torn halves back together. her hands came up, cupping your boobs over your bra’s thin fabric, fingers pressing in, greedy in a way she had tried so hard to hold back. then she traced lower, over your ribs and waist, hands gliding slowly until she found your hips. abby squeezed there, hard, making you gasp.

“don’t tease,” you whined, nails digging into her shoulders. your eyes caught hers as your body rocked helplessly toward her. “it’s been so long, abigail.”

you tried to buck your hips against her, grinding against the solid weight of her thigh pressed between your legs. desperate, chasing friction, chasing her. but abby’s grip was stronger—she grabbed the hem of your little black shorts, tugging them down in one fluid motion, slow enough to savor, firm enough to make you shiver.

the fabric dragged down your thighs, pooling at your ankles before you even registered she’d stripped you. you whimpered, hands flying up, searching for her, grabbing at her hair. her braid was loose after the long shift, but your impatient fingers worked it loose—strand by strand, until her blonde waves spilled free, falling against her shoulder and your skin.

you grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging her down. “abigail, do not tease—please,” you warned, and she groaned into your chest, the sound guttural. 

abby pulled back enough to look at you—her cheeks flushed and hair undone. she looked nothing like the doctor in crisp scrubs you’d seen in that photo. she looked like your abby, who once kissed you like you were air.

“you’re shaking,” her voice dropped as her thumb traced the waistband of your panties. “is this too much?”

your answer was a needy whimper as you tugged her hair harder, pulling her closer to your lips. “not enough. want more.”

“fuck—” she groaned, her restraint shattering, her hands greedy as they grabbed at you.

she pinned you down to the mattress. the rest of her control fraying the second her hand slipped under your underwear, her fingers finding the slick and heat she dreamed of every night she spent without you.

the sound that you let out was broken, high-pitched—causing you to close your eyes in embarrassment. then, she kissed you again, swallowing your whimpers—her free hand braced at your hip to keep you steady while the other moved slowly, like she was memorizing you again.

you were desperate—tears spilling down your cheeks before you even realized, your body overwhelmed by the flood of sensations and the weight of years between you. “s-so good, abby,” your voice broke as your hips moved against her hand. “miss you—miss you so much.”

abby pressed her lips to your temples—kissing off the tears away, one by one, whispering against your skin. “i missed my sweet girl too—fuck, you’re so pretty like this. so fucking pretty crying.”

you moved your head, trying to kiss her again. “mphm, thank you—ah, ah—feels so good,” you mumbled, muffled by abby coming closer, allowing you to press your lips against hers. 

her throat bobbed as she nodded—dipping a finger inside you slowly. “i know, baby, i know. let me take care of you,” she cooed against your mouth. “god, you even look pretty crying, angel.”

every sound you made, every twitch beneath her hands, only made abby fall deeper.

“abby—” you whispered, your nails dragging at her scalp. “fuck—i love you so much. i love you. want you back so badly. i miss you—”

the words tore out of you raw. it was something you’d held down for too long. and it made abby sigh.

her lips were warm against yours, the taste salty with your tears. “i love you too. i never stopped loving you. i’m sorry, baby—i’m so fucking sorry i ever let you go.”

abby pushed another finger inside, moving slowly and steadily—not wanting to take from you, just give. like she wanted to give you back everything she’d stolen when she left. like she needed to prove with every touch that she was here now.

her fingers slid deep, curling just right, the heel of her palm pressing against your clit, and it was too much. your hips grinded against her hand, trying to create more friction between you.

she lowered her head, kissing your neck and shoulders, causing you to throw your head back to give her more access. “a-abby—i love you, i love you, i love you.”

you closed your eyes, dragging one of your hands to her back, nails digging into her back through the thin cotton of her tank top. abby stayed deep inside you, fingers pumping carefully so you could feel her thick fingers slowly working into you, as her thumb traced circles against your sensitive clit. even with her motions being slow, the sounds of it were obscenely wet as her fingers slid in and out of you. 

she let her face fall into your shoulder, whispering into your hair. “missed you so much ever since i left—thought you never wanted me back. i thought i’d never get this again,” she bit your fragile skin where your shoulder met your neck, her tongue soothing over the skin. “i went to bed dreaming of you still being here with me. getting a pretty apartment together…” her breath hitched as she felt you clench around her fingers. “getting married. making you my pretty wife.”

“don’t—don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” you whimpered, your body chasing her touch as the hand in her hair loosened.  “wanna be your wife so badly…”

“i mean it—” she said, her tone steady. “i would work so hard for you to have everything—anything you wanted. i love you so much. and i wanna give you all that again if you allow me. if you let me i’ll make it right.”

“yes, abby, please,” you whined as abby’s fingers trusted deeper, inching you closer and closer to your orgasm. “abigail—please, wanna cum. i love you—mhm—”

abby knew your body, she never forgot how you clenched around her fingers when you were so close to cumming for her. she forced herself to mentally apologize for even thinking about how badly she wished she would’ve had her strap on hand when you called her—but she missed this, she missed you more than this.

“wanna cum, angel?” she asked, her jaw angling to kiss your cheek—even though she knew full well she wasn’t going to make you beg for anything this time. "say please."

if this were a different time, she would’ve definitely made you beg for it. would’ve made you whine and plead until you were a desperate mess for it. would’ve kept you on the very edge of cumming for hours. or made you cum so many times you would’ve been exhausted by the end. but this time, she was fully aware she would give you everything without expecting anything back.

“yes, please,” you whined. “need it—i’m so close, abs.”

abby nodded, her fingers were precise now, repeating the same pumping and curling motion she knew would make you cum in mere seconds—since she wanted this just as badly as you. “let go, angel. please, baby.”

and you did. you didn’t know if it was the combination of her voice, her touch, or knowing that this wasn’t a dream—but it all felt like you had reached heaven’s gate.

she kept her fingers moving even after you came, relishing the sensation of your trembling body underneath hers. “good job—good fucking girl. such a sweet girl.”

“too—too much,” you tried pushing away as the sensation on her thumb on your sensitive clit became overwhelming. “mhm—abby!”

finally, she slowed her hand, fingers still inside you, but now resting here. abby’s head came up to look at you, kissing the tears off your face. “shh… breathe, baby. i’ve got you. i’m here.”

the weight of her words pressed into your chest even heavier than her touch. it wasn’t just her body against yours—it was all the years of regret, the dreams you’d both had in silence, spilling out between kisses and whispers. 

abby touched you like there had never been any space between—like the map of your body was still etched into her hands, as if she had studied you every night in her dreams until she would be able to find every spot blindfolded. 

the way her fingers worked you open, the rhythm she kept, the way her lips pressed against your temple when you cried—it was muscle memory, devotion, and hunger all braided into one.

abby didn’t let go. she wrapped both arms around you, pulling you close, holding you so tight you could feel her heart hammering against your chest. her hand slipped free, only so she could gather you fully into her lap, her body curved protectively around yours.

you clawed weakly at her shoulders until she followed you down, until she was half on top of you. you buried your face into her neck, sobbing, words spilling out between shudders, “i want you back—miss you so much—i love you, abby.” 

abby’s lips trembled against your hairline. she cupped the back of your head, grounding you, and when she spoke her voice was rough but steady, like she’d been holding these words inside for years, “i love you,” her breath shook as she kissed the crown of your head. “if you allow me to try again, i’ll do this right, okay? no excuses this time. no running. i’ll stay, i’ll fight for this. for you.”

you clung tighter, tears soaking her tank top, the fabric rough against your cheek. abby rocked you slowly, one of her hands splayed wide on your back, pressing you to her chest. “i love you. i’m sorry. i’ll make it right.”