the real punk rock

Abby stays just a step behind you, close enough for you to feel the heat of her presence, but far enough to still remain untouchable. A profound silence hangs heavily between you, stretching out like an endless abyss. 

That silence isn’t accidental—it’s deliberate. A new part of your arrangement that was decided for you, just like everything else in your life. 

But Abby hasn’t spoken to you in two weeks, not since that night. 

The night where you had somehow managed to thwart a kidnapping attempt. But it was also the night where she gathered you up in her arms and pressed you up against your chamber door, kissing you like she couldn’t stand the thought of ever losing you. 

Only for her to turn around and act like it never even happened. 

You couldn’t decide which was worse: knowing that she wanted you—craved you—or that she would rather punish you both than act on those feelings again. 

That is what this felt like. A punishment, because, regardless of what happened, she was always there. 

Waiting outside your chamber door every morning with dark circles under her eyes growing more sunken with each passing day. Trailing beside you in the palace’s lush rose gardens, her eyes sharp and focused as she surveyed the area for any signs of imminent danger.

And now, as she escorts you to the palace’s library, she’s silent and stoic as she follows you through the long, winding corridors. 

Abby had foregone her armor for something far more practical: a pair of dark, fitted riding pants, leather boots and a crisp white linen tunic that she wore tucked beneath a navy doublet. 

A golden emblem of a wolf is stitched over her breast pocket, a symbol of her allegiance to King Isaac. Her dark blonde locks are pulled back in her signature braid, but it’s looser from the day's wear. Her sword rests in its sheath against her hip, one of her hands perched atop the hilt—showing off that she is still a force to be reckoned with, if the occasion were to arise. 

And yet, she’s softer like this. Displaying a rugged kind of beauty that you’ve always admired since the moment you first laid eyes on her. Ser Abigail Anderson was known widely throughout the ten kingdoms as the Iron Wolf, simultaneously revered and feared.  

She knelt before the king and vowed on her own life to keep you safe from harm, and that was all it took for you to see beneath that hard, constructed exterior. To see the kind, gentle woman that lay hidden beneath, who was still frustratingly out of your reach. 

But despite the fortress she’s built between you, there’s no denying that something had shifted between you that night. Between your roaming hands and eager lips, she wasn’t just your hired protector anymore. 

And her refusal to acknowledge it hurt worse than you could have ever imagined. Every stolen glance felt hollow and cold, if she even dared to look your way at all. Her warm presence that had drawn you in like a moth to a flame was replaced with a rigid disposition. 

But it was the softer moments, the ones where you could truly see past that stone cold exterior that hurt the most. The novels she continued to leave on your bedside table each week, which were hand selected for you with the utmost attention and care. While she was out in the training yard, you realized she was still using the silk handkerchief you had given her that very first day to blot the sweat from her brow the same way that you had. 

It was beyond maddening, and none of it made any sense. Her silence and cold demeanor felt like rejection, but her constant presence and thoughtful actions spoke of something else entirely: a deep affection she was keeping hidden beneath that iron breastplate. It only left you reeling with each passing day. 

But as days turned into weeks, those feelings of hurt and confusion slowly morphed into a burning resentment that settled deep within your chest. It was heightened with Abby’s incessant need to have you in her direct line of sight at all times.

You can feel the silence between you start to swell, growing heavier with each step you take. It's a suffocating and unrelenting sort of feeling, pressing down on you until you can almost feel your lungs start to burn. 

You stop abruptly, and her steps immediately falter behind you. You can feel her release an unsteady breath, the sound tickling the back of your neck and sending shivers down your spine. You flick a quick but fleeting glance over your shoulder and the way she’s looking at you makes your stomach flip. 

But she remains still, silent and the last of your patience evaporates. 

“I think I can manage the rest of the way without the need of an escort,” you say as you whirl around to face her.

You can see the muscles in her jaw work as she looks at you, her brows pinching together in a scowl. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—” she starts.

“Oh, so you can speak?” you interject with a sharp laugh. “Could have fooled me.”

Abby sighs deeply and takes a step toward you, forcing you two paces back in an effort to keep your distance. And she has the audacity to look hurt. 

“Please don’t do this,” she hisses, glancing over her shoulder. “Not here.” 

You have to hold back another bewildered laugh. “Why? Are you afraid someone might overhear that the fearless Ser Abigail would choose to suffer in silence rather than chase what she wants? Where is the honor in that?” 

She angrily runs a hand down her face. “It’s better this way,” she says, not fully meeting your eyes. “For both of us.”

Her words slice through you like a dagger, but the way she’s refusing to look at you only twists the blade in deeper. “Better for us?” you question. “Or better for you?”

The question hangs in the air between you, charged and full of indignation.

Her mouth twists, but her eyes don’t leave the ground. “There is no us. I’m sworn to protect you. It cannot be anything more than that.”

“You’re a coward.” 

Her head immediately snaps up, her eyes narrowing as they bear into yours.  “What happened that night was a mistake, I never should have crossed that line with you. It will not happen again.” 

Her words are the finishing blow to your already crumbling disposition. “Right,” you whisper, your throat tightening and your eyes stinging. “I really wish you would have figured that out before you convinced me otherwise.”

You start to turn and she grabs your wrist. 

“Don’t you dare touch me,” you choke out, yanking your wrist free and taking off down the hall. 

Behind you, Abby curses sharply but regains her composure enough to chase after you. Her footsteps are loud and heavy against the polished stone, rivaling the way your heart pounds in your ears. She’s already gaining on you. You quickly hike up the many layers of your gown in your fists and force your legs to move faster as you tear down the empty corridor. 

You ignore each call of your name, not bothering to think where you’re headed, only that you need to get as far away from her as possible. A passage leading to a winding staircase stretches before you and you quickly duck inside, taking the stairs down two at a time. 

You just barely reach the landing when a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist and lift you off the ground, whisking you out of the open stairwell and down a dark, empty corridor.

“Put. Me. Down,” you seethe, trying and failing to wiggle out of her tight embrace.

“Calm down and I will,” she chides, her lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

A shiver of delight races down your spine and you go practically boneless in her embrace, the last of your defiance disappearing with it. 

“Fine,” you whisper defeatedly. 

Abby loosens the iron grip she has on your waist and slowly lowers you to your feet. She doesn’t give you another opportunity to run as she backs you into the cold wall, bracing her palms on either side of you, caging you in. 

She’s so close that you can feel her warm breath fan across your mouth with every slow exhale—a ghost of a kiss—and your lips part.

It’s hard to make out her expression in the dark of the hall, but as your eyes slowly start to adjust you notice the deep rosy flush sweeping across her cheeks…and the way her eyes have unmistakenly fallen to your parted lips. 

“What are we doing here, Abby?” you prod. 

What am I to you? 

Abby releases another deep sigh, her eyes slipping shut as she bows her head. “I don’t know.” 

“Do you regret it?” you whisper. 

“No. I—” She grits her teeth, leaning her forehead against yours. “I’m trying to do my job, to keep you safe. I cannot allow my own feelings to complicate things more than they already have.”

“Why do you see them as a complication?” 

“Because I don’t think I would survive if I had to lose another person that I love.” 

The words are spoken softly, a confession that she never intended to reveal to you. Abby meets your gaze, releasing her hold to take a step back, fear and uncertainty in her eyes. 

You reach for her, cupping her face in between your palms. “But you won’t lose me.” 

She quickly shakes her head, removing your hands from her face to wrap around your wrists. Not to restrain you, but to ground herself. “You have people after you. You cannot promise me something like that,” she counters, unable to keep her voice from shaking. 

“You have sworn your life to protect me, Abigail. Why won’t you let me do the same?” 

Abby just stares at you for a moment, unblinking and tense as a silent battle wages behind her eyes. Then she stalks forward, the last of her restraint shattering as she closes the distance between you and crashes her lips against yours. 

She claims your mouth with the kind of desperation that leaves you feeling lightheaded, and you surge into her, kissing her back with just as much fervor. Her warm hands encircle your waist, splaying across the dip in your spine to pull you flush against her chest. Abby eagerly swallows your small gasp, releasing a strangled noise of her own when your fingers thread themselves into her braid to give an experimental tug.

The way she grounds out your name has liquid heat pooling in your middle, her lips leaving a trail of wet kisses over the curve of your jaw…down your throat, until she reaches the crook of your neck. Her teeth skim over the sensitive flesh there, earning her another breathy whine. 

“Abby,” you breathe, your fingers digging into the taut muscles of her shoulders. “Touch me, please.” 

Her fingers grip the layers of fabric keeping you apart, hiking up your gown as she hitches your thigh around her hip. The hilt of her sword digs into the soft flesh there, but you hardly mind when you feel her hand dip between your legs. 

Abby’s hand cups your mound of curls in her warm palm, her calloused fingers gliding through your slick center with ease. You grip tightly onto her shoulder with one hand, the other fisting into the soft fabric of your gown. Your hips jolt forward unexpectedly as she continues her descent, her fingers ghosting over that sensitive bundle of nerves—a place only you have touched. 

You only explored yourself in the seclusion of your bed chambers, where you’d bury your hand between your thighs and sink your teeth into the pillows to keep your whines from reaching the beautiful knight standing guard on the other side of your door. 

“Oh God,” you gasp softly, lashes fluttering when she brushes her fingers over that aching spot again. “That’s—Right there.” 

The corner of her mouth crooks up into a satisfied grin, but when her touch suddenly falls away you nearly whimper from the loss of contact. Abby hushes you with a firm press of her mouth before she drops down to kneel before you. 

“What are you—” you rasp, but the heated look she sends you has the words dying on your tongue. 

She quirks her brow up in a silent question, her fingers trailing over the back of your hand where you’re still clutching tightly onto the rumpled fabric of your gown. A pulse of white hot desire thrums through you, but instead of answering, you lift the fabric higher. 

Abby eagerly ducks beneath the layers of your dress skirt, her lips pressing a tender kiss to the skin just above your knee before she gently guides your leg up to rest over her shoulder. Her movements are slow but deliberate, each kiss and drag of her fingers are enough to have you trembling before she even gets her mouth on you. 

And when she does? You melt. 

She goes slow, taking her time to explore the most sensitive parts of you with her tongue, almost as if she's trying to make you feel all the things she’s too afraid to admit aloud. 

I want you, I need you, I’ll love you till my dying breath. 

Abby releases a muffled groan against your core when you cradle the back of her head, the vibrations sending another jolt of arousal through you. She presses the flat of her tongue harder against your sensitive bud and slowly guides a finger inside you. 

Abby’s hand stills once she’s slipped the entire digit inside, and while you appreciate her chivalry, that is not what you need right now. 

She groans when you start to grind into her palm, your breasts straining against your bodice with each shuddering breath. “Please,” you plead. “I need more.” 

And more is what she gives you. 

Abby slips another finger into your dripping heat and your body welcomes it, your eyes nearly rolling back from the sheer sense of relief you feel when she buries herself to the hilt inside you. Her tongue circles back over your throbbing center, the sound of each wet thrust echoing down the empty corridor. 

“God, that feels…” you trail off with a gasp, your knees starting to shake. “You feel…” But any semblance of thought leaves your mind when she curls her fingers up and rubs against a spot that has you completely coming apart at the seams. 

Abby eagerly works you through each shuddering wave, finally relenting with one final flick of her tongue that has your hips jerking back. You can feel the small puff of breath when she chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the plush skin of your inner thigh before she guides you to stand on both feet again. 

When she emerges from under your gown to rise to her feet, her hair is a complete mess and you can’t help but giggle at the sight. The corner of her mouth quirks up in a grin as she snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against her chest. Her other hand reaches up to cradle your jaw, the pad of her thumb brushing over your lower lip before she leans back in. Her lips are warm and wet when they meet yours, the taste of you and her overwhelming your senses. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve dreamt of doing that,” Abby confesses, pressing another urgent kiss to your swollen lips. “How many nights I had to stand outside your chambers, hearing you touch yourself.” Another kiss. “The sheer willpower it took to keep myself from barging in there and claiming you with my mouth.” 

In one fluid motion, you have her pinned to the wall, allowing your lips to eagerly mouth over her bared throat while your fingers fumble to loosen the ties of her trousers. 

“You should have,” you mumble against her jaw, “God I wanted you to.” 

Abby is panting, soft ragged breaths that have her breasts surging against your own as your hand slips down past her waistband to untuck the soft fabric of her tunic.

“What else did you dream about?” you murmur, grazing your teeth along her jaw before nipping gently on her earlobe. “Please tell me.” 

The low moan that she tries to stifle only encourages your wandering hands. They slide up and under her tunic, over the warm, contoured planes of her stomach. You feel a burst of confidence when she shudders beneath your gentle touches, her back arching into your palm when you cup one of her breasts. 

One of her hands that had previously been occupied with gripping the fabric bunched at your waist captures your other wrist before it can finish its ascent. You start to pull away to look at her then, worried you had done something wrong. But Abby doesn’t let you stray very far, reeling you back in until your chests are flush. 

Her cerulean eyes are nearly black with a hunger you’ve never seen before—her full lips and chin still slick with a mixture of you and her saliva. Her hair is mussed and wild and she looks downright feral, sending another rush of pulsing heat between your thighs. 

Abby’s touch is firm but still gentle as she guides your hand up to her mouth, slipping two of your fingers past her lips and swirling her tongue around them. You release a soft whine when she begins to sucks on them, and you can feel her hum of approval against them. 

After a long, erotic moment, she finally releases your slick fingers with a soft pop, maintaining eye contact as she coaxes them back down and past the waistband of her trousers. 

“It was this,” she whispers finally before capturing your lips in another desperate kiss. “I dreamt of you doing this.” 

She thrusts her hips into your palm, and you’re met with a mound of soft curls and wet heat. You moan into her mouth as you slide your fingers lower, gathering more of the slick that has pooled at her entrance and circling it back up and over her sensitive bud. 

“I thought of you every night,” you confess, the sound of her stifled moans spurring you on. “How you would feel…what you would sound like and, God,” you sigh, “how you would taste.” 

It was true, you had thought about her far too much. Of what it would feel like to kiss her…hold her…spread her out on your silk sheets and taste every inch of her. You were plagued with these thoughts and fantasies for months, and now that one of them had come to fruition, you were going to savor it. 

Abby releases a string of curses under her breath, tilting her head back to rest against the stone wall. You can’t help but admire the way her eyes screw shut in pleasure, and her lips part with each drag of your fingers. But your gaze eventually drifts lower to watch the rise and fall of her chest and back down to where your hand is still inside her trousers. 

The sight alone has you squirming against her, unintentionally grinding your hips into hers in desperate need of some friction. The action pulls a strangled groan from her throat, as it forces your fingers to press harder against her swollen bud. 

“That’s…fuck—” she chokes out, her hips beginning to buck up frantically against your palm. You meet each of her thrusts in earnest, your fingers rubbing tighter circles against her until you feel her completely lose control. 

You stop once you feel her legs start to tremble, cupping her in your palm as her body sags back against the wall. Abby releases a soft, satiated sigh and leans forward to rest her forehead on your shoulder. 

You both stay like that for a long moment, no words, just holding her close as her breathing returns to a normal pace. But it’s not long before you feel her hands beginning to grab fistfuls of your gown, dragging the soft fabric back up to expose your bare thighs. With one gentle nudge, she spreads your legs apart with her knee, sliding it home right between your thighs. 

An offering. 

“Only if you want it,” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. The ache between your thighs reignites with a sudden vengeance, and your frantic nod urges her to press her knee up against your aching center. “Take what you need.” 

You release a breathy gasp, gripping onto her shoulder with your other hand and rocking your hips down onto her thigh. Every one of your nerves feels like a live wire, and each frantic grind of your hips is tipping you dangerously closer to the edge. 

“There you go,” she murmurs, her teeth lightly nipping at your exposed collarbone. “You’re doing so well for me, love.” 

Her soft praise and the feel of her thigh flexing against your dripping core unravels you completely and you sink your teeth into your lower lip in an attempt to stifle your moans from spilling freely down the corridor. 

She holds you close as your body writhes against her, slowly dragging her fingers up and down the length of your spine. Once the euphoric haze begins to clear, you come to the delightful realization that your hand is still buried inside her trousers. 

You release a soft hum, pulling back far enough to hold her gaze as your fingers descend one last time. Abby’s hips twitch involuntarily as you lightly brush your fingertips over her bundle of nerves, and she bites back a moan when they dip lower to gather more of the slick that’s pooled at her entrance. 

Your dutiful knight has been reduced to a panting mess once you slip your hand back out of her trousers, holding up your fingers to admire the mess she left behind. 

“Come here,” she says, pulling that familiar handkerchief from her breastpocket and reaching for your wrist. “Let me.” 

But you stop her with a subtle shake of your head, pushing away the offered handkerchief and slipping your fingers inside of your mouth to greedily suck each digit clean. Abby’s eyes darken at the sight, her jaw muscles flexing and you let out a small giggle. 

“You will be the death of me,” she mutters fondly, pulling you in close to bury her face in your bosom. 

You release another soft laugh and thread your fingers through the loose hair at the nape of her neck. “Well, at least it’d be an honorable way to go,” you tease and Abby nips the top of your breast in return. 

“Well, darling, I’m nothing if not honorable.” 

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖙𝖘: @justanotherabbystan @lobotomymutt @somebitchprobably @mxmsuki