#abby fluff

“don’t you think you’re being petty?” he asks. you say nothing, flipping a page louder than necessary to get the point across. i’m ignoring you. 

jinu sighs. “you know, you’re gonna have to come out of there eventually. i won’t bother you.” 

another page flipped.  

jinu throws his hands up in surrender. “fine! be that way.” 

you scoff at his lack of effort as he walks away, but you didn’t bother replying to him as you continued to read your book. 

hours passed and there was no sign of jinu, a part of you couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the fact that jinu kept his word and didn’t bother you. 

you swallowed, cringing at how dry your throat feels, looking around the living room, you see no sign of your demon boyfriend. surely, you can grab a glass of water and get back in your circle to finish your book.

you step carefully over the circle, making sure that your step makes no sound and that the salt stays in place. 

you let out a sigh in relief, only to scream in shock once a dark mist appears and a hand pulls you into a warm body. 

“hi there, sweetheart.” jinu whispers sweetly into your ear. you thrash against his hold, trying to pull away but you were no match for his inhumane strength as he had the audacity to laugh at your attempts. 

when you calmed down, jinu turned you around to face him, smirking at the pout on your face. 

“are you ready to talk now?” he asks. you shake your head slightly. “there’s nothing to talk about, jinu.”

“that can’t be right.” he clicks his tongue. “my sweetheart is mad at me. i want to fix things.”

jinu places a finger under your chin and tilts it up to face him. “let’s fix this, please?” 

you relent, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. 

“i really… didn’t appreciate you leaning close to rumi like that.” you say quietly, almost as if you dreaded what he would say. you expected him to call you overdramatic, that it didn’t mean anything or that you were blowing things out of proportion. 

“i see.” jinu replies, pulling you closer to his chest. “i’m sorry. i’ll do better. i should’ve thought how you would feel.” huh?

you pull away to see jinu looking at you with a serious expression. 

“i won’t do it again, promise.” you couldn’t find the words to say as you let him whisk you onto the couch. 

“can you promise me something too?” 

“what?”

“let me know when you need assurance. there’s only ever you for me.” 

abby: 

you and abby were in a standstill. you expressed displeasure about how his fans were too touchy and that he should establish a boundary between them because his body was yours to touch, not theirs. abby only patted your head and called you cute but did nothing to address your concerns and that irked you off. 

“baby, you aren’t serious right?” 

“yes i am.” you say as you cross your arms, sitting in your circle of salt, glaring at your boyfriend who looked like he wanted to cry. 

“all because a few randoms flirted with me? baby you know you’re the only one for me.” the way he brushes off your reason for being pissed off only serves to piss you off even more. 

you rolled your eyes, even going as far as to turn your back on him, huffing. 

a groan escapes abby’s lips. “babe, come on you can’t be serious.” you say nothing. 

“fine! be that way, let’s see who cracks first.” he says, sitting down on the couch and crossing his arms, staring straight at you as if he were challenging you. 

it was on. 

you spent the next hour on your phone, quickly liking then scrolling away angrily whenever a fanedit of your boyfriend appears on your feed. 

you didn’t spare him a glance but you were aware that he was still sitting on the couch behind you. your ass was starting to hurt from sitting on the ground. why couldn’t you have drawn your ring of salt around the couch instead? you think to yourself, almost wanting to get out of your circle just to stretch your legs. 

a sound almost resembling a whine interrupts your thoughts, you pivot slightly to see abby looking at you with a frown on his face. 

“are you seriously still mad?” the sad lilt in his voice made your body turn back around to completely face him. 

“you’re already cracking?” you couldn’t help but challenge him, a brow raised as your lover downright pouts. 

“babe, do you know how hard it is to have you so close to me but i can’t hold you?” 

“and whose fault is that?” you countered, crossing your arms. abby stands up and rounds the circle. 

“mine, sure. whatever, but please, let me hold you? we can talk about it more but i really need to hold you right now.” abby puts out his hand, a sad expression on his face as he waits for your response. 

“i’ll do better.” 

with a sigh, you reach out, your hand pushing through the salt ring’s barrier. abby immediately pulls you away from the damned circle, causing a yelp to escape your lips.

you were immediately greeted by a hard chest and abby’s face nuzzling into your neck. 

“‘m sorry babe! i know it’s hard to have a boyfriend who’s so hot that people just wanna touch his abs all the time–” you cut him off with you trying to pull his arms away from your form.

“let me go!” but there was no real bite behind your words.

“no, but in all seriousness. i’ll put a boundary between me and my fans.” he says, staring right into your eyes with an expression of sincerity. 

“i’d even put a boundary between me and the other saja boys if that’d mean you’d never put a boundary between us again.” 

you soften slightly, your hands patting his arms, which only causes him to hold you tighter. 

“you mean it?” you asked, pulling away from him to cup his face in your hands. abby nods, determined. 

“even jinu?” 

“well…”

“abby!”

“i’m kidding!”

the two of you shared a laugh over it, and your boyfriend kept his word. he put a boundary with his fans immediately when he had an event. 

he’d rather not touch anyone ever again than have you put space between the two of you again. 

romance: 

“oh?” the pink haired man asked, a smirk on his face as he crossed his arm and looks at the circle that was drawn around the couch. 

“and what have i done to warrant such a violent response from my lover?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, a frown on his face. 

“oh, are you talking to me? or the throw pillow beside me?” you answer sarcastically. romance sighs as he walks over to you, his hand reaching out only for him to hiss as the salt barrier burns him. 

“it hurts.” 

you roll your eyes. “good. i need space.” 

romance bites back a smirk, you were so adorable in his eyes that he couldn’t take the frown that was on your face seriously. 

“my love are you not aware? distance is only but a means to test how far our love can travel” he places a hand to his chest. “and it hurts me to see you intentionally test our unconditional love.” he sighs dramatically, but you weren’t in the mood.

“do you say this to all the people in your life or am i just lucky?” romance’s brows furrowed in confusion as you don’t play along with him. . 

you say nothing as you swiped on your phone and threw it in his direction, your phone hitting him square on the chest. romance takes a look on the screen and sees a gossip blog about him and a huntrix member, the focal point was the fancam of him smirking at her and placing his chin on his hand that was propped on the table. 

‘saja boys’ romance… romancing with huntrix’s mira?!’ the article read. 

romance takes another look at you who refused to meet his eyes, a small pout on your face as you hugged a throw pillow to your chest. 

“lover…” romance trails off. you flick your head to the side. “i really don’t wanna talk to you right now, romance.”

he didn’t think about how his actions would reflect the media, his intentions were only to piss the huntrix member off but it seemed like oblivious fans took it out of context. 

“i know that you’re flirty but i thought it was only for me.” you say quietly, still not looking at him. romance frowns, feeling his heart drop to his stomach as you remain saddened by his actions. “it sucks i have other people to share with when it comes to your affection.”

“my love—” romance kneels in front of the couch, a frown on his face as he reaches for you, baring his teeth as the circle burns his skin. 

“rome, what are you doing?!” 

“trying to reach you, my love.” he says, hissing out his words as you can see the layers of his skin peel, against better judgment, you swipe away at the salt, your lover almost falling face first into the sofa. 

“let me see that.” you say, grabbing his hand, clicking your tongue as you examined the burns. 

almost in a flash, romance’s skin goes back to normal in front of your very eyes and before you could react, you feel romance intertwine his hand with yours, his other one coming to sandwich your hand between his. 

“my lover…” romance trails off, “i apologize for making you feel that way. it was never my intention.” you still wouldn’t look at him. romance, still kneeling, places a kiss on your hand. 

“you are the only one to receive the highest severity of my affections. i’m sorry for making you doubt that. thank you for letting me know.” he says as he places another tender kiss on your knuckles, his lips staying on your skin for longer. 

“let me make it up to you?” 

before you could even respond, he whisks you in his arms, carrying you to your shared bedroom, wrapping you in your fluffy blankets and playing your comfort show as he cuddles you on the bed. 

he’d spend his entire lifetime just to show you that only you mattered to him.

mystery: 

something about your boyfriend is that he is feral. almost like a rabid dog if you’re being honest. but all rabid dogs eventually soften up and become affectionate to their owners, and it was no doubt that mystery fell into that category, he hated other people but he loved being around you. 

however, he shows his love in the form of biting. and (un)fortunately for you, your skin became his favorite chew toy. 

your skin became a canvas showcasing different shades of red, blue and purple, teeth indents scattered around from your arm, to your thighs even on your cheeks. 

you can barely move without any soreness, and you can’t even be mad. you loved mystery and you loved that he loved you just as equally. 

but your body needs a break. you fear that your skin might actually not recover. and it wasn’t as if you haven’t asked your boyfriend nicely. in fact, the fact that they’re just bruises instead of teeth indents was already an improvement. 

you just needed a break.  

the saja boys arrived back home after a fansigning event, mystery headed straight to his room, where you were in so that he could recharge, only for him to literally fall on his knees as he sees you sleeping on the couch, a ring of salt drawn around it. 

you were awoken to a whimper. your bleary eyes blinked to see your boyfriend with a pout on his face as his eyes were trained to you. 

“why are you doing this?” you unconsciously pout at the sad tone mystery uses. 

“myst, come on. my skin needs a break! there’s more bruises than skin.” you say as you gestured to your arms. 

“you know, people would think you’re hurting me.” you say in passing and you can see mystery tense up. 

“i would never hurt y—” “i know!” you cut him off, “but walking around with these marks would make people think otherwise.” 

“but… that’s my way to show you affection. i love seeing my marks on you.” if mystery were to hypothetically have dog ears, it would be flat against his head right now as he looks at you with a sad expression. 

you bit your lip, feeling your resolve chip away as you can see the distance between the two of you affect him. 

before you could even think of an appropriate response, mystery hisses as he forces his way in the ring of salt. 

“mystery!” you say, moving to break it but mystery snarls at you. “no, i need to know the pain my bites bring you.” 

“mystery, your bite only stays for a few days, i don’t need you burning yourself alive for me!” you say as you swiped away the salt, taking mystery in your arms as you tried soothing the burn on his skin. 

mystery’s lips tremble. “so… i’m not allowed to bite you anymore?” 

you part his bangs, placing a kiss on his forehead, thinking of a compromise. 

“how about… whenever you bite me, i bite back? that way, you can feel ” mystery’s head perks up, a small smile forming on his face as he gives you a curt nod. 

you moved first, placing a gentle bite on his arm, mystery purrs happily before he chomps down on yours. 

“myst, too hard!” 

“..sorry.”

needless to say, there was work that needed to be done but the marks on your skin noticeably lessened. 

 baby: 

you knew that baby rarely showed his affection and that the fact that you were his lover should’ve been enough. but lately, it felt like you were the only one exerting effort in your relationship and it was beginning to take a toll on you. 

you decided on giving him the same treatment back. 

you barely brushed a kiss on his cheek, you don't hug him back when he hugs you goodbye and you even resorted to sleeping in the guest room. 

baby thought nothing of it, in fact, when you fall asleep, he sneaks in the guest room to drape an arm on your waist and hold you. but you don’t realize it as he wakes up and leaves before you. 

you weren’t getting the point across. actually, baby thought your avoidant ways were adorable.

you needed to change your ways and do something even more drastic. 

the saja boys just finished a grueling dance practice and baby wanted nothing to do but rest in your arms, maybe even ask how your day has been. 

he was well aware that he was putting strain on your relationship by not giving the effort you deserved. he knows that his upcoming comeback was no excuse. but today marked the last day before the comeback’s release, the group was given a week to recuperate before promotions, and baby knew that he’d spend all ten thousand and eighty minutes glued to you, but who was counting? 

he clicks his tongue as he enters the room, seeing a ring of salt around the bed where you lay, scrolling through your phone. 

“this is how we’re playing now?” baby asked, you looked up, staring straight at him, voice monotone as you responded. 

“go away, baby.” 

the blue haired demon only smirks as he rounds the bed, toeing slightly at the salt ring, chuckling as his boot sizzles against it. 

“really? where’d you get this technique, the dark web?” he says sarcastically. “are you planning to exorcise me in my sleep too?”

you huff, crossing your arms. 

“it’s keeping you away, so it’s working even if you make fun of me!” 

“what brought this on, sweetheart?”

“dunno.” you answered, lying down and turning away from him. “go away.”

baby stays quiet, too quiet that you didn’t even know if he was still in the room, but you didn’t wanna turn and check if he’s still inside the room. 

you sigh sadly to yourself, you didn’t even know where this back and forth was going because it was obvious to you that baby didn’t see what was wrong and why you were acting that way. 

“hey.” you let out a screech as arms wrap around your waist, turning you around and pulling you flush against your boyfriend’s chest. 

“w-wh— how? what?” you sputtered out your words as baby smiles mischievously. 

“the thing about salt rings is that… there’s always gonna be a portion that’s drawn thinly.” he says as he gestures towards the foot of the bed. 

“seems like you overlooked that, babe.” you clicked your tongue but went limp in his hold nonetheless. 

“now,“ baby starts. “do you wanna tell me what’s wrong?” his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing on your skin. you don’t face him as you answer. 

“i felt like i was being neglected by you.” you say, voice  barely above a whisper. “and i didn’t know how to bring it up because you were always so busy and–” baby cuts you off with a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“‘m sorry.” he says, voice matching yours. “it was unfair to you, i know. i’ll do better.” you couldn’t shake the sincerity from his voice as he forces you to look at his golden eyes. 

“you’re always welcome to talk to me, i’ll make time for you, always, okay?” he presses a kiss on your chin, “i’m sorry.” a kiss on your cheek. 

“i’ll do better.” another kiss on your forehead. 

“i don’t deserve you.” finally, a kiss on your lips. you reciprocate, not knowing that tears were slowly slipping from your closed eyes. 

you didn’t realize that you were overthinking for nothing and that you didn’t need to go to such lengths, but baby understands. baby made an oath to himself to never make you feel this way again.

he promises to never be the cause of your tears ever again. 

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who will definitely big spoon you if you ask, but adores being the little spoon. she loves having your hands on her, being able to tuck her nose in the crook of your neck, and just completely melting into you. she’s a sucker for being babied, even if she won’t admit it.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who always lets you choose the movie, even if the description doesn’t sound that interesting to her. as long as you’re into it, she’s okay. not only that, she never gets angry when you eat the majority of the popcorn. she’d rather you be full and content that hungry.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who never takes half assed pictures of you. in fact, if you’re walking past a scenic view she stops you to take a picture, not the other way around. and she’s verrryyy serious about it. she’ll tell you how to pose, where to position your purse, where your head should be directed at—she tells you every thing! even if it’s small.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, if you have the soap gene, she goes out of her way to make sure none of your meals have cilantro. and by the rare occasion that they do, she speaks a time picking it all out for you.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who treats your stuffed animals with the utmost respect. she links of them like they’re you children, sometimes even slotting one between you while cuddling.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who is an absolute sucker for forehead kisses. they make her feel so loved, so adored, and sometimes even feel more intimate than regular kisses.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who always lets you steal bites out of her food, and actually encourages it. she’ll smirk when you take big bites, and offers another one when you don’t.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who pays for any and all of your hair/nail appointments. she genuinely gets offended when you tell her she doesn’t have to, because to her, it’s the bare minimum.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who refuses to go to bed without an “i love you.” if you fall asleep before her, of course, she won’t wake you. instead, she’ll quietly whisper it against your skin, pressing her lips gently against your cheek.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who follows you around like a lost puppy. washing dishes? she’s leaning against the counter next to you. doing your hair? she’s pulled over a chair so she can sit by you. changing? she literally hands you the next article of clothing you need. (and she swears she’s not clingy mind u…)

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who has absolutely no problem shaving your legs if you’re lazy. in fact, she thinks it’s kinda fun. plus, gives her an excuse to touch you, and yap your ear off.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who claims that she doesn’t like your gym playlist, but you’ll catch her bobbing her head, and sometimes even humming along to the majority of the songs. her face gets bright red when you call her out.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who absolutely hates it when you use a silly photo of her as a sticker while texting. “can u STOP??????” every time you send that 0.5 of her you took while she was dead asleep, mouth hanging wide open.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who carries your purse like its some very important secret document, not allowing anyone to get close to it.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who slips into the shower with you more often that not. you’ll be scrubbing down your arms, when theres suddenly two more wrapping around your middle from behind, and lips pressing against your cheek.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who has polaroids of you taped up on your bed frame. she claims they’re “peak decoration.”

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who deadass has a blanket with your face printed on it. she doesn’t let anyone touch it.. not even you, keeping it neatly laid on her side of the bed.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who has like 80 billion photos of you…it literally takes up all of her phone storage, and REFUSES to delete them. but on the very, very rare occasion that you two argue, all she does is scroll through them like you died. it’s cute, but her phone legitimately has like 4 gigabytes left.

‪‪❤︎‬gf!abby, who loves you with everything her full heart has to offer.

Hhaiii my request r open :ppp please do not be afraid to send something in! its highly appreciated :))) i currently write for vi, sevika, ellie williams, and abby anderson :33

masterlist♥︎

Huddling near its pathetic warmth is out of the question—not with Abby Anderson holding court on the opposite side of the room. She’s a statue of coiled resentment, her glare potent enough to frost glass. You can feel the weight of it from here, a physical pressure against your skin. The silence between you isn't merely empty; it's an active, hostile entity, charged with every unspoken accusation and shared, bloody memory. You’re pretty sure she’d blame you if the sun failed to rise.

It’s broken only by the relentless shhh-click, shhh-click of her sharpening her knife. Each methodical stroke is a promise of violence, a sound that doesn't just grate on your nerves but methodically flays them, layer by layer. It’s the sound of your own control being whittled away, each scrape a little closer to the core.

"You’re grinding your teeth again."

Her voice is a low mutter, a throwaway line she doesn't even grace with a glance. The sound in your own jaw stops.

You hadn't even realized you'd started.

"And you’re breathing too loud," you snap back, the retort childish but laced with a venom that feels like your only weapon. You shift on the moth-eaten couch, and the ancient springs groan a pathetic chorus to your frustration. It’s been hours of this—a slow-burn war of attrition where clipped words are the artillery and hostile silence is the poisoned ground between your trenches.

But the real battle is a civil war waged inside your own skin. It’s a deep, restless ache coiling low in your belly, a throbbing heat between your legs that has nothing to do with the room's chill and everything to do with the cruel, biological timing of ovulation. It’s a traitorous pulse, a drumbeat of primal need that has somehow synced itself to the rhythm of her knife—a frantic, needy counterpoint to every shhh-click.

You squeeze your thighs together, a futile, punishing pressure to smother the feeling. The movement is subtle, or so you hope.

But Abby’s eyes flick up.

They’re like shards of flint in the gloom, and they miss nothing. You can feel her gaze like a physical touch, cataloguing the minute tremor in your leg, the white-knuckled grip you have on the worn cushion, the quickening of your breath you can’t quite hide. The air leaves the room, all of it sucked into the vortex of her attention.

A slow, dangerous smirk curls one side of her mouth. It’s not a smile. It’s the expression of a predator that has just scented blood in the water.

"That why you’ve been such a pain in my ass all day?" she asks, her voice a low, knowing rumble. It’s a sound that seems to vibrate straight through the floorboards and up into your bones, resonating with that traitorous pulse inside you. "All that pent-up… energy?"

Every muscle in your body locks rigid, a statue of pure defiance. Denial, brittle and transparent, is the only shield you have left. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit."

The word is a gunshot in the quiet room. In the same instant, her knife clatters onto the floorboards—a violent, final sound that makes you flinch. She rises, uncoiling to her full height, and rolls her shoulders with a deliberate, cracking looseness. It’s the motion of a beast, not just loosening its muscles, but savoring the moment before the pounce.

"You’ve been snippy. Impatient—fidgety all goddamn day." Her voice is a low growl as her gaze drags down your body. It’s a physical weight, more invasive than any touch, a scalpel peeling back layers of fabric and pretence. It lingers with brutal, humiliating precision right at the junction of your thighs, and you can feel the heat of that stare as if it were a brand. "And now," she concludes, her eyes snapping back up to yours, trapping you, "you're wound so tight you're practically vibrating. I can feel it from here."

Humiliation and desire flash-boil in your veins, a volatile chemical reaction that sets your cheeks on fire and steals the air from your lungs. "Fuck off, Anderson."

A low, derisive sound escapes her—not a laugh, but the rumble of a predator who’s heard a particularly pathetic challenge. She doesn’t fuck off. Instead, she closes the distance in three long, ground-eating strides, her presence swallowing the space until the world shrinks down to the worn fabric of the couch and the overwhelming reality of her.

She cages you in. One hand plants on the couch back by your head, the impact a soft, final thunderclap. The other grips your jaw, her calloused fingers and cool metal gear forcing your gaze up to hers. Her eyes are twin voids, blown with a fury that feels indistinguishable from lust, and in their dark reflection, you see the terrified, wanting thing you've become.

"Maybe if I shut you up properly," she growls, her breath a hot, damp brand against your cheek, "you won't be such a pain in my ass tomorrow."

You barely have time to process the words—the dark promise coiled within them—before her hands are on you again. They are rough and impatient, a force of nature that shoves your thighs apart without ceremony. The coarse fabric of your pants grates against your oversensitized skin, a brutal friction that is somehow both punishment and a tease. A sharp, cold shock punches the air from your lungs as she yanks them down your hips, just enough, baring you to the chill, dusty air and the infinitely hotter, searing focus of her gaze.

"Abby—" It’s half-gasp, half-plea, your voice stripped of all its earlier defiance, reduced to something raw and exposed.

"Quiet." Her command is a low rumble that doesn't just enter your ears but seems to vibrate through the floorboards and settle deep in your core, commanding a stillness that your traitorous body is all too willing to obey. Her calloused thumb, rough and unyielding, presses against your lower lip, a silent, threatening mimicry of the touch you both know is coming elsewhere. It’s a claim and a warning all in one. "You’ve been pissing me off all day." Her voice drops, laced with a dark, possessive intent. "Time you made yourself useful."

Her mouth is on you before you can even draw breath to retort, hot and relentless, and fuck—she is obscenely, infuriatingly good at this. It isn't pleasure; it's a tactical strike. Your back arches off the couch, a bowstring pulled taut, a silent scream caught in the cage of your throat as her tongue—broad and deliberate—drags through your folds. It’s a cruel, knowing pressure that isn't just mapping your weak spots—it's cataloguing them for systematic demolition.

"You’re—ah!—you’re such an asshole," you gasp, your fingers fisting in the short, sweat-damp strands of her hair. The gesture is a battle in itself, every tendon straining with the paradox of it: the desperate, animal urge to shove her away warring with the clawing need to lock her in place forever.

Abby chuckles against you, the vibration a direct, taunting shockwave that erupts in your core and sends an involuntary jerk through your entire body. "And yet," she murmurs, her voice a thick, muffled hum against your most sensitive skin, "you're dripping all over my tongue." She pulls back just enough to nip at your inner thigh, a sharp, possessive sting that blooms with pain and promise, a hair's breadth from breaking the skin. "Guess I win."

You hate her. The sentiment is a fire in your veins, pure and simple. You hate the smug certainty saturating her voice, the way it drips with the knowledge that she's already won. You hate the bite of her thick, strong fingers as they dig into the soft flesh of your hips, branding you with their grip, pinning you down for her feast and rendering you utterly, shamefully immobile.

She laps at you like she's starving, a creature devouring its due, and the most humiliating part—the part that makes shame burn hotter than any pleasure—is how your body arches and yields in response. It betrays you completely, responding like this is the offering it was always meant to receive, a primal language it understands far better than reason or pride.

The world narrows, then shatters. It dissolves into the slick, hot friction of her mouth, the ruthless, rhythmic pressure that erases every other thought. There is only the feeling, and the burning coil of tension winding tighter and tighter in your gut—a pleasure so sharp it borders on agony, so intense it feels like being flayed alive.

"Abby—please—" The word is torn from you, a ragged white flag you never intended to raise, a surrender to the sensation that is systematically dismantling you.

"Please what?" She pulls back just enough to watch you come undone, her lips glistening with your own arousal—a liquid, damning proof of your betrayal. Her gaze is dark, utterly triumphant. "Can't take it?" Her thumb finds your clit, circling it with a quick, ruthless rhythm that feels less like a caress and more like a final, inescapable interrogation. "After all your bitching today," she taunts, her voice a low thrum against your trembling thigh, "I figured you'd be tougher."

You choke on a moan, the sound strangled in your throat as any protest is violently erased by the sensation of her diving back in. This time, there is no teasing. She sucks, hard—a direct, targeted assault on your very sanity that shatters your last vestige of control. There is no more thought, no more hate, no more you. There is only the cataclysm.

Your vision splinters into blinding white static as you come with a broken, ragged cry that sounds like it belongs to someone else. Your body seizes, back arching off the couch as a shockwave of pure, unbearable sensation tears through you, wringing you out and leaving you hollow in its wake.

But she doesn't stop.

If anything, she doubles down, her arm becoming an unforgiving iron bar across your hips, anchoring you to the storm. She doesn't just guide you through the violent peak; she drags you, kicking and sobbing, straight into the shuddering, oversensitive abyss on the other side. The pleasure curdles, souring into a near-unbearable sensitivity where each flick and stroke of her tongue is a lightning strike on raw, exposed nerves. Sobs you don't recognize as your own wrack your chest, a convulsive mix of overwhelming sensation and sheer, utter defeat.

You're trembling, a leaf in a hurricane, trying to twist away from the agonizing onslaught. But she holds fast, a relentless, immovable force proving a point you're no longer coherent enough to understand.

"Stay still."

The order is a guttural growl against the tender skin of your inner thigh, the vibration traveling straight through your flesh and bone to settle in your soul. A pathetic, broken whimper escapes you, a sound torn violently in two. One half is a desperate, animal need to escape the overwhelming sensation; the other is the terrifying, shameful realisation that you never, ever want her to stop. This is your ruin, and it is exquisite.

Your hips give a final, helpless, involuntary jerk—a last, futile protest from a body that no longer listens to you. Her response is immediate and absolute. One of her powerful arms hooks under your thigh, and with a grunt of effort, she slams you back down, pinning you to the couch with brutal, final efficiency. The fight drains out of you in a single, shuddering exhale. You are utterly, completely at her mercy, and the terrifying knowledge is the most potent drug you have ever known.

"Fuck—fuck, Abby—!"

Her name is a broken prayer and a shattered curse on your lips, torn from a place deep within your throat as her tongue delves into you again. This time, it’s not just a lick; it’s a claiming. She laps at you with a frantic, single-minded intensity, as if you're the only source of water in a desert and she's a woman dying of thirst. A low, approving hum rumbles in her chest, a sound of pure satisfaction, as if she's savouring the very taste of your own treacherous, leaking desire. The vibration is exquisitely cruel, a deliberate, calculated tactic that short-circuits your nerves and has fractured light bursting behind your eyelids.

"Pretty little cunt," she murmurs. The words are a hot, damp caress against your throbbing, most sensitive skin. The profanity is so casual, so utterly possessive, it doesn't just send a shudder through you—it feels like she's carving her ownership into your very soul with the words. To prove her point, she drags the blunt, threatening edge of her teeth over your swollen, over-sensitized clit, a mockery of a kiss designed solely to hear the ragged keen it rips from your lungs.

"Soaked for me," she breathes, the observation a triumphant verdict. "Bet you’d let me do anything to you right now, huh?" Her voice is a dark, knowing whisper that slithers into your ear and coils in your gut.