eli

20 “e”-lie he/they lesbian

[2012wannabe]

Notes for my fanfiction

Ai Audios

part 1 part 2 part 3

♦️ 👀

Fanfics

10 minutes vs. A Lifetime Cranberry Sauce untitled

Fiction vs. Nonfiction Hold my Hope by the Throat

One Bad Night the conversation Lace Dreams click

silent beginnings

Challenges

Kinktober 23

Asks/Requests

dacryphilia💧

My tags

#eliwrites #elisays

Rules

[chaotic-ppeach]

Some post gym hair down Abby ig

The hairstyle makes it not look much like her, squint pls

[troubledearth]

Wife Abby….

〤cw: Tribbing, not choking, just hand on throat, wife abby. You fuck in your old bedroom.

wc: 2k, something I didn’t count

Ive been feeling very mushy lately and it shows. Soft intimacy? I am all over that. This week at least. Also tumblr keeps messing up my posts so its like some of the text is huge? Really visually annoying. Please give me advice on how to fix it 🙏

Family gatherings were harder to reach these days, and not just because of the drive. A baby made everything heavier—literally and otherwise. Eight months wasn’t exactly new, but it still felt like your whole world had only just shifted. Getting her into the carseat was its own battle every time, the straps engineered like some cruel puzzle. And then there was the diaper bag, a beast that could probably qualify as free weights. Abby always carried it, though. She never let you struggle with it, never let you forget how much she adored looking after you. She had always been sweet like that.

Your mind drifts back to high school—back when Abby was the star of the volleyball team, and you were the one with the hopeless, dizzy crush. Sometimes you still can’t believe she chose you. But she had been the one to sit down first, to laugh too hard at your jokes, to make space for you. She was just as unsure of herself as you were. That awkwardness, that nervous sweetness, had always been your anchor.

And now, somehow, you have a baby together. The thought still jars you, knocks you off-balance in the quiet moments. Your body has changed. Your nights are long. But then there’s the sound of her—your wife—rocking your daughter to sleep in the dark. Sometimes the sheer miracle of it makes your chest ache.

“You think so loud,” Abby murmurs, her voice breaking into your spiraling thoughts.

You turn your head just as the trundle bed creaks with her movement. The whole frame groans like it might collapse under her, and you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the two of you crammed down here in your old basement bedroom. Your brothers had snagged the guest room upstairs, leaving you to this time capsule of 2015, complete with posters of Calvin Harris and the dreaded IKEA desk beneath. You’d offered to sleep on the floor, but Abby had only smiled, stubborn as always.

“So loud I woke you up?” you ask softly, reaching for the pull lamp your dad had installed ages ago, back when Abby had spent whole afternoons helping him get it right.

The room glows in a pool of warm light. There she is—her freckled face pressed into your sheets, her bicep curled protectively around an old stuffed dog, her blonde hair undone and wild. The sight of her like this knocks the breath out of you. You want to crawl across the tiny space between you and fold yourself into her warmth.

“That loud,” she whispers, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Don’t worry. Your parents are just upstairs with the baby. And there’s plenty of formula. If she wakes up , she’ll be nuked.”

“Please don’t call feeding our daughter ‘nuking it,’” you laugh, but your voice softens as you reach across to brush her hair back.

“Hm.” She hums, propping her face on her knuckle. “What’s wrong?” Her head nearly bumps the wall.

“Nothing,” you mumble, rolling to your side so you can face her. The sleeve of your nightgown slips lower down your shoulder. “Just…thinking. About how we ended up here.”

“In your bed?” She smirks. “Because I’m sexy as hell. Or because you wouldn’t let me beat your brothers up for the guest room?”

She’s so ridiculous, you can’t help but smile—but it fades quickly. She notices, of course she does. She always does.

“No, I mean…like us. How you’re my wife. How we got here.”

Her brow arches, but her eyes soften. “Because I love you,” she says, dragging thick fingers across your chin. “Because I need you. Like I always have.”

Silence, then you scoot carefully into her arms, wrapping yourself around her broad shoulders. She presses her face into your neck, rubbing the back of your head. You share a bed every night, but lately—with the baby, with the exhaustion—just holding each other has felt impossibly far away.

Other things have felt far away, too.

“I kissed you in this bed,” you whisper. “The first time. I watched ten YouTube videos.” You tilt your head up to meet her eyes.

Her grin curls lazy and fond. “I’m glad you remember. I practiced with my hand.”

You laugh, small and shaky, before quiet settles between you again. For the first time in months, the silence feels full instead of empty. Maybe your brothers were right to give you the basement.

Minutes pass. Your hips shift, a twitch against her thigh. She’s only in boxers, and the contact jolts through you. It’s been months, you realize. Months since she’s touched you the way you need. The sheets rustle softly as you press a little harder, nightgown sliding up, chasing the relief of friction.

Abby doesn’t stop you. She breathes steady beneath you, her chest rising against your cheek as your breath grows uneven. Her hand skims your waist, thumb dragging along the stretch marks she knows by heart. She cups your hip, squeezing where softness meets the memory of what you carried for her. For both of you.

“Abby…” your voice breaks quiet, pleading. “It’s been months.”

She shifts suddenly, rolling you beneath her as best she can in the cramped bed. You giggle when her shoulders are inches away from bumping the ceiling,mbut the sound dissolves as she steals your mouth in a kiss. Gentle, at first. Then hungrier, like she’s been starving for the taste of you.

You keep your eyes open, greedy to watch her. The ripple of her muscles under her shirt, the way her hair spills into the lamplight, the press of her body—so much stronger now, so much heavier with the work she’s carried for your family. You rake your hands over her back, down her shoulders, memorizing her solidity.

Your legs part instinctively, and her hand slides down, tugging your nightgown higher. That ridiculous, gaudy thing you insisted on wearing, soft with your smell. She laughs into your mouth, breathless, tugging it impatiently up your thighs.

“You and this moo-moo,” she murmurs against your lips. “God, you’re beautiful.”

She presses her hips forward, the edge of her boxers catching against you, and a quiet moan escapes before you can stop it. Your arms lock tighter around her, thighs sliding up her hips, clinging to the way she leans over you. One of her ankles dangles off the side of the bed, the frame groaning under both your weight.

“If we fall into my desk, I’m blaming you,” you whisper, smiling through your breathlessness.

Your hand fumbles for the stuffed animal beside you, tossing it to the floor. She frowns when it lands with a soft thump, lowering her mouth to your neck. Her teeth scrape, bite, just shy of sharp. Enough to make your breath catch.

“You just tossed Steven.”

“I know. Should I apologize?” you grin, too wide, too pretty. The grin falters when her tongue licks over the hollow of your throat, hot and slow. Your hips twitch up, your brows knit as you gasp.

“Mm. Maybe.” She hums against your skin. One hand tugs your nightgown down, peeling the flower-printed fabric from your chest. Your breasts spill free into her touch, and her thumb brushes over your nipple, featherlight at first, then firmer.

You pout suddenly, the thought slipping out before you can stop it. “They’re kinda useless now, aren’t they? Dried up a month ago.”

Her hand stills only to cup you more fully, kneading with reverence. “Never useless, sweetheart. Not to me. Not to her.” She presses a kiss against your jaw, her voice steady and soft even as her hand works over you. “Beautiful. Always. And so fucking hot? One hundred percent.”

Your breath breaks on a laugh that melts into a whimper, your back arching as her palm warms you, shapes you. She looks at you like she could worship every change your body has carried, every mark, every curve—and mean it.

Her tongue soothes over your breast, still tender, before trailing upward to kiss your collarbone. You shift under her, hips rocking up, bumping your mound against hers in a way that makes her eyes flutter closed, her breath leaving her in a low groan.

She slides your panties down your legs. You lift, curving one leg back, toes brushing the ceiling as you help her. She tosses them aside—somewhere down below with the stuffed animal. Your hands pull your dress back up.

For a moment she just looks. Drinks you in. The open, slick split of you. The curls of hair framing the slope of your cunt. The way you’re already swollen and glistening, wetness sliding down, clenching around nothing.

“Stop staring,” you whimper, cheeks hot. “Makes me feel awkward.”

“Why?” Her voice is low, softer now. “I like looking at you.” She says it as if it’s the simplest truth in the world, even while she strips off her own boxers, pushing them down until they drop to the floor.

“I dunno. I guess we haven’t done this in a—”

She doesn’t let you finish. Her hand drags down your belly, circling your clit. The sudden spark of contact makes your thighs twitch, aching to clamp shut from the sensitivity.

“Abby—” her name leaves you high and desperate, and her eyes soften at the sound.

“But you like it too, don’t you?” she murmurs against your ear, fingers stroking you with an almost unbearable patience. “It’s been awhile. You’re right. I’ll make you feel better.”

Her fingers dip inside—one first, slow, steady, just to feel you again, the way you squeeze and flutter around her. Then another when your whine rises sharp in your throat.

“I wanna feel better. Please,” you breathe, clutching at her shoulders. “Wanna be close to you, A-Abby.”

She slips her fingers free, coaxing them to your lips. You scrunch your nose as she presses them there, and she laughs softly at the face you make.

“You’re so weird.”

“I know.” She grins, thumb smoothing your hairline. “But I want you to know how sweet you are.”

Your mouth parts, taking her fingers in. She watches, chest heaving, then pulls them away gently. Rearranging both your bodies with awkward little nudges and shuffles, she manages to get you sitting up with her, thigh hooked over yours. The low ceiling forces your backs to hunch, but neither of you care. Its not that much. You’d fold yourselves in half if it meant this closeness.

Your thighs press together—her muscle, your softness spilling against it. Her palm drags over your stomach, lingering with reverence before sliding down to grip your hips. She pulls you close, cores pressed together, wetness smearing as your breath stutters.

Your foreheads touch. The world narrows to warmth, to breath, to the slick grind of need. She’s wet too. She wants you just as much.

And in this cramped, ridiculous little bed, she makes sure you feel it.

Her hips rock—slow, tiny, deliberate. The bed squeaks beneath you, straining to hold the weight of both your bodies pressed together. Each drag of her wetness against yours sends heat up your spine, makes the hair on your neck stand. Every small grind feels like rediscovery, like learning her again piece by piece with every tender push of her cunt to yours.

“That…oh. God, that feels so good.” You murmur, forehead pressed to hers, sweat gathering at your temples. You can’t help it—you lean back onto your elbows just to see her. Her eyes are half-lidded, her breath coming fast, her whole body moving slow and intentional, glowing in the soft orange lamp-light. The peaks of her breasts, under her shirt, the curve of her mouth curling into that filthy little smirk she only ever gives you. The light slick on her thighs, the flutter of her lashes—it’s enough to make your chest ache.

Abby moans, and it’s pretty in a way no one else would expect from her—soft, breathy, whiny. Her clit snags yours and she lets out a choked sound, and suddenly you’re not just taking it anymore. Your hips push back, greedy for her, for more.

“There she is.” Abby hums, her chest trembling with the sound, and she reaches for you, pulling you closer so her palm can cradle your throat. Not rough, not cruel—just to feel your pulse racing under her hand, just to hold you steady. She fits there like she belongs.

“You’re such a good girl. A good mommy, isn’t that right? My girl. My precious girl.” Her voice cracks on a grunt as her hips shudder, dragging harder, the slick sound of you both filling the room.

“Y-Yes,” you whine, higher, desperate. Your free hand palms at your breast, trying to match what she’s giving you. “I…I’m your precious girl, Abby.”

Her hand slips lower, spreading warm across your hip, grounding you. She kisses you then, deep and greedy, and somehow it pulls you back to those clumsy nights in her beat-up Ford, giggling in the back seat. But this—this is different. Better. Anchored by years, by love, by the tether you’ve built together.

Now you’re impossibly close again. Her hands steady you, guiding your hips to move with hers. She missed this—missed the sound of your breath hitching, your soft whimpers that you always swallow down like secrets.

“Abby…I love you,” you choke out, the words trembling as badly as your body. Her mouth finally leaves yours, swollen and spit-slick, and she leans her forehead against yours, dropping a messy kiss to your temple.

“I love you more,” she breathes, and the sound of it undoes you. The knot in your belly unravels with a low, broken cry. Your hips spasm against hers as release takes you, trembling thighs clamping around her. She holds you through it, keeps her rhythm steady even as her own orgasm shudders through her, her forehead pressed to yours like she’ll never let you go.

When it’s over, you collapse back into the mattress, dragging her with you. The bed shakes like it might give out, but neither of you care.

Panting, you murmur, “Do you think my…my parents heard us?”

Abby grins, flicking your forehead. “I think breakfast is gonna be awkward.”

[squ1drice]

Little repost with some touchups 🤓

[inwithrin]

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ pervy roommate!abby who is dying to touch you

thinking about dorm roommate!abby who’s dying to touch you. not in the obvious way—not just sexually—but in that starved kind of way where her whole body burns just from sitting across from you.

cw: abby's a bit of a perv but reader likes it, size kink, praise kink, dom!abby, fingering, abby eating you out, prob more stuff. ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

she loves watching you stretch in the morning, back arching under your little tank top, or the way you apply lip gloss, slowly and absentmindedly, like you're not driving her absolutely insane.

abby doesn't even know if you like girls. you’ve never said. you’ve never flirted with anyone, not outright. but you’re so sweet to her. always soft-voiced, always smiling when you pass by, saying "good luck" before exams, like she matters. 

she's trying to be normal. she swears. but it’s hard.

your schedules don’t line up. when abby wakes up for her 7:00 a.m. class, you’re still curled under the covers. and when you leave for your afternoon lecture, freshly showered, makeup glimmery, skirt a little too short—abby’s already back from training, pretending not to look at you.

you make her life so fucking difficult. she hates herself for it—hates this hunger, this need, this obsession, this aching craving to know more.

at first, it’s harmless. she just... sprays your perfume while you're gone. it's fruity and warm. no big deal. but then it's your lip gloss. the pink sparkly one you always wear. she twists it open and presses the wand to her finger, then drags it across her bottom lip. lets it sit there, lets herself imagine what it’d feel like to kiss you—to have you pressed up against her, tasting like strawberries and something sweeter.

after that, she tells herself she’ll stop. really. she knows it’s weird.

but the thing is, you leave things behind so carelessly. a lacy bra draped over the back of your chair. a pair of lilac panties hanging off your laundry basket. your lotion left on your desk. your bed is always unmade, smelling like shampoo and heat.

and you trust her. that’s what makes it worse—you trust her to be good.

at night, abby lays in her bed, staring at your side of the room, heart pounding like she’s already been caught. like you know. and maybe you do. maybe that’s why you keep smiling at her like that. maybe you want her to break.

you start noticing little things.

nothing crazy at first—just your perfume running low a little faster than usual. you frown one morning, holding the bottle up to the window, squinting. didn’t i just buy this?—you thought.

you mention it offhandedly while doing your hair, glancing at abby over your shoulder. she's at her desk, pretending to study but not turning to look at you.

“this is weird, right?” you say, showing her the bottle. “it’s like it’s evaporating or something.”

abby doesn’t miss a beat. doesn’t even lift her eyes from the screen. “yeah. that happens to perfumes that are exposed to the sun. the alcohol evaporates, or whatever.”

but then it’s your lip gloss.

the pink one you always keep in your makeup bag. one morning, it’s all sticky around the cap like it’s been opened. used. like someone twisted it shut a little too fast. you brush it off—maybe you forgot. maybe it melted with the sun.

you’re not the paranoid type. but it happens again. and again.

your favorite bra isn’t where you left it. your lotion has messy fingerprints on the lid. your blanket smells like your perfume even when you haven’t touched it that day.

you start to wonder. not panic—not yet. because abby’s so normal. so polite. so quiet and respectful and… hot. in that weirdly intimidating, tall, wide-shouldered way. she’s always been good to you. brings you your packages when they come, keeps the room clean, gives you space.

you’d never suspect her.

except—you do.

some nights, you catch her looking. not staring. not in that gross, perverted and, obvious way. but watching you over the rim of her water bottle. gaze dragging down your legs when you don’t think twice about what you’re wearing. the way her jaw clenches when you yawn and stretch, tank top riding up just enough to tease skin.

and you realize—abby’s always watching.

you start to wonder what would happen if you gave her something to look at on purpose. so you start testing the waters. not obviously—you’re not stupid. abby’s intense, but she’s careful and controlled. whatever’s going on in her mind, she keeps it locked down tight.

so you keep it short and sweet. bending just a little slower to grab something near her desk, or the way you pull your hair up into a ponytail in front of her, arching your back slightly, like it means nothing to you.

“you good?” you ask one afternoon, glancing at her between sips of your iced coffee, all wide eyes and glossy lips.

abby’s forearm flexes where it rests on her thigh, and she won’t look at you. “i’m fine,” she says.

you smile anyway. “okay. just checking.”

you leave her to suffer.

you don’t mean to be cruel. you just like the way she reacts—how still she goes when you sit on your bed in your skimpy clothes, how her throat bobs when she catches a glimpse of bare skin through your open robe.

she’s so polite. too polite. abby never looks long enough to get caught. never touches. never flirts. you almost think you’re imagining it—except sometimes you swear you hear her exhale when you lean too close. 

and still, you act like nothing’s wrong. like you don’t know.

you leave your lotion on her desk one day with a soft, “you can use it—it’s really good for dry skin,” and watch the way she freezes like you’ve just offered her a loaded weapon.

you sit on her bed while she’s studying—you’re looking at your phone, close enough for your thigh to brush hers. when you shift and murmur, “you don’t mind, right?” and hear her voice cracks a little when she answers, “nah. it’s fine."

you’re not trying to make her snap.

not really.

but part of you wants to know what’s going to happen when she finally does. and abby—poor abby—is holding herself together by threads because if she even tries to look at you the way she wants to, she’s not sure if she’ll be able to stop.

you’re killing her. all sweet smiles and sparkly lips and bare thighs—and she doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose.

one night, you come back late from class, the sky is already dark. abby’s there, hunched over her desk like always, hoodie pulled up around her ears, headphones in. she doesn’t look up when you drop your bag by your desk.

“hi,” you say, but she doesn’t look at you, but you know she heard you.

you slip into the bathroom to shower, and the heat does nothing to ease the ache that’s been building in your chest all week. the tension. the want. because now you’re the one who can’t stop thinking about her. the way her hands look when she’s cracking her knuckles. the way her tank tops cling to her chest after the gym. how quiet she gets when you’re near.

and you want her. god, you want her so bad it makes your skin feel too tight.

so tonight? tonight’s the night.

you towel off, warm and flushed, and you see it hanging there—one of abby’s shirts. the gray one she always changes into after training. soft and oversized.

you shouldn’t. you know you shouldn’t. but you do.

you pull it over your head and it swallows you. the hem brushing your thighs, the sleeves almost to your elbows. you look in the mirror and whisper, “fuck,” under your breath, cheeks already warm.

you don’t put on a bra or panties. just your sleeping shorts and that shirt. and then you walk out, casually. like it’s no big deal. like you’re not deliberately wearing her clothes in front of her, glowing from the shower, skin dewy, legs bare.

abby turns—and she freezes. you pretend not to notice.

“sorry,” you say, tugging at the shirt. “i forgot my shirt here. i can change if you want—”

“no,” it comes out too fast. too sharp. she clears her throat as she takes off her headphones. “i mean. it’s okay. you’re fine.”

you pause. eyes soft. “you sure?”

abby nods—but her gaze has shifted. she’s trying so hard not to look at your legs. or the way her shirt clings to your chest. or how your hair’s still damp and curling around your neck.

“you can wear it,” she mutters.

you blink, tilting your head. “you don’t mind?”

her jaw tightens. “no,” she says again, quieter this time. “looks good on you.”

for the first time, you catch her looking—just for a second. her eyes drag down your body, heavy, hungry, and gone before you can name it. but it’s enough.

you smile and abby’s fists curl in her lap like she’s holding herself back with everything she has. you settle on your bed, legs tucked beneath you. she is still at her desk across the room—stiff in her chair, eyes locked on her screen.

you’re quiet for a second, chewing on your bottom lip before you speak. “can i ask you something?”

abby turns just slightly, half-glancing over her shoulder. “uh… sure?”

you pull the hem of her shirt lower over your thighs. “i need some advice.”

“okay,” she says slowly. cautious. “what’s up?”

you look away, fiddling with your pillow—voice low. almost shy. “recently… i’ve been so frustrated.”

abby shifts in her chair, something about the way you say it—tight and breathy—makes her pulse jump. “like… with school?”

you give her a look. “no,” you say, a little laugh in your throat. “not like that.”

she blinks. turns more toward you. “what do you mean, then?”

you exhale, lean back on your elbows like it’s nothing. “i don’t know, it’s just… i can’t get a girl to look at me lately. like—want me. and i need it so badly, it’s driving me insane.”

and abby freezes. she doesn’t speak. doesn’t breathe. her eyes go wide like you just hit her with a brick, but you can’t see it—not directly. she’s angled away, staring at the floor now, jaw tight, pulse thudding hard in her throat.

you glance at her. bite back a smile. “what?”

“nothing,” she croaks. “just—wasn’t expecting that.”

“huh?” you feign innocence, legs swinging off the edge of the bed. “that i like girls?”

abby swallows hard. her neck is red. “yeah. i mean. no. it’s fine. it’s cool.”

“right,” you murmur, soft, just a little teasing. “you just looked kind of… surprised.”

she doesn’t respond. won’t meet your eye.

you keep going. you’re already in it.

“anyway,” you sigh, laying back now, eyes to the ceiling. “i’ve just been… ugh. like, it’s not the same if i do it myself, you know? like, my fingers aren't enough. it just makes me feel worse.”

and abby—poor abby—is gripping the armrest so tightly her knuckles are white. she’s staring at nothing. jaw clenched. breathing shallowly. because you’re laying there, in her shirt, talking about how desperate you are for a girl to touch you—and she’s about to lose her fucking mind.

you hum lazily, still looking up at the ceiling. “sorry if that’s too much.”

abby’s voice comes out hoarse, rough-edged. “no. you’re fine.”

and you know she’s spiraling.

you’re only getting started.

you stay sprawled across your bed, bare legs tangled in the blanket, her shirt riding just a little higher up your thighs every time you move. abby hasn’t moved from her chair. just subtle, frantic changes—her fists clenching, her leg bouncing, her chest rising and falling like she just ran five flights of stairs.

you stretch, like a cat in a sunbeam. “i mean, maybe i’m just not obvious enough,” you mumble, biting at your nail. “maybe that’s why no one’s touched me in forever.”

abby jerks her head to the side—like she can’t not look at you now. not after that, and when your gaze flicks to her, she’s already watching, her mouth parts, barely. you shift, legs falling open just a little—attempting to be casual. your sleeping shorts tug tighter across your thighs, and abby’s eyes drop instantly. she catches herself too late, and you see it.

“abby?” your voice is soft.

she blinks. “yeah?”

you tilt your head, lashes fluttering. “are you okay?”

her throat works. “i’m fine.”

a beat. 

then two.

“you sure?” you ask, voice almost a whisper now.

she hesitates—fighting it, losing—and then stands deliberately. abby crosses the room, and when she stops in front of you, your breath stutters.

abby looks down at you, jaw tight, her hands curled at her sides like she doesn’t trust them near you. “you’re really gonna sit there,” she mutters, voice low and rough. “and say all that shit to me—dressed like that—and act like you don’t know what you’re doing?”

you blink up at her, innocently. “what am i doing?”

abby breathes out hard through her nose, like she’s trying so hard to behave. “fuck,” she mutters, dragging her hand down her face. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

you smile, soft and cruel. “then show me.”

and that’s it.

she exhales sharp, like something inside her snaps loose—and then she’s crowding you. her knees hit the edge of the bed, and her hands are suddenly on either side of your hips, caging you in. she leans down, and your breath hitches as you tip back onto your elbows again.

“careful,” she warns. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

you pull her shirt tighter over your chest, biting your lip. “abby,” you whisper. “i want you to touch me.”

and god—she groans, low and broken, before she’s on you. she presses you down into the mattress, her palm burning hot against your thigh, her lips crashing against yours. your fingers tangle in her hoodie, pulling her closer, and she settles between your legs, all heat, muscle, and control as she finally lets herself have a taste.

abby kisses you like it hurts. not frantic, but deep—intentional. her lips are firm, warm, and she kisses like she’s starving but doesn’t want to finish the meal. not yet. just having a taste enough to make herself want more.

her palm drags up your thigh, slow and heavy. fingers spread wide, like she wants to feel everything. the give of your skin. the tremble in your muscles. her thumb brushes the hem of your shorts, but doesn’t go further.

you gasp a little into her mouth, and she smiles against your lips. “so fuckin’ pretty,” abby mutters, like she didn’t mean to say it aloud.

you shift beneath her, dazed, and your hand comes up to cup her jaw. “abigail…”

abby’s eyes flutter at the sound of her name like that. she pulls back just enough to look at you—her gaze is locked on yours, steady. “you don’t have to pretend,” she whispers. “if you want me to stop…”

“don’t,” you say, too fast. breathless. “don’t stop.”

“fuck,” she mumbles, letting her head fall forward, voice muffled against the fabric of her shirt clinging to your body. “i’ve wanted this for so long. i’m trying so hard not to fuck this up.”

you thread your fingers into her hair, tug gently until she looks back at you. “then don’t fuck it up.”

abby huffs out a laugh—almost disbelieving. “you’re crazy.”

“and you like it,” you smile.

her hand shifts, moves beneath the hem of your shorts. finally. her palm spreads over the top of your thigh, warm and solid. her touch feels like safety. like something you could fall into forever.

you suck in a sharp breath, hips twitching slightly, and she notices. “you’re shaking,” she says quietly, eyes never leaving your face.

“been wanting you too,” you whisper, like a confession. “so bad. hurts.”

abby closes her eyes. her hand flexes on your thigh as she leans down, her lips brushing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, your jaw, your neck. slow, sweet kisses—like worship. like a thank you for letting me do this.

“i want you so badly too,” she says into your skin. “and i’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. i swear.”

and she means it. you can feel it in the way she touches you—patient, careful, like she has all the time in the world to explore every inch of you. she’s learning you, and it’s turning her inside out.

this is just the first night. and she’s going to make sure it’s one you never forget.

abby's hands are huge on your thighs—solid and warm, spreading you open like she owns you. nevertheless, she’s still so gentle it almost hurts. she kisses down your neck, slow and lazy, pausing to bite gently at the softest part beneath your jaw. her tongue soothes over it after, and you arch your back, panting—so sensitive, already.

“tell me if you want me to stop,” she murmurs, lips against your collarbone.

you shake your head immediately, gasping. “don’t you dare stop.”

abby chuckles under her breath, low and rough. “shit,” she mutters. “i knew you’d sound pretty like this.”

her hand slides higher. under your shorts now. skin on skin. her thumb brushes the crease of your thigh, teasing, not quite touching where you need her most—and you’re already squirming.

“shh, baby,” she coos, one hand bracing your hip as you wiggle. “i got you.”

she starts kissing lower—down the center of your chest, between the swell of your breasts, right over the edge of the shirt clinging to your body. her other hand trails up your sides, barely ghosting over your ribs.

“abby…” you whine. “don’t tease.”

“i know, sweetheart. i know," she whispers.

she keeps going. down your belly. mouth brushing over sensitive skin, patiently. she noses just under the waistband of your shorts, and your stomach jumps under the touch. 

“can i take these off? please,” she asks, tenderly. 

you nod. “please.”

abby leans back just enough to hook her fingers into the waistband, and she peels your shorts down slow, deliberate. like unwrapping a present. her breath stutters when she sees how wet you are, and how your thighs tremble slightly with every beat of your heart.

“jesus,” she murmurs, voice cracking. “you’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

“thank you,” you flush under the praise, hand twitching where it’s fisted in the sheets.

“lay back for me,” abby says, guiding you down with one hand on your hip. “just relax. let me take care of you.”

you do. you let her settle between your legs, let her kiss the inside of your thigh, let her breathe you in before she even touches you where you need it. and when her mouth finally presses a slow and careful kiss on your clit—you moan. loud. real. broken.

abby groans against you, and her hands slide up your thighs to hold you down. her grip firm, her mouth sinful. slow and deep licks that have your whole body shaking.

“that’s it,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “just like that. let me hear you, baby.”

abby gets lost in it. in you.

the second your hips twitch up into her mouth, the second she hears the way you whimper her name—she forgets everything else. the world could collapse and she wouldn’t notice. not when you taste this good. not when you’re shaking like this beneath her.

her hands spread your thighs wider. her palms feel heavy where they rest, grounding you, keeping you open for her. “fuck,” she breathes against you, lips slick. “you’re unreal.”

she doesn’t stop, but she doesn’t rush. just sinks into you—tongue working slow circles, teasing and messy, her nose brushing where you’re swollen, sensitive, needy. and she moans—moans like she’s the one being touched. because she’s obsessed. high off the sounds you’re making, the way your fingers tangle in her hair and pull.

“abby—oh my god,” you pant, thighs trembling. “don’t stop. please don’t—”

her eyes flutter shut, and she groans deep in her chest, hips pressing subtly into the mattress like she can’t help it—because touching you is turning her on just as much.

your voice cracks. “feels so good, abs—”

and abby snaps. her hands tighten on your hips, mouth moving faster now, more desperate. her tongue dips, licks, sucks just right, and she feels you jolt—feels your body tense under her palms.

she pulls back for a second, breathless, lips wet and pupils blown. “you gonna come for me, baby?” she pants, staring up at you.

you nod, dazed, whimpering. “yes—yes, abby, please—wanna cum,”

abby dives back in, mouth greedy, groaning against you like she’s starved and you’re the first thing she’s tasted in years. her hands don’t move, keeping you there, keeping you wide, keeping you hers.

you come hard with a sob, thighs caging her head, hips lifting. and she keeps going, doesn’t stop until you’re panting, gasping for breath, pushing at her shoulder—whining that’s too much.

only then does she pull back, face flushed and soaked, eyes glassy. she crawls up your body, one hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

“that’s it,” she whispers, kissing your forehead. “that’s my girl.”

you’re still catching your breath, still trembling, and abby cradles you like you’re made of something precious.

“was that okay?” she asks, and you nod.

you reach for her to tug her closer. nevertheless, she doesn’t give you a chance to breathe. you’re still hazy—dazed, wrecked, floating from the first orgasm—but abby’s already shifting her body, already moving her hands down your waist like she needs to touch you again.

“abby—” your voice is a soft warning, but it dies in your throat when she kisses your shoulder. then your spine. then the dip of your lower back.

“shhh, baby,” she murmurs, breath hot against your skin. “you can take it. you were so good for me. just need a little more, yeah?”

her hands urge you to roll onto your stomach, and you obey without thinking, cheek pressing into your pillow, heart racing. your legs fall open instinctively, and you hear her groan at the sight.

“fuck. look at you,” she mutters, settling over you. "so pretty."

her chest presses flush to your back, her hips slot perfectly against yours. she’s warm and solid, her weight grounding, calming. you feel her hand slide under your belly, lifting you just slightly to tilt your hips up—just enough.

“such a sweet, needy thing,” she whispers into your ear, nipping at your earlobe. “could barely make it five minutes without begging.”

you shiver, whining into the sheets, every nerve alight again. abby licks her fingers—slow, loud—and slides her hand between your thighs and you gasp.

“mmhm. still so wet for me,” she hums. “you want more, baby?”

“yes—please—” you mumble.

abby kisses the back of your neck, her fingers teasing you again, dragging slick over sensitive skin until your legs shake. your hips try to rock back into her, but she just presses down with her palm—firm, heavy, in control.

“such a weak little baby,” she coos, voice syrupy and mean. “all that squirming, all that whining… and i barely touched you.”

her other hand snakes under your jaw, tilts your face toward the mirror across from your bed. your eyes flutter open—barely—and your breath catches. you see yourself. see her. the size of her against you. her body completely covers yours, holding you still with nothing but a fraction of her weight.

“look at how small you are under me,” she murmurs, lips against your cheek, watching your face in the mirror. “so fuckin’ pretty like this. so easy to keep in place.”

you moan, overwhelmed, hips rolling despite yourself. abby groans and shifts her fingers, dipping two inside of your pussy, her thumb rubbing circles against your clit.

you cry out, thighs trembling. “fuck—”

“that’s it,” she growls. “take it, baby.”

your fingers curl in the sheets. she starts slow—pressing in and out of you with maddening precision, murmuring filth right against your ear, her chest never leaving your back.

“takin’ me so well. fuck. i love you like this,” she pants.

your jaw goes slack, your mind blank—every thought burned out by the rhythm of her fingers, her voice, her praise. “abby—i can’t—” you sob, and she hushes you instantly, kissing your temple.

“yes you can,” she whispers. “you’re my good girl. you can.”

and you do.

again.

you’re barely coming down, breath shaky, face buried in the pillow. your thighs are still trembling, body limp, fully at her mercy—and abby’s not letting go. not yet. she kisses your shoulder. her weight still presses you down, her chest warm against your back. she murmurs into your skin between kisses, voice low and hoarse.

“you’re unbelievable…” she breathes. “i’ve wanted this for so long, you don’t even know.”

you hum—half-dazed, half-curious. “mm?” 

“i tried to be good,” she murmurs, hand dragging slowly over your waist. “i tried to keep my distance. but you made it so fucking hard. walkin’ around the dorm in those tiny little shorts, always smiling, always smelling like…” she trails off, her nose brushing the crook of your neck. “that perfume. you drove me insane with it.”

your eyes flutter open, a soft gasp catching in your throat. “really?”

abby chuckles darkly. “i sprayed it on myself,” she admits. “just to see what it’d be like. to smell like you. felt like a fucking perv, baby.”

you squirm under her. “abby,” you breathe, flushed. “that’s so—”

“yeah?” she teases, her hand smoothing over your belly, then dipping between your thighs again. “you like that, baby? like that i was so obsessed that i did shit like that?”

you moan, nodding into the sheets. your hips twitch, needy despite how wrecked you already are. abby groans, teeth grazing your neck. “aw, baby,” she mutters. “so sensitive… and still so wet.”

her fingers slide back inside you, and your body arches. “abby—”

“shh,” she whispers, her hand gripping your jaw again, thumb brushing your lip. “you’ll take it for me, won’t you?”

you nod, eyes glassy. “yes. please.”

she smiles against your shoulder. “good girl,” she whispers.

and then she fucks you through it—deep and relentless. your face turns toward the mirror again—toward her hand on your jaw, her mouth on your skin, her eyes locked on you like you’re something holy. and the way she moans when you clench around her again—whining her name, begging for more, still trembling—only makes it worse.

she can’t stop.

she won’t stop.

not until you’re crying into the sheets and clawing at the bed, and even then—she’s kissing your spine and whispering, “i wanted you for so long, baby… i’m never letting you go now.”

you end up in her lap—legs shaking, mind fogged, lips still parted from moaning her name over and over again.

abby’s sitting back against the headboard now, and she just pulls you into her. strong arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight like she never wants to let go. your thighs fall open over hers, breath hitching when your slick skin brushes hers, still so sensitive, but so greedy for her.

you bury your face in her neck, but she tilts your chin up with two fingers and makes you look at her. "lemme see you, baby," she says. "wanna see that pretty face when you ride out the last of it."

you blink up at her, eyes glassy, lips trembling. “abby, you make me shy…”

“i mean it,” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss your jaw—then just under your ear, her hand dragging down your back, slipping under the oversized shirt. "you're so, so pretty."

you shift in her lap, and she groans. "thank you, abs—"

"thought about this for months," she confesses, one hand on your waist now, guiding your slow grind against her thigh. "used to hear you singing in the shower and had to bite my fucking knuckles not to touch myself."

you gasp—both at her words and at the slow press of your center against her leg. she flexes her thigh under you, just enough, and it makes you whine. "abby—fuck—"

"could smell you on your pillow, on the blanket—on my own damn shirts." her voice is low and wrecked. "you’d borrow ‘em and return them smelling like that fucking perfume. i used to hold them to my face when you weren’t home. i was pathetic."

you moan, cheeks burning. "that’s so fucked," you whisper, but your hips keep rocking, dragging your soaked pussy along the muscle of her thigh. "you're such—such a fucking pervert."

abby’s hand grips your hip tighter. "you like it though. don’t you?"

you nod, almost desperately. "yes—yes—"

her other hand comes up to your face, thumb brushing your lower lip before slipping inside. you moan around it, eyes fluttering shut.

“knew you’d be like this,” she says, voice thick with heat. “knew you’d like it. knew you’d let me ruin you if i just got the chance.”

you nod again, wrapping your arms around her neck, whining soft against her thumb as you grind harder now, chasing your orgasm just from her leg, her words, her want.

“ruin me,” you whisper. “please.”

her arms wrap around you, holding you close, mouth pressed to your skin. “already did, baby,” she murmurs. “already fucking did.”

[jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw]

god she’s so hot. that should be me 😩

[jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw]

seeing abby do this move is so cute idgaf

[wahterlemon-deactivated20260305]

"are you on your way" yeah to an orgasm

[leiqi]

ahem. so. roommate!abby who never used to touch herself. not really. like, she didn’t really care for it. never saw the point, never felt the urge. she’d crash into bed after the gym or class, knock out, and that was it.

then you moved in.

she honestly didn’t even mean to listen the first time. it was late, a little past midnight, and she’d been tossing and turning, too wired to sleep. then she heard it—soft, muffled sounds coming from the other side of the wall. quiet whimpers, the subtle creak of your mattress. abby froze, every muscle tensing as her face went hot.

she told herself to ignore it. to respect your privacy. but god, your voice. those breathy little gasps. really got under her skin.

abby found herself slipping her hand under the waistband of her sweats, just to ease the ache. it couldn’t hurt right? it felt… better than she remembered. better because it was you. the thought of you, touching yourself in your bed just feet away, made her shiver. she came fast and messy, muffling her groan into her pillow.

and it kept happening. over and over again. she hated how much she wanted it, how she waited for those nights when you thought she was asleep. how she’d lie there, sweating, pulse racing, desperate for you.

the funny thing is that she thinks she’s slick. that she’s being subtle. but she’s not.

because you know. you’ve noticed the way she looks at you the morning after. eyes darting anywhere but yours. she can’t meet your gaze, can’t handle the smug little smile you give her.

another thing she doesn’t know is you’ve been putting on a show for her from the start. because nothing’s funnier than the fact that abby. big, strong, stoic abby—crumbles every time you touch yourself, and she’s the worst liar on earth the morning after.

[venusmoonz]

sorry for being inactive enjoy some Abby crumbs

Full drawing hopefully coming soon 😛

[msmae]

How I look trying to read anything other than x reader now even through that’s the only type of POVs I wouldn’t read.

[inwithrin]

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ pervy roommate!abby who is dying to touch you

thinking about dorm roommate!abby who’s dying to touch you. not in the obvious way—not just sexually—but in that starved kind of way where her whole body burns just from sitting across from you.

cw: abby's a bit of a perv but reader likes it, size kink, praise kink, dom!abby, fingering, abby eating you out, prob more stuff. ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

she loves watching you stretch in the morning, back arching under your little tank top, or the way you apply lip gloss, slowly and absentmindedly, like you're not driving her absolutely insane.

abby doesn't even know if you like girls. you’ve never said. you’ve never flirted with anyone, not outright. but you’re so sweet to her. always soft-voiced, always smiling when you pass by, saying "good luck" before exams, like she matters. 

she's trying to be normal. she swears. but it’s hard.

your schedules don’t line up. when abby wakes up for her 7:00 a.m. class, you’re still curled under the covers. and when you leave for your afternoon lecture, freshly showered, makeup glimmery, skirt a little too short—abby’s already back from training, pretending not to look at you.

you make her life so fucking difficult. she hates herself for it—hates this hunger, this need, this obsession, this aching craving to know more.

at first, it’s harmless. she just... sprays your perfume while you're gone. it's fruity and warm. no big deal. but then it's your lip gloss. the pink sparkly one you always wear. she twists it open and presses the wand to her finger, then drags it across her bottom lip. lets it sit there, lets herself imagine what it’d feel like to kiss you—to have you pressed up against her, tasting like strawberries and something sweeter.

after that, she tells herself she’ll stop. really. she knows it’s weird.

but the thing is, you leave things behind so carelessly. a lacy bra draped over the back of your chair. a pair of lilac panties hanging off your laundry basket. your lotion left on your desk. your bed is always unmade, smelling like shampoo and heat.

and you trust her. that’s what makes it worse—you trust her to be good.

at night, abby lays in her bed, staring at your side of the room, heart pounding like she’s already been caught. like you know. and maybe you do. maybe that’s why you keep smiling at her like that. maybe you want her to break.

you start noticing little things.

nothing crazy at first—just your perfume running low a little faster than usual. you frown one morning, holding the bottle up to the window, squinting. didn’t i just buy this?—you thought.

you mention it offhandedly while doing your hair, glancing at abby over your shoulder. she's at her desk, pretending to study but not turning to look at you.

“this is weird, right?” you say, showing her the bottle. “it’s like it’s evaporating or something.”

abby doesn’t miss a beat. doesn’t even lift her eyes from the screen. “yeah. that happens to perfumes that are exposed to the sun. the alcohol evaporates, or whatever.”

but then it’s your lip gloss.

the pink one you always keep in your makeup bag. one morning, it’s all sticky around the cap like it’s been opened. used. like someone twisted it shut a little too fast. you brush it off—maybe you forgot. maybe it melted with the sun.

you’re not the paranoid type. but it happens again. and again.

your favorite bra isn’t where you left it. your lotion has messy fingerprints on the lid. your blanket smells like your perfume even when you haven’t touched it that day.

you start to wonder. not panic—not yet. because abby’s so normal. so polite. so quiet and respectful and… hot. in that weirdly intimidating, tall, wide-shouldered way. she’s always been good to you. brings you your packages when they come, keeps the room clean, gives you space.

you’d never suspect her.

except—you do.

some nights, you catch her looking. not staring. not in that gross, perverted and, obvious way. but watching you over the rim of her water bottle. gaze dragging down your legs when you don’t think twice about what you’re wearing. the way her jaw clenches when you yawn and stretch, tank top riding up just enough to tease skin.

and you realize—abby’s always watching.

you start to wonder what would happen if you gave her something to look at on purpose. so you start testing the waters. not obviously—you’re not stupid. abby’s intense, but she’s careful and controlled. whatever’s going on in her mind, she keeps it locked down tight.

so you keep it short and sweet. bending just a little slower to grab something near her desk, or the way you pull your hair up into a ponytail in front of her, arching your back slightly, like it means nothing to you.

“you good?” you ask one afternoon, glancing at her between sips of your iced coffee, all wide eyes and glossy lips.

abby’s forearm flexes where it rests on her thigh, and she won’t look at you. “i’m fine,” she says.

you smile anyway. “okay. just checking.”

you leave her to suffer.

you don’t mean to be cruel. you just like the way she reacts—how still she goes when you sit on your bed in your skimpy clothes, how her throat bobs when she catches a glimpse of bare skin through your open robe.

she’s so polite. too polite. abby never looks long enough to get caught. never touches. never flirts. you almost think you’re imagining it—except sometimes you swear you hear her exhale when you lean too close. 

and still, you act like nothing’s wrong. like you don’t know.

you leave your lotion on her desk one day with a soft, “you can use it—it’s really good for dry skin,” and watch the way she freezes like you’ve just offered her a loaded weapon.

you sit on her bed while she’s studying—you’re looking at your phone, close enough for your thigh to brush hers. when you shift and murmur, “you don’t mind, right?” and hear her voice cracks a little when she answers, “nah. it’s fine."

you’re not trying to make her snap.

not really.

but part of you wants to know what’s going to happen when she finally does. and abby—poor abby—is holding herself together by threads because if she even tries to look at you the way she wants to, she’s not sure if she’ll be able to stop.

you’re killing her. all sweet smiles and sparkly lips and bare thighs—and she doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose.

one night, you come back late from class, the sky is already dark. abby’s there, hunched over her desk like always, hoodie pulled up around her ears, headphones in. she doesn’t look up when you drop your bag by your desk.

“hi,” you say, but she doesn’t look at you, but you know she heard you.

you slip into the bathroom to shower, and the heat does nothing to ease the ache that’s been building in your chest all week. the tension. the want. because now you’re the one who can’t stop thinking about her. the way her hands look when she’s cracking her knuckles. the way her tank tops cling to her chest after the gym. how quiet she gets when you’re near.

and you want her. god, you want her so bad it makes your skin feel too tight.

so tonight? tonight’s the night.

you towel off, warm and flushed, and you see it hanging there—one of abby’s shirts. the gray one she always changes into after training. soft and oversized.

you shouldn’t. you know you shouldn’t. but you do.

you pull it over your head and it swallows you. the hem brushing your thighs, the sleeves almost to your elbows. you look in the mirror and whisper, “fuck,” under your breath, cheeks already warm.

you don’t put on a bra or panties. just your sleeping shorts and that shirt. and then you walk out, casually. like it’s no big deal. like you’re not deliberately wearing her clothes in front of her, glowing from the shower, skin dewy, legs bare.

abby turns—and she freezes. you pretend not to notice.

“sorry,” you say, tugging at the shirt. “i forgot my shirt here. i can change if you want—”

“no,” it comes out too fast. too sharp. she clears her throat as she takes off her headphones. “i mean. it’s okay. you’re fine.”

you pause. eyes soft. “you sure?”

abby nods—but her gaze has shifted. she’s trying so hard not to look at your legs. or the way her shirt clings to your chest. or how your hair’s still damp and curling around your neck.

“you can wear it,” she mutters.

you blink, tilting your head. “you don’t mind?”

her jaw tightens. “no,” she says again, quieter this time. “looks good on you.”

for the first time, you catch her looking—just for a second. her eyes drag down your body, heavy, hungry, and gone before you can name it. but it’s enough.

you smile and abby’s fists curl in her lap like she’s holding herself back with everything she has. you settle on your bed, legs tucked beneath you. she is still at her desk across the room—stiff in her chair, eyes locked on her screen.

you’re quiet for a second, chewing on your bottom lip before you speak. “can i ask you something?”

abby turns just slightly, half-glancing over her shoulder. “uh… sure?”

you pull the hem of her shirt lower over your thighs. “i need some advice.”

“okay,” she says slowly. cautious. “what’s up?”

you look away, fiddling with your pillow—voice low. almost shy. “recently… i’ve been so frustrated.”

abby shifts in her chair, something about the way you say it—tight and breathy—makes her pulse jump. “like… with school?”

you give her a look. “no,” you say, a little laugh in your throat. “not like that.”

she blinks. turns more toward you. “what do you mean, then?”

you exhale, lean back on your elbows like it’s nothing. “i don’t know, it’s just… i can’t get a girl to look at me lately. like—want me. and i need it so badly, it’s driving me insane.”

and abby freezes. she doesn’t speak. doesn’t breathe. her eyes go wide like you just hit her with a brick, but you can’t see it—not directly. she’s angled away, staring at the floor now, jaw tight, pulse thudding hard in her throat.

you glance at her. bite back a smile. “what?”

“nothing,” she croaks. “just—wasn’t expecting that.”

“huh?” you feign innocence, legs swinging off the edge of the bed. “that i like girls?”

abby swallows hard. her neck is red. “yeah. i mean. no. it’s fine. it’s cool.”

“right,” you murmur, soft, just a little teasing. “you just looked kind of… surprised.”

she doesn’t respond. won’t meet your eye.

you keep going. you’re already in it.

“anyway,” you sigh, laying back now, eyes to the ceiling. “i’ve just been… ugh. like, it’s not the same if i do it myself, you know? like, my fingers aren't enough. it just makes me feel worse.”

and abby—poor abby—is gripping the armrest so tightly her knuckles are white. she’s staring at nothing. jaw clenched. breathing shallowly. because you’re laying there, in her shirt, talking about how desperate you are for a girl to touch you—and she’s about to lose her fucking mind.

you hum lazily, still looking up at the ceiling. “sorry if that’s too much.”

abby’s voice comes out hoarse, rough-edged. “no. you’re fine.”

and you know she’s spiraling.

you’re only getting started.

you stay sprawled across your bed, bare legs tangled in the blanket, her shirt riding just a little higher up your thighs every time you move. abby hasn’t moved from her chair. just subtle, frantic changes—her fists clenching, her leg bouncing, her chest rising and falling like she just ran five flights of stairs.

you stretch, like a cat in a sunbeam. “i mean, maybe i’m just not obvious enough,” you mumble, biting at your nail. “maybe that’s why no one’s touched me in forever.”

abby jerks her head to the side—like she can’t not look at you now. not after that, and when your gaze flicks to her, she’s already watching, her mouth parts, barely. you shift, legs falling open just a little—attempting to be casual. your sleeping shorts tug tighter across your thighs, and abby’s eyes drop instantly. she catches herself too late, and you see it.

“abby?” your voice is soft.

she blinks. “yeah?”

you tilt your head, lashes fluttering. “are you okay?”

her throat works. “i’m fine.”

a beat. 

then two.

“you sure?” you ask, voice almost a whisper now.

she hesitates—fighting it, losing—and then stands deliberately. abby crosses the room, and when she stops in front of you, your breath stutters.

abby looks down at you, jaw tight, her hands curled at her sides like she doesn’t trust them near you. “you’re really gonna sit there,” she mutters, voice low and rough. “and say all that shit to me—dressed like that—and act like you don’t know what you’re doing?”

you blink up at her, innocently. “what am i doing?”

abby breathes out hard through her nose, like she’s trying so hard to behave. “fuck,” she mutters, dragging her hand down her face. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

you smile, soft and cruel. “then show me.”

and that’s it.

she exhales sharp, like something inside her snaps loose—and then she’s crowding you. her knees hit the edge of the bed, and her hands are suddenly on either side of your hips, caging you in. she leans down, and your breath hitches as you tip back onto your elbows again.

“careful,” she warns. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

you pull her shirt tighter over your chest, biting your lip. “abby,” you whisper. “i want you to touch me.”

and god—she groans, low and broken, before she’s on you. she presses you down into the mattress, her palm burning hot against your thigh, her lips crashing against yours. your fingers tangle in her hoodie, pulling her closer, and she settles between your legs, all heat, muscle, and control as she finally lets herself have a taste.

abby kisses you like it hurts. not frantic, but deep—intentional. her lips are firm, warm, and she kisses like she’s starving but doesn’t want to finish the meal. not yet. just having a taste enough to make herself want more.

her palm drags up your thigh, slow and heavy. fingers spread wide, like she wants to feel everything. the give of your skin. the tremble in your muscles. her thumb brushes the hem of your shorts, but doesn’t go further.

you gasp a little into her mouth, and she smiles against your lips. “so fuckin’ pretty,” abby mutters, like she didn’t mean to say it aloud.

you shift beneath her, dazed, and your hand comes up to cup her jaw. “abigail…”

abby’s eyes flutter at the sound of her name like that. she pulls back just enough to look at you—her gaze is locked on yours, steady. “you don’t have to pretend,” she whispers. “if you want me to stop…”

“don’t,” you say, too fast. breathless. “don’t stop.”

“fuck,” she mumbles, letting her head fall forward, voice muffled against the fabric of her shirt clinging to your body. “i’ve wanted this for so long. i’m trying so hard not to fuck this up.”

you thread your fingers into her hair, tug gently until she looks back at you. “then don’t fuck it up.”

abby huffs out a laugh—almost disbelieving. “you’re crazy.”

“and you like it,” you smile.

her hand shifts, moves beneath the hem of your shorts. finally. her palm spreads over the top of your thigh, warm and solid. her touch feels like safety. like something you could fall into forever.

you suck in a sharp breath, hips twitching slightly, and she notices. “you’re shaking,” she says quietly, eyes never leaving your face.

“been wanting you too,” you whisper, like a confession. “so bad. hurts.”

abby closes her eyes. her hand flexes on your thigh as she leans down, her lips brushing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, your jaw, your neck. slow, sweet kisses—like worship. like a thank you for letting me do this.

“i want you so badly too,” she says into your skin. “and i’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. i swear.”

and she means it. you can feel it in the way she touches you—patient, careful, like she has all the time in the world to explore every inch of you. she’s learning you, and it’s turning her inside out.

this is just the first night. and she’s going to make sure it’s one you never forget.

abby's hands are huge on your thighs—solid and warm, spreading you open like she owns you. nevertheless, she’s still so gentle it almost hurts. she kisses down your neck, slow and lazy, pausing to bite gently at the softest part beneath your jaw. her tongue soothes over it after, and you arch your back, panting—so sensitive, already.

“tell me if you want me to stop,” she murmurs, lips against your collarbone.

you shake your head immediately, gasping. “don’t you dare stop.”

abby chuckles under her breath, low and rough. “shit,” she mutters. “i knew you’d sound pretty like this.”

her hand slides higher. under your shorts now. skin on skin. her thumb brushes the crease of your thigh, teasing, not quite touching where you need her most—and you’re already squirming.

“shh, baby,” she coos, one hand bracing your hip as you wiggle. “i got you.”

she starts kissing lower—down the center of your chest, between the swell of your breasts, right over the edge of the shirt clinging to your body. her other hand trails up your sides, barely ghosting over your ribs.

“abby…” you whine. “don’t tease.”

“i know, sweetheart. i know," she whispers.

she keeps going. down your belly. mouth brushing over sensitive skin, patiently. she noses just under the waistband of your shorts, and your stomach jumps under the touch. 

“can i take these off? please,” she asks, tenderly. 

you nod. “please.”

abby leans back just enough to hook her fingers into the waistband, and she peels your shorts down slow, deliberate. like unwrapping a present. her breath stutters when she sees how wet you are, and how your thighs tremble slightly with every beat of your heart.

“jesus,” she murmurs, voice cracking. “you’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

“thank you,” you flush under the praise, hand twitching where it’s fisted in the sheets.

“lay back for me,” abby says, guiding you down with one hand on your hip. “just relax. let me take care of you.”

you do. you let her settle between your legs, let her kiss the inside of your thigh, let her breathe you in before she even touches you where you need it. and when her mouth finally presses a slow and careful kiss on your clit—you moan. loud. real. broken.

abby groans against you, and her hands slide up your thighs to hold you down. her grip firm, her mouth sinful. slow and deep licks that have your whole body shaking.

“that’s it,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “just like that. let me hear you, baby.”

abby gets lost in it. in you.

the second your hips twitch up into her mouth, the second she hears the way you whimper her name—she forgets everything else. the world could collapse and she wouldn’t notice. not when you taste this good. not when you’re shaking like this beneath her.

her hands spread your thighs wider. her palms feel heavy where they rest, grounding you, keeping you open for her. “fuck,” she breathes against you, lips slick. “you’re unreal.”

she doesn’t stop, but she doesn’t rush. just sinks into you—tongue working slow circles, teasing and messy, her nose brushing where you’re swollen, sensitive, needy. and she moans—moans like she’s the one being touched. because she’s obsessed. high off the sounds you’re making, the way your fingers tangle in her hair and pull.

“abby—oh my god,” you pant, thighs trembling. “don’t stop. please don’t—”

her eyes flutter shut, and she groans deep in her chest, hips pressing subtly into the mattress like she can’t help it—because touching you is turning her on just as much.

your voice cracks. “feels so good, abs—”

and abby snaps. her hands tighten on your hips, mouth moving faster now, more desperate. her tongue dips, licks, sucks just right, and she feels you jolt—feels your body tense under her palms.

she pulls back for a second, breathless, lips wet and pupils blown. “you gonna come for me, baby?” she pants, staring up at you.

you nod, dazed, whimpering. “yes—yes, abby, please—wanna cum,”

abby dives back in, mouth greedy, groaning against you like she’s starved and you’re the first thing she’s tasted in years. her hands don’t move, keeping you there, keeping you wide, keeping you hers.

you come hard with a sob, thighs caging her head, hips lifting. and she keeps going, doesn’t stop until you’re panting, gasping for breath, pushing at her shoulder—whining that’s too much.

only then does she pull back, face flushed and soaked, eyes glassy. she crawls up your body, one hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

“that’s it,” she whispers, kissing your forehead. “that’s my girl.”

you’re still catching your breath, still trembling, and abby cradles you like you’re made of something precious.

“was that okay?” she asks, and you nod.

you reach for her to tug her closer. nevertheless, she doesn’t give you a chance to breathe. you’re still hazy—dazed, wrecked, floating from the first orgasm—but abby’s already shifting her body, already moving her hands down your waist like she needs to touch you again.

“abby—” your voice is a soft warning, but it dies in your throat when she kisses your shoulder. then your spine. then the dip of your lower back.

“shhh, baby,” she murmurs, breath hot against your skin. “you can take it. you were so good for me. just need a little more, yeah?”

her hands urge you to roll onto your stomach, and you obey without thinking, cheek pressing into your pillow, heart racing. your legs fall open instinctively, and you hear her groan at the sight.

“fuck. look at you,” she mutters, settling over you. "so pretty."

her chest presses flush to your back, her hips slot perfectly against yours. she’s warm and solid, her weight grounding, calming. you feel her hand slide under your belly, lifting you just slightly to tilt your hips up—just enough.

“such a sweet, needy thing,” she whispers into your ear, nipping at your earlobe. “could barely make it five minutes without begging.”

you shiver, whining into the sheets, every nerve alight again. abby licks her fingers—slow, loud—and slides her hand between your thighs and you gasp.

“mmhm. still so wet for me,” she hums. “you want more, baby?”

“yes—please—” you mumble.

abby kisses the back of your neck, her fingers teasing you again, dragging slick over sensitive skin until your legs shake. your hips try to rock back into her, but she just presses down with her palm—firm, heavy, in control.

“such a weak little baby,” she coos, voice syrupy and mean. “all that squirming, all that whining… and i barely touched you.”

her other hand snakes under your jaw, tilts your face toward the mirror across from your bed. your eyes flutter open—barely—and your breath catches. you see yourself. see her. the size of her against you. her body completely covers yours, holding you still with nothing but a fraction of her weight.

“look at how small you are under me,” she murmurs, lips against your cheek, watching your face in the mirror. “so fuckin’ pretty like this. so easy to keep in place.”

you moan, overwhelmed, hips rolling despite yourself. abby groans and shifts her fingers, dipping two inside of your pussy, her thumb rubbing circles against your clit.

you cry out, thighs trembling. “fuck—”

“that’s it,” she growls. “take it, baby.”

your fingers curl in the sheets. she starts slow—pressing in and out of you with maddening precision, murmuring filth right against your ear, her chest never leaving your back.

“takin’ me so well. fuck. i love you like this,” she pants.

your jaw goes slack, your mind blank—every thought burned out by the rhythm of her fingers, her voice, her praise. “abby—i can’t—” you sob, and she hushes you instantly, kissing your temple.

“yes you can,” she whispers. “you’re my good girl. you can.”

and you do.

again.

you’re barely coming down, breath shaky, face buried in the pillow. your thighs are still trembling, body limp, fully at her mercy—and abby’s not letting go. not yet. she kisses your shoulder. her weight still presses you down, her chest warm against your back. she murmurs into your skin between kisses, voice low and hoarse.

“you’re unbelievable…” she breathes. “i’ve wanted this for so long, you don’t even know.”

you hum—half-dazed, half-curious. “mm?” 

“i tried to be good,” she murmurs, hand dragging slowly over your waist. “i tried to keep my distance. but you made it so fucking hard. walkin’ around the dorm in those tiny little shorts, always smiling, always smelling like…” she trails off, her nose brushing the crook of your neck. “that perfume. you drove me insane with it.”

your eyes flutter open, a soft gasp catching in your throat. “really?”

abby chuckles darkly. “i sprayed it on myself,” she admits. “just to see what it’d be like. to smell like you. felt like a fucking perv, baby.”

you squirm under her. “abby,” you breathe, flushed. “that’s so—”

“yeah?” she teases, her hand smoothing over your belly, then dipping between your thighs again. “you like that, baby? like that i was so obsessed that i did shit like that?”

you moan, nodding into the sheets. your hips twitch, needy despite how wrecked you already are. abby groans, teeth grazing your neck. “aw, baby,” she mutters. “so sensitive… and still so wet.”

her fingers slide back inside you, and your body arches. “abby—”

“shh,” she whispers, her hand gripping your jaw again, thumb brushing your lip. “you’ll take it for me, won’t you?”

you nod, eyes glassy. “yes. please.”

she smiles against your shoulder. “good girl,” she whispers.

and then she fucks you through it—deep and relentless. your face turns toward the mirror again—toward her hand on your jaw, her mouth on your skin, her eyes locked on you like you’re something holy. and the way she moans when you clench around her again—whining her name, begging for more, still trembling—only makes it worse.

she can’t stop.

she won’t stop.

not until you’re crying into the sheets and clawing at the bed, and even then—she’s kissing your spine and whispering, “i wanted you for so long, baby… i’m never letting you go now.”

you end up in her lap—legs shaking, mind fogged, lips still parted from moaning her name over and over again.

abby’s sitting back against the headboard now, and she just pulls you into her. strong arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight like she never wants to let go. your thighs fall open over hers, breath hitching when your slick skin brushes hers, still so sensitive, but so greedy for her.

you bury your face in her neck, but she tilts your chin up with two fingers and makes you look at her. "lemme see you, baby," she says. "wanna see that pretty face when you ride out the last of it."

you blink up at her, eyes glassy, lips trembling. “abby, you make me shy…”

“i mean it,” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss your jaw—then just under your ear, her hand dragging down your back, slipping under the oversized shirt. "you're so, so pretty."

you shift in her lap, and she groans. "thank you, abs—"

"thought about this for months," she confesses, one hand on your waist now, guiding your slow grind against her thigh. "used to hear you singing in the shower and had to bite my fucking knuckles not to touch myself."

you gasp—both at her words and at the slow press of your center against her leg. she flexes her thigh under you, just enough, and it makes you whine. "abby—fuck—"

"could smell you on your pillow, on the blanket—on my own damn shirts." her voice is low and wrecked. "you’d borrow ‘em and return them smelling like that fucking perfume. i used to hold them to my face when you weren’t home. i was pathetic."

you moan, cheeks burning. "that’s so fucked," you whisper, but your hips keep rocking, dragging your soaked pussy along the muscle of her thigh. "you're such—such a fucking pervert."

abby’s hand grips your hip tighter. "you like it though. don’t you?"

you nod, almost desperately. "yes—yes—"

her other hand comes up to your face, thumb brushing your lower lip before slipping inside. you moan around it, eyes fluttering shut.

“knew you’d be like this,” she says, voice thick with heat. “knew you’d like it. knew you’d let me ruin you if i just got the chance.”

you nod again, wrapping your arms around her neck, whining soft against her thumb as you grind harder now, chasing your orgasm just from her leg, her words, her want.

“ruin me,” you whisper. “please.”

her arms wrap around you, holding you close, mouth pressed to your skin. “already did, baby,” she murmurs. “already fucking did.”

[justanotherabbystan]

To all the people who wanted to see Abby wearing a suit...consider this my gift to you 🙂‍↕️

[wingedhallows]

Abby getting backshots send tweet

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑

━━ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

♒︎ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 abby anderson x reader / 0.5k words ♒︎ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 smut - MDNI (doggy style, backshots, strap usuage, abby receiving) ♒︎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 well, here's another filthy something to sweeten ur day.

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The room’s filled with obscene sounds, quelching and panting. One of your hands is splayed on her lower back, the other toys with her clit every so slightly.

“Fuck..f-fuck.” Abby grits, her hands fist the blanket so tightly that her knuckles turn white. Your hips connect with her ass again and again, relentlessly.

“That’s it.” You murmur, more to yourself - drowning in the sight before you.

Her toes curl, back arched so deliciously - you’re sure you’re actively soaking the harness. You watch the dildo disappear inside her pink puffy folds over and over again and you’re convinced that there’s no other sight as beautiful.

Her whines and moans fill the space between you in sinful sounds, breathtaking and obscene.

Then, without much thinking - more instinct than anything - you reach forward, slip your hand into her dirty blonde strands. You yank her head back gently, enough to have her grunt in pure bliss.

Her front lifts off the mattress, back arched and her arms holding her weight as you keep paralleling into her without mercy.

“P-please…Fuck, p-please, baby.” She chokes out, voice wobbly with the sheer amount of pleasure cursing through her veins.

You angle your hips, grip her hip with one hand and let the other resume the earlier pursuit - toying with her clit.

“Ah, f-fuck, fuck. You fuck me so good.” She mumbles, fucked stupid. A breathless laugh escapes you, delighted with what you’ve turned her into.

Abby fucking Anderson - the big bad soldier of the WLF, capable and scaring even grown men - not in bed, no. In bed she’s a whimpering mess.

What would people think if they knew that not you but Abby’s getting her insides rearranged?

The thought only motivates you more - drives your will into pure strength, strength to pleasure Abby how she needs. Her hips twitch, her arms shake and judging by the panting, the choked moans and barely coherent words - she’s close.

“Come on, baby - you wanna come?” There’s no answer apart from pleas so breathless and absolute gone, but you’ll take it. You don’t stop your handling of her pussy, not for one second because she’s close, so damn close.

Then, with a moan so high pitched and guttural, she tenses. Her breath hitches, her back goes rigid and her thighs tremble - you don’t stop though.

You work her through it, push into her at a more merciful pace, keep rubbing her puffy clit gently - enough for her to ride out the high.

Then, she slumps forward, with a ‘shlick’ her pussy slips from your strap and you’re left with a fucked out girlfriend, soiled bedsheets and your dorm room reeking of sex.

Life couldn’t be sweeter.

[chaiteart]

Abby in her jammies

[ep1cn00bz]

hi babes! so hear me out...

yk when the strap is rlly thick and theres that little bump in ur lower stomach? i want abby to obsess over it, like lightly pressing down on it and teasing you...

so im a whore but oh well

—“𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕”

Pairing: Abby!femreader

Cw: strap!r, bulging, and crying from pleasure

(I LOVE THIS SM ANON MWAH KISSES KISSES)

You always knew how to tease Abby. You knew her weaknesses and when you walked into the living room well, she couldn’t help herself. Now your laying back on the bed as Abby thrust into you.

“This is what you get for teasing me baby,” Abby holds on your neck as her thick strap stretches you out. Your moans fill the room as you grip the sheets.

“A-Abby!” Feeling like your intestines are being rearranged. Abby smiles at your attempts to get her attention. She looks at your stomach and sees her cock bulging in your stomach. She looks at you with lustful eyes and slowly presses down on your stomach causing you to grip her arms. She presses down more her grin widening as she feels her cock moving in and out of you.

“My pretty baby can take it can’t you?” She says as she looks as her cock stamp keeps showing in your stomach. You whine and nod as she kisses your stomach while moving her hips in a rhythmic way.

You feel tears of pleasure coming from your eyes.

“Don’t cry. You asked for this didn’t you? Walking around in that slutty skirt, bending over in front of me, oh I know what you were doing,” she wipes your tears as you feel your orgasm coming.

“I’m gonna cum Abs,” You manage to spill out a mess under her. She grabs your wrist and put them above you.

“Let it go~ I wanna see you cum on my cock,” That was enough to make you release. Abby slows her pace riding out the high. She pulls out and kisses your forehead.

“Make this a lesson not to tease me like that again yeah?”

(Sorry for the short story!!!! Hope this is ok !! Divider creds to @bbyg4rlhelps thanks)

[ruebossanova]

hay don't make me say it twice - abby anderson

farmhand!abby x farmgirl!reader

summary: abby anderson’s been working on your daddy’s farm for a few months now — strong, quiet, insanely hot. you’re the girly, slightly spoiled farm girl daughter who pretends not to stare every time she’s lifting feed bags in a tank top. she’s patient with you. until you give her a reason not to be.

word count: 910

warnings: slight masterbation, strap usage, oral (r!recieving)

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

you’re in the barn way earlier than usual — mostly because you knew she’d be there.

abby’s got one knee in the dirt, fixing a busted latch on the stall gate. the tank top she’s wearing is stained with sweat, her hair tied back, muscles flexing every time she shifts her grip.

“you’re up early,” she mutters without looking up.

you lean against the post, biting back a smile. “couldn’t sleep.”

“couldn’t sleep or couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout me?”

you nearly choke. she glances up with a grin. “what? somethin’ on your mind, princess?”

you pout. “you’re such a bully.”

“you ain’t seen bully yet, babygirl.”

—

you follow her around all morning, picking at the hem of your sundress while she feeds the horses and hauls hay like it’s nothin’.

“you always wear that little thing when i’m workin’?” she asks, not lookin’ at you.

“you always stare so much when i do?”

her jaw ticks. she finishes stacking the last bale, turns to face you.

“you like bein’ watched, don’t you?”

you grin. “maybe i like bein’ spoiled.”

abby wipes her hands on her jeans and walks over. you don’t move.

“you got no idea what spoiled even means, do you, sweet thing?”

you blink up at her. “you wanna show me?”

she leans down, mouth barely an inch from yours.

“not ‘til you beg.”

—

later, you’re barefoot in the grass behind the house, pickin’ flowers and pretendin’ you’re not watching abby stack firewood near the back porch.

she’s glancin’ over her shoulder every few minutes. catchin’ you.

you stick your tongue out. “what?”

she tosses the last piece on the pile, stalks over. “you keep testin’ me.”

you blink innocently. “i’m just bein’ friendly.”

she grabs your wrist gently. “baby, you keep actin’ like that and you ain’t gonna like what happens next.”

your breath hitches. “what if i do like it?”

abby hums. “then maybe i’ll ruin you real sweet.”

that night, you’re in your little bedroom, wearin’ one of your silky little pajama sets and absolutely not mindin’ your business.

you peek out the window when you hear boots on the porch — it’s abby, shirtless, rinsin’ off with the outdoor hose.

you don’t mean to stare. you definitely don’t mean to touch.

but then your door creaks open. and there she is.

“you really that dumb, princess?” she says softly, eyes on your hand still between your thighs. “touchin’ yourself with the window open?”

you freeze.

she steps inside. shuts the door.

“oh, darlin’. i think it’s time you learned how this works.”

you’re already whining when she climbs on the bed.

“please—abby—”

“shh.” she grabs both your wrists in one hand and pins ‘em above your head.

“you been askin’ for this for weeks.”

you nod frantically. “yes—i have—please—”

“what do you want, pretty girl?”

“want you to touch me—need your mouth—”

she smiles. “now you’re speakin’ my language.”

her other hand slides between your legs.

“this wet for me already? jesus christ.”

you whimper.

“you’re lucky i like spoiled little brats.”

abby’s got you laid out, thighs over her shoulders, mouth devouring you like she’s starving.

“god, you taste sweet,” she groans against you.

your head falls back. “f-fuck—abby—please don’t stop—”

she chuckles low, dragging her tongue right up your center.

“you beg real pretty, baby.”

you’re a mess now, hips twitching, hands in her hair.

she hums. “what was it you said earlier? wanted me to show you spoiled?”

you cry out, thighs shaking.

“guess what, sweetheart,” she growls. “this ain’t even close.”

you’re still trembling when she pulls her shirt off the rest of the way, tosses it to the floor.

then she pulls something outta her duffel bag at the foot of your bed.

you gasp. “where’d you—”

“always come prepared, babydoll,” she grins, strapping it on.

you stare. she kneels between your legs and leans down, mouth by your ear.

“now be good and open that pretty mouth for mama.”

you obey. instantly.

she groans when you take her deep, lips glossy and eyes wide.

“fuck,” she pants. “look at you. best fuckin’ toy i ever had.”

she’s inside you now — slow and deep and relentless.

you’re sobbing her name, nails dragging down her back.

“too big—abby—it’s too—”

“no it ain’t. you’re takin’ me just fine, princess. you were made for this.”

she grabs your waist and slams in harder.

“been waitin’ to ruin this little pussy since the second i saw you in that fuckin’ sundress.”

you cry out, tears streaking your cheeks.

“that’s it, pet. let me break you in.”

you’re ruined. boneless. eyes glazed.

abby kisses your jaw, still buried inside you.

“you okay, sweet thing?”

you nod weakly. “so good. felt so good.”

she brushes your hair back.

“good girl.”

you blink up at her. “is this… gonna be a thing?”

she grins. “depends. you gonna keep wearin’ those dresses ‘round me?”

you blush. “probably.”

she kisses your forehead.

“then yeah, baby. this is a thing.”

—

next morning, you’re out in the field early, wearing one of abby’s flannels and nothing underneath.

she walks up behind you, wraps her arms around your waist.

“look at you. already dressed like my girl.”

you smile. “maybe ‘cause i am.”

she smirks. “damn right.”

you look up at her, teasing. “you gonna fuck me in the barn now?”

her grip tightens.

“say please, pretty girl.”

you bite your lip. “please, abby.”

“good. i’ll have you beggin’ louder than the cattle.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦