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@abbywifefrfr
Dieter Hellstroms ID photo from the passport prop in 'Inglorious Basterds'
Waltz my beloved 🥺💖
um i hate it
What a pity this scene is a lost media.
sfw abby x reader with bad periods
Abby is always running hot, which sucks when's it's the middle of summer and she insists on plastering her sweaty chest against your back to sleep, but it is the best thing ever as soon as your period rolls around.
She's blessed with an easy cycle, lasting no more than five days with hardly any symptoms. You have not been so lucky, so Abby is prepped every month when it rolls around. She's usually able to tell a few days before when you start crying at cat videos and pouting everytime she says no, but you're somehow still surprised every month.
When your cramps get bad, she'll take her too warm hands and knead your lower stomach, thumb rubbing soothing circles on your hip until you're finally able to relax. She has ibuprofen before you can even think to ask, handing the little brown pills over with a glass of water. When you're watching movies, she'll lie between your legs with her arms around your waist, head pillowed on your chest so she can act as a sort of heating pad. (Of course she'll still subtly pout until you play with her hair, but she doesn't whine like she usually would.)
BACK 2 BACK.
.ᐟ.ᐟ pairing: tennis player!ellie x ex-tennis player!reader — challengers movie theme.
.ᐟ.ᐟ summary: fifteen years of career, eight of marriage, a beautiful son. money, trophies, and recognition. the top of the world in her hands. ellie had achieved it all, but for her, having you was the greatest win. so what seemed like a solid end about to come with dignity, to you was only seeing failure in her; the frustration in you. ‘cause now, how far would you go to become a challenger in your own marriage?
.ᐟ.ᐟ warnings: masc/ellie x fem/reader. (kinda loser ellie tbh) mentions of fights, cursing, manipulation from both sides. clearly toxic relationship. failed athlete, feelings like anxiety and anger. nsfw. fingering, oral sex. explicit lenguage. sexual tension. reader is mean MEAN! MDNI. +18.
wc; 3.5k
12:45pm;
november 18, 2009
your legs stretched out in the stands, the sun shining directly on your head, filtered through the umbrella a young man held for you, by your side. the small stadium was packed, and from your front row you could even see ellie's shoes slipping as she made one mistake after another. and another.
at the beginning of the set you were busy counting the points, noting in your small notebook the changes in play you observed in the opponent, your hands rose when ellie made a point and the crowd applauded as if they were seeing a miracle in person; because that's what they believed.
but not you. you knew it when you saw her arms droop as if someone had suddenly placed a ten-kilo weight on each hand, running from one side to the other as if the floor were mocking her, and suddenly she wasn't ellie williams anymore. the player for whom probably everyone paid a ticket to the event to see her play, wearing the clothes of the brands she had a deal with, the ones who paid rent month after month at the most expensive hotels. she wasn't the ellie who posed with her racket in the most-watched commercials on television in the afternoons anymore, she wasn’t even trying.
it started to get ridiculous. the sun began to sting your skin, even though it was barely there; your jaw was a closed box of steel, and your expression was being recorded by the media and reporters on the other side. the commentators were surely making the moment their fun later.
people began to fall silent, sipping on their aperol, lowering their gazes as if they felt sorry for ellie. you didn’t feel sorry, it was worst than that. you felt it in your nerves.
when the match was about to end, ellie's opponent had completely crushed her. it wasn't even something equal. or something where you could say, "oh, you know. she did her best." no, it was embarrassing.
the worst part? eliza thorne. she was laughing at ellie when the timer ran out, gesturing to one of the cameras to her right; she had triumphed. damn, she had beaten ellie. fucking. williams, the world champion.
everyone applauded as if they clearly hadn't been there to witness such a loss of dignity from the favorite. the noise in the arena began, clearing everything out. and with this, it was the third match that ellie lost that week in the tournament.
by the time you got up from the bleachers, you could already feel ellie's gaze on you, the half-broken racket in her hand because minutes before she'd smashed it against the ground as if that would do anything other than make her the joke of everyone the next day in the papers. you didn't turn to look at her, but you knew the kind of look she'd have, the same as always, as if she wanted to crawl up to you and beg for forgiveness.
you didn’t care.
when you could see her, it was when the tunnel to the changing rooms welcomed you, the tips of your heels sharpening the floor, entering the red door where ellie remained locked up; when you entered you saw her, holding her head with both hands, legs against her chest in a fetal position; pathetic.
As soon as she saw you she jumped off the bench, her hair in the short mullet soaking wet, greenish eyes reddened, tired.
“babe— forgive me.” was the first thing she said, her hands in the air as if she wanted to join her palms and pray to some deity.
“save it. it’s late already, i wanna go back.”
you interrupted her without thinking, you didn't even look at her. not even when she carried her suitcase on her shoulder like a defeated puppy, forcing smiles at the people who stopped and asked for photos, autographs, even those who just wanted to see her. ellie wasn't one to fake it either. you left with her, rejecting any kind of exclusive or interview. and the van took you straight to the hotel.
of course you felt her fingers trying to brush against yours on the back seat, her wedding ring against yours signifying heaven to her. your gaze out the window, watching the streets full of tourists; just like the two of you. ellie dried her face with a towel, filled up on electrolytes to kick-start her system, but even that wasn't enough. she knew she was screwed for the rest of the day.
when you placed both bare feet on the suite's carpet, throwing your heels into the entrance, the little boy with brown curls ran towards you, and behind him, his nanny.
“oh my lord. who’s this handsome boy?”
you said, lifting the child into your arms. a little boy of six, snuggled up to you, named JJ; barefoot and covered in candy. "mommy, i missed you."
“me too, my heart.” you hugged him close. ellie came in after you, talking to the nanny, knowing things were too delicate to make any wrong moves right now. “did you take a bath?” you asked, walking down the long hallway toward the bedrooms with JJ in your arms. out of the corner of your eye, you noticed ellie again, staring at you as if she wanted to crush you with her gaze.
by nine o'clock at night, you'd spent almost the entire day deliberately ignoring ellie. you didn't speak to her unless it was absolutely necessary. ellie spent the whole afternoon with her coaches talking about who-knows-what, and you didn't even want to know, honestly.
you only knew she'd came back to the room when she poured herself a liter of protein straight into her system; punishing herself. she sat for hours in the living room, sprawled out, watching the sports channels criticizing her performance that afternoon.
two men in suits sat at a table, with images of the game on one side. the image divided. one of them remarked how "ellie isn't the same as before; not even the same as she was six months ago." the other replied, almost laughing, "she hasn't performed the same way for years, and yet they still bet on her."
ellie, her throat tight, her eyes blazing, her hand clutching a light beer; because, what did it matter anymore? she wasn't interested in her damn diet anymore. where had all this led her?
and you heard it; of course you did. you were watching it on the tv in the bedroom; at one point the commentators even showed images of you. you knew it, the moment it broke you to see ellie miss the second serve like a stranger. — “and ellie’s wife. her agent. what do you do in those moments?” one of them gossiped. “completely mediocre. and that's not even mentioning how good she was as a rookie before her accident.”
your accident. your story. how could they…?
“JJ is already with your mother in the room downstairs.” ellie’s voice filled the silence of an entire day, entering the bedroom measuring her movements; she searched in the drawers of her perfectly organized clothes, even though you were only in the hotel for a few weeks, for a white t-shirt.
your mother had come as always to help both of you take care of the child, offering all the help possible, as if it had been a teenage pregnancy six years ago. as if it hadn't been the most planned, carefully considered and meticulously cared-for pregnancy in history.
you looked up immediately, sitting on the bed and turning off the television. “why didn’t you give them a room here? there’s plenty of space.” your voice was so painfully rude on purpose.
but ellie didn't flinch. it was as if she knew you like the back of her hand, as if putting up with your rudeness was a delight for her. "your mom said something about the downstairs rooms having access to the pool, and JJ wants to swim," ellie said, shrugging it off, and as if by magic, drawing courage into her chest. "and because i wanted to talk to you." finally, she turned to face you.
you analyzed her, as if offended by the fact that she'd dared to confront you. your gaze traveled down her arms; the veins bulged, each muscle perfectly toned, her shoulders lightly tanned, that black adidas sports bra pressed against her chest, her elastic shorts, and her defined abs. there were scars from all the physical therapy sessions ellie underwent week after week. painful.
your gaze rose again, fluttering your eyelashes toward her, rolling your eyes, dismissing her needs. “i’m tired,” you said, as if the topic of the match had vanished from your memory.
and ellie took a step forward, her shadow directly blocking yours. "i want to talk to my wife for once."
and you fell silent, your back against the wooden headboard, and looked at her once more; and intentionally or not, you adopted an attitude as if you were superior to her; waiting for whatever she might have to say. “go ahead then. light up my night, ellie.”
“… i know what happened a few hours ago. i’m not stupid. i know i undid months of training and sacrifice for us in half an hour of that match,” ellie said, trying to express what she couldn’t with her straight, gesticulating hands.
“and you probably think i did it on purpose, that i want to ruin your reputation or so.”
a pause. unwittingly, her eyes softened intentionally.
“but it’s my body. it’s my sorrow. i can’t—i can’t anymore. my body doesn’t respond like it did when we were twenty, i just can’t…” she repeated a second time, searching your gaze for a glimmer of mercy, still maintaining her strength. “i feel the weight on my shoulders. And i want to retire. i— that’s it. that’s what i want. i want to retire with dignity.”
pure silence.
“what do you want me to say?” you said, shrugging your shoulders. "do you want me to say yes? that i agree with that?"
ellie seemed almost to break. almost.
“i want—god. i want my wife’s fucking support. i want her to tell me it’s okay to hang my head after all these years,” ellie said, annoyed, but not as much as she seemed desperate.
“it’s a shame. i think you’re a shame. we’ve been planning this tournament for years and now you come here crying like a baby, defeated like you’re eighteen again and you’ve lost your initiation.
…but wake up, ellie, i’m not going to play the role you expect. i think you’re a waste.” you said, it was like dropping a bomb in the middle of you all, your temper like iron, your resolve unwavering.
this time there was no silence, only an immediate response. “damn it, i’ve given you everything! i’ve been everything you’ve wanted, we’ve come this far after so many years… after so much,” ellie said, now truly defeated. “i’ve been—i’ve been what you could never be. and don’t take me wrong, i fulfilled the dream for both of us, and i’m not complaining, you know that.”
her knees buckled at the edge of the mattress, her eyes red, as if her body were speaking for her, crawling towards you like a doll.
“i’ve given you my whole soul, and i would do it a thousand times over and over, but baby— please…”
your throat burned, it chilled you to the bone. because for you, this shouldn't end like this, not like this. even though you knew that ellie had decided to walk for both of you.
“if you…” your voice faltered, you felt vulnerable. exposed. “if you retire, i want the divorce.”
the disbelie on ellie's face was almost a picture. her lower lip trembled, and she finished crawling towards you—a sob escaped her throat, her lips meeting the scar on your knee, the one that marked both of your lives, even now.
another sob from her, and your hand went to caress ellie's head, her hair that under that light seemed reddish as under the sun, tender, you even bent down a little to give her a kiss on the corner of her forehead.
a few minutes passed like this, ellie like a little girl in your lap, until her tears finally stopped, her gaze as if she were understanding her position in the situation. everything was uncertain; she didn't know what would happen an hour later. but ellie would do anything to keep you with her, at least for those moments, even if they were the last.
ellie slipped between your legs, kissing your skin with purpose, her hands lifting your dress above your waist. “i want to take care of you tonight,” she whispered. “ i want to— to make love to you, at least give me that.”
it surprised you at first; your hand was still on her head, your words were broken, and your skin tingled at her kisses. “ellie…” you whispered, unable to deny that the way she was kneeling before you triggered a twisted thought of desiring her in that situation, on the edge of your relationship.
“i wanna be good to you. wanna fuck my wife properly. my wife.” ellie said in a whispered voice close to your skin, followed by her nose against your panties, closing her eyes, waiting for you.
and yes, all of this was wrong, you knew it when you couldn't help but nod your head and the heat emanated from within your legs. ellie acted quickly, removing your satin dress, as if it had something to do with the whole situation; but the truth is, she wanted to see you completely naked.
ellie didn't wait, she knelt before you, her eyes resting on yours. "show me, babe," she whispered, pulling down your panties without hesitation, her gaze immediately settling on your cunt.
you were speechless when ellie's lips kissed the outside of you, the tip of her nose gently tracing up and down your slit, opening you wider. your moans were immediate, your legs opening wider towards her. "look at me—don't stop looking at me," she said.
her lips parted and circled your clit, pulling and licking it. you swore your vision blurred even at the beginning. “shit—” you stuttered, your belly rising and falling with your ragged, shaky breath.
her face buried itself in your cunt, and your back arched reverently, releasing stifled moans as your chest rose and fell. her chin rubbed against your hole; it was like a woman going completely wild, using the power of her hands to quickly rub your clit, looking at you. one of her hands moved up to your tits, and with how frantically she was touching you, it wouldn't be long before you had your own peak.
“ellie!” you whimpered, your cunt making those dirty sounds because of the rhythm ellie was taking with you; you were so wet that her hand slid down your mound like a waterfall, and before you knew it, pleasure made your legs go numb, letting out a louder moan, closing your eyes, squeezing her hair tightly.
“there— shit. look at that needy clit throbbing for me.” ellie said, slowing her hand over you, pulling back slightly, her other hand, which she had on your peaky nips, using it to give you little pats there, using you. you swore you wanted to come right there again.
you closed your legs, opened your eyes—weakly. but you knew it wasn't over when ellie lay down beside you, on her side, almost on top of you. her face was wet with your juices.
and you watched her, your eyes locked, your thumb moving to her chin, caressing it with your own being. and ellie stole a kiss; not a soft, uncomprehending one. it was passionate, her tongue demanding a claim inside your mouth immediately, devouring you completely, even the hand that was closest closed around your jaw, forcing you to only kiss her.
you gasped against her mouth, your head thrown back by ellie's strength; but you involuntarily broke the kiss when ellie's fingers slipped between your legs again, this time more insistently. "shh," ellie said, closing her eyes, her lips against your cheek, whispering to you. "do you want me to fill you up?" she murmured against your skin, as if it were a secret between you. "to enter you and make you completely mine, mmh?"
the air was taken from your lungs, stolen. “i am yours,” you replied, as if you were now kneeling before her, letting her win.
you felt ellie's smile form slightly. "you know what i mean, baby," she whispered again, her fingers taking the opportunity to caress your entire mound. "i want to feel you tight around me. then leave you soft and open. it's been a while, hasn't it?" she said, her fingertips dangerously circling your needy entrance. and you gasped. how could you not?
everything else can wait when you have your wife like this. you'd be crazy not to surrender at her feet, because after all, you adored her.
you nodded slightly; and it was as if ellie was acting out of necessity rather than request. there was no foreplay to save you from her slender fingers sliding into your heat uninterrupted, and you complained—moaning against her. ellie nodded, pulling her head back to look at you again. “lift your leg up to your chest,” she whispered again. and so you did, holding your leg up yourself, dirty, exposed.
you didn't care. by the time two fingers were fully inside, curling like hooks, ellie began to move them.
“like that, mama. so fucking wet.” she spoke between kisses she scattered across your chin and neck, her hand moving reverently between your legs; the sound was unlike any other, you clung to her arm, the veins in it pumping like when she trained in the mornings against the racket over and over again.
“i can’t— ellie…” you stammered, small tears falling from your eyes, ellie’s knuckles were hitting against your entrance, she was completely buried in you, your wetness sliding down her wrist.
“i know baby. this pussy swallowing and milking my fingers so fucking good.” she whispered against your lips, her hand moving impossibly faster, hitting your walls in a familiar way, as if she knew exactly what to do to steal your breath. “come. i’m here. i’m not going to let you go.”
the sensitivity between your legs couldn't take it—a short circuit of thoughts and you let out a moan that would surely echo throughout the hotel, moving your hips in sync with hers, fragile—completely broken. ellie helped you stay in the moment, her fingers going in and out of you, caressing your slit and going back in, whispering words you didn't even fully understand.
words weren't needed; her hand roamed your body as if it were her temple, and you her god brought down from heaven. her eyes gazed at you with the same tenderness as always; she didn't want to play games with you anymore.
you were both adults now, perhaps acting like a pair of children still.
“would you hold me til’ i pass asleep?”
ellie whispered close to you, her eyes softened—never rough to you—your hand still on her arm, and with a small nod you agreed, pulling the covers over you. she quickly turned off the bedside lamp; and when the moment was right, you covered her back with your chest. she took your hand, pulling it towards her, kissing the back of it. “i love you,” she whispered.
by the time the hours had passed, ellie was no longer by your side. the bedside clock that had woken you minutes before was ticking away, displaying "5:40 a.m." ellie's side of the bed was cold, the bathroom light on. and only then did you realize she had gotten up to go train earlier than anyone. because not only couldn't she afford to fail, she wanted you to see her win like old times. she wanted to make you happy, to pamper you and your son endlessly.
call it what you want, but ellie had no direction without you; the rudder of her ship led her to the most terrible storms inside her head; there was no future without you, and she would keep playing until her legs no longer responded, or until you said so.
and you were sure of it, because despite the love you had for her, if you accepted that ellie was already in her final years of splendor, you would take the most convenient route, and that would only be one where she ceased to be a part of your life. failure couldn't belong to you. not again.
no matter who or what you had to let go of.
alexa, play the soundtrack of challengers in apple music. (cause i wrote this with the intention that you would hear it too tehee 😽)
likes, comments and reblogs are truly appreciated, really really REALLY!!!!! thank you for reading. <3
time for revenge?
| abby x f!reader - masterlist
| synopsis - lazy mornings with a girl as handy as abby are never boring
| warnings - mdni, nsfw, softdom!abby, sub!reader, fingering r!receiving, praise, gentle sex, morning sex, established relationship, use of “baby” and “princess”, dirty talk
smut below the cut!
sometimes you wish you could forget how handsy abby is, not like she'd ever let you. her hands are always on you or your mind. her calloused fingers running over your shoulder as she pulls you into her chest or gently kneading your thigh when she call tell you're stressed.
it doesn't even matter if she's around or not, the memory of her lips on your neck, slowly sliding down the curve of your chest, her palms squeezing at the plush of your hips, pulling you back into place. her touch is always on your mind, taunting you with a want for more.
and that's on a semi-tame day.
𓃴 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦… 𝘈 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳
⊹ ࣪ ˖ 12.02 ⊹ ࣪ ˖
Abby x Reader wc:3.2k cw: rough sex, dominance, slapping
You and Abby… well, to put it plainly, the relationship you had developed over the past two months wasn’t what you’d once dreamed of. You’d imagined long, quiet mornings together, laughter over canned coffee, her hand finding yours during patrol, maybe even her whispering promises against your neck when the world felt too heavy.
But that never happened.
Not like that.
Not since Salt Lake. Not since her dad.
She’d changed. Everyone had, but Abby—she’d become something else entirely.
You had agreed to come with her to Seattle, to join the WLF. Where else would you go? That’s where the remnants of your world were gathering anyway. Manny, Mel, Nora—everyone. But you came for her.
Before, back in Salt Lake, she’d been bright-eyed, filled with some stubborn, relentless hope that things could get better. That she could still be the kind of person her dad would’ve been proud of. But the girl standing in front of you now—towering, cold, and unreadable—was not the same person.
She had bulked up over the past four years, her frame solid and intimidating. The sleeves of her WLF-issued t-shirts struggled to contain her arms. Her eyes, once soft and full of light when she read to you under the blankets, now looked more like steel. Focused. Brutal. Exhausted.
And yet, you stayed.
You stayed through the long nights in her shared bunk with Manny, waiting until he left so she could pull you into her arms, so you could feel like she still needed you. She used to ramble then, get animated about City of Thieves, about how it was so unfair and so fucking good, her voice soft and fast like it could outrun the pain she never talked about. You’d watch her as she paced her little corner of the bunk, her hands moving, her hair falling across her cheek in that perfect, crooked way.
You loved that version of her. The tender one hidden under all that armor.
It snuck up on you, how you started to love the way she sat with one leg bent up, how her mouth would twitch when she tried not to smile. You noticed everything. You memorized it.
And then one night, she noticed too.
Your cheeks flushed when her thigh brushed yours. She raised an eyebrow. You looked away.
She kissed you.
You thought that meant something.
You asked her, weeks later, voice barely steady, if she was your girlfriend. If this—whatever this was—was real.
“I’m still in love with Owen,” she said flatly, like it didn’t cost her anything to say it. Like it wouldn’t haunt you for weeks.
And yet here you were—sitting on the edge of your bunk, wearing nothing but a loose tank top and underwear, your breath still catching in your chest, skin dewy with sweat and shame. Your thighs were trembling slightly from what you’d just done.
From what you weren’t supposed to do.
Abby loomed in the doorway, arms crossed, her jaw tense, blue eyes narrowing at the sight of you—flushed, messy, and trembling.
“You finished without me,” she said, voice low, calm, but laced with disapproval.
It wasn’t a question.
You looked up at her, lips parted, pulse thudding in your ears. Her presence filled the room like smoke—slow, suffocating. You didn’t recognize this version of her. This woman who watched you like she owned you. Who barked orders, who withheld affection unless you earned it. This wasn’t the Abby who used to press kisses to your shoulder while you both lay in bed, limbs tangled.
You didn’t know when the shift happened.
Did she wake up one day and decide to be this cold? This dominant? Did she like how you flinched when she gave you rules? Did it make her feel in control?
You blinked up at her, breath shaky. “I—I didn’t mean to.”
She stepped closer, her boots loud against the floor. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.
“Did I say you could touch yourself?”
You swallowed hard.
“No.”
She nodded once, slowly, and knelt down in front of you. Her face was so close now, you could smell the lingering sweat on her skin, the faint trace of soap from her shower hours ago. She looked at you—not with anger, but with calculation. Like she was deciding what to do with you.
This wasn’t the Abby you knew before Seattle.
This wasn’t the girl who gushed about books and curled around you for warmth.
You didn’t know where that Abby had gone.
You let a shaky breath out through your nose, your cheeks burning with humiliation. Your body still trembled from the aftershocks of pleasure, but it was shame—not satisfaction—that settled heavy in your chest now. Moments ago, your hand had been buried beneath the waistband of your underwear, fingertips slick, your breath catching as you chased relief in the quiet of your shared bunk. You’d thought she was still at the gym. You hadn’t heard the door.
But she had walked in.
And she’d seen everything.
You’d ripped your hand away so fast you nearly hit yourself, scrambling to yank the coarse military-issued blanket over your lap. Your eyes darted up to her—Abby, standing in the doorway, her jaw tense, brows furrowed, eyes dark with something unreadable.
You swallowed, shame clawing at your throat.
“Does it…” you started, the words catching on your tongue. You coughed once, trying to sound casual—like your heart wasn’t racing, like your thighs weren’t still twitching from being so close. “Is it that big of a deal?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
You didn’t meet her eyes.
She didn’t answer—not right away.
Instead, she stepped forward, her boots heavy against the floorboards, and slowly lowered herself to her knees in front of you. The air in the room shifted—thicker now, charged.
Her hands reached forward and tugged the blanket down from your lap, slow, deliberate, like unwrapping something fragile. You resisted the urge to flinch as the cool air touched your still-sensitive skin. She let the blanket fall to the floor beside her, then tilted her head slightly, those blue eyes dragging over every inch of you—every place her gaze landed felt like heat, like punishment.
Her hands settled on your thighs, broad palms pressing into your skin, warm and grounding. You could feel the callouses of her fingers from weight training and rifle grips. Her touch was firm but not rough—yet.
She didn’t blink.
“You think it doesn’t matter?” she asked softly, the words quiet but razor-sharp.
Your mouth opened, then closed again. How were you supposed to answer that?
She didn’t let you look away. She just watched you, her face unreadable, her fingers flexing once on your thighs. The silence stretched until it wrapped around your throat like a rope.
Finally, you glanced away, staring at the corner of the room where your combat boots sat half-kicked off. “You’ve… you’ve been picking up extra patrols,” you mumbled, voice trembling. “You’ve been tired. Distant.”
Her hand moved with swift precision—gripping your chin and guiding your gaze back to hers.
“Hmm?” she prompted, eyes narrowing.
You furrowed your brow and jerked your head back, shaking off her hand, though the gesture lacked real force. “It’s just… you haven’t touched me in days,” you muttered. “You’ve been gone. I thought—” You cut yourself off. What were you trying to say? That you needed her? That it hurt when she treated you like just another burden?
She nodded, slowly, like she’d expected the excuse. Like she’d already played out this entire conversation in her head.
“But did I say,” she murmured, voice dipping low, honey-thick and dangerous, “that you could touch yourself?”
Her eyes bore into you. Her hands hadn’t moved, still splayed across your thighs, heat radiating through her palms. Her grip subtly tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to ground you, remind you exactly where you were. Who she was.
You bit your lip, eyes darting over her face. Her expression was unreadable, caught between disapproval and something else—something deeper. Hunger? Possession?
“I didn’t think—” you started, your voice cracking.
“I know,” she interrupted softly. “You didn’t.”
She leaned in closer, her breath brushing against your collarbone. Her lips hovered just above your skin, not kissing—just letting the heat of her linger there.
“You don’t get to come without me,” she whispered. “Not unless I say so.”
You swallowed hard. Your pulse thundered in your ears.
“I—”
“Shh,” she said, thumb stroking a slow circle into your thigh now. “You’ve made a mess. And now you’re going to sit there, and listen. Understand?”
You nodded, barely breathing.
She leaned in even closer, her mouth ghosting over the shell of your ear.
“Next time you need me,” she murmured, voice like velvet over stone, “you ask. Or you wait. And if you can’t do either…” her hand slid higher, grazing the crease of your hip, “then I’ll have to remind you how to behave.”
She pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again. The silence returned—but now it pulsed with something molten, electric, and terrifyingly intimate.
Her fingers slid up your jaw before you could react, warm and firm—then—
SMACK.
A sharp, surprised sound. More shock than pain.
You jerked backward instantly, hand flying to your cheek. “What the fuck, Abby?!” you snapped, breath catching, the heat of the slap blooming across your skin.
But she was already leaning in.
Her lips pressed gently to the exact spot she’d struck—soft, warm, unbearably tender. The contrast made your breath stutter in your throat. She kissed you once, then again, as if soothing a scrape.
“It didn’t hurt,” she murmured against your skin.
It didn’t. Not even close. But it startled you, made adrenaline burst through your chest. Made your instinct scream to push her away, to shout at her, to remind her you weren’t some obedient dog she could snap her fingers at.
You weren’t trained.
You weren’t controlled.
You weren’t hers—
Not like that.
But her lips were already trailing down your cheek, toward your jaw. She chuckled, a low, husky sound that vibrated against your skin.
“What did I tell you,” she whispered into the crook of your neck, her mouth brushing your pulse, “about swearing at me?”
Her breath was warm, her voice slow and velvety, sinking under your skin. Her hand stayed cupped on your cheek, thumb brushing the bone gently—too gently.
“Are you sorry?” she breathed, almost sweet.
Your body betrayed you—you nodded, swallowing hard, head tipping back as a quiet sound escaped your throat. You hated how natural it felt. How easy. How she could pull softness out of you even when you wanted to be angry.
Her fingers tightened on your jaw, dragging your face back toward hers—controlling the angle, the eye contact—before she delivered another—
SMACK.
This one held just a hint of sting. Your breath hitched. Your lips parted. You whimpered before you could stop yourself, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek to stop from yelling again.
Her smirk was small but devastating.
She watched you like she was reading you, learning you, savoring the way your chest rose and fell. Your gaze dropped—traitorously—to her mouth. You watched the way her bottom lip caught the light, the way her tongue ran briefly along the inside of her cheek.
When you lifted your eyes to hers again, she delivered a third—
SMACK.
Quick, precise. More sound than pain. More heat than harm.
“Are you sorry?” she asked again, voice impossibly soft for how sharp the moment was.
You didn’t answer.
Not because you were defiant—no. But because your throat had closed, tightening around words you suddenly couldn’t form. Because you didn’t trust your voice. Because you were afraid of what you’d sound like.
So you stayed quiet.
Her eyes narrowed, but with amusement, not anger.
SMACK.
“Be good for me,” she murmured, kissing the sting immediately after, her lips warm and tender. “C’mon.”
Another—
SMACK.
“Are you sorry?” she asked again, syrup-thick, almost coaxing. Her fingers slid into your hair, gripping tight at the roots and tugging your head back so you had no choice but to meet her eyes. A tiny gasp escaped you at the sudden pull.
She kissed your cheek again—so gentle it confused your nerves—and tugged harder at your hair, holding you in place.
You nodded, breath trembling. “I…” you managed, voice cracking as your eyes burned. You swallowed, chest rising fast. “I’m sorry.”
She let go of your hair, smoothing the strands back with surprising tenderness. Then she leaned in, her lips brushing your cheek one last time.
“That’s what I like to hear,” she whispered, a soft smile curling onto her mouth.
She stood, rising with a slow, deliberate power that made your breath catch. From where you sat on the edge of the bed, she towered over you — a silhouette cut from heat and tension, her figure casting a long shadow in the low lamp light. Her fingers threaded into your hair, firm but not unkind, tilting your head up so your eyes met hers. Her crotch was perfectly aligned with your gaze, and the heat radiating from her made your lips part instinctively.
Her thumbs cradled your jaw as she stared down, smirking with a mix of amusement and quiet dominance. You felt your hands slide almost automatically around the backs of her thighs, palms pressing into her soft, sculpted flesh as you clung to her like an anchor.
“Should I let you make me come today?” she asked, her voice honey-thick, eyebrows lifted in mock consideration.
You swallowed hard, nodding, face flushing hot. She rarely let you. Not unless she was drunk or spun out after a long night, her walls softened by something stronger than desire. Vulnerability wasn’t something she gifted easily — and never in the daylight.
She laughed softly, a low chuckle that made your core tighten, and pushed your face gently into her stomach. You kissed her there without hesitation — just beneath her navel, where soft blonde hairs trailed down like a path you weren’t sure you were allowed to follow. You whimpered, desperate, lips brushing her skin just above the waistband of her pants.
She inhaled sharply but didn’t stop you. Not yet.
Her hand suddenly gripped a handful of your hair, yanking your head back so you had to look up at her again. Your breath hitched, eyes wide.
“Are you stupid?” she asked, her voice sharper now, testing.
You blinked, confused by the shift, your brows drawing together. “What…?”
But she didn’t give you time to answer. Her hands grabbed your shoulders, and in one dizzying motion, she spun you around and pushed you face-down against the bed. A pillow was shoved beneath your belly, lifting your hips. Your ass arched up toward her automatically, trained, aching. The air was cool against your exposed skin.
SMACK.
Her palm landed hard on your ass, the sharp sound cracking through the quiet room.
You yelped, more out of surprise than pain, the heat blooming quickly where her hand met your skin. Your fingers fisted the sheets as you trembled beneath her.
“Oh, so you can whimper, but you can’t listen?” she growled, dragging her nails lightly over the curve of your ass before striking again — this time slower, more purposeful. “Don’t ever look that confused when I give you a command. You know better.”
You nodded into the bedding, your breath ragged. Another smack. Your thighs twitched, clenching, your body humming with a need that bordered on unbearable.
“I said—” she leaned down, her mouth grazing your ear, “—do you want to make me come today?”
“Yes,” you gasped, the word ripped from your throat.
She stood upright again, one hand on your lower back to hold you in place, the other trailing down between your legs, finding you soaked through.
“Good,” she murmured, almost lovingly now. “Then earn it.”
You heard her zipper come down behind you — the sharp sound slicing through the tension-heavy room like a blade. Your breath hitched, chest already heaving into the sheets. You felt her fingers tug your underwear to the side, the fabric catching for a second on your damp skin before being shoved away, baring you completely.
Then—
You gasped, your body jerking forward involuntarily as the silicone pushed into you without warning. The air was ripped from your lungs. Your hands scrambled for the sheets, fisting them, knuckles white.
She filled you in one unrelenting thrust, hips slapping into the backs of your thighs with a punishing finality.
Your eyes flew open, wide with disbelief, and you twisted to look at her over your shoulder, voice cracking as you yelped, “Where the fuck did you get that?!”
But she didn’t answer. Instead, her hand shoved your face into the mattress, flattening you down. Her palm was heavy on the back of your head, and her other hand dug into your lower spine, pinning you there. She started to move—hard, fast, relentless. The rhythm was brutal, her hips slapping against your ass in sharp, echoing pulses.
“Shut up,” she growled, her voice dark, breathless with focus and control. Each thrust knocked the air from your lungs again, your body rocked forward by the force of her.
You whimpered, hands clawing at the bedding, thighs trembling beneath the pressure. You didn’t know if she had forgotten to warm you up—or if this was the warmup. If maybe that was just Abby. So commanding, so rough, but still clumsy in her control. There was always a little chaos behind the dominance. A hesitance she covered in bark and bite.
She grunted above you, planting one hand hard into the mattress for leverage while the other kept your hips locked in place. Her thrusts never missed—she knew where you needed it even if she didn’t know how she knew.
“Abby!” you cried out, voice cracking. Not in protest. In need.
She chuckled low behind you, her rhythm slowing to something deeper, more punishing in its restraint. Her hips dragged back before rolling forward again with a thick, deliberate grind. You felt her press in as far as she could go.
“Who am I?” she asked, her voice lower now, more controlled, but you could hear it — the slight break in her tone. Just a hint of nerves.
You bit your lip, nodding, your cheek pressed into the bedding. “Mommy,” you breathed.
Her palm slid up your back, fingers curling possessively around your ribs.
“And who owns you?” she asked again — firmer, but that crack was there, barely audible. The question came out less like a command and more like a plea for reassurance. Like she needed the answer.
Your whole body shuddered. You moaned into the sheets, the sound ragged and trembling. “You,” you managed, breathless. “You own me. I’m—close—”
She stopped.
Just like that, she stilled inside you. You whimpered, the loss of motion a cruel twist. Then, painfully slow, she withdrew. The drag of silicone leaving you made your thighs tremble.
“I bet you were,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.
You let out a strangled, frustrated sound, hips twitching helplessly back toward her. But she just hovered there behind you, her heat pressed along your back, her breath heavy.
“Next time,” she murmured, lips close to your ear now, “you’ll ask.”
bye!!
tags :
@colorfulcherryblossomtidalwave
Ellabs
seeing abby do this move is so cute idgaf
CORRUPTION & PREDATOR/PREY FT. SEVIKA | KINKTOBER DAY 1
content warnings: explicit content, corruption, predator/prey dynamics non-consensual sexual acts, rough handling, humiliation, degradation, CNC themes, public setting, mud/rain play, fingering, strap-on penetration, forced orgasm, squirting, choking/air control, power imbalance, , mild aftercare
KINKTOBER'25
misc abby shitpost🤞🏻
Horny!Sevika headcannons
Horny!Sevika who gets turned on by almost everything you do!!
Horny!Sevika who watches you start doing the dishes as she finishes her tower of a meal, you always make sure she's well fed. The mere thought of you taking care of her in such a subtle way dampens her boxers, causing her to shift around her seat. "You okay baby?" You ask in that sweet, caring tone. It kills her off, the next minute your sat up on the counter with her head between your legs.
⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝒗𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 .𖥔 ݁ ˖
kinktober ★ day 4
cw: 18+, voyeurism, masturbation, restraints, use of toys, exhibitionism, recording, a lot of kinky stuff.
𝜗𝜚 voyeur!sevika who… sits back with her thighs spread, two fingers knuckle-deep in her soaked cunt while she watches you peel your clothes off after a long day. She strokes herself in time with your movements, metal arm creaking against the chair as she grips it too hard. She doesn’t step in until she’s dripping down her thighs.
𝜗𝜚 voyeur!sevika who… lingers in the doorway while you take a bath, one hand rubbing her clit so hard her hips buck with every pull. She waits until your eyes flutter shut from the heat, then slides into the tub still half-dressed, rough fabric grazing your soft skin. She presses her cunt against your thigh, using you like a toy while she pants against your ear, whispering how fucking good you look for her.
𝜗𝜚 voyeur!sevika who… hides in the shadows of the room, watching you finger yourself slow and messy on the sheets. Her metal hand is clenched into a fist to keep from storming over immediately, while her flesh hand works her clit fast enough to make her whole body tremble. She edges herself three, four times just to drag it out, before finally stalking forward, pinning your wrists, and fucking her soaked thigh between your legs until you both cum against each other.
𝜗𝜚 voyeur!sevika who… keeps you tied up, blindfolded, and spread across the bed. not because she wants to torture you, but because she wants to sit back and watch. She drags a vibrator over her own swollen cunt while she watches you squirm and gasp under the buzzing one strapped against your clit. She doesn’t touch you at all, not until she’s soaked the sheets beneath her from cumming over and over at the sight of you losing your mind.
𝜗𝜚 voyeur!sevika who… smokes while watching you sleep, bare cunt grinding slow against the arm of a chair. Her voice shivers every time she drags in a breath, a sharp grin crossing her features as she stares at your chest rising and falling. She always finishes herself this way, slicking up her fingers until she can’t stop shaking, then smearing her mess on your thighs so you wake up sticky without knowing what she did to you.
𝜗𝜚 voyeur!sevika who… watches you from across the tavern, grinding her cunt against the edge of the booth while everyone else is distracted by their drinks. You don’t even know she’s staring holes through your body, wetting herself down to the seat. By the time she drags you home, she reeks of sex and need, throwing you down on the bed and scissoring you like she is in heat.
𝜗𝜚 voyeur!sevika who… sets up a mirror just to watch you ride her. She leans back with her head tilted, watching your soaked cunt bounce on her strap. Every time you whimper, she grinds up harder, making sure you don’t look away from the mirror until you are cumming so hard your thighs quake.
𝜗𝜚 voyeur!sevika who… records herself touching her pussy while watching you undress. Later, she straps you down and plays the footage right in front of your face. Sevika sprawled out, grinding and begging for you without you even knowing. She gets off to your reaction, rubbing her swollen clit against yours while whispering in your ear, “See how fucking pathetic I am for you?”
She's definitely one of my special interests.