bunny

22 femme lesbian cat autism & proud

[lmmunitys]

#needthat

[dykebehaviour]

double booked

⭑ summary: you’ve been seeing both ellie and abby in secret, one text brings them both, and their argument turns into a competition to ruin you.

⭑ cw: threesome, fingering, oral, strap overstimulation, degrading, teasing, orgasm control, dacryphilia if you squint.

⭑ KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

the problem starts with your thumbs.

your phone is slippery in your hands, screen smudged, the light glaring up at you while you lay flat on your back in bed. you’ve been like this for nearly an hour now; rolling around, groaning at the ceiling, your underwear damp, your brain fogged from how badly you want it.

abby’s name sits in one text thread. ellie’s in another.

you think about abby first, how her hands are huge and steady, how she presses you down like she owns you, how she fucks you with her whole body until you can barely walk. abby makes you feel small. ruined. hers.

then you think about ellie, smirking against your lips, laughing when you squirm, fingers sharp and quick, tongue sloppy, always dragging orgasms out of you like she’s daring you to keep up. ellie makes you feel filthy. teased. her favourite toy.

you can’t choose. and tonight, you’re too impatient to.

you type out the only thing your brain can manage: come fuck me. now.

your finger hovers for half a second before you hit send.

the problem is you send it twice.

the sound is what tips you off, the double buzz, almost in unison.

your stomach sinks as you read.

els: lmao ur so needy omw baby

abs: I’ll be there in 10.

“…fuck.”

you stare at the screen, dread and heat crawling up your neck.

you should text back. you should explain. you should pick one.

instead you toss your phone onto the nightstand and pace your room like an animal, hands shaking.

you consider locking the door. but then you imagine abby’s fist pounding on the wood, ellie’s voice cutting through it. you squeeze your thighs together and groan.

the thought of them both here - abby’s glare, ellie’s smug grin - does something awful to your insides. you don’t know if it’s fear or arousal. probably both.

you climb back onto your bed, tugging your underwear down, sliding your fingers against your slick just to take the edge off. but the more you touch yourself, the worse it gets, images flashing in your head: ellie’s thick strap, abby’s tongue, their voices overlapping.

your breath is shallow when you hear the first knock.

ellie.

you pull your underwear back up, wipe your hand halfheartedly on the sheets, and run to open the door.

ellie stands there, hood up, eyes dark, smirk tugging the corner of her mouth.

“needy girl,” she mutters, pushing past you without waiting for an invitation. her hands are already on your hips, tugging you into her, lips brushing your jaw. “texting me like that? couldn’t wait another second, huh?”

you’re dizzy, already pliant under her touch, when it happens.

another knock.

sharp. loud.

ellie stills. her brow furrows.

“who the fuck-”

your stomach drops.

you know.

ellie pulls back, turning toward the door.

and when you open it, abby’s there. broad shoulders, crossed arms, jaw locked tight. her eyes cut from you to ellie, and her expression curdles.

silence. the tension snaps like a wire pulled too tight.

“what the fuck is this?” ellie says, low and sharp.

abby’s voice is cold. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

ellie steps back like she’s been burned, green eyes flashing between you and abby. her voice spikes.

“no fucking way. she is here?”

abby doesn’t move. she fills the doorway, arms crossed, chest rising and falling under her hoodie. she looks like she’s about to kick it down if you don’t answer fast enough.

“didn’t realise i was signing up for a threesome,” abby mutters, low but cutting, gaze narrowing on you. “you texted me.”

“yeah, well, she texted me too,” ellie snaps back, pointing at you like you’re evidence in a trial. “what the fuck, dude?”

your mouth opens, shuts, opens again. “i-i didn’t mean-”

“what, couldn’t choose?” ellie bites, eyebrows up, mean grin plastered on her face even though you can see her jaw working. “so you just… text us both?”

abby’s glare could cut through steel. “unbelievable.”

you raise your hands, heat rushing to your face. “i wasn’t thinking, okay? i just-i needed-”

“oh, i bet you did,” ellie interrupts, voice dripping with sarcasm. she takes a step closer to abby, squaring up even though she’s dwarfed by her. “probably thought you’d get twice the attention.”

abby lets out a humourless laugh. “don’t act like you didn’t come running the second she called.”

“because i know how to make her come,” ellie shoots back, sharp as glass. “can you even say the same?”

abby’s eyes darken. “you really want to test me on that, williams?”

the air is molten now, abby’s fists clenched at her sides, ellie’s smirk daring her to swing, and you stuck between them, your body buzzing with a mix of nerves and arousal.

“guys-” you start, but your voice cracks.

they both turn on you at once.

ellie: “you seriously let her fuck you too?”

abby: “how long’s this been going on?”

your throat is dry. you nod, tiny, guilty. “a while.”

ellie scoffs. “fuck me.”

abby exhales hard through her nose, muttering under her breath.

the silence that follows is heavy, charged.

ellie’s tongue darts over her lip. then she smirks, leaning back on her heels. “you know what? fine. if you can’t pick, maybe we make you.”

abby looks at her, jaw tight. “the fuck are you suggesting?”

ellie tilts her head, eyes sliding to you. “let’s see who ruins her better.”

your knees nearly give out.

abby’s eyes flick to your face - your flushed cheeks, your parted lips - and she must see something there, because her expression shifts. still sharp, but less resistant.

“you’re insane,” abby mutters. but her voice is lower now. hungrier.

ellie grins. “scared you’ll lose?”

abby steps into your apartment, shutting the door with a heavy click.

“no,” she says simply, and her eyes lock on you. “not even a little.”

your bedroom feels too small with both of them in it, abby’s broad shoulders cutting off the doorway, ellie’s restless pacing like a wolf circling prey. you press back into your bed, thighs tight together, heat rising so strong it almost makes you dizzy.

ellie breaks first, moving toward you. “look at her,” she mutters, voice low and mean. “sitting there all quiet while we argue, like she didn’t plan this.”

“planned or not,” abby rumbles, stepping in closer too, “she’s obviously desperate.”

your breath hitches when abby’s hand lands heavy on your thigh. ellie notices instantly.

“oh, come on,” ellie scoffs. “don’t just-” she cuts herself off, sliding in on your other side, close enough that her knee presses against yours. her eyes flick from abby’s hand to your face, then back. “she doesn’t even like it rough like that.”

“funny,” abby says without looking at her, fingers tightening on your leg, “she never complained with me.”

you feel like your whole body is going to combust. you try to say something, anything, but it just comes out as a shaky breath.

ellie notices, sharp as ever. she leans in, lips brushing your ear. “what’s the matter, pretty girl? can’t admit you like having us fight over you?”

abby pulls your chin, forcing you to look at her instead. “don’t listen to her. tell me who makes you feel better.”

your throat locks. you can’t answer.

they trade looks over you; tense, dangerous, but charged with something else now.

ellie smirks, suddenly decisive. she slides her palm under your shirt, slow, savouring. “i’ll prove it first.”

“like hell you will,” abby growls, pushing your shirt up higher from the other side.

you gasp when cool air hits your skin. both of them are on you now, abby’s rough grip tugging fabric, ellie’s sly fingers skimming your waist.

“stop rushing,” ellie taunts, kissing down your throat. “she likes it slow.”

“and she likes it deep,” abby counters, her voice rough as she mouths at your collarbone.

your head falls back, caught in the tug-of-war, every nerve lit. they don’t even touch you where you’re desperate yet, they circle, tease, claim territory on your skin.

finally, ellie slides a hand between your thighs, palming you over your underwear. “fuck, she’s soaked.”

abby’s nostrils flare, eyes dropping to where ellie’s hand presses against you. she doesn’t move for a beat, then she grabs your hips, yanking you closer to the edge of the bed, making ellie’s hand slip.

“move,” abby orders.

“make me,” ellie fires back, shoving her hand harder against your pussy, grinding her palm just right.

your moan rips out before you can stop it.

both their heads snap to you at once, and for the first time, they’re united in expression: dark, hungry, victorious.

ellie laughs breathlessly. “guess we’ll see who gets her off first, huh?”

abby just smirks, already hooking her fingers in your underwear.

the shift is sudden - slow burn gone, hunger taking over. they’re competitive now, frantic, both trying to undo you. ellie’s mouth finds your chest, sharp teeth and wet tongue, while abby’s thick fingers stroke you, deep and unrelenting.

“she’s clenching,” abby grits, gaze locked on your face.

“she’s mine,” ellie shoots back, voice muffled against your skin.

their fight doesn’t stop, but neither do their hands.

abby’s fingers are already inside you, thick and slow, curling just enough to make your thighs shake. ellie won’t stop mouthing at your chest, sucking bruises like she wants to stamp you as hers. it’s overwhelming - too much and not enough all at once.

“fuck-please-” you choke, hips twitching.

ellie pulls back just enough to laugh against your skin. “hear that? she’s begging already.”

abby smirks, gaze sharp on ellie. “probably because she’s used to being rushed. i know how to take my time.”

her fingers withdraw suddenly, sliding out of you with a wet sound that makes your stomach clench. you whine, back arching.

ellie grins. “yeah? then why’s she crying for more?”

she pushes abby’s hand away, replacing it with her own; slimmer fingers, quicker pace, rubbing your clit in tight circles while she stares into your eyes. “don’t you, baby? you want me, not her.”

the moan that slips out of you is high, needy, shameless.

abby growls low in her chest, shoving ellie’s wrist aside so hard you jolt. she spreads you open again with no hesitation, two fingers plunging deep.

“oh my god-abby-”

ellie scoffs, but her breathing’s uneven now. “fuck this.” she shoves your thighs wider, ducking down between them.

abby snaps her head down. “don’t-”

but it’s too late. ellie’s mouth is on you, hot tongue circling your clit, wet and greedy. abby’s fingers are still buried deep, pumping hard, and the combination nearly kills you.

you scream into the air, body jerking.

“look at her,” ellie pants against you, spit-slick, eyes glazed. “she’s already close.”

“not yet,” abby bites, curling her fingers cruelly, holding you down with her free hand when you buck. “she can wait.”

ellie groans, dragging her tongue slow and teasing now, matching abby’s torture. they’re edging you together, both refusing to give you what you want until you’re squirming, tears spilling hot down your cheeks.

“please,” you sob. “please, i can’t-”

“can’t what?” ellie teases, chin shiny. “can’t take it?”

abby leans in, breath hot at your ear. “say you want it. say you want us both.”

you nod frantically, voice breaking. “yes, yes, i want it, i want you both, please-”

that cracks them.

abby’s thrusts get brutal, steady, relentless, while ellie sucks your clit hard, shaking her head against you like she’s starved.

you shatter.

the orgasm rips through you, blinding, your whole body convulsing as they wring every last drop out of you. your throat’s raw from screaming, your chest heaves, your thighs twitch.

abby’s fingers stay inside you until you clamp down so hard she hisses. ellie only pulls away when your hands fist in her hair, begging for mercy.

you collapse back onto the sheets, a wrecked mess, tears wet on your cheeks.

ellie wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning. “that’s one for me.”

abby withdraws her fingers, glistening in the low light. she smirks as she licks them clean, slow and deliberate. “count again, dickhead. she came on my fingers.”

you groan, half in overstimulation, half in dread, because they’re nowhere near finished.

ellie doesn’t waste a second. she pulls a strap on, the silicone slick and heavy in her hands, and then hauls you onto her lap.

your knees hit either side of her hips, your body flush against hers, and she starts bouncing you slow at first, then harder, the strap inside you dragging deliciously with every roll of her hips.

abby slides between your thighs, eyes dark, tongue already slick and hot against your clit.

she moves in time with ellie, the two of them syncing like predators, using your body in tandem.

ellie’s hands grip your waist tight, pulling you down onto her, while abby leans in, licking, sucking, whispering things that make your stomach knot.

“you like this, huh?” ellie hisses, voice low, mean. “you’re lucky we didn’t just walk out when we saw you, desperate little thing.”

abby’s warm breath ghosting over your ear, voice rough and possessive: “feels good, huh? pathetic little slut.”

their rhythm is hypnotic, torturous, electric. ellie bounces you harder, degrading you in a voice that’s both rough and sharp, while abby teases, licks, and murmurs ownership, fingers brushing where the strap meets you, pressing every nerve into overdrive.

your body can’t keep up. each thrust, each lick, each whispered word makes you melt, cum, shudder, then immediately ready for more.

the overstimulation is too much, too fast. tears spill down your cheeks, hot and slick, your voice breaking between moans and sobs.

“fuck-oh god-please-” you cry, shivering in their grip.

“look at you,” ellie sneers, bouncing you harder, hand gripping your jaw to make you look at her. “crying like a needy little whore. mine, all mine.”

abby presses her forehead against your shoulder, tongue dragging slow, teasing. “i told you… you’re ours. every inch, every scream.”

you can’t, your body won’t stop. orgasm after orgasm rips through you, wracking your chest and thighs, leaving you whimpering and shaking, completely wrecked.

they don’t relent, letting you ride out every high until finally, your body gives, trembling, weeping from the sheer intensity.

finally, after what feels like hours, they give up, letting your body collapse fully onto the bed.

you’re sprawled, sweaty, muscles sore, every inch of you still tingling from the overstimulation. your hair is tangled, cheeks streaked with tears and sweat, lips parted, utterly wrecked.

ellie lies on one side of you, chest rising and falling, a smug, cocky grin on her face. she’s flushed, hair sticking to her forehead, eyes still sparkling with mischief and victory.

abby is on the other, propped on one elbow, glaring at ellie, still competitive even in defeat, fingers brushing lightly over your skin possessively. her jaw is tight, lips pressed together, but there’s no denying the satisfaction in her eyes.

they mutter at each other softly, half complaints, half boasts, even as you drift toward a haze of exhaustion.

“i still had her first,” abby huffs, smirking.

“shut up. i had her harder,” ellie snaps back quietly, tone low, but her fingers linger on your thigh possessively.

you lie in the middle, utterly wrecked, soaked in sweat, trembling slightly from overstimulation, unable to stop the small, exhausted whimpers that escape.

the last thing you see before drifting off is the impossible sight of them - both of them - refusing to admit the other did well, still bickering softly while you’re caught in the center, utterly theirs.

⭑ perm taglist: @yasmilks , @frosttbitten , @lovemiraamira , @ellies-real-wife , @wewerewildandfluorescent , @jullsii , @eyesttokill , @dmenby3100 , @bunchogravie , @oneinameliann , @intheshadowofthestars , @pariiissssssss , @vanpalmertruther , @madsxh1022 , @rbnvrnxoxo , @firefly-ace , @alyaserrax , @silly-pigeon69 , @glassofgreenteapls , @serpentskrtt , @m0th3rcal , @sincerelyherz , @, @0phantom0 , @ggutpunch , @leeidk87 , @mikellie , @celiacallsitcasual , @gurlbownerr , @l0veylace , @bluminescent-moon , @oatmatchalatte , @hitmehardmommy , @iadorefineshyt , @jksevendays , @liztreez , @clemrules , @yourl0caltrash , @rootytootymeow , @thebadwritersposts , @vanillacigarettes777 , @soltwent , @allisonsivy , @lesbian-useless , @lovewitchss , @abigail-andersons-wife , @valeisaslut , @ssijht , @meow4510 , @vixenkii , @modernvenuss ,@pryncess123 , @frey-williams , @hxneybugsworld , @iloveclairo2016 , @shadowybasementmiracle , @nutmegsnorter , @improbablynotpoppy , @simpingonwinonaryder , @e-l-l-i-e-w—p-a-i-g-e-b5 , @elliewilliamkisser2000 , @newjupiter , @willowlovestheweasleys , @tr0928 , @caitvisthirdmember , @honeyylovee , @idek4bands , @andreaaaxoxo , @mymy2o1 , @ur-local-astronaut , @laiim , @like-a-dirty-french-novel , @pearlescent0o , @icong-nizo , @girlsatourbest , @0ngeeked , @celinealways , @kikispool , @hyperbabes , @hauntedclaudio , @shakeyodreadsshakeyodreads , @roseegallagher <3

[ilovewomenfr]

.ೃ࿔. ride like you mean it p2

part 1, masterlist

top!cowgirl!abby x bottom!citygirl!reader

art from olgasnoww on twt

part 2 as promised 😚 and on everyones soul i will be writing more cowgirl!abby i’m obsessed. not proofread yet so it might be rough in some spots

cross-posted on ao3

cw (r!receiving for all unless specified): porn with a plot, some fluff, dirty talk, pet names, banter, teasing, slut shaming, light degradation, praise kink, ab riding (r! rides a!), face sitting, pussy eating, fingering, strapping, ass play if you squint, strap sucking (a!receiving), slight dom/sub (both vers tho), they basically just go at it like animals tbh, manhandling, strap referred to as dick and cock, masturbation, spitting, rough sex, spanking, squirting, edging, implications of sex, implications of becoming fuck buddies

word count: 3.7k

!!men dni!!

Abby’s steady hand stays on the small of your back the entire time both of you veer towards the doors of the bar. As you exit, the cool night air kisses your skin sending a soft shiver down your spine. Abby guides you through the dusty parking lot towards a beat up red truck. “Here w’go,” her voice low in your ear while she ushers you towards the passenger’s side, body behind yours as she almost pins you to the rear door.

Her left hand unhooks the carabiner from her belt loop, passing it off to her right and then it immediately finds your waist again. The key sliding into the door, unlocking it with a click. “‘F ya change your mind at any point, I’ll turn around ‘nd drive back. No hard feelins,” her voice gentle. “I can assure you that will not be happenin’.” your right arm going to open the passenger door for yourself but gets cut short by Abby’s sturdy hand, which pushes your arm back into place followed by the door being opened for you; “I might be tryin’ to get in your pants, but I still got some class.”

The inside of the truck is nicer than you expected: softly worn brown leather covering the bench-style seating, steering wheel and dash covered in a tortoise shell enamel. The lack of seat belts is slightly nerve-racking as she drives down the bumpy gravel road, but it also gives you an idea. You slide off your boots, swinging your legs up and resting your feet on the bench—knees falling open as you do so.

Abby’s breath catches in her throat, eyes briefly flicking down to the growing dark patch on your lacy pink thong. She clears her throat and focuses back to driving. “Y’tryna veer us off the road sweetheart?” her voice pitches down. With eyes back on the highway, her hand grabs your calf, pulling you towards her, legs now across hers. You bite your lip at how easily she dos so; “Just showin’ you what you’re in for.”

Abby hums in response, hand trailing up your leg, resting high on your inner thigh and pinky—ever so slightly—brushing your clit through the fabric. A whine escapes from you when the truck hits a pothole, Abby’s pinky pressing hard against the nerves. “You put that on thinkin’ bout easy access or somethin’?” she asks, hand still firmly planted just by your core. “It was more of me knowing ’ it looked hot.” Abby nods, briefly turning her head towards you and squeezing your thigh, “Ain’t no denyin’ that part.”

_________________________________

The truck is filled with lust and tension by the time the wheels crunch on the gravel of Abby’s driveway. As soon as she puts it in park and turns off the ignition, you climb onto her lap straddling her. Your lips clash against hers and your tongue works its way into her mouth, tasting her and swallowing the whines that leave her throat. Breaking apart, your hands trail up over her wife pleaser, feeling her shoulders as you help her shrug off the green flannel she has on overtop. She tosses it into the backseat, grabbing your face and kissing you once more. Hands are everywhere; caressing waists, squeezing tits, running down arms, trailing up abs. “Anyone ever ridden these before?” you murmur against her lips, middle finger running along the muscles, twitching under your touch. Abby bites your bottom lip, she pulls away, “No, but if you beg I might let you.”

“Oh baby, I don’t beg.” You reach down and pull a lever on the side of the bench, Abby falling with it as it lays flat, meeting the edge of the backseat. “Take off your shirt.” you command, her face stunned and irises almost completely taken over by black. Your gaze gets hungrier as she softly grunts sitting up and pulling her shirt off, muscles rippling, making your already soaked cunt even wetter. You place your fingers underneath the band of her sports bra, looking at her before going further. “Please,” Abby’s voice needy, the pads of your thumbs graze her hardened nipples before you pull the bra off. Your eyes immediately fall to the gorgeous set of small tits in front of you. “So fuckin’ pretty.” A hand pushes her back down so she’s laying flat, and you pull your own top over your head.

Your nipples graze hers when you bend over to kiss her again, both of you letting a soft sound into the other’s mouth. Abby holds onto your hips, sliding you onto her stomach and she slowly guides them into a rocking motion. “Fuuck y’re s’wet,” she groans, “Bet those pretty panties are ruined.” Her hands trail up your stomach, taking squeezing the fat of your tits and pinching your nipples— your clit pulses, causing you grind down harder as you chase the feeling. You take her hands off of you and pin them above her head, chest spilling in her face. A groan comes from the blonde underneath you, sucking marks into the skin of your breast and her tongue circling your perked nipples.

“God, look atcha,” you gasp as you roll your hips, “Could so easily overpower me but you’re lettin’ me use you like a fucktoy instead.” Abby’s mouth is immediately unlatched from your skin, clearly taking your words as a challenge. She easily unpins herself from your grasp, seeing your shocked expression she quips: “What? Ya didn’t think I’d actually letcha win, did ya baby?” her hands push you down and off of her stomach, your slick leaving it gleaming in the moonlight. “Y’talk a lot of game for someone who’s just gonna a be hole for me to use in a few minutes.” you attempt to rut against her belt buckle, clit twitching at the dirty words leaving the woman underneath you. Abby holds your hips still, a low chuckle coming from her: “Thought ya said y’weren’t an easy lay.” her left arm reaching over to open the driver’s door before lifting you out. “I haven’t fucked no one for over a year,” you feel the need to justify your reaction. “Then I’ll just hafta do an extra good job wearin’ y’out.” Abby swings you over her shoulder fireman style, kicking the truck closed.

_________________________________

“Oh Goddamn.” gasps fall from Abby as you lick her abs clean of your slick, siren eyes staring back up at her. You lick one long stripe from underneath her bellybutton up to the column of her hickey-covered throat, your hands kneading her perfect tits and pinching her rosy nipples. You get on your tip toes to kiss her properly, her hands scooping under your ass and lifting you up. She walks forward for quite a few strides, mouth still on yours and puts you down on her couch.

Her lips trail down your neck and chest, leaving deep purple bruises before soothing then over with her tongue. “‘M dyin’ to get a taste of this pussy darlin’.” Abby looks up at you with hungry eyes, hands resting on the button of your miniskirt. You lift up your hips to let her slip the rest of your clothing off. Your legs falling apart as she takes her thumbs and spreads the lips apart, “Oh God,” your groan coming from deep within, the lack of sex in the past year clearly making you more sensitive than you thought. “So pretty.” Abby coos, still holding your folds open for her. She spits on your clit (completely unnecessary as you’re dripping down your thighs) and the feeling of the warmth hitting your twitching clit elicits a whimper from your lips. Her thumb lazily grazing circles around the nerves.

“Tell me what ya want.” Abby’s tone turns commanding, a warmth jolting in your core and your pussy leaks more. “I w-want t’be eaten out.”

“Yeah? Who d’ya wanna get eaten out by? Tell me baby.”

“You,” hips bucking towards her mouth, which pulls away from your core ever so slightly. You whine, “Abbyyy fuckin’ do it already.”

“Say please.” a smug grin taking over her face when she looks up at you, resulting in an eyeroll from you, begrudgingly complying; “Please Abby, need m’ pussy eaten so bad.”

“There we go, good girl.” she murmurs almost against your slick folds. Licking a long stripe from your hold to your clit before hooking her arms around your thighs. Your hand flies down, tangling in her hair as your soft moans fill the room. Abby circles your clit with her tongue, sucking it in between her lips and flicking it, all while resting a finger against the bottom of your hole. “Need you inside,” you moan as Abby repeats the motions in a beautiful rhythm. Her thick middle finger sliding into you, Abby moans into your cunt as your walls suck her in, your eyes rolling back at the vibration. She pumps the digit in and out, tongue now just flicking your clit— jolts of pleasure travelling up your body each time tongue lashes against flesh. Abby’s index finger joins her middle, spreading and stretching you open. When she finally curls the fingers up onto your G-spot your back arches off the couch and you cry out. “Yes! Fuck right there!” Abby, being the good listener she is, hits that spot over and over.

The coil in your lower abdomen is on the verge of snapping now, moans falling from you and filling the room. You’ve discovered that tugging the blonde braid up to get her closer makes her moan, Abby’s own hums only adding to the stimulation. “‘M g’na cuuum, ‘m so-oo close fuuuck.” your pussy clenches around Abby’s fingers, legs beginning to shake. And then you’re empty, her fingers pulling out with a wet pop.

“W- The fuck was at for?” you scowl down at the blonde, pulling the braid her hair is pulled into, “Mmmh relax pretty, jus’ wanna see ya cummin’ on my dick.” You can’t hell the desperate sound that comes out of you.

_________________________________

Your eyes water as you gag on Abby’s thick 8 inch clear dildo hitting the back of your throat, “Fuck y’look so good like this,” her tone low and breathy as the base of the strap grinds against her clit. She hasn’t even bothered taking her jeans off. There was no need, with the harness on underneath the entire night all she had to do was quickly attach the silicone dick. Her high whines have you soaked, one of your hands letting go of the fabric covering her ass and sneaking between your own legs. Abby’s bottom lip is raw from how much she’s bitten it, “Mhh, y’get turned on suckin’ my cock?” she asks, voice husky. You sink down onto two of you digits easily, eyes rolling back as the plastic dick muffles your moan. “Y-yeah ride y’fingers f’mee, fuck ‘m g’na cum.” Abby’s hand grasping your hair as she shudders with a soft cry, pulling the strap out of your mouth.

Abby’s muscled arms bend you over the edge of her bed, a feral groan coming from her as she spreads your cheeks apart, weeping pussy fluttering around nothing. “Fuck,” she groans, you hear her spit and feel it trickling down your ass. Abby teases around your pussy, “Quit it. Fuck me already,” you almost snap, voice strained and high. A chuckle comes from the woman behind you, she lines the tip up with your entrance. “Y’sure you can handle it? I ain’t goin’ easy on y-“ You don’t say anything and just push back onto the strap, which easily slides in. A strangled moan leaves your lips when Abby meets your movement with a thrust of her own, bottoming out. Her hips are against your thighs, not moving yet. Your arms get pinned behind your back, and you feel yourself fluttering around the dick. Abby leans over to whisper in your ear, the toy hitting your cervix and you cry out. “So eager huh? Just want me to use you don’t ya?”

Without even thinking you feel yourself wiggling your hips, trying to get some stimulation. “Be patient.” Abby tells you, words dripping with enjoyment. When she finally starts fucking into you, your eyes roll back and your moans fall from you uncontrollably. Your legs fall out from underneath you while Abby’s movements hit every spot you need, you’re drooling onto her bed before you can even register. She lets go of your hands which immediately grasp onto the sheets as your cries get louder. “Ab- Abby ‘m gonna- ahhh!” You feel one of her calloused hands pushing down on your back, which makes the feeling of your walls being hit by all the ridges of her strap more stimulating. “Oh my God! ‘m cummin’!” you almost scream, your legs off the floor as your knees bend. “Fuuuck.” Abby groans, “Y’look like such a slut when y’cum for me baby.”

_________________________________

Lying back on the bed as you begin lowering yourself on her strap again, Abby’s eyes are heavy and her mouth is slightly agape. Pussy still sensitive, you whimper when you bottom out, leaning forward and grasping Abby’s strong shoulders while you start rocking your hips slowly to ease yourself into another round. Your soft gasps fill the room, Abby’s hungry voice joining it, “C’mon baby, ride like you mean it.” It’s impossible not to listen to her needy tone. Your hips roll with more urgency, and you grasp your breasts with a hand, squeezing one while the other bounces. That, along with the wet sound of the strap getting sucked in and out you making Abby’s neck strain back, a vein popping and a gasp leaving her at the visual and audial stimulation. “Yeah,” the whimper comes from her without constraint.

“You like watchin’ me ride this dick baby?” You coo, thumb brushing her lips as she nods frantically, hips grinding up into you evoking a loud moan as you grind down, pushing two of your fingers into her mouth. The feeling of her throat relaxing and the warm muscle of her tongue wrapping around your digits is what sends you buckling over on top of her with a cry, legs shaking. Abby’s strong hands grab your ass and holds you down as she fucks up into you, chasing her own release. She squeezes the fat as she arches, her own orgasm hitting her. The two of you gasp in tandem, hair sticking to foreheads as the room fills with the smell of salt and sex. “Needa see what your ass looks like when you’re ridin’ baby.” Abby pants after a few moments, helping you slide off the strap. “So you were thinkin’ about that when I was on the bull?” a smile forming on your face, “Shut up,” Abby’s already flushed cheeks darkening as if her fantasizing is dirtier than anything the two of you have been up to all night.

Soon enough you find yourself in reverse cowgirl, the strap hitting spots deeper than before. Abby’s moans now join yours, as she sees the inside of your pussy through the clear of the strap, pulling your ass apart to get a better look, “Oh my God y’re soakin’ me,” her hips undulating against your own grinds. “Fuuuck, yes,” your eyes roll back as you feel the sensations reverberating deep inside you, shooting up your body—Abby’s palming of your backside only tightening the knot getting made low in your gut. “Slap it.” your words come out a strained beg. Abby’s hand comes down on your ass, your hips buck forwards, one of the ridges of the strap catching a spot inside you, “harder.” Again. And again, and again. “Oh God ‘m close,” you call out, and feel a thumb run down the seam of your ass, “This okay?” You swallow harshly before your voice wobbles “Yeah.” The tight circles against the hole have your legs shaking, the squelching sounds coming from your pussy increase. When the knot finally snaps, you feel a gush coming from you, “O-ohhh” Abby shudders from underneath you.

Climbing off and laying beside her, your eyes notice the absolute mess on her jeans and the bed, “Oh my God I’m so sorry-“

“Don’t apologize pretty,” a strong arm wrapping around you, “It was hot as hell.”

_________________________________

Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzzt

You groan, opening your eyes which allows the brightness of the room to cause your head to pound. Abby is asleep next to you, her expression much softer than that of the one she has while awake. Less harsh. Your arm reaches over to the nightstand Abby insisted you charge your phone on after your activities ended last night. The screen far too bright when you squint and bring it to your face. “Oh shit,”

dinaaa: 14 missed FaceTime calls - now dinaaa: what time r u coming home? - Today, 8:37am dinaaa: do u even have service out there? - Today, 8:15am dinaaa: kk going to bed, call me asap - Today, 2:44am dinaaa: let me know where you end up - Today, 12:07am ellie: text dina back she’s being paranoid - Today, 12:03am dinaaa: r u coming back in or going home w her???? - Yesterday, 11:46pm

You read the messages, knowing how paranoid she can be about her friends going home with strangers, a small pang of guilt flashes through your chest for not even bothering to check your phone or let her know anything before you fell asleep. In your defence, you were absolutely drained, and for a good reason too. As you sit up from the bed, the sheets fall down from your naked body and cool morning air envelopes your top half. Abby stirs and mumbles something that you don’t quite catch, hand lazily reaching over to you.

“What?”

“Said don’t leave yet.” she looks at you with sleepy eyes, her voice has a slight whine in it. “I ain’t leavin’ don’t worry. Just gotta answer the phone.” which is now on the foot of the bed, continuously buzzing. You know Dina won’t give up until you answer. “Where’s my shirt,” you mumble, feet padding on the hardwood beneath, searching the room. The truck. Your shirt is in the truck. A frustrated groan leaves you when you remember. You are absolutely not going outside in nothing when it’s still this cold and early. “Borrow one of mine,” the blonde offers, “Oh,” you smile over at her, “Thank you.” Abby slips out of bed, her breasts and abs littered with dark purple marks—you don’t even want to see what your own look like. She hands you a soft cotton tee, plain and black.

The shirt falls to your upper middle thigh, essentially a minidress and you grab the phone, waiting for Dina’s FaceTime to call again. “I’ll just take a step outside,” you tell Abby, who nods as she slips back into the warm bed. When the phone buzzes to life, you finally answer. Dina and Ellie in the kitchen of your apartment, phone probably propped up on some ingredient bin. “Oh, bless the Lord.” Dina’s face relaxes and her tone is relieved, “I told ya that y’were worryin’ about nothing. She was just busy getting railed,” Ellie tells her as she shovels a pancake into her mouth. “Okay but ya never know. They could have been stopped or kidnapped or-“ You interject, “Okay so I’m very, very much alive and very, very much in need of more sleep.”

Dina’s eyes widen and she steps closer to the phone, “Oh. My. God.” She looks over you, hair a mess, hickeys scattered across your neck, and makeup smeared. “You need to tell us everythin’ when you get home later,” she orders, “How was it though? Better have been good, I've been worried.” You can’t help the smile that makes its way onto your face, “Oh it was the best sex. And I’m sorry I totally should’ve updated ya before I went to bed, but I was real worn out.” A smirk forms on your best friend’s face: “Yeah, bet y’were reaaal tired.” This earns an eyeroll from you, “I’m gonna go back to bed, I’ll letcha know when I’m on my way home.”

Once the call finishes, your eyes fall over to Abby’s couch, in the light you can see it is a nice forest green colour, your hot pink panties littered in the arm of the couch juxtaposing the cosiness you would have otherwise associated with the shade. Your muscles ache as you head back into Abby’s bedroom, joining her in the bed once more. Her arms pulling you closer as the both of you drift off again.

_________________________________

“We should take a shower,” Abby suggests when the two of you wake up again in the early afternoon, “You can go first,” you yawn, and Abby raises an eyebrow: “I was thinkin’ more along the lines of showerin’ together.”

The warm water encapsulates both of you, Abby’s braid undone, her hair long and flowing down the expanse of her broad back. It is strangely intimate for what is supposed to be a one night stand. “You do this with all your hookups?” you ask, taking a pump of shampoo and massaging it into your scalp. Abby turns around, the height difference beautiful in the sense that you’re just above eye level of her breasts, but also inconvenient during a moment where your eyes should probably focus on hers. “Only ‘f I like ‘em enough.” Your cheeks flush at the implication, and you hope it can be explained by the steam rather than her words. After the shower, which was quiet in a pleasant way, you bring your skirt and panties from the night before into her room. As you begin to pull on the wrecked pair, Abby interjects, “No, no, just borrow somethin’ o’ mine to change into.”

“Are you sure? It really isn’t a big deal-“

“Oh don’t start. I insist. Plus it’ll give me a reason to see ya again.” She winks at you, grabbing a t-shirt and basketball shorts, bringing them over to you, “Only ‘f that’s sum’n you’d like of course,”

“Abby, you just gave me the best sex of my life, whaddya think my answer is gonna be.” Her blue eyes look down at you, folded clothes in her hand, as she steps close, “That neither of us’re gettin’ fucked by anyone else for the foreseeable future,” her eyes are hungry again, staring at your lips, “I like that idea.” The change of clothes she brought over for you are forgotten on the floor as your lips meet, shower quickly becoming ineffective as you fall apart on her fingers once more.

a/n: wow so like this might be the most intense thing i’ve written.

tags: @thatredheadloserlesbian

[cuartosol]

christmas movie where a city girl falls for a cowboy but they're both horny lesbians

[loverseen]

easy, white chocolate.......🫦

[wonderlanderings]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥

: ̗̀➛ 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐭𝐥𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.9k 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: cowgirl!abby anderson x fem!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: hurt/comfort, mdni, smut 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: The fact that there's something you haven't told her is driving Abby insane, and when she finally finds out and gives in, well, that's driving her insane too.

𝐚/𝐧: I'm ovulating

The truth comes to Abby through the world’s worst game of telephone—a hushed, grinning confession from Ellie in the dusty yard, who’d heard it from Dina behind the mercantile counter, who’d pried it out of you after one too many glasses of whiskey the night before. The fact that it’s something you want in bed, something you haven’t asked her for, lands in her gut like a kick from a spooked horse.

And fuck, that bothers her.

It ain’t the secret itself. Lord, it ain't that. If you wanted her to take you right there against the sun-bleached wood of the saloon at high noon, she’d do it, damn the whole town watching. If you wanted her on her knees in the red dirt, if you wanted her to beg in that rough, broken voice she saves just for you when the cicadas are screaming in the live oaks, if you wanted her to wait until you were both trembling and slick with sweat under the heavy blanket of a moonlit night, she’d do it in a heartbeat. She’s yours. Wholly and completely. 

That’s never been the problem.

The problem is the asking. Or rather, the lack of it.

The thought sits with her now, a thorn in her side as she stares out at the unending scrubland, the horizon shimmering with heat. A tumbleweed of doubt rolls through her. She can break a wild stallion, can track a predator for miles, can read the weather in the ache of an old scar. But this—the map of your wants—feels like a territory she’s only been skirting, too nervous to ride into the heart of. She’d thought her patience was a virtue, but now it tastes like cowardice. She’d been so careful with you, like handling a bird with a broken wing, and all the while you’d been waiting to fly straight into the storm.

Was it that you feared her? Not in the way folks in town did, with a wide berth and wary eyes, but something more intimate. A fear that the same hands that could so gently fix a busted fence could also break what they loved most. The idea that you might see her hunger as something to be managed, not met, is a special kind of hell. She’s always held back, fearing she’d be too much—too strong, too loud, too needy. But what if you’d been waiting for all of it? What if her restraint felt like rejection?

Every time she’s touched you, she’s tried to be mindful, to be gentle despite her sheer. Had she misread it all? Had you been waiting for a force she’d been too afraid to unleash? The notion that she’s been starving you of a pleasure you craved, all while believing she was being good to you, makes her want to put her fist through the barn wall.

The problem, the one that ignites a slow, smouldering burn right beneath her skin, is so simple it’s pathetic: you didn’t tell her.

You’re her girl, damn it. Her woman. The one who steals her shirts on lazy mornings, who moves through her space like it’s yours—because it is. She’s the one who holds you through the night when the nightmares shake you awake, her chest a shelter until your breathing steadies against her own. She didn't just learn how you take your coffee; she studied it. The precise, ridiculous mountain of sugar, the mere ghost of cream. It’s a ritual, a silent prayer she offers every morning: I see you. I know you. I can take care of you. She knows the pressure you need at the small of your back when she’s pressing into you, the specific spot behind your ear that makes you sigh her name, the way your breath hitches right before you fall apart in her arms.

She knows you. Or she thought she did.

But the thought that you’d confess a desire like that to Dina, of all people… that you’d let the amber glow of liquor make you loose-lipped and honest with someone else… it doesn’t just sting. It’s a puncture wound. It feels like a profound failure on her part. A door she never even knew was there, left unopened between you.

For days, she catches herself watching you more than usual—across the supper table, while you’re reading on the porch swing, even when you’re both soft and tangled in the sheets in the quiet morning light. Her eyes can’t help but follow you, seeking a truth she’s terrified to ask for aloud. Every gesture, every sigh is put under a microscope. She finds herself replaying your most intimate moments on a loop, she’s searching for a clue, a cypher to a code she didn't know you were speaking.

Did your breath always catch like that—a tiny, fractured thing—or is it new? When she pins your wrists, is that fleeting shadow in your eyes hesitation? A wish to be somewhere else? And when she murmurs the filthiest, most worshipful things she knows against your skin, does the shiver that runs through you speak of bliss, or of a disappointment so profound your body can’t hide it?

Or is it something else entirely? A secret hunger she hasn't even thought to try, a flavor of desire she’s never offered? The failure of her own imagination eats at her most of all, a quiet acid in her veins.

The words are a live wire on her tongue, buzzing with a current of want and frustration. What is it? Just tell me. Let me give it to you. She almost lets them loose a dozen times over—once when you were passing her the gravy at supper, your fingers brushing, and again when you’d sighed whilst falling asleep, curling into her side.

But every time, she swallows them down. They taste too much like a demand, and the last thing she wants is for you to see that fierce, impatient gleam in her eye and mistake it for anything other than a desperate, clawing need to please you. To be everything for you.

(And isn’t that a revelation? Since when does Abby Anderson not push? Since when does she hesitate to take what she wants, to strip the world bare for her own desires? Since you, apparently. You and your soft hands and your quieter wants have gentled her in ways she is still getting used to.)

She leans against the rough-hewn post of the porch, the wood still warm from the day's sun. Her gaze tracks you across the yard where you’re laughing with Jesse about some foolish thing, your head thrown back. The setting sun catches you just so, painting you in hues of gold and honey, and for a moment, you look less like a woman and more like a mirage—something beautiful and fleeting she might blink and lose.

A feeling, raw and possessive, clenches hard behind her ribs. It’s more than want; it’s a fundamental claim. The idea that there is a part of you, a desire you hold, that she isn't fulfilling… it gnaws at her insides. Someone else has heard your secret wish, and that fact sits in her gut like a stone. It should be her breath you feel on your neck when you confess those things.

A resolve hardens within her, as solid and unyielding as the earth beneath her worn boots

Tonight, this ends. There will be no more whispers, no more second-hand secrets stolen from conversations she wasn't a part of. She’s going to ask you. Not with hesitation, but with a certainty that will leave no room for your nerves.

She’s going to back you into that soft, worn quilt, frame your face with hands that can be so terrifyingly gentle just for you, and ask. And when you finally, finally tell her, she is going to make damn sure you know, with every fibre of your being, that there is nothing—nothing—you could ever want from her that she won't gladly, greedily give. She is going to get her answer. And then, by God, she is going to make you forget you were ever nervous to ask in the first place.

So when she finally corners you about it—gently, because she’s learned gentle, for you—and you admit, pink-cheeked and stumbling over the words, that you wanna try being the one in charge for once… well.

Abby says yes.

Of course, she says yes. Her voice is a little rough with the sheer, staggering relief that it’s something so simple, so utterly within her power to give you. A knot of fear she’d been carrying for days—that you were pulling away, that she’d done something wrong, that you were bored—comes undone all at once. She’d say yes to anything that puts that hopeful, wanting look in your eyes. She’d hand you the reins to her whole world if you asked for them, would trust you with the messy, tangled parts of her without a second thought.

But Christ, she didn’t realise how hard it’d be.

Not the submitting. That part, in theory, is easy. She’s followed orders before, knows how to bow her head and bite her tongue and let a command wash over her. The hard part is the silence. The stillness. The act of will it takes to keep her hands fisted at her sides instead of reaching for you, to bite back the low, encouraging murmurs that usually fall so easily from her lips. She’s a woman built for action, for taking the weight, for solving the problem with her own two hands. Now, the problem is her own desperate need to do, and the solution is to simply be.

To be yours.

She is utterly, completely in your hands, and the vulnerability of it is the most powerful thing she’s ever felt. The way her muscles jump and flutter under your leisurely exploration, her own body a traitor to the calm she’s trying to project. She’s a bowstring pulled taut, and you’re just admiring the curve of the wood, in no hurry to let the arrow fly.

The only sound in the room is the ragged pull of her own breath, held tight in her lungs. Her heart hammers against her ribs like a frantic thing caught in a snare, and in the hushed sanctuary you’ve carved from the dim evening light, Abby Anderson learns a new kind of wanting.

Out in the world, under the wide sky or in the grit and grime of the ranch, Abby is a force of nature. She’s all sun-bleached leather and stubborn resolve, her don’t-fuck-with-me stare sharp enough to halt a charging bull at fifty paces. She’s the one who shoulders the weight, who fixes broken fences and busted knuckles with a grimace and a grunt, her hands as capable with a lasso as they are with an engine block. Taking charge is her native tongue.

And behind closed doors? Lord, she’s a master there, too. She knows the landscape of a woman’s body with the same instinctive ease she knows the worn grip of her favorite rifle—every curve a familiar ridge, every sigh and shiver a well-charted territory. She is a conqueror of pleasure, skilled in drawing it out like water from a deep, sure well, until you are nothing but a spent, gasping thing, utterly and completely hers.

But this?

This is a different kind of work altogether.

Your touch is not a demand but an invitation she doesn't know how to answer. The calluses on your fingers, usually so soothed by her own, now trace a slow, deliberate path down the column of her throat, and she can’t do a damn thing but feel it. The hard line of her jaw softens under your palm; the constant, ready tension in her shoulders begins a slow, reluctant melt.

This is sweet, aching, maddening torture. It’s the exquisite agony of the bit being placed gently in her own mouth, of the reins being laid in your steady hands. And as you look down at her, this woman who is usually a storm, now lying still and waiting for your quiet sky to break, you see it—the thrilling, terrifying surrender in her eyes, and the dawning realization that to be undone by you is not a defeat, but a coming home.

You’re between her thighs now, a study in infuriating, exquisite patience.

You press a slow, wet kiss high up on the silken skin of her inner thigh, a place so tender it makes her breath hitch. Then the other, a mirror image, a lazy back-and-forth that is its own special kind of torture. Abby’s fingers are twisted in the worn, soft cotton of the sheets, her knuckles bleached white, clinging for purchase like she is dangling from the edge of a cliff she’ll happily throw herself off of. 

A low, frustrated sound escapes her throat, something between a groan and a prayer. Her hips give a helpless, tiny twitch of their own accord, a silent, desperate plea to rock up into the devastating heat of your mouth, to finally demand the friction she is burning for.

But you stop. Just a pause. Your eyes, dark and knowing in the low light, lift to hers.

That soft, firm tone you use—a velvet-wrapped command that brooks no argument—cuts through the humid air. “Stay still.”

And fuck, it does things to her. It unspools something deep and primal in her belly, sending a jolt of pure lightning straight down her spine to settle in a throbbing ache between her legs. 

Lord have mercy, but the sight of you damn near undoes her.

There’s a new set to your shoulders, a quiet, surefire confidence that’s got Abby’s heart thumpin’ against her ribs like a startled rabbit. Your lips are slick and shining, and your eyes—Christ, your eyes—are dark with a focused, predatory intent she usually claims as her own territory.  You look like you’ve just won the county fair’s top prize, and she’s the blue ribbon. You look like you’ve got her right where you want her.

And hell, maybe you do. Maybe that’s the most terrifying and thrilling part of it all.

‘Cause Abby Anderson is a woman built from the ground up to be the strong one. The one who carries the heavier load, who starts the generator, who knows how to please you until you’re breathless and boneless beneath her. She needs to know, with every fibre of her being, that she’s doing right by you.

So if this—this exquisite, frustrating surrender—is what you want? 

Well. 

She’ll grit her teeth. She’ll swallow down the groan clawin’ its way up her throat. She’ll let the sweat prickle on her skin and she’ll stare right back at you, takin’ the measure of this new, breathtaking version of you who’s callin’ the shots.

She’ll take it. She’ll take every single second of this beautiful torment you’re so expertly doling out.

And seeing this bold, commanding side of you bloom because of her, for her… it feels like discovering a whole new part of you to love. 

When you finally glance up at her—lips swollen and slick as a ripe berry, eyes dark and heavy-lidded with a satisfaction that is all her making—Abby feels the last of her control strain like a worn saddle cinch. 

You look so proud. 

So pretty. 

So fucking pleased.

Every muscle in her body coils, a spring wound too tight, humming with the urge to wreck you. To chase that smug little smile with her mouth, to flip you onto your back and ruin you so thoroughly you’ll forget every name but hers. 

The scent of you, of sweat and her and the sweet new shampoo you got, is a heady perfume that promises oblivion. It’s a deep, gut-level need to claim, to prove her devotion in the only language her body truly speaks.

But she promised.

The words echoe in her head, a tether holding back the storm. She’d sworn it into the sweat-damp skin of your shoulder, a raw and desperate vow whispered between ragged breaths: “Your pace darlin’. I’ll follow. I’ll let you lead.” Her fingers, curled into white-knuckled fists at her sides, ache with the effort of staying still.

But then your smile deepens, all slow honey and secret knowledge.

You hold her gaze, a queen on her throne, and drag your nails lightly up the tense, quivering plane of her stomach—a trail of fire that makes her breath catch like a bootheel on a loose porch step.

Fuck.

A ragged, shuddering groan tears from her throat, a sound so deep it seems to vibrate through the very mattress. Her head thumps back against the pillow as if the weight of her want is too much for her formidable neck to hold up any longer. Every muscle in her body is a live wire, coiled tight and humming with restraint. The cords of her neck stand out in stark relief, a roadmap of the strain it takes to keep her hips pinned to the sheets, to not simply flip you over and take what she so desperately needs.

“Christ, you’re killin’ me, sweetheart,” she grits out, the words rough and strained, ground out between clenched teeth. Her hands, those brutal, world-ending hands, are fisted in the rumpled sheets, the white-knuckled grip the only betrayal of the storm she’s holding inside.

You just laugh, a low, warm sound that you let vibrate against the damp skin of her stomach. You feel the answering clench of her abs beneath your lips. Leaning down, you press a soft, achingly chaste kiss to the sharp jut of her hip bone. The contrast is maddening: the gentle, almost reverent affection of the kiss against the searing, primal ache of her need.

“You said you’d be patient,” you murmur. Your breath ghosts over the fevered skin you’ve just kissed, a hot brand that makes her shudder violently. You drag your nails again—so lightly it’s almost a thought—up the inside of her thigh, and a full-body tremor wracks her frame.

The sound she makes at that is half-groan, half-whimper, a utterly defeated and beautifully broken thing. Her eyes, dark and blown black with want, finally slit open to find yours. The look in them is pure, unadulterated agony—the sweetest kind. It’s the look of a warrior who has surrendered, not to a stronger opponent, but to a more cunning one. She is utterly at your mercy, and the terrifying, thrilling part is that she’s loving every second of her own torture.

“I did,” she admits, her voice hoarse. “But I didn’t know you’d be so fuckin’ pretty doin’ it. It ain’t fair.”

A slow, wicked smile spreads across your lips. Now you move, shifting lower, finally bringing your mouth to where she needs it most, but still not giving her what she truly craves. Just a hint. A promise.

“Life’s not fair, Abby,” you whisper against her, feeling her jump at the contact. 

She exhales, a shaky, broken sound that is more gasp than breath. She is trying. God, she is trying so hard it’s a physical ache in her teeth. But it’s new, this feeling—it’s so much more than just the physical surrender, the forced stillness of her powerful body. It’s the way you are looking at her from between her thighs, your eyes dark and unwavering. You look at her like you see the wild, feral thing coiled deep within her muscles and you aren’t just unafraid—you are hungry for it. 

Letting you steer, placing the worn leather reins of her own need into your soft hands… it feels like standing in an open field under a merciless sun, completely exposed and disarmed. 

A low, guttural sound tears from her throat, a raw mix of plea and pure, undiluted frustration. “Fuck,” she grits out, the word strained and tight, sandpaper on stone. The massive muscles in her thick thighs cord and trembled beneath your palms, a testament to the war she is waging between the order to hold still and the primal instinct to buck up, to seek the friction, to take. “You’re doin’ this on purpose. Draggin’ it out.”

You pull back just enough, your breath a hot, teasing ghost over her soaked, aching skin. The smirk that plays on your lips is a weapon, and you wield it with devastating expertise. “Maybe I am.”

A full-body shudder wracks her frame, a seismic event of suppressed need. Her hands, fisted in the worn quilt beneath her, flex open and closed, the calloused pads scraping harshly against the fabric. You can see it—the white-knuckled effort in her forearms, the way her biceps jump with the strain of keeping them planted there, of not grabbing you by the hair and yanking you right where she needs you most. A deep, ragged growl rumbles in her chest, a warning from a creature pushed to its absolute limit. “You’re mean. Goddamn cruel.”

“Mm.” You hum in agreement, a soft, taunting vibration that echoes through her sensitive flesh, so agonizingly close to its goal that it rips another broken whimper from her lips. You press one last, achingly soft kiss to the quivering crease of her thigh, right where the tension is coiled the tightest. Just to watch her hips jerk off the bed in a helpless, tiny, utterly defeated arc. “But you’re real pretty when you behave.”

And damn if that doesn’t hit her right in the centre of her chest, a different kind of impact that steals the air from her lungs more effectively than any punch ever could. It isn't a blow of violence, but of devastating intimacy. 

The compliment, laced with condescension and undeniable truth, shatters the last of her defences. A strangled, breathy noise is all she can manage in reply, her head falling back against the pillows as her eyes screw shut, completely and utterly at your mercy.

[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.”

[applejusue]

save a horse.

cw: ranch owner!abby, butch!reader, stable worker, sexual tension, mature, cowgirl riding, fingering a!receiving (not too explicit)

Abby had always been a hard ass, ever since she took over her father’s ranch back in eighty-six.’

It gave her something to focus on after he’d passed, a way to sink her teeth into dirt and have the sun beat down on her back. She’d spent two years fixing it up, repainting and replanting muddy soil that hadn’t held crops in months. Abby suited it like flour in a pie, but eventually — she needed help.

That’s where you came in. 

Late thirties, broad with a sun baked tan and a mouth like bitter whiskey. 

You tended to the horses, kept the stables cleaned out and mucked so that come August they’d be ready for harvest — and hell if you didn’t do a fine job at it too. There was something steady about your calloused hands, the way they’d pat down a mare or toss a bale over your shoulder. Abby was no small woman neither, muscle and stern yet somehow you made her feel like a damn girl. 

She wasn’t supposed to feel things for you, not when she had a ranch to run and a personal life shabbier than a bull ring. It struck her off when she’d least expected it, you in a dirt stained wifebeater, sweat rolled up to your muscular forearms as you tossed a half smile. You were quiet for the most part, ‘cept for when you liked to talk to the horses in the stable. 

Atta girl.

See? Wasn’t so bad..

There ya go, keep it movin’..

It was like you were trying to split her open from the ground out, in those boot cut blue jeans that always had a flannel slung across the hip — with that short scruffy hair that she’d normally berate you for. 

Abby was the opposite, she liked to keep things clean. Shirts tucked neatly into bell bottoms with a sparkling belt buckle, wheat blonde hair braided down her shoulder and out of the way when she needed it to be. Even the way she ran the ranch was guided, methodical, no room for crap. 

And yet despite the fact that you were everything she should hate, she was drawn to you like a damn dog. 

The way your arms flexed carrying a heavy load across the field, the string of curses that tumbled from your lips whenever something pissed you off — the fact that she’d caught you working without a bra no less than three times now. 

There wasn’t anything inherently wrong with that, if anything it made sense. You were lean enough, well built across the chest so technically you didn’t need to be wearing it. The problem was when it came to those damn ribbed tanks, the way your nipples peaked through anytime you stretched. That outline may as well be a damn war siren the way it dragged her in, made her forget what she’d come to talk to you about in the first place.

What got to her more than anything was how sweet you were, quiet enough but knowing when you needed to bite back. You were gentle with her horses, careful of the ones that needed extra patience. Stayed on late because you liked taking care of the barn, wanting it to be just right because otherwise what did she pay you for.

You worked hard, long, that in itself had her tripping over leather boots.

And god, it felt wrong to be thinking about a woman her size pressing her deep, but when you tilted your cap — shot her that ma’am like you weren’t ripping her up, it was like asking a sheep to steer clear of a fox.

Today was a typical one, smack planted in the dead of summer with heat heavy enough to split stones. Abby was already in a less than savoury mood, the deal she’d spent months trying to make with some of the town conveyors had fallen through at the last minute — once she’d shown up and they’d realised she wasn’t her father. 

Abby trudged back up the weeded path to the ranch, black toed boots sinking into crisp gravel. Sweat beaded down her collar, hair wisps clinging to her cheeks and pout enough to kick up a cow. She was usually level headed, able to let these things brush off her shoulders because it was no surprise that these boot brained farmers didn’t want her having a single inch at commercial. 

But between them, you and the damn sun stinging her eyes — she was ready to splinter off the handle. 

Things only got worse when Abby passed by the barn, seeing you not hard at work but instead slumped against a hay bale, jeaned thighs spread as sky. You wiped your sweaty brow with your forearm, dirt clinging to every inch of your worn clothes. Was it so obvious that you were taking a needed break on a steaming day like this? Of course. Did she still spit red the second she saw you? Unfortunately so. 

“Hell you think you’re doing? I ain’t paying you to sit on your ass out here..”

Abby dragged you up the scruff of that white neck collar, brutally reminded once again that you were taller by a couple inches. You seemed a little rattled at her sudden appearance, but otherwise unbothered that she was currently barking down your throat out of nowhere. 

Your eyes lingered on her face, taking in those sticky sunburnt cheeks and the way her typically neat braid was frayed, tufts of wheat hair spilling out. She was breathing like she’d just trampled a thousand daisies in her path back, deepened brows hiding wild stumbling eyes — you knew she was mad at more than just the fact you’d been slacking. 

A trickled chill ran straight up to her ears when you didn’t say anything, didn’t cough up a half baked excuse or dip away in submission. Abby was suddenly all too aware of the fact she had you pulled up close, that your tongue swiped across your dry lower lip the longer she tried to hold on. 

“..Somethin’ happen?” 

That was the first thing you murmured, low and gentle like you already knew she’d come around, and even Abby knew full well that she was overreacting. You were bathed in mud and fodder, sweat clinging to your brow while the barn was sparkling like a pig at the market. A sigh escaped her throat, because she knew you were a damn good worker.

“I-..”

Abby went blank, completely faltered. The way you let her hold you tight by the collar, despite knowing you could easily shove her back, it had her grasping. She was built just as much as you were, but you had the height advantage. It wasn’t submission, it was control — you were letting her chew your head off because you knew she was already yours. 

And despite all of that, there was not a thing close to malice in your eyes, not some cocky smirk or shadow of lust that usually came with that feeling of control being ripped from her fingers. There was a need there sure, hell— it was in Abby’s eyes too, but smothered in deeper was care, and her grip slowly loosened. 

You didn’t step away like she’d expected, instead you moved closer. Your calloused hand came to rest on her waist, just enough to play with that glistening buckle she wore on her belt. 

“Let go o’ me..” Abby barked, but it clipped between her teeth, there was no real bite — not when she was still gripping your collar like she was afraid you’d disappear if she didn’t hold on. You gazed down at the almost fearful look in her eyes, the ones that couldn’t leave yours. Your chin dipped just low enough to speak quiet, even though it was just the two of you out here. 

“You grabbed onto me first, sweetheart..” It wasn’t mean or teasing like what would normally come from you, it was just an observation that she frankly should’ve expected. You weren’t dim, quite the opposite. Hell, you’d spotted that her gate lock was about to bust before she did, and it was just in time or she’d have lost a heckle of cows when that thing went down. 

Abby near whimpered at your breath warming her chin, at the way she couldn’t get her grip to relax. It only took another minute of your eyes locked on hers until she shoved forward — heat and hormones making a mess she’d never clean up.

Her lips met yours, all teeth and tongue as the rancher all but tried to swallow you whole. She fisted your flannel rough, grabbing on like she still hadn’t decided if she should push you away or pull you in tighter. You groaned low into the kiss, rough hand moving to the back of her hair just enough to pull lightly.

“Easy, slow down..” You tried to get past her lips, feeling her rushed movements, frantic like she was afraid someone would come barging in at any minute. Her hands were trembling as they tugged at your ribbed vest, breath smothering heavy in a way that was more than just simple arousal — it was stress, sticky red cheeks mixed with hot angered anxiety that was rolling off her in waves. 

You give another attempt to pull her back, just enough to get more words out but Abby doesn’t budge, instead pushing back. The hay whips beneath your heavy boot, and you stumble back into the bails behind you with a thud, landing on your ass. A small grin tugged at your lips as you glanced up at her with heavy eyes, knowing if she was gonna play dirty — who were you to put up a fight?

Abby stood over you, eyes worn with deep nerves as it slowly kicked her in the neck just what she’d done, what she wanted to do. A gentle chuckle left your lips, and you grabbed her by the shirt before she could run off on you, giving her a quick tug forward. It was playful, but her weight was all too real when it landed against yours. 

Your lips met again as Abby straddled your broad thighs, one hand moving quick to brace her belt while the other found the back of her head — steady and guiding. The blonde groaned into your mouth, hip lifting eagerly in a way that had you grinning against that frown. You kept a hold on her hair, the other quickly ripping off the leather, hearing that silver metal clank somewhere nearby as you tossed the belt aside. She lifted herself easy, shimmying as you dragged her jeans down to the knee, not bothering to rid of them completely. 

The barn floor was coarse, mucked with hay and bootprints but Abby didn’t give a damn, not so long as she got to feel your denim jeans against her under calves, got to feel those warm hands pulling her closer. Her breath came in heavy pants, face blazed and freckled shoulders hunched tight like she was still paranoid that someone would see her like this. It was a blur of sweat, firm hands and muttered praise that had Abby clinging to your forearms for dear life.  

“You sure ‘bout this?..” You blustered against her skin, nose pressed against the dip of her neck as your palms held her open, feeling the way her thighs trembled against yours — the way she was having an awful hard time looking you in the eyes now. 

“Just— cut the sappy bullshit, fuck me already..” Abby all but scolded, lips pursed and hair more out than braided. She rolled her hips forward, earning a low chuckle against the sweat of her collar as you glanced up at her. Harsh lined brow, stubborn expression that only thinly hid the nerves that were buried deep. 

Despite the bravado, she was still gripping your shirt sleeve so tight the fabric might tear. 

“Yes ma’am..”

You spat onto your fingers, warming her up just the way you knew she’d like and got to work. Abby was heavy on your lap — real weight that had you sighing deep into her shoulder. She sounded different this way, no longer barking or muttering but instead whining, sharp. You’d never expect it from a woman like her, but it made you weak all the same. 

It didn’t take Abby long to get familiar with your fit, feeling that warm hand that was still bracing her hair and keeping her head. You felt warm, secure— but it didn’t take long for her to want more. Her hips started to rock slower, pushing you deep as her face hid tucked against your shoulder. She bucked like an animal, and you raised a brow. You kept your nose buried in her hair as she took what she wanted, a smile splitting your cheeks. 

“Trust you t’always need to sort things out yourself..” You laughed low against her ear, and no matter how badly she wanted to bite back in petty annoyance her body gave away, tightening as she hitched faster. Abby heard your voice in her dreams, in the dead of night in her tiny cot when all she had was a warm fire and the thought of you.

“.. shut up—..” She managed to beat out within a groan, thighs clamped around yours as sweat beaded down her brow. 

Things were different now, your hands were on her proper, not some poor lit fantasy. So despite knowing you’d have a hundred and one comments to make about her, she kept going, like if she got this over with maybe it would soothe that flickering ache in her chest. It was a hole you’d opened, and one only you could fill. No matter how hard you tried to keep her steady, she was already unravelling. 

You held her tight when she did, calloused hand holding the back of her head as the other slowly sunk out, quick to smear her on your dirty jeans and wrap a muscular arm around her body. She slumped against you, utterly spent and red in the face as you murmured those soft praises against her ear — the ones she always needed. 

Abby was a control freak, a tempered mess and yet you always just sat there with a laze toothed grin and warm hands. You kept her grounded, calm when all she wanted was to kick up and trample in the heat — and she needed that more than she cared to admit. 

After a few minutes she slowly raised her head from your shoulder, sweat sticking strands of hair to her forehead as she peered around the barn. Some of the mares peeked over the fences, curious hicks. Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, staring them down like they were judging her.

“Were they watching?..” She huffs, stubborn as ever like she wasn’t just whining against your knuckles. You lift your nose from her hair, following her gaze toward the horses in the stalls. A chuckle left your throat as you clicked your back teeth, dragging her in closer. Her jeans were still hoisted at her knees, body totalled against your warm chest. 

“Nothin’ to worry about, they ain’t gonna tell..”

a/n: im ovulating leave me alone◞ ◞  

permanent taglist:

@zzelysian, @elliesfreckle, @mars4hellokitty, @satellitespinner, @valeisaslut, @andieprincessofpower, @liztreez, @azxteria, @iadorefineshyt, @vahnilla, @vixenkii, @the-sick-habit, @cupcakesyndromes, @elliescoquettegirl, @alien-catz-in-tuna-canz , @yashirawr, @slutforabbyanderson, @elliesfavwife, @rhian88, @ssshhh-imreading, @simpingondakotajohnson, @claralikesellie

[lovelessfemme-deactivated202601]

somebody fuck me so hard i know without a doubt im desired. somebody force me to keep eye contact while they praise me til they know for sure i believe it. somebody hold me and kiss me as i come down.. fall asleep with me in your arms.. smile at me when you wake so i know it was more than just my body that led you here..

[applejusue]

Sitting on Abby’s back while she does push ups 🙂‍↕️ or giving her a kiss under her when she comes down for every push up

GYM RAT ABBY HEADCANONS.

cw: gym rat!abby x reader, fluff.

՞ ՞ abby who doesn't invite you to go to the gym with her at first, it's her safe space and she likes to be able to focus on her workout. That being said, when you do join her — suddenly she's fumbling over simple stretches.

՞ ՞ abby who you have to scold because her protein powders start to take up all the space in your cupboards, not to mention your blender is destroyed from pre-work out smoothies.

՞ ՞ abby who does her best to impress you whenever you do decide to go to the gym together, head on a swivel rack to make sure you're looking when she pushes for extra reps.

՞ ՞ abby who isn't subtle when she insists on spotting you, even if you're doing something low risk like dumbbell split squats because 'your weights are heavy, y'never know..'

՞ ՞ abby who is in fact a questionable gym partner because she's always politely pointing out problems with your technique, not to mention coming up behind you to casually adjust your form which nearly gives you a damn heart attack if you're wearing headphones.

՞ ՞ abby who likes it when the gym is empty because it allows the two of you to do some 'team building' exercises — like you sitting on her lower back for 'resistance' while she does push-ups.

՞ ՞ abby who likes the physical weight training so much that she gets you to help her at home too, if anything she prefers it being in your apartment because she can lay you beneath her and come down for a kiss.

՞ ՞ abby who never skips leg day, and the first time you seen her doing hip thrusts you nearly had to take a walk outside because of the way her thighs tightened, sweat running down her calves.

՞ ՞ abby who is relatively surprised that you find her working out attractive, to the point she'll sometimes get shy when you beg to watch her set.

՞ ՞ abby who could probably lift two of you, but that's something that she finds comforting. She likes the knowledge that if anything ever happened, she'd be able to hold your weight with ease.

՞ ՞ abby who knows that you like when she comes home all sweaty from the gym, but usually won't let you near her until she gets a shower in because it's part of her wind down routine.

՞ ՞ abby who definitely overdoes it sometimes, especially if she's stressed out. It wouldn't be rare for her to come home late after pushing too hard, her body aching so much that she can't even find the energy to wash up.

՞ ՞ abby who swears you could be an athlete masseuse with the way you rub her back and shoulders on those rough days after resistance training or a match, soothing out every knot and cramp with manicured fingers.

a/n: tapped into my gym days for this one◞ ◞  

permanent taglist:

@zzelysian, @elliesfreckle, @mars4hellokitty, @satellitespinner, @valeisaslut, @andieprincessofpower, @liztreez, @azxteria, @iadorefineshyt, @vahnilla, @vixenkii, @the-sick-habit, @cupcakesyndromes, @elliescoquettegirl, @alien-catz-in-tuna-canz , @yashirawr, @slutforabbyanderson, @elliesfavwife, @rhian88, @ssshhh-imreading, @simpingondakotajohnson, @claralikesellie

[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.”

[abbyandersonsprettygf]

#needthat

[wonderlanderings]

Save a Horse (Ride a Cowgirl)

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐭𝐥𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 / 𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈 [out now]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: cowgirl!abby anderson x fem!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.7k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Abby’s always been good with her hands—roping, riding, and ruining you with just one kiss. Tonight, she plans to do all three. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mdni, smut, cocky abby but let's be real she has good fucking reason to be, as always i barely proofread this so if there's any many major mistakes in it I'm sorry, is abby being smitten a warning?

𝐚/𝐧: turns out i’m not done horning for abby yet, but at least I had @littlexdeaths as my personal cheerleader for this one If you guys have any other fic ideas PLEASE send them my way (if tumblr stops shadowbanning me at least)

The bar is loud, sticky with spilt beer and the humid press of bodies, the air thick with the tang of liquor and the twang of some half-drowned country song fighting its way through the chatter. But you barely notice—not when Abby’s leaning against the counter next to you, all coiled muscle and lazy smirk, her boot propped up on the rail like she owns the place.

Which, judging by the way the bartender slides her whisky over without asking (“Same as always, Anderson”), she might as well.

Ellie, perched on your other side with a beer bottle dangling between her fingers, rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t stick. “Christ. You two are disgusting.”

You don’t even glance at her. Abby’s thumb is tracing idle circles over your knuckles where your hand rests on the bar, calloused and warm, and the rest of the world might as well be static.

“Jealous, Williams?” Abby drawls, her voice all honey and gravel. She lifts her glass to her lips, but her eyes stay fixed on you—dark with amusement and something far more dangerous.

Ellie scoffs. “Of this? Nah. I like my dignity intact, thanks.” She jerks her chin toward Jesse and Dina at the pool table, the latter of whom is currently miming exaggerated gagging motions in your direction. “Pretty sure the whole county’s sick of you two making cow eyes at each other.”

Abby just chuckles, low and unbothered, her free hand drifting to the small of your back. “Ain’t my fault my girl’s too pretty to look away from.”

You snort, but your face heats anyway. “Smooth, Anderson.”

“Damn right.”

You nudge her with your elbow, nodding toward the mechanical bull in the corner—some poor sap just got tossed off, his ego bruised worse than his ass. “No way anyone lasts a full minute on that thing.”

Abby’s eyebrow ticks up, slow as a rattler coiling before a strike. The amber liquid in her glass catches the dim bar light, painting shadows across the sharp line of her jaw. You shouldn’t have said anything—should’ve known better than to poke the bear—but the words slipped out anyway, half-teasing, half-doubtful.

“No one rides those things without training. It’s gotta be rigged.”

A slow smirk curls at the corner of her mouth. “That a challenge, sweetheart?”

The way she says it—low, rough, like she’s already tasting victory—sends a shiver down your spine. You lean in, close enough to catch the scent of leather and her cheap cologne, the kind that clings to her skin no matter how many showers she takes. “Maybe.”

Behind you, Ellie groans. “Oh, here we go.”

Abby’s grin widens. She sets her glass down with a deliberate click and turns to face you fully, one arm braced against the bar, caging you in without touching. The noise of the place fades to a dull roar under the weight of her attention.

“Tell you what,” she murmurs, voice dipping so only you can hear, “I stay on longer than a minute, you owe me a kiss. Right here, in front of God and everybody.”

Your pulse jumps. “And if you eat shit in front of the whole bar?”

She huffs a laugh, breath warm against your cheek. “Then I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow. And let you pick the radio station all week.”

“Deal,” you say, grinning.

Abby just winks at you before pushing off the bar, her hand lingering at the small of your back for a heartbeat too long—warm even through the fabric of your shirt, fingers pressing just there like she’s memorised the dip of your spine. “Y’all enjoy the show.”

Whistles and hollers follow as she strides toward the bull, the crowd parting like she’s royalty. Some ranch hand at the edge of the floor mutters, “Oh, this’ll be good,” and yeah. Yeah, it will.

Abby swings a leg over the bull like it’s an afterthought, all easy confidence, one hand gripping the saddle like it’s nothing. The machine hasn’t even started yet, but she’s already in control—back straight, shoulders loose, like she’s just waiting for the world to give her a reason to move.

The bull kicks to life.

And, God, you’re screwed.

Abby moves with it like she was born for this, her hips rolling in a way that should be illegal, thighs locked tight against the bull’s flank. It bucks hard, jerking sideways like it’s trying to throw her, but she just laughs, wild and bright, her braid whipping behind her like a damn battle flag. Thirty seconds in, and the crowd’s already eating out of her palm—cheers rising every time she leans into a spin, every time she arches back just to prove she can.

Forty-five seconds, and your mouth’s gone dry.

Because she’s not just riding it—she’s playing with it. Tipping her head back like she’s savouring the challenge, her tank top riding up just enough to reveal a strip of sun-browned skin along her waist. You can see the flex of her abs, the shift of muscle under sweat-slicked arms, the way her breath hitches—just once—when the bull nearly upends her before she corrects, thighs squeezing tighter.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ellie groans beside you, rubbing her temples. “Do you have to look at her like that?”

You don’t answer. You’re too busy watching Abby’s biceps strain as the bull jerks backward, her body curving into the motion like she’s dancing with it. A drop of sweat slides down her temple, her neck, and disappears into the collar of her shirt—

At fifty-eight seconds, she locks eyes with you.

Daring you to look away.

The bull lunges forward, sudden and brutal, and for half a heartbeat, you think she’s done for—her balance wavers, grip slipping—

But then she twists, muscles coiling like a damn panther, and rides it out like it’s part of the show. The crowd explodes.

The buzzer blares. A full minute.

The crowd erupts the second Abby’s boots hit the ground—cheers, whistles, the thunder of applause loud enough to shake the rafters—but she doesn’t even glance their way. Her eyes lock onto yours like a predator sighting its mark, and God, you’re done for.

She swaggers over, all rolling shoulders and that infuriatingly perfect smirk, her shirt clinging to the sweat-slick muscles of her torso. The bartender whoops, slamming a fresh shot down in front of her, but Abby doesn’t even reach for it. She’s too busy crowding into your space, one hand sliding rough and possessive along your jaw, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Told you I’d win,” she murmurs, voice thick with triumph, her breath warm and whisky-sweet.

You roll your eyes, but your pulse jumps anyway. “Lucky ride.”

Abby tsk's, her grip tightening just enough to tilt your face up to hers. “Ain’t luck, darlin’. That was skill.”

The crowd’s still roaring around you, but all you can hear is the rough scrape of her voice, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the heat of her body pressing just this side of too close.

“Pay up, sweetheart.”

Your kiss is quick, passionate, full of the kind of heat that pools low in your stomach and turns your knees to water. Abby’s mouth is relentless, claiming yours like she’s determined to prove a point—and hell, she does. Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, and she swallows the sound with a satisfied hum.

The crowd loses it—someone catcalls, a glass shatters in the background, and Ellie groans, “I need new friends,” into her beer.

But Abby just growls against your mouth, her free hand sliding down to your hip, pulling you flush against her. “Mmm. Knew you’d taste like victory,” she murmurs, nipping at your lower lip before pulling back—just far enough to smirk at your dazed expression before grabbing the forgotten shot and knocking it back in one smooth motion. 

“Still think it was luck?” Abby teases, her thumb brushing your lower lip, rough with calluses. Her voice is a low, honeyed drawl, the kind that curls under your skin and stays there.

You bite down on the pad of her thumb, just hard enough to make her breath hitch—and God, the sound she makes, half-laugh, half-groan, is enough to send heat straight to your core. You can feel the hammer of her heartbeat where your chest presses against hers, the way her fingers flex like she’s holding herself back. Barely.

You don’t give her the chance.

One second, you’re tangled together at the bar, her mouth hovering just inches from yours, her body a live wire of barely leashed want—the next, you’re dragging her toward the back door, fingers knotted in her belt loops.

Abby lets you lead, her laughter hot against your ear as she follows, her steps lazy, indulgent—like she wasn’t already two steps ahead. Like she knew exactly how this would go.

“Eager, ain’t ya?” She murmurs, her breath skating over the shell of your ear as the night air hits you both. The door slams shut behind you, cutting off the bar’s noise, leaving nothing but the sound of her voice and the rustle of fabric as she crowds you against the wall.

The parking lot lights halo her in gold, catching the sweat still glistening at her temples and the wicked gleam in her half-lidded eyes. The gravel crunches under your boots as you yank her toward her truck—an old Ford with peeling paint and a bumper sticker that reads "If You Ain't First, You're Last"—your grip tight enough to bruise. 

Abby stumbles a step—just one—laughing low and rough against the shell of your ear, her breath warm, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

"Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart," she drawls, her voice thick with amusement, but your hands are already on her belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle like you’ll die if you don’t get her naked in the next five seconds.

She chuckles again, deep and knowing, and lets you shove her back against the tailgate, the metal rattling under her weight. Her smirk is a goddamn event, slow and filthy, like she’s been waiting all night for this exact moment—like she knew this was coming the second she climbed onto that bull and looked at you like that.

"Shut up," you grit out, voice trembling with want, "and fuck me."

Abby’s grin widens, her teeth flashing in the dim light. "Easy there, cowgirl." The word curls low in her throat, that gravel-dark rasp already unravelling you. Her fingers catch yours—calloused, unyielding—slowing you down with infuriating ease. She tsks, thumb dragging over your pulse point like she’s expecting the way it jumps under her touch. "Didn't realise you were this desperate."

You glare up at her, but your body betrays you, arching into her touch like a damn fool. "You—"

"Me?" she interrupts, all false innocence, her free hand sliding down to grip your hip, pulling you flush against her. The heat of her is maddening, the hard line of her thigh pressing between yours making your breath hitch. "All I did was ride a bull, darlin’. You're the one who can't keep your hands off me."

You open your mouth to snap back, but she’s already crowding you against the truck, one hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head back. Her kiss is all teeth and hunger, lips hot and demanding, tongue sweeping into your mouth like she’s claiming territory. Her other hand grips your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you melt into it, arching against her with a whimper.

“That why you ran out here?” She rasps, hands sliding under your thighs to lift you onto the tailgate like you weigh nothing. Her thigh slots between yours, denim rough against your bare skin, the pressure perfect, and you grind down on instinct, chasing the friction. “Got all worked up watchin’ me?”

You should lie. Should play it cool. But her palm skates up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your dress, and the truth spills out in a shaky exhale. “Fuck—yes.”

Abby’s laugh is dark, victorious. “Knew it.” Her teeth graze your jaw, her voice dropping to a growl. “Can see it on your face. Those pretty little noises you make when you’re tryin’ not to squirm.” Her hips roll against yours, and the friction punches a whine from your throat.

“Fuck, you’re pretty like this,” Abby murmurs, her voice rough as gravel, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “All riled up over somethin’ I could do in my sleep.” Her teeth graze your earlobe, sharp enough to make your pulse jump, and her voice drops to a low, knowing drawl. “You ever seen me break a horse, sweetheart?”

You don’t get the chance to answer. Her knee nudges your thighs wider, the denim of her jeans rough against your bare skin as her fingers skate beneath your dress—not quite where you want them, just teasing, tracing idle patterns on the inside of your thigh that leave fire in their wake. The heel of her palm grinds down in a slow, taunting circle, and you jerk against her, a whimper catching in your throat.

She chuckles, the sound dark and pleased, and her free hand fists in your hair, tilting your head back so she can watch your face as she speaks. “Should take you out to the corral one mornin’,” she muses, her thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Watch me wrestle somethin’ twice my size ‘til it bows.”

The image flashes behind your eyelids. Abby, sweat-slick and sunlit, with muscles corded under her rolled-up sleeves and dirt smeared across her collarbone as she handles something wild and stubborn. Her voice, rough with command, barking, "Easy now—" while her thighs strain, while her grip stays merciless.

Your breath hitches, traitorous and loud in the scant space between you.

She feels it, of course. Always does.  “Christ.” Her eyes rake over you—half-lidded, triumphant, like she’s already mapped every twitch and gasp she’ll pull from you. “Knew you had it bad, but this?”

Her thumb swipes over your bottom lip, pressing down just enough to make your mouth fall open. “You’re ruinin’ my goddamn jeans, squirming like this.” She rolls her hips, the deliberate drag of her thigh against you wringing a broken noise from your chest. “Maybe I oughta teach you how to ride somethin’ else, huh?”

You whine, arching into her, but Abby just clucks her tongue, pulling back just enough to keep you desperate. The rough drag of her calloused fingers along your waist is maddening, teasing where you want her most.

"Tell you what," she murmurs, her lips brushing yours in a ghost of a kiss—close enough to taste the whisky on her breath, but not close enough to really touch. "You beg real nice; maybe I’ll let you ride me next."

Her voice is pure sin, low and rough like gravel under tires, and it sends a shiver straight down your spine. 

"C'mon, darlin’," she coaxes, all honey and heat. "Ain't you got manners?"

You swallow hard, your pulse hammering where her thigh presses between yours. "Abby—"

"Uh-uh." She nips at your jaw, just sharp enough to make you gasp. "Try again."

"Please," you finally choke out, fingers twisting in her shirt.

 “Atta girl,” she croons, her voice gone thick with want. “Ain’t nothin’ sweeter than watchin’ you beg.”

Before you can answer, she’s yanking the truck door open, her hands firm on your hips as she lifts you onto the seat like you weigh nothing at all.

"Buckle up, sweetheart," she purrs, climbing in after you. "This ride’s gonna be rough."

Her knee slots between your thighs, forcing them wider as she drags you onto her lap, your dress rucked up around your waist, the humid summer air kissing your exposed skin. 

And God, the way she looks at you—

Like you’re the last thing she’ll ever crave. Like she’d ruin herself just to ruin you first.

Her hands are everywhere, restless and ravenous. One second, her palm is splayed over your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your breast, teasing the tight peak through the thin fabric of your dress. The next, her fingers are digging into the meat of your thigh, kneading the soft skin there like she wants to leave bruises in the shape of her grip.

Her mouth latches onto your neck, your collarbone, the frantic pulse at your wrist—sucking marks into your skin between ragged breaths. You gasp when she bites down, just shy of too hard, and she groans in response, her hips jerking up against yours like she can’t help it.

Before you can register anything else, her fingers are inside of you, her touch sure and swift, the stretch burns so good you choke on your own whine.

Because Abby doesn’t just touch you—she worships you.

“Fuck,” she growls against your throat, her voice shredded with want. “Knew you’d feel this good.”

Her fingers move in slow, torturous circles, curling just right, wringing out every broken sound you try to bite back. Her thumb brushes your clit, light, just to feel you jerk against her, and the smirk she presses into your skin is downright sinful.

“C'mon, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her lips dragging along your jaw. “Let me hear you. Ain’t nobody out here but us.”

Her fingers thrust deeper, harder, and your back arches off her lap, your nails biting into her shoulders as you gasp her name.

“God, listen to you.” Her voice is all honey-thick drawl, curling around the words like she wants to conserve them, like the sounds you’re making are something sacred. The truck cab is too small, too hot, the windows fogged with your breath and the slick, filthy noise of her fingers working inside you.

“Fuckin’ music, baby.” Abby’s lips brush the shell of your ear, her teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper. “Like you were made just to sing for me.”

Every word licks like a flame, branding you deeper than her hands ever could. Her free hand roams, greedy, slipping under the hem of your dress to palm your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. The denim of her jeans is rough against your bare thighs, the contrast of textures maddening—just like her, all soft words and ruthless hands.

Her fingers curl deeper, relentless, the calluses on her palms dragging just right as she works you open, and the way she watches you—fuck, the way her eyes darken when your hips stutter—makes it clear she’s memorising every second of this. Cataloguing the flutter of your lashes, the bitten-red of your lip, the way your breath hitches when she crooks her fingers just so.

“That's it,” she rasps, her breath hot against your ear. “Grind down on me. Take what you need.”

You obey without thought, hips rolling in frantic little circles, chasing the pressure of her fingers. The truck’s seat creaks under the movement, the leather sticking to your skin, but you don’t care—not when she’s got you like this, not when she’s watching you like this.

Her fingers crook harder, pressing up into that sweet, spongy spot inside you, and you sob, nails biting into her shoulders.

“So close already?” She taunts, slowing her strokes just to feel you clench around her, just to hear the broken noise you make when she denies you. “Think you can cum just like this? Just from my fingers fucking into you, from me telling you how good you feel?”

Her free hand grips your hip, holding you still as she leans in, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Bet you fucking can.” The words are a rumble, her accent gone thick and syrupy with want. “Bet you'll let me ruin you right here, won’t ya?”

And, God, she’s right. There’s something about the way she says it—the possessive curl of her tongue, the way her voice drops to that tone, the one that usually accompanies her nodding at the ranch hands or murmuring to the horses—that makes your stomach flip. The same voice that says “Easy, darlin’” when she’s gentling a spooked mare now coaxes you, rough and sweet all at once.

You’re trembling, your thighs shaking where they bracket hers, your nails digging into the corded muscle of her shoulders. “Abby—”

“I know,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your throat. “I know.” Her fingers speed up, ruthless now, the heel of her palm grinding against you in time with each thrust. “C'mon, let me hear you. Let me feel it.”

Abby’s groan against your skin is almost pained with how much she loves it—loves you, the way you writhe in her lap, the way your nails bite into her biceps as if she’s the only thing tethering you to earth. Her arms flex under your grip, corded and unyielding, and God, you can feel the strength in her—the same hands that mend fences and break horses now holding you together while she ruins you.

But then—then—her rhythm stutters. Just for a second. Just long enough for you to feel the way her breath catches, the way her thighs tense beneath yours, and the way her hips jerk up involuntarily when you clench around her fingers.

For all her control, she’s shaking too.

Her chest rises fast, her pulse jumping wildly under your palm where it’s splayed against her throat. The smugness in her gaze flickers, just for a heartbeat, into something hungrier, something raw—like she’s one frayed thread from snapping. She needs this just as much as you do—needs to feel you come apart under her hands, needs to hear you break for her, needs it so bad her teeth ache with it.

"Say my name again," she growls, her lips grazing your jaw, her fingers driving deeper, curling just so. The rough pad of her thumb circles your clit, relentless, and you whine, your back arching. "C'mon, sweetheart—wanna hear how bad ya need it."

You sob it out—"Abby, Abby—"—and her grin is filthy with satisfaction, her hips rolling up to meet the frantic grind of yours, the denim of her jeans rough against your bare thighs.

"Yeah, that’s it." Her teeth catch your earlobe, sharp, and the sting makes you jolt. "Ain’t no one gonna fuck you like this. Ain’t no one gonna ruin you like I do."

Her fingers crook, hard, and the world whites out—her name on your lips and her fingerprints staining your skin, her sweat mingling with yours where your forehead presses against hers. You can feel her watching you, can feel the way her breath hitches when you clench around her, when your thighs tremble and your voice cracks on a broken please.

Proof, undeniable and hers, that she’s ruined you exactly the way she wanted to.

The orgasm crashes into you like a summer storm—sudden, violent. 

Abby groans, low and satisfied, her forehead pressing against yours as she works you through it, her touch gentling only when you whine from oversensitivity.

“Mine.” Her laugh is quiet, smug, her arms wrapping around you to keep you steady as she presses a kiss to your hair. ⁠Her hips roll up to meet your frantic movements, the hard line of her belt buckle pressing into your thigh. “All mine.”

And when you finally sag against her, boneless and breathless, she doesn’t let you go.

No—she holds you tighter, her arms locking around you like she’s claiming you all over again, her biceps flexing under your fingers as you cling to her. Her heartbeat thunders against your chest, wild and untamed, matching the ragged rhythm of your own.

She pulls her fingers free, slow and deliberate, and brings them to her lips. Her tongue swipes over her knuckles in a filthy, languid stripe, her eyes never leaving yours—dark with hunger, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any colour left. "Taste even better than I remember," she murmurs, voice rough as gravel, before dragging her damp thumb over your bottom lip, smearing your own slick across your mouth.

You shudder, and Abby groans, low and approving, like the way you react to her is the best damn thing she’s ever seen.

Her breath is ragged against your neck, her voice rough with something that sounds almost like awe when she murmurs—

“Let me take you home.”

It’s not a request. It’s a demand, growled against your skin as she nips at your jaw, your throat, anywhere her mouth can reach. The words come out ragged, like she’s been holding them back for hours. “Let me ruin you proper.”

Her teeth sink into the tender skin beneath your ear, just shy of pain, and you gasp, your fingers tightening in her hair. She hums, satisfied, before laving the spot with her tongue, soothing the sting.

“Wanna lay you out in my bed,” she continues, her voice dropping to a sinful rasp, “fuck you slow ‘til you’re cryin’ for it. Then fast, mean—‘til you can’t remember your name, ‘til you’re so full of me you ache with it.”

Her palm slides up your ribs, possessive, needy, calluses catching on the lace of your bra. You can feel her trembling—Abby, who never shakes, who breaks horses and men like twigs under her boot.

And, God, that’s what undoes you.

Not the filthy promises, not the way her thigh is still pressed between yours, keeping you sensitive and twitching—but the way her breath hitches when you whimper, the way her fingers flex like she’s stopping herself from dragging you closer right fucking now.

“Say yes.”

Her lips brush yours, almost sweet if not for the way her teeth graze your bottom lip after. The plea is raw, stripped bare. “Please.”

And the desperation in her voice—the way she’s the one begging now, like she’ll die if you say no—tells you everything.

She’s just as ruined for you as you are for her.

You kiss her instead of answering, because words are too thin for this—for the way she groans into your mouth like you’re the only thing keeping her breathing, for the way her hands are everywhere at once—

She fumbles with the keys still in the ignition, her grip clumsy with want, the metal clinking uselessly until she finally swears and yanks hard enough to turn them.

She finally pulls away, but only far enough to let you slip into the passenger seat—her hand still tangled with yours as she presses a kiss to your knuckles, her teeth scraping just lightly over the ridge of bone. A promise. A threat.

The engine roars to life. Abby drives like hell itself is chasing her, her boot heavy on the gas, the truck’s tires spitting gravel as she peels onto the main road. And when she glances over—just for a second, just long enough to burn—her gaze drops to your swollen lips, your mussed hair, the way your chest still rises too fast under the fabric of your dress.

Her knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.

"Gonna take so long with you," she murmurs, more to herself than to you, her voice rough as gravel and twice as warm. "Gonna learn every damn sound you make when I fuck you. Map out every fuckin’ spot that makes you shiver."

A beat. The truck flies past a stop sign. Abby doesn’t even blink.

"Gonna keep you in my bed ‘til the sun comes up," she continues, low and relentless, her free hand sliding up your thigh again, squeezing. "Then I’ll make you breakfast. Pancakes. With berries. The way you like."

𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈 [out now]

[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┈•✦

[basketofvoilets]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[firefly-ace]

can we all agree that

[basketofvoilets]

call me licorice flavored jellybelly the way my bean be emo

[basketofvoilets]

need an orgasm and a cigarette in that order