synopsis: three years of rivalry, gym stares, and filthy teasing finally break during a brutal snowstorm when abby and you are locked overnight in the old university library.
content warning: 18+, mdni, wlfsoldier! top! abby x sub! reader, rough sex, strap-on sex(r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), degradation, dirty talk, aftercare
the first time you saw abby in the gym you forgot how to breathe.
it was 0400, the base still asleep, and the overhead lights hadn’t even finished flickering on. she was alone at the squat rack, 405 on the bar like it was nothing. the plates clanked softly as she unracked, back flaring so wide it eclipsed the mirror behind her.
every rep was slow, controlled, brutal. her shoulders bunched and spread like wings, traps swallowing the base of her thick neck, lats so developed they cast shadows down her ribs. when she stood up the bar bent slightly across those boulder shoulders and you just stood there.
she caught your stare in the mirror and smirked. didn’t say a word. just racked the bar with a clang that echoed through the empty room and walked out. you didn’t sleep that night. that was three years ago.
three years of watching her get bigger, stronger, meaner. three years of her watching you get faster, sharper, more precise. three years of the entire wlf treating you like rival apex predators who happened to wear the same uniform. you’re good. top one percent. you can outshoot almost anyone, run ten miles with a full pack and still hit a moving target at 300 yards. but abby?
abby is something else. she’s the one they send when a building needs to come down or a bloater needs its head ripped off with bare hands. she’s the one who carried owen out of the marina on her back after he took three rounds to the vest. she’s the one who deadlifts trucks for fun.
and you hate how much it turns you on.
you hate how you started timing your gym sessions to overlap hers just to watch her biceps flex when she curls 100-pound dumbbells like they’re empty. hate how you started wearing the shortest shorts you owned because you noticed her eyes track the way your ass moved when you hip thrust. hate how you started leaving your water bottle on the bench she always used so she’d have to move it, so her fingers would brush yours for half a second.
hate how you started filming yourself in the showers when you knew she walked past that hallway at 2230 every night. hate the way you angled the camera so she’d see everything, tits heavy and wet, fingers sliding through your pussy while you moaned her name loud enough for the echo to carry. you hate that she never once took the bait. until tonight.
the storm hits like the end of the world. wind screaming, snow so thick it looks solid. isaac calls everyone in. you’re already in the library, old university building on the edge of the qz, because you pulled the short straw for overnight inventory. the place is huge, drafty, shelves twenty feet high, emergency lights buzzing. you’re halfway through counting crates of 5.56 when the double doors explode open. abby steps through like a blizzard made flesh.
snow clings to her lashes and the thick blonde braid hanging over one shoulder. she’s in a black sports bra that’s fighting for its life against her chest and arms, grey sweatpants slung so low you can see every cut of her obliques disappearing into the waistband. her delts are round and hard as cannonballs, veins tracing down biceps that look carved from marble. her abs flex with every breath, eight perfect ridges glistening with melted snow.
and she’s staring at you like she’s deciding whether to fuck you or kill you.
“you have got to be fucking kidding me,” she says, voice rough from the cold.
you lean back against the long oak table, arms crossed under your chest so your jacket pulls tight across your tits. “isaac’s schedule. i’m here until 0600.”
she slams the doors shut. the lock clicks like a gunshot. for a long moment the only sound is the wind and both of you breathing. then she starts walking.
slow. deliberate. boots leaving wet prints on the marble.
every step makes her shoulders roll, traps rising like mountains. she stops two feet away, close enough you can smell cold air and gun oil and her. “you’ve been doing this on purpose,” she says, low and dangerous. “shorts in the gym when i’m spotting. bending over crates right in front of me. that fucking video last week.”
your mouth curves. you know exactly which video. twenty seconds in the empty shower block, water running down your heavy tits, fingers buried deep while you moaned her name loud enough the echo carried. caption just said: thinking of you, rival ♡
you shrug one shoulder. “prove it.”
she closes the distance in a heartbeat. one hand fists your hair, the other slams your back into the nearest bookshelf. books rain down around you like hail. her mouth crashes into yours, angry, messy, teeth clacking, tongues fighting for dominance you both know she’s going to win.
you bite her bottom lip hard. she groans, tastes blood, and kisses you harder, thigh shoving between yours, forcing your legs apart. you’re already soaked; have been since the second she walked in. she feels it through your pants and laughs dark against your mouth.
“fucking dripping. little princess is drenched.”
she rips your belt open with one hand, shoves pants and panties down to your knees in a single rough motion. cold air hits bare skin and you gasp. abby drops to her knees without hesitation.
her shoulders are so broad they block the light. her arms flex as she grips your hips, veins standing out on her forearms, biceps bunching thick and hard. she looks up at you once, eyes feral, then buries her face between your thighs like she’s starving.
no teasing licks. just her tongue plunging deep, nose grinding your clit, sucking like she wants to swallow you whole.
you cry out, hands flying to her hair. she snarls, grabs both your wrists, pins them to the shelf above your head with one hand like it’s nothing.
her bicep flexes huge against your side, bigger than your thigh.
“don’t touch,” she rasps. “you’ve teased me for three fucking years. you stay still and take what you begged for.”
she eats you like it’s war. tongue fucking you open, teeth scraping your clit, three thick fingers sliding in beside her tongue and curling hard. your legs shake. you come fast and hard, gushing over her chin, but she doesn’t stop. just moans into you and keeps going until your knees buckle and you’re sobbing from overstimulation.
“shut up,” she growls, voice muffled against your cunt. “you wanted my attention. now you’ve got it.” she forces two more orgasms out of you with her mouth alone, until your thighs are slick and trembling and you can’t stand without her holding you up.
when she finally rises, her face is drenched, lips swollen, pupils blown wide. her arms flex as she wipes her mouth with the back of one hand, veins tracing down forearms thick as your calves. she licks her lips clean slow, eyes locked on yours. “turn around.”
you can barely move, but you do. palms braced on the shelf, ass out. she kicks your legs wider, yanks your hips back. you hear the soft thud of sweatpants hitting the floor, the clink of a harness. of course she came ready.
the fat head of her cock nudges your entrance, thick, ridged, the biggest one she owns. she doesn’t ease in. just grips your hips hard enough to bruise and slams home in one brutal thrust.
your scream echoes through the empty library. she clamps a hand over your mouth instantly.
“quiet,” she hisses against your ear, already pulling back and snapping forward again. “you want the whole base to hear their perfect little soldier getting railed like a cheap whore?”
every thrust punches the air from your lungs. the shelf rattles, books toppling around you. your tits bounce painfully with the force. she reaches around, grabs one, twists your nipple until tears spring to your eyes. “this what you wanted?” she snarls, angling deeper, hitting that spot that makes your vision white out. “wanted your rival to snap and fuck you stupid on watch?”
you nod frantically into her palm, tears streaming.
she pulled out suddenly, spun you, lifted you like you weighed nothing and slammed you down on the long reading table. books scattered. she hooked your legs over her shoulders, folded you nearly in half, and drove back in. the angle was devastating. you felt her in your throat. “look at me.”
you forced your eyes open. abby above you, braid completely undone now, blonde hair wild, sweat dripping down her neck between her perfect tits. her arms flexed on either side of you, triceps horseshoe-thick, shoulders so broad they eclipsed the light. she looked ruined and furious and so beautiful it hurt. “tell me,” she panted, never slowing. “tell me you’re better than every fantasy i’ve jerked off to for three years.”
words spilled out of you like water. “i’m better, fuck, i’m tighter, wetter, i’d let you do anything, abby, anything”
she groaned like you’d stabbed her. “again.”
“i’m your perfect slut,” you sobbed.
her rhythm stuttered. she leaned down, bit your neck hard enough to mark.
“mine,” she snarled. “this cunt is mine now. not your pride, not your reputation, mine.”
she rubbed your clit in brutal circles. you came instantly, clenching so hard she had to fight to keep moving. she fucked you through it, drawing it out until you were crying and shaking and babbling her name.
then she pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach again, yanked your hips up. you were limp, boneless, drool pooling under your cheek. she didn’t care. she mounted you from behind and started over, deeper, meaner, the table creaking like it might collapse.
her arms flexed huge as she held you in place, biceps peaking, veins standing out sharp under the skin. she fisted your hair, pulled until your back arched painfully.
“tell me you’re sorry for making me wait three fucking years.”
“i’m sorry,” you sobbed. “i’m so sorry, i just wanted you to take me”
she spanked your clit with every thrust, sharp, shocking. you came again without warning, so hard. she moaned like it was the hottest thing she’d ever seen.
“disgusting,” she muttered, voice thick with awe. “perfect little mess. all mine.”
she kept going until you lost count. until your voice was gone, until your legs wouldn’t hold you and she had to hold you up by the hips alone. until the only thing you knew was her name and the stretch of her cock and the way she growled filth in your ear.
finally she pulled out, turned you over gentle for the first time. you were trembling, covered in sweat and her spit and your own slick, tears drying on your cheeks.
she crawled up your body and kissed you soft, slow, deep. nothing like the violence from before. “i hated wanting you this much,” she whispered against your lips. “hated how every time you looked at me i had to stop myself from dragging you into the nearest empty room and shutting you up with my cock.”
you laughed, watery and wrecked. “i hated wanting you more. hated pretending i didn’t touch myself every night to the thought of you pinning me down and making me yours.”
she rested her forehead against yours. “truce?”
“only if the truce includes you fucking me like that every time we fight.”
she smiled, real, soft, the one no one else ever got to see. “deal.”
she scooped you up, carried you to the old leather couch in the corner that smelled like dust and old books. wrapped you both in the emergency blanket she pulled from her pack. you were still shaking with aftershocks. she kissed your temple, your eyelids, the bite marks blooming on your neck, the bruises already forming on your hips.
“stay,” she murmured. “storm won’t lift ‘til morning. you’re not walking anywhere on those legs anyway.”
you curled into her chest, boneless and sated, breathing in the scent of her skin and sex and snow.
“wasn’t planning on it, anderson.”
she huffed a quiet laugh, arms tightening around you. “good.”
outside, the storm kept raging, wind screaming against the windows, snow piling feet deep. inside, the rivalry was finally, gloriously dead.
and something raw and real and terrifyingly soft was just beginning to breathe.
