₍^. .^₎⟆ rin ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

23 | wrapped in #きあらちゃん

[inwithrin]

➜ rin ﹕ ✩ ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 23 ,, infj ✩

﹙★﹚かわいいだけじゃダメですか? ౨ৎ

(*^▽^)/★*☆♪ asks are open & please be nice

୨ৎ minors and men dni 🤍

₍^. .^₎⟆ masterlist

[inwithrin]

might be writing sum...

[inwithrin]

imy mama

i missed you guys toooo (˶>⩊<˶)

[inwithrin]

i hate when people promise stuff like kinktober posts and then just dip like u did lol you shouldnt have said shit if u werent gonna go it

girl, they don't pay me to write on tumblrrrr, this is a hobby... ∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) ?

[inwithrin]

I know you're probably taking a little break but I must say I came across your writing and it's so beautiful. Especially the way you write Abby.. ugh you're too good 🫶🏼

hi!! thank you so much, loveee (—ᴗ—) <3 it means a lot!! hehehe

[inwithrin]

would you guys hate me if i came back? (╥﹏╥) i got really busy with my master's and giving conferences.

i wouldn't post often, but i'm gonna try my best, but now i'm just shy about coming back (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

[inwithrin]

might be editing... heheheh

[inwithrin]

my halloween costume got here... im going to be ada wong :3

[inwithrin]

you should turn your new abby fic into a series called "redemption arc" where abby redeems herself!!! loved it btw, your writing is the best 🩷

oh my god, you're so right!! <3 that would be so so so cute :3 thank you sooo much 🩷

[inwithrin]

nothing means as much as you did punched me so bad in my stomach making breathing so hard. it hits because my past was a med student BUT she was far from abby. abby deserves that second chance. my past do not. ANYWAY, IT WAS SO GOOD!

omg i am so sorry, i just love writing emotional stuff (ToT) i am happy you liked it <3

[inwithrin]

gotta apologize for taking sooo long to post, im so busy but i try my best (╥‸╥)

[inwithrin]

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ nothing means as much as you did | abby anderson

exes should stay exes, right? except abby’s in your bed again, your tears wet on her collarbone while you whimper that you missed her. 

cw: hurt comfort, exes, tension, an argument because abby doesn't have time for reader and she is mean for like one second, sweet dom!abby, fingering (reader!receiving), dacryphilia, praise kink. lowkey, this is very emotional (╥﹏╥)

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ part of inwithrin's 2025 kinktober.

you never in your life thought you’d fall in love.

when you were younger, relationships felt like too much work. they were messy, temporary things—like anchoring yourself to someone who, in the end, could only be a passing remedy for loneliness. 

you told yourself you were better off alone—that you didn’t need that kind of attachment. the idea of carving out space for someone felt impractical.

for a long time, you spent most of your days tucked into your routines: between classes, assignments, library hours, and hobbies. company was occasional, and love felt like something you didn’t care to learn about.

until you met abigail anderson. abby. pre-med major. broad shoulders, all muscle and warmth, with a smile so open it made you smile. she had this way of lighting up even the dullest room. lovely in every sense of the word.

despite you not being pre-med, your paths crossed when abby enrolled in one of your humanities electives to fill out her credit requirements. she sat near the front and paid attention in a way most people didn’t.

a group project forced you to work together. at first, it was just a matter of convenience—you’d split the work, coordinate schedules, and meet in the library. but between deadlines, you found yourself staying longer than you needed to. she asked about your favorite books, about your hobbies, about your thoughts, and abby listened—really listened—in a way that felt startling. 

before either of you realized, the project was the least important part of your meetings. you became inseparable in a matter of weeks. you clicked in a way you hadn’t with anyone before—and judging by the look in her eyes, neither had she.

then came the shift. subtle at first. the way you caught yourself looking for her before anyone else. how your shoulders felt lighter when she smiled at you. the way silence between you wasn’t heavy, but easy. 

you tried to deny it. told yourself it was just what happened when you spent too much time with someone. attachment. familiarity. nothing more.

but the truth began to press against you, undeniable. you were in love. and so was abby.

it showed in every glance, in the way her eyes softened when they landed on you. in how neither of you could hide it anymore, no matter how much you tried to keep things casual.

it was abby who broke first.

one night, after another study session that turned into an hour of talking about nothing and everything, she shifted nervously, fingers twisting around the hem of her hoodie. her usual confidence was stripped down to something vulnerable.

“would you—maybe—want to go out with me? like, not just… this. but a real date,” she said.

you’d never seen her so nervous, and it made all your defenses crumble. because the truth was already there, written across both your faces.

and you said yes. 

the first year of dating abby felt like a dream. everything was effortless. sweet. beautiful. perfect. she was thoughtful in ways no one else had ever been—carrying your backpack because she knew it was too heavy, cooking something good and healthy for you, texting you reminders before your exams like she was more worried about your grades than her own.

abby made you feel like the center of her world. in many ways, you were.

but then time passed. life got heavier. both of you were about to graduate, and reality pressed down hard. abby was chasing med school like her life depended on it—projects piling up, hospital hours, volunteering shifts, endless applications. every day, she looked more tired, her shoulders sagging under the weight of everything she was trying to balance.

she still loved you—so much you never doubted it. but love had to wrestle with time, and time kept slipping through her fingers. her calls grew shorter. texts became fewer. dates kept getting rescheduled, with excuses like “just one more shift,” and “one more meeting, just one more.”

you understood. this was her dream, her future. but understanding didn’t make it sting any less.

your second anniversary crept up. you wanted to celebrate it quietly, in a way that felt like the two of you: simple, soft, intimate. just you, abby, and a little dinner in your apartment. you had told abby two weeks ago and she loved the idea, saying she also wanted to treat you in some way.

you set the table, lit a candle or two, cooked something both of you liked, and dressed up in a red dress you knew abby loved. you wanted to look beautiful, wanted her to look at you the way she used to in those first months.

you waited.

seven o’clock 

eight.

nine.

ten

no knock on the door. no text. no call.

you told yourself she was busy. that she’d be here soon. that she wouldn’t forget your anniversary date. 

nevertheless, hours dragged on. the food went cold, and the candles burned down to wax puddles. you still sat at the dinner table, phone visible in case she called, eyes red from holding back tears that only spilled when midnight approached.

then, finally—a knock.

you stumbled to the door, mascara smudged below your eyes, dress wrinkled. when you opened it, there was abby—a bouquet of roses clutched in her hand, eyes wide and anxious, her whole body tense like she already knew how badly she’d fucked up.

abby looked at you—at the dress, at your ruined makeup, at the way you were still waiting for her—and her face crumbled. 

“baby…” her voice cracked, pleading. "please."

stepping aside, you let her in, even though every muscle in your body screamed to slam the door in her face instead. abby brushed past you, setting the roses down on the kitchen counter, their petals bright and beautiful against the dim light of your apartment.

“i’m sorry,” she started, tone laced with guilt. “my shift—baby, it was crazy. i just couldn’t leave, they needed—”

“abby, i planned this two weeks ago,” you cut her off. “two weeks. do you know how long i’ve been begging for a night like this?”

her jaw clenched. “they needed me. i can’t say no. you know that.”

you stared at her, tears spilling over again. “i needed you too.”

abby rubbed at her face, frustrated, like she was fighting a war on two fronts: the guilt of letting you down, and the grip of her dream.

“you don’t get it,” she said, voice rough. “the hospital needed me. if i don’t have the required hours, if i don’t give my everything, i don’t get into med school. i don’t become what i’ve worked for my entire life.”

your hands balled into fists at your sides, heart practically splitting open. “abigail, i get that. i truly do. but you couldn’t make a bit of free time for me? i told you weeks ago. i’m busy too. i have deadlines too. and yet, i dressed up, i cooked, i set this up because i wanted us to celebrate. because i needed you. and what happened? you weren’t here.”

her mouth opened, then closed as she looked down at you. “but you’re not about to become a doctor. you can’t even compare us like that, you're not like me—” she blurted, words spilling out before she could stop them.

the air left your lungs. a cold pain that spread through your whole body.

“oh,” your voice broke. “so my major isn’t as important as yours? my future doesn’t matter as much as yours? so, because i’m not in med school, i should just… bend? wait? be here when you want? stay silent when you aren’t here? take crumbs while you leave me to the side instead of letting me celebrate your—our achievements?”

abby’s eyes widened, regret flashing, but it was already too late. “that’s not what i—”

“but it is what you said,” you snapped. “do you even hear yourself? do you think before saying stuff? do you know how small you make me feel when you say shit like that? it makes me feel like i’m not worth anything.” 

her hands trembled, her whole body tense. “i didn’t mean—fuck, i didn’t mean it like that. i just—”

you shook your head, cutting her off. “abby, i love you. i’ve loved you through everything. but i can’t keep doing this if you’re basically telling me i’m just a placeholder until you become what you want.”

she stared at you, eyes glassy, trying to form words. “i need space—i need time, i need to focus.”

“what?” it gutted you. it tore the air from your lungs. 

abby’s face crumpled, but her voice was steady—as if she had rehearsed it in her head a hundred times. “i can’t handle this. med school. the pressure. us. i can’t give you what you deserve. i can barely hold myself together, and it’s not fair to you,” she wiped at her face, catching any tears before they even fell. “you don’t deserve this. i don’t deserve you. i’m sorry.”

the rational part of you—what little of it remained—understood. med school was her dream. her future. her everything. 

but the emotional part of you didn’t care. that side of you wanted to drop to your knees, wrap yourself around her, and beg her not to leave. the humiliation of even thinking it burned in your chest, but it was there, clawing at you.

abby looked down at you, shoulders slumped like the weight of the world was crushing her. she lifted her hand, cupping your face carefully, as if she was afraid of shattering you further. “you don’t deserve this,” she whispered. “i’m sorry. you’ll find someone who loves you the way you deserve to.”

the words twisted the knife in your chest. your tears spilled faster, messier, and ungraceful, snot clogging your nose, your cheeks wet and blotchy. she didn’t look away from the worst of you. instead, she used the sleeve of her jacket to wipe at your face, like it didn’t repulse her.

“why today?” you asked, unable to breathe properly. “why now, abby? why? today was supposed to be a good day—abigail—why? why?”

her face crumpled—she couldn’t stand the sight of your devastation. she leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips. it wasn’t hungry, it wasn’t even romantic—it was cold, final, and desperate in a different way. 

a kiss that wanted to give you everything while simultaneously tearing the ground from under you.

desperately, your hands clung to her jacket, body folding into hers like a child too afraid to let go, sobbing into her chest. she held you, rigid, trembling, her lips pressed to your hair.

“i’m so sorry,” she whispered, barely audible. “i’m so sorry, angel.”

the “space” abby asked for turned into weeks. 

then weeks into months. then years.

at first, you hated her. hated her for choosing ambition over you, like you weren’t worth the fight. you refused to even say her name out loud. when people asked, you brushed it off with a bittersweet smile, pretending it was nothing.

but the truth was different. the truth was that your graduation gown felt heavy without her hand to hold. your apartment felt empty and strange. your bedsheets and pillows never seemed to lose that stubborn trace of her smell no matter how many times you washed them.

and when friends nudged you to “get back out there,” and to “just meet someone new,” you never did.  you couldn’t bring yourself to—it wasn’t fair to anyone else—because no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you knew abby would be on your mind, you knew you’d always be comparing.

the bitterness dulled with time, but it never vanished. instead, it turned into something hollow. whenever you passed the coffee shop where she once kissed you softly. whenever you put on a dress she used to love. whenever you heard laughter that sounded almost like hers in a crowd.

years later, it still hurt. it still lived in you.

and then one day—it all cracked open again. you were scrolling through instagram, half-bored, thumb moving on autopilot. someone you barely spoke to anymore had reposted a photo from a local account with the caption “doctors who recently graduated med school volunteering at a children’s hospital today.” you almost kept scrolling.

almost.

but then you saw her.

abby.

in scrubs, hair tied back in her usual braid, broad shoulders filling the frame, a stethoscope looped casually around her neck. she was smiling—soft, bright, the same smile that once belonged to you.

you hadn’t seen her face in years. you’d avoided her on purpose. blocked her socials, blocked her name from your feeds, built walls so high around yourself you thought you’d buried her.

but in that one photo, the walls crumbled. it all came back—her hand in yours, her laugh in your ear, her lips against yours when she whispered that she loved you. 

your thumb hovered, trembling as you told yourself to scroll past and pretend it didn’t matter. however, your heart was racing, and your stomach twisting.

for the first time in years, you let yourself miss her. even if you wanted to ignore her, you saw that photo of abby—and you told yourself don’t do this again. don’t go back there. she left. she chose herself. she’s happy now. move on.

you found yourself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, asking questions you hated yourself for.

does she think about me?

does she still remember the way i looked at her?

does she still smell my perfume on old clothes the way i still catch her cologne in my memory?

does she love someone else now? a doctor? a nurse, maybe? or another med student who could stand by her side?

you hated the way your stomach twisted at the thought. jealous, desperate, pathetic. 

weeks passed. and you couldn’t escape it as the day came. what would've been your anniversary. the same date she had first asked you for space. it was cruel, how the universe circled back.

you tried to keep yourself busy, but the weight of it crushed you. by the evening, you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore. you ended up on the floor by your closet, pulling down the old shoebox you had sworn you’d never open again. 

inside—letters with her handwriting smudged from your tears. little gifts. ticket stubs. dried flowers. even the brittle roses from that night. 

you cried until your chest hurt, until your body shook. ugly, loud sobs that ripped out of you. when the tears slowed, your hand went searching for your old phone. the one you hadn’t touched in years, but still kept in your bedside drawer. 

you plugged it in—her number was still there, saved as “abigail anderson. DO NOT CALL HER.” your fingers trembled as you typed it into your new phone, breath unsteady.

the line rang. one beep. two. and then—it connected.

“dr. anderson speaking, how may i help?” her voice was older, steadier.

immediately, a sob tore out of you. “abigail,” you choked, the word trembling. “it hurts. i can’t do this—”

there was silence for half a second—then recognition hit her instantly. “angel,” she said, like it was a prayer.

abby also hadn’t heard your voice in years—and it was now reduced to sobs like they hurt to let out. her hand tightened around her phone, the sterile white light of the hospital hallway suddenly too bright. 

“hey—hey, breathe, okay?” she whispered, but her voice shook, betraying her. “i’m here. breathe for me.”

but you couldn’t. the words kept spilling, all jagged and messy. “i miss you, i miss you so bad it hurts. why did i see you—why now, why? abby, i can’t stop crying. i miss you too much—”

for years, abby had carried the weight of what she did. the nights lying awake convincing herself it had been the best. the constant ache when she reached for her phone and didn’t call. the regret that dug into her ribs every time she imagined what your life without her in it.

“do you still live in your old apartment?” she asked.

there was a pause, a whimper. “y-yeah.”

“okay,” she said quickly, already moving—pushing through the door, scrubs clinging to her skin. “okay. stay there. don’t go anywhere.”

you didn’t even register what that meant through the haze. you just kept crying, kept saying how seeing her face in that photo opened everything you thought you’d buried and how much you missed her.

and then, there she was at your door, knocking softly, and you put the phone down. 

“open up,” her voice came through, muddled, rushed. 

you stumbled to the door, hands shaking, cheeks raw and wet. when it opened, the sight of her nearly undid you all over again—abby, in her scrubs, hair braided back messily, chest rising fast.

and all you could think was: this is the first time she’s seen me in years. and i look horrible.

“i look like shit, sorry,” you muttered, choking on a sob. “you—this is the first time in years, and i’m crying. i’m pathetic, not even close to how i looked when you left—”

abby’s face cracked, but she didn’t argue. she just stepped in, gently locking the door behind her. 

“come here,” she murmured, guiding you with careful hands to the couch. you sank, trembling. she followed, hands steady on your arms.

you shook your head, the shame clawing up your throat. “you were at the hospital,” you rasped—clinging to her sleeve. “you’re in your scrubs, you should leave, finish your shift—i’m not that important—not worthy of your time. i miss you so much, but i’m not worthy of you. i’m not a doctor. i’m not anyone important. i’m nothing more than a—”

“hey, shh,” abby said firmly, her hand rising to your cheek, warm. “look at me.”

your eyes flicked up to hers at the change in her tone—steady, solid, and commanding. the way she always could be when you were spiraling. 

“stop,” she commanded, her thumb brushing a tear away. “i need you to listen to me, okay? we can’t talk if you’re like this. you need to calm down first. i need you to follow me, alright? just breathe with me.”

you tried to match her pace, breathing slowly and deliberate. you clung to her wrist until your sobs thinned out. abby’s thumb stayed at your cheek as you let your face fall downwards. 

“i’m sorry, i’m such a mess” you muttered hoarsely. “i saw that photo of you, at the children’s hospital, and it—it broke me. it brought everything back. and then today, this date, it just—it’s embarrassing, abby. years later, and i still think of you.”

instantly, abby shook her head. “i never stopped thinking about you either,” she admitted—guiding your face back up. 

she stared at you like she was measuring whether she had the right to say anything out loud.

“i regret it,” she said. “i regret leaving you every single day. i wake up and hate myself for it. i hated that i let my pride and fear of failing get in the way of us. i care about you, but i was scared of failing, of not being enough. i thought stepping away would make me less weak. but it just made me cruel, and i’ve hated myself for it.”

you didn’t think—your body moved before your brain remembered how fragile this was. you crawled into her lap, arms winding around her neck, hiding your face into the soft hollow of her throat. abby wrapped her hands around you without hesitation. anchoring you as your shoulders convulsed with fresh sobs. 

“shh,” abby murmured into your hair, rubbing slow circles along your spine. “it’s okay.”

even if you were a mess, salt and wet, and ridiculous with need, abby didn’t let go.

after a while, you calmed down enough to pull back and look at her properly. your cheeks were streaked with mascara, your eyes rimmed red, but there was a clarity in your voice that made abby wince with hope and guilt.

“abby,” you muttered. “i don’t care if we… never see each other like we used to again. if you want space, time, or whatever—you can have it. but, if you want to try, can i ask you something?”

she met your gaze, mouth a little parted, and nodded. “tell me, angel.”

you swallowed nervously, fingers trembling against the fabric of her scrubs. “i—i replay our last kiss on my head every night. it’s always cold. it felt… final. i can’t live with that. if you’re going to leave me again—if you think you might leave—please, kiss me. even if you go, at least let me have that.”

you were met by silence, you could even hear the refrigerator hum in the kitchen. abby’s eyes flicked away, and for a second, you felt pathetic, like you were standing at the edge of a cliff.

“i’m sorry—i shouldn’t have,” you started to apologize.

“don’t apologize,” she cut you off. “but—are you sure? you want that?”

you could feel your pulse in your throat as you nodded. “i’ve been thinking about it for years. please, abby.”

her face reflected all her emotions: fear, longing, shame, love. then, as if something inside her decided this was her chance too, she leaned forward.

the kiss started like a question—experimental and soft—just a tentative brush to test the water. her lips were warm and tasted faintly of mint gum. 

you sighed into her mouth, and that tiny, involuntary sound did something to her. whatever caution she’d been clinging to cracked. her hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair like she was mapping you out again.

abby inhaled, and then the kiss deepened. it became less careful, less worried about the future, and more about the present—about the way your body fit against hers; the small, helpless noises escaping you.

something primal woke in abby.

her grip lowered to your back, her mouth was claiming and hungry. you sighed again, and that was the match that lit the flame. abby’s hands moved with a speed you’d almost forgotten she had—one palm pressed to the small of your back to pull you closer to her, the other sliding possessively down your side.

when you broke apart, breaths mingling, foreheads still pressed together—the room felt electric.

“i’m sorry,” abby whispered. “i wanted—i want you still. i never stopped missing you.”

you smiled—small, incredulous—tears still shining. “i missed you too.”

for the first time in years, the cold of that last kiss melted into something messy and human. both of you were left shaking in its wake: scared, sorry, and impossibly hopeful.

your lips were still swollen from the first kiss when abby leaned in again, unable to stop herself. unlike the first, the second kiss didn’t start soft—it was desperate. it had years of silence and longing stuffed between your pressed lips. you whined, muffled and needy. her hands grabbed at your skin—thumbs digging into the curve of you, strong hands flexing as she pulled you closer and closer.

abby kissed you like she was starving—like this was her only chance—and her control frayed. she nipped at your lower lip, groaning when you opened for her, allowing her to taste you deeper, messier, and hungrier.

but then, abby felt herself gripping you too hard—her body too heavy with want, and she broke off with a gasp, panting against you. “fuck—sorry,” she murmured, voice ragged as if she was trying to wrestle her hunger back. “i didn’t mean to—i don’t wanna hurt you, i just—”

you cut her off by grabbing her face in both hands, forcing her to look at you. abby then realized how you were looking at her, like she was the only thing that you wanted, like none of the years apart mattered.

“fuck, abby, i don’t care. i need you so badly. i don’t care if we end up strangers again. i don’t care if this burns me down,” you whispered, your nails digging lightly into her jaw. “i just—please—i want this as much as you.”

your words punched the air out of her lungs. abby’s chest rose and fell sharply, pupils blown wide. her hands tightened on your waist again, but this time reverence, hunger, and a promise she couldn’t yet put into words.

and then she kissed you again, rougher, deeper, and it made your ribs ache. abby grabbed you, signaling for you to wrap your legs around her waist—helping you up, she carried you through the short hallway like it was instinct, like she never forgot the feel of you.

the second your bedroom door creaked open, it felt like time folded. she remembered this room perfectly—just different enough to show the years that passed. the bookshelf was more crowded, the desk was sleek and full of papers. but the same trinkets, the same clutter of little things that were you. your stuffed animals still lined your bed, some worn from how often you hugged them.

part of you had changed.

most of you hadn’t.

gently, she set you down on the mattress, her weight combined with yours sinking it, and her lips found yours again before either of you could think too hard. the kiss was soft at first, but then she tilted her head, she lowered her lips, teeth grazing your jaw, and then your neck. the sound that left your lips undid her—she missed those airy whimpers more than she could bear.

your hands fumbled at her scrubs top, pushing it up with a messy urgency, beneath it, she wore a plain black tank top that stretched over her chest, and your fingers slipped to her arms, squeezing at her biceps.

“mhm,” you whimpered, dragging your nails against the flexed muscle. “i missed you so much, abby.”

her hands slid under your hoodie, calloused fingers grazing your skin. she pushed it up slowly, revealing a plain black bra. the second the fabric left your body, your hands flew up, instinctively— trying to shield yourself.

but abby’s hands caught your wrists, firm but not rough, guiding them above your head. “hey, no. i wanna see,” she murmured, kissing just between your breasts, slowly. “don’t hide from me. you’re my pretty girl… i missed you too.”

her mouth pressed to the swell of your tits, trailing kisses lower. the grip on your wrists loosened.

“didn’t even try with anyone else,” she admitted, pressing her lips onto your skin. “couldn’t do it. not after you. i missed this. missed you.”

years of silence, of bitterness, suddenly drowned under the weight of her voice, her warmth, and her words. your eyes filled again, but this time the tears felt different—less like sadness and more like release. 

your back arched into her mouth as she kissed down your chest, your breaths uneven. abby glanced up, catching your teary gaze. “you don’t know how many times i dreamed of this,” she whispered. “and i’m not letting myself take it for granted.”

abby kissed the salty tears off your cheeks before kissing you again—it felt like stitching two torn halves back together. her hands came up, cupping your boobs over your bra’s thin fabric, fingers pressing in, greedy in a way she had tried so hard to hold back. then she traced lower, over your ribs and waist, hands gliding slowly until she found your hips. abby squeezed there, hard, making you gasp.

“don’t tease,” you whined, nails digging into her shoulders. your eyes caught hers as your body rocked helplessly toward her. “it’s been so long, abigail.”

you tried to buck your hips against her, grinding against the solid weight of her thigh pressed between your legs. desperate, chasing friction, chasing her. but abby’s grip was stronger—she grabbed the hem of your little black shorts, tugging them down in one fluid motion, slow enough to savor, firm enough to make you shiver.

the fabric dragged down your thighs, pooling at your ankles before you even registered she’d stripped you. you whimpered, hands flying up, searching for her, grabbing at her hair. her braid was loose after the long shift, but your impatient fingers worked it loose—strand by strand, until her blonde waves spilled free, falling against her shoulder and your skin.

you grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging her down. “abigail, do not tease—please,” you warned, and she groaned into your chest, the sound guttural. 

abby pulled back enough to look at you—her cheeks flushed and hair undone. she looked nothing like the doctor in crisp scrubs you’d seen in that photo. she looked like your abby, who once kissed you like you were air.

“you’re shaking,” her voice dropped as her thumb traced the waistband of your panties. “is this too much?”

your answer was a needy whimper as you tugged her hair harder, pulling her closer to your lips. “not enough. want more.”

“fuck—” she groaned, her restraint shattering, her hands greedy as they grabbed at you.

she pinned you down to the mattress. the rest of her control fraying the second her hand slipped under your underwear, her fingers finding the slick and heat she dreamed of every night she spent without you.

the sound that you let out was broken, high-pitched—causing you to close your eyes in embarrassment. then, she kissed you again, swallowing your whimpers—her free hand braced at your hip to keep you steady while the other moved slowly, like she was memorizing you again.

you were desperate—tears spilling down your cheeks before you even realized, your body overwhelmed by the flood of sensations and the weight of years between you. “s-so good, abby,” your voice broke as your hips moved against her hand. “miss you—miss you so much.”

abby pressed her lips to your temples—kissing off the tears away, one by one, whispering against your skin. “i missed my sweet girl too—fuck, you’re so pretty like this. so fucking pretty crying.”

you moved your head, trying to kiss her again. “mphm, thank you—ah, ah—feels so good,” you mumbled, muffled by abby coming closer, allowing you to press your lips against hers. 

her throat bobbed as she nodded—dipping a finger inside you slowly. “i know, baby, i know. let me take care of you,” she cooed against your mouth. “god, you even look pretty crying, angel.”

every sound you made, every twitch beneath her hands, only made abby fall deeper.

“abby—” you whispered, your nails dragging at her scalp. “fuck—i love you so much. i love you. want you back so badly. i miss you—”

the words tore out of you raw. it was something you’d held down for too long. and it made abby sigh.

her lips were warm against yours, the taste salty with your tears. “i love you too. i never stopped loving you. i’m sorry, baby—i’m so fucking sorry i ever let you go.”

abby pushed another finger inside, moving slowly and steadily—not wanting to take from you, just give. like she wanted to give you back everything she’d stolen when she left. like she needed to prove with every touch that she was here now.

her fingers slid deep, curling just right, the heel of her palm pressing against your clit, and it was too much. your hips grinded against her hand, trying to create more friction between you.

she lowered her head, kissing your neck and shoulders, causing you to throw your head back to give her more access. “a-abby—i love you, i love you, i love you.”

you closed your eyes, dragging one of your hands to her back, nails digging into her back through the thin cotton of her tank top. abby stayed deep inside you, fingers pumping carefully so you could feel her thick fingers slowly working into you, as her thumb traced circles against your sensitive clit. even with her motions being slow, the sounds of it were obscenely wet as her fingers slid in and out of you. 

she let her face fall into your shoulder, whispering into your hair. “missed you so much ever since i left—thought you never wanted me back. i thought i’d never get this again,” she bit your fragile skin where your shoulder met your neck, her tongue soothing over the skin. “i went to bed dreaming of you still being here with me. getting a pretty apartment together…” her breath hitched as she felt you clench around her fingers. “getting married. making you my pretty wife.”

“don’t—don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” you whimpered, your body chasing her touch as the hand in her hair loosened.  “wanna be your wife so badly…”

“i mean it—” she said, her tone steady. “i would work so hard for you to have everything—anything you wanted. i love you so much. and i wanna give you all that again if you allow me. if you let me i’ll make it right.”

“yes, abby, please,” you whined as abby’s fingers trusted deeper, inching you closer and closer to your orgasm. “abigail—please, wanna cum. i love you—mhm—”

abby knew your body, she never forgot how you clenched around her fingers when you were so close to cumming for her. she forced herself to mentally apologize for even thinking about how badly she wished she would’ve had her strap on hand when you called her—but she missed this, she missed you more than this.

“wanna cum, angel?” she asked, her jaw angling to kiss your cheek—even though she knew full well she wasn’t going to make you beg for anything this time. "say please."

if this were a different time, she would’ve definitely made you beg for it. would’ve made you whine and plead until you were a desperate mess for it. would’ve kept you on the very edge of cumming for hours. or made you cum so many times you would’ve been exhausted by the end. but this time, she was fully aware she would give you everything without expecting anything back.

“yes, please,” you whined. “need it—i’m so close, abs.”

abby nodded, her fingers were precise now, repeating the same pumping and curling motion she knew would make you cum in mere seconds—since she wanted this just as badly as you. “let go, angel. please, baby.”

and you did. you didn’t know if it was the combination of her voice, her touch, or knowing that this wasn’t a dream—but it all felt like you had reached heaven’s gate.

she kept her fingers moving even after you came, relishing the sensation of your trembling body underneath hers. “good job—good fucking girl. such a sweet girl.”

“too—too much,” you tried pushing away as the sensation on her thumb on your sensitive clit became overwhelming. “mhm—abby!”

finally, she slowed her hand, fingers still inside you, but now resting here. abby’s head came up to look at you, kissing the tears off your face. “shh… breathe, baby. i’ve got you. i’m here.”

the weight of her words pressed into your chest even heavier than her touch. it wasn’t just her body against yours—it was all the years of regret, the dreams you’d both had in silence, spilling out between kisses and whispers. 

abby touched you like there had never been any space between—like the map of your body was still etched into her hands, as if she had studied you every night in her dreams until she would be able to find every spot blindfolded. 

the way her fingers worked you open, the rhythm she kept, the way her lips pressed against your temple when you cried—it was muscle memory, devotion, and hunger all braided into one.

abby didn’t let go. she wrapped both arms around you, pulling you close, holding you so tight you could feel her heart hammering against your chest. her hand slipped free, only so she could gather you fully into her lap, her body curved protectively around yours.

you clawed weakly at her shoulders until she followed you down, until she was half on top of you. you buried your face into her neck, sobbing, words spilling out between shudders, “i want you back—miss you so much—i love you, abby.” 

abby’s lips trembled against your hairline. she cupped the back of your head, grounding you, and when she spoke her voice was rough but steady, like she’d been holding these words inside for years, “i love you,” her breath shook as she kissed the crown of your head. “if you allow me to try again, i’ll do this right, okay? no excuses this time. no running. i’ll stay, i’ll fight for this. for you.”

you clung tighter, tears soaking her tank top, the fabric rough against your cheek. abby rocked you slowly, one of her hands splayed wide on your back, pressing you to her chest. “i love you. i’m sorry. i’ll make it right.”

the years of distance didn’t vanish, the ache didn’t disappear. but at that moment, with her arms locked around you and her lips brushing your temple, it felt like the beginning of something you both had been starving for. 

[inwithrin]

the ending to i’ll make you forget about him was so sweet!

i luv some cute aftercare ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) thank youu <3

[inwithrin]

when does week 2 of kinktober come out? I loveeeeeee your writing :D

soon!!! i am sorry ive been very busy :( thank youuu <3

[inwithrin]

Hi! I’m new on your page and oh my I love your work ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎… I was just wondering if you could add into one of your kinktober posts some face slapping? Maybe a little spanking as well…? It would be sooo hot if Abby would do that ꒰ྀི⁄ ⁄>⁄ ⁄ <⁄ ⁄꒱ྀི

hi, lovee !! :3 i am happyy you enjoy it <3 i will see if i can sneak it in... hehehehe

[inwithrin]

I’ll make you forget him was so amazing!! The yearning and then when they got together was so beautifully written and 🔥🔥🔥 thank you for sharing it

hehehe, thank you (*^_^*) i'm happy you liked it!! 🩷

[inwithrin]

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ i’ll make you forget about him | abby anderson

abby’s tired of watching you waste your time on a boy who doesn’t deserve you. she’s bigger, stronger, and better—she’ll prove it. jealousy turns into something reckless, something filthy that leaves you gasping against her while she mutters, “he’ll never fuck you like this.”

cw: size kink, dom!abby, jealous!abby, abby proving she's better than your boyfriend, fingering (reader!receiving), choking, reader talks about cheating, but doesn't actually cheat, reader's boyfriend is shitty. there's aftercare ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ part of inwithrin's 2025 kinktober.

abby could sum up your boyfriend in three words: piece of shit.

she’d known you for years—long enough to remember the way you used to laugh without covering your mouth, and how your eyes used to glow. but ever since you started dating him, all of that faded. 

abby noticed it all. he didn’t bring you flowers. didn’t hold open doors. didn’t even bother to drive you home after a date, leaving you alone to take taxis at midnight. when you chose to prioritize college over him, suddenly you were a “bad girlfriend.” meanwhile, he followed thousands of girls on social media, hid his phone whenever you were around, and refused to post a single picture of you.

the worst part? he wouldn’t even step foot in your apartment. “don’t want anyone to see me there, and that girl is always around,” that's what he said.

“that girl”—was abby, who he refused to name. abby, your best friend. abby, who paid half the rent, who shared her space and her life with you.

abby saw the way you made excuses for him. saw how you cried when you thought no one heard. and it made her blood boil. so she did what he never did. she picked you up after a night at his place because she couldn’t stomach the thought of you in some stranger’s taxi. she made sure you ate, made sure you had someone to talk to, and let you sleep in her bed when you couldn’t sleep.

abby knew you deserved better. everyone knew. you knew. jealousy ate her alive every time she heard you sigh through another excuse. 

but what killed her most was that she knew she could give everything to you. she could treat you like you were the only girl in the world. make you feel safe, wanted—worshiped. she could put her size, her strength, her everything into showing you what it was like to be loved.

abby made herself a silent promise: if she got the opportunity, she’d make you forget about him. every touch, every kiss, every single time she pressed you down into the mattress—she’d remind you exactly who you belong to.

friday night, the apartment was a mess of clothes scattered across your bed. you kept pulling dresses out of your closet, holding them up against your body, frowning at your reflection in the mirror. 

everything felt wrong—not because of you, but because of him.

“he’ll think this is too much.”

“too short.”

“too tight.”

“he’ll say this is too plain.”

abby sat cross-legged on your bed, watching you with her jaw clenched. she hated the way you dressed for his temper instead of yourself—hated that you cared what he thought at all. 

finally, you settled on a light blue dress, the fabric falling to your knees, paired with those sweet black doll shoes and lace socks. you looked delicate and beautiful.

“you look so pretty,” she said.

“thank you,” you smiled softly, but it seemed sad. like you couldn't let yourself fully enjoy the compliment, not when you knew your boyfriend wouldn’t approve.

abby drove you there in her truck—her pride. the leather seats smelled faintly of pine as you climbed in, adjusting your dress nervously.

when she parked outside the house, she turned to you, one big hand braced on the steering wheel. “i want you to have a good time, okay?”

“i’ll try,” you gave her a small, sad smile—like you already knew you wouldn’t.

abby got out first, circling the truck to open your door for you. you let her help you down, her hand steady around yours. 

inside, the house was loud and packed, bodies pressed together. music drumming against your ears. the air reeked of cheap beer and vodka. everyone was already drunk, voices raised in laughter, gossip, and shouts. she stayed close at first, hovering protectively as you scanned the crowd for your boyfriend. when you spotted him, she couldn’t stand the sight of his face, so she muttered something about finding manny, and slipped away toward the kitchen. 

you reached him with a hopeful smile on your lips—nevertheless, he rolled his eyes. “what the fuck are you wearing?” he muttered, looking up and down at you like you’d embarrassed him. “what were you thinking wearing a slutty dress in front of everyone?”

“huh?” your jaw fell open, wide-eyed. “but… it’s long?” you protested, weakly smoothing the fabric down. he scoffed, shaking his head, and took a swig of his drink without another word.

across the room, abby saw the whole thing. she didn’t need to hear it; she could read it on your face. her grip tightened on her beer, jaw flexing as her eyes stayed locked on you. manny was talking at her side, but she couldn’t hear a thing. all she could think about was walking over, grabbing him by the shirt, and breaking his nose right there in front of everyone.

because she’d never seen anything uglier than him trying to make you feel small.

abby had stood like a sentinel at the edge of the party, scanning faces, watching doorways, more tuned to you than anything else. she’d told herself it was because she wanted you to have a good time—but the truth was uglier: she couldn’t stomach the idea of you being alone with him. 

at some point, she saw you walk away from him with a folded-in look. something in her went cold when she couldn’t find you anymore. abby asked around, but nobody knew where you’d disappeared to. finally, someone shrugged and pointed upstairs—“saw her go to the bathroom. she looked like she was crying,” they said.

the world narrowed.

abby walked upstairs until she was in the quieter hallway, the muffled music left behind. she could hear the muted tap of a faucet before she knocked once. nothing. twice. harder this time.

“angel?” she called, tender under the anger. “you in there?”

the door cracked open enough for you to peep out. mascara trailing down your cheeks, lips swollen from crying. when your eyes landed on her, everything that had been held together snapped.

your body was exhausted, as you wrapped your arms around her. “i saw him,” you hiccupped into her chest. “saw him flirting with some random girl. when i told him off—abigail, he laughed, and said, ‘so? she’s hotter than you.’ then, he said we were over because i was being a dramatic bitch.”

abby’s first reaction was physical—animal and immediate. “i’m going to beat the shit out of him,” she spat—her hands going to your back. "i swear."

“no,” you clung to her, palms now flat against her chest. “no—no, don’t,” you begged. “don’t waste your time. stay with me.”

her mouth softened at that, but the anger didn’t leave her body—it simply shifted into something more lethal: protection. she steadied herself, breathed in slowly, and closed the bathroom door behind her, blocking the outside noise.

then, she looked at you properly. abby shrugged off her jacket—the expensive one she pretended she didn’t care about—and slipped it around your shoulders, the fabric swallowing you in pure warmth. she grabbed a tissue from the bathroom's cabinets, and with efficient fingers, she wiped away the mascara from your cheeks and under your eyes.

“look at me,” she ordered.

you blinked up at her. “yes?”

“how are you? do you feel better now?” she asked, her voice pleading with the wish of you being okay.

“lighter,” you took a shaky breath, leaning into the warmth of her palm. 

for the first time since you’d walked into the party, you felt air in your lungs that wasn’t bitter with humiliation. 

“i know it sounds stupid, but… i feel lighter. like a stupid weight i was carrying finally fell… he’s such an idiot,” you said.

“good,” abby smiled softly. “you should feel lighter.”

you let go of abby, smiling at her. “wanna go home.”

abby grabbed your hand, her large callused palms cradling your desperate hand. “let’s get you home then.”

on the walk back through the house, her face was set—not violent, not loud—but unforgiving. she walked you to the truck, buckled you in carefully. as she drove, you tucked your face into her jacket you were wearing—occasionally glancing at abby at red lights when she looked to check in on you.

“don’t worry,” she said once, voice reverent. “i’m not letting him near you again.”

you didn’t have to ask what she meant.

back at the apartment, you slept in abby’s bed, pressed to her ribs. she let you—tucked you under her arm, staying up until she was sure you were sleeping peacefully. when you woke in the morning, you noticed that for the first time in weeks, you slept through the night. abby was still sprawled next to you on top of the covers, one arm draped across your waist lazily, her breath steady and warm against the back of your neck. 

you felt safe. lighter, like you told her last night. 

then the buzzing started. it was faint at first—your phone rattling on the nightstand. then again. again. again. and again. and it wasn’t going to stop. you stirred, groaning, while abby shifted with a grumble, reaching to grab it. her eyes cracked open to see the screen light up to his name. 

“jesus christ,” she muttered, voice rough from sleep. “he’s blowing your shit up.”

before you could grab your phone from her hands, there was a new sound: pounding on the front door. both of you froze. your heart climbed straight into your throat. 

“what the fuck…” abby was already sitting up, hair messy, shoulders tense, walking toward the door.

he never came here. that was his golden rule—not at your place, not where abby is. it was part of his shitty arsenal of excuses. which is why the sound of his fist against your door at 9:00 a.m. made your blood run cold.

you pushed yourself up, tugged abby’s jacket that you were still wearing closer around you. “i’ll see what he wants,” you whispered, feet bare against the floor.

abby looked back at you as you were reaching toward the front door. “sure?”

“yeah,” you nodded and walked in front of her.

you cracked it open just an inch. his face was red, clothes a mess, his phone still clutched in one hand. “why did you leave yesterday?” he snapped. “you just disappeared. made me look like a fucking idiot. everyone thought you left with some random fuck instead of me.”

you blinked, mind cloudy in the haze of sleep. your tongue felt clumsy, your brain unable to catch up to the venom spilling from his mouth. 

abby came to stand right at your shoulder, her presence grounding. “why did she leave?” her voice cut in, and she wasn’t even raising it. “because you were too busy trying to fuck someone else instead of being with her.”

his head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. “why do you care so much?” he sneered. “do you want her or something? want to fuck her yourself?” 

the words landed in the air between you three like a lit match.

abby’s jaw flexed. she leaned into the doorframe, not threatening in the obvious way—but you could feel the power rolling off her, and the restraint it took not to knock him down right there.

she tilted her head. “yeah, and what about it?” she said, lips curling. “i do. and i can promise you—i’ll treat her better than you ever fucking did.”

your stomach flipped, heat rushing to your cheeks, and for a second, you forgot he was even there. 

he reeled back, licking his lips—attempting to walk closer. “you—what the fuck—”

“get the fuck off our doorstep,” she warned.

his face twisted, rolling his eyes. “she’s not even worth it—fucking bitch—” his fist twitched upward, like he was stupid enough to think about raising it.

instantly, abby moved with no hesitation. she stepped fully in front of you, shoulders squared. she was bigger than him in every way possible. “don’t you fucking try it.”

you didn’t feel scared. not for a second. because standing behind abby, your cheek brushing her back, all you could think about was how massive she was compared to him—how she didn’t even need to throw a punch to dwarf him, how she didn’t even need to stand fully straight to make him look weaker. 

the sharpness of her words was barely caught by you. but you were sure that whatever she said hit its mark—his face paled, he sneered, and then he turned, muttering curses as he stomped down the hall.

abby turned, and you walked back inside. she shut the door with one firm hand, locked it, and then looked at you. “sorry,” she muttered, eyes darting away. “sorry for saying what i said out there. i shouldn’t have—”

“abby,” you cut in softly. “it’s okay. really. no worries,” you smiled, before brushing past her. “i’m a bit stressed—i need a hot shower. when i’m done, we can talk, yeah?”

her throat bobbed as she nodded, watching you disappear into your room. she leaned back against the door the second you were gone, dragging a hand over her face. 

fuck. her pulse was hammering. not from the almost-fight, but from the fact that she might have made you uncomfortable. 

she showered too, fast and restless, the water doing nothing to wash away the nerves. her mind replayed the look on your face, the softness in your voice when you told her it was okay. she tried to calm herself as she tugged on a plain white tank and a pair of sweats, but she felt unsteady.

a knock broke her thoughts. 

shakily, abby opened her door and nearly lost her breath. you stood there, damp hair dripping onto your shoulders, drowning in one of her shirts—gray, worn, hanging off your frame, not even allowing her to see what you paired it with.

“look—” her mouth parted, an apology rushing up her throat. “i shouldn’t have—”

without a word, you interrupted her, stepping close, both hands sliding to her right arm—squeezing her bicep gently. under your palms, the heat of your hands grounded her. then you smiled. that bright, soft smile she hadn’t seen in so long. the one he’d dimmed. the one she’d missed so badly.

she froze, stunned. her chest went tight, her whole body pulled taut under your smile—the one she thought she might never see again. it simply broke her wide open.

“god, i missed your smile,” she whispered, shaky and rushed. 

you tilted your head, like you knew the way it wrecked her. like you wanted to. “abby,” you murmured. “you don’t have to apologize. not for caring. not your saying what you said. i know you mean well.”

her throat bobbed, and she swore she’d melt under your touch. abby didn’t even realize when you steered her gently, guiding her backward until the back of her knees brushed her mattress—having no choice, she sat down, breath stuttering when you stepped into her space, close enough that she could smell the faint scent of your shampoo.

you stood there, right between her knees, looking down at her with that smile she’d kill to protect. abby’s big hands hovered for a beat, uncertain, before finding the back of your thighs, spreading warm and heavy over you.

“fuck,” abby dropped her head forward, groaning as she pressed her face against your stomach. “i missed that smile so much.”

one of your hands came up, your fingers brushing through her damp hair. “yeah?” the corner of your lips tugged up, easing down until you were sitting on one of her thighs.

immediately, her head tipped back. a sharp inhale caught her lungs, her hands sliding to the top of your thighs. 

“then make me smile, abs,” you leaned close enough to tease.

that made her groan. undone by nothing but the sight of you perched on her and your cooing words. 

“i don’t…” she swallowed hard, jaw clenching. her eyes were earnest as she searched your face. “i don’t want you to regret this. or—fuck—do this just because of what i said. i’ve wanted you for so long, but i want to make it right, and i’m willing to wait. i want it to mean something.”

the idea of taking you too fast, too messy, was destroying her. no matter how badly she wanted you, she wanted to make it right.

nevertheless, your hands came up to cup her jaw, pulling her gaze to yours. “abby,” you breathed, voice low and desperate. “i want this too. please.”

something in her unraveled at your plea. she didn’t even notice her own body moving until your lips were against her.

the first kiss was careful—so carefully sweet—and abby was holding herself back. her mouth moved against yours reverently, one of her hands moving up to trace the curve of your jaw, the other sliding up your thigh to feel the warmth of your skin.

however, the second you sighed into her mouth, the second she felt how small you were straddling her thigh, her restraint cracked down the middle. abby groaned against your mouth, and the kiss shifted—turning greedier. her hand grabbed your hip, dragging you closer as if she couldn’t stand a single inch of space. 

“fuck—” she said against your mouth—kissing you messier now, her tongue brushing against yours. abby broke only for a second, chest heaving. “do you even know how long i’ve wanted this? how many times i’ve dreamed about you—”

you cut her off with a kiss. now, her hunger was palpable, spilling over. every drag of her lips made you realize how starved she was, and you were the only thing that could sate her. as an involuntary reaction, you whined against her mouth—she tilted her head, swallowing every sound you gave her like it was hers to keep.

abby had promised herself she’d be good—gentle, slow, and patient—but the reality of you, warm, soft, and so much smaller in her arms, obliterated every line she swore she’d never cross. and still, beneath that greed, there was a tenderness in the way her hands touched you.

carefully, abby laid you back against her bedsheets, her hands braced at your sides. her mouth kept finding yours, greedy and desperate—and every time you sighed into her, she had to pull back slightly to see you, to make sure this was finally real.

“you’re so fucking pretty,” she whispered as her hands slid lower, to the hem of the shirt you wore, and her restraint wavered.

she tugged it up with careful slowness, her knuckles grazing your skin. when the fabric cleared past your thighs and chest, and she threw it to the floor, she saw what you were hiding underneath. 

a lacy, delicate matching lingerie set. something that was meant to be seen.

abby swore under her breath, head dropping to your throat, kissing, biting softly. “that’s why you wanted to shower, huh? mhm…” her teeth grazed your pulse point, her tongue soothing the mark after. “you planned this, right?”

your back arched under her, a loud whine spilling out before you could stop it, your fingers fisting in her tank top.

“nah,” she pulled back to look down at you, her eyes sharp and demanding. one hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing insistently until you looked at her. “answers, angel.”

“yeah…” your lips parted. “i… i planned it. i saw you this morning—standing in front of him, and you were so much bigger, abby, fuck… you were—you’re on my mind a lot…”

your confession tore the last threads of restraint out of her. her hands roamed lower, palms spreading wide against your thighs, pushing them apart like they belonged open for her.

her voice dropped. “tell me the truth. did he ever fuck you right?”

immediately, you shook your head, your cheeks growing red. abby tilted her head, hand sliding higher, her grip possessive—thumb brushing dangerously close to where you needed her. 

“did you have to pretend with him?” she asked.

“y-yes,” you whimpered.

“angel…” she leaned down, kissing you hard, almost punishing—as if she could erase every fake moan you’d ever given him, every second you’d wasted on someone who didn’t deserve you. her kiss broke for her to rasp against your lips. “you don’t ever have to pretend with me.”

you could feel the war inside abby—how badly she wanted to take her time, and how much hungrier and desperate she actually was.

“abigail, please—” you pleaded, brows furrowing. “stop holding back.”

whatever fragile leash she’d had on herself—it was gone. her mouth was everywhere at once—down your neck, sucking and biting at the soft skin of your collarbone, her teeth grazing the swell of your chest to hear the pitch of your breath change. her hands couldn’t stay still—spreading your thighs wider, gripping the flesh like she wanted to leave her fingerprints there.

when her palm pressed against you, over the panties you’d put on just for her, she groaned. the lace was soaked through, damp against her fingers.

“fuck,” she rasped, her hand rocking against you until you gasped. “he didn’t make you whine like this, right?”

you tried to grind against her hand, and abby grinned—hooking a finger under the lace and dragging it down as you kicked your panties off, baring yourself to her. when her fingers slid through your slick, she smiled.

“look at you,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

she had been starving for this sight.

her thumb circled just right, one finger dipping lower, pressing in slow to see how tight you clenched. “look at how wet you’re for me, baby.”

you couldn’t utter a single sentence. your voice broke into moans as your hips chased her hand, her fingers reaching deeper and better than your now ex-boyfriend’s ever did.

abby licked her lips, her fingers pumping slowly. “tell me, angel. did he ever get you like this? i don’t even have to try to be better, huh? i’m doing nothing and you’re still a fucking mess.”

“he never—” you whimpered. 

“of course he didn’t,” her jealousy flared, hot and merciless. her pace quickened, the heel of her palm grinding against you just right as she pushed another finger in.

lost in the bliss, you reached for her other wrist, dragging her hand up. abby followed your lead, confusion flashing for a second until you pressed her palm to your throat. her pupils blew wide, and she had to bite her lip to hold back a moan—even if she wasn’t the one being touched.

“so pretty,” she pressed down, slightly, just to feel your pulse hammering under her hand. “so small under me, baby.”

you moaned, eyes fluttering. “you’re so fucking big, abby… your fingers… fuck.”

her mouth crashed against yours again, her body pressing you deeper into the mattress—every ounce of her size, strength, and hunger caging you in. 

“mine,” abby whispered against your lips, her hand squeezing lightly at your throat while the other worked you ruthlessly. “all fucking mine.”

it seemed like abby already knew the rhythm you needed—like she’d studied it in her head for years—by how she had you unraveling faster than you could even process. it was embarrassing how quickly you were about to cum.

every thrust was sharp, every drag of her palm against your clit was cruel in its precision, and the sounds she dragged out of you were utterly obscene. 

your head tipped back, mouth hanging slightly open. “abby—oh god—fuck—” you gasped, thighs trembling as the tension built too fast.

she leaned down, smiling at the sight of you. “he never had you like this. never made you feel good like this, yeah?” her jaw clenched as you tightened around her. “say it, angel. say he couldn’t give you this.”

you couldn’t respond—you were gone, brain mushy under the flood of heat curling inside you. and then she pushed—curling her fingers just right where you needed, her thumb pressing in merciless little circles until you broke with a high-pitched whine, pleasure spilling over in a hard, messy wave.

abby didn’t stop. she held you through it until she felt your body go pliant and weak—then, she acted, flipping you onto your stomach like it was nothing.

you were pressed against the sheets, gasping, your arms trying to push yourself up, but abby’s hand was at your back, her body caging yours down.

“stay down,” she ordered, pressing your ass to her hips with rough hands—one of them sliding under to keep working you relentlessly. “you think he could fuck you like this? hold you down like this? make you moan like this?”

her jealousy cracked through every word.

you whimpered, fists tightening in the sheets as another moan was ripped out of you. “abby…”

abby’s lips brushed against your ears, her chest heavy against your back. “answer me.”

“he—he won’t get this anymore… just you, abigail…” your breath came ragged, a few warm tears slipping onto the pillow from pure bliss. “just you.”

abby’s groan was guttural, primal. she pressed her palm harder against you, pinning you tighter into the mattress with her body.

she needed you to feel her strength. her jealousy. her claiming you.

“that’s right, baby,” she cooed, kissing your spine, then to the side of your neck, her teeth dragging hard enough to make you whimper. “just me. only me.”

and she didn’t let you up—not even when your body shook, not when your voice broke. abby made sure you felt every ounce of her hunger, every bit of what he never gave you and never would again. she had you trembling, your body shuddering with every drag of her fingers.

your face was buried in the sheets, muffling your cries, but abby wasn’t having that—not when she wanted all of you. she groaned, gripping you by the waist and dragging you upright, holding your body against her chest with an ease that made your stomach flip.

you were small in her arms, weak from pleasure. one of her hands wrapped around your ribs, pressing you back into her body, while her other hand—her fingers were still buried deep inside you. 

her head dripped down, lips brushing your ear, tone laced with condescension. “there you go,” she murmured, forcing your head back with her own, so you had to look at her. your lashes were wet, cheeks flushed a deep pink, your lips parted in a dazed smile. “such pretty eyes. such a pretty smile. but not a single thought in that head, right?”

“abby—” you whispered, closing your eyes as her thumb circled your puffy clit.

“such a sweet girl,” she pressed a kiss to your temple. “you just needed me to make it right. to make you feel so good. yeah?”

you nodded frantically, grinding helplessly against her hand. your shame was so long gone that the words ended up spilling out between gasps. “wanted you, abs… wanted you for a long time—but i couldn’t—i couldn’t cheat—” your breath hitched, back arching as her fingers curled inside you. “fuck, i thought about you when i was with him—i thought about you when he was—”

guilt burned through, making you stop mumbling. but abby wasn’t letting you off the hook. her hand at your ribs moved up to grab at your tits enough to make your eyes snap open at the new sensation, to make you clench around her fingers. 

“no shame now,” abby ordered, tone sharp. “you don’t get to stop there, angel. tell me what you thought about, or i stop. right now.”

your eyes went wide, panic and need crashing through you. your hips bucked against her hand, desperate to keep the rhythm, desperate not to lose it, but she stilled her fingers.

“don’t be mean—a-abby, please—” you pleaded. 

“now i’m mean? i can be so much meaner if you don’t speak,” she clicked her tongue, her hand flattening against your tits, making you keep still. “say it. tell me.”

you couldn’t resist, couldn’t take her holding back. “i thought about… about you when he was fucking me—he didn’t make me feel anything, i just thought how much better you’d fuck me. i thought about your hands—fuck, about your arms around me, about you holding me down, about how strong you are—i’m pathetic.”

her head dipped, teeth sinking into your shoulder as she slammed her fingers deeper, her pace picking up again. “that’s it,” she smiled, your head tipping back. “that’s my good girl. thinking about me even when you were with him. thinking about me fucking you. you were always mine, angel.”

abby wanted to fuck the last of him out of your memory. until there was nothing left but her.

she didn’t let up. not when your voice cracked, not when your legs trembled, not even when your nails dug half-moons into her forearm. she was gone—consumed by jealousy, and by years of wanting you.

her fingers pumped into you so mercilessly, you didn’t register her free hand moving to pin you tighter—palm firm on your throat, harshly forcing your head back so she could watch your eyes rolling back.

“say it,” abby’s breath was hot against your ear. “say it was always me.”

the sound of you soaking her fingers was obscene in the otherwise quiet room.

“always me,” she repeated. “say it or i don’t let you cum.”

humiliation and need burned hot inside you—you wanted to bury your face in her neck, but her grip was so strong you couldn’t do anything but moan.

“it was—abby—it was always you,” you cried, words spilling out messily. “always wanted you, wanted you so bad—oh god—i always thought about you, about you fucking me—fuck, i was so stupid for being with him.”

“my sweet girl. mine. all mine,” she groaned.

she ruined you. her fingers were so expertly moving you could barely think straight—it didn’t take long before you came, as the combination of abby allowing you to grind against her rough palm and her fingers deep inside you became too much.

you collapsed against her arms. it was messy—slick dripping down your legs and her hand. however, abby held you through it, not letting go, making you ride the wave until you were limp in her hold.

immediately, abby’s grip softened, her hand slipping from your throat to cradle your jaw, pressing soft kisses to your damp cheeks, your temple, your shoulder where her teeth had marked you.

“hey, hey,” she murmured, her voice suddenly gentle, almost guilty as she pulled out. “easy, angel. i’ve got you. breath in—and out—that’s it.”

you whimpered weakly, your head lolling against her chest, turning slightly in her grip. abby looked at the state of you—sweat, tears, your messy thighs, your bitten skin—and huffed a soft laugh, pressing her lips to your hair. 

“i think you’re gonna need another shower. sorry about that, baby,” she whispered.

“abby,” you let out a broken little laugh. “i can’t even stand right now.”

“i never told you you had to do it,” abby smiled. “that’s fine—i’ll carry you. i’ll do everything. you don’t need to move a muscle.”

and you believed her, because abby always cared for you. even when you didn’t ask her to. abby carried you into her bathroom like you weighed nothing. you were pliant against her body—your cheek pressed to her throat as you were still dazed.

gently, she set you down at the edge of the bathtub—reaching to turn the water on, her big hand testing the temperature, the sound of rushing water filled the room.

“let me,” she said, abby’s palm brushing your knee.

she unhooked your bra off, her fingers skimming your skin in a way that felt reverent—her gaze lingered, but she was focused on her task. abby guided you into the steaming bath once the water was high enough—the heat wrapped around you, coaxing a sigh from your lips.

abby didn’t climb in—she rolled her sleeves, her eyes fixated on you with an intensity that wasn’t lust anymore, it was pure devotion. she dipped her hands into the water, scooping some to wet your hair, then reached for the shampoo. the way her fingers worked through was slow, careful, meditative, and you leaned into her touch without thinking, closing your eyes as she massaged your scalp.

“i want you to know something,” she said softly. “i don’t want only that from you. i don’t want your body, or for you to think i’m a jealous, crazy mess. i want to love you. i want to worship every part of you. i want to do better for you. i want to treat you right, okay?”

your eyes snapped open, and she froze for a moment, afraid she’d said too much. but then you smiled brightly. “abby,” you giggled, soapy water dripping down your temple as you leaned your head back into her hands. “you don’t have to worry. i know you. i want this too.”

the words lit her up in a way you’d never seen. her face softened, her shoulders relaxed, and her thumbs brushed tenderly against your temples. she rinsed the shampoo from your hair carefully, pouring water down in even streams so it never stung your eyes. her fingers were patient, gentle, combing through every strand until the suds were gone.

“i’m sorry,” she murmured after a while, her voice hushed. “for the jealousy. i shouldn’t—it was not my place to say stuff like that—”

“shh,” you interrupted, tilting your head so she could look at you. “it was hot, abby. and it was true—he was a piece of shit and i wanted you just as badly. you don’t need to be sorry for that.”

her lips parted, as if to argue, but she saw the ease in your expression, the playful tilt of your mouth, and she let herself believe you.

she helped you out of the tub when the water cooled, wrapping a towel around your shoulders and patting you dry herself. you didn’t fight her for control—she wanted to take care of you, and you let her.

in the bedroom, she eased you into the softest, comfiest clothes she found—her own oversized tee and loose boxers. then she sat you down on the edge of the bed, squeezing lotion into her palms and warming it before she smoothed it over your skin. her touch stayed slow, working the almond lotion into your arms, your legs, your shoulders, finishing with a kiss pressed to each place she’d touched.

last came your hair. she sat behind you, carefully brushing out the damp strands, her large hands steadying your head when you swayed with exhaustion. the rhythm of the brush through your hair, the faint sound of her breathing, the ghost of her lips pressing against the crown of your head—it all felt like heaven.

“you’re so beautiful,” abby whispered, almost to herself, as she set the brush aside and wrapped her arms around you from behind. “thank you for letting me do this.”

"thank you," you smiled, leaning back into her chest. “always, abby.”