Bitter Murmur | Abby Anderson x Male Reader

Chapter 19

He could feel the tension in her thighs, the way she was fighting the urge to close her legs. But she didn't. Instead, she stood there, trembling, as he slid the shirt aside and pressed his mouth to her.

The whispers in his head grew softer, a gentle hum of approval as he tasted her. She was sweet and salty, a heady mix that seemed to fuel his desire even as the pain in his own body grew more intense. His tongue slid over her folds, exploring the soft, slick warmth of her.

Her hand tightened in his hair, pulling his head closer as she struggled to hold back her moans. The sound was like music to his ears, a symphony of need that seemed to pulse in time with the whispers that now sang of power and dominance. He knew that he had her, that she was his now, in this moment.

The whispers grew quieter, a gentle murmur that seemed to guide him as he licked and kissed her, his teeth grazing her clit in a way that made her hips buck. Her breath grew ragged, her body trembling with the force of her passion. And as he felt her begin to come apart, he knew that he had won a small victory.

Her grip in his hair tightened, pulling his head closer as she held back her moans. He could see the effort it took for her to maintain control, the way her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth clenched. But she didn't push him away, didn't try to regain the power she had so easily wielded moments before. Instead, she let him take it from her, let him show her what it was to submit.

The whispers grew softer, a gentle lullaby that seemed to cradle him in a warm embrace as he continued to pleasure her. His tongue danced over her clit, teasing and tormenting until she couldn't take it anymore. Her legs trembled, her body a live wire of need that arched and quivered as she climaxed. He felt the warmth of her release against his face, the sweet taste of victory on his lips.

Abby's grip in his hair loosened, her breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, she stood there, her body trembling as she rode the waves of pleasure. Then she stepped back, her eyes cold and assessing. "Is that what you wanted?" she panted, her voice thick with anger and frustration.

Y/N looked up at her, his face a mask of calm determination. "No," he murmured, standing slowly, his own pain momentarily forgotten. "What I want is for you to see me as an equal."

Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step back, wary of the newfound confidence in his voice. "You're a whisperer," she said, her voice tight with anger. "You're nothing but a means to an end."

Y/N's eyes flashed with defiance, the whispers in his head a gentle reminder of the power he had just claimed. "I am more than that," he said, his voice firm. "And if you want to keep using me, you'll treat me like the partner I am or else I'll be gone."

Abby's face was a mask of rage, but he could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes. "You think you can just leave?" she spat, her hand moving to the knife at her side.

Y/N didn't flinch, the whispers in his head a steady chant of strength and resolve. "I can, and I will," he said, his voice low and even. "But I don't want to. I want to help you, but I won't be your servant, or your plaything."

Her hand hovered over the knife, the muscles in her arm tense. For a moment, the air was thick with the promise of violence, the whispers in Y/N's head a warning that grew louder with every beat of his heart. But then she let out a harsh laugh, the sound grating against the walls of the hut. "Fine," she said, her voice tight. "You can have your little power trip. But remember, I'm in charge."

Y/N stood tall, the whispers in his head a fiery reminder of his newfound strength. "We'll see about that," he murmured, pulling on his clothes with a sense of purpose. The fabric felt rough against his skin, a stark contrast to the tender moments they had shared.

Abby's eyes followed his every move, the anger in her gaze a stark contrast to the passion that had just clouded them. "You're making a mistake," she warned, her hand still hovering over the knife.

Y/N met her stare without flinching, the whispers in his head a fierce symphony of determination. "Maybe," he admitted, pulling his shirt over his head. "But it's one I'm willing to make."

The silence that followed was taut with tension, the whispers a low murmur of anticipation. It was clear that their relationship had reached a tipping point, and the balance of power had shifted in ways neither of them had expected.

Y/N took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the whispers in his head swell with a mix of anger and determination. "We should get some rest," he suggested, his voice a calm that belied the tumult of emotions within him. "We've got a long day ahead."

Abby's gaze didn't waver, the challenge in her eyes unmistakable. But she said nothing, her hand slowly sliding away from the knife. Y/N felt a small spark of triumph, the whispers in his head a gentle murmur of approval. He turned away, the fabric of his pants feeling like armor against the chill in the air.

He slid into the bed, his body aching from both the passion and the pain. The whispers grew quieter, a gentle hum that seemed to soothe his bruised ego. He could feel the warmth of the bed, a strong contrast to the coldness that had settled in his chest.

Abby didn't move, her eyes on the knife still in her hand. "You think you're so clever," she murmured, her voice a soft whisper that seemed to carry the weight of the world. "But you don't know the first thing about power."

Y/N's gaze never left hers, his eyes a mix of anger and sadness. "I know enough," he said, his voice firm. "Now, let's get some rest. We both need it."

With a huff of annoyance, Abby tossed the shirt at him, the fabric landing on the bed with a soft thud. She turned away, sliding into the side opposite of his. The whispers in Y/N's head grew quiet, a solemn acknowledgment of the battle that had just taken place. He knew that their alliance was fragile, a house of cards that could topple at the slightest provocation. But he also knew that he had made a stand, had claimed a piece of himself that he had been willing to let go.

He laid there, his eyes on the ceiling as the whispers grew quieter, a gentle reminder of the power that he had always had within him. He felt a strange sense of peace, a calmness that washed over him like a cool breeze on a hot day. He knew that he had taken a risk, that his actions could have cost him everything. But as he listened to the soft sound of Abby's breathing, he knew that he had made the right choice.

Suddenly, the urge to touch her, to feel her warmth, to reassure himself that she was real and that they were together, grew too strong to ignore. Y/N slowly reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it made contact with her bare shoulder. He felt her tense at the sudden touch, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she turned to look at him, her eyes searching his for any hint of what was to come.

He didn't know what to say, so he did the only thing that felt natural. He pulled her into an embrace, his arms wrapping around her waist, her breasts pressing against his chest. For a moment, she was stiff as a board, the knife still clutched in her hand. But then, as if the tension in the room had suddenly been released, she relaxed, melting into his arms. Her hand slid from the knife to his shoulder, her fingers digging into his flesh in a gentle caress that seemed to speak volumes.