okayrudemuch

[okayrudemuch]

All the things I didn't want will be continued, I'm just havin a quarter life crisis BUT I'll sit my ass down tonight!! The idea for the next chapter already exists, I just need to type it out 💋💋💋💋💋

[okayrudemuch]

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛t 💋

Roomates (Quarterback) Abby x Fem!Reader (who is an early 2000's y2k baddie)

Chapter 1 - I really hate you

Chapter 2 - Whatever I do, it's always wrong

Chapter 3 - You can shove it

Chapter 4 - That girl just drives me insane

Chapter 5 - Better leave the beret here

Chapter 6 - She´s pretty

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter 6 - She's pretty

contains: roommates; modern AU!; maybe some grammar mistakes, english is not my first language; a pub ;); lots of ireland vibes; slowburn; i listened to the night pat murphy died on repeat, while writing this; alcohol consume!

word count: 4,4k

You understand absolutely nothing. Truly, nothing at all. To your left, a group of students are chanting “Defense! Defense!” in something that vaguely resembles a chorus, and to your right, half a pack of popcorn flies through the air from sheer excitement.

Almost everyone on your side of the stands is dressed in blue and white or has their face painted in those same colors, while you, in your black platform knee-high boots, look like you’ve completely missed the dress code memo. You’re also, apparently, the only one still sitting.

Dina, for example, is standing on the metal bleachers next to you, like many others, whistling wildly and full of enthusiasm, like she’s at a rock concert, not a home game of her university’s football team. She’s proudly wearing a Silver Lake Falcons jersey that says “Williams” on the back, naturally, and underneath, the number 13.

Before the game started, Dina explained to you that Ellie is the so-called “wild receiver.” Which, as far as you can tell, basically means she’s the one catching passes from Abby, the quarterback. And ideally, she then scores a touchdown. So, a point. Or something like that.

Dina was also the one who talked you into taking a break from your creeping to-do list for the gala and suggested tagging along to the game. You were only mildly enthusiastic, especially considering the fact that, on top of university stress, you really need to make progress on the decorations if you want to meet the inhuman deadline Abby threw at you a few days ago.

“But the theme of our gala is literally For Future Female Athletes,” Dina had argued. “You can’t seriously co-organize a gala for women in sports with our women’s football team if you’ve never even been to one of their games!”

And now you’ve been sitting here for over an hour on this cold metal bench, desperately trying to follow what’s happening on the field. It’s late afternoon, and the sky is overcast. A light drizzle has settled over Silver Lake, but it doesn’t seem to bother the fans or the players much.

“Second quarter! Third down! If they make this one, it’s a tie, oh my god!” Dina yells, whether at you or just into the crowd, you’re not sure. You don’t understand any of it anyway. Still, you nod at her words, pull your jacket tighter around yourself, and try to follow the game through the sea of students standing in front of you.

You spot Abby immediately. Even with the helmet and those funny, bulky pads the players wear under their jerseys, you’d recognize your roommate’s body language among all 22 players. And maybe also because her jersey says “Anderson, 17” across the back.

Abby shouts some kind of code you can’t make out, and then everything happens so fast you can’t keep up. The reddish-brown ball, the “egg,” as you’ve learned, is tossed to her. Abby catches it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, dodges a defender from the Ridge Valley Tigers immediately.

You used to think all football players looked like Abby, tall and muscular. But there are lots of smaller, leaner girls on the field, and Abby’s build actually stands out a bit. What a body looks like has nothing to do with what it can do, you realize, watching these players still running this fast and hard over an hour into the game. Impressive.

The game picks up speed again. Abby has the egg, dodges a defender, and then you see her. Ellie. Moving so fast she almost looks like a blur, already sprinting. You don’t understand how she always knows when the ball is coming, but somehow, she just does. Abby throws it, fast, precise, like she’s been practicing it in her sleep, and the ball arcs perfectly through the cold evening air.

For a moment, it feels like the entire stadium holds its breath. And then Ellie catches it. Mid-sprint, without slowing down for a second, she reaches up, grabs the egg securely, and barrels through. Two Tigers players try to stop her, but she’s too fast. Too quick, too in her element, it sends a shiver down your spine, even if you barely understand what’s going on.

And then she’s in the end zone. The crowd around you erupts. Dina screams so loud you think your eardrums might burst. “Touchdown, baby! That’s my girlfriend!”

You can’t help but get swept up in the general excitement and clap your hands. Whatever Abby and Ellie just pulled off, it looked pretty damn impressive.

“Last play! Thirty seconds on the clock!” the announcer yells through the loudspeakers, and the game picks up again immediately. Dina flails her arms around so much you have to duck to avoid getting smacked in the face.

“Oh my god, they’re really going for it,” Dina pants, and you’re starting to worry about her blood pressure. “A freaking flea flicker?! Silver Lake, what are you doing?”

You have no idea what a flea flicker is, but the ball’s with Abby, so you clap like you’ve learned to do. Only this time, something’s different. Abby doesn’t throw right away. Instead, she hands the ball off. To Ellie? No, Ellie fakes it. Pretends to run. And suddenly, the ball’s back with Abby.

You are completely lost, and so is the Tigers’ defense, it seems. A couple of players turn too early, one stumbles, and then you see it: Abby’s running.

And how she runs. Not like someone just killing the clock. She’s going for it. Dodging one opponent, tucking the ball tight to her chest, sending two Tigers sprawling into empty space.

You hear Dina yelling something, but you’re too focused on the blonde figure charging toward the end zone. You’re on your feet now, completely locked in.

Ten yards. Five. Her braid flutters beneath her helmet. Abby dives, right through a last desperate block, and hits the ground, the egg still firmly in her grasp.

Touchdown. For a second, there’s nothing. And then the stadium explodes.

“TOUCHDOOWN! ABBY ANDERSON! THE GAME IS OVER!” the announcer bellows through the loudspeakers, but you barely hear him. Dina hugs you so tight you wheeze, students are jumping, pom-poms flying, and above all the chaos stands Abby, out of breath, hair full of grass, and grinning.

The marching band kicks into some repetitive tune, and the cheering doesn’t let up. The Falcons pull off their helmets and throw themselves into one another’s arms, but not before respectfully shaking hands with the Ridge Valley Tigers. The Falcons have won. Their second victory of the season.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Dina’s bouncing up and down, pulling off her blue-and-white scarf and looping it around your neck. “This has to be celebrated,” she yells.

You try to subtly shrug the scarf back off, it really doesn’t go with your outfit, but Dina already has you by the hand and is pulling you toward the exit. It takes a while to push through the mass of students pouring from the stands all at once.

You glance over your shoulder for a last look at the field. The players are still patting each other on the back before briefly piling on top of their coach, then disappearing into the locker room to the last notes of the university anthem.

Once you make it off the bleachers, Dina pulls out her phone. “I’ll text Ellie that we’re waiting for her and Abby outside the locker room,” she announces, fingers flying across the screen.

You head toward the building where the players are getting changed and showered. The large crowd flows in the opposite direction, away from the field and toward the main building, where the university’s own pubs and cafes are.

Dina pockets her phone and links arms with you as you stroll toward the locker room. The drizzle has picked up again, and the sky is still cloud-covered and growing darker. Once you’ve made your way past the length of the field, you reach the entrance of the locker room building.

You take shelter under a narrow bike rack to keep out of the rain and silently pray you don’t catch a cold, that’s the last thing you need while organizing this gala. You try to bury your red nose into the frankly hideous scarf and shuffle your feet to stay warm. “You are coming to the pub, right?” Dina suddenly asks, and you blink at her in surprise.

You had heard the team was heading to the university pub after the game, hoping to celebrate a win, but you didn’t think you were expected to join. You figured you’d congratulate Ellie, give Abby a half-hearted side-eye, and then bounce.

“Um, I’m not so sure,” you mumble, shoving your cold hands deep into your coat pockets. The scarf is still draped over your shoulders. “I don’t think I’d really fit in with all the football girls and stuff.”

Mentally, you’re already curled up under your blanket back home, relishing Abby’s absence and bingeing some Netflix show, but Dina has other plans.

“Oh come on, it’s gonna be fun!” she says, throwing an arm around you. “It’s your first football game and our team won. That has to be celebrated!” “They also have really good beer!” she adds.

You make a face. It’s not that you hate beer. But if you had the choice, you’d pick a cold piña colada over any kind of lager in the world. “I don’t know anyone there,” you try again. “You know me,” Dina grins. “And you know Abby.” You roll your eyes at the mention of your roommate.

“And… ELLIE!” Dina suddenly screams, tearing herself away from you and running to greet her girlfriend, who’s just now exiting the locker room, Abby in tow.

You get the feeling you won’t be able to congratulate Ellie any time soon, since Dina is already all over her, kissing her enthusiastically. Ellie just laughs deeply in response.

Which leaves you, rather reluctantly, focusing on Abby. Her hair is down and still damp, whether from the rain or the shower, you can’t say. She’s swapped her jersey for her usual casual clothes, though her outfit is even more laid-back than what she usually wears around campus.

Loose linen pants that still strain slightly over her thick thighs, worn-out Converse, and a black hoodie that’s definitely seen better days. Over it all, she’s wearing a black, oversized leather jacket that gives off the vibe she might hop onto a Harley any second and ride off dramatically into the rain.

Her sports bag is slung casually over one broad shoulder and she briefly smirks at the couple next to her before taking a few steps toward you. She stops just in front of you, judging by the size of the shelter, she couldn’t really have gone any farther anyway, but even so, your breath catches in your throat.

“Hi,” she grins, as if you were old friends. You are completely caught off guard. Abby tilts her head slightly, causing a damp strand of hair to fall into her face.

“G-Good game,” you finally manage to press out, and you’re proud of yourself. On-topic, even. And because you’ve never had a good sense of your own confidence, and because Abby’s presence is completely overwhelming, you keep talking.

“That was a crazy… flick-flack at the end,” you add, praising her, and now Abby looks confused. Like she has no idea what you’re talking about. But suddenly, she starts to laugh, and the sound crawls up your spine and settles in your stomach.

“You mean the flea-flicker,” she laughs. Abby must still be riding her winner’s high if her mood’s this good and she’s willingly talking to you, and you wish for nothing more than a hole to open beneath your feet.

“Whatever,” you mumble and bury your face in your scarf so she can’t see your undoubtedly flushed cheeks. But before Abby can say anything else, Dina suddenly appears behind her and jumps on her back. Since Abby is half wall, half human, she’s completely unfazed, and to distract yourself, you congratulate Ellie on the win.

“To the bar!” Dina grins from Abby’s back, raising a fist in the air. And just like that, your fate for the evening is sealed.

On the way, a few other players catch up with you, all of them in extremely good spirits, not surprising given their luck this season. It doesn’t take long to reach the pub, only a few minutes’ walk from the field. You’ve only been to Silver Lake Pub once before during your student life, some time in your first semester on a bar crawl.

Dina pushes open the wooden door hidden in an old stone wall, and then you all have to descend a ridiculously narrow spiral staircase made of stone before finally entering through a second wooden door. As soon as your best friend opens it, the pub’s noise hits you full force.

The place is packed. At nearly every wooden table sit students or older folks, drinking Guinness, playing cards, and laughing. At the bar, beer is being poured non-stop and bottle caps are being popped off. Premium liqueurs, whiskeys, and other spirits line the shelves above the bar and on high racks above the tables. Irish music plays in the background, and in one corner of the room, a few guys are throwing darts.

The atmosphere is lively, and your group squeezes through the crowd in search of your reserved tables. There are about fifteen of you, and the waiter was kind enough to reserve a corner where several large tables are pushed close together, almost like a banquet table. Dina pulls you cheerfully behind her and pushes you into a corner seat on the short side of the table next to a player you don’t know. She introduces herself kindly as Josephine, while Dina squeezes in on your other side.

Ellie plops down on the long side of the table right next to Dina, and Abby takes the seat next to her. So she’s almost sitting directly across from you. Great. You study the pictures on the stone walls intently, of Ireland or Scotland or whatever, just as a waitress shows up at your table.

“What’ll it be?” she asks. Abby turns to the group. “How many Guinness? And do you want a pitcher?” You glance questioningly at Dina.

“Don’t worry,” she grins. “I’ll order you a Despo.” You give her a grateful look, and once all the orders are in, the waitress disappears to relay them to the bar.

Josephine pulls a deck of cards out of her bag and grins. “Anyone up for a round of Crazy Eights?” The people sitting on your side of the table cheer in agreement, and by the time Josephine has dealt the cards, the drinks have already arrived.

Since it looks like tonight will be a continuous stream of you having no clue what’s going on, you team up with Dina. She’s also playing for the first time, but at least that way you’re not embarrassing yourself alone.

Ellie and Abby seem to be familiar with the game; they hold their cards confidently, and you get the feeling the football team visits this pub often. The game begins, beers are drained, and Abby and Ellie turn it into a challenge to drink perfectly down to the logo on the glass.

You’re incredibly thankful for your Desperados, especially after trying Abby’s Guinness and grimacing in disgust, prompting laughter from the whole table.

The alcohol starts to hit, the cards practically fly onto the table, and even though you still don’t fully understand the game, you begin to enjoy it.

You can’t help glancing at Abby again and again. The beer hasn’t left her unaffected either, her cheeks are slightly flushed, and she seems much more relaxed than usual. She’s laughing constantly and just seems… completely in her element. Her hair falls long over her shoulders, and her posture is casual.

She laughs when Ellie absolutely crushes another player and hides her face in her hands when she loses badly to you and Dina, which, honestly, is more luck than skill.

At some point during a game, she takes off her sweater, the heat in the pub is no joke, and you nearly choke on your Desperados when you see the gray tank top underneath. Her broad arms now rest against the table, and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol in your system expanding your senses, but you catch yourself staring.

Holy hell, was she always that muscular? Is this some kind of post-win glow? You don’t know, and before you start drooling, you force yourself to focus back on the Crazy Eights game, which is nearing its end.

“I need a break,” Ellie slurs, leaning back in her chair. “I need some fresh air,” Dina laughs and gets up unsteadily, prompting her girlfriend to immediately stand and support her, even though she can barely stand herself.

A few others follow them out, either for fresh air or to smoke, or both. And so, only a handful of people remain at the table, including you and Abby, who suddenly looks at you and then at your empty bottle.

“Need another beer?” she asks, and you are definitely too drunk to fully grasp how odd that is, because in no sober universe would your roommate Abby Anderson give a single damn whether you had a drink or not.

“Yeah,” you slur. “Why not.” She nods and gets up, heading toward the bar. You can’t help but stare at her back before burying your face in your hands.

You don’t even want to know what your makeup looks like right now, but you couldn’t care less. “Get it together,” you whisper to yourself. “Stop staring at Abby, what’s wrong with you?”

You take a few deep breaths, blame all your chaotic thoughts on the alcohol, and even manage to smile at Abby when she comes back, with a Desperados in her hand, just for you. You thank her. “How much do I owe you?” you ask, but Abby just shakes her head before sitting down.

Only not in her previous seat. Not even the one next to it. No, right next to you.

She casually drapes her arm along the back of the bench behind you, and her upper body bumps into yours. You’re frozen, staring at her open-mouthed as she raises her glass toward you. Eventually, you realize she wants to toast, so you raise your bottle. But just before the glasses clink, Abby pulls hers back slightly.

“You´re supposed to look the other person in the eye,” she commands, and because you’re completely overwhelmed by her closeness, you meet her blue eyes.

“Good girl,” she purrs, and clinks glasses.

You think you might die, right here, right now.

At her words, a heat blooms in your stomach that you’ve never felt because of Abby before.

She takes a relaxed sip of her Guinness, and you chalk everything up to her buzz. And to yours. This isn’t really happening. And where the hell is Dina?

You quickly avert your gaze, and luckily, your attention is drawn away the next moment anyway, because everyone who had gone outside for fresh air is now returning.

Among them are more players and people from university, so you scoot over on the bench, which Abby does immediately as well. Unfortunately, that doesn’t increase the distance between you. If anything, it makes it worse.

Now that even more people need a seat, it feels like your roommate is pressed even closer against you. You try to adjust to the situation, when suddenly, your name is called.

“Oh my God, you’re here?” yells none other than Lindsey, while Jess waves at you excitedly behind her.

You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but for a second, you think you hear Abby sigh in annoyance next to you. “Wanna come over?” Lindsey asks, pointing to the table directly across from yours. “We got a second table.”

Since your own table is already overcrowded and you seriously need to gather your thoughts, which is absolutely impossible with Abby sitting so close to you, her expensive perfume in your nose and her biceps on full display, you grab your beer and climb over your roommate and the others before hopping off the bench and falling into the arms of your two newly found friends. You don’t notice Abby’s disappointed look.

You sit down with Jess and Lindsey at the table, where only a few other players are sitting with friends. “Did you go to the game too?” you ask the girls, who shake their heads. “We just heard the Falcons won and didn’t want to miss out on a spectacular pub night,” Lindsey grins and opens the menu.

You order another beer, and the conversation with Jess and Lindsey flows naturally. You laugh a lot and play a round of “Never Have I Ever” with the rest of the table. Every now and then, you glance over at Abby, who’s still perfectly in your line of sight thanks to her new seat, but you never catch her looking back. Something stirs inside you, a strange kind of dissatisfaction. Almost like you're disappointed that she’s not looking at you. Which makes absolutely no sense. Abby can keep her judgmental, annoying stares to herself, you think.

Time passes, and you excuse yourself for a moment to find the restroom. Your vision is already a little blurry around the edges and your steps are no longer the most stable, but you manage to make it to the women’s bathroom without issue. You wash your hands and look at yourself in the mirror. With a paper towel, you wipe away all the makeup that’s gathered under your eyes, then end up holding intense eye contact with yourself as you sway slightly in place. A very drunk phenomenon, as you laugh to yourself.

After fixing your hair, you turn toward the door to open it, but just as you step out of the bathroom, you collide with someone. Two strong arms catch you by the upper arms, and a very familiar scent hits your nose.

Abby. Of course.

“I didn’t even see you,” you laugh. Sober-you definitely wouldn’t find anything funny about this. But your roommate seems just as wasted, so you really don’t care.

“No problem,” she replies, and the sound of her deep, warm voice makes your pulse speed up. You can’t help but stare at her face. Abby leans one arm against the doorframe, as if the bathroom entrance is the perfect place to start a long conversation.

You can’t stop your eyes from drifting to her upper arm, which looks especially defined in her current posture.

“Having fun?” she finally asks, and you’re forced to look her in the eyes so you don’t come off like a total creep. You nod. “You?” you ask back.

“Yeah,” Abby answers. Then there’s a pause, like she’s carefully considering her next words. You can almost see them sitting on the tip of her tongue, but she’s still holding back. The alcohol in her system seems to make the decision for her, because there’s no other way to explain her next confession.

“It was more fun when you were still at our table.”

You’re speechless. In no world did you expect Abby to even notice your presence at her table, let alone measure her own enjoyment by whether or not you were there. You swallow. “Lindsey and Jess are here,” you explain the obvious. “And our table was so full…”

“Lindsey, huh?” Abby asks, crossing her arms over her chest. You silently thank the gods, because now you don’t have to keep sneaking glances at her biceps, though even with her arms crossed, they’re still… yeah.

“Yeah,” you whisper. Abby takes a small step toward you. The fact that you’re both still standing in the bathroom doorway doesn’t seem to bother her. Her eyes travel over your face, then her tongue wets her lips, and you can’t help but watch.

“She’s pretty,” Abby whispers, and even though you don’t understand why you’re both suddenly whispering when the pub behind you is booming with noise, it somehow fits the moment. “Yeah,” you say again, partly because she’s right and partly because you have no idea what else to say.

Abby keeps looking at you, the dim lighting of the pub somehow softening her usually tense features, making her look younger. But maybe that’s just the alcohol playing tricks on you, how else can you explain her stepping even closer? And why aren’t you stepping away? She’s close enough now that you can smell her damn perfume again, and when she exhales, you feel her breath on your cheek.

Suddenly, your entire universe feels impossibly small and the pub impossibly far away. Your whole focus is on Abby’s glossy eyes, her blue irises and pupils dilated from the alcohol. You notice the freckles on her skin, her sharp nose, her lips, slightly parted under your gaze. You’re drunk, way too drunk. Drunk enough not to want to back away, in fact, the opposite. Something inside you is pulling you toward her. Something so strong you can’t resist.

You exhale and take a tiny step closer. Abby drops her arms to her sides, her hands twitching as if she’s holding herself back from touching you, or doing something even more absurd.

She’s still looking down at you and you up at her, and never in your life has a height difference felt this goddamn attractive. Only a few centimeters separate you, and if it weren’t for how present her body feels in front of you, and the way you can feel her breath on your skin, you might think you were dreaming.

Abby’s hand twitches again at her side, but before she can give in to whatever is going through her mind, voices echo down the hallway, and suddenly, you’re very aware of your situation. You’re still in the pub, in the bathroom entrance, and your roommate Abby Anderson, who you supposedly can’t stand, is standing so close it’s like she… like she wants to...

You don’t finish the thought.

Carefully, you take a step back, finally breaking the tension. Two girls appear behind Abby, looking at her curiously. “Are you in line?” one asks, snapping Abby back to reality.

“Uhm…” she stammers. “Yeah,” she finally says and quickly slips past you into the bathroom. “And you?” the other girl asks you now, and you look at her like she’s from another planet. “No,” you mumble eventually. “I’ve already been.”

And with that, you slip out of the room, because the last thing you want is to be drunk and trapped in a tight space with Abby again.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

a/n: I was drunk while writing this ahahah so maybe I have to take a second look over it tomorrow. I also stepped in a bee two days ago. No fun lemme tell you that. I hope you like this chapter and yes I went a lil overboard with my usual word count but take it as an apology cs it took me some time to post this <3

taglist: @vangoes @modernvenuss @oatmatchalatte @starlockheart @mila-a-fanfiqueira

[okayrudemuch]

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛t 💋

Roomates (Quarterback) Abby x Fem!Reader (who is an early 2000's y2k baddie)

Chapter 1 - I really hate you

Chapter 2 - Whatever I do, it's always wrong

Chapter 3 - You can shove it

Chapter 4 - That girl just drives me insane

Chapter 5 - Better leave the beret here

Chapter 6 - She´s pretty

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter 5 - Better leave the beret here

contains: roommates; modern AU!; maybe some grammar mistakes, english is not my first language; slowburn?? (that wasn't planned but hey why not); a gala??; finally some tension and close moments??

word count: 3k

“Why does every single one of your suggestions look like a full-on wedding arrangement?” Abby crosses her arms in front of her chest, eyeing the iPad you just placed on her table in the student council room with a skeptical look.

“Excuse me for having taste, Anderson,” you snap back, snatching the tablet back toward you with an annoyed huff.

“Expensive taste,” she fires, tapping her pen sharply against the sheet of paper in front of her, the one that shows the breakdown of your very limited budget. “Where exactly do you think this velvet table runner is coming from? The royal budget?”

“It’s literally from IKEA,” you groan, rolling your eyes.

“That doesn’t make it free,” Abby bites back.

This had been going on for about a week now. You’d sat down, put together some ideas for the upcoming gala, and curated a handful of Pinterest mood boards. Ranging from glamorous to minimalist to completely over the top, you’d tried to cover every direction, and yet, Miss Budget Supervisor Abigail Anderson found fault with every single concept. Either it didn’t fit the gala’s theme, felt too childish, or, just like now, the table setup was just way too expensive.

At this point, you're genuinely starting to feel like she’s rejecting everything simply because you’re the one suggesting it.

“It really shouldn’t be this hard to find decor that fits the gala and doesn’t break the bank,” she keeps ranting, and you swear you could strangle her.

“Well, with you, it’s actually impossible,” you bite, hugging your iPad to your chest in a sulky motion.

“I just don’t see the point in spending fifteen dollars per table runner when, first of all, we need at least ten of them, and second, there are cheaper ones out there for half the price,” Abby groans now, dropping into her chair like every conversation with you physically drains her.

“Yeah, and those are ugly as hell,” you add under your breath.

"At this point, I’m starting to think you want the gala to look terrible," you mutter, your tone sharp.

"Oh, please," Abby shoots back. "That’s so not true."

"Okay, then just approve one of my ideas so I can actually start working." You tap your foot against the floor in frustration. You're wearing your favorite deep red retro ballerina flats, and it feels like a personal insult that they have to suffer through your frayed nerves, all thanks to Abby Anderson.

"Oh my god, you two," Dina interjects with an exasperated sigh. "The table runners are really not worth fighting over."

She leans over and grabs the sheet from under Abby’s pen, studying the numbers for a moment. "We’re honestly on a tight budget this year, so buying new runners isn’t going to work," she explains, and Abby gives you a look, that see-I-told-you-so kind of look, and for a split second, you’re tempted to stick your tongue out at her. But that feels a little too childish, even for you.

"But," Dina continues, "if I remember right, we used some similar table decor a few semesters ago, kind of like what you just showed me." She reaches out her hand for your iPad, which you reluctantly unlock and hand over.

"Yeah, this looks familiar," she murmurs, scrolling through your Pinterest board. "Actually, I meant to tell you, we should check what decorations we still have in storage before buying anything new."

She hands the iPad back to you. "Pretty sure there were some runners like these left over from the last gala."

"Do you happen to know where they’re stored?" Abby asks.

Dina rests a thoughtful hand against her chin. "I think they’re in the big supply room next to the gym."

"I have no idea what room that is," you mumble. “I could show you,” Dina offers, but then suddenly pauses.

“Actually…” she trails off, and for a split second, a sly little smile flickers over her lips.

“Never mind. I just remembered I need to, uh, check in with the… catering team,” she stammers and starts gathering her things.

“Now?” you ask, confused, Dina hadn’t exactly looked busy for the past fifteen minutes.

“Yep, super urgent,” she babbles. “But Abby can show you the room.”

She flashes a grin at your blonde roommate, who looks at her as if Dina had just suggested jumping off a rooftop into a pool full of orcas.

“The one we got the projector from last week for the first orga meeting,” she adds.

“Ah,” Abby says, her voice flat but still as if a small lightbulb just went off in her head. Must be a rare experience for her, you think darkly.

“Here’s the key.” Dina presses a huge keyring with at least 15 keys into Abbys hand.

“Just try them all until you find the right one. Kisses! See you later!” she chirps, and then she’s already vanished off to another corner of the room, joining the catering team, who, judging by their surprised and puzzled expressions, definitely weren’t expecting her.

You silently curse Dina for leaving you alone with Abby, but what choice do you have? With a sigh, you follow your roommate out of the room and into the hallway, where she heads straight in the direction of the gym.

You make a conscious effort not to start a conversation, the chances of it spiraling into yet another argument feel a little too high.

Instead, you let your eyes settle on her broad shoulders, which stretch the light blue button-up she’s wearing with every step she takes. The sleeves rolled up to her ellbows, of course. Her style is pretty clean, at least when she’s not headed to football practice or the gym. She always kind of looks like she’s either about to win a court case or sell a multimillion-dollar mansion to some ridiculously rich family.

Her long legs, toned thighs wrapped in a pair of black linen pants, carry her forward with ease, while her feet are tucked into slightly worn black Converse, less stylish, a little scuffed. That expensive perfume of hers, something that always reminds you of a pine forest, a little woody but still unmistakably feminine, trails behind her, curling into your senses and making itself at home.

Your genuine interest in clothing and fashion in general prompts you to analyze her outfit, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. You do this with everyone. Well… almost everyone. Okay, you have no idea what Dina is wearing today, but come on. You can’t pay attention to everyone.

So why are you paying attention to Abby’s outfit? asks a small voice somewhere in your head, and you mentally slap it.

The walk to this stupid storage room is definitely way too long.

When Abby suddenly stops in front of you, it takes all your reflexes and strength not to crash straight into her broad back. You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t even noticed you'd already reached the part of the building that houses the gymnasium.

You’re standing in a small, dimly lit side corridor that you've never really paid attention to, not that you spend much time in the university gym anyway. You prefer your Pilates and yoga classes at the downtown fitness studio. Abby unclips Dina’s giant keyring from the carabiner hooked to her pants and starts sorting through the keys, trying them one by one. This is going to take a while.

“You already tried that one,” you comment after a while, peering over Abby’s shoulder to watch her work. The blonde girl pauses, straightens up, and turns to you with a forced smile as she holds out the massive keyring. “Here you go, Miss Know-It-All. Be my guest.”

With a huff, you snatch the keys from her large hand and switch places, while Abby leans one hand against the wall behind you.

Bent over, you start trying one key after the other. Jesus, Dina, how many things do you need access to? Your back is already starting to ache when Abby finally speaks up again.

“Not so fun now, is it?” she purrs.

You ignore her, slotting the next key into the lock and, voilà, it fits.

Smirking triumphantly, you push the door open and make an inviting gesture. “Ladies first,” you purr, fluttering your mascara-coated lashes at Abby. She just shakes her head and pushes off the wall to step into the room before you. You follow her, and immediately regret it the moment you step inside fully.

Before you stretches what is, as expected, a storage room, though it’s much larger than you anticipated, and way dirtier. “Ew, this is disgusting,” you complain, recoiling from a spiderweb that seemingly appears out of nowhere in front of your face. Abby ignores your whining and starts scanning the room for anything that might hint at the last gala or decorations in general.

Although this room is a bit gross, storage closets like this have their own charm. There’s all kinds of interesting stuff lying around that you can mess with, wonderfully distracting you from the actual task. You wander over to a shelf where some musical instruments are stored. Halfheartedly, you play an improvised melody on a xylophone that is missing two wooden bars, while Abby starts rummaging through some boxes.

You move further into the room and find, among some dusty theater props, a rack of costumes that you browse through with interest. Looks like the group once performed a medieval play because when half a suit of armor falls from the rack, you let out a small startled squeak.

Abby shoots you a tense look as you pick up the pieces and toss them into a box beside you, you’re not bothering to hang them back up.

“Can you focus on why we’re here?” your roommate asks, still digging through her box.

“Can you relax a little?” you reply without much bite, tossing a beret at her back.

Abby stops what she’s doing and bends down to pick up the hat. But instead of tossing it back or putting it away, she walks over to you holding the beret and stops right in front of you.

She’s about a head taller than you, and because she’s so close, you have to tilt your head back a little to look into her blue eyes. Her woody perfume fills your senses again and suddenly you feel a little dizzy. A few light strands have come loose from Abby’s braid and frame her face in a way that almost seems deliberate.

She’s barely a step away, and you can almost make out each freckle on her nose and cheeks.

“I’m relaxed,” she whispers in her warm voice, then places the silly hat on your head.

You’re a little taken aback by her sudden closeness, but Abby makes no move to put more distance between you, so you just keep looking into her eyes. You think you see a hint of green in the sea of blue that are her eyes, and suddenly you wonder if you’ve ever seen eyes this beautiful before.

Startled by your own thoughts, you break eye contact and desperately look for something else to stare at intensely, when your gaze suddenly falls on a box higher up on one of the back shelves, labeled in black marker: “Winter Gala – Fabrics.”

A triumphant grin creeps onto your face as you push past Abby to reach the shelf where the box sits. Your body brushes against hers, and your nerve endings feel like they’ve caught fire for a moment. You skillfully ignore the sensation and move deeper into the storage room. Abby’s eyes follow your movement.

At the shelf, you stand on your tiptoes. Your fingers brush the corner of the box but slip off. You stretch even further and try again. Then you look around for something to step on, but nothing nearby seems sturdy enough to hold you for more than three seconds without collapsing.

So you try again the first way, reaching for the box.

“Want me to help?” Abby asks from behind you. “I’m fine,” you huff. “Almost got it.”

Abby sighs behind you. “You’re going to pull something.” “I said I almost got it” you repeat yourself. “Yeah, including a dislocated shoulder.” You shoot her a dark look over your shoulder. “I don’t need your help.” She raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, do your thing. Let me know if you change your mind.”

You try again, even more stubborn now. And finally, the box finally shifts, too much, and it starts to tip. Before you can celebrate, the whole thing falls toward you. You let out a startled noise and stumble back as it falls.

But it doesn’t hit the ground.

Suddenly, Abby is beside you, catching the box with one arm before it crashes down, while with the other hand she effortlessly pushes your upper arm aside to shield you. Your heart races, whether from the falling box or Abby’s sudden closeness, you’re not sure.

Her hand is still on your arm, and the space between you is minimal. You look into her eyes, shocked, then back down at the box she’s still balancing on her arm. One corner of the box presses painfully into her exposed forearm, which is already reddening around the spot.

Carefully, you remove her hand from your arm and take the box from her, setting it down on the floor. Then you turn your attention to her forearm, placing one hand gently beneath it and inspecting it carefully. With the fingertips of your other hand, you lightly trace the spot where the stupid box hit her, and where your skin touches hers, a shiver of goosebumps rises on Abby’s arm.

Oh, she must be hurting, you think, noticing her body’s reaction.

“It’s not that bad,” Abby presses out, as if reading your thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, meeting her eyes. She’s already looking at you, but she doesn’t seem angry or in severe pain. “I’ll get you something to ice it later,” you murmur anyway. Abby’s gaze flickers between your eyes and then quickly over your face before resting briefly on your lips.

And you could swear her expression shifts for a fraction of a second, somehow clearer and more determined. That’s how she looks when she talks about football or the gala. Whenever she has that look, she knows exactly what she wants.

But before you can even realize what’s happening, she breaks eye contact and gently pulls her arm from your hands. “It doesn’t hurt,” she tells you once more and bends down to pick up the box from where you just placed it.

You blink, confused, and take a step back before accepting the box Abby now holds out to you.

“It’s all yours,” she smirks. “Happy now?”

“Overjoyed,” you grunt, taking the box and ignoring how your fingers brush against hers in the movement. Abby grins at you with her typical cocky, absolutely annoying Abby-grin and walks past you toward the door, holding it open for you.

“You said ladies first,” she quotes you, and you strut past her with your head held high. As you pass, you feel something pull lightly from your head.

“Better leave the beret here,” Abby laughs, tossing the hat blindly into the storage room before closing the door and locking it.

Back in the student council room, you return to your table without exchanging another word with Abby and place the hefty box down on it, while she heads straight back to her seat, where Dina is now sitting again. You hope that her super-important and definitely made-up meeting with the catering team was a success.

Exhausted, you blow a strand of hair out of your face. Your whole body is still tingling from what just happened in the storage room between you and Abby, and without wanting to be overly dramatic, you can’t stop thinking about how her gaze lingered on you after the box hit her arm. The way her eyes drifted across your face, almost like the sight of you alone could ease her pain.

Pain she supposedly didn’t feel. You had offered again on the way back to get her an ice pack, but she refused once more. Fine then, you thought, but at the same time you quietly made a mental note to sneak glances at her arm over the next few days whenever you got the chance. That’s definitely going to bruise.

So caught up in your thoughts, you don’t even notice the sound of heels clicking until two people suddenly appear on either side of you.

“Oooh, what do you have there?” Jess asks excitedly, pointing at the unopened box still sitting on the table in front of you.

“Uhh, is it decoration stuff?” Lindsey chimes in eagerly, tugging on your arm. “Open it, I wanna see!”

You push your Abby-thoughts aside and laugh at Lindsey’s impatience. “I thought you guys were on the social media team, why are you so hyped about decorations?” you ask with a smirk, but start opening the box anyway.

Lindsey slings her arm over your shoulder and pulls a mock-pouting face. “You can have more than one interest, you know?” she grins.

The three of you dig into the box, pulling out different fabrics and draping them over each other. You end up sneezing after Jess waves a pink scarf right under your nose, and you burst out laughing when Lindsey turns a table runner into a makeshift cocktail dress and starts doing an improvised catwalk.

A few steps away, Abby watches the scene, discreetly. How Lindsey casually touches your arm, how you laugh when she strikes a pose in her fabric dress. Abby doesn’t even notice how she’s nearly crushing her pen between her clenched fingers.

“Everything okay?” Dina sighs, for the third time trying to ask Abby how much of the budget they should allocate for food, and following her gaze.

“Yeah, sorry,” the blonde mutters, refocusing on the numbers. “Let’s keep going.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

a/n: thank you guys so much for your lovely comments under my last chapter, it meant a lot to me 💋 I hope you enjoy this one and I'm already working on the next one and I am EXCITED!!!

taglist: @vangoes @modernvenuss @oatmatchalatte @starlockheart @mila-a-fanfiqueira

[okayrudemuch]

this is me reading trough the football 🏈 rules for the sixth chapter of All the things I didn't want 💋

[okayrudemuch]

girl I spent 5 minutes on X and the hate there was so insane, I had to turn my phone off after reporting about 20 comments, It makes me so sad how horrible people can be.

like it's 2025 and GROWN F*CKING ADULTS feel the need to literally bully a young human like that?? Get a life losers

I don't EVER wanna hear you say they don't know how to act again.

[okayrudemuch]

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛t 💋

Roomates (Quarterback) Abby x Fem!Reader (who is an early 2000's y2k baddie)

Chapter 1 - I really hate you

Chapter 2 - Whatever I do, it's always wrong

Chapter 3 - You can shove it

Chapter 4 - That girl just drives me insane

Chapter 5 - Better leave the beret here

Chapter 6 - She´s pretty

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter 4 - That girl just drives me insane

contains: roommates; modern AU!; maybe some grammar mistakes, english is not my first language; slowburn?? (that wasn't planned but hey why not); a gala??; abby being a bit mean

word count: 2,8k

Flashback: The Last Two Weeks

The fragile truce that had formed between you that night lasted about twelve hours. Maybe fourteen, if you’re feeling generous. The next morning, Abby accidentally stepped into one of your handbags on her way to the bathroom, a bag you'd pretty carelessly left lying around a few days earlier. She muttered something annoyed like, “This room’s more of a minefield than a dorm,” while trying to shake the bag off her foot.

“Hey!” you complained from your bed, still half-asleep. “That’s my new designer purse, could you maybe watch where you’re going?”

Propped up on your elbows, you shot daggers at her back with your eyes.

“Then don’t leave your crap lying around,” Abby shot back, before disappearing into the bathroom without another word.

You dropped back into the pillows, already annoyed.

So yeah, everything was back to how it was before. Except not really. It hurt more now.

Her annoyed looks, her snappy tone, the way she crossed her arms when she didn't agree with you, somehow, it all hit harder.

Maybe because you'd hoped something would be different after that night. Maybe because she'd said things that had actually touched something in you. You’d felt like, for a moment, she actually saw you, like, really saw you. Not the version you put on, not the act you play.

But now it was all back again. Her biting comments, your sharp replies, and both your egos clashing like clockwork. Only now, it was harder to pretend that you just straight-up couldn’t stand her.

Because Abby had shown you a side of herself that night, something real. Something honest. She’d said things that made her seem... almost vulnerable. Since that apology, she no longer fit so neatly into the little box you’d shoved her into, the one labeled insufferable, cold, emotionally stunted know-it-all.

Your little black-and-white war suddenly had shades of grey. And you had no idea what to do with them.

Every snarky comment, every passive-aggressive jab, suddenly carried this new kind of tension. It sat somewhere deep inside you, buzzing painfully under the surface.

For whatever reason, you couldn’t pretend you didn’t care anymore.

The two weeks following the party night were... rocky.

You and Abby spoke about as little as before, and when you did, it was mostly eye-rolls, arguments over the disaster that was your shared room, and the occasional sarcastic exchange. Nothing worth writing home about.

Somewhere between the unresolved tension with Abby and the usual uni chaos, there was also Dina.

Dina, who’d only been your best friend since the start of the semester, but who had already climbed alarmingly high on your priority list with that golden heart of hers. And she knew it.

A few days after the party, she started cornering you daily with her painfully effective combo of charm, humor, and pure persistence, trying to rope you into some student council project.

“I’m not even on your stupid council,” you’d argued.

“That’s completely irrelevant,” she’d laughed. “We need all the help we can get.”

“Ask Ellie,” you’d tried to weasel your way out.

“She already said yes. Didn’t even put up a fight like you,” Dina had snapped right back while you groaned in defeat.

You held out for about a week, saying no every time. But she didn’t let up.

“Extra credit, hon,” she finally promised. “And you need it.”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong. Your academic performance was... well, it existed. Barely. Your motto had always been bare minimum gets the job done, but you were starting to realize that motto wasn’t gonna get you anywhere career-wise. So yeah, at this point, you were willing to jump through a few hoops for half a GPA boost.

“Come on,” Dina whined one afternoon. “I literally saved your ass with that stats project. You owe me.”

You’d rolled your eyes and finally agreed, just to get her to shut up.

How much work could one student council project really be?

Oh. How wrong you were.

Flashback ends.

“What even is this?” you ask Dina, as she practically drags you down the hallway toward the student council room.

“You’ll see,” your bestie chirps, picking up the pace.

“Move it, or we’re gonna be late,” she huffs, and you’re already regretting every life decision that led you to this moment.

You’re trying your best to keep up, tip-tapping behind her in your burgundy kitten heels, until you finally reach the door.

Dina pulls it open and peeks inside.

“Perfect! We’re not even the last ones,” she grins, but your brain is too busy short-circuiting to appreciate the silver lining.

Because sitting at the head of the long-ass table set up inside, dead in your line of sight, is none other than your roommate.

Lucky for you, she hasn’t noticed you yet, her gaze is focused on the notebook in front of her. Perfect. You can still bolt.

You yank Dina back into the hallway.

“What the fuck is Anderson doing here?” you hiss, sneaking a quick glance at Abby, who’s scribbling something into that dumb notebook of hers. Her braid falls neatly over one shoulder, brushing against the collar of a navy sweater layered over a white button-up. Of course.

“Well, the gala’s being organized by the football team and the student council. I told you that,” Dina replies, not even phased.

“You absolutely did not tell me that,” you groan, running a manicured hand through your carefully styled hair.

“Well, now you know,” she says with a grin and bounces into the room to greet her fellow council members, and give Ellie a quick kiss.

“What gala, even?!” you call after her, but she’s already too busy.

You groan again. Loudly.

This is a nightmare. It was already more than enough having to survive Abby in your room. Or whenever Dina and Ellie forced you into doing stuff as a group, because of course, Abby had to be one of Ellie’s closest friends.

You were already maxed out on Abigail Anderson.

And now you’re supposed to organize a whole-ass gala with her?

Hard pass. No thank you. Absolutely not.

"Are you planning to take root out there or are you coming inside?" a warm voice tears you from your desperate thoughts, and you need no time to match it to its owner. Abby. She’s leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, eyeing you from head to toe with a less-than-enthusiastic look. Well, at least the feeling is mutual, you think bitterly.

Luckily, you're standing sideways to Abby, so you're just able to force a fake smile before smoothing down your pleated skirt and striding into the room with your head held high, ignoring her stupid comment. Your shoulder brushes against hers as you pass, but the contact throws you off more than it does her. Thanks to her annoying muscles, she remains standing like a wall.

You don't need to look at her to feel her amused smirk as she closes the door behind you. You hadn’t even noticed the room had filled up in the meantime, and after Abby heads toward the second-to-last free chair next to Dina, the same one she’d already been sitting in, you're left with no choice but to sit directly across from her next to two girls you've never seen before.

You smile at them more forced than genuine, still trying to grasp the absurdity of your situation, before crossing one leg over the other. Dina gets up from her chair and presses a button on a small black remote in her hand, and the projector behind her springs to life.

“Welcome to the planning of the annual fundraising gala. It’s great to see so many of you here,” Dina greets the group, there must be about fifteen people, including herself. “This year, we have the special honor of not organizing the gala alone, but with the generous support of our women’s football team, the Silver Lake Falcons.”

“Go Falcons!” a guy yells from somewhere up front on the right, and you can see Abby’s faint grin, which she tries to cover up by biting her lip. “There’s a reason why the gala isn’t just being organized by the student council this year, and that brings us directly to this year’s theme,” Dina continues, smiling, and clicks the remote again.

“Annual Fundraising Gala – For Future Female Athletes” appears on a new slide.

“This year, we want to advocate for more support for girls and women in sports, because what many people still overlook is how poorly women are supported in sports, especially in those dominated by men,” Abby explains from her seat, and Dina nods in agreement behind her.

“We’re going to donate the money to an organization that offers sports and self-defense classes exclusively for FLINTA* individuals and supports them in finding themselves through sports,” Abby continues, while Dina shows some images of the organization in the background. At least it’s a meaningful project, you think.

“We’re going to start by introducing the different planning areas for the gala, and you can already think about which one interests you and where you could imagine working,” Dina goes on, and that’s your cue to tune out. You're only here to get your extra credits, even though the gala’s theme genuinely speaks to you.

You lean back in your chair with your arms crossed, letting Dina’s words wash over you as you occasionally shift your gaze from the projector to study the people around you. You recognize a few of Dina’s student council colleagues and a handful of football players, but you can hardly name anyone.

Ellie catches your eye and winks at you, before turning her full attention back to Dina as if she was preaching some life-changing prophecy. You can’t help but smile briefly, those two are just too cute.

Unfortunately, next you meet Abby’s gaze, and it’s amazing how quickly that woman can plunge your mood to freezing point. Her ice-blue eyes are fixed on you, which, given your seating arrangement, isn’t surprising, but she doesn’t have to stare so offensively. A good way to make sure the last person in the room also knows you can���t stand each other.

You raise a perfectly arched eyebrow questioningly, earning only Abby’s typical eye roll in response. You shake your head and turn your attention back to the projector just as Dina ends her presentation.

“Alright,” she claps her hands. “We’ll take a ten-minute break now, and afterward you can come up to Abby and me and tell us what task you’d like to take on. If a task is too full, we’ll draw lots. Okay?”

Chairs scrape and excited chatter about the tasks fills the room. You take your time until everyone around you has gotten up and then slowly wander over to Ellie, sitting down on the now-empty chair next to her. “Hey,” you greet her. “Did Dina also chew your ear off to get you to help with this?” you ask, grinning.

“Oh, absolutely,” Ellie groans. “And Abby took the other one.” She glances at the two girls standing together over Dina’s laptop, discussing something probably related to the gala.

“I didn’t think this kind of gala thing was Abby’s thing,” you mumble. “With Dina, I get it.”

“Oh, Abby was all fired up when she heard it was about supporting FLINTA* and women’s sports,” Ellie says with a smirk. “Couldn’t stop her.”

“Ah,” is all you say in response, casting another look at your roommate. She’s laughing at something Dina just showed her on a list, and the warm sound fills the room. Her blue eyes sparkle and her cheeks have taken on a soft rosy hue over her freckles. She’s pushed the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows. She looks like she’s in her element. You’d figured she was the kind of person who lives for sports and nothing else, but apparently Ms. Anderson also has organizational and leadership skills. Of course she does.

You chat a bit more with Ellie about this and that, and then the break is over and you say goodbye to her to return to your seat. The two girls you had to sit next to at the start greet you again.

“Hi,” says the girl directly beside you. She has long, straight, dark red hair that reaches almost to her waist, a striking but still very attractive face, and brown eyes looking at you through her false lashes, which still manage to look natural. Her skin is lightly tanned as if she just came back from a summer vacation, large golden hoops dangle from her ears, and her outfit is not unlike yours: a dark blue mini skirt, knee-high boots, and a strapless crop top.

She holds out a perfectly manicured hand in greeting. You’re a bit surprised she’s speaking to you so suddenly, but you shake her hand in return. “I’m Lindsey and this is Jessica,” she continues, pointing with a decorated acrylic nail to the black-haired girl beside her, who waves at you.

“You can just call me Jess,” she smiles.

Jess is a little less styled than Lindsey but equally stunning. Long black braids fall over her shoulders, and her gaze makes you feel like she already knows more about you than you do yourself. Her outfit is simple: light baggy jeans and a soft pink tank top that beautifully complements her dark skin.

You introduce yourself. “You’re not one of the football players, are you?” Jess asks curiously, twirling a braid around her finger.

“God, no,” you say, waving dismissively. “They can roll around in the dirt without me.”

“Girl, for real,” Lindsey agrees. “We’re in the student council with Dina,” she explains. “We’re responsible for the uni’s social media presence, so we didn’t want to miss the gala.”

“Ah, I get that.” You nod in understanding. “And why are you here?” Lindsey asks curiously, but before you can answer, Abby’s voice snaps you back to reality once again.

This time, though, you’re not all that mad at her for it, because you weren’t exactly eager to tell the girls that you’re only here because you have to be and would leave the second you could.

“If the three ladies in the back could also give us their attention, we could continue with the planning.” Her voice cuts through the room straight to your table, and you don’t need to look up to know she means you, Jess, and Lindsey.

You lift your chin and meet her gaze, which is already fixed on you. Then she glances at Lindsey beside you, and something in her expression shifts. Just for a split second, you think you see… confusion or irritation. Before you can be sure, her eyes are back on you, her expression hardening again.

“You can now come up and tell us which task you’d like. Dina and I will assign you accordingly,” she announces, once again the picture of a professional organizer, when she’s not being celebrated as the quarterback of the football team, anyway.

You take your time, you don’t even know what tasks are available, nor do you particularly care. You’ll just take whatever’s left. The line in front of you gets shorter, and more and more participants return to their seats, excited about getting the tasks they wanted.

You lean your hands on the table behind which Abby and Dina sit with the lists. “What’s your choice, hon?” Dina asks cheerfully.

“Uh, I don’t have one,” you reply. “I’ll just take whatever’s left.”

Abby raises an eyebrow but studies her list without making the snarky comment you expect on her tongue. “We’ve still got spots in catering or decoration,” she offers.

“Decoration would suit you perfectly,” Dina exclaims happily, clapping her hands before you can even answer.

“Okay,” you agree, barely suppressing a yawn. Your roommate doesn’t miss that, of course. She leans forward on her strong and veiny forearms across the table and studies you intently.

“Let me make one thing clear,” she says sharply so no one else hears. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, you better leave now. I don’t need your attitude, I’ve already got enough on my plate.”

“God forbid a woman is tired, Abby,” you snap back. “And what exactly are you so busy with, huh? So far, all you’ve done is sit at this table looking important and snapping at people. What do you actually do that’s useful for this gala?”

“The finances,” she replies dryly.

You can’t help but laugh. “Got a problem with that?” Abby snaps.

“Oh, more than one, but please,” you wave her off. You accept your list with an overview of your tasks from Dina, but before you can leave, Abby speaks again.

“The finances are, by the way, important for your decoration. I’d take it seriously if I were you, otherwise, I’ll just swipe every one of your suggestions off the table,” she grins smugly.

“Fuck you, Abby,” you mutter and click your heels as you walk back to your seat with your head held high.

“Was that really necessary?” Dina asks Abby quietly.

As soon as Abby’s eyes are off you, her façade crumbles.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, running a hand over her forehead and through her blonde hair. “That girl just drives me insane.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

a/n: I'm sorry for posting so irregulary, uni stress is insane rn, we had a death in the family and it's overall just a lot rn BUT that is what we have Abby Anderson for right?? She is my lil escape when everything gets to much 💋 (I'm coping VERY hard) anygays have fun with the chapter

taglist: @vangoes @modernvenuss @oatmatchalatte @starlockheart @mila-a-fanfiqueira

[okayrudemuch]

[okayrudemuch]

frfr this shit ain't for kids

My partner is trying to explain the lore and plot of Star Stable (the horse computer game) and I’m just like-

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY’RE RESURRECTING A DEAD GOD????

I THOUGHT THIS WAS ABOUT HORSES

[okayrudemuch]

oh myyyy goooooooooooooooddddd

black nail polish, rock star Abby

[okayrudemuch]

i love her so much i think i'm going insane

i also dreamed of her last night, didn't help

[okayrudemuch]

When a man gets jacked, he's praised.

When a woman builds her body, she's faced with a brick wall of criticism and cruelty. Support usually only comes from other people in the gym, or a small handful of open minded people and even then, you'd be surprised how often we're still shoved into a box.

She looks like a man.

Nah, she's too bulky.

She's not feminine anymore.

She's juicing for sure.

Gross.

Unnatural.

Why would anyone want to look like that?

She's gone too far, that's just not attractive.

Her boobs disappeared, no thanks.

No way she looks like that without steroids.

And some truly grotesque insults I won't bother repeating.

Let's not even get into the way we're often misrepresented when written into fanfiction and other forms of media.

Can you imagine if Abby was petite in the boat scene? Let that settle for a minute. It only went down like that because Abby's character is bigger. She's muscular, so being rough with her without established consent? Totally acceptable and overlooked. Think I'm wrong? Hit me up when Season 3 comes around. We'll see if that scene is treated differently.

Anyway. Mad love to Abby Anderson from TLOU II. I hope we see more powerful women in media in the future.

[okayrudemuch]

If Abby Anderson had been plus sized in the game and HBO shrank her down for the show, the internet would be on fire.

People would be writing thinkpieces, calling it fatphobia, analyzing every goddamn frame, and frankly, they'd be well within their right to.

Why is it different now?

Why is it okay to completely erase her body and minimize what defined Abby's arc and most importantly, the trauma that led her entire storyline?

Abby wasn't just muscular for aesthetics. I've said it before and I'll say it a million times. Her body told a story of grief, discipline, obsession, and survival. It meant something. To flatten that into something more "palatable" for TV is not some neutral act. It's erasure in a media space that badly needs accurate representation.

Stop acting like it's not a big deal. Stop telling me I'm somehow being mean to Kaitlyn Dever because I'm speaking out about my lived experience. If Abby had been plus sized, this would be a discourse storm and you know it. But she was built like a brick shithouse, and that strength made people super uncomfortable so they downsized her.

Male gazed the everloving shit out of her.

They didn't even bother looking for actresses that better fit the role. They didn't ask Abby's actress to hit the weights like many, many performers before her. She is meant to be a soldier in a militia. Come on, people.

They simply didn't care. And it has fueled the hatred against Abby's game character tenfold as a result. The misinformation about muscular women is skyrocketing and it will only continue to do so.

That should make you just as angry. We're supposed to show up for all women. Not just cherry picking what we think deserves attention.

Fuck Craig Mazin and fuck Neil Druckmann for refusing to acknowledge the hurt here.

And if you're a woman, and you're gaslighting other women into feeling shitty for speaking up about this, give your head a genuine shake.

I show up for your right for representation.

Where are you now?

I'm sick to death of having to defend myself so I'm not doing it anymore. I've been called a misogynist and a body shamer.

What is more misogynistic, more body shaming than erasing a strong ass woman and replacing her with the opposite body type?

Cease with this bullshit.

[okayrudemuch]

I’m so sick of hearing men voice their opinions about the casting in The Last of Us. Nine times out of ten, it’s just them praising Kaitlyn and tearing Bella apart — and let’s be real, it’s not about acting. It’s because Abby now fits their narrow, hypersexualized expectations of what a woman should look like, so they get to drool over her. Meanwhile, Ellie doesn’t cater to the male gaze, and that completely short-circuits their fragile little brains.

I hate that men get to perceive anything. Genuinely. With every ounce of disrespect, curl up and die.

[okayrudemuch]

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛t 💋

Roomates (Quarterback) Abby x Fem!Reader (who is an early 2000's y2k baddie)

Chapter 1 - I really hate you

Chapter 2 - Whatever I do, it's always wrong

Chapter 3 - You can shove it

Chapter 4 - That girl just drives me insane

Chapter 5 - Better leave the beret here

Chapter 6 - She´s pretty

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter 3 - You can shove it

contains: roommates; lot´s of apologizing; modern AU!; maybe some grammar mistakes, english is not my first language

word count: 2,3k

After the incident with Michael and your fight with Abby, you locked yourself in the basement bathroom for almost half an hour, sitting on the closed toilet lid with your knees pulled up, going over the whole situation in your head. You sent Dina a quick text saying you were okay, just needed some space. She replied telling you to let her know if there was anything she could do. Dina was too good for this world. She gets groped by some creepy guy at a party, and by the end of the night, she’s the one checking in on you.

When you finally couldn’t take being in that bathroom anymore, but also had no interest in returning to the party, you snuck out of the party-basement as quietly as you could. Which, given the massive amount of students crammed in there, wasn’t hard at all. Still, you wanted to be sure. Bumping into Dina or Ellie would’ve been fine, but every time you saw a tall girl with light-colored hair in the crowd, your fight-or-flight instinct kicked in like a punch to the gut. The last thing you wanted was to be confronted by Abby. You were way too ashamed of your own behavior to look her in the eyes again under those flashing party lights.

So you left the party, just to get some air. Minutes turned into two hours, and you ended up wandering the entire campus. You needed the time and space to think, to get your head straight. That situation with Michael really did a number on you.

Now you’re standing at the entrance to the basement again, but the lights are long off and the crowd has vanished. Only a few tipsy students linger on the couches, dozing off or giggling softly. No sign of Dina, Ellie, or Abby. The party’s over. You glance at your phone for the first time in hours, it’s almost 1:30 in the morning.

“Fuck,” you mumble, running a tired hand over your face.

You’re beyond exhausted and don’t even want to know what your makeup or hair looks like at this point. With no other real option, you start making your way back to the dorm. The stars sparkle above you in the cloudless night sky, but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate it. You’re way too busy chewing your lip and spiraling.

Abby was right. Of course she was right. You had absolutely zero control over that situation, and you don’t even want to imagine what that disgusting guy would’ve done next. You should’ve just thanked her. She didn’t just stand by and watch, like way too many people would’ve. She had the guts to actually step in for you and Dina. And that pisses you off.

Why does she always have to be the fucking hero? Always so composed and logical and brave, and so fucking annoying. She didn’t owe you anything, you’ve been a complete asshole to her since the start of the semester. And still, she helped you.

Maybe it’s her moral compass or something. But what pisses you off the most is how effortlessly she handled that guy. Like she fights off ten assholes a day trying to mess with women, while you stood there doing absolutely nothing to deescalate the situation. You’re angry at Abby for being right. But most of all, you’re angry at yourself, for reacting so ungratefully, for completely losing control.

You take a deep breath and lean against the dorm entrance. The halls are empty, cold, and dark. You hardly run into anyone except a few drunk students struggling to find their rooms. You, on the other hand, are stone cold sober again by now. Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you try to keep the night chill from seeping into your bones. You curse yourself for not bringing a jacket, but the original plan was to stay at the party until midnight and then head straight to your room.

But even now, yours and Abby’s shared room isn’t where you’re headed first. You’re walking toward Dina’s room, hoping she’s still awake. When you see the thin strip of light under her door, you swallow hard. You lift your fist and knock twice. It barely takes five seconds before the door opens and an already bare-faced Dina looks back at you.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey,” she says, giving you a small smile as she opens the door wider, letting you in.

As you step into the room, you spot Ellie sitting on Dina’s bed, in pajamas, her short hair tied up in a messy bun. She smiles at you too. Dina’s roommate Manny is nowhere to be seen. Dina closes the door and turns to face you.

“You okay?” she asks, scanning your face with concern. “That thing at the party really shook you up, huh?”

“I’m okay now,” you reassure her, forcing a smile. “I came here to apologize,” you continue, nervously wringing your hands. “I didn’t handle things well and I feel awful about it. I shouldn’t have just disappeared like that. And I definitely shouldn’t have picked a fight with Abby. That was totally uncalled for. She was just trying to help,” you admit.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dina sighs, taking your hands in hers to stop you from fidgeting them to death. “Jesus, you’re freezing,” she mutters before continuing, “It was an overwhelming situation and that guy said some really horrible shit to you. I thought it was really brave of you to step in for me like that. I’m seriously so thankful. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“But to Abby,” you murmur.

That’s when Ellie speaks up for the first time since you came in. “You know,” she starts, “she’s tough as hell, no denying that. But you’ve cracked harder ones before, haven’t you?” She smirks at you, and you roll your eyes, though a small smile creeps onto your lips.

Still sitting on Dina’s bed, Ellie leans back against the wall and looks at you again. “Abby’s not a monster,” she says, more seriously this time. “I know you two can’t stand each other, but if your apology’s real? She’ll get that. And she’ll listen.”

You nod, taking it in, even though Ellie’s words don’t quite erase the pit in your stomach.

“Thanks, guys,” you say quietly, pulling Dina into a hug before wishing them both a good night and stepping back out into the long, empty hallway of the dorm.

With every step you now take toward your room, your heartbeat grows louder. You feel like a teenager who’s sneaked out of the house and is now coming home way too late. The only difference is that behind the door you’re about to reach, it’s not your parents waiting, it’s Abigail Anderson. And somehow, considering the situation, that’s worse.

Your fingers are trembling as you pull the key from your pocket and carefully unlock the door. You’re pretty sure Abby is already asleep, which is why you try to be quiet. You really have no desire for another argument in the middle of the night just because you accidentally woke her up.

What you absolutely didn’t expect is that Abby is sitting upright in her bed, staring absentmindedly out of the open window into the night. The little nightlight on her bedside table is the only light source in the room. She doesn’t even look at you as you enter.

You swallow and close the door behind you with a soft click, then take a few cautious steps into the room and place your purse on your bed. The whole time, you don’t take your eyes off Abby. You clear your throat.

“I thought you were already asleep,” you say quietly. Abby gives no reaction and just keeps staring out the window, so for a moment you think she didn’t even hear you.

“Well,” she snorts then, her voice low and tense. “Wrong.”

She’s mad.

You twist your fingers until they crack and keep glancing between the floor and your blonde roommate, who still doesn’t meet your gaze. Somehow, this silent version of Abby is way worse than the angry one. You’d take her yelling over this any day.

Not sure if this is the right moment to start a conversation, you step into the bathroom to grab a makeup wipe and give yourself a few moments to breathe. Then you sit down on the edge of your bed and start gently wiping your cheeks and eyes.

Finally, Abby’s gaze lands on you. For a few moments, she watches you as you wipe the night off your face. It feels like you’re taking off your armor in front of her. When you’ve finally wiped away all your makeup, you take a deep breath and look at her.

“I’m sorry.”

Your voice is steadier than you gave it credit for. You apologize with confidence, but still sincerely. Your eyes show regret.

“I acted like a total asshole. You were just trying to help, and I acted like a bitch.”

You knead the wipe in your hands and try to hold her gaze, but she relieves you of the burden by sighing and getting up from her bed to close the window. You thank her silently, because you’re freezing. Whether from the cold night, exhaustion, or the conversation ahead, you don’t know.

Abby turns around, leans against the windowsill, and crosses her arms. When she says nothing, you try again.

“You were right,” you admit, and it costs you a lot to swallow your pride and say that to her face. “I didn’t have the situation under control, and I’m thankful that you stepped in.”

You clench your jaw.

“I just hate feeling so helpless.”

Now it’s out.

“Guys like Michael make me so angry,” you continue.

“They think they can get away with anything, especially with girls like me. Girls who are really feminine and like wearing high heels, makeup, acrylic nails. We’re not taken seriously, our ‘no’ means nothing to guys like him. We’re just objects to them, made to fulfill their fantasies and nothing else. That pisses me off.”

You keep your eyes on the makeup wipe in your hands, which by now you’ve folded into every shape possible out of sheer rage.

“I got so angry because I felt like I was helpless, like I couldn’t defend myself, because I made the situation worse instead of calming it down.”

You’re so ashamed of your own behavior.

And finally, finally, Abby speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t expect that. You lift your gaze from the wipe in your hands and look at your roommate, whose eyes are already on you. She studies your now bare face and then looks at the floor again.

“It wasn’t my intention to make you feel like you couldn’t defend yourself. I know you can.”

You almost think you can see a small smirk on her lips, but before you can be sure, she’s already speaking again.

“I just worried that it might actually get physical.”

“Abby.”

Her name feels strange on your tongue, and you say it before you even have time to think. Her eyes flick to you again, and you can read in them how weird it must be for her too, that you’re calling her by name.

But you don’t let it throw you off.

“Please don’t apologize for doing what way too many people don’t do. Which is stepping in.”

“It’s so ridiculous,” Abby suddenly snorts. “We’re sitting here apologizing to each other for a problem neither of us caused, but some random-ass man who’s not even here.”

She sits down on her bed.

“You know, I wasn��t born like this.”

“Like what?” you ask. “Annoying?”

She flips you off, but for once, neither of you really means it.

“With muscles,” she says.

“When I was a teenager, I was skinny and shy too. So I know how shitty it feels not to be respected. But even now, some men just can’t help themselves. Can you imagine how often they tell me to smile more?”

You roll your eyes and pretend to gag.

“Exactly,” Abby confirms. “It’s fucking gross. Or they ask me why I don’t try to look more feminine, that I almost look like a man. But if I did look more feminine, they’d still find something to criticize.”

She shakes her head.

“We can’t win. Not in a world where a man’s ‘no’ always carries more weight than a woman’s. But what we can do is have each other’s backs and just keep doing our thing.”

You’re almost a little speechless. You didn’t expect a speech like that from usually so quiet Abby, especially not when you came into the room thinking you’d just end up arguing again anyway.

“Thanks,” you whisper again.

Abby just nods, and then a silence settles over the room that, to your surprise, doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable. For a few minutes, you just sit there, both of you lost in thought, until you break the moment with a yawn.

“Well, if that’s settled, I’m gonna get some sleep,” you announce and disappear into the bathroom for a quick second to brush your teeth, wash your face, and put on your pajamas. When you come back out, Abby is already lying in bed, the little lamp turned off, and only the pale moonlight lights the room.

You quickly snuggle under your warm blanket and curl into your pillow. You’re relieved and almost a bit proud of yourself for not completely messing up at least one conversation tonight.

You listen to the quiet in the room and Abby’s breathing before speaking up one last time.

“That still doesn’t mean that I like you now or something.”

“You can shove it,” Abby replies dryly, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning.

Maybe, just maybe, something between you changed for the better tonight.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

a/n: I´m not 100% satisfied with this one but university and private life are kicking my butt so this is the best I can do right now, i hope you still like it!

taglist: @vangoes @modernvenuss @oatmatchalatte @starlockheart

[okayrudemuch]

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛t 💋

Roomates (Quarterback) Abby x Fem!Reader (who is an early 2000's y2k baddie)

Chapter 1 - I really hate you

Chapter 2 - Whatever I do, it's always wrong

Chapter 3 - You can shove it

Chapter 4 - That girl just drives me insane

Chapter 5 - Better leave the beret here

Chapter 6 - She´s pretty

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter 2 - Whatever I do, it´s always wrong

contains: roommates; arguments; modern AU!; maybe some grammar mistakes, english is not my first language; alcohol; alcohol consumerism; mentions of sexual harassment and sexual threats

Trigger Warning (TW): Mentions of sexual harassment and sexual threats.

word count: 2,8k

The university’s party basement is packed to the brim. Bodies are pressed together, people are moving to the beat on the dancefloor, and the bass is shaking the walls. Beer pong and rage cage tables have been set up by the football team, and the bar is cranking out beers nonstop. Colored lights flicker through the room from ceiling-mounted spotlights, and beer crates and red solo cups are everywhere. A guy from an upperclass year has taken over the DJ booth, proudly set up under a blue and white “Silver Lake Falcons” banner. They just snagged their first win of the season tonight.

You’re standing at the edge of the dancefloor with Dina, both of you holding red plastic cups filled with something unidentifiable but definitely strong, and neither of you are even close to sober. You’re laughing at something Dina said when a tattooed arm sneakes around your best friend’s waist.

“Hey,” a brunette grins at you before kissing Dina on the top of her head.

“Hey, Ellie,” you grin back and give her a quick hug. Dina and Ellie haven’t been together for long, but they’re so perfect for each other it feels like they’ve always been a couple.

“Congrats on the win,” you add and take another sip of your drink, vodka mixed with who-knows-what.

“Thanks, thanks,” Ellie says, fake-bowing dramatically. “But we never would've done it without Abby. They had us good through the first half, but our quarterback saved our asses like always.”

“Did I hear my name?” your roommate’s warm voice cuts in. Abby appears behind Ellie and gives Dina a quick hug, as if she hadn’t seen her yet tonight either. She throws an arm around Ellie’s shoulder but gives you only a quick once-over, her eyes flick down to your outfit with a slightly judgmental look.

After last night’s chaos, you’d gone for something simple tonight: a pink rhinestone crop top that hugs all the right places, low-rise jeans that cling to your hips and ass but flare a bit at the legs. You ditched the heels for comfy sneakers, and your jewelry and belly button piercing glint in the colored lights. You hadn’t seen Abby since locking yourself in the bathroom. After scrubbing away the night before, drying and styling your hair, you’d left the bathroom to do your makeup, and she was already gone. Probably off helping set up this party. Not that you care what she does with her time.

Now you just roll your eyes at the sight of her, and the couple standing with you definitely notices.

“Still in your cold war?” Dina giggles.

“I’m telling you,” Ellie adds, “either you two are gonna throw punches before the semester ends or you’re gonna fuck.”

“I’ll personally make sure it’s the first one,” Abby mutters.

You cross your arms and do your best not to give the blonde girl another look, which proves harder than you’d like. Her hair’s down tonight, and it honestly looks amazing. Way better than that dumb braid she always wears. You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you’re almost certain she unbuttoned another button on her black shirt. You’ve got a nearly indecent view of her collarbone and, if you breathe in too deep, you can smell her perfume. The same one that already fried your brain back in your dorm.

You mentally slap yourself and shake your head to chase off the thoughts.

“Anyone feel like playing beer pong?” you ask, desperate to look at anything other than Abby’s chest. You nod toward an empty table nearby.

“Why not,” Dina shrugs and downs the rest of her drink before disappearing with Ellie to grab four fresh beers. You and Abby head for the table. As if it were an unspoken rule, the two of you automatically take opposite sides, clearly not on the same team.

You and Dina pair up while Ellie stays with Abby. You’ve never been good at beer pong, and Dina’s definitely too drunk to help make up for it. Abby and Ellie wipe the floor with you. It’s actually kind of embarrassing. When you finally land a shot, you and Dina freak out so hard you’re clinging to each other and bouncing in circles. Ellie laughs. Abby just raises a brow. You catch her judging stare and flip her off while still half-hugging Dina. You’ve missed so many shots it feels like you're ten drinks ahead of the football girls, your tolerance is hanging by a thread.

You ask for a rematch after the first round, where at least you landed two of their cups, but that goes just as badly.

“Okay, I’m done,” you laugh as Abby and Ellie crush you both again.

“Good game,” Ellie grins and runs a hand through her short hair before giving you a handshake. Then she turns to Dina but instead of a handshake, she pulls her in for a kiss.

You smile at the sight, but Abby’s voice grabs your attention again.

“Good game,” she says, holding out her hand too. You’re so thrown by the gesture, you forget to take it at first, but when you do, it feels like the rest of the party disappears for a second. She’s standing close, closer than she usually does, even though you share a room. Her hair falls over her shoulders, and a few damp strands stick to her forehead from the heat in the room. She’s taller than you, you notice again.

“Good game,” you finally say back, annoyed that your voice comes out a little shaky. You blame the alcohol. Abby’s hand is warm, a little rough, and so big that yours looks embarrassingly small inside it. You can see her veins, and she holds your hand way longer than necessary while staring you dead in the eyes. She’s not smiling, but you swear your heart actually stops for a second before she finally lets go and shoves her hands into her pockets.

“Oh my God!” Dina suddenly shrieks, breaking the tension, and rushes to grab you.

“They’re playing Super Bass!” she yells in your ear, and before you know it, you’re on the dancefloor. You catch the beat just in time and start singing along with Dina (if you can even call it singing). “This one is for the boys with the boomin' system!” And then, nothing can stop you.

For the next few minutes, Dina has her face in your ass and is happily making it rain imaginary money while the booze kills any last trace of shame. You spot Ellie and Abby out of the corner of your eye. Ellie’s laughing and filming you, while Abby looks like someone just told her she wasn’t at a college party but surrounded by lunatics. But she doesn’t look away. You definitely notice that.

The DJ keeps the 2000s vibe going, mixing one club banger into the next while you and Dina lose yourselves on the dancefloor. Eventually, you settle into more normal dancing, though you can’t deny you’re swinging your hips a little better than most people in the basement. Your tight jeans aren’t hiding anything, and you can feel people watching you, including your roommate, still standing on the side oft he dance flore. Alone now, since Ellie apparently left her.

Your drunk brain doesn’t get why she’s watching you. It doesn’t make sense. But even without logic, you start moving a little more deliberately. A little deeper, a little dirtier. Not for her, you tell yourself. Never for her. But you don’t break her gaze. Everything else fades, it’s just the beat, your hands in your hair, and Abby’s eyes locked on your body.

Somewhere behind you, Dina’s still dancing, bumping into you now and then, but your mind is elsewhere. Until she suddenly stumbles into your back. You snap out of it and spin around.

“Back off!” you hear Dina shout, and now you see why she bumped into you, some guy is trying to put his hands on her hips.

“Get off me, dude,” she snaps, shoving him. “What? I can’t even dance with you?” the guy slurs. He doesn’t look much older than you or Dina, but mentally he’s probably still in diapers.

“She said no,” you bark, yanking Dina away and shoving her behind you.

“What’s your problem?” he slurs again. “Can’t even have a little fun anymore.”

“Fun?” you snap, your voice climbing two octaves. “What you’re doing isn’t fun, it’s sexual harassment.” You jab a manicured finger at his chest when he steps forward again, but he’s twice your size, the shove barely moves him.

“Jesus, chicks are so sensitive these days. Can’t do anything anymore.”

You’re about to lose it.

“No,” you growl, voice shaking with rage. “Without consent, you really can’t. And every guy with more than two brain cells knows that. You disgusting piece of shit.”

You feel Dina clutch your shoulders from behind, either to steady herself or to stop you from ripping this creep’s balls off.

“What did you just say to me?” he asks, raising a brow and stepping closer. You lift your chin, refusing to look away. You won’t shrink for someone like him.

“I’ll show you what I do to bitches like you without consent,” he growls.

Your eyes go wide in shock, and that’s when someone steps between you and him.

A broad back, black shirt soaked with sweat, a full head taller than you. Abby.

She grabs him by the collar and pulls him down to her level.

“You’ve got a few seconds to think real hard about what you just said,” she growls into his ear, low enough that the music nearly drowns her out. “Then you’re gonna apologize. And don’t even think I won’t report this. You know what you missed, asshole? Your first ‘target’,” she nods toward Dina, peeking out from behind you, “is head of the student council. You’re in deep shit, Michael.”

You see the guy’s face drop, like he didn’t expect Abby to know his name. His eyes flick between you, Dina, and Abby, and you swear you see panic. Classic. These guys think they’re untouchable, then panic or deny it when it blows up.

“Sorry,” he mutters. Abby isn’t impressed. She yanks him closer again, her bicep flexing hard under the fabric of her shirt. Her face, though, is cold as ice. Her eyes alone could end him.

“I don’t think we heard you,” she mutters.

“Sorry,” he says louder this time.

“Now fuck off,” she snaps and shoves him back before wiping her hand off on her jeans like touching him physically disgusted her. “Don’t let me see you at this party again.”

You’ve never seen someone disappear so fast. Abby watches him go, jaw tight, before turning back to you and Dina.

“You guys okay?” she asks, and now you can hear the concern in her voice. But you just stare at her.

The shock and the alcohol are coursing through you. You ball your fists. The fact that she thought you couldn’t handle it makes your chest burn.

“I had it under control,” you mutter over the music, ignoring her question.

“What?” Abby asks, frowning.

“The situation. I had it under control,” you repeat, glaring at her. Abby laughs, but it’s hollow and cuts deep.

“Yeah, I saw that,” she says sarcastically, crossing her arms, and you try your best to ignore how tight her shirt is in all the right places.

“You didn’t have anything under control,” she continues. “That guy looked ready to get physical.”

You dig your nails into your palms. “You could’ve just let me handle it,” you hiss, and now Abby’s losing her patience too.

“And just stand there watching him threaten you? Are you out of your mind?” she snaps. “What was I supposed to do, watch from the sidelines like everyone else?”

“Yes, for example!” you snap back, because you can’t think of anything better.

“A simple thank-you would’ve been enough,” she growls, breathless.

You hold her gaze, chest heaving.

“Fuck you,” you spit, and storm off toward the bathrooms just as Ellie returns. Dina throws herself into her arms and explains everything. Ellie’s eyes go wide, then guilty. She asks if Dina is okay, then if you’re okay.

“I’m fine,” Dina says, then adds that it probably shook you more.

Ellie curses. “Damn it. I should’ve just waited to pee… stupid long-ass line…” She starts tearing Michael apart verbally and scanning the crowd. Dina grabs her hand and tells her Abby handled it, which pulls Ellie’s attention to her.

“You okay?” Ellie asks Abby.

But Abby just shakes her head, eyes still on the spot where you disappeared.

“Whatever I do, it’s always wrong with that girl.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

a/n: oppsi looks like someone owns abby an apology (you lol)

taglist: @vangoes

[okayrudemuch]

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛t 💋

Roomates (Quarterback) Abby x Fem!Reader (who is an early 2000's y2k baddie)

Chapter 1 - I really hate you

Chapter 2 - Whatever I do, it's always wrong

Chapter 3 - You can shove it

Chapter 4 - That girl just drives me insane

Chapter 5 - Better leave the beret here

Chapter 6 - She´s pretty

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Chapter 1 - I really hate you

contains: roommates; arguments; modern AU!; maybe some grammar mistakes, english is not my first language; mentioning of sexual activities from r! but no smut

word count: 2,4k

It is almost 2 a.m., but Abby is still staring at her ceiling, muscular arms crossed behind her head as sleep refuses to come. She sighs and glances over at her chair, where under a hot pink bra that is definitely not hers, her jersey is crumbled. Anderson, number 17. She has a football tournament tomorrow. A big one, and her team is counting on her, the Quarterback. Abby sighs again and closes her eyes. She has to get some sleep, otherwise she is gonna be a walking zombie on the field tomorrow.

Just when she manages to doze off, the scratch of a key against the lock jerks her awake again. A few seconds later, the door creaks open and two girls stumble in, arm in arm, giggling and whispering. They are clearly drunk. Trying to stay quiet tho but Abby has never seen anyone fail so miserably at doing that.

"Are you fucking kidding me" Abby groans into the darkness, reaching towards her nightstand to turn on the little lamp standing there. She has to close her eyes for a moment against the sudden brightness filling the room and the two girls freeze mid-step. Lipstick and gloss are smeared over your lips, clear evidence of what just happened outside the door. You turn around to face Abby.

"You got a problem, Anderson?" you ask, one perfectly trimmed thin eyebrow arched. You release the girl´s waist to cross your arms over your chest. Abby sits up straight in her bed, her eyes quickly scanning your body, taking in the low-waisted jeans, the belly button piercing reflecting the light of her lamp, your crop top showing way too much of your stomach and breasts for Abby´s eyes not to linger. She meets your eyes with an equally judgemental stare.

"Do I have a problem with you sneaking girls into our room when I specifically asked you not to? Yeah, I have a problem with that. I also have a game tomorrow, so go and hook up somewhere else". She doesn't even bother to look at the girl next to you. She figured a long time ago that it is easier like that.

"This is my room too" you shoot back. "Well, sadly you can stay". Abby mutters, laying back down and turning to her side. "But I don´t want to be kept awake by some half-ass moans and sloppy orgasms. So your girl has to leave".

"You are—" you begin, pointing an acrylic nail at Abby, even though she can´t see it anymore as she´s lying on her side. Selena, the girl you brought, stops you.

"Fuck her, let´s just go to my room". You sigh, giving Abby one last glance before you let yourself get dragged out of the room.

"Jealous pussy blocker," you murmur under your breath before you close the door and you´re pretty damn sure Abby hears you.

Abby hears you. She should be used to it by now, your comments, your attitude, the way you always seem to stir things up. But it still bothers her. She´s had several roommates in university before but none of them was like you. No one left their makeup and clothes all over the room, even on Abby's side and Abby was pretty sure that all of her past roommates combined hadn’t packed as many clothes into that tiny dorm closet as you somehow managed to.

She hated it. She hated, that you left your pink bras and tiny underwear everywhere, that she had to move about seven lipsticks to the side just to make space for her toothbrush on the bathroom sink.

She hates it even more that the room always smells like your perfumes, way too sweet for her liking, but somehow still addicting.

She also finds your makeup and accessories way too often on her desk, on her side of the room. And when she points it out, all you do is shrug and tell her, “You don’t use your space anyway, so why can’t I use it?”

Then you’d fix your lipstick in the mirror hanging over your desk like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It´s driving Abby insane. It has since day one. Since you stood in the doorframe, several hours later than you were supposed to, iced coffee in one hand and your, Abby couldn't believe her eyes, hot pink suitcase in the other. You glanced around the room with a look so disapproving, as if the tiny dorm had personally offended you. Then your eyes landed on Abby. "You work here or something?" you had asked. The audacity left Abby speechless for several seconds before she finally managed to answer. "I do not. I live here".

Abby had watched you take in her side of the room, the neatly made bed, pens, papers, and books all organized on her desk. Then you gave her a sarcastic smile.

“Well then, nice to meet you, roomie.”

You had left your suitcase right in the middle of the doorway, then plopped down on your bed, mindlessly scrolling on your phone, your acrylic nails tapping against the screen.

She´d learn your name later, but she didn't dare ask you a single question, not because she was intimidated by you or anything.

It was more that she’d never witnessed two worlds so different from each other forced to crash together in one tiny dorm room.

She´d also learn that you are into girls, maybe a week after you moved in. She had just come back from a very exhausting practice, covered in sweat and frustration because the tactics didn't work the way the Coach wanted them to. All she had craved was a hot shower and an episode from her favorite comfort series but when Abby opened the door to her room she was met with the sight of you against her closet, eyes closed, and the lips of one of Abby's teammates on your neck. Abby had expected you to push the girl away, maybe at least pretend to be embarrassed.

Instead, you opened your eyes, caught Abby staring, and smirked.

That first time, Abby had let you do your thing. She turned around instantly and left the room, killing an hour in the library. She had hoped that by the time she got back, you and her teammate would be done. What Abby hadn´t planned for was that this would become a regular thing and it started to piss her off. She didn´t care about the girls you hooked up with, at least that's what she told herself. What she did care about was not having access to her room, and not having any privacy when she wanted it. She told you exactly that in a very heated argument and you naturally, called her out for being jealous because "no one wants to sleep in her bed".

Ever since then, the tension between you and Abby had only gotten worse. She´d hammer against the bathroom door when you blocked it for over an hour and you would throw a pillow at her when her alarm clock went off at 5 a.m. because she had practice before classes.

Abby didn’t understand how you could care about nothing but makeup, girls, and parties and you couldn’t understand how anyone could be as boring as Abby Anderson.

Seriously, did this woman do anything besides playing football, going to the gym, or studying?

You had never seen her at any of the dorm parties you went to, or seen her hook up with anyone.

Not that you could believe nobody was interested. She is fairly pretty with her ocean-blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, which she usually wore in a tight braid but, annoyingly, looked even better when she wore them down. She has a lot of freckles, you once noticed when you accidentally ran into her after opening the bathroom door too quickly because she had hammered against it for what must have been the tenth time.

In your eyes, she was this strangely determined girl with the body of a literal ox. As far as you had heard, she was pretty damn good at what she did as the quarterback for the football team and her grades also seemed to be impressive. Something you couldn't really say about your own.

That night, you spend in Selena’s room. Her roommate is gone, so you have your sweet little sleepover, music low, the sheets a mess, legs tangled till the morning. When you leave after saying some sweet nothings, the sun is already high. You return to your room and glance at yourself through the mirror over your desk. Your mascara is smudged under your eyes and overall you look like someone who barely got any sleep the night before. Abby is nowhere to be found. Her jersey is gone, leaving only your bra on the chair.

You kick off your heels, toss your bag into the corner, and collapse face-first onto your pillow. It’s Saturday, and you couldn’t care less about anything except sleep. And sleep hits hard.

You’re out for a couple of hours until the door creaks open, pulling you back just enough to stir. You groan and peek through one eye, still half-asleep, watching as Abby steps into the room.

Her gym bag is slung over one shoulder, her hair is pulled back in that usual braid, a few loose strands sneaking out of it. She’s still in her jersey, dirt smeared across the fabric, her pants, and even her face, which you eye with a mix of judgment and half-asleep disgust.

Abby swears under her breath when she stumbles over your heels that you left quite careless in the middle of the room and then shoots you a sharp look.

You finally crack open your other eye and meet her glare.

“You look like shit,” you mumble, voice rough from sleep and the night before.

“Could say the same about you,” Abby bites back, eyeing the smudged remains of your makeup, your tangled hair, and the fact that you didn’t even bother to change into pajamas. You somehow manage to flip her off, but Abby just rolls her eyes, grabs a towel, and disappears into the bathroom while you bury your face back into the pillow.

The next thing you hear is the soft hum from the running water in the bathroom, and it’s so easy to doze off again. When you open your eyes this time, you're met with the sight of Abby's back, the girl in nothing but her underwear. Nothing special, plain and grey, but so tight on her chest and hips that it almost makes you gulp. You mean to look away, you really do, but then she bends down to put on a pair of jeans, and the way her back muscles flex from the motion makes your gaze linger just a bit longer than intended.

The way those jeans hug her hips and ass makes your stomach twist in a way you can't quite place. She reaches for a black button-down shirt, pulling it on with ease. As she turns around to face the mirror, her attention is fully on the buttons, she doesn’t notice you watching. She leaves the first few buttons undone, giving you a glimpse of her collarbone and the smooth, freckled skin beneath. She rolls the sleeves up to her elbows, the fabric hugging her big arms as she moves.

She reaches for a fragrance, but before she can spray it on her wrists and collarbone, she catches your stare. "What?" she asks, one eyebrow arched in question.

Instead of caving in, you hold her gaze and ignore the feeling in your chest that wants to spread, nagging and throbbing.

“What are you getting ready for?” you ask, voice dismissive, trying to cut through the awkward silence and act like you weren’t just caught staring.

“You never leave the house.”

“To the football team party, half the campus is coming,” Abby replies curtly, spraying the perfume on her wrists and décolleté. The scent automatically spreads through the room, a little woody and tart and definitely not cheap. You barely manage to stop yourself from inhaling deeply in your half-awake state before you lean on your forearms and look at Abby with a now interested expression. “Why is the football team throwing a party?” you continue, just barely catching Abby rolling her eyes as if talking to you for more than a minute would cause her physical pain.

“We won the game. The game that made me want to sleep early last night,” she continued, and the reproachful undertone in her voice was definitely meant for you. You scramble to your feet and swing your legs over the edge of the bed before rising. You take a few steps towards Abby and brace your arms on her desk, watching her with interest as she ties a watch around her wrist.

“And where exactly is this party taking place?” you look up at her through your eyelashes. Abby doesn't fall for your feigned friendliness, of course, and turns wordlessly to go back into the bathroom, but you're quicker and block her way. Now you're standing between the closed bathroom door and the blonde girl, who is now looking down at you with a definitive look of annoyance (oh, and how it annoys you that she's taller than you).

She crosses her broad arms in front of her chest, and your eyes automatically fall on the spot where her biceps are stretching the black fabric. “Get out of my way,” she grumbles, but you just shake your head. “Tell me where the party is,” you repeat insistently. “Will you finally leave me alone?” she asks, but you only give her an angelic smile. Abby shakes her head devotedly. “Williams cleared the basement for us, I guess it has its advantages when your girlfriend is the head of the student council.”

At the mention of Ellie's girlfriend, your mood automatically lifts. “Dina is coming too?” you ask enthusiastically. “I assume so,” Abby grumbles. "I need the bathroom," you announce and turn around, and before Abby knows it, you've disappeared behind the door into the room she was about to enter.

“God, I hate everything about her,” Abby mumbles.

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