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elsweetheart · 1 year

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saw rin @coeurify write some roommate!abby so i decided to write some too cos i’m feeling #inspired

slutty!roommate!abby short fic / drabble below the cut 💋 minors dni & don’t ask for part 2

It’s not like you were dating. Just living together — roommates, that’s all it was. A shabby and cozy little apartment, tucked away in a nice enough area. There’d be a new problem each week— AC busted, closet door swinging off, flickering light bulb, and you were lucky enough to live with a 6ft blonde walking talking ‘Don’t call the plumber / electrician / whatever, I got it’ machine. Things worked out pretty well.

The two of you were close. Almost too close. Your friendship bordered on simmering sexual tension whilst always keeping it just respectful and distanced enough for neither of you to make a move. You liked to think she enjoyed it, keeping you just out of reach like this. She knew you wanted her, but where was the fun in giving in?

Abby got around. It was no rumour that she had a history of being the community strap, and whilst her crazy days had died off a little — you’d still be awoken once or twice a fortnight to the sound of a new girl with the same shrill moan, headboard thumping against the wall. All you could do was sulk, snuggle down further into your bed covers and will yourself to sleep with your stomach twisting in jealousy at the thought of Abby curled next to someone else for the night.

The two of you liked to have ‘bonding night’, you know — watch a movie, drink wine, eat snacks, sometimes a face mask would make an appearance. Abby had insisted on these nights when you’d first moved in together, so that the two of you could get to know eachother, and since then it had become a tradition every Friday night that the neither of you would miss for the world. Infact, it became such an important tradition that plans were often rescheduled around it, dates postponed, ubers cancelled. Just you, your good friend Abby, and a bottle of something pink and tangy.

“See, I’d let you pick the movie we watch more often but… everytime you do the movie sucks.” She was muffled by the popcorn stuffed into her cheek like a squirrel whilst she scrolled with the remote for an appropriate choice. Abby had real audacity to look this good tonight. She was spread out on the couch, greeny-grey tshirt so tight it was ridiculous, hair down and a little damp from her shower, black sweatpants on (and fuzzy socks, not relevant to her hotness but you couldn’t not mention them.) It took you a second to reply as you pulled your legs beneath you from your curled up position on the chair, subconsciously tucking yourself smaller.

“They don’t suck. You don’t give them a chance! You just talk over it the whole time and ramble about how bad it is.” You shrug defensively, not seeing the way her eyes flickered over to you and lingered with an adoring smile at the way your forehead scrunched and lips pushed forward in an irritable pout. She looked away when you glanced.

“Maybe they don’t suck but they’re always the same. Always a rom com with bad jokes and like 10 minute sex scenes. Is that why you like ‘em, perv?” She nudges you with her spread knee, jostling you which makes your eyes widen slightly — face prickly and hot.

“You think I only watch movies for the sex scenes? Get your mind out of the gutter.” You snicker, fingernails picking at the blanket because, no — it’s not the reason, but she didn’t have to bring that up.

“Hey, I’m not the one picking dirty movies.” Her voice drags in that flirty and sarcastic way that makes your thighs press together. She always did this. It was your thing, you could say. She winds you up, takes the conversation down a sexual route and you just sit there and take it, always scared to make a move. You just couldn’t bring yourself to, what if she was just making fun of you? You live together, if you misread things there was potential for some major awkwardness.

“If I wanted to watch something dirty I’d just… look at porn or something.” You try and combat her teasing, but it comes out stuttery and awkward and you still can’t look at it. Her smirk deepens, intrigue washing over her. You hear her put the remote down and the scrolling on screen halts as she gives you her full attention. Busying yourself to buy more time, you reach forward and take your wine glass — taking a long sip.

“What, ‘you telling me you don’t watch porn now?”

You turn a little, giving her a look. One that read as ‘you’re not seriously asking me that.’

“Do you?”

“I don’t have to. I have sex.”

You scoff, turning your body toward her now with a finger pointed ready to defend yourself.

“I have sex.”

“Oh yeah?” You hate the way she’s smiling and tilting her head.

“It’s just… been a while.”

She sighs casually, leaning back into her seat.

“Same, to be honest.”

“I literally heard some girl screaming your name like two weeks ago.” Your eyes are practically touching your brain from how hard they roll and she laughs cheekily with her tongue pinched between her teeth, a cute roll forming beneath her chin from the position of her head. Your stomach flips.

“Exactly, two weeks ago. I’m trying not to do that so much anymore. Sleep around. Gonna delete the dating apps.” She clarifies, a look of dignity in her expression as she announces this making you narrow your eyes sceptically.

“And why is this? Who is this new and improved Abby?”

Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “I dunno. Just don’t think I should anymore. Think I’d rather be having meaningful sex with one person now. You know, the type where you press your foreheads together and tell her you love her when you make her cum and stuff.” She just says it so casually, like it doesn’t make your stomach bottom out into your cunt at the thought of being that one person, whilst simultaneously making your heart stammer at the idea of the person being someone else.

“Y—yeah. Me too I suppose. That’s why I’m just waiting.”

You feel that your response is put together and mature enough for the conversation to come to a natural end so that you can continue bickering over what movie to watch before you embarrass yourself, but she stares at you anyway — contemplative and analytical.

“You’ve been waiting a while, huh?” Abby talks softer, sympathetic and her fingers that were resting along the back of the couch reach a little further and stroke your shoulder briefly. You can’t tell if it’s kind or patronising. Because of this you purse your lips with a shrug.

“Yeah. Haven’t had sex since my ex-girlfriend was still around so that’s…”

“A year and half.” She raises her brows and you mirror her, surprised at how fast she knew the answer. “You’d just broken up when you moved in here.”

“Oh… yeah, that’s right. I suppose that is a long time.”

She breathes out her nose, long and thoughtful before turning her body back to the TV. You do too, because you think it’s over — but the conversation is never quite over until Abby says so.

“Well, if you ever need your fix you know where my door is. You deserve to feel good too.”

She’s kidding, right?

Like, that’s not a serious offer. It can’t be. Because if it were you’d be on her bed sprawled out with two thick fingers up your cunt and not here on the couch getting wine drunk and horny. Your eyelashes are kissing your brow at how wide your stretch your eyes for a moment as you stare ahead, saying nothing. What do you say? How do you seize this glorious potential opportunity without coming across as totally desperate and ruining things? She is kidding, she has to be.

You open your mouth, maybe just to let out a meek ‘really?’ for some clarification, but she speaks again — totally ripped from the moment. “Why do I keep getting recommended only Lindsey Lohan movies? That’s you on my Netflix account right? I swear, I’ll change my password.” She chuckles, like she didn’t just offer to pity fuck you, and you weren’t just considering take her up on it. You shake yourself free of the moment and you don’t talk about it again.

Abby really did stop sleeping around, and you knew that from the lack of moans waking you up in the night. You could have been imagining things, but she’d gotten flirtier too. Wearing tighter fit clothes around her muscles, making sure to always squeeze behind you in the kitchen with her hands on your hips, chest practically to your back with a low ‘scuse me, sorry’ in your ear as she slips by, the lot of it. You felt you were running up the AC, constantly trying to fan yourself off after she worked you up. It was two fridays since she made the offer, and you decided now was the time you’d act on it. You poured yourself a glass of pink wine and waited on the couch, getting in a few gulps before she arrived for confidence.

You drank the whole glass, and she still hadn’t arrived home. Abby had never missed a ‘bonding night’ since moving in, and now she wasn’t showing up at all? No text, no apology, just total absence. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed and pissed off, drinking half the bottle before curling into the couch and falling asleep.

You awoke to the sound of giggles and jangling keys, and your bleary eyes cracked open — flickering to the clock on the wall ticking quietly. 2:54AM. You were about to lift your head, sit up on the couch and call out for Abby, questioning where she’d been, why she missed bonding night. You were halted by the sound of two voices, only one belonging to your roommate.

“Shh, gotta be quiet or you’re gonna wake my roommate, baby. Rooms this way.” Abby, and the tottering sound of high heels behind her. You felt sick. Why did you feel so sick?

You close your eyes again when Abby’s bedroom door clicks shut, feeling your lashes grow damp as you pull a cushion over your head — trying to block the inevitable moans and will yourself back to sleep. This wasn’t the first time Abby had come home late after hanging out with friends and found you sleeping on the couch having wanted to hang out, but you’d usually atleast receive her hushed apologies as she lifts you and carries you bridal style to your own room where she’d leave you as you mutter a goodnight half awake to her. She’d never missed bonding night though, because that was off limits.

The next three days you avoided her. You felt more stupid the longer time passed, because you actually didn’t have much reason to be angry. Yes, she missed your Friday tradition but life happens, right? You were certain if it were you she’d be totally fine with it. But it would never be you, because you’d never miss it. It was a vicious thought cycle.

When you’d ignored her on the way out your door for work, she’d put it down to you not hearing her or maybe being in too much of a rush. When you’d come home, you’d spent the evening in your room, only emerging into the kitchen to heat up some noodles before retreating. She figured you were tired. When you’d shrugged her off the next day when she brought home your favourite type of chocolate — she knew something had to be up. She couldn’t work out if it was her, or you were just going through it at first, but when you’d snapped at her on day three — it became crystal clear.

“Can you stop fucking using my towel?” You emerge in the kitchen, and honestly — for the first second before she registers the anger, Abby is just relieved to hear your voice. She turns around from the counter slowly, sucking some salad dressing off her finger from her lunch she was preparing. You looked adorable — still damp, oversized pyjama t-shirt and sleep shorts, comical cartoony oversized slippers on your feet. Despite your appearance, your expression was as serious as ever, brow pinched in stress.

“Sorry.” She shrugs simply, because you’ve never had a problem with her borrowing your towel in all the time you’d lived together.

“Like, can I just come home and not have you all in my stuff?” You huff, going to walk away but she frowns, following you like a big buff lost puppy.

“Hey, hey? What is this? It’s just a towel.” She nearly whines, because why are you being like this? Your usual sweet soft self has gone grainy and abrasive on her and she didn’t like it. You were shutting her out.

“Whatever Abby, I’m just telling you.” You back down a little now, taking a few steps and she gently takes your arm in her large hand. She’s always gentle, aware of how much stronger she is than you.

“You’ve been off lately, you wanna talk about it? You know I’m here for you, right?”

You don’t look at her.

“Yeah, here for me and every other damn girl that walks through your door. Let me go.”

You don’t mean to say it, because God is it telling — you want the ground to swallow you up whole and you scrunch your face in embarrassment as you walk away, shoulders tense and face all hot. You were not this jealous, petty person. She missed your tradition, it was her fault.

Abby gave you your space for the rest of the day, and by evening you’d wound down — anger subsiding as you plonked down on the couch and curled up sulkily, just feeling humiliated and sad. You missed her.

You stared ahead when you heard her bedroom door click open, heavy slow footsteps approaching the living room along the smooth wooden floor. You don’t look, but you can see her standing there at the side, looking at you sadly, henley top and braid adorned.

“Hey.”

Her voice is smooth and low and warm like hot chocolate and you want to bathe in it. You pull the blanket over your thighs tighter over you.

“Hi.”

It was truly an honest mistake on Abby’s part. She’d woken up filled with regret (and a steaming hang over) beside the girl with lilac-y platinum hair, stretching and muttering out a ‘Happy friday’ to break the tension. The girl cracked open an eye with a tired smile and rasped “It’s Saturday, sleepyhead.” making Abby’s heart drop after a beat. Friday’s. They were your days. She was sure you wouldn’t mind missing one out though, you were always kind and gracious like that. The whole bonding night was Abby’s idea after all, it probably wasn’t all that important to you, right? She reassured herself before politely kicking out her bed-mate.

Abby slowly sits down on the couch beside you, and the weight in the room shifts like it always did when she’d join you. She held such a presence that the air would feel thicker and warmer the closer she got, almost to the point where it could be stifling. “I’m sorry I missed bonding night. Manny dragged me out to get drunk and I swear, I thought it was a Thursday—”

You cut her off, which surprised her.

“I thought you were done with bringing girls home.”

She’s silenced for a few seconds, staring at your profile. You’re beautiful even when you’re mad.

“Why does it matter?” It’s soft, like a whisper because she doesn’t want it to come off as defensive or rude like it potentially could do. She genuinely wants to know. Why were you so mad about it?

You were all tense and huffy when you reply and it makes Abby’s heart clench, just wanting to squeeze you.

“Because… because don’t offer something to someone if you don’t mean it. I’m not… I thought we… ugh, whatever. I’m not having this conversation.” You made a mental note to jump back online after this conversation and search for somewhere new to live.

Abby thinks back, and it doesn’t take her long to land on the thought of her telling you she’d be more than happy to take care of you if you needed some relief. Her shoulders relaxed in realisation and brow untensed, and she reached out to stroke a thumb along your arm, body twisted to you.

“Okay, I understand.” She soothes and you want to tear up, maybe in embarrassment or maybe from her tone of voice making you feel small and cared for. You attempt to hold off and fight the feeling. “I thought you weren’t interested. Thought I’d made it weird so I just figured… if I bring someone home things could be normal again. I dunno, it doesn’t make sense now I say it out loud.” She sighs, shaking her head with her eyes closed and brows raised at her own stupidity. You glance at her, shy and still hot-faced and look down at your lap. “Just tell me how you feel. I think… I want what you want. Just need to hear it, sweetheart.”

She can’t make you say it, not after the embarrassment you’ve already faced. So, you settle on another complaint to tell your story. “You don’t know how hard it is… being so pent up and just hearing you… hearing them get to enjoy… you. I wanna feel like that.” You feel pathetic, but your stomach curls anyway at the feeling of her coarse hand sliding up your arm and shoulder to cup the back of your neck, aiding you in looking at her.

“Yeah? I’m sorry. I think you just feel… left out.” She cooes and you preen into her touch, shifting in your seat a little. You say nothing, just let out a little air from your nose. She shuffles closer to you, bringing her warmth. “You forgive me yet? You want me to help you forgive me?” Her other hand fiddles with the blanket on your lap for permission to slide it away, and she’s so close now that you can sigh and lean your head on her strong shoulder, nodding silently. She pulls away the pink fluffy cover up and rests a hand on your bare thigh.

“You know I’d never miss bonding night. ‘D never neglect you on purpose. You’re still my number one, yeah?” She strokes the skin upwards, constantly craning her head down to look at you, watchful of your expression. “I didn’t know you wanted this, sweet girl. I would have taken care of you like you need ages ago if I knew.”

She drops a kiss to your temple and you shudder, your own arm wrapping around her strong bicep to cling to it as your thighs fall open wider. “Yeah? Can I?” She’s quiet and gentle, and you whimper when she cups your hot cunt through flimsy pyjama shorts.

She rubs a sloppy circle over the material and you whine, the sound of wetness already present from your quantity, filling the quiet room. She’d barely touched you, and you were already soaked — it was astounding. “God, you are pent up aren’t you? I’m sorry.” She chuckles in a sympathetic way, free hand coming to smooth down your furrowed brow. Abby stares you down when she slips your thin shorts to the side, fingers slipping and sliding through your drenched folds to circle your clit making you moan softly. “I know.” She hums, eyes on your lips. “You want a kiss? Will that help?”

You can’t talk, so you just nod and she brings you in whilst she languidly rubs your clit, gently sucking on your bottom lip and pressing pecks to it before finally rolling her tongue over yours. With this, she’s pressing a middle finger against your hole and easing it inside, curling up to press against your tight upper wall. You cry out a little against her mouth and she shushes you. “There you go, so fucking tight huh? S’been that long?” She grinds the ball of her hand against your clit and you hump against it, the waistband of your shorts hugging her wrist as the shape of her hand moves up and down.

“Just—needed this.” You struggle, your warm breath heating her lips making her lick over them.

“I know. Gotta use your words next time, let me know yeah? If you said the word I wouldn’t have been sleeping around.” She presses a kiss to the centre of your forehead, lips lingering there as you let out a string of moans and embarrassed pants at the sound of your own wetness against her finger. She slides in another, stretching you.

“Not gonna last long. S’been too long.” You cry and she nods, free hand sliding beneath your lower back when you arch it off the couch.

“I know. S’okay baby.”

When you cum, Abby presses her forehead to yours.

#roommate!abby #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson au #abby anderson drabble

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toomanyfandomsimfanvergent · 1 year

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Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

'I'm No Nancy Wheeler'

Steve has never fallen for a type like you. Never.

"How long does your hair take you little fucker," you yell at your brother as he puts in the finishing sprays of some Farrah Facet hair spray.

He had already been in there for half an hour. You still had to basically do everything but change. It didn't matter how long he took at this point. You were always late to class. He never was.

"One more damn minute in there, and you're going to be very late to your favorite class," you want and Dustin burts out of the bathroom, hairspray in hand.

"You wouldn't dare," he says and points the bottle at you. You scoff as you get into the bathroom. He was convinced you would never do something that serious. Mr. Clarke was his favorite teacher, Dustin worshiped the man.

"I would," you say as you shut the door. Your hair was, there wasn't the right word for it. It was a mess.

"Son of a bitch," Dustin yells as you begin working on the mess of hair resting atop your head. Dustin was definitely going to be late.

You finish up and look at your watch, 7:40am. Shit you were a lot later then you had wanted to be. You groan as you walk into your room and grab your backpack.

You take a last look in the mirror, tight flare jeans and a Bowie Tshirt. Bowie wasn't one of the main bands you listened to, but your brother persuaded you to listen to something less metal.

You slip on a black leather jacket before waking into Dustin's room. You notice his alarm clock says 7:42 A.M.

"Dustin, why is your clock set early?" You ask. There is no fucking way he would set your clock an hour ahead. He wouldn't.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," Dustin yells and grabs his backpack. He did.

"I didn't want to be late," he reasons. You scoff and go to grab your backpack before storming to your car.

Dustin gets in shortly after and you tear out of the driveway. He made you lose an entire hour of sleep. Why? So he wouldn't be late.

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"Fuck off, I'm no Nancy Wheeler," you say to Steve harrington. He was a total asshole. He expected to get whatever he wants whenever he wants it.

"I'm not with Nancy Wheeler, plus I don't want to be. I want to be with you," he says and you cringe. Ew.

"So. You went from Nancy Wheeler, to Yn Henderson?" You ask him motioning to your attire. Did Nancy Wheeler even know what Bowie was?

"Look, I'm over her," Steve insists. You raise an eyebrow and scoff.

"Okay, what do I have to do to prove it to you?" Steve asks. He was so hopeful you would say something easy so he could just kiss you.

He loved your 'fuck off' attitude and was instantly pulled into a choke hold by you. He hated the fact that he fell for the biggest outcast in the school, but you were worth it.

He was getting over having to deal with all of the pressure of keeping his reputation perfect. Being king Steve wasn't easy.

"Fine. Fuck off and I will think about it," you reply and stalk off. You left to walk to some class you had, either history of math, and thought about it.

The answer was no.

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It had been two years since you had rejected Steve Harrington. He respected your wishes and waited for you to come to him. You hadn't.

That all changed when you saw working at scoops ahoy in that stupid uniform. Honestly, it should be illegal to look that good.

Steve and his stupid, slutty thighs. Steve and his stupid, slutty waist.

You walked over to the counter and rang the bell. Steve turned around and blushed.

"Get it over with Henderson," he said with a groan. You smiled and let out a little laugh. He had so idea you thought that that stupid uniform was hot.

"I don't know. Maybe you could help me?" You ask and lean on the counter. "I'm thinking cherries jubilee, maybe a banana boat sundae?" You say with a smile as Steve's eyebrows hit his hairline.

"I'm sorry?" He asks. He was very clearly shocked. "is this a stupid prank?" Steve asks.

"I did not plan this. Blame that slutty sailors outfit," you reply with a wink. Steve's jaw drops. You tap your finger under his chin so it doesn't literaly hit the floor.

"So, pick me up at,- what time do you get off?" You ask. Steve is still in shock as you fold your arms over your chest.

He couldn't believe it. He couldnt. You were different

There were a few small tattoos adorning your arms, and your black jeans clung to you. Low on your hips. Steve snapped back to reality and kept his mind from wandering.

How many nights had he pined over you? Wishing and hoping for a single kiss. A single hug even.

"Um, ten," he blurts and you smile before grabbing his hand and writing your number.

"You can pick me up at 11, maybe we could go to the arcade. They are open late on Saturdays during the summer," you say and give him a kiss on the cheek before walking off.

Steve stands in shock. H-

"You rule Harrington," Robin says with utter shock. How had Steve had a girl, a very, very, hot girl come up and basically ask him out?

"I rule?" Steve says and hears a groan.

"Was that my sister?" Dustin asks. That was when it hit him.

Steve had gotten a date with his sister. You despised Steve? Or did you?

Dustin didn't want to find out.

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Requests are open! Check my pinned post for details!

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