#abby tlou

[rhyrhy]

pls save us horny loser!abby🙏

Loser! girlfriend Abby

[ contains:] sexting(?) she’s so whiny, body hair mention. Gf!Loser Abby!, blurb/drabble.

You are at work. what else is she supposed to do?

Even the smell of cardboard and the task at hand couldn’t distract your girlfriend from the ache between her legs.

Her arms, slightly sore from packing all day—you two were finally moving in together. She beamed at the idea of having access to you at all times. It was so close to being a reality, which made days like this, you being away, even harder.

Hypersexual? No. But hopelessly in love with you? Absolutely. So naturally, when you sent her a video of you at work—all modest, professional—but those high necklines did nothing to stop her eyes from following the lines of your body. She’s seen it bare, but her body was reacting like she hadn’t. All she had to do was wait until 5 p.m. But the minutes felt excruciatingly slow. Then the 20-minute drive to her place, plus rush hour—oh God, she couldn’t bear it.

The image of you smiling, showing her your outfit each morning, would usually have her grinning like an idiot, saving the photo to her “Sunshine” album full of you, and trying to act like she didn’t wait by the door like a dog for its owner once you were off.

So now, her t-shirt sat tugged between her teeth, lifted to showcase her state. A flushed face, complimented by her heavy breathing. Trimmed blonde happy trail leading to her oozing folds. Her arousal dripping down to her anus. Her slightly shaky hands hovered over the screen. She shouldn’t. You had a whole hour left at work. But she was already past the point of making good decisions, so—

Send.

It didn’t take long for you to excuse yourself and take a deep breath, prepared to scold her. Or at least, you planned on it. But hearing her soft pleas was breaking your resolve.

[absfemme]

https://www.tumblr.com/absfemme/778302249262891008/anyway-send-me-more-fic-reqs-please-im-so-bored?source=share

ANYTHING ABT ABBY DICKING U DOWN PLEASEEEEEEE

cw ; meandomabby subreader. daddy kink. strap use. slight overstim. pussy slapping. face slapping. spanking.

“why you runnin', huh? take it. take this shit.”

a heavy slap lands on your thigh, the sting blooming into a red, abby-shaped handprint. not that you care—your poor hole is too full, too stretched and messy to give a shit. the sharp bite of pain only makes you shudder, you twitch in response.

she’s been at this for what feels like forever, keeping you spread out over her lap, making you take every inch of her. every time you try to squirm away (when did you start moving so much?), she yanks you right back in like it’s nothing.

"stay fucking still," she growls, delivering another sharp smack—this time against your dripping cunt. you jolt, a strangled cry ripping from your throat as heat floods your body. your clit throbs at the impact, sending another wave of slick dripping down the length of her as well as new fresh, hot tears down your face.

she rolls her eyes at your persistent cries, scoffing. you’re so fucking soft. it’s almost sad.

maybe you shouldn’t have begged for this—shouldn’t have pulled at her shirt, shouldn’t have whined in that needy little voice about how badly you wanted to be fucked while she was busy. please, abby. need your cock. please, daddy, please.

yeah, you asked for this.

"aw, you crying? is it too much?"

you nod, hoping for mercy, for even a little relief. but all that does is make her go harder. of course she does. fucking bully.

“but you were just begging for this dick a second ago, weren’t you?"

your nodding is frantic, desperate—like it’ll change anything, like she’ll ease up. but abby only snickers, fingers digging into your cheeks as she tilts your face up to hers. her thumb drags through the wet mess on your skin, not to wipe it away, but to spread it, smearing your own ruin across your cheek. a silent reminder of just how far gone you already are.

“nah,” she mutters, voice dropping lower, rougher. “quit with the tears. you wanted this, remember?”

her hips snap forward, forcing a choked gasp from you. your hands scramble against her arms, not to push her away—just to hold onto something. she’s so deep it’s close to unbearable, and yet your cunt takes it—likes it—clenching down like you don’t know whether to run or keep her right there.

abby laughs again, a low, mean thing. she leans in, pressing her lips to your ear, breath hot and warming.

“still wanna act like it’s too much?” she punctuates the question with another sharp thrust, dragging a broken sob from your throat. “c’mon, use your words, baby. tell me how bad you need it.”

but you can’t—you can barely even think, and she knows it. knows she’s got you exactly where she wants you.

her hand slides down, fingers wrapping around your throat—not tight enough to cut off your air, but just enough to make you feel it, to remind you who’s in control. her grip is steady, unshakable, even as your body jerks with every brutal thrust.

“thaaaaat’s it,” she grits out, watching the way your face twists. “take it. just like that.”

your nails dig into her forearm, desperate for something to hold onto as the pressure builds. she knows exactly what she’s doing, keeping you trapped between the deep drag of her cock and the bruising grip on your neck.

"gonna cum?" her voice is a pitch higher now, mocking you, teasing you, but there’s something hungrier underneath it. she wants you to. needs you to.

you nod again, gasping out something that might be her name, might just be a broken mess of syllables.

abby glances down, groaning at the mess between your thighs—the way your cunt drools around her cock, thick and sticky, leaving a filthy trail of grool smeared along her skin.

"fuckin’ do it," she growls, slamming into you harder, deeper. "cum all over this dick."

the last bit of restraint snaps, and your body obeys instantly, back arching as the pleasure crashes over you, raw and overwhelming. you swear you black out for a second, the sensation so sharp it’s almost too much.

abby groans at the way you squeeze around her, her pace turning sloppy, desperate, like she’s chasing her own high through the mess of you. she fucks you through it, dragging it out, making sure you feel all of it.

even as your body trembles from the aftershocks, she doesn’t slow, her grip unrelenting as she ruts into you with that same hungry intensity.

"can’t do it?" she mocks, dragging her lips along your jaw, breath hot against your sweat-slick skin. "you asked for this.”

⤷ tags ; @blackdykegirlblogger @caninecutiez @graciedollie

[vampirq]

⋆ ࣪ ִֶָ . ❀ HOW TLOU + ARCANE WOMEN BRAT TAME YOU.

contain characters: abby anderson. ellie williams. dina woodward. sevika. vi. caitlynn kiramann. mel medarda

3.4k words total, not proofread.

tags: dom! abby. hair pulling. praise. strap-on sex. overstimulation. major teasing. strap referred to as ‘dick.’ mean! ellie. dom! sevika. fingering. edging. grinding. finger sucking. usage of ‘daddy.’ spanking. cunt slapping. oral. thigh riding.

note: yeah .. this is just filth. i’m sorry for any typos or over usage of words, writing this sucked the life out of me.

ABBY ANDERSON

you’ve been pestering abby all night in the kitchen. holding things away from her so she can’t grab them, mocking her when she asks you to do something, even talking back to her. 

abby didn’t feed into too much though. she’d just tell you to ‘cut it out’ or shoot you a warning look and continue cooking. but you weren’t satisfied. you wanted to see her break, see her far you could push her til she had enough. 

so you did just that. 

“what? you gonna glare at me all night, or are you actually gonna do something about it?” you mutter, your voice bitter but that feeling deep down is far from it.

“you’re funny, real funny, babe.” abby stifles a laugh, her tongue poking at her cheek. disappointed with her response, you roll your eyes in frustration, keeping your eyes focused on the way her biceps flex each time she slices an onion. 

you move behind her, your nose adjacent with her neck. your lips press against it then, your tongue licks a messy stripe down to her collarbone. the salt and alcohol from her perfume collecting in your mouth. “mm, you taste good. but you probably already knew that, huh?” 

she lets out a low groan, dropping the knife; a loud clang echoing throughout the room. her hands grip onto the counter while her head hangs between the shoulders, shifting on her feet. 

you open your mouth to say another snarky remark, but they fall on silent lips, choosing to watch her instead.

in a minute, her body turns to yours, her hands rested on your hips and backing you towards a wall. she has a look in her eye, and you can’t differentiate it from frustration or desire. maybe both. maybe neither. maybe she’s just done.

her body clashes with yours. her forearm resting on the wall, the other toying with your waistband.  “you wanna tell me what’s got you acting like this?” her voice is deep, stern, and you know you’ve got her right where you want her. “was me fucking you senseless last night not enough?”

“guess not.” you snap back, earning a growl from abby. 

she lets out another dry laugh and shakes her head. bringing her gaze back up to you, her lips inches apart from yours. “you’ve got five minutes to get on the bed. ass up. naked, and i better not see you touching yourself, understand?” her tone is harsh, it makes you gulp, an inch of fear washing over you.

—

“ngghh, fuck, abby! i can’t, can’t take it—“ your words are cut off with a loud moan. nails digging into the cotton sheets beneath you. 

abby’s pace increases at your pleas. her hips driving into you with more force.  people were not lying when they said her back shots sound like gunshots. “come on, baby. take this dick, fuck yeah.” her head tilts back, a low whine leaving her lips. 

strings of her name tumble out of your mouth like a sacred song. feeling your mind grow foggy as her tip kisses your cervix. your chest lays flat against the bed, the support from your arms being taken away from abby. her hand grabbing both of your arms and holding them behind your back. 

“oh? where’s that attitude now, princess?” the grip she has on you tightens, using it as leverage to pound into you deeper. “‘cause all i hear are a buncha pretty moans.” 

you feel your legs shake, eyes rolling to the back of your head. any attempt at words would just come out inaudible, resulting in a plethora of lewd noises. you couldn’t tell abby you were close, but she knew, she alwaysknew. 

“can feel you squeezing my cock. make a mess all over me, pretty girl.” her permission is the only thing you needed to gush all over the sheets. your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave, sudden and intense. 

she fucks you through it, talking to you and praising you. the grip she had on your arms were gone, but now it was on your hips. her tempo changed from fast, sharp to slow and deep. it allowed you to feel every inch of her easing in and out of you.

the overstimulation came quickly, causing you to thrash and whine. “a-abby, it’s too much. fuck! m’ sorry, won’t be mean again.” you beg, but it’s no use. her hold on you only tightens and she shows no signs of letting up. 

“bullshit, baby. c’mon give me one more, yeah?” 

ELLIE WILLIAMS

you’ve had the biggest attitude all day, and it simply couldn’t be helped. you distanced yourself from ellie, had an underlying tone of annoyance in your words, and gave short responses  when talking. this wasn’t unlike you for this to happen, but ellie was still bothered by it. 

so whenever the two of you returned home from your outing, she sat down on the couch and called you over. reluctantly, you gave in and straddled her lap just like she wanted. 

“alright, c’mon baby. tell me what’s going on.” ellie says, tilting her head to the side and keeping her eyes locked on yours. her hand trailing up your outer thigh, and tracing small shapes. 

“nothing.” your voice comes out blunt and uninterested, shifting your gaze from hers to the wall. 

ellie takes your chin in her pointer finger and thumb. she doesn’t look convinced, her brows furrowed, lips forming into a thin line. you yank your head out of her grip with an exasperated groan. attempting to come off as unbothered, but she sees it in a much different way. 

her eyes darken at your insolence, finding herself grow more impatient with you. her fingers pinch a chunk of your thigh, resulting in a whine and a string of complaints from you. 

“ow, ellie! what the fuck is wro—“ 

“lose the attitude, and talk to me properly. what’s going on with you today?” the grip she has on your thigh tightens, grounding you from any distractions. her stern voice brings out that feeling in your lower stomach, and it takes everything in you to not drop the act completely.

“nothing. i’m just, i don’t know. frustrated?” your eyes fall onto her lips then her biceps. ellie notices immediately, her hardened expression turning into an intrigued one. 

“oh. oh, i see, baby.” she smirks, moving her hand to your jaw and pulling you closer. “you just need me to set that pretty head straight, yeah?” 

your lips part to protest, but you can’t find the words, leaving you silent and dumbfounded. you shift in her lap to relieve the tingly sensation coming from your cunt, but it just earns a chuckle from ellie. 

“that’s what i thought,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side your neck. her hands pull you closer to her, one arm wrapped around your waist the other settled on your jaw. “you act up when you need me. huh, is that it?” 

your cheeks burn at how easily she can see through you. that little persona was nothing but a glass window to her, but you don’t respond. instead, rolling your hips against her lap in search of friction, but ellie’s hands are on you in an instant, keeping you still.

“nah, baby.” her head shakes from side to side, voice becoming low and gravelly. “you don’t get to be a brat all day then take what you want.” 

a frustrated whines leaves your lips, and ellie grins, clearly enjoying this way too much. her hand pulls your shorts and underwear over, exposing your glistening cunt to her. she nearly drools at the sight, dragging a finger through your sopping slit. 

you grind into her hand again, and this time she lets you, thrusting her middle finger in your pussy and feeling your velvety walls clench on her. her wrist moves up and down, keeping her eyes focused on your face. she can tell you’re pleased, but it’s not enough and before you could do anything else, she pulls her hand away. 

“ellie, i— why would you do that?” you pout, giving her those sweet doe eyes. 

she pouts back but with faux sympathy. a hint of arrogance in her tone. “you wanted to act like you run shit, baby. can’t give you everything you want.” 

but eventually she does, and it was worth every second of waiting.

DINA WOODWARD

you’re pushing dina’s buttons tonight— rolling your eyes, scoffing at every little thing she says. you don’t even remember what you said exactly, but whatever it was, it made something inside of her flip.

her expression shifts. the teasing, easy-going glint in her eyes turn sharper. she turns around to face you, each step she takes forward, it’s one you take back until you hit the wall. 

she’s in front of you now— her brown baby hairs tickling the sides of your face. you could feel the heat radiating off of her body, and it only draws you in more. 

you don’t realize she’s talking until her eyes meet yours. “.. think you’re all talk? are you even listening to me right now, babe?” she questions, her voice is condescending but gentle. 

you try to hold your ground, looking past her instead of into her. anything to avoid the confrontation you set yourself up for. but her smirk only widens, planting a hand beside your head and taking your chin in her grasp. 

“you wanted my attention so bad, but now that you’ve got it, you’re silent.” her eyes scan your face, a chuckle surpassing her lips. you feel small under her gaze as if she was belittling you without even trying. 

you glare at her, but your breath stutters when her hand trails along your waist, and her thigh spilts your legs apart. the denim material of her jeans rub against your cunt, and it takes everything in you to not rut against her.

she watches you writhe under her, your muscles tensing to prevent yourself from submitting to her. “what?” her nose ghosts over your jaw, her lips are close to your skin, but not close enough to connect. “had such a mouth on you earlier. sweetheart, what happened?” 

“you act all tough, run your mouth, but the second i get my hands on you?” her low smug chuckle adds to the tension. “s’ like you forgot how to speak.” 

your stomach twists, heat curling and twisting inside of you. fuck, you hate that she’s right. how she could get you pleading with nothing but her voice. you shift on your feet to regain composure, but that was a big mistake. ‘cause now dina’s grinding her thigh into you, pushing your hips down so you have no choice but to take it. 

“y’know, maybe i should fix that.” she muses, like she was actually considering it. “maybe i should stretch you open nice and slow, make you ride my fingers ‘til your begging me to let you cum.”

a small whimper tumbles out of your lips, growing into a moan as she applies more pressure. 

“or maybe, i should take my time with you. keep you on the edge, fucking you but not in the way you want it, make you earn it..” she drags out her words like she’s picturing it. “yeah, think that’s what i���ll do.” 

she presses a deep, loving kiss to the pressure point below you ear, but before you could savor the moment, she pulls away. 

she straightens up, eyes twinkling with amusement at your fucked-out face. then proceed to chirp, “anyways, i’m gonna go get a drink. need anything?” 

you don’t respond, you stand there. staring and trying to process everything that just happened, yet she just grins and throws you a wink over her shoulder before walking off. 

SEVIKA

“keep counting, slut.” sevika’s voice echoes throughout the walls of your shared bedroom, blending with the sharp crack of her palm against your bare ass. 

“f-five,” you manage, voice broken and shaky. your legs jerk up when another smack lands—harder this time, ripping a whine from your throat.

the globes of your ass were painted a nice red. each slap stinging more than the last— a new found arousal pooled out of you and onto her hand. she uses your slick as lube, coating it in her finger and thrusting into your sopping hole. 

“ohh, fuck! you feel so good, vika,” she silences your moans with her fingers, stuffing her middle and ring into your mouth. 

“i know, baby. daddy just makes you feel good even when you don’t deserve it, yeah?” her voice, her touch, it intoxicates you, your mind being filled with nothing but sevika. each touch of hers feels electric. the sensitivity on your cunt spiking due to her spanking.

she lets out a low chuckle at the way your tongue swirls around fingers, greedily sucking them into your mouth. she pushes them further into you, her knuckles colliding with your lips. then, pulling them out slowly, smearing it all over your chin before landing a soft slap to your cheek. 

“so needy for me,” she murmurs, her fingers never faltering as they plunge into you again. her other hand finds your throat, wrapping around it, just firm enough to make your breath hitch. “this is what you wanted, huh? to be fucked stupid? to let me turn you into my perfect little fucktoy?”

you hum, nodding weakly, your lashes wet, eyes heavy—but they roll back completely when she curls her fingers just right.

she slams harder into you, deeper. her fingertips kissing your g spot with every thrust. your legs start to shake, and the grip you have on the sheets tightens. broken noises of sevika’s name tumbling out of your mouth. 

but she stops, and it’s so abrupt you start tearing up. 

“oh doll, don’t cry.” she coos with faux sympathy, sarcasm dripping in her words. “you’ll get your fill soon enough.” 

her palm strikes your ass again, the impact sending a jolt straight to your cunt. she watches it jiggle, drags her fingers over the heated skin, eyes dark with amusement.

“but i didn’t say stop counting, did i?”

VI

“oh, come on, vi. that’s all you got?” you tease, your wrists are pinned firmly above your head. you’ll admit, it’s actually pretty hard to move considering the amount of force she’s using, but she doesn’t need to know that. “seems pretty weak to me, love.” 

vi’s face darken at your words, her pupils draining the color from her eyes. her brows twitch, jaw tightens, and she exhales a slow breath, like she’s trying real hard to be patient. 

“you done?” her voice is steady and firm, her eyes glued onto your face, watching for any signs of regret. but there is none, and she knows that when she sees the corner of your lips quirk up in a smile. 

“nop—“ before you could get the word out, you were flipped onto your stomach. your face smushed against the pillows, vi’s arm wrapped around your waist, restraining any sudden movements. then, her palm strikes down hard on your ass, the sharp slap echoing throughout the room. 

“yeah?” another slap. harder, hotter. “still wanna talk shit?”

your breath shudders, body tensing under her. stubbornly, you bite down on your bottom lip to hold back a whimper. bad call. ‘cause now, she’s doing anything she can to draw out those noises from you. 

you feel the grip on your hips shift to the back of your thighs. her lips ghost over your clothed cunt,  grazing over the soaked material. “shit, baby. you’re so fucking wet. is all this from being thrown around?” she questions, but you don’t respond. so she tries gain with a different approach— pulling your panties to the side and licking a firm stripe up your folds. 

that’s what gets you to break, a small whine leaving your lips. you press your hips back on her, chasing more pleasure than what she’s giving you. she lets you use her for a bit, lets you move your hips in a circle on her tongue, even prodding your hole with it. but it’s not long ‘til she backs away. 

“you want my mouth, don’t you?” she asks, tone mocking and condescending. still, you don’t respond. she lands a sharp slap to your cunt, the juices stringing off of her fingers. “what was that? didn’t hear you, babe.” 

your pride cracks, the urge to be fucked taking over your stubbornness. “yes, yes— please just touch me.” your cheeks heat up at your own words, the feeling of embarrassment washing over you. 

she smirks at that. using her thumbs to spread apart your hole, watching it clench from her touch. she sucks in a breath, her tongue coating her lips in saliva. her lips dance over your folds again, but this time she submerged her mouth in your pussy. the word “good girl.” humming against your aching core.

CAITLYNN KIRAMANN

caitlyn’s been nose deep in her books all day, barely sparing a glance at you. it’s frustrating, all you wanted was some attention from her and she wasn’t even giving you that. so, you took matters into your own hands. 

you strode over to the lounge chair she was sitting in, your footfalls light to not disturb her reading. your body stood huffing in front of her, and she didn’t even look up. you lifted her hands up from her book and sat down in her lap. 

“need something?” she asks, her posh accent breaking through. 

yeah, your fucking attention. you thought, but remained quiet, only giving her a small hum in response. she wrapped her arm around your torso and rested her head over shoulder, continuing to read that stupid book.

you shift in her lap, finding the spot that catches your clit perfectly, and when you do, strings of small whines pour out of your lips. caitlyn notices but doesn’t say anything, instead she bounces her leg to increase the pleasure. 

“c-cait,” you whine, biting down on her shoulder to silence your moans. the pace of your hips grinding against her picks up. “cait, please. i, i need you.” 

she gives you a hum of acknowledgement, but still paying you no mind. you start to get irritated, she had a whole girl in her lap, yet she was focused on some words on a paper. your whimpers grow more louder, more needy in hopes of her giving you what you want. but when your kisses and bites start becoming intense, she breaks. 

the book slams shut, the sound of it hitting the floor is like music to your ears. her head lifts up off her shoulder to meet your eyes. her composed face being a huge contrast to your desperate, pleading one. 

“darling, you couldn’t even wait until i was finished?” she muses, tilting her head and sharpening her eyes. “had to come grind in my lap like a poor dog in heat?” 

you know she’s talking down at you, but you can’t help the small moan that escapes your lips.  “m’ sorry. just wanted you’re attention, s’ all.” your words are slurred as your orgasm builds up, using the small amount of strength to keep your eyes open. 

“i know, baby, i know.” her hand comes up to cup your jaw and draws your face closer to hers. “i’ll help you, sweetheart. make you feel real good.”

MEL MEDARDA

“you know, maybe if you weren’t sitting around looking pretty all day, you’d actually know how to fuck me properly.” the words tumble out faster than you expected, earning a raised eyebrow from mel. 

she sits her wine glass on the table, and gets up to make her way over to you. each step she takes is calculated, deliberate, and it makes you start to regret your words. her frame stands in front of you, her hazel eyes piercing down into yours. 

“repeat yourself, dear. go ahead.” she tilts her head when she talks to you. 

your throat bobs, and your mouth goes dry. but you square shoulders, refusing to let her see the effect she has on you. “you heard me.” 

mel huns, a soft knowing sound, as if she’s already bored of this game you’re playing. then she leans down, hands settling on each side of you, caging you in the couch.

“i did,” her voice is still silk, still calm, but there’s something different about her tone. it has a underlying tone of danger, warning. her fingers trace along your jaw. her touch is featherlight and delicate like you’ll break from the slightest amount of pressure. 

“so tell me, love—“ she takes your jaw in hand, forcing your eyes to meet hers. “—how exactly would you like to be fucked?” 

your breath catches, body tensing under her touch, but she doesn’t give you time to answer before her hand slides between your thighs. her touch is light, barely there—nothing more than a ghost of pressure on your clothed core.

“like this?” she asks, mocking, her fingers glide up and down at torturous pace. “soft? slow?” 

you look up at her with half lidded eyes, her words hanging heavy in your head. her grip tightens—the warmth of her hand suddenly gone, only to be replaced with a sharp slap to your inner thigh. you flinch, and mel just smiles, tilting her head as if she’s studying you. 

“or maybe—” she leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, her voice nothing but a whisper, ”—you’d prefer i throw you over this couch and remind you exactly what i’m capable of?”

your stomach flips, heat pooling low in your gut, but you force yourself to hold your ground, lips curling into a smirk.

“talk is cheap, mel.”

her expression doesn’t change—not at first. but then, slowly, a smirk of her own tugs at her lips.

“oh, darling—” she breathes, her fingers suddenly wrapping around your throat, firm, tilting your head back against the cushions.

her thumb presses just right, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath hitch, enough to make your head spin.

”—you should know by now that i never just talk.”

🏷️: @samcvrpenters @ellieslosttwofingers @macabremilieu @pornoangelz @moonylvs @bambiaches @vikasgf @iheartclairo66 @sevikassllver @rriini @macabremilieu @areyousayingicantcookchicke-blog @coffeemusicluv @pinelark @seraphic-clowder-jpg @exstarrr @angelynn-nicole @marieeeluvsyou @scott1shabbyand3rson @mars-bars6 @floweryflees @evergifted @cloudsims54 @sludg3 @graciedollie @elliesanqel @ellieslvvt @prettyinpink69 @ferxanda @cherryrazorblade @lovinglynny @ebuggie @brinanotfound404 @marvelwomenarehot0 @vamp1reg1rrrl @alm0ndm1lk1 @earlgreyteatearstains @angelynn-nicole @

[satsuguru]

thinkin’ about sub!abby sending you a video of her touching herself while you’re busy.

1 new message: abs <3

you open your texts to a video, pitch black— all except for her face. it’s flushed and there’s tears forming in the corners of her eyes. you decide to hit play— why not?

the brightness from abby’s phone reflects onto her skin, flushed red and sweat beaded at her hairline. her mouth is open wide— from letting out a moan or a reaction, you don’t know.

the camera moves abruptly, abby giving you a perfectly clear view of her toned abs glistening with sweat— and her wet cunt covered by her hands.

“miss you so much, need you so bad— fuck,”

her last word comes out as a whine, desperate and aching for your touch. her sentence continues,

“please come home soon, i can’t take anymore.”

the camera shifts back to her face, a low, wet sound can be heard in the background— it’s obvious she’s still touching herself.

it cuts after that.

you’re left with your mouth agape, face flushed, and cunt throbbing. you decide to leave her a text, simple and straight to the point.

i’ll be over soon, wait for me baby.

[heartowan]

★

[ abby anderson x fem reader ] cunnilingus, fingering, soft, slow sex, stone top abby, pillow princess reader, pwp.

Abby's broad shoulders rested between your legs, keeping them apart with no effort. She was strong and hard. Her arms were under your thighs, fingers stroking the sides of your body so tenderly it might make you cry if you focus too much on it, but it was hard to do so with the way her tongue lapped at your center.

She wasn't loud, wasn't messy, but she got the job done like no other. Her tongue flicked against your clit in practiced strokes, you could feel the humid warmth of the muscle pushing you closer and closer to your peak. Your legs twitched, toes curled as if you were about to come, but she had just started — she was just that good.

Your low whimpers and breathy moans filled the quiet room, and your fingers held onto her hair just carefully enough not to completely mess up her braid, but you needed to ground yourself. Abby was just like you, almost like she was the one receiving, whimpering to herself, humming against your pussy, showing you how you could make her feel good just by feeling good yourself.

Eyes closed, lips parted, head tipped back and resting on the pillow. She made you feel like you were about to burst every time. You didn't even realize the pants were coming out anymore, your breath heavy as you tried to hold on, to keep yourself from coming pathetically fast, but fuck, you hadn't seen your girlfriend in almost two weeks — you hated when her work trips took her away from you, and so did she —, you supposed you could act a least a little pitiful.

You were dripping onto her bedding, the juices flowing out of you and landing on her chin, then down onto the white sheets.

"Abby," you gasped when she eased her thick index finger into you, accidentally gripping too hard at her hair, but she didn't even mind, in fact, you head her chuckle against your clit.

You whined, pushing up to your elbows to watch as she ate you out. She was looking at you, her blue eyes piercing into yours. Her finger pumped in and out of you, she could feel you creaming around it, making a mess like you usually did. The squelching noises were music to her ears, as well as your soft hums, shaky cries and dragged moans of pleasure. Every sound that you made.

You clenched around her finger, and she made sure to add another one, now fucking you with her index and middle fingers — fast and efficient. Your head fell back again, and you whimpered, hips bucking to follow her movements.

Now you felt it even more, your toes curled harder, stomach started to tense and breaths came out even more puffy. You tried really, really hard to keep your eyes open, but the efforts were in vain.

You cried out, louder than normally (still not a scream), your body slumping down against the bed as you spasmed, your thighs squeezing Abby's shoulders with strength neither of you new you had.

Your orgasm ripped through you like a lightning bolt, you dripped down on Abby's fingers, and she kept going, milking you, watching as the cream oozed out of your needy pussy. "Thaaat's it, that's it..." she cooed, digits still pumping into you, just slower.

It all lasted so painfully and deliciously long, you twitched in her arms even after she had already pulled her fingers out, now letting them caress your sides again as she pressed the softest kisses to your inner thighs, grounding you in the moment.

When you looked down at her, her lips were shiny, face flushed, and hair a complete fucking mess — beautiful as always. You were so happy to have her.

"Thank you, baby..." your voice was a breathy, drawled slur, you were just so satisfied.

You heard her laugh against your skin, and then felt one last kiss to your thigh before she murmured, "You're very welcome."

She stayed there, head between your legs, resting against your thigh as she caressed all over your torso, tracing midless lines, and you didn't move either, finding her hair again, sinking your digits in it to massage her scalp just the way she liked.

Both of you knew you weren't even close to being done after nearly two weeks apart, but chose to bask in the comfortable quietness for a little longer.

★ not proof read, guys

[ivoryrebellionmess]

i´ve decided im over it, im now ready to defend her from all the hate she´s gonna get

rip buff abby you will always be famous

[andersonsgirl]

ELLIE & ABBY P*RN LINKS !

have fun i picked these out very carefully ..

ellie fucks you after your long nap

ellie loves doggy

ellie reverse cowgirl

ellie in all black

ellie who couldn’t wait to till we get home

ellie making love

ellie recording you taking it

abby lets you ride her strap in the backseat

abby massages your breasts

abby couldn’t resist fucking you during work

abby pounds you from the back

abby fucks you hard but youre so loud..

abby fucking you in all positions

abby loves when you suck her strap

abby finger fucking you while you jump on it

[lesbianloser777]

I’m really wet rn

[jhyoos]

Guns & Lace

outlaw!abby x rich!reader

mentions: modern au!, 1800s au!, romance, fast pace, hints of homophobia, sex in barn, forbidden love trope, kissing, reader comes out to family, violence, shooting, readers father is the sheriff

summary: you have a secret relationship with one of the most wanted woman in the country.

notes: im ovulating so the romance and smut is a little too over the top.

You were the daughter of the town’s esteemed sheriff, a symbol of grace and perfection molded by the expectations of high society. To the townspeople, you were nothing short of divine—each appearance sending ripples of admiration through the crowd. A new dress, a shimmering necklace, or simply the glow of your porcelain skin under the sun was enough to make them sigh in awe. Your mother ensured you lived up to this image, shaping you into the perfect lady with a delicate yet unyielding hand. Every morning was a lesson, every evening a test—how to curtsy at just the right angle, how to smile without showing too much teeth, how to keep your spine straight even when the bones of your corset dug deep into your flesh.

You liked being a lady, or rather, you liked the beauty of it. The elegance, the fine silks that draped over your body, the glint of candlelight against your jewelry—all of it had a certain enchantment. But there was an unspoken weight that came with it. The corsets were suffocating, the carefully practiced posture left your muscles aching, and the shoes—oh, the shoes—were a punishment wrapped in luxury. Worst of all, you were expected to endure the sharp tongues of high society with nothing more than a polite smile and a veiled retort, never truly allowed to bite back. Even horseback riding, one of the few freedoms you had, was made into an ordeal by layers of lace and ruffles that always found a way to tangle in the saddle. You wanted more. You craved more.

And then, as if the universe had heard your silent plea, she arrived.

No one knew who she was—not yet. But you did.

You had heard your father speak of her in hushed yet furious tones, piecing together the stories, the rumors, the scraps of information collected from frightened witnesses and unlucky men who had crossed paths with her. A woman built like a warrior, golden-haired, with a gaze sharp enough to cut. A leader. A ghost. A legend. Abby Anderson.

And there she was, in the grandest ballroom of the year, standing among politicians and the wealthy elite as if she belonged. Her suit was crisp, fitted in a way that made her broad shoulders even more imposing, yet she moved with an ease that suggested she was not the least bit intimidated by the opulence around her.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched her. You should have been terrified. But terror was not what you felt.

Her eyes found you.

She smirked, slow and deliberate, as she strode toward you, weaving effortlessly through the dance floor until she stood close—too close.

"Didn’t think I’d meet an angel at a place like this," she murmured, her voice a low hum, thick with something dangerous.

Your throat went dry. You knew who she was. You knew what she was. And yet—

"And I didn’t think outlaws got invited to presidential balls," you managed to say, your voice steadier than you expected.

Her smirk deepened. "You wound me, sugar. I’m no outlaw. Just a woman who knows how to walk through the right doors."

The heat of her presence was intoxicating. Every brush of her fingers against your sleeve, every lingering glance, sent a thrill rushing through you. You should have left. You should have turned away.

But you didn’t.

"You shouldn’t be talking to her."

Your mother’s voice sliced through the moment like a blade, and before you could react, she was there, her gloved hand gripping your wrist tight enough to leave marks. "Go dance with one of your suitors, darling. This one is… not our kind."

You barely had time to process the loss of Abby’s warmth before your mother was dragging you away, her nails digging into your skin through the delicate lace of your gloves.

She didn’t stop until she found an empty hallway, away from prying eyes. When she finally released you, she was fuming, her lips pressed into a hard line.

"Women like that," she spat, as if the words themselves were poison, "are not fit for society. They’re unnatural. Filthy. Do you understand me?"

Your stomach twisted.

"I have seen what happens to girls who entertain… that kind of company," she continued, her voice low and seething. "They end up outcasts. Ruined. And I will not have you ruin yourself over some broad-shouldered brute pretending to be a man."

You felt like you had been struck, though she had not laid a hand on you. Shame and anger warred inside you, tightening your throat.

"She was just talking to me," you whispered, though you knew it didn’t matter.

Your mother scoffed. "She was corrupting you," she corrected. "And you, foolish girl, were letting her."

She took a deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress as if that alone could erase the conversation. "Now, go back inside. Dance with someone respectable. And do not let me see you near that woman again."

With that, she turned and disappeared back into the ballroom, leaving you alone, trembling with something that was not fear—but something much more dangerous.

And then—

"Well, that was somethin’."

You spun around, your pulse hammering in your ears. Abby leaned lazily against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"You—"

She pushed off the wall, stepping closer, her voice softer now, intimate. "Figured she wouldn’t like me much. Pity. I like you plenty."

The air between you was thick, electric. You should have run. You should have turned and gone back inside.

But instead, you did something reckless.

"Abby," you breathed.

She froze.

A flicker of surprise passed over her face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by something slower, something deeper.

"You know who I am," she murmured, more statement than question.

"My father—"

"I know who your father is," she interrupted, taking another step closer, so close you could see the flecks of green in her stormy eyes.

You swallowed hard. Your name was on the tip of your tongue. And before you could stop yourself, you gave in.

"My name is—"

"I know who you are," Abby cut in, her voice a low whisper, tinged with something that made your breath hitch.

She lifted her hand, fingers grazing your jaw, slow and deliberate. The moment stretched, thick with unspoken words, with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t.

A slow smile curled at the edges of her lips.

"See you around, angel," she murmured before turning, disappearing into the shadows.

And for the first time in your life, you wanted to follow.

The memory of that night at the ball clung to you like the lingering scent of roses after a storm. No matter how hard you tried to push her away from your thoughts, Abby Anderson remained, etched into your mind like an ink stain that refused to fade. You saw her in the flickering candlelight of your bedroom, in the whispers of the wind that slipped through the cracks of your window, in the ghost of a touch that never truly left your skin.

You had danced with suitors, entertained polite conversations, played your role as the perfect daughter of the sheriff, but none of it mattered. Not when your mind drifted back to her. The way her voice curled around her words, the way her fingers had ghosted over your wrist like a promise, the way she had looked at you—like she saw something worth stealing.

And clearly, she couldn’t forget you either.

It was a late night, the kind where the world was quiet, draped in darkness and secrets. You had slipped away from the manor, seeking solace in the gazebo overlooking the still waters of the estate’s lake. The moon painted silver ripples on the surface, casting a reflection so serene it almost made you forget the cage you lived in—the beautiful, gilded prison of your family name.

You leaned against the wooden railing, letting the cool night air kiss your skin, lost in your thoughts.

How did one move on from someone like Abby?

A soft sound behind you sent a shiver down your spine. The rustle of fabric. The faintest scuff of a boot against wood.

And then—

A tap on your shoulder.

Your breath caught.

You turned, pulse hammering in your ears.

And there she was.

Abby stood before you, half-drenched in moonlight, her golden hair tousled by the breeze, her piercing eyes drinking you in like she had been searching for you just as desperately as you had been searching for her. She looked so effortlessly out of place in the elegance of your world, a predator among painted dolls. And yet, she fit so perfectly in the darkness, in the forbidden spaces where only the bold dared to wander.

"How—" Your voice came out breathless, barely above a whisper. "How did you get in here?"

The manor was a fortress, guarded at every entrance. Even you, the daughter of the sheriff, had to be mindful of your steps. No one got in without permission. No one.

She smirked, slow and wicked, like she held all the answers to the questions spinning in your head.

And then—

She kissed you.

It was sudden, overwhelming, the warmth of her lips stealing the breath from your lungs. She tasted of something untamed, something wild and dangerous, and yet you melted into her like she was the only thing keeping you standing.

The question of how she got in, how she had managed to slip past the guards, the locked gates, the watchful eyes of your mother and father—it all faded away.

This was your answer.

Abby Anderson had a way of taking exactly what she wanted.

And tonight, she wanted you.

The moment her lips met yours, the world ceased to exist. The cold night air, the distant hoot of an owl, the flickering lanterns lining the garden path—none of it mattered. All that mattered was her.

Abby kissed you with a certainty that sent a thrill down your spine, her hands finding purchase on your waist, pulling you flush against her. She wasn’t tentative, wasn’t careful—no, she kissed you like she had waited a lifetime for this, like she was staking her claim, like she had been searching for something and finally found it in you.

And you let her.

You melted into her, your fingers gripping the fabric of her shirt as if letting go would send you plummeting back into the carefully constructed life you were supposed to live. The life where you were nothing more than the sheriff’s perfect daughter. The life where women like Abby Anderson were nothing but a whispered warning from your mother’s lips.

But here, under the moonlight, in her arms, you were something else. Someone else.

She broke the kiss, just barely, her lips still ghosting over yours as her breath fanned against your skin. You were dizzy, lips tingling, chest heaving, but she only smirked—pleased, confident, as if she knew exactly what she had done to you.

"Still wondering how I got in?" she murmured, her voice teasing, yet thick with something deeper, something that made your knees weak.

You swallowed hard, staring up at her, trying to gather your scattered thoughts. "I should be worried," you whispered, though your grip on her hadn’t loosened in the slightest. "If you can get in this easily, what’s stopping someone else?"

"Sweetheart," she drawled, thumb brushing against your waist in slow, lazy circles, "no one else is as good as me."

Your stomach flipped.

She wasn’t lying—she was a ghost, a legend, the woman your father had spent months trying to track down. She had no face on wanted posters, no official name in bounty records. She was a whisper, a shadow, and yet here she was, standing before you, real and solid, her hands warm against your body.

"You shouldn’t be here," you finally said, though the words had no weight behind them.

She chuckled, dipping her head just enough that her lips brushed against the shell of your ear. "And yet, you don’t seem too eager to send me away."

Damn her. Damn her and that voice and the way she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

Your silence was all the answer she needed.

Slowly, she pulled back just enough to look at you properly, her hands never leaving your waist. In the dim light, her expression softened—not entirely, not enough to strip away the sharp edges that made her who she was, but enough for you to see something real in her eyes.

"I haven’t stopped thinking about you," she admitted, her voice quieter now, more serious. "Since that night at the ball."

Your breath hitched.

Neither had you.

Every fleeting thought, every stolen moment, every memory of her touch had haunted you. But hearing her say it—knowing she felt the same—it sent something dangerously close to hope blooming in your chest.

"You’re going to get caught," you murmured, though it wasn’t a warning. It was a fear. A truth.

She smirked again, tilting her head. "Then I guess I better make this visit count."

And before you could say another word, she kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, as if sealing a promise neither of you had spoken out loud yet.

You lost yourself in her.

The taste of her, the feel of her—Abby was fire and sin wrapped in something dangerously intoxicating, and you drank her in like you’d been starved your whole life. The kiss was slower now, deeper, her hands firm on your waist as she pulled you closer, leaving no space between you. It was different from before—less about staking a claim, more about savoring.

And you let her.

The night wrapped around you like a well-kept secret, the moonlight spilling through the gazebo casting silver streaks across her face. You could see the way her brows furrowed, the way her lips parted against yours, the way she let out the faintest sound when your fingers found their way into her hair.

You could’ve stayed like this forever.

But forever was a fragile thing.

A distant sound—rustling in the trees, the crunch of gravel under boots—sent reality crashing back into you.

Your eyes flew open. “Abby,” you whispered, a warning in your tone.

She didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, she lingered for a second, pressing one last kiss to your lips, softer this time. Like she knew this moment was about to slip away.

When she finally leaned back, her hands stayed on you. “You expecting someone?”

You swallowed hard. "No, but my father has men patrolling the estate."

Her jaw tensed slightly, the rogue in her sharpening. “Damn. They’re getting better.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. The thought of your father’s men finding her here, of her getting caught, of what would happen if your father realized his own daughter was sneaking around with the very outlaw he had been hunting—it sent a cold dread down your spine.

"You need to go," you whispered urgently.

But she just smirked, tilting her head. "You trying to get rid of me already?"

"Abby," you hissed, stepping back, but she only followed, hands finding your waist again, keeping you close.

"You worried about me, sweetheart?" she teased, but there was something softer underneath, something real.

You scowled. "I am when my father wants your head on a spike."

Abby hummed as if considering that. "Wouldn’t be the first time."

"Abby."

She sighed, but her smirk never fully faded. "Alright, alright." Reluctantly, she let her hands fall from your waist, stepping back into the shadows of the gazebo. "But I’ll see you again."

It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

Your stomach twisted, a mixture of fear and something else, something dangerously close to excitement. “You shouldn’t.”

She grinned. "That never stopped me before."

With a last lingering look, she melted into the darkness, disappearing as easily as she had arrived.

And as you stood there, breathless, pulse still hammering, you realized something terrifying.

You wanted her to come back.

Ever since that night, you and Abby fell into a dangerous, intoxicating routine.

Every few nights, when the house was quiet, when the guards had long settled into their rounds, you would slip out of your room and make your way to the gazebo. And every time, without fail, she would be there.

You never saw how she got in—never heard the crunch of boots on gravel, never caught the flicker of movement in the shadows. She simply appeared, like a ghost summoned only by your presence. Sometimes she was already leaning against the railing, arms crossed, that ever-present smirk tugging at her lips. Other times, she’d wait for you to turn, wait for the moment your back was to her before grabbing your waist, making you gasp as she chuckled softly against your ear.

She lived for the way you reacted to her.

And you lived for the moments you could be near her.

It started with stolen kisses—rushed, heated, lingering. Pressed against the wooden posts of the gazebo, hands tangled in fabric and hair, trying to take as much of each other as you could in the fleeting moments you had. Abby kissed you like she was afraid you’d slip through her fingers, and you kissed her back like you were terrified this was all just a dream.

But over time, it became more than that.

It became whispered conversations under the moonlight, words meant only for each other. Abby told you about the world beyond your gilded prison—the vast open lands, the hidden saloons where no one asked questions, the thrill of outrunning the law. And you told her about your world, about the weight of expectations, about the loneliness that came with perfection.

She listened.

She always listened.

And slowly, without meaning to, you started leaving little pieces of yourself with her.

It began one night when she ran her fingers through your hair, idly twirling a loose strand between her calloused fingers. “This is nice,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Without thinking, you pulled the lace from your hair, the one your mother insisted you wear to keep yourself "presentable," and tied it around Abby’s wrist instead.

“There,” you whispered, running your fingers over the delicate bow. “Now you have something nice too.”

Abby looked at it, then back at you, something unreadable flashing in her gaze. She didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. The way she leaned in and kissed you told you everything.

After that, it became a habit.

A bracelet, one of the many you had been gifted but never wore, found its way around her wrist. A pocket square embroidered with your initials, tucked into the inside of her coat. Small things, things no one would question if they saw you without, but things that meant everything when you saw them on her.

And then, one night, you gave her something more.

It was a simple photograph, a small portrait taken at your father’s insistence. In it, you were poised, elegant, the very image of the sheriff’s perfect daughter. But when you handed it to Abby, her fingers brushing yours as she took it, her expression softened in a way you had never seen before.

“You carry this around with you?” she teased, though her voice was gentler than usual.

You swallowed, unsure why your hands suddenly felt clammy. “I thought… maybe you’d want something to remember me by.”

Abby stared at you for a long moment, thumb brushing over the edges of the photo. Then, carefully, she tucked it into the pocket of her coat.

“I don’t need this to remember you,” she murmured. “But I’ll keep it anyway.”

And when she kissed you that night, it was different—slower, deeper. Like she was savoring you. Like she was memorizing every part of you.

Like she already knew she’d never be able to let you go.

The ride around town with your father had been uneventful—quiet, almost peaceful if you didn’t know any better. The streets bustled with familiar faces tipping their hats or offering polite smiles as you and the sheriff rode past, your father a man well-respected, and you… the pristine daughter of law and order.

You played your part well, as you always did, nodding, smiling, waving when expected. But inside, an uneasiness clawed at your chest, an unshakable feeling that something was coming.

And then, as you returned to the estate, it came.

Your father helped you off your horse, his hands steady as ever as he guided yours away from the reins. “I’ve set up a meeting with an eligible bachelor for you tomorrow morning,” he said, voice calm, firm—unchallenged.

You felt your stomach drop, but you kept your face carefully composed as he continued.

“He’s a nice man. From Italy. Nice oceans, views, new culture…” His eyes met yours then, serious. “And most importantly, you’ll be safe there. You will marry him.”

Your lips twitched into a practiced, obedient smile. It was all you could do. You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as he reached out, pulling you into a brief hug.

He kissed the top of your head. “I have to go back to the office. I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, his words final, before mounting his horse and riding away, leaving you standing there in the settling dust.

The moment he was out of sight, your composure cracked.

You barely made it up the path before the tears slipped free. Silent, burning, bitter. You pulled off your gloves as if they, too, suffocated you, your pace quickening toward the manor. A few ranch hands caught sight of you but said nothing. They knew better.

But someone did speak.

A hand grabbed your arm, yanking you off the main path and into the barn. Not just any barn—the hidden one, the one your father used for storing crates of moonshine, whiskey, and whatever else kept his business running behind closed doors. The flooring was clean, meant for storage, not animals, and it smelled of wood, liquor, and secrecy.

You already knew who it was before you saw her.

And when you turned, breath shaky, it was confirmed.

Abby.

She stood in the dim barn light, her sharp blue eyes scanning your face, immediately locking onto your tears. Her expression hardened, concern creasing her brows. “What happened?”

That was all it took. The moment she spoke, you broke.

A sob tore from your throat as you crumpled into her arms. She caught you, strong and steady, pulling you close without hesitation. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you together when you felt like you were falling apart.

You buried your face into her coat, voice muffled, breaking as you confessed, “I’m getting married really soon… and I’m leaving to Italy.”

Abby stilled.

Her entire body went rigid, the grip on your waist tightening for just a second before she pulled back just enough to look at you. Her hands still framed your face, thumbs brushing at the wet streaks beneath your eyes.

Her voice was low, dangerously calm. “What?”

You sniffled, trying to keep yourself together. “I don’t wanna get married… I don’t want to leave you, Abby.”

There. You said it. The truth, raw and trembling between you.

Something dark flickered in Abby’s gaze. Her jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath her skin. “Who decided this?”

“My father.” Your voice wavered, barely above a whisper.

Abby let out a bitter laugh, one that held no humor. “Of course.” She shook her head, her grip on you never loosening. “And you’re just… going along with it?”

You looked away. “What choice do I have?”

Abby inhaled sharply through her nose, exhaling like she was trying to control herself. “He says I’ll be safe there,” you continued, your voice small. “That it’ll be good for me.”

Abby scoffed. “Safe?” Her eyes burned into yours, piercing, fierce. “You think a gilded cage in a foreign country with some man you don’t even know is safety?”

Tears threatened again, but you held them back this time. “It doesn’t matter what I think. My father has already decided. It’s happening tomorrow.”

A silence stretched between you, thick, suffocating.

Then, Abby spoke, voice low and steady.

“No.”

You blinked, frowning. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, stronger this time. “You’re not marrying him. You’re not leaving. You don’t want this, so you’re not doing it.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Abby, it’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is.” Abby stepped closer, her hands tightening on you, grounding you. “You don’t belong to him. Or to anyone. And I’ll be damned if I let him take you away from me.”

Your breath hitched.

Abby exhaled, calming herself, her voice gentler when she spoke again. “Look at me.”

You did.

Her eyes softened, but the fire in them never dimmed. “Do you trust me?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Abby nodded, her jaw set, her grip firm. “Then run away with me.”

Your stomach flipped. “What?”

Abby leaned in, forehead nearly touching yours. “Run away with me. Tonight.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. Run away. With Abby. Leave everything behind—your father, your family, the only life you had ever known.

It was reckless. Impossible.

You didn’t know what to say.

The words sat heavy in your throat, tangled in doubt and longing, in fear and hope. Every possible response warred inside your mind, but nothing came out. You were terrified—terrified of the unknown, of leaving behind everything you had ever known, of stepping into a future so uncertain.

But then there was Abby.

Abby, whose presence made your heart race. Abby, whose touch set your skin on fire. Abby, who had become the only thing that made sense in your world of suffocating expectations.

You loved her. That much was clear. And being with her… being truly hers—it would make you happier than anything else ever could.

She must have seen the hesitation in your eyes because she didn’t push for an answer. Instead, she kissed you.

Soft at first. Patient. But the moment you melted into it, the moment your lips moved in sync with hers, it turned into something deeper, something more.

Her hands found your waist, gripping you like she was afraid to let go. Then, her lips left yours, trailing down the curve of your jaw, then lower, pressing slow, lingering kisses along your neck. Each one sent a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your stomach.

A small gasp escaped your lips when your back suddenly met the rough wood of the crate behind you, bottles clinking faintly inside. Abby was against you now, her hands roaming, her body pressing closer, her mouth working against the sensitive skin of your throat.

Then, fingers toyed with the buttons of your blouse, and in one smooth motion, she undid them, peeling the fabric from your shoulders.

Your breath hitched.

“Abby, wait…” Your voice was barely a whisper.

She stilled immediately, lifting her head to meet your gaze. Concern flickered across her features, her hands halting their movements. “What’s wrong?”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of her coat as you hesitated. “I—I don’t know how to do this… Especially not with a woman.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, Abby’s expression softened, and a slow, reassuring smile curved her lips. “That’s okay,” she murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll lead the way.”

There was no judgment in her voice. No impatience. Just quiet understanding.

Then, she kissed you again.

Abby kissed you slow, deliberate, like she was savoring every second. The warmth of her breath fanned against your skin as she trailed soft kisses down your collarbone, her hands resting firmly on your waist as if grounding you, making sure you stayed with her in this moment. Your body was tense beneath her touch, not from fear, but from the unfamiliarity of it all—the thrill of stepping into something you had never allowed yourself to consider before.

Her fingers traced the bare skin of your arms, slow and careful. “You’re shaking,” she murmured against your shoulder, her voice a mix of amusement and tenderness.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

She pulled back slightly, her piercing blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t have to,” she said softly. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Her words were comforting, but they didn’t stop the nervous energy buzzing inside you. You wanted this—you wanted her—but the weight of everything, the years of being told how you were supposed to act, how you were supposed to be, left you hesitant.

“I just… I’ve spent my whole life being told what I should do, what’s expected of me.” You exhaled, your fingers gripping the fabric of her coat. “This—you—it’s the first thing I’ve ever actually wanted for myself.”

Abby’s expression softened, and she reached up, cupping your face with both hands, her thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “Then let yourself have it.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs.

She kissed you again, this time slower, deeper, as if silently reassuring you that there was no rush, no expectations—just the two of you in this hidden space, stealing time before the world could take you away from her.

Her hands moved again, featherlight against your skin, tracing the curve of your spine before settling at your waist. The warmth of her touch sent another shiver down your body, and you found yourself gripping her wrists, not to stop her, but to hold onto something real, something steady.

“I want this,” you finally whispered against her lips, and you felt her smile.

“Then trust me.”

Abby had undressed you. She was able to find some blankets in the barn and locked the barn from the inside. Your legs was resting on her shoulders as she devoured you like you were her last meal.

She licked up your folds and clit repeatedly before sucking on your clit. She moaned against you, enjoying the taste of you which only sent vibrations through you, making you jerk.

She held your thighs caressing them, her muscles flexing as the sunlight from the holes of the barns relflected onto them. She looked beautiful, like your own personal god.

The feeling was foreign to you, but you couldnt deny that it felt amazing, making soft whimpers and quiet moans.

You were trying to be quiet as there was still farmhands and guards patrolling the manor, but Abby wasnt helping at all as her tongue made it's way inside of you. You gasped loudly as your hand made it's way to her hair.

"Ha! Wait!," you moaned out, as you felt tongue move around inside of you, her hand moved down to your clit, rubbing it in circles with her thumb.

You bite your lip as you looked down at Abby, who was looking at you. You two made eye contact as she continued to move her tongue in and out of you.

The intense eye contact was soon broken when Abby pulled away and kissed you, eagerly. You could taste yourself on her as you kissed her back.

Two of her fingers found their way into your entrance, making you gasp against her mouth. Her fingers moved around inside of you stretching out your walls as you clenched around them.

She notices it and kisses your forehead as she starts to move her fingers in and out of you. "Does that feel good?," she asks.

"Yeah. It feels really good," you whined out.

"You're so beautiful," she says as she uses her other hand to grope one of your boobs, pinching your nipple before putting it in her mouth.

You whined as you grinded against her fingers "Please...,"

"Please what, babygirl?," she asked, before putting your nipple back in her mouth.

"Move your fingers faster, please," you begged.

She responsed by fingering you faster, the sound of your pussy juices faintly filling the sound of the barn.

You put your hand tightly to your mouth, muffling your moans. You had to be quiet, knowing farmhands and patrol was right outside.

Abby unlatches from your nipple, moving your hand and kissing you. The pace of her fingers got fasters which you didnt even think was possible, your hand went to her bicep, your nails digging into her arm.

There was a tight feeling in your gut, felt like you almost needed to pee the pressure of it was painful yet pleasurable. It made your wall clench tightly around her fingers again.

"Cum for me," she says in between your lips.

Just like that you came, gasping and moaning in Abby's mouth as she slowly finger fucked you.

When you came down from your orgasm, she pulled away. She put her hands around your waist, rubbing her hands up and down. "Did you like it? Your first time?," she asks.

"Yeah," you say "You're really good with your fingers."

Abby chuckles before getting up and getting your clothes. "Come on so you can go back before your parents start wondering where you are."

The morning light poured through the grand windows of the sitting room, casting a golden hue over the pristine furniture and polished floors. You sat still, painfully still, dressed in the most suffocating gown your mother had chosen for you. It was a delicate shade of ivory, lace wrapping around your arms and corset laced far too tight, restricting every breath you took.

The weight of your elaborate hairstyle made your head ache, strands pulled and pinned with too many clips, too much perfume clouding your senses. You felt more like a decorative doll than a person, meant to sit pretty and obedient as men discussed your fate.

The Italian man had arrived promptly, dressed in fine fabrics, his dark hair slicked back with precision. He was handsome in a distant, statuesque way, with sharp features and an air of entitlement. But it was clear from the moment he walked in—this meeting wasn’t about you. It was about what you represented.

Your father and the man spoke easily, exchanging pleasantries and discussing business affairs. Your mother sat beside you, a tight smile on her face, pleased that everything was going smoothly. You had barely been acknowledged beyond your father listing off your ‘best qualities’—your grace, your talents, your ability to be a good wife.

It was only when the Italian man turned to you directly that you felt truly seen, though not in the way you wanted.

“You are very beautiful,” he said in a thick accent, his gaze sharp as it swept over you. “And tell me, what makes you a good wife?”

You forced a polite smile, the words coming from your lips like they weren’t your own. “I am skilled in embroidery and music. I can manage a household, and I have been trained in etiquette and diplomacy.” You swallowed the bitterness threatening to rise in your throat. “I will be a loyal and dutiful wife.”

Your mother’s approving smile widened. Your father gave you a satisfied nod.

The man hummed, taking in your words with an impassive expression. Then, he turned to his mother, an older woman draped in luxurious silks, her beady eyes watching you with scrutiny.

“Stand up,” the man instructed.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, but under your mother’s expectant gaze, you obeyed. Rising to your feet, you folded your hands neatly in front of you, waiting.

“Turn around.”

The request sent a cold wave of humiliation down your spine, but again, you complied, slowly spinning in place as if you were nothing more than a product being inspected.

His mother tilted her head, her lips pursed as she examined you. Then, she spoke.

“She’s a good weight, nice hips—good for baby-making,” the older woman noted, her voice firm, clinical, as though she were evaluating livestock. “And her skin… it’s perfect.”

You stilled, blinking as the words settled in.

Good for baby-making.

Perfect skin.

Your hands clenched at your sides. Your lips parted, but no words came out. You had no words, no way to express the sickening feeling curling in your stomach.

They weren’t looking at you as a person. You were nothing more than a vessel, a means to an end—a bride to be sent away, a future mother to bear their lineage.

Your mother beamed at the woman’s words, clearly proud. Your father nodded in satisfaction.

And you?

You wanted to scream.

But instead, you simply smiled. A perfectly practiced, empty smile.

Because that’s what they expected of you.

After what felt like hours of conversation—most of which you weren’t even part of—the Italian man finally reached into his pocket, retrieving a small, elegant box. Your breath caught in your throat as he flipped it open, revealing a ring so extravagant it nearly blinded you under the chandelier’s glow.

The band was gold, thick and heavy, adorned with a massive diamond at its center, surrounded by smaller shimmering gems. It was undeniably beautiful, but as he delicately took your hand, sliding it onto your finger, the weight of it felt suffocating. A symbol of ownership rather than devotion.

He smiled, pleased by the sight of it on you. “A fine ring for a fine wife,” he said, holding your hand a little too long, his fingers pressing firmly against yours. “I will return in a few weeks for the wedding.”

Your heart dropped, but you forced yourself to nod, your expression carefully composed.

Your mother was practically glowing with pride, while your father clapped the man on the shoulder, a hearty laugh escaping him. “A fine match,” he declared. “You’ve made an excellent choice.”

The man chuckled, giving you an approving look. “Yes, I believe I have.”

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat.

The farewell was quick, formal. You and your parents stood at the grand entrance of the manor, bidding him goodbye as he prepared to leave for Italy once more. His mother gave you a final once-over, satisfied, before stepping into the carriage.

And then, before leaving, he turned back to you.

His arms wrapped around you, his embrace stiff and firm. You barely had time to react before he leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to your cheek.

It took everything in you not to flinch.

Your skin burned where his lips had been, not from warmth, but from the sheer discomfort of it. You managed a stiff smile, whispering, “Farewell.”

He stepped back, nodding at you one last time before climbing into his carriage. The horses stirred, the wheels creaked, and just like that, he was gone.

The moment the carriage disappeared down the road, you let out a quiet breath, your hands trembling at your sides. The weight of the ring on your finger felt unbearable.

Your mother turned to you, sighing with delight. “What a wonderful day,” she mused, clasping her hands together. “You should be honored, dear. A future in Italy, with a respectable man, a prosperous family. It’s everything we could have wanted for you.”

Everything they wanted.

You simply nodded, feeling the cold wind against your skin, wishing—praying—for something, anything to stop this.

The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting silver light over the still waters beyond the gazebo. The air was thick with the scent of blooming gardenias, and the distant hum of crickets filled the silence. You sat at the wooden table, hands folded tightly in your lap, heart hammering against your ribs. You knew she’d come. She always did.

And she did.

Abby emerged from the darkness, her boots light against the wooden floor as she stepped toward you. But the moment she saw the glint of gold on your finger, her stride faltered. Her jaw tightened, and for the first time, she hesitated before coming closer.

“You’re actually engaged…” she murmured, her voice low, almost hollow.

You inhaled sharply. “No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “He never asked.” You pulled the ring from your finger, the heavy weight of it leaving an imprint on your skin. You set it down on the table between you, as if casting it away would make it mean less. “The ring is nothing, Abby.”

Abby didn’t sit. She stood there, tense, her gaze fixed on the ring as though it might attack her. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” she muttered, arms crossed, muscles flexing beneath her worn shirt.

Your throat felt tight. “I love you, Abby,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. “I love you so much. And I wish—God, I wish—I wasn’t who I am. Maybe then… we could be together.”

Abby’s gaze snapped to yours, her eyes dark with something unreadable. She stepped forward, closing the space between you in two long strides. Her calloused hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing along your cheeks, and you melted into her touch, leaning forward as if she could hold you up.

“We can be together,” she said, her voice fierce. “Right now. You just have to come with me.”

Your breath hitched.

“Run away with me.”

Her words lingered in the air like a prayer, like a promise. The temptation of them curled around you, warm and intoxicating. The idea of freedom—of being hers, only hers—was almost too much to bear.

But then reality clawed its way back in. The expectations. The duty. The eyes that followed you everywhere. Your father’s voice, your mother’s hands arranging your hair, the weight of their hopes pressing down on you like an iron cage.

You shut your eyes, willing yourself not to cry. “Because, Abby… my duty is here.”

Abby exhaled sharply, her fingers slipping from your face. “Duty,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “And what about you? What about what you want?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

She stepped back. “They hold you up so high,” she muttered, voice laced with something bitter. “So high you can’t even breathe.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. “It’s not that easy,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly. “It never is.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and unbearable truths. The weight of your confession hung in the air, suffocating, as if the very walls of your gilded cage were pressing down on you. Abby stood there, fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight, her breath uneven.

She was furious—not at you, never at you—but at the world that refused to let you have each other. At the people who decided your fate before you even had a chance to.

Her fingers flexed like she wanted to reach for you, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned away, dragging a hand down her face. “You say you love me,” she muttered, voice raw. “But you won’t fight for us?”

Her words cut through you like a blade. You shot up from your seat, hands trembling. “You think I don’t want to fight?” you snapped, stepping toward her. “You think I don’t lie awake at night, dreaming of running away with you? Of never looking back?”

Abby turned to you, her expression softening. You sucked in a breath, fighting the lump rising in your throat.

“I have spent my whole life being who they wanted me to be,” you whispered. “If I leave, I will be ruining everything they built for me.”

She took a step closer. “But you’d be free.”

You swallowed hard. “And you’d be hunted.”

That was the other cruel truth. Even if you ran, even if you somehow escaped the eyes watching your every move, Abby would never stop running. She may not have been on wanted posters yet, but that wouldn’t last forever. You knew your father—knew how ruthless he was. If he realized who Abby truly was, if he found out you left with her… he’d never stop looking.

Abby shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t care about that.”

“Well, I do!” you blurted out, your voice cracking. “I care if something happens to you. I care if they put a bullet in you because of me.”

That stopped her.

Her shoulders fell slightly, and for the first time that night, you saw something like defeat in her eyes. It terrified you.

“You really won’t come,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart twisted painfully. “I can’t.”

Her eyes searched yours, looking for something—hope, hesitation, anything to hold onto. But she must have found nothing, because she exhaled sharply, stepping back.

“Then this is it, huh?” she murmured.

Your lip quivered. “I don’t know.”

Abby studied you for a long moment before nodding to herself, as if coming to terms with something. She took a deep breath, looked up at the stars, then back at you.

“If you ever change your mind,” she said, voice steady, “I’ll be waiting.”

Tears burned your eyes as she turned, disappearing into the darkness.

This time, you didn’t stop her.

Days bled into weeks, and Abby never returned to the gazebo. You told yourself it was for the best, that this was the life you were meant to live, but every night, when you lay in your lavish bed, staring at the ceiling, you felt hollow.

The day of the wedding arrived faster than you wanted.

The grand estate was transformed into a spectacle—flowers draped over the balconies, silk banners rippling in the breeze, and the scent of expensive perfume and freshly baked pastries filling the air. Townspeople gathered beyond the estate gates, desperate for a glimpse of the sheriff’s daughter marrying into wealth, while esteemed guests filled the halls, sipping on imported wines and exchanging pleasantries.

Your mother was all smiles, fussing over your gown, ensuring every stitch was in place, every curl of your hair perfectly arranged. She beamed at you in the mirror, her hands resting on your shoulders.

“You look perfect,” she said, voice thick with pride.

You looked at yourself—the gown, the jewels, the poised expression you forced onto your face.

Perfect.

Then why did you feel like you were drowning?

Your father entered the room, nodding approvingly before offering his arm. “It’s time.”

You walked through the estate with him, each step feeling heavier than the last. The grand doors opened to reveal a courtyard full of people, all rising to their feet, their eyes on you. Music played, a soft melody meant to feel like a dream, but it felt more like a funeral march.

At the end of the aisle stood the Italian man—your husband-to-be—dressed in the finest suit, his family standing beside him. He smiled at you, but you barely saw him.

Your mind was elsewhere.

Not here.

Not with him.

Abby.

Where was she now? Had she truly left? Had she moved on?

You wished she would storm in at that moment, like something out of a storybook—grab you, take you away, free you from this life.

But she wouldn’t.

She had given you a choice. And you had made it.

Your father placed your hand in the groom’s, and the ceremony began.

The priest’s voice droned on, but you barely heard him. The courtyard felt suffocating, the weight of a thousand eyes pressing down on you, waiting—expecting. Your hands trembled in the Italian man’s grip, your breath shallow.

You weren’t here. You weren’t present.

You were back at the gazebo, feeling the warmth of Abby’s hands against yours. You were in the barn, crying into her arms as she whispered promises you were too afraid to believe. You were beneath the moon, with her lips on your skin, telling you she’d wait.

And now you were about to let it all slip away.

“Do you, signorina, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

The world blurred.

Your mother sat upright in her chair, poised and elegant, but you knew that look in her eyes—stern, unwavering. A silent warning. Your father stood tall, expectant. He had done everything to ensure this marriage, to secure your future. You could feel his presence like a brand on your skin, tying you down.

You turned your head slightly, and through the crowd, you spotted the ranch hands, the same ones who had seen you crying that day in the stables. Some looked away uncomfortably. Others pitied you.

The Italian man squeezed your hands. “Cara,” he murmured, urging you to respond.

The silence stretched too long.

Your throat tightened. Your heart pounded. The words wouldn’t come out.

You looked at your father. “I…”

He nodded encouragingly.

Then, you looked back at your husband-to-be, at the man you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with.

And all at once, it hit you.

This wasn’t your choice.

You had never had a choice.

Your breath shuddered as your hands slipped from the groom’s grasp. A murmur rippled through the crowd. You took a step back, the long train of your gown dragging behind you.

Your father’s face fell.

Your mother clenched her jaw.

“Tesoro?” The Italian man’s voice wavered.

You shook your head. “I can’t.”

Gasps filled the courtyard.

You turned on your heel and walked away.

Not rushed. Not frantic. Just steady, deliberate steps toward the entrance of the estate, past rows of shocked faces, through whispers of scandal.

Your mother rose to her feet. “You will come back here,” she hissed, her voice sharp like a blade.

You didn’t stop.

Your father’s voice followed next, low and threatening. “If you walk away from this, you walk away from everything.”

You hesitated for half a second.

Then, you kept walking.

Through the halls of the estate, past the maids and butlers frozen in place, out into the open air. You lifted your skirts and ran.

Ran until your lungs burned.

Ran until the estate faded behind you.

Ran until all you could think about was her.

The world blurred around you as you ran, feet pounding against the dirt path leading away from the estate. Your wedding gown—so pristine and elegant just minutes ago—snagged on twigs and tore as you lifted the heavy skirts, desperate to keep moving. Your lungs burned, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

The estate’s walls loomed behind you, filled with gasps, outrage, and disappointment. Your mother’s voice echoed in your head, sharp and seething. Your father’s threat burned in your chest. If you walk away from this, you walk away from everything.

Good.

Everything had been a cage.

And you were finally breaking free.

Your breath hitched as you stumbled toward the stables, your heart hammering against your ribs. The stable hands were already in a frenzy, muttering among themselves about the chaos unfolding at the wedding. Some of them looked at you in shock—the sheriff’s daughter, still in her wedding dress, panting, desperate.

You didn’t have time to explain.

You reached your horse’s stall, flinging open the gate. Your hands shook as you fumbled with the reins, the golden band on your finger catching in the light. The ring. His ring. You yanked it off, giving it to a stable hand.

“Miss—” One of the stable hands stepped forward hesitantly. “Where are you—?”

You climbed onto the saddle, yanking the reins tight. “Tell my father I made my choice.”

Then you kicked your heels into the horse’s sides, and you were off.

The wind tore through your hair as you rode past the pastures, past the ranch hands who stood frozen in shock, past everything that had ever tried to hold you down. Your heart raced, but this time, it wasn’t from fear. It was from exhilaration. From hope.

You didn’t know where you were going, not exactly.

But deep down, you did.

You were going to her.

The world spun as you ran, feet pounding against the dirt road, your breath ragged. The wedding had crumbled behind you—gasps, screams, the sound of your mother calling your name, your father’s voice booming with betrayal. None of it mattered anymore.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you pushed forward, ignoring the tears streaming down your face, the fabric of your wedding dress tearing with every desperate step. You had one destination. The place Abby had whispered about, night after night at the gazebo. The place she dreamed of taking you.

“There’s a valley past the river,” she had murmured, tracing patterns on your palm as you sat together in the dark. “No law, no rules. Just open land and the sky stretched so far it swallows you whole.”

And now, you were chasing that dream. Chasing her.

The journey felt like an eternity, but you rode harder than you ever had before. You knew this path by heart. Abby had spoken of it too many times for you to forget.

The valley stretched before you, bathed in golden hues of the setting sun. The river cut through the land like a glistening ribbon, the grass swaying in the breeze. And there, standing beside her horse, waiting as if she had known you were coming—was Abby.

Your breath caught, a sob choking its way out of your throat. She looked up, her sharp blue eyes locking onto yours. And for a moment, time stopped.

Then you were off your horse, feet barely touching the ground before you sprinted toward her.

“Abby!”

She barely had time to react before you crashed into her, your arms wrapping around her neck, your body slamming into hers with the force of everything you had held back. She caught you instantly, arms tightening around your waist as if she was afraid to let go.

You buried your face into her shoulder, shaking. “I left,” you choked out. “I left, I left, I left—”

Abby held you so tightly it almost hurt. “You’re here,” she whispered into your hair, her voice breaking. “You really came.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your hands trembling as they framed her face. “I couldn’t do it,” you breathed, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I couldn’t marry him. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t—”

She silenced you with a kiss, desperate and deep, like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.

You melted against her, fingers tangling into her shirt, gripping onto her like she was the only thing keeping you grounded. And maybe she was.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless.

“You’re mine now,” she murmured.

You nodded, eyes still glistening. “I always was.”

Abby exhaled sharply, her hands sliding down to your waist. “We leave tonight.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Take me with you.”

She grinned, the same cocky, reckless grin you had fallen for all those nights ago. “Darlin’, I was never leaving without you.”

And as she lifted you onto her horse, hands warm and steady against your waist, you realized something.

You weren’t running anymore.

You were finally free.

taglist <3 : @authenticaqua @abbysdollie @smaugayra @mingitheii @ivorydevil @ferxanda @marianeski @rhyrhy @meow4510 @hell0-ki55y @veladeangl @rhian88 @aiden-slayyyys @pornoangelz @nkeyaaa @womenlover0 @azteriarizz @ivoryrebellionmess @watermelonshine @cstbdf @teeesthings @viperineee @siresire @starberr1 @boom58 @moonlightxairdw @ilovetwizzlers14

part 2?

[elliesbabygirl]

ch.005 ⇄ ch.006; boyfriend material - Young Friend

"Our conversations always short, we're fucking in my car"

my masterlist.

word count: 4.3k words

series synopsis: friends with benefits, that's what ellie wanted. yet, she can't let you go, even after the messy 'breakup' between the two of you.

warnings: fingering(r! receiving), strap-on sex(r! receiving), kissing, swearing, baby blue didlo referred to as ellie's 'cock', reader cheating(?) on abby anderson, even if they're not officially together + lying to her, and possible hints of abby being closeted to her father.

author's note: can you tell that my favorite color is baby blue btw.. Sorry if you guys don't fw this chapter 💔. It's been a stressful week for me❤️(still not proofread).

The library was quiet, the low hum of students studying filling the space around you. The steady scratching of pens against paper, the occasional rustle of pages turning—it all should’ve been soothing. It should’ve helped you focus.

But you could barely sit still.

Your sleeves were pulled down over your wrists, your collar zipped up just enough to cover your throat, layers strategically hiding the marks Ellie had so desperately left on your skin the night before.

And Abby was right across from you.

She sat at the table, casually flipping through her kinesiology textbook, occasionally glancing up at you with that easy, lopsided smirk of hers. “You good?” she finally asked, raising a brow.

Your fingers twitched against your notebook. “Yeah,” you said too quickly, forcing yourself to keep your gaze on the highlighted notes in front of you. “Just tired.”

Abby hummed, unconvinced. “Mmm. You do look exhausted.”

You swallowed hard.

She had no idea.

No idea how wrecked you were from last night, how your thighs ached from Ellie keeping them spread, how your skin was still sensitive in the places she had marked you up, how your mind kept flashing back to the way Ellie had whispered, you’re all mine, against your skin.

No idea that you had spent the entire morning scrubbing yourself clean, covering up every single bruise with makeup, layering your clothes just to make sure Abby wouldn’t see.

You nodded stiffly. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Abby studied you for a moment, then smirked, leaning her chin in her palm. “Guess I should’ve tired you out more last time, huh?”

Your stomach dropped.

A nervous laugh that tasted like vomit bubbled up in your throat, and you barely managed to swallow it back. “Guess so,” you muttered, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile before ducking your head down, pretending to focus on your textbook.

Abby just chuckled, turning back to her notes.

And you let out a slow, shaky breath.

She couldn’t find out.

She wouldn’t find out.

As long as you kept your guard up—kept your lips sealed—Abby would never have to know the truth.

Sleeping with Ellie was a one time thing, a mistake, you promised yourself.

Abby flipped a page in her notebook, tapping her pen against the table absentmindedly. “Oh—by the way,” she started, keeping her eyes on her notes. “My dad’s coming into town this weekend.”

You blinked, looking up from your book. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said, stretching her arms behind her head before letting them fall lazily onto the table. “He’s got some conference thing, but we’re probably gonna be catching up the whole time, so I’ll be kinda off the grid for a bit.”

Something about the way she said it made your stomach bubble.

She wasn’t just letting you know she’d be busy—she was preemptively telling you not to expect to see her. Not to text her. Not to exist in her world for a while.

You swallowed, fingers tightening slightly around your pen. “That’s nice,” you said slowly. “You guys close?”

Abby shrugged, giving a small smirk. “Yeah, I mean—he’s busy a lot, but when we do see each other, it’s cool.”

you forced a tight-lipped smile, nodding as you reminded yourself to give Abby grace. After all, you were creating a double standard by already having slept with Ellie.

She flipped another page in her book, barely sparing you a glance before adding, “Though, he’s probably gonna spend half the trip trying to set me up with some fancy lawyer’s son or whatever.”

You stared at her, waiting for her to follow it up with a joke, a smirk, something.

But Abby just kept reading, like she hadn’t just said something completely out of place. Like she wasn’t literally fingers deep inside you earlier this week.

like Ellie’s pussy wasn't literally against yours last night, but Abby didn't need to know that.

You shut your textbook with a quiet thud, stretching your arms over your head with a sigh. “Alright, I think that’s enough studying for me."

Abby smirked, setting her pen down. “Tapping out already?”

You rolled your eyes. “We’ve been here for hours. My brain is fried.”

Abby chuckled, leaning back in her chair as you stood, grabbing your bag. As you slung it over your shoulder, she tilted her chin up slightly, wordlessly waiting.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, brief but lingering enough for her to hum in approval.

“I’ll text you,” you murmured against her mouth.

“you better” she teased, giving your hip a light squeeze before letting you pull away.

You gave her one last small smile before turning toward the exit, digging into your pocket for your phone. The second you checked your screen, your stomach flipped.

Ellie: miss you. come over?? :(

Your breath hitched.

You locked your phone immediately, shoving it deeper into your pocket before Abby could see.

“Something wrong?” Abby asked, raising a brow.

You forced a small laugh, shaking your head. “Just my mom,” you lied smoothly. “Probably just checking in.”

Abby nodded, not questioning it further, and you exhaled quietly, turning towards the exit.

But as you stepped out of the library, the message burned in the back of your mind.

Come home.

Your grip on your bag tightened.

you shouldn't.

The uber to Ellie’s apartment felt too fast. Like your body knew exactly where it was going before your mind could stop it.

By the time you reached her door, you barely had a chance to knock before it swung open, revealing Ellie standing there in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, her hair slightly messy like she had just rolled out of bed.

Her eyes flickered over you, something soft and shy in them before she stepped closer, tilting her chin up to kiss you. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate—just slow, warm, familiar.

Her hands found your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your skin as she sighed against your lips, smiling a little into the kiss. “Missed you in bed this morning,” she mumbled, her voice low, still thick with sleep.

Your breath hitched slightly at the way she said it—so casual, so certain, like waking up with you beside her should’ve been normal

She pulled back just slightly, her green eyes flickering over your face before she pecked your lips again, softer this time, like she couldn’t help herself.

Then, without another word, she took your hand and led you inside, pulling you toward the couch. The TV was still on, some random show playing, the remote tossed onto the coffee table like she hadn’t actually been paying attention to it.

Ellie sat down, tugging you with her, settling right against you, her arm resting over your waist as she slouched comfortably into your space.

Every so often, she’d lean in, pressing absentminded kisses to your neck—soft, warm, casual—like it was second nature, like she didn’t even have to think about it.

You shivered slightly, the warmth of her breath against your skin sending something familiar through you.

Minutes passed before Ellie let out a quiet sigh, clearly losing interest in the show altogether. She shifted beside you, tugging at the hem of your hoodie, her green eyes flickering up at you.

“I really did miss you this morning,” she mumbled, her voice low, a little rough.

Before you could respond, Ellie leaned back, shifting until she was lying fully against the couch, pulling you down with her until you were on top of her, her hands sliding up your back to keep you close.

Then—she kissed you again.

It was slow, deep, dripping with something raw and needy, her lips parting slightly as she sighed into your mouth. Her fingers curled around the back of your neck, keeping you there, her legs wrapping around your waist, her old Converse pressing firmly into your lower back.

She moaned softly against your lips, her body shifting beneath you as she kissed you deeper, her tongue lazily slipping into your mouth, teasing, tasting you.

For a moment, she dominated the kiss, slow and intentional, making you feel every inch of her, every ounce of want she had been holding back—

Then she let you take over.

Her body relaxed beneath yours, her hands trailing down your spine, her breath heavy as she let you lead, let you kiss her the way you wanted, her lips parting under yours like she was ready to give in completely.

The room was filled with the quiet, wet sounds of your lips moving together, of your hands slipping under each other’s shirts, exploring, remembering.

Ellie sighed into you, her nails scratching lightly at your scalp, her hips subtly rolling up, chasing more, even though she wasn’t rushing anything.

The only thing you could hear was the quiet, wet sounds of Ellie’s lips moving against yours, the soft sighs slipping from her mouth every time you kissed her deeper.

She was needy, barely holding herself together, her body shifting beneath you as she tried to keep the pace slow, tried to act like she wasn’t getting turned on from just kissing you.

But she was failing.

Her hips kept rolling up against you, subtle at first, like she didn’t mean to, but then again—this time, deliberate.

A quiet whimper slipped from her throat, her fingers gripping at your back, keeping you pressed against her. Her breath was heavy, her lips parting beneath yours like she was desperate for more, for anything you’d give her.

She pulled back just slightly, her lips still hovering over yours, her green eyes dark and glazed over. “Please,” she mumbled, the word slipping out between the small space of your lips, like she couldn’t help it.

Her hand slid down, fingers tracing the front of your pants, playing with the button—hesitating, waiting for you to say something, for you to let her.

She didn’t care how desperate she looked.

Didn’t care that her hips were still subtly grinding up against you, her breath coming out shaky and uneven.

Didn’t care that she was practically begging now.

All she cared about was you—letting her have you, letting her make up for every second she had lost.

Ellie barely made it to the bedroom before she was on you again, her lips finding yours with a messy, open-mouthed desperation as she pressed you back onto the bed. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light filtering through the blinds, casting soft shadows over her face, her flushed cheeks, her needy expression as she hovered over you.

Her hands roamed over your sides, gripping, pulling—taking you in. She needed to, needed to feel you again, to memorize you, like you might slip away if she wasn’t holding you close enough.

“Fuck, I missed you, baby” she murmured against your skin, her voice rough, laced with something desperate as she pressed her lips to your neck.

She reclaimed the hickeys she left last night, sucking dark bruises into your skin, her tongue flicking over them before she bit down just enough to make you gasp. The sound made her groan, her hips grinding down instinctively against your thigh, like she couldn’t help herself.

Her fingers made quick work of your clothes, yanking fabric over your head, shoving your pants down until they were completely forgotten on the floor. She didn’t waste a second, her hands slipping between your thighs, teasing you, spreading you open, her breath hitching when she felt how wet you were already.

“Shit, baby,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your jaw, fingers trailing between your folds, circling right where you needed her. “You’re already so fucking ready for me.”

You whimpered, bucking into her hand, and Ellie moaned, her own breath shaky. She slid one finger inside, slow and careful, her other hand gripping your hip, holding you there as she worked you open.

“need my cock inside you,” she whimpered suddenly, her lips brushing your ear, her voice almost pleading. “Please.”

You shivered at the way she said it. “please what?” you teased breathlessly, even though you already knew.

Ellie exhaled sharply, her forehead pressing against yours, her fingers curling inside you just right. “You know what, baby,” she whispered, kissing you slow and deep as she rubbed her thumb over your clit, making your body twitch. “baby—please, I need to.”

You hesitated for only a second before nodding, and Ellie swore under her breath, her lips crashing against yours before she reluctantly pulled her fingers away.

She reached into her nightstand, grabbing the harness, the baby blue dildo attachment making your stomach tighten. Ellie's hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the straps, securing it around her hips, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Then, without a word, she straddled you suddenly, her knees pressing into the mattress as she hovered over you, still, quiet for a moment as she took you in—laid out beneath her, waiting.

She swallowed thickly, her voice softer now, almost shy as she whispered, “You’re so good to me, baby.”

Ellie exhaled slowly, adjusting her grip on your waist, fingers flexing slightly like she was grounding herself, steadying her breath as she lined herself up with you. The baby-blue dildo pressed against your entrance, slick and warm from where she had been grinding against you moments before.

Her green eyes flickered up to yours, searching, asking silently even though you had already given her permission.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around her shoulders, and that was all she needed.

Ellie pushed forward, slow and careful, her breath stuttering the second she saw herself slip inside. “Fuck—” Her voice was barely above a whisper, shaking with restraint, her lips parting as she watched your expression shift beneath her.

She froze for a second, her fingers tightening their grip on you. “'M not hurting you, right?”

You shook your head, breath hitching as you adjusted to the stretch. “No,” you murmured, pulling her closer, kissing her softly. “You’re good, els.”

Ellie fucking whimpered.

Something in her snapped.

The second the nickname slipped past your lips, her hips jerked forward, pushing in deeper, a wrecked, breathless moan spilling from her mouth. “Fuck—say it again,” she begged, her voice breaking as she thrust into you again, her movements suddenly needy, desperate.

You gasped, nails gripping onto her shoulders as she rocked into you harder, her forehead pressing against yours, breath hot and heavy between you.

“Els—”

Ellie groaned, her hands gripping your hips even tighter, her pace picking up as she rolled her hips in a way that had your body tensing, arching into her touch. “Again,” she pleaded, her lips brushing against yours, swallowing every little sound you made.

“Els—ohmygod els—”

“Fuck, baby—” She whined into your mouth, her thrusts growing rougher, sloppier, like the sound of her name on your lips was ruining her, completely breaking her down.

“Keep saying it,” she begged, voice raw, desperate, her fingers slipping between your legs to really make you feel her. “Wanna hear you say it when you come—fuck, baby—say my name just like that—”

Her mouth trailed down your neck, her pace relentless now, obsessed with pulling those noises from you, chasing the moment where you’d break completely and give her everything.

The sound of her name on your lips had completely undone her, and now she couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down—her hips snapping into you harder, deeper, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room.

Her mouth dipped down, desperate for more of you, her lips wrapping around your breast, sucking hard before pulling your nipple between her teeth. You cried out, back arching, your nails digging into her back, leaving scratches she was going to feel tomorrow

Ellie groaned, relishing the sting, her free hand gripping your other breast, squeezing, playing with you like she needed to feel every inch of you under her hands.

“Fuck, baby—” she gasped, her mouth trailing sloppily back up your chest, her breath hot against your skin as she begged, “please—say my name just like that—”, Ellie was completely pussy drunk on you, and she didn't even know it.

“Els—fuck—els, ohmygod!” you moaned, body trembling, hips rolling up to meet her every thrust.

Ellie whimpered, her movements turning even sloppier, even rougher, her hand slipping between you to rub tight, frantic circles against your clit. “That’s it, baby—fuck, you’re so good—so fucking good for me—pussy so fucking good for me.”

You shattered.

Your whole body tensed, your breath catching as the pleasure crashed over you, your nails digging deeper into Ellie’s back, leaving red in their wake as you moaned her name, over and over, falling apart beneath her.

Ellie followed you, a wrecked whine slipping from her lips as her hips stuttered, her body trembling as she came, still rutting into you as she whimpered, mouthing at your breast, her hand pawing at you, like she couldn’t stop touching you.

“Fuck—fuck—” she gasped against your skin, her body shaking with the aftershocks, her forehead pressing against your chest, her breath uneven, her whole body burning from how hard she had just come.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just breathed, tangled together, Ellie still pressed so close, her hands still gripping at you like she wasn’t ready to let go.

She stayed right there, still inside you, her body warm and heavy on top of yours, her breath uneven against your skin. Her fingers slipped into your hair, lazily threading through the strands, her touch slow, gentle—such a stark contrast to how desperate she had been just moments ago.

Her chin rested against your chest, face pressed close to your skin as she listened to your heartbeat, felt the steady rise and fall of your chest beneath her. The soft motion moved her slightly, rocking her with each breath you took, like she belonged there.

And then—so quietly, like she almost didn’t want you to hear it—Ellie whispered, “I love you.”

The words barely left her lips before she tilted her head up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to yours—no rush, no desperation this time. Just Ellie, just her, giving you all that she was, without saying anything else.

She pulled back just slightly, her green eyes watching you as you recovered, as you steadied your breathing. She traced slow, absentminded circles on the nape of your neck, still not moving, still holding you so close, like you were home in her arms.

The apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the coffee maker and the gentle sizzle of the pan on the stove. Ellie moved slowly, deliberately, her socked feet barely making a sound against the hardwood as she flipped the eggs, watching the edges crisp just slightly before turning down the heat.

The smell of coffee filled the air, warm and rich, mixing with the faint scent of butter melting in the pan. It was early—too early—but Ellie didn’t mind.

She glanced toward the hallway, toward her slightly ajar bedroom door, where she knew you were still curled up, tangled in her sheets, your body pressed into the warmth she had left behind. The thought sent something warm curling in her chest, something she wasn’t used to, something she didn’t want to name just yet.

She sighed, running a hand through her messy hair before reaching for the mug she had set out, pouring herself some coffee as she leaned against the counter, watching the steam curl into the air.

It felt normal, domestic. The kind of morning she didn’t think she’d get to have with you again.

And yet—here you were.

Still in her bed.

Still here.

She swallowed, pushing the thought aside as she turned back to the stove, flipping the eggs onto a plate.

Ellie took a slow sip of her coffee, letting the warmth spread through her chest, before setting the mug down with a quiet clink. She exhaled, running a hand through her messy hair, again, before padding back towards the bedroom, the faint creak of the floorboards the only sound in the stillness of the early morning.

The sight of you tangled in her sheets made her stomach flip.

You were buried in them, limbs sprawled lazily, face half-hidden against her pillow. The soft rise and fall of your breathing was steady, peaceful—familiar.

Ellie swallowed, something in her chest tightening as she carefully climbed onto the bed, straddling your waist without putting too much weight on you. Her hand found your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin as she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You stirred slightly, letting out a sleepy groan but not fully waking just yet.

Ellie smirked against your mouth, barely pulling away, her lips still hovering close as she whispered, “Morning, baby.”

Your nose scrunched slightly, a small grumble leaving your throat as you shifted beneath her, still so tired from the night before.

Ellie chuckled, pressing another soft kiss to your lips, her thumb still tracing slow circles against your cheek. “C’mon,” she murmured, voice low, warm, teasing. “I made breakfast.”

You groaned again, this time more exaggerated, burying your face into the pillow. “Too tired,” you mumbled, your voice muffled, your body still aching in the best way from last night.

Ellie grinned, dipping down to press another kiss to your jaw, then your cheek, her barely-there coffee breath the first thing you smelled as you shifted beneath her. “Can’t be that tired,” she teased, her lips ghosting over your skin. “Not after the way you were moaning my name last night—”

You groaned louder this time, smacking her thigh halfheartedly as she laughed, her breath warm against your skin.

Yeah.

Ellie could get used to this.

She is getting used to it, too quickly.

So were you. What about Abby?

“Ellie fucking Williams,” you groaned, voice rough with sleep, full-naming her as you blindly reached out to shove at her shoulder. “You are such a fucking freak in the morning—”

Ellie just grinned, unfazed, her hands settling on your hips as she hovered above you. “You love it,” she teased, leaning in like she was gonna kiss you again.

You narrowed your eyes, putting a hand on her face and shoving her away with a huff before finally sitting up, stretching lazily. Your muscles ached from the night before, your body still warm from the way Ellie had held you against her for hours.

You sighed dramatically, leaning back against the headboard, rubbing at your eyes before reaching out, fingers absentmindedly playing with the short ends of Ellie’s auburn hair.

Ellie melted instantly, the teasing grin on her face softening as she inched forward, tilting her head into your touch like it was instinct.

You barely noticed it at first, still blinking sleep from your eyes, until her green ones flickered up at you, something warm, something fond behind them—

And then she was kissing you again.

Soft, slow, her hands curling around your waist as she pressed forward, like she couldn’t help herself.

It lingered, deepening slightly before she finally pulled back, her lips hovering over yours for a second before she spoke. “You got any plans today?”

Her voice was casual, but there was something hesitant about the way she asked, like she was hoping you’d say no, like she wanted you to stay.

You pretended to think, lips pursing, stretching your arms out with a long, dramatic sigh as if you had so much on your agenda. “Well… I was supposed to attend this very important—”

Ellie raised a brow, her hands still gripping your waist as she stared at you, waiting.

You fought to keep a straight face, eyes flickering up like you were really considering something, before finally shaking your head with a small giggle. “Nah, no plans.”

Ellie’s face lit up. “Really?” she asked, like she needed to hear it again just to make sure.

Ellie let out a soft, relieved laugh, ducking her head with that boyish smile of hers, shaking her head slightly like she couldn’t believe her luck. “Fuck, I love you,” she muttered, more to herself than anything, before leaning in again, pressing another giddy kiss to your lips.

You both giggled into it, hands tangling in each other’s hair, lips moving together in messy, soft kisses, smiling so much that it made it hard to kiss properly.

Ellie hummed against your mouth, her fingers squeezing your hips before she pulled back just slightly, her forehead still resting against yours. “Alright,” she murmured, breath warm against your skin. “As much as I wanna keep you here all day… I did make you breakfast.”

She kissed you again—quick, chaste, just to steal one more—before standing up, stretching her arms above her head.

You just watched her, still breathless, still feeling the warmth of her lips, her laugh lingering between you.

Ellie turned back to you as she reached the door, arching a playful brow. “Well? You coming or what?”

yeah.

You could get used to this.

What about Abby?

© elliesbabygirl - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms.

Author's note: can y'all tell that i fucking lost the plot midway...ch. 006 is so ass u guys, I'm so sorry. I've genuinely been thrown off my rhythm ever since my midterms started, since I've gotten sick, AND since my period started this week😭yeah life's been kicking mybas lately y'all but I'm so sorry for being so late with this mid ch.006...Also, I had to watch homemade lesbian porn on pornhub to write the strap on scene cause your girl has ZERO game n has only ever tribbed with a girl before 😭so I'm sorry if the scene seemed a little wonky to you cause I was trying my best, I promise y'all😭

TAGLIST: @liasxeatt @vahnilla @sleepingwasp @morticeras @violetszn @eriiwaii @elliesactualgirlfriend @mikellie @lovely-wisteria @idletyouruinme @losing-it-lately @robinphobia @sexlus @lez-zuha @liztreez @linabellaox @piscesfairyyy

COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST!!

[rhyrhy]

Thinking about older!Married!Neighbor! Abby and the elementary teacher who lives a few doors down….

[ Contains:] infidelity implied, marital issues, blurb

Moving to Washington was nice. The neighborhood was quiet. White picket fence. Shiny rock on her finger. A warm bed, talks of future kids, and kisses on the cheek. But even with all that, Abby couldn’t help herself. Not when you were there. Almost every. Single. Morning.

Married Abby! who first noticed you on a run. Headband, ponytail, and an ass that just made her—ugh.

“Coming!” she called back out, ripping her eyes away from the kitchen window.

To whom? Her wife. Sweet Amanda. High school sweetheart. Love of her life. Well, that’s what she told herself. Who was she kidding? It’s been rocky since the move.

The truth was, Abby had agreed to the move because Amanda wanted to be closer to her family. But Abby’s dad was sick. She needed to be here, to help, to take care of what mattered—her family. When she tried to explain that, it spiraled like it always did.

“So my family’s less important now?” Amanda snapped, arms crossed over her chest.

Abby exhaled sharply, already exhausted. “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what it sounds like.”

“Come on, Amanda,” Abby ran a hand down her face, jaw tight. “I’ve done everything to make this move work for you. You wanted the suburbs, the perfect house, the perfect life—”

“For us, Abby. Not just me.”

Abby scoffed. “Really? Because it feels like every time I bring up my dad, it’s suddenly a problem.”

Amanda shook her head, biting back frustration. “It’s not a problem, it’s just—what about our future? You spend all your time working or worrying about your dad. Where do I fit into that?”

The arguments piled on top of each other, never-ending, circling back to the same, tired place. Cold dinner plates. Unfulfilled, half-hearted attempts at intimacy. And, worse, lonely nights spent rubbing one out to try to release something. Since her wife was always “not in the mood.”

But no matter how hard she tried to push you out of her mind, she couldn’t. You. Sweating in the sun, that warm glow on your face. The small bounce of your ass in those tight black leggings as you passed her large kitchen window.

Jesus, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander.

Married Abby! Who’s worked under Graves Electrical ever since she was a girl, soaking up her father’s teachings. Now, a few weeks settled, known as ‘Miss Fix It,’ a well-known figure in the neighborhood, called for all sorts of emergency repairs.

She used to have her sore muscles rubbed on by doting Amanda. But now? Epsom salt and a bath she’d fall asleep in more often than the actual bed became her best friend.

Married Abby! Knew a little about you, aside from how her body reacted when you passed by. Seeing you come home with a basket full of what looked like school supplies—crayons, Elmer’s glue—combined with the sticker on your car bumper that read, “Teaching is a work of heart,” with a drawn apple. she put it together fairly quick.

It was sickeningly sweet compared to the gloomy cloud hanging over her own household. Unlike her, no ring on your finger. Just colorful clothes, gel-polished nails, and fitted workout clothes that drove her nuts.

The only thing sicker than your positivity? The fact that her wife was the one to show you the property you came home to at 4:15 on the dot, Monday through Friday.

And what almost broke her resolve completely? Yesterday morning.

You stood at her door, smiling, something wrapped in tinfoil in hand—coming to thank Amanda for helping you move in now that you were settled. The low-cut floral dress made her grip the doorframe a little tighter.

“Hi,” she forced out, clearing her throat. “Can I help you?”

[electricneonvalkyrie]

If you think Abby Anderson would hurt her partner just because she can deadlift a bear, you haven’t been paying attention.

This powerhouse of a woman would drag a wounded stranger through a burning village and then apologize for getting ash on their clothes.

Listen.

Abby sees you flinch when a door slams, and her heart breaks in six different directions.

She doesn’t push for details right away and she waits. She gives you space to process. When you’re ready to talk, she listens like there’s nothing more important to her in the universe. To her, there isn't.

Abby is not the type to throw mantras at you without thinking. She doesn’t try to convince you that you’re safe with her, or that you’re safe now.

She shows you. Over and over again.

She gently untangles your trauma narratives and walks beside you as you unlearn the voice in your head that whispers it was your fault. She reminds you that love is not supposed to hurt like that, and surviving isn’t weakness. You’re strong as hell, and Abby helps you feel it.

And goddamn, if you freeze in public, this girl shifts into protective mode instantly. She’s got one arm around your shoulder before you even realize you need grounding. She knows what you need because she’s been in your shoes and it’s her priority to pay attention.

One of my personal favourites? She’s brilliant at building routines that work with your sensory needs. Bad day? No problemo. Abby has the lights low, all the cozy textures within reach. She’s your stability when everything shakes beneath your feet.

She isn’t a miracle worker, obviously. She is healing, too. She makes mistakes. They're never the kind of mistakes that force you to question her integrity and trustworthiness, though.

The first time you spiral, she asks what helps you. Hell, she may need to do this a few times over. The difference is, she memorizes your answers. This badass soldier gives a shit. She isn’t perfect, but she doesn’t leave you to suffer alone, ever. She reminds you that you’re not a burden and that your meltdowns aren’t brokenness.

With her actions. Because she shows up in a real way and not some regurgitated thing she saw go viral.

When you casually apologize for being too much, she looks at you like you’ve just insulted Mother Earth.

Okay and yeah, so she encourages you to hit the weights. It’s one of her personal coping mechanisms, and she’s fallen in love with it alongside the trauma that pushed her to pick up that first dumbbell. She wants you to know what it feels like to have quick access to taking your power back. But she doesn’t just slap you on the ass and tell you to hit the gym like some common douchebag. She wants to spend time with you and share her passions.

She lifts with you. She stretches with you. This girl wants to learn trauma informed exercise goals that aren’t about punishing your body because she has sure as shit punished hers. Abby wants better for you.

Maybe through this, she finds ways to be gentler with herself.

And my girl is a praise queen.

Enough said.

You did good. I’m so fucking proud of you.

In a modern setting, Abby definitely helps you set up your own bank account and encourages you to track your finances in a way that gives you full control over your safety and your future. She wants you to succeed, with or without her.

People assume far too much based on Abby’s build. I’ve seen her written like a man (at one point, most, if not all fics permanently fixed her to a strap-on, without ever acknowledging her actual body), fetishized as a monster, and stripped of her softness entirely.

Strength and tenderness coexist.

Writers who recognize this, understand the weight of characterization and how misrepresentation can be harmful.

I appreciate those of you who respect it and pour your heart into your art. It really shows, no matter how many kudos or whatever.

Keep going.

Abby would want you to.

[puriiinz]

POSTED | smau abby a.

II; BE NATURAL

a/n: a lil sumting... more is coming... beware...

contains: cursing, sarcasm, mean flirting lesbians who don't realize they're flirting

masterlist | next

[greendr4gon]

Don't know what to post soooo Abby dump!

[chaotic-ppeach]

1 Hr Abby Anderson

Don’t worry I did film all these. I did paint Joel but I actually HATE it so I’m gonna choose a difference reference and try again.

[jordendefender]

Yet another Abby dump