#cowboy abby anderson??

[elliesbff]

I feel like you’re the person for this job.

I feel like this fandom needs more cowboy Abby fluff. CAN A GIRL GET SOME PURE SOUTHERN COMFORT AROUND HERE??? Like we all know that woman would hold doors open and be such a good little provider yk??

i LOOOOOVEEEE this idea. i’ve seen multiple fan works of abby as like a cowboy, or like a farm worker and sometimes even in a red dead redemption au, and it’s been on my mind ever since.

enjoy these headcanons! (since my brain is fried and i can’t focus on anything) cw: slightly suggestive at some points!

cowboy abby anderson,

she’s such a gentle-woman for you. always opening doors while making a grand gesture with her arm; “after you,”

to add, although she knows you’re perfectly capable of these things yourself, she provides these acts of service anyways, just to show her love and devotion to you.

she’s so good with horses, and animals in general. you always stare in awe as she tends to them, cleaning, feeding and the likes.

on those scorching-ly hot summer afternoons, she’d wear tank tops that revealed that a little bit of her chest and her back. some would say she does it on purpose.

her with a southern accent…. somewhat similar to joel’s, the exaggerated pronunciations of the end of each word. she’d still have those commanding, almost always sarcastic undertones in her voice.

would definitely let you wear her large cowboy hat, and only you.

because of her muscular build, she can easily haul objects such as hay bales, game, and even a variety of animals around — including you, with little to no struggle. use that to your imagination.

she’s exceptionally good at horse-back riding and controlling her hips. it’s no different in the bedroom.

from the amount of heavy duty work she does; lassoing, hurling heavy loads around and such, her hands are ridden with callouses and scars. combine this with her unimaginable grip and strength, your skin is far from safe when it comes to slaps and spanks.

on the outside, she’s a tough, burly stud of a woman who’s strength is near unmatched. but when you dig a little deeper, she’s just a warm ball of energy, who turns to mush at the mere sound of an earnest compliment.

good behaviour is always handsomely rewarded.

her lasso skills come in handy behind closed doors.

she’s old fashioned when it comes to gracing you with affection; neck and hand kisses, inviting you to dance even in the midst of silence, breakfast in bed, and gifting you with flowers she found while hunting.

on the topic of hunting, she’s mighty good at it, and never fails to impress you with her bow and shotgun — watching her come back home with an abundance of loot always amazes you.

her skilful providing never goes unappreciated.

that’s all i can think of for now, sorry if it’s not that good💔💔 i’ll try to think of some more tomorrow!

[abbyspup]

thinking about cowboy!abby sauntering over to you in the club, beer in hand, placing her hat on your head, “claiming” you as hers for the night. after what feels like hours of mindless flirting, you mention something about her horses. without a second thought abby leans in, her breath tickling your ear, as she whispers. “the horses are nice but.. i reckon there’s somethin’ else i’d like to try my hand at riding tonight..” leaning back with a shit eating grin as you stand there, dumbfounded. leading you through the sweaty bodies to her beat up pickup outside :p

[eyesfullofsttars]

୨୧° 🐎 °୨୧

Ellie Williams was just another lone cowgirl, often lost in her afternoon painting sessions after mornings spent hunting and tending lovingly to her animals. Running a farm inherited from the noblest man she’d ever known wasn’t easy, not even for her. Most nights, she’d find herself curled up with her guitar beneath the pale sheets of a bed far too big for her slender, muscular frame, her black cat nestled on her chest, filling the space that only highlighted her solitude.

She was always in her worn-out jeans, dirt-scuffed brown boots, and that well-worn white tank top, revealing a glimpse of underarm hair that matched her unevenly trimmed, reddish-brown hair—cut by her own calloused hands. Her nails were always caked with dirt, and her freckled skin carried the warm blush of the sun. The tension in her defined muscles made the veins stand out.

(Though, she couldn’t help but have a soft spot for the tall, muscular blonde who made the most delicate flower arrangements for the town’s festivals.)

[sleepytownzzz]

just like a toreador, i don’t just like, i adore yaaa (listened to a ton of toro by remi wolf while drawing this….no correlation…)

[tamarydraws]

save a horse ride a cowboy they say… 💞😵‍💫

(no color | color ver. )

western!abby AU 🌿

I’m planning some other works with my own TLOU OC…we’ll see if I post it, I don’t know if any of you would be interested in that!

for now here’s the hot babe 🧎🏻‍♀️

[catfern]

she will destroy you.

pairing: abby anderson x afab!reader

music: crack baby or bag of bones ( or anything from puberty 2 ) - mitski

word count: 3.3k (i'm exhausted)

summary: rumours are swirling, fighting their way through your front door. you hope to keep your work and private life separate, but your proximity with your boss threatens to catch up with you.

warnings: mean!toxic!abby, cheating, porn with a LOT of plot, swearing, tipsy sex, fingering, oral (r!receiving), zero ( i mean ZERO ) aftercare, angst-ish

an: a quick intermission from cowboy!ellie because LORD. i read one page from one book abt a butch teacher yearning for the headmaster's wife and suddenly I NEED AFFAIRS!! I NEED YEARNING!! I NEED SECRECY!! and who better to do that with than a rlly mean ceo!abby who has a PhD in fucking bitches.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Shit.”

A line of scarlet trickles onto the warm printer paper and settles. You drop your paperwork on an unknown desk and suck your finger, hissing through your teeth at the sting. Your phone buzzes impatiently in the back pocket of your work pants, and you fumble with your non-bleeding fingers to pull it out.

we’ll talk abt this when u get home

see u after ur party i guess

A shit fucking day.

You hall back to your desk, defeat slumping heavy on your shoulders. The Office makes an effort not to stare as you walk by, low whispers hot on your feet like coals in a firewalk. You pretend very poorly not to see the half-lidded, secretive looks shared between your old work friends by the water cooler. Water off a duck’s back, your mom used to say in a nonchalant way when you cried to her about mean girls at school. Not that you ever really knew what that meant.

You were never really thankful to be shut off from the rest of the cubicles, until now. A fortress of frosted glass and a heavy door, your desk was the secluded gateway to a place dreaded. Just you and The Boss, which you guess didn’t help the flying tongues of the old, bored fucks in accounting, but it kept people away. Away from you, with their knowing looks and unknowing laughs.

You huff, settling into your uncomfortable desk chair and digging out a small first aid kit your dad bought you when you first started. Pulling the seal off the small tin, you eye its contents. Disinfectant, thermometer, some loose aspirin and bandaids. You whine lightly as you wrap one tightly around your ring finger, feeling it throb and pulse, like a complaint. Get over yourself, you tell your body.

A sharp - ahem - breaks through your mumbling silence. She’s never sick, she never coughs. It’s a bodiless beckoning, a call into the wild, it’s the wordless agreement you have with her. You pick up your notebook, and the nearest working pen, and shuffle quickly through the open door into her office.

The opaque shades are drawn, the natural light greying and dying on the dark, decaying herringbone floor. 

Abby is bathed in the orange light of her desk lamp. With impeccable, almost effortless posture, she’s resting her forearms on her desk, one hand scratching notes into her diary, the other distractedly tapping on the leather top. You follow the shadows that the folds in her dress shirt create, your eyes falling on the contour of her body. 

You know she frequents a few gyms. You’re the one who schedules late night international calls around her evening runs, and her weights sessions, and her triweekly spin class. But now, the results of her efforts are on display, tightly wrapped in expensive cotton, perfectly tailored, down to the very last stitch, to her existence. You swallow an uncomfortable feeling when she deigns to meet your eye.

She looks you over in the way she always does, an uncaring, but judgemental once-over, like an army sergeant inspecting a uniform. she hones in on the bandaid,

“Workplace injury?”

Her voice has the warmth of a dying cigarette, rolling like well-spoken honey off her lips. You almost feel ashamed, your finger so offensive to her you could chop it off. You almost feel like you wouldn’t even mind. You start picking at the ends of the bandaid with your thumb.

“Paper cut.” Your voice is always so out of place here. An echo of something that does not belong. She nods her head, ever so slightly, as if she understood.

“Don’t think you can go claiming compensation for that.” It’s a joke you’re not allowed to laugh at. You smile lightly instead. It’s short-lived, “I need you to correct some seating arrangements for tonight.”

Yes, of course. No problem. In wordless agreement, Abby starts listing off adjustments, complaints and warnings from guests about not being seated next to their five ex-husbands, or their whining step-children, or ex-business partners fallen from grace. your pen fingers begin to ache as the whole process draws out.

“And I’m going to need you seated at my table, to keep track of my evening itinerary.”

Uncertainty quickly sows its seeds in your stomach. The unopened messages from your girlfriend burn their way through pocket, searing at your legs like a brand on cattle. Everyone knows, everyone will know. Every detail of your life will be laid bare, and you’ll be tried publicly and without mercy. Your bandaid begins to unravel as you rub anxiously at the glue underneath.

You need to do something, something to get things back under control.

“Actually,” You start, unsure. Abby meets your eye quickly, without hesitation, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” It’s quick, and condescending. Undercutting any sudden courage you may have had, she meets your eye and stares you down, pinning you under ice, almost imploring you to feel terrified. And then she looks away, busy packing away the seating chart, and you wonder if she even looked at you at all.

She stands, and you try to meet her, your hands clutching your notebook.

“Your attendance tonight is mandatory.” She says it slowly, harshly, like it’s hard for you to understand. Her eyes chase quickly over your outfit, “It’s a black tie event.”

You’re left alone in a dark office, hyperventilating.

The apartment is empty and cold when you arrive home. 7 unanswered texts to your girlfriend tell you she doesn’t want you near her, but she isn’t packed. You expect her to come home, hopefully in the hour you have before you have to go again, and you contemplate just blowing the gala off to wait.

Abby’s voice is sharp in your head, a familiar dedication wringing your body. You can’t leave her. She needs you there.

You put off the conversation with your girlfriend into the furthest parts of your mind, allowing yourself to be swallowed in the minor decisions of clothes and hair and accessories. It’s not until you’re throwing your shoes on, and three times you think you hear her keys in the door, that you give up.

The phone rings 5 times before going to voicemail.

Hey. Listen. I know we said we weren’t going to talk until we were face to face but..

Whatever Maria told you wasn’t true, okay? I promise-I fucking promise you, nothings happened. Baby, okay? People are fucking bored, and I love you, so so much. I’ve gotta go to this one thing tonight - i tried to get out of it i swear -, and i’ll come home and we can talk, and we can fix this. Okay? Jus-Just, gimme some time to explain. Okay. I love you. Bye.

Echoes of quiet chatter uncomfortably ebb and flow off the walls of the ballroom. Too many people. Shoes scuff the cheap marble as the rich make their rounds, with light touches and reused laughter. They all hate each other.

Abby is a familiar sight. Wearing the same thing she has all day, she looks staggering. Hands just breaching her suit pockets, comfortably falling at her side, her hair in a calculated braid, designed to make her look approachable. 

 The air here agrees with her, her smile wide and effortless. You know she’s come straight from a meeting, and you suppose that adds to her charm. The Working Woman, a success story. Her rich friends, who spend their inheritances on shares and indoor tennis courts, lap it up. She’s a foreign object, something unfamiliar and wild.

You don’t interrupt, skimming the sidelines to get to your table. You can feel her glance, without substance, before returning to her conversation. Your event planner ( a shitty flip notebook that fits in every small clutch you own ) sits on the tablecloth at your seat, and you wait. Eyeing the glasses at the placemats next you, you can tell a few drinks has been shared, raking your eyes over Abby’s looser disposition.

She’s happy, and charming. She’s been drinking bourbon. Mint, with ice and syrup, the way you serve it to her in her office, when the occasion calls for celebration. 

Her conversation finishes, her soft hands bidding gentle, kind goodbyes to the couple as they move on. She’s a friend to the people that matter.

“I expected you here before me.”

She doesn’t bother to look at you as she sits, instead fixing her napkin to her lap. You watch as the veins in her neck rise and fall as she talks, “Doesn’t matter now. Run me through everything.”

Right, fuck. You open your notebook and run your fingers over the scratchy writing. Your days leading up to this were spent copying details from obscure emails, tidbits you thought Abby needed to remember. Late nights at the office, life abandoned, deciphering biographies and 2 hour youtube deep dives. You can watch yourself fall asleep from the future, your handwriting slipping, long and longer strokes, spelling dissolving, long words abandoned. your pen fell to the floor, and you slept at your desk. Twenty missed calls. You argued when you came home in the morning.

“The Ambassador is arriving around 8:00pm with his new wife, also named Rebecca. Oh, Old Rebecca emailed asking why she didn’t receive an invitation.”

She’s slowly sipping at another whiskey, a different cocktail she ordered just as you’d arrived. The orange peel brushes her nose as she tilts the glass, her jaw tightens as she swallows, “Tell her the venue was at capacity. Send some flowers.”

It continues like this for a bit. Quiet and attentive, she listens to what you have to say, as her eyes follow the crowd. You too, spy people that you know, a few slimy execs that share a whisper and a boisterous laugh as they look your way. You order gin.

Soon enough, Abby checks her watch. An inexpensive, vintage piece of leather and quartz. She excuses herself with a measure of politeness. It’s time for an hour of speeches that don’t matter, before you’re finally allowed to eat. You sigh.

A quiet buzz rips through the growing silence. You open your clutch and hide your phone under the silk tablecloth, away from the disapproving elderly eyes.

i told u to leave me alone

jesus christ

A pit in your stomach. Dark, pressing, ever present. Your saliva is heavy in your mouth, and you feel like shrinking away. Luckily, the waiter isn’t far. Drinks are discounted for the company staff.

Finally, speeches finish. Abby looked nice on the stage, effervescent under the lights. Her hair catches warm light nicely in the strands.

The food comes, but people disregard it for shallow conversations. Plates are taken away full, apart from slim, polite pickings. Your table orders more drinks, and syrupy laughter echoes as anecdotes about private schools and hedge funds are shared. You don’t belong here. Your body becomes unsteady, restless. Your legs shaking, a hand finds you thigh in the veiled secrecy of the table cloth.

Abby’s not looking at you, too engaged in tipsy conversation to draw attention. A nice gesture, but it’s not. It’s wordless agreement. Her thumb traces the outside of your thigh mindlessly, her jaw clenching as she feels your gaze.

You hesitate.

What else did you have to do? Apart from go home and wait for an argument.

You let her touch you a little longer, soft, ghostly. It’s kind, unmistakably. You let yourself revel in it, in her uncommon affection, before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

Abby follows not long after. She’s confident, her position charismatic, not unlike the other times she finds a drink, and then goes to find you. She doesn’t stop, so sure that you’ll follow her trail as you’ve done so often before. But you hesitate, again.

She turns back to you, a look on her face that’s hard to decipher. You stumble in your reasoning.

“It’s just-, my girlfrien-“

“Are you coming? Or not?”

Your palms itch, you swallow.

What kind of sick sacrifice. Unfair to have both, some would say, but some don’t know you. How wicked it is to taste both fruit and have to choose the sweeter. Fuck. The drinks settle in your stomach.

Your girlfriend wasn’t coming home tonight anyway, not really.

She’s leading you up the stairs, hands flush to her body. You grip the cold handrail to hold you steady. She’s already steps ahead, the appropriate distance. 

A quiet corner doesn’t need to be found. She’s been here before. You’ve been here before. The holy emptiness of the second floor is an accustomed comfort.

She’s quick and calculated, despite the mix of drinks on her breath. One hand pushing you to the wall, the other finding the zipper for your dress. It falls off you like it never belonged to you, kicked away and piled into a corner, forgotten.

Gripping you like you’d run away, she palms your tits and presses crescent moons into your hips. She holds her head away from you, watching you down her nose as you squirm. Abby has always remained detached, carefully groomed a distance between you that now feels too sacred to break. You long to feel her kiss you, to feel her intimately, to run your hands along her arms and feel every curve, every outline. You’ve needed to touch her since the moment you met her. Craved it.

Abby is disrespectful, impatient. She cups your pussy, still hidden in slick panties, letting the rough ball of her palm grind against your clit. It sets you on fire, and she chases it with a hand on your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Get rid of them.”

You strip fast, in a very unflattering way, you’re certain, and throw your underwear close to the ghost of your dress. She moves against you again, her hand softer as it wraps around your lips and cheeks. You look at her, hoping to see that softness echoed on her face, but her eyes are elsewhere, too focused on the movement your tits make as she holds you against the wall. 

Painstakingly, her fingers slide inside you, her hand pressing down on your mouth as you moan around the feeling of her, the intoxication. Your hands lock and unlock, your nails digging at scratching at the wood boards on the wall as you try to balance yourself.

Merciless. She rocks into you, letting you fall into step with her, find her pace, a relentless one. You feel her melting into your core, her fingers curling and stretching your walls as she pounds into you, again, again, again. You sound pathetic, behind the mask of her hand, whining as she leaves, and nearly screaming when she returns.

Abby watches as your face contorts around her fingers, feels you wrap around her. If she feels even a fraction of what she gives you, you wouldn't know. Her eyes remain unkind, left at a distance, but her breathing is staggered. short, laboured. she looks over you, you feel it, feel as her eyelashes rise as she rakes over your body.

You need it to be desire in her eyes. You need her to starve. To crave, like you do. Desperation.

Her hand moves from your mouth, your whimpering breath filling the room fast, the quiet broken. Her pace slows, and you almost rest on her fingers, left to wonder what she’s playing at. Instead, it comes down on your shoulder, still warm and wet with your breath, and she pushes you down onto her fingers, deep, deep. you feel her at the very centre of yourself, your eyes wide as the pressure builds inside you, her fingernails leaving a trail, evidence of her in your walls. She lets your ragged moans echo, hurt and pleasure. It’s an unkind end to things.

You don’t want to let it to end. You can’t.

The distance is broken. You reach out and grasp flesh, firm under your nails. You’re still riding the ecstasy pulse, the heat in your pussy, and Abby lets you stay, holding onto her as if you would fade otherwise. Your cheeks are almost touching, her breath hot on your ear, you hear her for the first time, raspy groans as you squeeze around her. She’s been holding back.

Damn it all.

“Everybody knows. Please. Please, fuck me like you know you should.”

You meet her gaze. Everything is foreign now. Her skin feels different to how you had imagined it. Softer. Her eyes are more uncertain, more than you’d ever seen before. Hesitance.

“Fuck it.”

Whiskey, and a sip of your gin, and tobacco. You didn’t even know she smoked, but you taste it on her like its the only thing she ever did. The smell of pine came in a wave as she moved, hooking her hands under your legs and hoisting you up. For months, you’ve yearned for her to kiss you, begged for it even. And now, her lips are rough, and bloody, and everywhere. Ghosts tracing your neck, unkind, stinging, exhilarating. 

She moves you to the floor without fuss, holding herself over you, your legs spread around her. She’s smiling, and you become so sure that there’s something not quite right with this side of Abby. You’re quickly aware that you’ve landed in hostile territory, vulnerable, needy.

She usually didn’t like it when you begged.

Her tongue is like the rapture on your clit, spitting fire through your veins, in your nerves. You feel it creep up in your body, twisting and tightening through you like something invasive, moans and prayers dripping from your lips that only push her. her name a curse, fallen on your body. You feel her laugh against your slick walls and it jolts you.

Abby, suddenly so aware of you, so kind, so attentive, shifts her posture, “Oh, you’re so needy.” A hand grabs your face, pulling it up from the floor in a dead lull. Her name rolls off your pretty lips once more, “What? You beg for me, and now you can’t take me?” Her tone is mocking, “Which is it? Hm?”

A cacophony. You, you, you. Your head foggy, unsure of what she wants to hear, you beg for again, telling her you can it take it. I can, please, abby.

Her laugh is cruel, mocking as her mouth finds you again, sending cold vibrations up your legs. Slut echoes against your clit.

Inside of you, she feels like a god. Her fingers stretching your walls, pressing deep against your centre at an excruciating pace, and her tongue lazily laps up all that you give her. 

“Fuck! Fu-uck, fuck!”

It’s clear to Abby that the caution she so carefully designed was useless now. People knew, and fuck it if they knew. Fuck it if they heard you dripping on her fingers, calling out her name. Fuck it if they stop the music, and turn to listen - fucking perverts - because it’s her. And you’re the one begging for her.

Stars creep in through the haze in your vision, and Abby’s trying to ask you something harsh, but you don’t hear it. You’re tethered to the feeling of her fingers, your whole body knotting around her like a planet in orbit of the sun. 

You’d burn if she wanted you to, happily.

You’re so fucking tight around her fingers, your legs shaking and a vicious call ripping through your body. Her Name.

The warmth from your body is too much, and the cool of the floor is lulling, soothing, as you collapse. Abby’s fingers leave you empty, incomplete. You whine as she leaves you, your walls tightening around the absence of her. She wipes your cotton slick on your leg.

She stands, and rolls her shoulders. Fixes the few hairs that fall out of place. Guiltless.

“Get dressed, before someone sees you.”

[youhavenofaithinmedicine]

cowboy abby..... so girl husband

[gallonofgoldfish]

Whiskey and Winning

It's easy to get distracted at the rodeo. At least, it should be, under the lights and in the crowded stands, but you've only got one thing on your mind. Champion bronco rider Abby Anderson could say the same.

Pairing: cowpoke!abby x reader (sort of)

Content: established relationship, fluff, poor attempts at depicting the rodeo, reader is barely described, i swear im not slut shaming i just think the term buckle bunny is funny, i don't think any warnings apply

A/N: wrote this last night in a haze. i hardly know anything about tlou and rodeos actually make me really sad but yk. the parasites. might make another part to this at some point. didn't tell my friends i was posting this so if you guys see this hello i love you thank you for hyping me up <3. also friendly reminder fuck neil druckmann and do not give that zionist your money!!!

WC: 1080

The blare of the announcer’s voice from the overhead speakers is deafening, but you haven’t heard a word he’s said. The lights are blinding, but you won’t squint against their glare. The stadium is packed full—roaring with the drunken cheers of thousands of strangers, glittering with the flash of every camera and belt buckle and rhinestone-studded hat suffocating in the stands—but it may as well be empty save for the two of you.

The world is quiet. Eerily so, though maybe the ringing in your ears is playing a part in that. It’s narrow. It’s tinged by the black splotches at the edge of your vision and strained by the clench of your jaw.

The world is the cowpoke settling onto the bare back of the bronc in the chute only a few feet away from you. It’s the wide-brimmed ten-gallon pressed firmly down over the dirty blonde braid hanging between her shoulders. The collared white shirt stretching over her back, quilted with Marlboro patches and brand logos. The crimson bandana you’d had in your hair an hour earlier, resting around her neck.

The world is Abby Anderson, from the freckles strewn over her scarred, sunburned face to the cold focus in her steely blue eyes that evaporates when her gaze settles on you. Ice turns to the warmth of Jack Daniel’s, neat in its absence. To the gray of campfire smoke winding into the white-speckled sky, burning away the chill in the air. Warding off the spectators and the clamor and the awful, twisting feeling of waiting.

This is what it’s about, right?

The rush. The thrill.

The hitch in the air as her hand tightens on the rigging one last time. 

A grin splits her features.

She winks.

And then she’s gone. The gate swings open and the bucking mare takes off with her on its back and the world bursts back into a mess of color and noise. Eight seconds.

You’re yelling—you’re not sure what you’re yelling, but it’s loud enough to leave your throat raw and earn some sideways looks from the flock of buckle bunnies pressed up against the railing alongside you. 

Seven.

Part of Pour Some Sugar on Me blasts from the staticky speakers, and Abby appears on the jumbotrons in perfect detail. 

Six.

The bay mare thrashes into the air, but Abby’s faster, stronger, the muscles in her arms pushing against the seams of her shirt as she holds her free hand held up in the air. 

Five.

The snarling wolves engraved on her belt buckle flash under the lights. 

Four.

Every kick whips the fringe along the edges of her shotgun chaps, but the timer ticks down anyway. 

Three.

She holds on, anyway.

A closer shot brings her face into focus: grit teeth, a furrowed brow, a muscle ticking along the edge of her jaw. 

Two.

Sweat runs down the side of her features and into the scar on her cheek beneath the shadow of her hat’s brim. 

She’s in the middle of the arena now, gritty sand flying up around her. 

One?

If you could tear your eyes off of her, you’d check the time to make sure you’re counting right.

The music stops. An airhorn sounds. She’s still the rider—some distant, mythical thing up on a screen and down in the dirt.

Abby’s mouth opens in a shout when the second set of floodlights kick in, raising her head only to lock eyes with the pair of wranglers who burst out of the chutes after her to rope the bronc back in. She rocks forward with the mare’s motion one more time before swinging herself off its back and bailing into the sand. 

You finally get a breath out, resting your head against your forearm on the railing and heaving a sigh.

The announcer’s words retreat to the back of your thoughts again, but not before you catch her score. 95.

Ninety–fucking–five. The day’s record.

Just as the stadium begins to die down, the strangers beside you erupt into another round of cheers. Abby’s on her feet again, dusting herself off and sweeping her hat off of her head to shake out the loose strands of hair framing her face. And she’s walking. Jogging. Full-on running, back towards the chutes.

Or maybe not. 

She vaults the rickety fencing at the edge of the ring like she’s been practicing and hauls herself up into the stands. You can’t bite back your smile at the sight of her, shoulders heaving, beaming, alive. The crooks of her boots expertly find the backs of the plastic stadium seats between spectators’ shoulders. As she makes her way over, the strangers along the railing surge towards her, arms outstretched over the section’s edge. 

Abby doesn’t even see them; her stare never leaves yours except to glance at the railing before stepping up on the platform and hooking an arm through the top metal rung. 

She’s real again then—the world in flannel and denim and muddy boots, inches away.

Abby. Your Abby.

You’re breathing it in. Smoke from the night before. Pine and sweat.

Then, you’re tasting it. Whiskey and winning.

Her hat settles atop your head. Calloused, resin-stuck fingers thread through your hair at the back of your neck and reel you in. Your lips are on hers—or maybe it’s the other way around—and you laugh against each other.

Heat creeps into your cheeks long before you pull away.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” you scold, but your smile chases off any thread of sternness your voice might’ve held.

“Agree to disagree.” She wipes her forehead on her sleeve and huffs, one brow arched. The rosy blush in her features lingers even when the sweat is gone. 

The screens over her shoulder change to show two familiar shapes. 

“We’re on the jumbotron,” you say. 

Abby doesn’t bother looking back. Just laughs “Good,” then kisses you again. This one is quicker, lighter, but your stomach flutters all the same.

“Go.” You squeeze her arm. “I’m sure you’re gettin’ somethin’ good for a ride like that.”

She scoffs. “I do this for no damn awards,” she drawls.

“Can’t all be adrenaline,” you murmur, tugging at her bandana.

That sly, smoky look creeps across her features again as the hat lifts from your head and sinks back down onto hers.. The corner of her mouth tugs upward. Her eyes dart over your face. Stepping down, she leaves you two more words and a pounding in your chest:

“It ain’t.”

[fandomphantomfreak]

may be stretching a bit but. truly the trope of all time.

[dnvrsmedia]

The Farmer, The Wrangler, & The Cowboy - TLOU II AU

Part One - Spring Morning 

18+ series

Summary: You're the new farmer in town with a big heart and an even bigger love for two women. What happens when these two women apparently hate each other?

It was a warm spring morning in Jackson, Wyoming. Life was slowly blossoming as the days started to get warmer and longer. Sweat glided down your smooth face as the sun beamed brightly onto the Earth. Your hands are currently busy lifting up the heavy bails of hay. You were a farmer here at the commune. You were one of the younger ones on the farm, but you didn’t let that fool anyone. You were more than capable of taking care of and maintaining the land. You liked it that way too. Tending to the Earth, thanking it for its bountifulness. With a steady hand, you firmly grasp the last bail of hay and fling it to the top of the pile. Your strong forearm wipes the sweat from your brow with a squint. You really should listen to your Mama and wear those sunglasses. You were pulled from your thoughts with the beautiful view of the wrangler in the distance. 

Her short auburn hair tucked behind her ears as a hat lay snugly upon her head. Your eyes trail from the top of her head, down to her elongated neck. Constellations of freckles and moles litter her body like they were hand placed from whatever almighty that may rule from above. Her neck is briefly exposed as her muscles contort and contract with her movements. You’re not sure what she's doing but you definitely are enjoying the view. Her tank top is doing very little to protect her pale skin from the harshness of the sun. You swear you could see the beads of sweat glissing on her skin from here. Her muscles- oh god were her muscles beautifully on display. Distally from her muscles that make you squeeze your thighs together, are her most valuable assets. Ellie Williams has the most beautiful hands you think you have ever seen. Her strong fingers that can shoot a pistol quicker than anyone in the whole state of Wyoming. Ellie made it known to all who were in her path of how proud she was of her hands. Although, she never needed to do that. You see, Ellie Williams’ legacy didn’t only have to deal with her amazing wrangling and shooting skills. Ellie was a player. She didn’t mind knowing that every woman fawned over her and that all the men wanted to be her. Unbeknownst to most, all that didn’t matter to her. Ellie only wanted who she had her eyes on, and Ellie Williams always got what she wanted. 

With a quick look up from what she was doing, Ellie noticed you staring up at her. Immediately a devious smirk adorned her face. If Ellie was one thing, she was a tease. Leaving her unfinished work behind, Ellie walked down from the stables to talk to you. Panic set into your body as soon as you saw her moving towards you. Trying to act like you didn’t notice her, you began working on your task. You really wished that Ellie was on her way somewhere else; I mean you always end up making a fool out of yourself whenever you were around her. If you were to be a respectable farmer, then you were to keep your head down and get to work. 

“Howdy,” a raspy drawl that you thought about way too often breaks you out of your train of thought. 

You let out an exhale in readiness to make an absolute ass out of yourself. You look up from your task of piling hay to see Ellie standing proud directly in front of you. Her cocky smirk plastered onto her mouth as she tastefully bites her lip. Ellie isn’t like you. She doesn’t shy away from letting it be known that she’s checking someone out. That is exactly what she does with you right now. Her eyes drink  in your curves like a tall glass of water on a hot day. You feel faint within her vicinity which causes you to shy away from her demanding eye contact.   

“Hey, Ellie. Beautiful day out, huh? M’ sure the horses are lovin’ the extra sunlight. I know Bessy is.” A cow moos loudly in the distance which causes you to let out a giggle. 

Bessy was your favorite thing maybe on the whole entire planet earth. She was the first cow that you helped birth and now you two are attached at the hip. Everyone knew that you and Bessy were best friends, including the very charming cowboy named Abby. Ellie would never admit it outloud, but she was jealous of the close knit relationship that the both of you had. Ellie wanted to be seen the way that Abby was in your eyes. Pot calling the kettle black, she knows, but it's a loop that she’s stuck in. She can’t get your attention, so she plays with other girl’s hearts, you think of her like that is all she’s good for, she sees you with Abby, and the cycle continues. She chuckles at you and nods. 

“Yeah, Shimmer was all excited. It was so hard to even get her to stand still.” She laughs at the memory. 

“Your girlfriend almost fell off her horse, that's how excited they all were.” Ellie smirks at the flush of your face. 

“Abby? Oh we- uh she’s not uh.” You stumble over your words. Did you have feelings for your very strong and beautiful blonde friend? Of course you did, but you will never admit that you are at a crossroads with your feelings. Ellie and Abby make your heart feel whole in two different yet very similar ways and that terrified you. 

“I was just fucking with you, pretty lady.” Ellie picks a piece of straw and puts a part in her mouth to chew. You get blindsided by her strong jaw contracting as her mandible and maxilla close for her teeth to collide together. You look away quickly to compose yourself. 

“Oh uh I knew that, haha- um anyway, are you gonna go to the spring fling?” You wrung your hands in between each other, your anxiety manifesting physically. Ellie scoffed at the thought of being in a room with too many hypermasculine men and her ex flings in one space fighting for her attention. 

“I uh- I don’t know yet. Maybe if a pretty girl like you is going then, maybe.” She smirks and tilts her hat to you. You look up at her with the most heart melting smile. You shake your head and look down to hide your excitement. 

“Mhm! I think I might stop by or somethin’, my Mama said I gotta get out more that isn’t just coming to see the animals and Bess. You didn’t need to know that um-” there you go making a fool out of yourself. 

Yet, Ellie found your ramblings absolutely adorable. She stood there with her hand on her hip and a sly smile at your overshare. It didn’t escape her that you mentioned Bessy the cow like she wasn’t an animal. She adored the bond you created with that sassy son of a bitch. 

“But yeah Abby s’ gonna go n’ she told me to come by so um I’ll be there!” You awkwardly giggled as you looked back up to Ellie. Her smile faltered at the mention of Abby, but she quickly covered it up at the thought of seeing you all dressed up. 

“Well then,” Ellie moves closer to you and picks a piece of rouge hay out of your hair, “I guess I’ll be seein’ you later tonight, darlin’. Be good now.” Ellie tilts her hat at you once more as a goodbye and walks back up to the stables, leaving you daydreaming about her auburn hair and beautiful eyes. 

You knew that Abby and Ellie had…interesting thoughts about each other. The real mystery is what happened. Apparently before you moved here to Jackson, Abby and Ellie were close friends until they weren’t. You even tried to ask Abby about it, but she would just change the subject with a stone cold face. You didn’t have time to ask Ellie since you spent the better half of your time with her trying not to make a bigger ass of yourself then you already have. You let out a sigh and began finishing up your work for the day. Hopefully you can get through your day without any more distractions. 

You finish your tasks pretty quickly after your interaction with Ellie surprisingly. The heat had picked up a bit as the afternoon sun came. You had a thick flannel on that is now discarded while you tend to the chickens. Sweat was dripping from places that you didn’t even know could possibly sweat. The glorious life of a farmer, huh? You giggle to yourself as Stacie, the mama hen, runs over her chicks for some feed. 

“Now, now, Stacie, that's not how you treat your babies is it?” A familiar voice is heard from behind you. A wide smile makes its way to your face as you turn around to see your best friend.

“She’s just hungry, Abs. That’s what you look like whenever I cook.” You giggle. You’re finally able to take a good look at Abby and good god… 

Abby stood in front of the chicken coop with one beautifully strong arm leaning up against the old wood. Her thumb looped around her belt buckle that sat on top of her oh so very tight work jeans. The denim sculpting her god-like thighs, leaving not much to the imagination. She lets out a chuckle you know all too well and pushes herself off of the entrance. 

“Oh c’mon sweetheart, ya know your cookin’ is heavenly.” She smirks and moves to help feed the chickens.

“Lemme take that for ya’ darlin’.” Abby mutters as she takes the heavy bucket of feed from your hands. You look away to try and hide your newfound shyness. Abby smiles to herself thinking about how you’re just too sweet. Her sweet little farmer. 

You clear your throat and wring out your fingers in your other hand. 

“I uh talked to Ellie earlier…” You all but whispered, nervous about bringing up the girl to your best friend. Abby froze for a second and then continued to finish the bucket of feed. 

“Oh yeah?” she answered with a clenched jaw. 

“Mhm, n she’s gonna come to the spring fling!” You said excitedly. 

Abby tried not to roll her eyes at the idea of the girl being there. She knew you wanted the both of them to get along, but something within her couldn’t let whatever happened go. Abby let out a sigh and put the bucket onto the floor of the coop. 

“Ya know I just wanted to go with you, pretty girl. Ya know Ellie n’ I don’t get along like that.” Abby turns her body to you, hands on her hips. You roll your eyes at Abby which visibly makes her more upset. 

“Now, don’ be givin’ attitude to me like that, darl. I’d watch yourself if you want to go to this thing.” Abby moved closer to your body, lifting your chin up with her calloused fingers. You gulp as you nod your head. 

“Sorry s’ just you know I want you two to get along. Ya’ both mean lots to me.” You pout. 

Abby seems to take your apology and lets go of your chin. She leans down and plants a peck on your warm, sun bitten cheek. 

“I know you do, darl’, I promise I'll be on my best behavior if she is too, okay?” She smiles kindly at you as a wide smile adorns your face. A small squeal leaves your body that Abby finds endearing. 

“Thank you, Abby!” You jump and give her a hug. You couldn’t wait to spend the night with both of your favorite people. 

[olive-fics]

Maybe you could write abt older abby thats like a cowboy and her and the reader live together and their like happy n domestic?!

-Sure! Love this idea hehe (not proofread.. like usual)

Abby leaned against the wooden fence, her gaze fixed on the hills that stretched out before her. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden hue across the expanse of the farmland. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of hay and the sweet aroma of wildflowers. A toothpick sat between her teeth as she wiped small beads of sweat from her forehead onto her pants.

The sound of your voice carried from the barn, breaking the silence calling out that supper was ready. Abby pushed herself away from the fence, her worn boots kicking up a small cloud of dust as she walked towards the homestead.

Abby trudged up the porch steps, her boots heavy with the day's accumulated dirt, making sure to not track any more grime into the house. She had dirt, oil, and who knows what else on her hands from the farm work she had been doing.

"In the kitchen Abs!" You called out to her with a giggle.

You stood in the kitchen, your hand, steady and practiced, tapped a spatula against the sizzling pan of bacon, releasing a tantalizing symphony of sizzles and pops. Upon the wooden countertop, golden-brown biscuits, along with a pot simmered with corn and a plate of porkchops.

Abby walked in and leaned on the doorframe to the kitchen, she was dirty and smelled like the barn, her baby hairs stuck to her sweaty forehead and neck..

"Well, aren't you a dirty lady?" you laughed, a playful glint in your eyes as you couldn't resist teasing her. You grabbed a damp rag from the sink, moving closer to where she stood. With a gentle touch, you began helping her wash away the grime from her face.

"I can do it myself, pumpkin," Abby giggled, her voice filled with affection. She leaned down and planted a soft, tender kiss onto your forehead. Her smile held a mixture of playfulness and gratitude, as she tried to keep her dirty hands away from your clean clothes and body.

"Baby it looks too good.. I can't wait to eat." Abby murmured into your ear. "I'll fix you a plate, hon. Go sit," you insisted with a warm smile, your voice filled with care and affection. You leaned in to plant a soft, lingering kiss on her lips before she could protest.

With the plate of delicious food in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other, you walked over to the table and set everything down. As Abby began to eat, you settled into your own seat across from her, your gaze fixed on her.

"It's great, Y/N. I love it like always." Abby giggled, her mouth muffled from the food, she said followed by a genuine smile.

"Good- I know how hard you've been working and I just wanted to make sure-"

"No need to explain yourself okay?" Abby put her hand on yours rubbing it gently. "It's wonderful my love."

You smiled and nodded.

♡

Later that night you snuggled next to Abby on the couch reading a book together, "Sense and Sensibility" -Jane Austen. Abby's hums were enough to make anyone drowsy, it was like a drug to you..slowly making your eyes heavier...

"Getting sleepy baby girl..?" Abby would murmur so she didn't wake you.. Gently petting your hair and caressing your cheek, she looked down at you and noticed you were out. Her lips pulling into a tender smile..She gently bookmarked the page in the book.

"alright then..bed time it is." She carefully lifted you into her arms, up the stairs, right into bed where she too would tuck you in and cuddle right behind you holding you close.

"Goodnight, my love."

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hehe sorry for my break I've had no motivation to do anything. :,) I really like this prompt and I honestly wanna write more on it.. IDK YOU GUYS LMK!!!!! :))

ALSO. TYSM FOR 180 FOLLOWERS?? HELLO? WHERE DID U GUYS COME FROM LOL. I LOVE U ALL.

ok, peace!!

[chai-berries]

hello - sugarland / cowboy take me away - the chicks / bless the broken road - rascal flatts / where have all the cowboys gone? - paula cole / wondering why - the red clay strays / you’re still the one - shania twain / jackie and wilson - hozier / landslide - the chicks / cigarettes- the wreckers / bitch - meredith brooks / you were meant for me - jewel / save a horse, ride a cowboy - big & rich / whiskey and women - maddie rean / i’m the only one - melissa etheridge

august 2024

[abbyspup]

every time people make cowboy abby moodboards/fics 25 years is added to my life span

[eyesfullofsttars]

— “now you hang from my lips like the gardens of babylon with your boots beneath my bed—forever is the sweetest con...”

(ellabs!cowboys as cowboy like me by taylor swift!)

[apricxtt]

i reblogged fanart and ideas of cowboy abby before and i was bored sooo...

i made her on a picrew maker!! credit to: @ummmmandy on doll divine for the picrew maker :) it's beautiful, please check her out

below is a little thing of cowgirl abby i tried to make not the best but i like it :)

[whore4abby]

farm headcannons; abby anderson

warnings; teeny mentions of smut - abby using a strap-on, thigh riding, fingering (r!receiving)

౨ৎ after a long day out in the fields, abby will occasionally let herself be pampered by you, especially when it comes to her hair. she loves taking baths with you and has you wash and brush out her long, golden hair. she finds it incredibly soothing and enjoys the feeling of your hands combing through the strands of her hair, often falling asleep with your fingers still tangled up in her locks.

౨ৎ has a total green thumb (which is a given considering she's a farmer duhhh) and loves caring for indoor plants around the farmhouse. always involving you in the process, letting you water them and choose their names, "what about this one, pretty girl?" chuckling as your face contorts in confusion as you try to come up with a name you haven't used already before.

౨ৎ she loves taking you on walks through the fields and holding your hand as you walk through the tall grass watching your face scrunch up when it tickles you, leaning down to kiss your head affectionately.

౨ৎ she’s utterly obsessed with you and can’t stay away for five minutes without talking to or thinking about you. she always makes sure to check up on you throughout the day and she’s constantly wanting to talk to you about every little silly thing you can think of. bringing you iced tea even though she’s the one doing manual labour all day, “you gotta stay hydrated, baby…”

౨ৎ although she loves working outdoors, rainy days are her absolute favourites, especially when the two of you cuddle up in bed together and watch the rain from your cozy little bedroom. eventually falling alseep in her arms as the soft sound of the rain and the warmth from each other soothes you both to sleep.

౨ৎ takes you on roadtrips in her truck. you’d be all googly-eyed and fascinated by the mountains, forests, and the little quaint towns you visit for sporadic weekend getaways.

౨ৎ adores being the one to ‘save’ you from any bugs. giggling as you shriek in horror at the tiny little spider in the corner of the bathroom. cackling when she watches you dash out of the bathroom when she holds the spider out in front of you.

౨ৎ watches the sunset with you from the porch, her sat in the rocking chair with you cradled in her lap, grinding on her thigh as you watch the day slowly become night and the sky turn to shades of warm orange and muted red.

౨ৎ takes you on little picnics out in the fields. you purposely don’t wear panties and let her finger you right there on the picnic blanket under the shade of a big oak tree.

౨ৎ loves having you ride her and puts her cowboy hat on your head as you bounce up and down on her strap over and over, smirking at the sweet moans she’s pulling from you so easily. slapping your ass and cooing into your ear, calling you her “dirty little cowgirl.”

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