⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ TRAILERPARKPRINCESS!READER X TRAILERPARK!ABBY ANDERSON
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ cw: suggestive content, masturbation, fingering, strap-on, lovey dovey!abby, black!reader, hyperfeminine!reader (don’t like it! don’t read pls!!), cunnilingus, smoking, drinking, reader has a bad childhood, cheating mentioned! beating (reader fuckass dad), angst, mention of Abby’s dad death :(
trailerparkprincess!reader who is the sweetest and polite sweetheart in the park that she knows majority of the people there within a span of a day or two—even the guy who’s a brute of the park.
“Hey Mr. Earl, bought those Marlboros for ya.”
“Thank ya, darling. Here,” He handed you a couple of 20s in your hand, flashing a smirk at you. “You bout the only person who really got to know my grumpy ass.”
trailerparkprincess!reader who happens to meet Abby Anderson, the known fixer around the park and in town , while unpacking your things to move in your light angel colored trailer. Abby keeps her distance from you as she just observed you for the time being until..
“Hey, nice to meet ya! I just moved here not too long ago! I’m [⋆. 𐙚 ˚]! Heard you the fixer ‘round here, yeah?” She eyed you for a moment before flashing a warm smile, nodding briskly. “Yes ma’am, that’s me. Nice to meet you too. You ever need anything fixed, i’m only a feet away for ya.”
“I’ll keep that in mind..” You drawled out as your eyes gazed at her, eyeing her a couple time before taking your leave, even letting your hips sway a bit longer.
trailerparkprincess!reader who starts chatting with Abby every chance she gets and even brings her plates from the dinner she made last night to be generous, which Abby always appreciates
“Hi Abbyyyy! Had some leftover spaghetti and toast I made last night and made you a plate!” You said sweetly with a smile as you handed the aluminum foil covered plate while a cigarette hung between your lips. Abby was always appreciative when you brought her food—it was the little things like this.
“Oh, thank you. Looks good—first time I done seen someone make spaghetti actually look edible and not from a morgue around here.” You huffed a little chuckle as you blew smoke fromyour nose, bumping your hair up a little as your coils were in some pretty pink hair rollers, “Well thank ya. All from my mama.” ᡣ𐭩
trailerparkprincess!reader who starts to visit Abby more and more as they both became more chatty and comfortable with another. Abby would come over to fix certain things in the trailer, and you’d always feed her well afterwards while complaining about your crappy job. Abby always listened while she munched away at the mac and cheese you made so perfectly. This lasted for a mighty long time before you always expected her coming through the rusty door or you walk over to her trailer to drop the plate off :)
trailerparkprincess!reader who astatic when Abby pops up at the trailer and offers to take you out on a lovely dinner date. It wasn’t one of those expensive ones, no, but it was a diner date—that one diner that’s a bit far from the parks and have the best food there. You order a simple milkshake while having a burger as Abby just ordered loaded fries and a coke. Neither of you didn’t really mind the food, you just loved that you got to know more of each other and got to spend time together
trailerparkprincess!reader who is such a sweetheart to Abby and always there for her. Abby got comfortable enough to tell you about what happened to her dad and your heart wrenched for her as you watched the way she fumbled with her fingers and knees occasionally jerked. You listening intently to her before she just stopped talking and leaned into you, which you held her close to her chest in silence. You knew she carried that pain in her so much, and you only wished you could take it away from her. But you being with her made it feel a little better.
trailerparkprincess!reader who like to get drunk with Abby, but only a little so you don’t get too crazy. Anyway, whenever you drink with her and you got all warm and comfy with her, you’d feel this tight feeling in your chest. You didn’t have the best childhood growing up. Your dad was there, but never there to give you that bond that you prayed for as a youngin. Your mom wasn’t the best, but you took her over your dad anytime. Your mom was hard on you, held high expectations for you, and wanted what was best for you, but it was more than that. You knew that. You told Abby about your childhood and the trauma that left you scarred.
“My daddy wasn’t all that, he left me money and gave me what was essential, but didn’t stay long. Always leaving mama to go over to Ms Shanise house, even treated her daughter like she was his own..” You dryly laughed as you took a hit of your cigarette, staring at your painted toes while they wiggled with tears in your eyes, but shrugging them off. “Always there for her little princess pageants, birthday, and school events, but that asshole couldn’t even show up for me. Always her and never me. The fucker was always so nice to her, but me? It was rare. He was always quick to hit me when I got too loud with him, grab his belt when I asked why he didn’t love me anymore, and man…the way he always just stared at me with that look in his eyes. Like I wasn’t even his daughter anymore…”
You paused for a moment as the smoke blew from your trembling lips, feeling the salty tears slip in your mouth.
“I was my daddy’s baby girl once. Now I don’t even know who he is anymore. Don’t know even if it’s good or bad for me…maybe I’m just damned at this point..”
Abby started to hate the way your dad treated you, but she also had so much affection and wanted to make it all better; even though she didn’t do anything to hurt you herself. She didn’t say much but wrap an arm over your shoulder to bring you to her side, wiping the stray tear from your cheeks before she took a sip of her own beer. You knew she heard you loud and clear, even on the inside.
trailerparkprincess!reader who burns songs on cds for abby so she’ll have them in her pickup truck, just to remind abby how much she’s appreciated. You made about a half a case of cds for her truck, and she loved it so much.
“Ah, you did all this f’me? Not bad…” Abby praised as she examined the cds one by one, smiling wider at each one as she reads the names of them. ‘Thinking of Abs’ ‘Diner With Abby’ ‘Smoking with Anderson’ and etc.!!
trailerparkprincess!reader who is over the fucking moon when Abby confess the way she feels for you. Abby brings you to the usual diner and order your same food, but also a small cupcake of your favorite flavor with a small heart decorated on it.
“Ya know I was thinking…” She paused as she fumbled with the knuckles of her fingers, taking a deep breath before continuing, “You’re a real sweet girl and I…I really like you—a lot. I really wanna be with you…” And you nearly jump out the fucking booth with the way you squealed with glee!
trailerparkprincess!reader who nearly creams right once Abby’s soft lips pressed against your lips before you got out her truck. You just stared at her with such awe and affection before a stupid smile tugged at your lips before you happily went inside your trailer. (You both touched yourself that night thinking about each other)
trailerparkprincess!reader who goes over to Abby’ place for a little movie night, but turns into a little makeout session, then into full on ‘getting fucked into the couch like it’s the last thing you’ll both ever get to do’ then turns into a sappy aftercare then you spend the night at her trailer, only to wake up with her arms snuggly around you as her face is buried in your neck.
trailerparkprincess!reader who is an absolute geek for those cute ‘precious moments’ figurines and abby always buys them for you without hesitation.
“Abigail! You didn’t!” You squealed as your eyes gleamed with such affection and excitement as she held the three figurines she got you, standing there with a sheepish smile. “You kept staring at the damn things like they’d just pop in your hand, so why not? Plus, I wanted to get it for my baby…” Your eyes soften at the way she sweet talked you at the end of her sentence, immediately pouncing on her as you covered her with kisses.
trailerparkprincess!reader who always get what she wants, especially when you’re ovulating and you need Abby right that second. Abby is always there to service her pretty girl :(. Next thing you know, you’re bent over your lace bed with your ass high in the air and getting plumbed into your mattress with the way Abby’s hips thrusted so deeply into your sopping cunt. You were a mess with the way your nails clawed at your lace sheets and tears streamed down the brown layer of cheek.
“Oh, look at that pretty face. Feels good, baby?” She cooed softly as she leaned down into your ear as her hips kept that relentless pace, feeling the way her breath hitched against your skin. You couldn’t even help the pathetic moan that escaped your mouth as she hit that one spot, making you see stars.
You were so gone for her.
trailerparkprincess!reader who is always so eager to sink to your knees between Abby’s meaty, thick thighs after she had a long day. She’s all laid out against the mangey couch that smelt of cigarettes and cotton candy air freshener, gazing down at you with a frustrated expression.
“Bad day?” You pouted as you softly spoke to her, leaning your head against her thigh as you gazed up at her with those brown, doe eyes. She always melted. A heavy sigh left her lips as she nodded and that was all you needed before you undid her belt buckle and pulled her pants down, revealing the patch in her boxers.
“You know how to make it better.” Of course you did, you always did. Your eyes gleamed as you shimmied her boxers off and was shown her bush hiding his lips. She soaked. You licked a stride up her slit as you moaned at the taste, feeling how her thighs clenched underneath your touch.
You were absolutely obsessed with her taste.
trailerparkprincess!reader who always made sure Abby is nice and well fed before she goes out to work. Either it’s a simple meatloaf with a side of mashed potatoes or spaghetti with classic string beans—she was always fed with the nice, classical meal of yours. Even the fancy ones you’ll make just for her and you always get a special reward for being so good to her :)
trailerparkprincess!reader who always get upset when Abby doesn’t respond to her messages or calls at all because you worry so much about her :( Abby tries to respond to them, but most time she don’t have the time to do it, but she always make sure to reassure you that she is fine!!
trailerparkprincess!reader who sends little voice messages to Abby about your day. Whether it’s just about how you went to the mall and found this cute lace top or how the manager of your crappy job got on your nerves. Abby always listened to every single one, loving how your voice changed when you were upset, mad, or overly happy!
+there would be little vm you send when is really far away and you really need her to take care of you, so you send her the little audios of you playing with your pussy while her name left your lips breathlessly each time. Abby always went feral for it.
trailerparkprincess!reader who turns into fucking mush whenever pumps her thick fingers in your sopping cunt, squeezing around them like a vice while Abby just gazes down at you with a smirk, but gentle eyes.
“You sound so pretty…shit, gonna need my fingers back, baby…” She joked breathlessly, relishing the sweet sounds of your moans and grunt as she started to pick up the pace quickly. “Yeah, I know…gonna cum f’me? Mhm…cmon…give it to me…”
trailerparkprincess!reader who always settles herself on Abby’s lap soon as she settles down on the mangy couch, draping your arms over her neck as you leaned into her; letting her nose waft that cotton candy and strawberry taffy perfume of yours. Smelt of heaven. That’s how it felt whenever you were around each other.
trailerparkprincess!reader who always loves to fuck with abby during the summer times, when it’s hot as balls and you strip down to your bra and panties while roaming through the trailer as the broke down fan gave its all blowing some weak air.
“You know what you’re doin—stop it.” Her eyes narrowed at you as yours gleamed with excitement, smiling briskly at her as you settled over the couch in front of her, licking a popsicle you got from the store quite suggestively. “Not doin’ nothin…”
Abby always knew how to fix that right up.
trailerparkprincess!reader who has the smartest mouth that Abby ever had the pleasure to met and she always knew how to fix it right up. You’d get these attitudes at her and you end up crying while riding as you struggled not to cum. Don’t even bother begging.
“Didn’t I tell you that smart mouth of yours was gonna get you in this? Huh?” Her voice was sharp and breathless as she was getting riled up with the way your slick dribbled onto her thighs and tits were in her face. You nodded your head as good as you could with a whine of protest, but was met with a sharp slap to your ass. “Quit whinin and start ridin.”
trailerparkprincess!reader who always get what she wants with Abby and able to boss around Abby, but to a certain extent) You two could be in the downtown clothing store ‘Lace Lies’ and she’d be buying any little thing you got from that store. Without question, mind you.
-“Baby, ain’t this pretty?”
“Gone and get it.”
“But I didn’t even—“
“Gone and get it, baby.”
trailerparkprincess!reader who always love wearing those hella short jean shorts to reveal the trampstamp on your lower back, bringing out your brown skin; especially in the beaming sun. You love the way you could feel Abby’s eyes gravitate towards the design when you’d walk past her.
trailerparkprincess!reader who is known around the park and a bit around the town as ‘Abby’s girl’. Whether you went to the corner store or into town, most of the people would call you ‘Abby’s girl’ and would usually treat you like the sweetest girl in the world.
“Ah, ain’t you Abby’s girl? One from them there trailer parks up that road? By Mel’s road?” The elderly lady asked you, peering at you through her glasses with a questioning look. You’d giggled and smile politely, “yes ma’am, I am. I just came to pick up the usual: her beers and my smokes.” Her thin lips pursed into a smile as she started packing up your things.
“Sure thing, sweetheart. It’s all done and paid for.
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You sat in the passenger seat of Ellie's old beat-up subaru, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the denim of your jeans.
The AC hummed weakly, rattling through the vents like it was trying to fill up the silence that neither you or ellie dared to break for the last few blocks.
Rows of tidy houses passed like copy-paste images—white fences with trimmed hedges, and little USA flags that flapped in the wind, like they were proud of something.
It was the kind of neighborhood where people definitely watered their lawns at 6 a.m. and waved to each other like it meant something.
The kind of place you only ever saw from a distance—on TV, or in the glossy real estate flyers your mom would sigh over before throwing them away in the kitchen trash.
It was a long way from the tight apartment back home, where the walls were razor thin and rosaries hung from every door frame.
Ellie shifted in her seat, glancing over at you. One hand on the wheel, while the other was fiddling with the hem of her flannel sleeve like she was unraveling due to nerves she wouldn't admit to.
“You okay?" she asked, soft enough that you almost pretended you didn't hear it.
“Yeah, I'm fine.”
You nod and lie, but she knows you.
Knows the way your voice flattens when you're not fine.
Knows that your silence means more than your words.
“They’re gonna like you,” Ellie said, this time a little louder, with the easy confidence that she gets when she’s trying to talk herself into believing something too.
“Seriously. My stepdad’s cool. My mom’s…y’know. She tries.”
You managed a tight smile but kept your eyes on the houses passing by. One had a little ceramic angel by the door—wings chipped, but still standing.
You shifted in your seat.
There’s a pressure under your ribs, one you can't name out loud. It wasn't just about meeting Ellie’s parents.
It was about sitting at a dinner table where the chairs don't wobble, where nobody said grace but everything still felt so blessed.
It was about being the girl with dark eyes and darker hair that didn't know what to do with her hands when someone said, “make yourself at home,” because home was never this quiet, this clean, this…white.
You pictured your mom lighting a veladora before bed, murmuring to la virgencita under her breath.
The way your tía used to say “no hagas ruido” when guests came over.
You wonder if Ellie's mom will hear your accent, the one you've tried to get rid of since the 6th grade, and if she'll ask you where you're really from.
Ellie's fingers brush yours between the seats—light, and tentative. She doesn't say anything, just drives.
The road stretched ahead, lined with perfect lawns and houses that all look like they were built from the same mold
You held her hand, but you still don't feel at home.
Ellie’s subaru slowed at the corner, turn signal clicking, before pulling into a driveway that looked like every other house on the block.
Concrete smooth, and edged with neat little flowerbeds. The house was a warm beige with dark shutters, like it was trying hard to not stand out but still be liked amongst the others.
The engine cut and the silence in Ellie's car felt louder than the car ever did.
You sat there, neither of you moving. Your stomach slowly twisted, like it was dragging its own feet. You could feel your heart in your throat, beating steady and hard.
Your fingers started tapping that nervous rhythm again.
Ellie cleared her throat. “Okay,” she said, not following it up with anything. Just staring at the house like she was trying to memorize it or make sure it hadn't changed since the last time she was here.
She glanced over at you again. Her hand finding yours, warm and dry, a little shaky.
“They're gonna like you. Just be you,” Ellie said.
You gave her a look that said you have no idea what that means right now, and she read it so perfectly.
“I do know,” Ellie said, smiling a little more, “I know your version of awkward. I’m into it.”
You raised your eyebrow, not what you meant but okay. “You’re into me being nervous and weird?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, it's charming.”
You rolled your eyes, but your chest softened, just a little. Still, it didn't undo the years of always having to brace yourself before stepping into someone else’s space.
You thought about all the times your own mom told you to sit up straight, not talk too much, not be too much whatever—because being too much of anything made people uncomfortable.
You took a deep breath. Slow. Trying to tell yourself that this was different. This was Ellie's home after all, and she loved you enough to bring you home to her parents.
Ellie squeezed your hand. “If you wanna leave after ten minutes, we will. Seriously, say the word and I'll make something up.”
You nodded, grateful for the out, even if you probably won't use it. You're already here, you just need to want to be here.
It just felt like a lot.
Ellie leaned over, and kissed your cheek. It was quick and somewhat grounding.
Then she opened her door.
“C’mon. Let's go meet the people who made this,” Ellie said, motioning to herself with a stupid grin on her face.
You laughed, following her out into the golden light, and up the seemingly perfect concrete path.
The door opened before Ellie could even knock.
Her mom—tall, sharp-cheekboned, and with the same green eyes Ellie had—pulled her into a quick hug, already smiling. “There she is,” she said, all warm and easy.
Then her eyes landed on you and her smile flickered. It was fast, and practiced—like a blink you could've almost missed, but you catched it either way.
That half second of oh.
Like she expected someone else. Someone normal.
Someone more…lighter
“Hi,” you offered, stepping forward with a smile that you've spent years perfecting for moments like these. Easy, polite and…safe.
Ellie gestured between the two of you. “This is y/n. She's the girl I've been telling you about for months.”
Her mom blinked, and then recovered. “Right, of course. It's so nice to meet you.” Her voice lifted too high on nice, like she was trying too hard to make it sound casual.
Her handshake was light. Not cold, but not exactly warm either.
Joel appeared in the doorway behind her, older, worn-in like a flannel you didn't wanna throw out. His smile was light, nodding at you once. “Hey kiddos.”
You nodded back. “Hi, thanks for having me.”
Inside, the house smelled like rosemary and roasted something, and the floors were spotless too.
There was family photos everywhere—Ellie as a kid, Ellie and Joel fishing, Ellie with a soccer trophy you didn't know she had ever won. The room felt stiff with your politeness.
Dinner was already laid out, with Ellie's mom moving around the table like it was a performance—chicken, salad, roasted vegetables, and something with quinoa.
You muttered a quiet gracias out of habit when she set your plate down in front of you. She paused at the word, just slightly.
Conversation started up slowly—Joel asking Ellie about the drive, and her making some joke to fill the space up. You mostly listened, trying to settle into your chair without sinking into it.
The food smelled good, but your appetite was already out the window before you even arrived.
Then it happened.
“So,” Ellie's mom said, setting her fork down with a soft clink, “where are you from?”
You looked up, the fork paused halfway to your mouth. The question landed with a thud, although her voice was all sugar—curious, polite, and performed.
Ellie shifted beside you, fast. “She's from L.A. mom, ” she said, firmly. The kind of firm that said don't push it.
Her mom blinked, caught. “Right. I just meant like… you know—”
Joel coughed—sharp, awkward. Not subtle at all.
“Never mind,” her mom said quickly, waving her hand like she was brushing the moment off the table. “Forget it.”
You nodded, just once. No smile this time. You go back to your food, but it suddenly tastes like sandpaper.
Ellie stayed quiet. She didn't touch you, didn't look over, and didn't acknowledge what just happened between you and her mom. Ellie's eyes stayed on her plate, her jaw tight.
You felt it on your chest—the kind of tension you knew all too well. The kind where someone said something that cut just deep enough, and everyone around you decided to ignore it.
The silence that followed was too clean. Too sharp.
Joel cleared his throat again, then muttered something about the roast. Ellie picked up the thread, making light-hearted comments about the seasoning being too much. Her voice was tight, she was trying to patch the moment up.
Dinner winded down and forks scraped plates. Joel finished his second helping, and the wine bottle was down to a few drips. You barely touched the last of your food, but you kept your face smooth, nodding along while Joel and Ellie talked about some old truck he was fixing up.
Ellie's mom stood up and started gathering plates with practiced efficiency, stacking them just so. “Mind giving me a hand, sweetheart?”
You catched the nickname. Soft, friendly, and familiar. It wasn't aggressive, nothing about her was. That was the problem.
“Sure,” you said, pushing back your chair with a small smile. You were always happy to help. Grateful for a chance to show that you're useful, good company.
You followed her into the kitchen, sleeves already pushed up, and ready to make yourself helpful. The sink was already running, steam curling in the warm light. She handed you a towel.
“I’ll wash, you dry?” she said.
“Sounds good.”
It was quiet for a minute. The clink of dishes. Water hitting porcelain.
From the dining room, you could still hear Ellie and Joel talking—Ellie’s voice was a little brighter now, laughing about something, easing back into herself.
Then came the first question:
“So, your mom—what does she do?”
You glanced at her, then down at the plate in your hands. “She’s a nurse. Has been forever. Night shifts, mostly.”
Ellie’s mom nodded. “That’s a hard job. Must’ve kept her busy.”
“Yeah,” you said, folding a dish towel carefully around a plate. “But she always made time.”
Another plate. Another beat of silence.
“You in school right now?”
You nodded. “Community college. Trying to transfer in the next year.”
She hummed like that meant something, but didn't say what.
You dried a fork.
Then she said it, so light and airy, like it was a compliment; “you speak english really well.”
Your hands paused for a second.
You looked at her, confused by what she meant.
“I mean—obviously,” she adds quickly, like she knows it came out weird. “ just…sometimes people don't, you know? Especially if their parents don't speak it at home.”
You mustered up a smile. “Thanks.”
The towel felt rough in your hands now, but you kept drying.
You didn't say that you were translating bills and medical forms before you even hit double digits.
That you had been code-switching since the second grade. That your mom does speak English, actually, and even if she didn’t, that wouldn’t mean anything about you as a person.
But you’ve learned how to fold those thoughts up and tuck them away, just like laundry. So you just say thanks.
Ellie laughed at something Joel said in the other room, and her voice drifted into the kitchen like nothing was wrong.
The bathroom light was too bright, buzzing faintly above the mirror. You gripped at the edge of the sink and stared at your reflection, like you were trying to find the crack in it.
Your heart had been hammering since that ‘you speak english really well’ comment. You had been telling yourself to let it go ever since you dried that last plate.
“She didn't mean it like that,” you whispered under your breath.
It was a habit. Something learned. Excusing the words before they could burrow too deep in your heart. Trying to smooth them over with logic.
You had done it before—at work, in class, and at a random friend’s house where the air started to shift when you spoke and someone else stared too long.
“She was trying to be nice,” you said in your reflection. “She doesn’t get it. She’s just… clueless.”
But you didn't believe it, not really.
You sat still on the toilet lid, barely breathing. The door was cracked open, just enough for voices to leak through like steam—quiet at first, then sharper.
“You don't know her,” that was Ellie's voice.
“I'm not saying she's a bad person, els,” her mom replied, still defensive. “I'm just saying…she caught me off guard. That's all.”
“She’s nice.” Ellie’s voice was tight. “She’s sweet, and funny, and she listens to me in ways no one else ever has.”
Joel’s voice cut in, steady and low,“that girl looks at you like you hung the moon. That should count for something.”
“I know she cares,” her mom said. The pitch in her voice rose a little. “But there's just this…I don't know. This gap between us? Like I'm not sure we even speak the same language.”
“Because she said gracias?” Ellie snapped.
Her mom sighed, sharp. “Don't twist my words, Ellie.”
“Then say what you mean.”
There was a pause. You could almost hear the tension straining.
“I just didn't think the first girl you brought home would be so…so different from us”
”You mean not white,” Ellie said bluntly. Not angry but just sounding tired.
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.”
Joel didn't interrupt them. You imagined him sitting back with his arms folded. Letting the two of them go at it, tired of being the referee.
Ellie rubbed her face. You heard it in her voice when she spoke again—slightly muffled and laced with stress.
“Why does it matter what she looks like? Or how she grew up? She's not some stranger. She knows me, mom. Like…really knows me. She sees me. I don't have to explain whatever’s wrong in my head or why I shut down sometimes. She just gets it.”
“She's not perfect for you, Ellie.” Her mom said quietly.
“No one’s ever going to be perfect for you,”Ellie snapped back, this time, there was a sting in her voice. One that made you flinch, even behind the bathroom door. “You've never liked anyone I've brought around. Not Cat. Not Riley. Not Dina. It's always something.”
“This is different,” her mom said.
“Yeah,” Ellie muttered. “It is, because she didn’t grow up in a house like this. With tidy lawns and polite smiles and moms who say they’re open-minded but whisper about ‘ethnic’ girls after dinner.”
Silence.
Joel spoke, calm as ever.
“You don't have to like every part of her background. Hell, you don't even have to get it. But if she makes Ellie feel safe, if she's kind and honest—what else do you need?”
Ellie didn't speak for a second.
Then, she was quiet about it.
“She's not just a phase, mom. This isn't something I'm trying out. I care about her.”
“I know,” her mom said. But it wasn't an apology, it was an admission. One that still left something unspoken between all of them.
You felt it too—the weight of being tolerated but never welcomed. Accepted, maybe, in theory.
But never embraced.
You sat still on the toilet lid, legs tucked in, and elbows on your knees. The soft hum of the bathroom fan was the only sound left. The argument outside had either ended or quieted down to murmurs.
You let out a long, slow sigh. It shook at the end.
“Ay virgencita…” you whispered, barely audible.
Not a full prayer—just a release. And then, almost on instinct, like it was muscle memory rooted in something older than you, you add softly—“Dame paciencia… y una bendición.”
It left your lips without thinking, like brushing hair behind your ear. Like breathing. You pressed your thumb to your forehead, chest, shoulders—absentmindedly gentle with the action.
You blinked hard, staring down at your hands. Trying not to feel small, trying not to let someone else’s polite surprise, shape how you feel about yourself.
But it happens every time.
You think about your mom. How she didn't even blink when you told her about Ellie. She didn't flinch, didn't hesitate, and didn't turn into a sermon. She just nodded, like she got it and asked, “Ella.. te cuida?”
And when you said yes—when you really said yes with your whole chest—your mom smiled and said, “Entonces tráela, y dile que aquí hay comida si tiene hambre.”
You thought about the first time Ellie came over.
How your mom called her güerita like it was the most natural thing in the world. How your mom kissed her cheek, handed her a plate piled way too high, and made sure that she went home with leftovers wrapped in foil and love.
She never asked Ellie what church she went to. Never asked where Ellie was from. She only pressed a palm to Ellie's shoulder one night before she left and whispered a prayer in spanish that Ellie didn't understand but held still for anyway.
She always held still for your mom.
That Christmas, she handed Ellie a tiny gift bag with a virgencita rosary tucked inside—soft red beads, delicate and warm to the touch.
It wasn't a conversion. Or a message.
It was just protection.
It was love in the only way your mother could show it for your girlfriend.
“Because if my daughter loves you,” your mom had said, “then la virgencita should look after you, too.”
You know Ellie still carries it. In her wallet, tucked between some old photos of you two and her driver's license. You saw her touch it once when she thought you weren't looking, her thumb brushing over the little enamel charm like she was grounding herself.
And now you were here, in a stupid bathroom that smells like linen spray, trying not to fall apart over a woman who smiled through gritted teeth and called your love ‘unexpected’.
You closed your eyes—take a deep breath—you said—and another.
You thought about your mother's hands—how warm they are—you missed her so much right now.
You thought about the stupid rosary—how Ellie wears it with her stupid smile when she's visiting your mom—god your mom loves her.
And you try to believe that maybe that kind of love—your kind—can still be enough.
You stayed seated for another minute, after the last whisper left your lips. Just breathing, letting the quiet shame wash over you. Letting it get settled in your chest like a permanent home.
And then you stand—smooth your shirt and check your reflection—just long enough to make sure your face doesn't give too much away. No redness in your eyes. No trembling lip—just….collected
You opened the door slowly.
The house was quiet now. The table’s been cleared, and Joel’s nowhere in sight. Ellie's by the living room window, arms crossed, staring out into the dark like she's still in the middle of an argument that's inside her head.
Ellie turned around the moment she heard you.
Her expression softened the second she saw you. Her mouth opened like she might say something, but then she closed it and just walked towards you.
“You okay?” Ellie asked. Her voice was low and uncertain, not sure of how much of the fight you potentially heard.
You nodded.
It wasn't a lie, exactly. You're not okay. But you're still here and trying for Ellie.
She ran a hand through her hair. “We can go. I told Joel I was thinking about leaving soon anyway.”
You gave her a small smile. “Cool.”
She hesitated again, like she was holding back a thousand things. You didn't ask her to say them. You were too tired for that, right now.
Ellie grabbed your jacket off the back of the couch.
She didn't say goodbye to her mom.
The apartment was quiet—just the hum of distant traffic and the faint buzz of the fridge.
You had both changed into pajamas. The weight of the dinner still clung to you both, like smoke in your clothes.
You were lying in bed, face to face, legs tangled beneath the blankets. The lamp on the nightstand casted a low, warm light that softened the edges of the room. For a while, neither of you spoke.
Then Ellie exhaled, her breath shaky.
“I feel like shit,” she muttered.
You reached for her hand under the covers and gave it a light squeeze.
She swallowed.
Her voice came low, but heavy. “I should’ve shut it down harder. I should’ve said more. She made you feel like you didn’t belong, and I just—” Her voice caught, tight in her throat. “I just stood there trying to keep the fucking peace.”
You stayed quiet. You knew she wasn’t justifying.
She was regretting.
Ellie shifted closer, pressing her forehead gently against yours. “You move me,” she whispered. “Everything about you. The way you look at me when I say dumb shit, the way you never ask me to be anything I'm not. The way you always make space for me. Even when I don't know how to do the same for you.”
Her thumb brushed your wrist. Her fingers trembled slightly.
“I love you,” she said, voice breaking now. “I love you so fucking much it scares me. And I love my mom—I do—but I’m tired of trying to make her version of love fit into my life. Into our life.”
Your throat tightened, but you still didn’t look away.
Ellie’s eyes glistened. “You and your mom—you aren't just this separate thing I love. You’re home. Your mom made me feel safe in ways my own mother never figured out. Not with prayers or food or even her rules—but with how she saw me.”
She paused, her voice growing smaller. More honest.
“She gave me that little red rosary, remember? Said it was so I’d be safe. Not because I believe in it, but because you do. And that means something to her. So it means something to me.”
You nodded slowly, blinking hard, your chest tight.
“I keep it in my wallet,” she went on. “Not for virgencita. For her. For you. Because it was the only thing anyone ever gave me just to protect me—not because I earned it or asked for it. Just because someone thought I was worth keeping safe.”
You pressed your forehead harder against hers, no longer trying to hold back the hot tears in your eyes.
“I don't need my mom to understand everything,” Ellie murmured. “But I won't let her make you feel small. Not when your love… is more than enough. It’s everything to me.”
You kissed her, slow and soft, trying to tell her what you couldn't say with your lips.
She pulled you into her chest and held you like something fragile and sacred all at once.
“You are my family.” Ellie whispered.
And you believed her.
I would love some comments or reblogs (if you want :P) on this post on how my writing was!! I did a lot of writing before but this is the first time in like 3ish years where I've actually written something full length so please don't be afraid to say something!!!
every summer since you were fourteen was spent in Ellie’s family ranch. your mothers are best friends, which only made it harder to understand why you and Ellie were never even friends. or maybe the question isn’t about friendship at all.
જ⁀➴
𓂃✍︎. part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 |
im smoking a bowl while listening to pyramids by frank and working on part 2 of wishbone so bare with me!! sorry for the wait!! should be out sometime this week or the next tho
however in the meantime… i really want to write a smau (social media au) but i don’t know if it should be an abby fic or an ellie fic or even a vi fic (arcane) …. YOU GUYS LMK!! but ellie smau’s are my fav so idk.. all 3??? hehehe
ellie jokingly calls herself daddy (i.e. Daddy’s home, Come to daddy) until one day it’s not a joke and she actually starts referring to herself as daddy while she’s fucking you
abby didn’t realize she liked being called mommy until it slips out of you while she fucks you into your third orgasm (the second you say it her eyes get dark and her primal urge to destroy you and then put you back together flips on)
i don’t make the rules (except i do because i actually just made all of this up)
SUMMARY: Everyone in town seems to catch Abby’s attention but you, and you can’t help but wonder why in a drunken haze. Little did you know Abby has to stop herself from taking you exactly how she wants you every time she sees you, but you’ll see soon enough.
GENERAL WARNINGS: no-outbreak!au, AFAB reader, smut (in part 2), drug use (marijuana), r! and a! are both faded in this, jealous! abby?, endless flirting, some angst, reader cries because of abby, abby babies reader, lots of fluff, a lot of ooey gooey feelings from both reader and abby, some alcohol consumption. I’m a florida girl who wrote this totally imagining countryside florida and cuntry ass! Abby. I love it. I won’t stop with Florida Cowgirl Abby now… i’m addicted… Lmk if I missed anything!
PAIRINGS: Abby Anderson x Afab!Reader
WC: 5.6k
A/N: Ahhhhh!!!! I had so much fun writing this, I randomly just couldn’t sleep for like 2 nights in a row and I’ve been wanting to actually sit down and write this for so long but I’ve had so much writers block lately :( But anyway! I’m back and better than ever. Please send me a bunch of requests for some characters you want to see me write for!! Anyway, enough ranting. Enjoy this, reblog, and like!! :) Leave any thoughts 🩶 Pt. 2 coming soon <3
There was a curse put on you.
Or at least that’s the theory you and your friends had convinced yourselves of, because you’d dreamt of her every night for the last four months without ever muttering a word to her.
Abby Anderson was a paradox.
She had moved to your quiet, quaint little town six months ago with a group of friends, and the second she arrived, she had two girls on each arm. She was worse than the men you had grown up around, persuading and enchanting the misses to go home with her in two seconds, with nothing but her Cheshire grin and an offer to make their night better than their man at the bar could. The countryside wasn’t exactly full of women-loving ladies, but that changed when Abby arrived.
Her and her stupid braid and her stupid boots.
Her stupid, big arms that you had seen beat everybody at the bar in arm wrestling. That you had thought of late at night when you were alone. Her stupid, thick thighs that helped her keep her spot as the number one bull rider in your town, mechanical and real. Her stupid, yet perfect, smile seemed to make its way to every pretty girl in town but you.
You were not jealous-
“You’re so fucking obsessed with her,” interrupted your best friend, Jesse. You had spent weeks trying to convince Jesse that you had not planted this lavender plant just because Abby told him that she had one of your fresh lemon-lavender muffins and loved it. But you both knew it was a lie. Out of instinct, you rolled your eyes and turned around from the beds of your Lavender garden to face him. “What do you want?” You huffed, smacking your gloved hands together to let the soil fall away to the ground. “Now, is that any way to treat your amazing best friend who managed to get you the best shot with the girl you’re not-so-secretly in love with?” Jesse scoffed, following behind you as you put your gloves up in your work shed and opened the back door of your house to the kitchen.
You weren’t sure what was more annoying, the fact that Jesse was right, or the fact that your heartbeat had already started racing before he even told you what he did. “A shot?” you repeated, trying and failing to keep your voice level as you rinsed your hands in the kitchen sink. “With Abby?” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a smug smirk pulling at his mouth. “You’re catering the VFW fundraiser this Saturday, right?”
“Uhh.. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to this year?”
“She’ll be there. And I signed you up, so you have no choice.”
You turned to him, one brow raised. “Abby goes to VFW fundraisers now?”
“She happens to be volunteering. I signed her up.. she was talking about how she wants to ‘give back’ or whatever.” Jesse made air quotes. “So I figured why not. But giving back is just code for; she’ll be standing behind the beer table all night, flexing her arms and smiling like a goddamn wolf.” You cursed under your breath. Because yeah, of course she’d be there. Of course, she'd be charming old war vets and making every bisexual girl in town drop their drinks and their panties at the same time. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered to Jesse, wiping your hands on a towel. “And you’re gonna wear that blue sundress everyone likes,” he shot back without missing a beat.
“I am not.”
“You are. You look hot in it.” He was already walking away. “I’ll see you Saturday, lover girl.”
*:·
You hadn’t seen Abby in person since that mechanical bull contest last month, the one where she’d beat the record and high-fived everyone except you, even though you’d made damn sure to stand in her line of sight the entire night. You told yourself it was a coincidence. That you were just thirsty, and the beer tent was in her direction. That you just happened to be wearing lipstick for the first time in weeks. But you saw it. The way her eyes had skimmed all the pairs of legs filling the room. The way her smirk faltered just slightly when seeing you, before she turned away. Like she wasn’t expecting you to look like that. Like she had to collect herself. You told yourself it meant she was out of your league.
You told yourself that again now, standing in the backroom of the VFW hall with a tray of cornbread in one hand and your heart clenching like a fist in your chest. Because Abby was here. And she was dressed like a real cowboy, not the ones you see in TV, wearing jeans slung low on her hips, boots scuffed, hair braided like always. And that same goddamn smile on her face– but this time, it was for you.
You didn’t see her right away.
Too many people, too much chili, and your hands were full, juggling trays and napkins and people trying to kiss your cheek and ask if you’d brought the peach cobbler this time. But she found you. Of course she did. You were in the back hall, crouched beside a cooler, trying to fish out a bottle of water without knocking over the stack of BBQ trays, when her voice found you like a spotlight. “You always work this hard, Angel?” You looked up and there she was. Abby Anderson, arms crossed, shirt sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Braid slung over her shoulder. Grin a little too smug for someone who just watched you almost faceplant into a bag of ice.
“I don’t do anything halfway,” you replied, trying not to sound winded. Or affected. Or like your brain short-circuited at the sight of her in that stupid tight shirt. Or at her harsh voice calling you an angel. “Yeah,” she said, her smile tilting. “I’ve noticed.” She offered you a hand. You stared at it for a beat, then took it. And maybe she pulled a little harder than necessary. Maybe you stumbled. Maybe your palm fit into hers in a way that made your pulse skip.
“I didn’t know you volunteered for stuff like this,” you said once you were both upright.
Abby shrugged, looking around the hall like it was a new world. “First time. Figured I'd give it a shot.” You quirked a brow. “Out of the goodness of your heart?” Her mouth twitched. “Something like that.” There was a beat, then she added, quieter, “My dad used to take me to these shelters. Animals mostly. We’d clean kennels, feed the strays. I hated it when I was ten. Thought it was gross.” She smiled to herself. “But he loved it. Thought it mattered.” You said nothing at first. Just watched her. Something shifted behind her eyes when she talked about him– soft, unguarded, like a part of her was still that kid with too-big gloves and a grudge against wet dog smell. “He still does it?” you asked gently. She hesitated. “No. He died a couple of years ago.” Your heart thudded. “I’m sorry,” you said. She shrugged again, but it didn’t have the bite it had before. “It’s alright. I think he’d like this. All the weird old men and canned beer and baked beans.” She glanced down at you. “You?”
You blinked. “What about me?”
“What brings you to the land of lukewarm hot dogs and raffle tickets?” You smiled quietly, sad. “My parents used to come every year. My mom was known for her cornbread. My dad thought he was a grill master.”
“Was he?”
“Not,” you laughed. “But he loved it. They both did.” Abby’s expression shifted. “Are they…”
“Gone,” you said softly. “Car accident. A few years ago.” Silence. “I don’t know… I get you, though. It makes me feel like I’m doing something important.” You expect her to nod and move on. To say “sorry” the way people do when they want the conversation to end. But she doesn’t. She tells you more about her dad, Owen, and how he used to drag her to all kinds of things when she was little. How she hated it. How she pretended she hated the circus and festivals when in reality it was her favorite time of year, and how she pretended she didn’t cry when they left the old dogs behind.
“Now I volunteer ‘cause... I don’t know. Still makes me feel like I’m still doing something with him,” she says. Her voice is quieter now. A little rough. Your heart catches. “I didn’t know that,” you murmur. She shrugs. “You never asked.” That makes you flinch. Because you had, or tried to, in your quiet ways. You’d lingered near her at events, tried to catch her eye at the bar. You’d smiled once, and she hadn’t smiled back. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until she looked at you.
“What?” she asked, head tilting. You shook your head. “Nothing. Just… kind of funny, I guess,” you muttered, giggling. “What is?” You looked down at your hands. “I always thought you hated me.”
There it was. Out loud. The thing that had pressed like a bruise behind your ribs for months.
Abby’s expression changed instantly. Gone was the smirk. Gone was the teasing edge. She stepped in — not close, but closer. Enough to lower her voice. “I don’t hate you,” she said, and her tone made your throat tighten. “Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered. “You’ve talked to everyone else in this town but me.” “I was trying not to,” she said, almost like she couldn’t believe herself. “Because when I talk to you, it’s… different.” “Different how?” Her mouth parted. Closed. Opened again. “You make me forget how to be smooth,” she said. “And I didn’t know how to deal with that.” You stared at her. And suddenly it all made sense. The glances. The way she avoided you. Not indifference — fear. Not disinterested — nerves. You weren’t the only one who felt it. You never had been.
She looked like she wanted to say more, but someone called her name. Someone from the beer table, waving a clipboard. She sighed. “That’s my cue,” she said, stepping back. “And hey…” You looked up. “That peach cobbler’s gonna be hard to beat,” she said, mouth twitching. “But you just might be my favorite thing here.”
You froze.
She smiled, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway with your cheeks burning and your heart somewhere near the floor.
Later, you passed each other throughout the night like magnets that never quite touched. In the kitchen, her hand brushed your back as she reached for a crate of cups. You swore you felt it long after she walked away. She smiled at you during cleanup, towel over her shoulder, and you nearly dropped the tray in your hands. You brought her a piece of cake during a lull. She said thank you like it was sacred. You’d bonded. Somehow. Through grief and food, and that thing that always sat quiet and unsaid between you. By the time she found you alone in the kitchen, just you, the peach cobbler, and the hum of old country through the walls, it felt inevitable.
“Hey,” she said when you crossed the kitchen threshold.
It was soft. Curious. You froze mid-step. “Hey,” you managed. She stepped closer, eyes skimming over you. That dress suddenly felt like a terrible mistake and also the best idea you’d ever had. “You made the cobbler?” she asked, gesturing to the pan you were setting down. You nodded. “ And the chilli.” Abby’s smile widened. “You’re dangerous.” That made your breath hitch. You busied yourself with the foil. “You’ll live.” She hummed low in her throat, and god, even that sent heat straight down your spine. For a second, it was just the two of you in the narrow kitchen, the hum of country music floating from the hall, the muffled voices of townspeople laughing over beer and barbecue. Then Abby leaned a hip against the counter and tilted her head.
“You don’t talk to me much,” she said.
You blinked.
“You don’t talk to me much.” She grinned. “Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move.” That did it. You looked up– fully, directly, heart in your throat. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. Abby shrugged, that cocky little smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’re really pretty when you get all flustered. And you don't look at me like everyone else does.” You swallowed. “I don’t?”
“No,” she said, stepping closer. Her fingers brushed the edge of the table beside you. “You look at me like you see me. And you don’t run.”
You should’ve run. Right then. Out the kitchen door and down the gravel road and straight back to your garden.
Instead, you said, “You don’t scare me.”
And that made her smile for real, wide and bright and terrifying in its own right. “Good,” Abby said. “Because I’ve been trying to get your attention for months.” Her hand brushed yours, knuckles grazing like an accident. Like she was testing something. And maybe she was. Your breath caught, eyes locked on hers, something tight and burning coiled behind your ribs. “You have it,” you said, voice soft and certain. Abby’s smile faltered, just a flicker. Like she wasn’t expecting you to say that. Like you had caught her off guard for once. She stepped in again, close enough to smell the cedar in her shampoo, the salt of her skin. You could see every freckle, every line, every notch of her jaw as it clenched and unclenched.
“I’m not good at this,” she murmured. “Slow shit. Talking shit.” You tilted your head. “You’re doing fine.” Her eyes darkened. Her voice dropped. “If I kissed you right now, would you stop me?” You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because her hand was already reaching up, slow, careful, and then hovering there, palm open beside your cheek, not quite touching. And right before you leaned into it, right before your lips would’ve met hers, warm and sure and all-consuming, the door swung open.
“Cobbler’s out?” someone shouted from the hall. You jolted back like you'd been electrocuted. Abby’s hand dropped to her side. The moment was shattered, suspended in the thick, charged air between you.
“I’ll uh– I’ll take this out,” you mumbled, grabbing the tray. Abby didn’t say anything as you left the kitchen.
But you felt her eyes on you the whole way out.
The almost kiss wasn’t sudden. It was the echo of something already decided. It had already started hours before, with soft confessions and shared ghosts. With laughter in the hallway and your knees brushing under the drink table. With the way she looked at you like you weren’t just another girl at the bar. You weren’t. And she wasn’t just some crush.
Not anymore.
*:·
You don’t see her for the rest of the night.
Which, honestly, feels like a personal attack considering how hard it is to breathe after what just happened in that kitchen. You tell yourself you’re grateful for the space. For the break. For the time to cool down. But then you catch yourself standing on your tiptoes near the beer tent, pretending to grab an extra napkin just so you can see if she’s there. You pass the dessert table twice. You even circle the raffle booth, slow and casual, scanning the crowd for her braid, for her arms, for that crooked, cocksure smirk.
Nothing.
She's gone. Or she’s hiding. Or she’s just too busy. You’re trying not to overthink it, truly, when you catch Jesse near the old jukebox in the back, already nursing his third beer and chatting up a girl who graduated high school last summer. You cut in without apology.
“She almost kissed me,” you hiss. He chokes mid-sip. “Jesus. What?” You drag him away from the dancefloor, behind a row of folding chairs no one’s using. “In the kitchen. Right before that idiot from the aux hall came in looking for cobbler.”
Jesse blinks at you, stunned. Then his mouth splits into a slow, gleeful smile. “No fucking way.” You nod. “I’m serious. She said she’d been trying to get my attention. Said she liked how I looked at her.” He whistles low. “Damn. Okay. Big moves, Anderson.” You’re still buzzed with the tension of it, skin prickling from the almost of her hand. Jesse grabs your wrist and grins. “I told you the dress was a good idea.” You laugh despite yourself. Slap on his arm. He catches your hand in return and spins you in a ridiculous mock waltz, and you're both giggling by the end of it, flushed and tipsy and dizzy from everything.
You don’t know that Abby sees it. From across the tent, from behind the beer table she’s been stuck at for the last hour, handing out plastic cups and watching the girl in the blue dress laugh with someone else. You don’t know how her jaw clenches when your fingers stay on Jesse’s arm. How her eyes narrow like a warning shot.
She doesn’t know Jesse is your best friend. That he’s a brother. That he’s the reason she got to see you at all tonight.
She just sees red.
The rest of the night passed with slow agony. You search for her again once it gets late, but she’s nowhere. And by the time you help clean up, your feet aching and your brain spinning from what-could-have-beens, it hits you, she never came back.
*:·
The days drag.
At first, you think it’s a coincidence. Then you think maybe she’s busy. Then, by day four, you realize it’s avoidance. She doesn’t come into the co-op where you work on Tuesdays. Doesn’t ride by the stables on Thursday night like she usually does. You pass by the gym on purpose Friday morning, sunglasses on, pretending to check your phone, and nothing. No sign of her braid. No sign of her boots. And no text. Not that you expected one. But still.
By the weekend, you’re restless. The buzz from the kitchen moment has curdled into something bitter. Something tight in your throat. So you get dressed. Something stupid and short and flirty. Jesse raises his brow when you meet him at the bar and says, “You’re spiraling, huh?” You are. Obviously. And it’s going okay, kind of. The bar’s crowded and the music’s loud, and you almost forget about her for a second. Until you glance toward the pool tables.
And you see her. She’s standing against the wall. Wearing the same fucking jeans and boots and expression that made you stupid in the first place. Only now, she’s got her arm wrapped around someone else’s waist. A girl. Blonde. Laughing at something Abby just whispered in her ear.
Your stomach drops. Abby leans in closer, hand skimming the hem of the girl's shirt, thumb slipping just beneath it. It feels like being slapped. You don’t remember leaving the bar. Just that the cool air outside stings your skin, and the walk home is slow and silent and awful. Jesse catches up to you on the porch, says your name three times before you look at him.
“I’m fine,” you lie. “You’re crying,” he says softly. “I said I’m fine.” You light a joint on the back steps. You don’t even offer him any. He stays until you tell him to go.
Three more days pass. You tell yourself you're over it. Over her. Then Ellie shows up at your door with that look on her face. “Abby’s a dick,” she says, pushing her way into your kitchen like she owns the place. “You want me to fight her?” You raise a brow. “What?”
“I saw her. Saturday night. With that girl.” You exhale slowly. “It’s fine.” “No, it’s not. You cried.” “I was high.” Ellie crosses her arms. “You were heartbroken.” You glare. And then you laugh. Not a real one, something mean and dry. “She didn’t owe me anything.”
“Maybe not. But she wanted to. That’s what makes her an idiot.” You wave her off, already reaching for your lighter. Ellie sighs and disappears down the hallway. You’re halfway through your second joint when there’s a knock at the door. Not polite. Not soft. Someone is angry. You open it expecting Ellie again, maybe pissed that you locked her out. Maybe Jesse is coming to check on you. But it’s her. Abby Anderson. Leaning on the frame like she’s not shaking. Like she didn’t wreck you last weekend and disappear. You blink slowly. “Seriously?” you say. Abby looks like hell. Hair loose, dark circles, eyes bloodshot. Her voice is rough when she speaks. “I didn’t know he wasn’t your boyfriend.” You blink again. “What?”
Your stomach flips. You blow out the smoke slowly. Of course, it’s her. You don’t say anything. You just open the door slightly more. Abby stands there looking more unsure than you’ve ever seen her. Hair loose. Face tight. She shifts like she might leave. Then she looks past you, into your living room, and frowns. “You high?”
You take another drag. “What do you want?” “I didn’t know he wasn’t your boyfriend,” she blurts. You blink. You grab your lighter and hit your joint again as you watch her quizzically. “At the fundraiser. Jesse. I saw you laughing with him. Thought– fuck.” She scrubs a hand down her face. “I thought you were into him.”
“You ghosted me,” you say flatly.
She winces. “I know.”
“I waited days.”
“I know.”
“Then I saw you with that girl.”
Abby looks at you like it physically hurts. “I was pissed.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I didn’t know what to do!” she snaps. “I don’t do this…feelings. This shit. I’m not good at it.” You scoff. “So you made me think I imagined everything.” She’s quiet. You shake your head, stepping back inside. “You should go.” She follows anyway. “I came to say I’m sorry.”
“Too late.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” You blink at her. Abby steps closer. “Since the day I moved here. Since the first time you looked at me and didn’t flirt. Didn’t pretend.”
Your throat tightens. “You don’t get to say that now.” She’s in front of you. Her voice was low. “I’m saying it anyway.” You push past her, but she catches your wrist. You don’t shake her off. You should. “I hated seeing you with him,” she breathes. “It made me crazy. I didn’t know what to do with that.” Your heart is pounding. “And that night at the bar,” she says. “I didn’t even touch her. Not really. I just wanted to see if it would make you jealous.” You stare at her. “That’s fucked,” you whisper.
“I know.”
“I was pissed. Jealous. I thought I’d fucked it all up before it even started.” You’re silent. Just watching her. Holding the door half-shut. Then she says it. “I haven’t seen you in days and it’s driving me fucking insane.” You let out a humorless laugh. “Poor you.”
“I thought about coming here a dozen times,” she says. “But I figured I blew it. Then Ellie found me.” You stiffen. “Ellie?” Abby nods, jaw clenched. “Cornered me outside the gym.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“She called me a coward,” Abby says quietly. You lift a brow. “She said I made you cry.” Your stomach drops. “I didn’t know. I swear. I thought you were just mad. That you hated me. That it was over.” She exhales, like it hurts to admit. “But when she said that, when I realized what I’d done, I couldn’t stay away.” You stare at her for a long moment. Then turn, walking back inside. You don’t invite her in. But she follows. Because, of course, she does.
Ellie had found her that morning. Cornered her between the bench press racks, fury on her face and fire in her voice. “You are a fucking coward. Abby didn’t look up. Kept unwrapping the tape from her fists, slow and tight. “You broke her,” Ellie had said. “She cried. I watched her. I’ve known her for years, and I’ve never seen her look like that.” Abby had frozen. Ellie kept going. “You don’t get to play with people like that just because you don’t know what you want.”
“I wasn’t playing.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Ellie spat. “All that tension, that pining bullshit.. then you ditch her and grope the first blonde with two legs?”
Abby had looked up, finally. “I didn’t fuck her.”
“Oh, congrats,” Ellie said, voice dripping with venom. “Medal’s in the mail.” That one stung. And when Ellie finally turned to walk out, she left one last blow. “She waited for you, Abby. She believed in you. Don’t show up again unless you mean it.”
Now she’s here. You’re sitting cross-legged on your couch, joint between your fingers, ashtray full. Abby hesitates by the door before she walks in slowly, like it might detonate. You offer the joint without speaking. She takes it. Inhales. Sits beside you like she’s afraid to touch anything. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. Finally, you say, “I thought you didn’t do feelings.” “I don’t,” she says. You glance at her. She looks ruined. “I don’t,” she repeats, voice low. “But I do you.” Your chest caves in a little. She passes the joint back. You take it, hands brushing. “You hurt me,” you say softly.
Abby nods. “I know.”
“You didn’t even try to explain. Just vanished.”
“I panicked.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“I know.”
You take another hit. Hold it. Let it burn. Then you ask the thing that’s been rotting you from the inside out, “Was it just flirting?”
“No.”
“Then why her?”
“I wanted to forget,” Abby says. “And I thought if I touched someone else, it’d dull it down. Make it easier.”
“Did it?” You smiled at her condescendingly, a hint of disgust written on your face. “No.” Her voice cracks. “It made it worse.” You stare at her. She’s not even looking at you–not really. Just on the carpet. The joint. Her hands. “I’ve never wanted something slow before,” she says. “Never wanted to earn someone. But you..” Abby turns, finally. Meets your eyes. And it’s like her whole face shatters as she looks back down at the floor in shame. “You make me want to try.” That breaks something in you. “Jesus fucking Christ, look at me, Abigail! You can’t even fucking look at me! And you think you can just show up after fucking with my brain like that? Did you know that I’ve liked you since the day we met? Did you?” You scowled at her. She shut her eyes and winced at your voice rising out of frustration. “I didn’t know that.” She mutters, grabbing your wrists and trying to get you to relax, and maybe even listen for once.
“But what I do know is that I can’t let go of you, fuck, I dream of you and every corner I turn there’s something or someone there to happily remind me of your existence. Do you know what it’s like to see the one girl you’ve had an interest in, touching a guy who looks at her like she hangs the sky with her existence? Do you even comprehend the beautiful and amazing woman you are? Do you comprehend that when I saw him there… touching you… I just lost it. I thought I lost it all before it even started, sweetheart.” She inches closer. You don’t stop her. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that night,” she says.
“How close you were. How soft you looked. How bad I wanted to fuck it up because I knew it’d matter if I didn’t.”
“You still fucked it up,” you whisper.
“I know.”
The silence is so loud it buzzes. She presses her forehead to yours, gently and slowly. “Let me try again.” Your hand finds her jaw. And you kiss her. It’s smoke and apology and everything neither of you could say right. She kisses like she’s afraid you’ll vanish again. Like she’s trying to make up for every hour she wasn’t here. You climb into her lap. Her hands grip your thighs, your waist, your spine. It’s different now, not rushed, not wild. Still desperate, but quietly. You whisper against her mouth, “You made me feel like I didn’t matter.”
“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “You do. More than I know how to handle.”
“I cried.”
“I know,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”
You want to scream. You want to hit her. You want to kiss her until your mouth aches. Instead, you say, “You’re a fucking idiot.” She exhales. “I know.” And then you’re kissing her again. It’s rough and messy and everything you swore you wouldn’t do. Her mouth is warm and desperate. Her hands are everywhere. You back into the wall, teeth scraping, fingers in her hair. She groans into your mouth like she’s been starving. She lifts you without warning, and you wrap your legs around her, letting her carry you across the room, and slam you onto the couch. Her mouth trails down your neck, biting, bruising. “You don’t get to fuck this up,” you whisper. “I won’t,” she breathes. She pulls your shirt over your head. Her hands tremble. You don’t say anything. She kisses your collarbone. Your ribs. Whispers something about missing you so bad it ached. She kisses you again. Slower this time. Like she’s not running. Like, she finally gets it. Like, she finally wants to stay. And just before the rest of your clothes come off, before the night turns into everything you both tried to avoid, she murmurs, “I think I’m in love with you.” You freeze. And then, slowly, your mouth finds hers.
Not an answer. But not a no. Not even close.
Your legs are still bracketing her lap, your knees pressed to the outside of her thighs, but the weight of everything, the silence, the confession, her... has you trembling. Abby’s hands haven’t moved since she cupped your face, her thumbs now motionless just under your jaw, as if she’s afraid you’ll fall apart the second she lets go.
Maybe she’s not wrong. Because you are falling apart, tears slipping down your cheeks without asking permission, your breath catching, your body caught between heartbreak and want, grief and the dizzying, terrifying bloom of hope. You try to laugh, but it comes out watery and thin. “God,” you whisper, wiping under your eye. “I’m a mess.”
And there it is again, that softness in her voice. That look in her eyes is like you’re made of something sacred. Like you are the thing worth protecting. You lean forward before you can think too hard about it, pressing your forehead against hers, breath mingling between you. Her braid brushes your arm where it falls over her shoulder, and you feel her chest rise beneath yours. You grab the braid, tugging softly at the hair tie before her hair fell out and slowly unravelled itself.
Abby looks at you wholeheartedly, running her hair through her hands to make it sit better. You smile at her, “I love you with your hair down.” Abbys hums, almost as if in agreement, before wrapping pieces of your hair around her fingers. “I don’t know how to say it right,” you whisper. “But I need you to know.” Abby blinks. “Know what?” You let your fingers trace down her jaw. “What you mean to me.” Her breath hitches. She doesn’t speak. So you show her instead. You kiss her. Not desperate, not rushed, but deep. Intentional. Like you want her to feel it in her lungs. Like it’s the only language you speak anymore. Her hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips like she’s anchoring herself. You can feel the tension coiled in her, the need just barely restrained. But she’s waiting. For you. You pull back, just enough to look at her. To memorize her face, how wide her eyes are, how vulnerable she looks, mouth parted, skin warm beneath your fingertips.
“I want to give you everything,” you murmur, brushing your fingers along the hem of her shirt. Her throat bobs. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” you interrupt softly. “If you’ll let me.”
There’s a pause. Just long enough for the moment to stretch tight, breathless between you. Then, finally, Abby nods. You tug her shirt over her head, slow, careful, and your fingers follow the path of the fabric as it lifts away. You let your palms map the stretch of her shoulders, the strong slope of her arms, the curve of her waist where muscle meets softness. She’s flushed. Breath heavy. But still watching you, eyes burning like they’re memorizing every second. “God, you’re beautiful,” you whisper, and you mean it like a prayer. You lean in and kiss her collarbone, the edge of her jaw, the scar on her shoulder that you hadn’t noticed until now. Your hands cup her face, smooth back her long hair, touch her like you’re trying to say I see you. I want all of you. And Abby, who never lets anyone touch her first, who never sits still for this long, closes her eyes and lets you.
You undress her slowly– your fingers reverent, your mouth never far from her skin. There’s no rush. No frantic pulling. Just quiet gasps, lingering kisses, the kind of touches that feel like worship. And when you finally press your forehead to hers again, bare and tangled and aching with something far too big for words, you whisper, “I don’t want to take anything from you. I just want to give.” Abby exhales like she’s breaking.
“I want you to take, baby. I want you to take whatever you want or need from me. I want to give you everything, too. Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” Abby presses gentle kisses onto your shoulders and collarbone as you keep your hands fixated on her neck and face.
“I want you, Abs. I’ve always wanted you.”
A/N: ahhhhh i hope you guys enjoyed this first part!! please like, leave future story suggestions, comment, reblog!! and follow if you’d like :) sorry if some of it has typos, i proofread but not the best…. anyway the second part with all the goodies should be out VERY SOON! if you want to be tagged, comment and i’ll add you to the tag list for this fic! 🫶
No lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and the upside down, on the floor, on the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried, against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckle cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jittering, mind blogging, soul snatching, over stimulating, vile, sloppy, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bine breaking, world ending, black whole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, back worthy, can’t walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, throat blasting, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango and I’d still bounce on it. <3
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