𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who met you on a random day of October and forgot what she’d been doing entirely— hands still, breath caught, eyes fixed on you like you were something she’d never seen before.
She didn’t ask questions, didn’t hesitate. Just invited you into her too-quiet cottage, scrubbing her hands nervously before offering you a glass of water like it was the most important thing she’d ever done.
She disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, splashing cold water on her face, adding a little extra of that pine-scented perfume her dad used to wear. She had heard about you before, you would be staying in town for a couple of months until you found a place to stay back at whatever fancy city you came from.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who became suddenly hyper-aware of you. Always asking if you needed something, if you were comfortable, if you were hungry, if the silence bored you. She hovered in a soft, clumsy way of someone who wanted to cause a great first impression.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who broke her routine just for you.
She offered to take you on a horse ride like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean the world to her.
You couldn't tell back then but she was certainly freaking out when you insisted on letting Alice– her dog – to come outside and play for a moment while you figured the whole riding thing.
She held your hands patiently, steadying you as you climbed on, letting you pet the horse first, letting you breathe, letting you feel and get used to it before teaching you anything at all.
She remembers it as something almost unreal—the way the sun kissed your skin, the way baby hairs danced across your forehead in the wind. The sheen of sweat on your skin after too much time outside. How much she laughed at everything you said, loud and easy, like she wasn’t falling helplessly in love right there.
She took a picture of you with her polaroid, you didn't notice.
She wanted to remember you when you left.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who promised she’d guide the horse no matter what.
Who never told you how sore her body felt the next day from holding herself so tense, so careful around you.
She didn’t care. A few days of pain were worth your smile and praise.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who cooked you her favorite meal that night. Her dad’s recipe. Nothing fancy. Just a simple omelet that somehow tasted warmer, fuller and just more delicious than anything you’d had before.
She spent the entire evening watching you like she was memorizing your existence, letting herself feel something she’d sworn she wouldn’t, even if it hurt later.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who by december offered to walk you through town, hands tucked into her jacket pockets the whole time. Denim clinging to her shoulders.
She paid for everything, insisting it was her idea anyway.
That and the fact that everyone in town gave her discounts without her even asking. Everyone knew her. Everyone loved her.
Maybe you did too.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who couldn’t stop looking at you. She thought you freezing wasn’t something that should be allowed, so, when she had the chance Abby didnt hesitate. She bought you a scarf without thinking twice, stepping close to wrap it around your neck with hands too tender for a friend, even.
She thought you were the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. And that terrified her.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who avoided you for the rest of the night, claiming she was tired, that the cold was getting to her.
She drove you back in silence, broken only by the radio crackling softly with some half-heard Christmas song filling the space between you.
And you could tell there was more to it.
After all, two months and a week or two together couldn't end in a simple goodbye and a good friendship.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who stiffened when you caught her arm before she could escape to her room. Who nearly buckled when she saw you tug the scarf down, leaning in. She met you halfway, hands cupping your face immediately, tender like she was afraid even the smallest touch might shatter you.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who didn’t sleep that night. Just lay awake thinking of you. Only you.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who woke early the next morning with no idea what she was supposed to say, or do, or feel.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who froze when she found you already up, eating leftovers at the table. Hair messy, wrapped in too many layers of pajamas, smelling unmistakably like you.
She approached slowly, murmuring a soft “morning,” sitting across from you while her clumsy hands reached for—bread? She laughed quietly at herself, embarrassed.
“Wanna talk about last night?” she blurted out, too honest, too sweet. You almost melted on the spot.
She looked so adorable, so tender. With her braid half undone and her freckles adorning her flushed cheeks. Her eyes staring at you. God, you nearly collapsed.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who later— in a poo attempt of being subtle —invited you to her room to watch a movie. She made popcorn, bought snacks, let you choose. She barely spoke the whole time, just grateful. Just there.
She didn’t want to think about else than the present.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who curled into you once the movie ended, breathing softly against your chest while you undid her braid.
“My dad was the only one who did this,” she said quietly, then corrected herself, hand resting on your stomach. “Touch my hair, I mean.”
She looked up at you, and you understood. She missed him. She missed love. She missed not being alone.
“Yeah?” you whispered, rubbing her back gently. When she looked up again, you smiled, cradling her freckled face between your hands. “Thanks for letting me do this.”
She nodded, just staring at you with loving eyes like she did. And then you realized. Maybe you were taking too much for granted. “Though I guess I should’ve asked first?”
You laughed, and she followed, shaking her head.
“Thanks for not asking.”
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who keeps one of your hair ties on her nightstand after you leave. She doesn’t use it. Just likes knowing it’s there, likes having proof that someone as you, as... tender and sweet and lovely and real chose her quiet world, even if just for a while.
𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 who kept staring at the Christmas tree you helped her choose and decorate. Each night quietly sitting on her worn couch, sipping her tea in silence.
“Williams says she’ll break your goal record this league season. Any words of encouragement for her?”
“Who?”
That was the only thing Abigail Anderson had answered when the name of the first person who had proven to be a rival worth worrying about came up in one of her interviews.
Of course she knew who Ellie was, but she had no intention of giving the interviewers the pleasure and even less so her, who surely read those press notes like an obsessed fan (not as if Abby didn’t do the same before going to sleep). No one was going to get a genuine reaction out of her, only her stoic face and a slight raise of an eyebrow, not as if she were playing dumb but completely dismissing the competition.
Abigail’s team had the advantage. They had grown more united, and she had made sure of that by fulfilling her leadership role, studying each of them to perfect their game and sometimes participating in the group chat, trying to maintain a fraternal relationship beyond her friends Nora or Mel. And why not? While she took care of the notes alongside the Coach, studying her teammates’ abilities, she also felt curiosity about Williams.
Ellie’s agility and speed had always caught her attention, in addition to her creative way of evading the defense of other teams. She had talent, yes, but she lacked discipline, considering the red cards she picked up for aggressive behavior disrespecting the referee by clapping ironically or rolling her eyes after a call, and worse still with other players, pushing them or whispering inappropriate comments into the ears of those who dared to mark her. That was why Abigail was the one meant to mark Williams if they met on opposite sides of the pitch.
It was her foreplay pissing her off by threatening to trip her so she’d fall in front of everyone, with no malice at all, only seeking skin-to-skin contact, her thigh brushing her leg, her arm extending to block her chest, pushing her back, demanding that she fight against her weight. And the times Ellie wasn’t able to break free, Abigail hears her ragged breathing in her ear, similar to the sounds she makes when she’s eating (devouring) her from behind, her bicep applying pressure to her throat in a headlock!
Oh, of course Abigail knows who Arsenal’s left winger 07 is. She stares hungrily at her on the field when Ellie casually does keepy-uppies, looking even more attractive with all that confidence that Anderson can melt in seconds with just a look, there’s no need to touch her.
author note: i have no idea what i’m doing, it’s been a while since i wrote, but i saw heated rivalry and had to come back to ellabs, obviously. please, this is trash, don’t mind it ! ! <3
(also, it’s sexually suggestive… kinda)
“Why would I care about her? Her physique doesn’t intimidate me.”
That was the answer Ellie William, Arsenal’s Rookie of the Year, had given when her rival Abigail Anderson was mentioned, someone the media seemed unable to stop comparing and looking for a fight between them as if there wasn’t already one.
From the beginning of the season, Anderson’s fixation on Ellie had been driving her crazy. Every time an important match started, she immediately tried to mark her, preventing her from advancing freely down the wing and making it impossible to shoot or assist because Abby’s dorsal was immediately blocking her with her leg brushing against her thigh in a way that shouldn’t excite her so much (whether out of anger or… arousal…)
It was no wonder Abigail Anderson was Chelsea’s tank, centre-forward, the captain who had a record of goals scored. I mean impossible not to, right? With all her physical advantage, from height to muscle.
Every time she sees the number 13 on Anderson’s back in front of her, Ellie feels the pressure and her confidence falters trying to slip past that wall; sometimes she succeeds by tricking Abby with fake moves or seeking support from one of her teammates (usually Dina can accompany her).
But it was already becoming too much. It seemed as if Anderson had studied her technique and movements, and even worse she was never alone, she always came with the same teammates to corner her. At this point, Ellie had memorized the surname and number of one of those two as well: Harris, Nora. 52.
Of course, what William least expected was that she also had a strange fixation on Anderson, but… off the field, in those small private moments in the locker room, watching hungrily as Abby’s back muscles flexed with the slightest movement, that freckled skin with moles that she wished she could brush even with the tips of her fingers.
Ending up desperate, searching for her in hotels after receiving the Rookie award, longing for Abigail to want to celebrate.
Ellie had already studied her movements: she would open the door walking backward as she took off her shirt revealing she wasn’t wearing a anything under it, bumping against the bed, drawing Ellie in using the belt of her formal suit.
Resulting in a victory feast served with Abigail's wrists tied with Williams's tie, that Adonis body kneeling between her legs, distributing wet kisses that delight at the touch between the skin of Ellie's inner thighs, brushing with her tongue seeking permission to please her. And of course feeling her calloused hands combing back the long blonde strands, wanting to memorize how Anderson’s blue eyes shone for the first time without sporting rage.
abby is a perpetual morning person. nothing pleases her than waking up before her alarm specifically so she can be conscious and in bed and enjoying ellie’s sleeping face for a few brief minutes before her day begins.
ellie williams has worn nothing but converse her whole life, tho now they’re navy blue—her gf’s fave color. she’s doodled tiny black ink sketches all over them; spiders, planets, even hyper realistic eyes she draws when she’s bored. the laces got stuff on them!! her initials + abby’s: “e + a <3”.
abby anderson’s the complete opposite when it comes to footwear. she always wears pristine white shoes, looking so clean, like she just took them out of the box. it’s a habit she’s had since her teenage years—thanks to her dad. she hates seeing them dirty, so she cleans them every weekend to make sure they’re perfect for the whole week.
(ellie thinks it’s a bit too much and loves messing with her; fake-threatening to step on them. abby always gives her a little shove when she does, but with a little smile—never actually mad)
Can you hear us? Can you feel what we’re going through? Fear. Hunger. Death. A never-ending siege. The silence of the world hurts as much as the bombs.
We're crying out to your humanity—please don't look away. Speak about us. Stand with us. We're not okay. We're trying to survive.
This is not a nightmare. It's our reality.
Don't forget us. Do something—anything. Share. Donate. Repost. Help keep us alive.
>> Our campaign is vetted by gazavetters list at (#291) Momen & his family
her fingers dampened by sea salt, caresses the hardened muscles of abby's abdomen, tracing up and down with a slow, lingering touch that never quite progresses. the roughness of her fingertips, worn from years of guitar playing, contrasts with the slight stickiness of the melted ice cream she'd held earlier. it dripped between her fingers, careless from kissing abs, savoring her instead of asking for a spoonful, experiencing the bittersweet taste of lemon directly from her lips. the lingering sugar makes her touch subtly adhere to abigail's skin, as if she wishes her hands would always leave a trace.
abby shudders at the slow, swirling movements that turn ellie's caress into a circular path around her navel. her thumb explores, while the rest of her fingers linger just at the edge of her swimsuit, brushing the area but not revealing it, only hinting at the possibility. it would seem like an innocent, almost indifferent caress, if not for abigail's response, which reflects desire; their legs are intertwined, and even her hand, placed firmly on the curve of ellie's ass, is clasping it. she caressed her complexion slowly, longing for the texture of her slightly damp skin beneath her fingers, still entirely warm from sun exposure, both their skins drying lazily.
their limbs fit naturally together, ellie rested on top of abby, torsos pressed against each other. her head finds refuge in the hollow of abigail’s neck, avoiding the sun’s rays, reluctant to gain more freckles. abigail simply closes her eyes; the arm that isn’t absorbed in massaging her buttock remains draped over ellie’s shoulder, bent at the elbow, framing the space where she nestles. it’s a firm hold, but unhurried—not seeking possession, only presence. she embraces her not to capture but to feel her close, to chase the serenity that comes from having williams lying against her.
abby’s wet blonde hair, freed from its braid, spills in long strands over her bare, freckled shoulder, clinging to her skin. els, in turn, returns the gesture, making her shiver as the soft strands of her own short hair tickle abigail’s neck. a kiss on williams' forehead to protect the intimacy.
what song do you think of when you see this wip? sound off below
i was back into only listening to unreal unearth when i started this piece so the saved file is just called unreal but i dont necessarily think its like.. Any of the unreal unearth songs lol. anywho what do yall think bc i'm curious
headcanon of mine!! just something dumb, nothing too deep. 😞
abby’s a total sweetheart, literally such a good, kind person. she’s always joking around with her friends and grabbing random little things for lev if they remind her of him (like a shark plushie she saw once). she falls asleep reading whatever book she’s into at the moment. talking to her is actually so fun. she’s got this great vocab and somehow turns casual dinner or morning chats into deep, philosophical stuff without even meaning to, just by sharing her own thoughtful perspectives.
she starts her day walking alice at the park, gets her workout in, says hi to people she passes, then finishes her shift at the hospital and makes sure to say bye to every single one of her coworkers, even if she’s gonna see them the next day. abby loves greeting people and having quick chats, always genuinely interested in how her close circle is doing, or even ending up talking to an old lady in the grocery line about the price of blueberries.
she doesn’t really swear unless she’s really mad. when she is, she’d rather throw out a ridiculously specific, painfully accurate insult or just pull a face instead of cussing. not like ellie, who somehow says “fuck” ten times in two seconds while trying (and failing) to explain something.
abby’s totally the girl you’d bring home to your parents; polite, gentle and truly kind. even when she messes around with her strength, it’s never aggressive or mean. she’s just soft, with such a big heart. and the way she loves? yeah… her girlfriend’s soo lucky. (cough cough ellie cough cough)
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