「𝗙𝗶𝗲𝗹𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄☆」
⋆𐙚 ̊ synopsis: abby is completely normal about you (She’s not). obviously.
⋆𐙚 ̊ content warnings: fluff, pining, abby has a crush on reader, WLF setting, awkward Abby, mild language, crush is reciprocated.
Abby never meant to notice you.
At least, that’s what she tells herself every time her eyes drift across the training yard and land on you without permission. You’re not loud. Not particularly flashy. You don’t draw attention the way some people do. And yet, somehow, you manage to sit right at the center of Abby’s focus like gravity decided you were the only thing worth orbiting.
It starts small.
She’s running laps along the outer wall, breath steady, boots thudding against packed dirt. Manny’s beside her, talking about something — she’s not really listening — when she hears you laugh. It’s soft, almost swallowed by the wind, but it’s enough to throw her off her pace. Her stride stutters. She nearly clips Manny’s heel.
“Whoa,” he says, glancing back. “You good?”
“Fine,” she mutters, pushing ahead like nothing happened.
But she looks.
You’re leaning against the fence with a couple others, head tilted, smiling at something someone said. Abby looks away too fast, jaw tightening, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
It keeps happening after that.
She notices the way you tuck your hands into your sleeves when it’s cold. The way you listen more than you talk. The way your expression softens when you pet one of the WLF dogs, crouching down like you’ve got all the time in the world.
Abby talks to everyone.
She’s easy with people — clapping shoulders, trading jokes, throwing out casual greetings. She doesn’t think about it. It just happens.
Except with you.
When you pass in the hallway, she goes rigid. Her usual “hey” gets stuck somewhere behind her teeth, and all that comes out is a quiet grunt that sounds harsher than she intends. You nod politely and keep walking, and Abby immediately regrets existing.
She tells herself you probably didn’t notice.
She also tells herself she doesn’t care.
Both are lies.
The first time you actually speak to her, she almost drops a crate.
She’s hauling supplies into storage, arms full, when you step aside to hold the door open. “You want help?”
The question is simple. Harmless.
Abby freezes.
You’re close enough that she can see the crease near your eyes when you smile. Close enough that she forgets how to breathe properly. “Uh… no,” she says, then winces internally. “I got it.”
You nod, still holding the door. “Okay.”
She walks past you, painfully aware of how stiff her shoulders are. Her ears burn all the way down the hallway.
After that, she notices you noticing her.
Not in a big way. Just little things — your gaze lingering a second too long, the way you hover nearby during group conversations, the occasional quiet “hey” that you offer first.
It makes her worse.
She fumbles words. Misses cues. Manny starts side-eyeing her every time she goes quiet when you enter a room.
“You got something in your throat or something?” he asks once, watching her stare at the table while you sit two seats away.
“Shut up,” she mutters.
The turning point happens in the gym.
She’s finishing a set, muscles burning, when you step in. You don’t see her at first — you’re focused on filling your water bottle, humming under your breath. Abby sets the weights down harder than necessary, and the clang makes you look up.
Your eyes meet.
You smile.
It’s small. Soft. Just for her.
Something in Abby’s chest does a weird, painful flip.
She wipes her hands on her shorts and, before she can overthink it, says, “You, uh… you training today?”
You blink, surprised she spoke first. “Yeah. Trying to, anyway.”
She nods, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement. “I can… show you some stuff. If you want.”
The offer hangs between you.
Your smile widens. “I’d like that.”
And just like that, Abby’s completely doomed.
She keeps it professional at first — correcting your stance, adjusting your grip. But the first time her hand closes gently around your wrist to guide you, her brain short-circuits. She pulls back too quickly, clearing her throat.
“You’re… doing good,” she says, voice quieter than usual.
“Thanks,” you reply, and there’s something warm in the way you look at her that makes her stomach twist.
after that, she starts seeking you out.
saving you a seat without thinking. calling your name across the yard. lingering in conversations longer than usual. people notice. manny definitely notices.
“you’re subtle,” he tells her, smirking.
she elbows him hard.
but she keeps doing it.
because when you laugh at something she says — really laugh, bright and warm — it feels like she won something she didn’t even know she was competing for.
one evening after training, you walk beside her, close enough that your shoulders brush. neither of you move away.
“y’know what,” you say quietly.
“hm?” abby glances down at you.
“you’re way less intimidating than i thought.”
abby lets out a soft huff of laughter, ducking her head, a faint flush creeping into her cheeks. “oh yeah? i had a reputation or something?”
“well… you’re big, quiet, and you carry a rifle around like it’s an accessory,” you tease. “it’s a little scary.”
she nudges your shoulder lightly with hers. “and here i thought i was being charming.”
“you? charming?” you hum, pretending to think about it. “jury’s still out.”
abby raises an eyebrow, finally looking at you properly. “wow. tough crowd.”
“i’m just saying,” you continue, smiling, “you’re actually kinda… nice.”
“kinda?” she repeats, mock-offended.
“don’t push it,” you grin.
she shakes her head, smiling to herself. “good to know i’m moving up in the world.”
“yeah,” you say, softer now. “you are.”
there’s a beat. neither of you look away.
abby’s voice drops just slightly. “well… i’m glad i don’t scare you anymore.”
“who says you don’t?” you reply, bumping her shoulder again.
she smiles at that— slow, warm —and this time, she doesn’t look away first.
a/n: had to write for my girl Abby again I just love her so much. Sorry it takes forever for me to update I hate myself too😉 anyway my requests are open and I’m in an Abby mood, if you send some I might get to them some time this century;)
