vega FINALLY gets a proper ref. love my extremely divorced washed up old woman with issues. if you don't have old women characters what are you doingggg get one for yourself NOW
Heya for hot ghoul summer could I have Abby Anderson, Supernatural with a bit of mutual pining, number 9 and door number 1 please :)
thank you sm for your request!!! i decided to combine it with another one since they were very similar…. i completely forgot to include prompt #9 but i hope you still enjoy!!!
also — i wrote this blurb as a part 2 of this request (werewolf!abby has my heart rn)
pairing: werewolf!abby anderson x vampire!reader
word count: 6k (oops)
tropes: mutual pining + jealousy + accidental love confessions
summary: you and abby go on an impromptu road trip to forks, washington while navigating (and maybe indulging in?) your feelings for each other.
author’s note: basically twilight if edward and jacob are lesbians yearning for each other! cw for horror themes (blood + biting + death; reader is a vampire and abby is VERY into it) + smut (mdni!)
this blurb is part of my hot ghoul summer celebration — requests are still open and i’d love to write more, so keep ‘em coming!
six nights later, abby shows up at your apartment, tail between her legs.
she knocks so loud that you’d think a thunderstorm entered the building, but you don’t open the door. you indulge a glance through the peephole, and that was your first mistake; you had hoped you’d be strong enough to ignore her, but abby looks like a wreck, and not the fun kind.
her braid has unravelled, hair an absolute mess and deep shadows have settled under her eyes. she’s gnawed her lips bloody, and when abby opens her mouth to speak, pleading for you to give her another chance, you can see how her canines have lengthened, now more like fangs than teeth.
“i know, i know, that i deserve to be turned away, after what i did, but please don’t. i need you,” abby whines, pupils blown so wide that only a sliver of blue remains.
“you already got what you needed from me,” you deadpan.
abby perks up slightly at the sound of your voice.
“i’m sorry, okay? i….i know that i messed up. i’m so, so sorry — please, baby, please let me in. please, i need to explain…”
you sigh deeply; abby does the same from the other side of the door, leaning her shoulder against the wooden frame.
“explain what?”
“that it was my fault, okay?” she confesses, voice trembling. “i’m the reason why ellie, jesse, and dina are dead.”
“abby,” you say gently, softening as you hear her muffled sobs. “it wasn’t your fault.”
“no, you don’t understand, i killed our friends and then blamed you —”
you open the door before abby can finish. she stumbles at the sudden motion, but you grip her bicep. she looks at you like you’d just saved her life, when all you did was keep her from falling. her skin is warm under your touch; abby’s so strong, so alive, and you pull your hand away before you spiral into wanting more.
“that’s not what happened,” you tell her.
abby stands upright and clears her throat. “but —”
“i need a drink.”
you leave her there as you head into the kitchen. you pull some mismatched mugs from the cupboard, glancing over at the doorway where abby watches you and waits.
“you want some?”
“is that….?” she squints at the pitcher of deep red liquid that you pulled out from the fridge.
“it’s sangria.” you pour some into your favorite novelty mug — the one with cartoon fangs dripping in blood, and the words mornings suck in bright red lettering. an old friend had gotten it for you as a joke. you take a sip, noticing abby’s hesitation, so in hopes of lightening the mood, you add: “come inside, anderson. i only bite if you ask nicely.”
the corner of abby’s mouth quirks up slightly, and she finally enters your apartment. abby takes her time, removing her leather combat boots, much too heavy for the summer heat, and fixes her braid in an attempt to look more presentable.
“i’ll have that drink,” she says as she takes a seat at the kitchen table.
you pour her some sangria. it isn’t until you settle into the chair across from abby and hand her the mug that you realize it’s the jurassic park one that ellie always used when she’d come over.
your heart aches, thinking about how ellie will never use that mug again. you’ll never scream the lyrics to avril lavigne songs with dina on the way to practice, or pretend to hate jesse for all the shit he’s put dina through, but secretly like having him around.
you hate, absolutely hate, that you know what their blood tastes like. but that’s not what you’re concerned about now, not as you watch abby, her hand shaking as she takes a sip of her drink, thinking that she’s to blame.
“abs, listen to me.” you reach across the table to place your hand on hers; you try not to take it personally when she flinches away, sensing how anxious and ashamed she’s feeling. “that morning, i saw the bodies before you did, okay? it wasn’t a werewolf attack.”
abby blinks at you, setting her mug down on the table so abruptly that you’re surprised it didn’t break.
“but i blacked out.” she licks her lips, the pink of her tongue visible for an enticing second. “and when i woke up, i could taste blood. it was sweet, like so sweet —”
“before last week, hadn’t tasted vampire blood, had you?” abby shakes her head, watching you carefully as you continue to explain: “a vampire who feeds on humans — their blood is usually like that. teeth-achingly, sugar-rush sweet.”
“so….what are you saying?”
“well….okay, let’s say that you did blackout and go full werewolf.” you pause as abby takes a few nervous gulps of sangria. “but, i don’t know, maybe you went back to the cabin because you sensed danger, and knew that ellie, jesse and dina were being attacked. maybe you were too late, but fought with the vampire, or vampires, who killed them, and that’s why you tasted blood the next morning. trust me — that taste lingers, much longer than it has any right to.”
abby’s quiet for a few seconds, then:
“you shouldn’t do that.”
you frown. “do what?”
“make me sound like a hero when i accused you of being a monster,” abby states plainly, avoiding your gaze. “i’m a monster. i feel like something inside me broke out, after i’ve spent so many years keeping it in a cage.”
you can’t say that you haven’t wrestled with similar demons. the truth is that abby blaming you, assuming that you massacred your own friends, burned more than any holy water ever thrown your way, felt more impossible to heal from than a wooden stake to the heart.
but, now, here’s this beautiful girl in front of you, tears shining in her aquamarine eyes, fear and shame and regret coursing through her veins. this girl, who you’ve somehow developed more affection for than you’ve thought possible for years. maybe decades.
so, you swallow your hurt down with the rest of your red sangria, and let it dissolve in your stomach.
“i don’t blame you for thinking what you did,” you tell her. “i might not have killed them, but i did….i did feed from them — and, it’s definitely not the best look, a vampire standing over her dead friends, covered in blood. after i tasted you the night before, i just couldn’t….” you trail off, take a deep breath, hope that abby doesn’t realize what it means, that your eyes are still red.
because you’re sure abby wouldn’t stay, maybe she wouldn’t even be so apologetic, if she knew that something’s broken loose within you, too, since that night. when you got back, you stole a day’s worth of supply from the hospital to help you transition from human to animal blood.
just a taste, you had told yourself. just for now.
you’d been back twice since then.
“still — i hate that i….that i got angry at you,” abby continues. she reaches over and intertwines her fingers with yours. “i’m so fucking sorry. can you ever forgive me?”
you squeeze her hand. “i knew i had to, as soon as i saw those puppy-dog eyes of yours.”
abby laughs, a deep, soothing rumble, her smile now brighter than the full moon.
“i missed you.”
“i missed you, too,” you confess, barely a whisper.
the kitchen table is small, and your knees knock together as you each instinctively shuffle in closer. you can almost taste her breath, sharp with lingering red wine. abby cups your cheek, her palm rough and warm against your skin.
you want to kiss her. gods, you want to.
right now, abby’s looking at you like you hung all the stars in the sky.
but you’re sure she wouldn’t want you. not like this.
you pull away, and your heart shatters watching as abby tries to hide her disappointment.
“it’s late, uh, and you’re exhausted. you can stay here, if you want.”
(so, abby crashes on the couch while you go to your room, and you each pretend that you aren’t thinking about the other as you stare at the ceiling, alone and hungry.)
when you get up in the morning, abby’s already been up for hours, because of course she has. she’d gone out for a run, taken a shower, fetched the paper, and made a fresh pot of coffee.
now, abby sits on the couch, flipping through one of your books.
“you know, i was the inspiration behind carmilla,” you tell her as you pour yourself some coffee. you add some milk and sugar before grabbing the paper and heading over to sit with her.
“really?” abby raises an eyebrow at you. she’s looking much more rested than before, and she’s wearing wire-frame glasses.
which you feel….completely normal about.
“no, i’m just messing with you,” you admit. “but that is a first edition.”
“yeah, right,” abby scoffs. “do you think all werewolves are just gullible, or just me?”
“just you,” you teases, nudging her knee with your foot. “it is pretty old, though. i got it from mary shelley’s second cousin’s great-great-great-granddaughter, whose dad used to run a rare bookshop.”
“and why, exactly, did she give you the book?”
“okay, fine — i took it on my way out after we, you know….” you smile sheepishly. “spent the night together.”
“oh my god.” abby sets down the book down gently on the coffee table. “i thought you didn’t sleep with humans.”
you shrug. “i make exceptions.”
her glasses slip down slightly, and she readjusts them before extending her hand to you: “crossword?”
you give her part of the saturday morning paper as you browse local news. a comfortable silence settles as you both sip coffee, as you read and she works on the puzzle, occasionally mumbling to herself or asking you for help. you try to pay attention to whatever article’s on the page, but you can’t help it that your eyes wander. she’s not subtle, either, and you catch her staring at you once or twice, her eyes flitting back down and her cheeks flushed when she realizes she’s been caught.
“i’m not used to you in glasses,” you finally say.
“i need them for reading,” she explains. “i don’t usually, like, wear them around people because i know they make me look like a total nerd —”
“that’s not what i was thinking,” you tell her. “you — i mean, the glasses — look really cute.”
“oh, um, t-thanks,” abby stutters, her cheeks now bright red. she clears her throat and glances back at her crossword. “name of a french singer and actress who was part of the french resistance during world war two?”
“josephine baker,” you answer with confidence.
abby scribbles it down, then taps her pen against the paper. “so, did the two of you ever….?”
“yes. we were close,” you muse, smiling softly. “i got that from her apartment.” you gesture to the crystal cheetah figurine on your bookshelf. abby glances over, then narrows her eyes.
“wait a second. is that my copy of frankenstein?”
“o-oh, actually —”
before you can stop her, abby is pulling the book from the shelf and confirming her suspicions.
“i’ve been looking for this since april!” abby exclaims, thumbing through the pages. “damn, you’re like if the little mermaid was a lesbian vampire, hoarding these souvenirs from all the women you sleep with.”
you hide your nerves behind a smile. you know that it’s all in good fun, that abby’s just teasing you, so you don’t really feel like correcting her.
because, here’s the thing: you and abby had taken the same literature class during spring semester, and the prof was very particular about students using the same editions of the required texts. one day, abby left one of her books in the locker room after practice; you thought it was yours at first, so you picked it up. you meant to give it back, but there was something so intimate about reading the little notes she’d written in the margins, which quotes she’d underlined and pages she’d dog-eared.
all this to say — if you admitted to abby that, no, you didn’t take something from all the women you slept with, just the women you’d fallen in love with, then she would wonder why her copy of frankenstein is currently on your bookshelf, gathering dust.
instead, you roll your eyes playfully. “get back to your puzzle, nerd.”
thankfully, abby lets it go, and bounces back onto the couch as you flip to the next page. that’s when you see the headline — more animal attacks, more bodies found.
“abby.”
“if this is a story about how you fucked cleopatra’s distant relative and stole a fancy gold necklace afterwards, then i’m busy,” she jokes.
“okay, how old do you think i am?” you guffaw. “i’m serious though — take a look at this.”
the smirk on abby’s face fades as she starts reading the article that you hand her.
“fuck,” she mumbles, scanning the page once more before locking her gaze on you. “well, at least now we have a lead.”
“a lead?” you repeat. “a lead for what?”
“well, we have to track them down.” she throws down the newspaper and snatches the mug from your hand, heading to the sink.
“um, i wasn’t done with that?”
abby isn’t listening; she rinses your mug, then hers, wipes her hands on the kitchen towel and grabs her phone and keys from the counter, moving with newfound urgency. the molasses-slow, domestic bliss you’d somehow stumbled into this morning dissolves into nothingness, like the sugar you’d stirred into your coffee.
“we need to find out what happened that night. whatever or whoever this is, they’re gonna keep killing people,” abby says. “they’ve already killed our friends, and they’re not gonna stop. we have to stop them.”
you blink and watch as she laces up her boots. “you’re serious about this.”
“yes, i am,” abby explains. “are you coming with me?”
“obviously,” you scoff. you disappear into the bedroom to gather some things for the trip: a jacket, your wallet and phone, and your laptop. “but, before we drive four hours to forks fucking washington, let me send an email. i have some old friends living there right now. if we can meet up with them, we might be able to find out what they know.”
a muscle in abby’s jaw twitches. “your friends — they’re vampires, too?”
“yes,” you say, already drafting the message. “yes, they are.”
it’s a perfect summer day for an impromptu road trip, but instead of appreciating the scenery, your mind wanders to abby.
last night, you almost kissed her. earlier this morning, she acknowledged how the two of you slept together.
nothing more and nothing since.
does that mean the sex between you was a one-time thing? or that it meant nothing to her? because, surely, if abby wanted more —
enough.
you need to find out what happened to your friends. you need to focus.
it’s just a bit….difficult, with abby so close to you.
abby, who refuses to let you drive, has one hand on the wheel, the other resting patiently on her thigh. the sun peeks through the clouds, illuminating the curves of her muscles, painting her dark blonde hair golden. she nods along to whatever song plays on the radio, turns up the volume when you mention it’s one you like, and occasionally reaches over to take a sip of the drink you insisted on buying for her when she stopped for gas. you watch her throat bob as she gulps down the frozen blue raspberry drink.
“you know, these are pretty good,” she says, placing the cup back down in the cupholder.
you hum in agreement. her lips are stained now, and you wonder how sweet she’d taste if you ran your tongue across them.
abby switches over to the next lane, doing a double take after checking her blindspot. she notices that you’re staring, even though you’re wearing sunglasses.
“eyes on the road,” she teases.
“i’m not the one driving,” you quip, and turn to look out the window.
an endless forest of trees whips by. from your peripheral vision, you can tell that abby steals glances at you, too.
which means nothing, of course.
it also means nothing that your heart flutters when she opens the door like a goddamn knight when you’ve arrived at carver cafe, or that your entire body heats up when her fingers accidentally brush against yours as you both reach for the same menu.
and, it’s definitely not a green-eyed monster that possesses abby when you tell her how, exactly, you know the cullens.
“so, we drove four hours to forks fucking washington to meet your ex-girlfriend?” abby huffs.
“ex-fling,” you clarify. “and now friend, who is going to tell us if she knows anything about the vampires who killed our friends.”
the waitress comes back with two steaming cups of coffee. you stir some sugar into your drink and tap the spoon against your ceramic mug. abby looks like she’s about to say something, but is interrupted by the diner front door swinging open.
alice waltzes in, looking exactly the same as the last time you saw her with wild hair and wonder-struck eyes. you get up to greet her; she joyfully brings you into a hug and kisses your cheeks until she notices abby sitting in the booth.
“when you said you wanted to meet, i didn’t realize you were bringing a guard dog,” alice says, voice low. “things between us didn’t end that badly.”
“she’s not a guard dog. her name is —”
“abby,” the woman in question sneaks up behind you. she places her hand against the small of your back, gentle yet protective. “i’m abby.”
“nice to meet you, abby,” alice replies cooly.
famously, vampires and werewolves do not get along, so you’re not entirely surprised that it’s a little tense as the three of you take your seats. alice slides in across from you and abby, and it’s obvious that the two of them are sizing each other up. abby has her arm thrown over the edge of the booth, inches away from your shoulders, like she’s marking her territory.
“thanks for meeting us,” you start. “i wish it were under, uh, better circumstances, but it’s nice to see you again.”
“yeah, of course. it’s been too long.” alice’s eye slide over to you, and she flashes a sickly sweet grin. “long enough for you to get a new pet. i didn’t think you were into doggy style.”
“watch it, bloodsucker,” abby snarls.
“down girl,” alice chides, nothing short of condescending. “the whole big bad wolf thing doesn’t scare me.”
“maybe it should —”
“enough,” you snap. abby’s cheeks are flushed with anger (and maybe a hint of jealousy), teeth bared as she threatens to bite back. alice smirks, as though she’s prepared to do the same. call it an echo from generations of hatred or just plain old pettiness, but you do not have patience for this. “abs, why don’t you wait by the car?”
abby turns to you, softening. “but —”
you place a firm hand on her thigh, warm underneath your touch. “it’s been decades since alice and i have seen each other, so it’d be nice to have some one-on-one time.”
“i thought we weren’t here for that,” abby grumbles, but follows your instructions nonetheless.
alice waits until the door shuts behind abby to lean in and whisper conspiratorially:
“you know, most dogs need some training to learn better behavior —”
“i said enough, alice.” in a huff, you take off your sunglasses and place them on your head. “this is serious.”
“looks like it,” alice says, raising her eyebrow at you. “your eyes — they’re red. you’ve been feeding on humans again?”
alice’s observation causes moths to flutter in your stomach, which is growing emptier and more hollow by the hour.
you were in such a rush this morning, distracted by abby, and then this impromptu road trip, that all you’d taken was coffee. you had blood in your fridge; you should have just eaten before you left seattle, since it’s been almost a week since you had any.
it’ll be fine.
you just need to wrap this up, and get home before it’s too late.
“i didn’t mean to go back,” you sigh. “but now that i have, i’m….working on it.”
alice places her hand on yours sympathetically. when she makes contact, she freezes, just for a second, eyes going wide before she blinks back to you.
“interesting.”
“what?” you wonder, pulling your hand away. “what did you see?”
alice hums.
“you’re assuming that your new puppy —” she stops herself when you narrow your eyes at her. “abby doesn’t know that you’ve been drinking human blood, and you’re scared what’ll happen if she finds out. don’t worry — she’ll be more than happy to help you with your cravings.”
your throat tightens when alice winks at you, somewhere between excited and terrified of what she’s implying.
you can’t help but glance outside the window, where abby’s waiting by the truck. she’s leaning against the side, her sculpted biceps on display thanks to the grey wife-pleaser she’s wearing. abby put on her glasses and is finishing the crossword from this morning. her bottom lip is caught between her teeth as she concentrates.
objectively speaking, abby anderson is hot, all chiseled muscle and confidence. but she’s also fucking adorable, and that makes your stomach lurch with a different kind of hunger, one that is becoming much too distracting.
abby glances up, directly at you, and you both look away, flustered.
alice flashes you a knowing smile as you try to compose yourself.
“this is serious,” you repeat firmly. “we’re here because our friends were killed. by a vampire, maybe more, and it seems like they’re not stopping….”
unfortunately, your diner reunion with alice was pretty much a dead end; all you got from it was an invitation to play baseball with the cullens, and a burger for abby as an apology for kicking her out so abruptly. she devours it; you try to quell your own hunger with more coffee as you watch her eat, but deep down, you know there’s only one thing that will satiate you.
it’s fine, you keep repeating to yourself. you’ll be home in no time.
except, a summer storm suddenly hits — thunder, lightening, torrential rain — and abby decides that the roads are terrible, so it would be safer to take shelter for the night.
you’re so goddamn hungry. but, it’s abby’s car and she’s the one driving, so you’re ultimately not going to argue with her decision.
abby doesn’t seem the slightest bit phased by the sudden change in plans. one thing about her? she comes prepared. she has an entire bag packed with fresh clothes, a toiletry kit, some food and water, and extra cash, which she hands to the motel owner in exchange for a room key.
a room that has one bed, because of course.
“mind if i use the shower first?” you ask, searching for any opportunity to subtly distance yourself from her.
“all yours,” abby says. she throws her bag on the dilapidated chair in the corner and rummages through it. “here — i have extra.”
she tosses you some clothes, which you accept gratefully given yours are currently rain-soaked and freezing-cold.
you had hoped the shower would offer some warmth, but the water barely gets up to 70 degrees. you give up after a few minutes and shut off the water. as you dry yourself with a sandpaper-like towel, the staticky voices of kirk and spock from an old episode of star trek cut through the silence; you smile to yourself, picturing abby curled up on the bed watching tv.
sure enough, that’s what you see once you’ve opened the bathroom door. abby changed her clothes, too; you’re now both wearing plaid boxers, and she’s sporting a seattle women’s soccer shirt while you have on abby’s own jersey. it smells like her: fresh laundry, pine trees, and a hint of firewood. an absolutely delicious combination that you cannot indulge in.
to your dismay, abby joins you in the bathroom. she has an extra toothbrush — obviously — so the two of you brush your teeth as kirk and the rest of the enterprise crew adventure through space in the background.
you look up at the slightly foggy mirror, but all you can see are broken tiles, mysterious water stains, and abby reflecting back at you. she spits out a mouthful of toothpaste, white foam slightly tinted pink. apparently, abby has bleeding gums.
your stomach growls.
you try to ignore it as you rinse out your mouth. and then, suddenly — there’s a yelp, the sound of a mirror shattering, and the familiar, coppery scent of blood.
abby’s blood.
“what….the hell?” you ask, looking between the cheap mirror, now cracked upon impact, and abby’s bloody hand.
“shit….s-sorry.” abby takes a deep, shuddery breath. “i-it’s just…there’s a spider.”
“so you tried to slap her?”
her cheeks start burning red. “i panicked.”
you bite your lip, both in an effort to keep from laughing and to prevent yourself from bending down to lick abby’s wound. instead, you find the eight-legged insect, scoop the little guy up with one of the styrofoam cups left by the out-of-order coffee machine, and bring her outside.
“thank you,” abby says, flashing you a wavering smile as you take a seat next to her on the bed. you try not to drool, watching as she tends to her cut hand. when you don’t respond, abby nudges you with your elbow. “you good?”
“o-oh, yeah, of course!” you clear your throat. “just a bit —”
“hungry?” abby guesses.
“i was gonna say tired.”
abby hums and finishes by wrapping gauze around her hand. the cut didn’t seem deep, but it bleeds through, a bright red rose blooming across a stark white background. you pull your gaze away, instead locking your eyes on the tv.
“you sure that you’re not hungry?”
“yes.”
“yes, you’re sure — or yes, you’re hungry? when’s the last time you —”
“just drop it,” you interrupt. you shift as far away from abby as you can, without falling off the bed.
abby drops it — for all of two seconds, before abruptly turning off the tv.
“hey! i was watching that.”
“if you’re hungry, you can drink from me,” she states matter-of-factly.
getting over the initial shock at the fact that you underestimated her observation skills — abby has probably known, this whole time, what it meant that your eyes turned from gold to red — you can’t help but be surprised at how forward she is.
“i can’t ask you to —”
“i’m offering,” she insists, shuffling closer to you.
“i-i can’t. it’s not a good idea.”
“why not?”
“i don’t want to hurt you, abs.” your words come out soft, a little broken. you can’t help it, remembering what happened a week ago. the first time you tasted abby. right before all hell broke loose.
“hey. hey.” abby places a comforting hand on your cheek. “i can take it. i’m a big bad wolf, remember?”
“a big bad wolf who’s scared of spiders,” you mumble.
you just don’t understand. how can abby be scared of spiders but not scared of you?
“i trust you,” abby assures as though reading your thoughts. you can’t help but think back to a week ago, when she whispered the same sentiment to you. her thumb runs over your bottom lip, and it takes everything in you not to bite down. “i know you won’t hurt me.”
something about the sincerity of her voice causes you to change your mind; you tell her okay, thank her profusely, and guide her to sit up against the half-broken headboard. you swing one leg over her hips, effectively straddling her. as if on instinct, she places her hands on your hips and gazes up at you, waiting.
“if you feel dizzy, tap me three times and i’ll stop right away,” you tell her.
abby nods.
you lean in, close enough that you can feel the butterfly-wing rhythm of her pulse against your lips. just when you’re about to sink your teeth in, you hesitate. you sit back, searching for any last minute hesitation on her end.
“abby. are you sure about this?”
“yes. you’ve bitten me before,” abby reasons. she looks up at you, eyes all glazed over.
“well, that was a different context —”
“oh my fucking — just bite me already,” abby practically growls, puppy dog eyes morphing into something feral. her reaction surprises you, intrigues you, tempts you.
because it clicks, in that moment —
abby isn’t just offering to help you out of the goodness of her heart; something deep inside her wants this, craves you just as you’re craving her.
you dive in, teeth piercing through her skin. you start gently, slow and a bit timid, but then abby’s hands idly wander beneath your — her — shirt, claws scratching down your back like she begging for more.
“keep going,” she tells you, voice rough. “harder, if you need to.”
and you do need to — because you’re ravenous, and very conscious of the growing heat between your legs as abby whimpers while you sink your teeth in deeper, suck a bit more harshly.
you’re the one to pull away first, chest heaving and head spinning. you run your tongue over the teeth marks punctured into abby’s skin, lapping up every last drop.
“thanks, abs,” you breathe, licking your lips to savour the taste of her.
you’re dizzy, the sudden burst of energy you usually get from ingesting blood increasing tenfold because it’s abby.
and, though you’ve just had a week’s worth of blood, you’re hungry for something else.
“not quite,” you admit. you steady yourself by placing your hands on her strong shoulders. “i want more.”
“so fuckin’ greedy,” she drawls, honey-soaked desire dripping from her words.
“maybe i am.” you raise an eyebrow at her. “what are you gonna do about it?”
a second passes, maybe two, and then —
abby surges forward to close the gap between you, crashing her lips to yours, the taste of blood and sweet mint dancing across your tongues. she bites down on your bottom lip, and when you gasp, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, exploring every corner and crevice like she’s willing to consume you whole. you pull away, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to hers before she breaks it by licking her lips. she whines from the loss of contact, making up for it by leaning down to suck and nip at your jaw.
“abby?”
“....yeah?” she mumbles the question against the crook of your neck.
“can i taste you?” you trail your fingers down her body, tease the waistband of her boxers so she understands your intentions. her eyes widen and she shudders when you reach a bit lower, tease the happy trail leading to where you want to go.
“yes.”
neither of you want to waste any more time — abby tears off her shirt while you pull down her boxers, leaving her completely naked underneath you.
“you’re so fucking beautiful, abs,” you coo, drinking her in. your fingers pinch her hardened nipples, and abby shivers, bucks her hips upwards.
“fuck, baby….”
abby’s desperate moans, her thick whimpers, encourage you as you trail down her body, kiss every freckle and every scar. she get louder when you suck a bruise onto an inner thigh and starts begging you for more, which you’re not going to deny her. she’s dripping for you, after all, and it’s the least you can do. you sink two fingers into her cunt, run your tongue over her folds with purpose, until she’s too loud.
you think abby might cry when you rip yourself away from her pussy. you keep one hand between her legs, fingers still pumping inside her, while you use the other to grip her chin, prompting her to look at you.
“you’re gonna have to be quieter, baby,” you tell her, half-apologetic, half-amused. “wouldn’t want to get a noise complaint, would we?”
abby shakes her head desperately. her hair is loose, falls in golden waves across the pillow like a halo. she bites down on her lip, so hard that her teeth break skin and a bubble of liquid crimson emerges. you can’t help yourself — you lick up the fresh blood before pressing your lips to hers once again. a groan rolls through abby’s body when she tastes herself; she surprises you by snaking her hand beneath the waistband of your (again, her) boxers.
“shit,” she hisses when her fingers find the sticky mess between your legs. “you’re soaked.”
you giggle into the crook of abby’s neck, then inhale sharply when she pinches your clit.
“l-like you’re not seconds away from r-ruining these sheets,” you manage between laboured breaths. you feel abby’s smile as she presses kisses into your skin, her index and middle finger slipping into your wanton heat and setting a relentless pace.
it’s all a little messy, a little playful, and a little ruthless.
you slip in another finger, press circles onto her clit with your thumb to coax more moans from those pretty lips of hers, swallowing the sound every time. you catch her at just the right angle, and she clenches around your fingers, warm and wet, her fingers only faltering slightly as she throws her head back in ecstasy.
“so fucking pretty when you do that,” you gush, tangling your free hand into her hair. “fuck, i need to see that again — can you do that for me, abs? give me one more?”
“oh, baby….you’re so greedy,” she teases once more.
“and you love it.” you brush your fingers to where you had fed from her earlier. the smile you give abby is playful, yet sharp, as if to say: i want more. are you up for the challenge?
and abby anderson loves a challenge, so she fucks into you with newfound vigor until you’re whimpering and grinding down to meet every thrust. abby watches in awe, eyes dark like a summer storm.
“you’re right — i love how greedy you are,” she confesses, her words slightly slurred. she takes one of your nipples between her teeth and sucks, soaking through the cotton t-shirt you’re wearing, before doing the same to the other. “fuckin’ love how you taste,” she growls against your chest and curls her fingers, relishing in the moans that spill from your lips. “love how you pretty you sound for me, how you feel around my fingers…so soft and tight….i love your body and those gorgeous eyes of yours, always lookin’ at me like you wanna eat me alive….i fuckin’ love you, everything about you…”
“fuck, abs —”
you were already so close, and abby’s unexpected confession pushes you towards the edge. abby’s right there with you; you ride out your high together, delirious and euphoric.
when you’ve both calmed down a bit, abby removes her fingers from your cunt; you groan at how empty you feel without her. you watch as she sucks her own fingers into her mouth, tasting you, before taking yours and doing the same to taste herself. abby puts on a show — she practically gags on them until drool and cum drip down her chin, and you decide you want a taste, too. you pull your fingers out with a pop, replacing them with your tongue.
abby mumbles something against your lips about taking a shower, asks if you want to join.
“just gimme a second to catch my breath,” you say, collapsing onto the bed.
abby laughs. “i thought vampires didn’t get breathless.”
“you kinda have that effect on me, anderson.” abby walks back over to give you a quick peck on the cheek before disappearing into the bathroom.
while she’s in the shower, you stare up at the ceiling, replaying everything that just happened: every kiss, every touch, every moan.
everything that abby said when she was too pussydrunk and blissed out to overthink it; what you’ve been too scared to say, and what you’re scared she might not have meant.
“did you manage to catch your breath? or should i come back later?”
you didn’t even notice that abby had returned, but there she is at the edge of the bed, hair slightly damp and lips curled into an infuriating smirk. she’s a menace, but a gentlemanly one, wiping up whatever mess remains between your legs with a damp washcloth and leaving kisses on your skin as she goes. then, you both slip under the sheets, abby resting her head on your chest as you braid and unbraid a small section of her hair.
“did you mean it?” you whisper, tentative.
abby traces idle patterns on your skin. “mean what?”
“that you….love me.”
she freezes, her eyes widening like a deer in headlights. “shit.”
“look, if it was a mistake, that’s fine,” you lie, swallowing the lump in your throat as you process what appears to be abby’s panicked reaction. “we don’t have to talk about it.”
“shit, no, baby, i do love you,” abby assures. “it’s just, i didn’t mean for it to just slip out like that —”
you lean forward to kiss her. “doesn’t matter. i love you, too, abs.”
abby flashes a boyish grin, her freckled cheeks flushed. “yeah?”
“yeah.” you press your lips just below her ear before whispering: “i really do.”
