ℳℯ𝓁⁷

Across the hall, Abby was trying—and failing—not to look at you. Her gaze drifted back in your direction for what was probably the hundredth time that night, only to dart away the second Manny cleared his throat. A knowing grin spreading across his face.

"Looks like Cupid is working overtime tonight."

Abby's head snaps toward him. "The hell are you even talking about?" she scoffed, dragging her eyes away from where you'd been standing. "I'm literally just standing here."

Manny took another sip from his cup, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Yeah," he starts. "Like a fucking statue."

Abby’s brow pinched slightly, as if she was genuinely trying to find where the issue could possibly be.

“I don’t understand how me standing here is affecting you,” she quipped, glancing at her friend with a look that was meant to be flat and unimpressed — but didn’t quite hide the fact she was a little too aware of where her attention had been drifting.

He snorts into his cup, shifting his weight against the table behind him, "You've been staring at her all night."

A muscle jumped in her jaw, and abby had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. "Not this again."

She straightened, folding her arms tightly across her chest, physically barricading herself against the conversation. It would've been more convincing if her gaze hadn't already started wandering back across the room. 

"Oh, you've got it bad."

Abby groaned, dropping her head for a brief second before dragging a hand down her face. "Can you please not do this right now?"

“Ah, so yes.” he tisks

she shoots him a glare sharp enough to cut skin, manny merely clicked his tongue.

"Mm." He nods to himself as though confirming a theory. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

“Whatever,” she mutters, already turning half away from him as if ending the conversation physically might make the whole thing dissapear.

She should walk away. She knows she should. There are a dozen places she could be — somewhere quieter, somewhere that didn’t make her hyperaware of every direction her eyes kept going. instead, like an idiot, her thoughts drifts back toward you anyway. You’re laughing at something Nora said, head tipped back, fingers curled around the neck of the bottle. The overhead lights catch and fracture across your face whenever you move, softening the edges of you in a way that feels unfairly distracting. Abby feels hot all over.

At some point it has to get humiliating. She’s dealt with infected swarms without breaking a sweat, seraphites, scar ambushes. Isaac himself staring her down across briefing tables. None of that makes her feel half as panicked as you grinning at her from across a room. Because then you notice her looking. And smile wider.

Manny groans beside her. “Oh my God, go talk to her.”

Abby scoffs “I talk to her all the time.”

That isn't even a lie. She does talks to you… sometimes. Usually after spending fifteen long minutes rehearsing a perfectly average sentence in her head beforehand. Unfortuly for her, most of the time manny is the first hand witness of her putting her shoe in her mouth.

"No," he starts. "You stare at her silently during training and act like you're being held hostage whenever she speaks to you."

“Fuck off.”

The laugh her friend lets out is entirely undeserved.

“That is actually everybody’s understanding of your relationship, you know that right?”

She feels heat creeping up the back of her neck. For a brief, horrifying moment, she wonders if he's right. If she's somehow been making a fool of herself for months without realizing it. If all those times she'd looked up during training and found you already looking at her had been witnessed by half the stadium.

She shoves at Manny's shoulder before he can say anything else, but he barely budges.

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you are head over heels.”

Abby opens her mouth, already reaching for another argument. Something about Manny being dramatic. About how this entire conversation is ridiculous. About how she can have a normal interaction with a person without everybody acting like she's sixteen.

But the words never make it out, because you start walking in their direction. Not in their general direction. Directly toward them. Towards her.

She feels her stomach drop.

"Oh," Manny grins, spotting you a second before she fully processes what's happening. "Well, would you look at that."

Abby shoots him a warning glance which he completely ignores.

"Looks like Cupid finally landed a shot."

"Manny." He raises both hands in surrender, already backing away. "Good luck, pendeja."

"Manny—" but the coward is gone before she can grab him, disappearing into the crowd with the unmistakable swagger of a man who knows exactly what he's done. She breifly starts to consider hunting him down before you stop infront of her, and every coherent thought leaves at once.

There's an amused smile already tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," you say as a form of greeting, your words arriving wrapped in laughter, and Abby thinks, absurdly, she could pick that sound out from the far end of a crowded stadium.

She blinks once, then again. There’s still a faint tension in the way she holds herself, something unspent and uncertain, even as her attention settles—unmistakably—on you.

“I’m just—” she starts, then exhales through her nose. Sixteen year olds could do better than this. “I’m fine.” The lie is so transparent it almost circles back around to sincerity.

Your gaze doesn’t leave her while you drink, the motion unhurried, almost thoughtful, like you’re giving her the dignity of being observed without judgment.

“that so?” you ask lightly. “cause' it doesn't seem like it.”

“Yeah?” A quiet laugh slips out of her, more air than sound, “Tell me why you think that.”

Her voice dips a little as she speaks, not quite challenging, not quite inviting, but somewhere caught between the two. She leans forward a fraction without seeming to notice she’s done it. You don’t move away from her. If anything, you drift in just slightly, hands folding loosely behind your back. 

“Hmm,” you hum, pretending to think it over. “Maybe it’s the fact you’ve been glaring at me all night.”

There's a playfulness in your tone, but Abby's stomach drops anyway. Until now, she hadn't considered how it might have looked from your side. Getting caught staring was embarrassing enough. The possibility that you'd mistaken it for something else entirely—annoyance, irritation, a glare—had never even crossed her mind.

People have told her before that she can come across a little intense or abrupt. More intimidating than she means to be… It's part of the reason she makes such a conscious effort to soften herself around others; to be patient, quiet when quiet is needed, gentle where she can be.

And she'd come tonight determined to seem normal. Well. Mostly normal. The truth is, she'd shown up hoping to see you, which makes the idea that she might have spent the entire evening accidentally staring you down feel almost catastrophically unfair. Good job, Abby.

“I wasn’t— I mean, I didn’t mean it like that.” Her shoulders tighten a touch, the flirtation slipping just slightly into panic.

“sorry,” she adds quickly, lower now. “guess i should work on that.”

You blink up at her for a second, then a quiet laugh slips out of you before you can catch it. It fades just as quickly, leaving her briefly looking somewhere between composed and not entirely sure she ever was.

“Relax,” you reassure, the tension dissolving back into warmth as easily as it formed. “I’m just messing with you.”

There’s something disarming about the ease of your attention. The way you hold her gaze like it isn’t a challenge to withstand. You take a sip from your drink again, still watching her. “Manny bothering you?”

At your mention of Manny, she huffs faintly, the sound carrying a hint of fond exasperation. “He bothers everybody.”

“mhh,” you agree “True.”  

For a second, neither of you says anything. The music changes songs. Something rhythmic enough that people start whispering in approval. Somebody bumps into Abby’s shoulder from behind and she shifts automatically closer to you to make room. Close enough now that she catches the smell of soap on your skin beneath the alcohol and sweat and crowded room heat. It completely ruins her ability to think.

“You having fun?” you question, leaning closer so your voice can carry over the music.

“I am.” then, honest before she can stop herself, “More now.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly and Abby could just smack herself. Smooth. Real fucking smooth. But then she thinks she sees the tips of your ears turn red, though she’s not entirely convinced she isn’t imagining it.

“yeah? i think i am too — more now.” you repeat, smiling at her in a way that makes Abby wonder if you're aware of the disarming effect you have on people. she finds herself wishing she knew what was going on inside your head at moments like this. 

something about the look you give her sends her thoughts scattering in half a dozen different directions. It shouldn’t mean anything, and it probably doesn’t. But Abby still goes quiet, replaying your words with a kind of careful attention people don't usually give to the things they're trying to ignore.

You glance toward the growing crowd gathering at the center of the room. A few Wolves have already abandoned any concern for dignity, moving with the reckless confidence of people who have had way too much alcohol. She follows your gaze for a moment, grateful for the distraction.

When your eyes return to hers, there's a brief flash of something bright in them— Anticipation, maybe. Amusement? Whatever it is, it's gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

"C'mon."

Abby straightens slightly, caught off guard. “wha-”

“Dance with me.”

A breath of laughter threatens to escape her. The idea is so unexpected, so wildly at odds with what she'd allowed herself to hope for, that for a second she can only stare at you. And then, unhelpfully, her mind supplies the image of you standing close enough to touch.

“I—um,” she stutters, all at once aware of her own heartbeat. “I can't dance.”

You tilt your head, something faintly amused settling into your expression as if she’s just confirmed a guess you already had, voice easing into a lighter tone without you seeming aware of it.

“you can't or you won't?”

Abby huffs a quiet breath through her nose.

“…normally i don't”

You step closer anyway, reaching for her wrist before she can argue again. “Then this’ll be your first time.” Your hand around her arm nearly short-circuits her brain, but she lets you pull her into the crowd without resistance.

The crowd has thickened around the makeshift dance floor, people drifting toward the music almost unconsciously as the night goes on. Conversation still threads easily through the room, though it now tends to happen at closer distances, words exchanged near ears and shoulders rather than across tables.

Abby is discovering that dancing with you presents a problem she had already anticipated. Namely, that she has become acutely aware of every inch separating the two of you. Or, more accurately, how little of it there is.

You giggle quietly at the way she's standing, shoulders squared as though she's preparing for a briefing rather than a dance, and reach for both her hands. “Relax, Anderson,” you say, guiding them to your waist.

The warmth of you beneath her palms is intoxicating.

“I am relaxed.”

“sure you are.” You sway slightly with the music, one brow lifting. “You look like you're preparing for combat.”

Abby snorts out a laugh. “Full transparency— I don't really know what I'm supposed to do.”

“Just move.”

“That easy, huh?”

Your eyes crease at the corners. “My honest opinion? you’re overthinking it way too much, Anderson.”

Maybe. Abby has spent the last several minutes devoting an unreasonable amount of attention to things most people seem capable of navigating instinctively: where her hands should go, whether she's standing too close, whether she's standing too far away, whether you're aware of the effect you're having on her.

Her hands settle more naturally at your waist after a while, though caution still lingers in the gesture. You don't seem to notice—or if you do, you don't comment on it. Instead, you drift a little closer, following the rhythm without much thought.

Around you, the room carries on as it always does, crowded and warm and full of life, but Abby's awareness has narrowed to a far smaller orbit. The faintest freckles on your face, the smell of your hair, the impossible fact that, for once, she doesn't have to imagine what it would feel like to be this close to you.

You tip your head back to look at her. “See?” you coo. “You're getting it.”

Abby glances away.

“I think you're just drunk.”

One of your brows lifts. “That's your explanation?”

“It's the most reasonable one."

The laugh comes quickly, without restraint.

“Abby.”

Something in the way you say her name makes her stomach tighten. She stops thinking about what she was going to say next and registers instead that you’re looking directly at her.

“I'm completely sober.”

Her mind tries to adjust too quickly, catching on the realization that she may have misunderstood something fundamental. It doesn’t organize itself into anything coherent fast enough to respond properly. So she doesn’t.

“Oh.”

You stare at her questioningly for a moment, then your eyes narrow slightly.

“Wait.” The corners of your mouth twitch. “Did you seriously think I'd need alcohol to want to dance with you?”

God. There is no correct answer to that question. Abby can feel herself walking directly into a trap and somehow walks straight into it anyway.

“No- of course not….” a beat. “Maybe.”

Is she wrong, though?

The thought arrives almost unbidden, she cannot quite construct a version of reality in which you would willingly choose this—choose her, choose proximity that feels deliberate rather than incidental. There is closeness, yes, there has always been closeness, but not like this, not with the kind of ease that now unsettles her attempts at interpretation.

It leaves her suspended between recognition and refusal, uncertain whether she has overstepped some invisible boundary or simply misread the moment entirely.

You break the silence first, exhaling softly.

“Well, that’s honestly kinda insulting,” you comment, the line delivered with an ease that undercuts any real offense.

Abby looks down at you, still trying to reconcile the shift in tone.

“Why?”

There’s no hesitation in your answer, only a brief, incredulous clarity, as though the idea itself is difficult to take seriously.

“Because it implies I’d need chemical assistance to ask a pretty girl to dance.”

Warmth blooms beneath her skin with alarming speed, climbing into her face, settling somewhere behind her ribs. She becomes acutely aware of your hands, your proximity, the fact that you are still looking at her expectantly while her thoughts attempt, unsuccessfully, to reorganize themselves. Surely that couldn't have meant what it sounded like. Equally surely, she cannot think of another explanation.

The room feels warmer the longer this goes on. Music vibrating through the floorboards. People shouting and laughing around you. Somebody spinning recklessly nearby you. But Abby barely notices any of it anymore. 

“You know,” you add after a moment, your voice pitched low. Abby has heard you speak a thousand times before. Across training fields. During patrols. Half-lost beneath the noise of rowdy mess halls. She does not recall ever hearing you sound quite like this.

“if you're going to spend the whole night staring at me, you can't really blame me for doing something about it.”

She nearly chokes on the words, registering them in full a fraction before she is able to respond. She becomes sharply aware, in a way she cannot un-feel, of how long she has been noticing you without meaning to make it obvious, and how impossible it is now to pretend otherwise while you are still standing there watching her notice it.

She has been caught. Thoroughly. The realization must show on her face, because you catch it immediately.

"Hey,” you soften.

Your hands shift along her forearms, a small upward movement that causes goosebumps to follow the contact.

“Don’t worry.” Abby looks at you. “Would’ve been embarrassing if I was the only one.”

This can’t be happening. She keeps waiting for the moment she gets jolted out of it—some sharp interruption, one of the others from her bunk calling her name perhaps, wake up abby. But no such moment comes, and you remain entirely real in front of her, and oh, she can’t stop thinking about how soft your skin feels where she's still holding you. the room feels fuzzy and warm, and she thinks she shouldn't jump to conclusions despite how clear it may seem, to preserve her heart.

“You…” Abby swallows once. “did you need something?”

You give her a look.

“Abby,” you say, almost disoriented. “Seriously?”

In hindsight, maybe it should’ve been obvious. Manny is for sure never going to let her live this down. You’re smiling tentatively at her when your fingers curl lightly at the back of her neck, gentle, careful, as if you’re waiting for her to pull away even though she would never dream of it. And then she notices the faint tremor in your hand, the small inconsistencies in your steadiness, every subtle sign that you might be just as affected by this as she is.

"sorry" her eyes dart to your mouth, then away again "i'm not very good at this"

For a moment, you simply look at her with a kind of fondness that catches Abby off guard simply because it is directed at her.

“Can i kiss you?” you ask suddenly.

She almost falls to her knees right there before you. You ask it so simply, as though you have not just handed her the answer to every selfish thought she has spent months trying not to entertain. Abby Anderson — built like a tank, terrifying in combat, emotionally constipated beyond repair — suddenly feels nervous.

"You really need permission?"

There is a faint challenge in it, which isn't an answer. It is, however, the closest thing to one she is capable of producing.

Your hands slide from her forearms without breaking contact, There’s no rush to it, just a steady glide as your fingers trace the line of her arms before settling to gently cup her face, anchoring her there. You lean in close enough that your breath brushes her, close enough that she can feel the faint movement of your lips when you speak.

“Just making sure,” you breathe.

And then you kiss her, and your lips are softer than anything she has ever managed to think her way toward, every imagined version of this falling away the moment it becomes real, leaving only the present of it. Your hands slide into her hair instantly, drawing her closer while the room blurs around you completely. Abby kisses you like she’s been thinking about it for months — because she has — warm and breathless and a little desperate because god she needed this, needed you.

She feels you smile against her lips, giddiness bubbling in her chest at the realization that this is actually happening, until she finds herself smiling into the kiss as well.

When you finally pull apart, Abby keeps her forehead pressed firmly to yours, both of you breathing hard. Somewhere nearby, someone lets out an obnoxious whistle— probably Manny.

“Think your friends saw that?” you ask lowly.

Abby can't look away from you. “Don’t care.”

Before you can tease her about it, she’s kissing you again, like nothing else matters.

line cook!abby who throws around pet names like it’s no big deal.

“baby, table seven’s refire is up.”

“behind ya, sweet thing.”

“here’s those fries, pretty girl.”

and the first time someone else hears her calling you one of the many pet names she seems to keep tucked away in her back pocket—it’s like a nuclear bomb goes off in the kitchen and everyone is shell shocked.

because when did abby anderson ever call someone sweet thing?

line cook!abby absolutely uses her strength to her advantage, especially when she realizes just how flustered it makes you. at work she’s always offering to carry heavy things for you, moving you out of the way.

but when the two of you are alone?

she’s lifting you up onto counter tops to kiss you breathless, easily manhandling you into whatever position she wants (especially if you’re being a brat), doing all the work for you when your legs are weak and shaky from one too many orgasms. she likes being strong for you.

line cook!abby thinks it so sexy when you use her biceps as your own personal chew toy. she loves seeing the indents your teeth leave behind afterwards.

line cook!abby lovessssss overstimulating you. to the point where there’s tears in your eyes and your legs are trembling violently around her head. and when you think she’s finally satisfied, she’ll just crawl back up your body, pressing soft kisses everywhere she can reach mumbling something to the effect of, “sorry baby, you’re just so fucking pretty like this…couldn’t help myself.”

but a few heated kisses later and she’s begging you to cum just one more time on her fingers.

line cook!abby wore her harness under her work clothes once during a shift when she knew she’d be taking you home after. safe to say the two of you didn’t actually make it out of the parking lot before you were eagerly tugging down her sweats and gagging on her silicone cock.

line cook!abby’s stamina and strength are totally unmatched to any partner you’ve ever been with before. she could be running off 4 hours of sleep after just working a double and she’ll still be able to go for hours.

“aren’t you tired?” you’d ask, laughing breathlessly as she starts kissing on your neck the moment you cross the threshold into her apartment.

“nah,” she’ll murmur, teeth nipping at every bare inch of skin she can find which pulls a low whine from your throat. “been thinking about touching you all day.”

line cook!abby always holds your hand when she’s eating you out.

line cook!abby likes to act like she’s in charge all the time but the second you start kissing on her neck and telling her how good she is to you? she’s a fucking goner. immediately she’s all too willing and pliable beneath your soft hands and plush lips. and you’ll work her over and over with your tongue until she nearly crushes you with her strong thighs. but rest assured—you’re exactly where you want to be.

line cook!abby uses the dry storage room to sneak you away for a quick make out sessions during long shifts. strictly because the last time the two of you made out in the walk-in, she was barely able to function the rest of the night after seeing how your nipples hardened and strained against the thin cotton of your shirt like they were practically begging her to wrap her lips around them.

line cook!abby is loud as fuck in the bedroom. she cannot be quiet to save her life, and the first time she sleeps over at your place is also the very first time you’ve ever received a noise complaint from your building manager. but she wears it like a badge of honor.

line cook!abby absolutely loves it when you call her daddy.

line cook!abby is an ass girl through and through. she loves touching your ass on any and every occasion she can. again she’s not big on public displays of affection, but she’ll absolutely slip her hand in the back pocket of your jeans when the two of you are out together. and she’s absolutely checking out your ass from behind the expo line every single time you walk by. she’s constantly burning her hands on shit because of it too, which manny roasts her for on the daily.

line cook!abby can be so condescending when she’s talking dirty, and it only gets worse once she’s aware how much you like it.

“aww, you wanna eat me out, sweetheart? need to hear you beg for it.“

“god, look at how wet you are, sugar. ruining my fucking jeans.”

“all that kissing got you this worked up? you need me that bad, baby?”

line cook!abby likes the excitement that toys bring to the bedroom but she much rather prefers using her fingers and her tongue to make you feel good. it’s a far more intimate experience for her to be able to feel that she’s making you cum. and most times she’s far too impatient to get her hands on you.

line cook!abby has a whole private album on her phone full of pictures and videos of the you two having sex, and all of the tasteful nudes you constantly love to send her on your days off. one of her favorites is one she took of your sucking your own cum off her fingers. she’d make it her screen saver if she could.

line cook!abby has definitely fucked you in the parking lot after a closing shift because her jealousy finally got the better of her. but she can only stand to watch so many sleazeballs flirting with her girl right in front of her before she finally snaps. and she’s instantly pulling you onto her lap in the bed of her truck, lips bruising and wet against your neck as her fingers eagerly reach to unzip your jeans.

“you’re mine. fuck, need to hear you say it, baby.”

line cook!abby prefers having you on all fours when she’s strapping you down because she just loves watching how your ass ripples with every thrust of her hips. but when it’s her turn? she wants you underneath her so she can look you in the eyes as she rides the ever living hell out of you, which you obviously don’t mind in the slightest because she looks so fucking good doing it.

line cook!abby loves having her hair pulled, especially when you’re the one fucking her. she’s always guiding one of your hands up into her messy braid as she moans desperately into your mouth.

line cook!abby who was completely unaware when one of the new girls tries to flirt with her, as she isn’t even a blimp on her radar. but abby’s quick to discover that your jealousy is much worse than hers because you’re louder about it. you leave marks—huge splotches of red and purple left to bloom along her jaw and down the column her throat. amongst many other areas that are only visible beneath her clothes, ie. her inner thighs and breasts.

she’s not even the slightest bit embarrassed by it though, and in fact she sometimes encourages it just to feel your lips, tongue and teeth marking up her skin afterwards.

It’s almost unnerving how little, Abby realises, she knows about not only how sex works, not just between two women, but how to initiate it. With Owen, it had been… easy? Not that she’d necessarily enjoyed the experience but he always initiated the act, he was the one who took the lead. Abby just had to lay back or bend over and just… wait, as bad as it sounded. 

She’d heard the other women talk about how fun sex was, one even harping on about how her first time was magical. That they actually… got off? Abby had only ever gotten off on her own, to relieve stress, never with someone else. But then she compared it to how Manny would boast about his escapades, and she figured that these women were fluffing it up. For the other women or so the men would think it was fun for them too, she wasn’t sure. Making it seem like they did, after all it couldn’t be that good - not after the sex she’d been having. Maybe it was just guys who got off from it, enjoyed it, was able to stay in that moment and not have their mind drift off in boredom, to what patrol she was on the next day.

Only, a bottle of contraband wine and some other questionable drinks she did not want to know the origin or contents of, with Nora and Mel, gave her second thought. Because maybe Mel would skirt around it to save embarrassing some guy but Nora? Nora gave Abby an interesting perspective with her stories of past sex encounters, both good and bad. 

“Wait, you– you’ve walked out, like mid—” Nora’s sharp nod and lazy laugh cut Abby’s words off, “Yup! Called it a day, I mean what’s the point if you’re not enjoying it, y’know”

The blonde makes a noncommittal noise, nodding her head like she gets it, like she’s relating. She doesn’t, and instead chews on the inside of her cheek as she contemplates things.

Abby figured something was wrong with her, that there must have been a reason why she didn’t seem to want it the way other girls did. 

Well, now she wants it – God, she wants it bad.

You’re not new, not some bumbling recruit she finds looking across the stadium that changes everything for her. No damsel for Abby to rescue, in fact she can’t help but appreciate how perfectly fine you are at holding your own, even protecting others when brought out on patrols. You both figure out later on you must have come in a group maybe a month or two after Abby, but neither of you had caught the others attention between then and when Abby finally did notice you.

Of course, you’d appreciated the beauty and the build of Isaac’s top scar-killer much like some of the other queer women housed in the WLF, but you’d heard about the break up between her and Owen and assumed she was straight. After all, there’d been nothing and no one before or after him, and perhaps it wasn’t a tightly held secret where Abby’s focus was: vengence. Romance, sex, it didn’t even seem secondary upon brief glance for her, if anything it felt like the last thing that would occur to her now. Abby, on the other hand, doesn’t feel like her world is flipped upside down when the person she’s stumbling over words for, her heart skipping a beat and thighs clenching as she gawks at you from a non-creepy distance, is another woman. She’s too busy trying to think of ways to get your attention and spend time with you for a sexuality crisis to occur.

Which is why you don’t assume she likes you when Abby begins to become, to put it bluntly, an issue. Taking the dogs out without letting you or another trainer know, not on patrols — no, she’s not that insane — but out of their cages to play fetch in the play pen, for a walk around the stadium, or for the worst case that had you forcing an unconvincing smile and gritting your teeth, smuggling Bear into hers’ and Manny’s apartment. Or when she somehow switches the rotations so that when it’s your turn to go on patrol with a dog, it’s her group you’re paired with even if the list says it should be otherwise. It shouldn’t irk you as much as it does, and the longer it goes on, the more it seems to only be you that’s stuck dealing with the inconveniences, the more you grow straight up annoyed. You can’t even complain about it, between Abby being Isaac’s favourite and your friends teasing you about how despite everything you still find the woman unbelievably hot.

Any excuse, anything that won’t get her into too much trouble, Abby can’t help but take any opportunity to be around you. Even if she’s kept in the distance, watching as you scout ahead with whichever dog is assigned (though she always notes her preference for Alice or Bear when putting in requests) 

It’s only after you practically hunt her down that she crumbles, her nerves and anxiety that her attempts to be close to you, to create reasons for you both to interact might have pushed you away. She’s not stammering, she doesn’t come across as a mess exactly, but she’s not her usual self and she can’t steady that nervous feeling in her stomach. At her age, she figured crushes were only a teenage thing but you’ve got butterflies circling in her stomach at what feels like all times. Her confession, your reciprocation of it, the subsequent question of will you be mine barely audible against your lips after a first kiss that has Abby feeling like air is a secondary requirement — everything about the moment makes the two of you feel like everything else blurs, sound dims and all either of you can focus on is the other. It’s only when you feel a nudge at your calf and a squeak, as Alice drops a toy Abby must of 100% smuggled alongside the dog from the pens, that the moment breaks back into reality.

Maybe it would have been easier if it was pure lust, she could have gone in with false confidence and tried to work things out in the moment. And it wouldn’t have mattered if it had been bad, clumsy, embarrassing because if it was just purely lust there was no reason for Abby to interact with you again. But instead, she’s in absolute awe of you and wants the first time the two of you have together to be perfect.

The two of you take it slow, in part out of choice — wanting to get to know each other better, establishing a relationship and making sure you’re both comfortable with each other — but also partly due to your work. Activity builds up and there’s more push for Abby to go on night rotations, longer patrols. You and your fellow trainers/soldiers feel the effect as you’re barely able to recover from patrols before you’re back checking all the paperwork is up to date, all the dogs have been checked, cared for. Even when you’re both working on the same patrol, there’s not enough time for a moment alone but that doesn’t stop the two of you from ogling the other.

Abby finds it almost embarrassing how her cunt aches, her clit throbbing against the seam of her pants as she watches you move. The sweat glistening against the definition of muscle on your arms as you check one of the dogs over following a Seraphite turned runner attack that had almost gone bad, making sure the canine wasn’t injured in any capacity before securing his harness. 

She starts actually (embarrassingly) listening when people start talking about the sex-capades, trying to take in any information she thinks might be useful at a later point.

Embarrassingly, she recalls later that night while she tries (and fails) to sleep with Manny’s snoring occasionally sounding in the apartment, that the things that you do that seem to turn her on the most never seem to be intentionally sexy. The way your hand idly caresses the back of her neck as the two of you sit, curled into each other, both in private and in group settings. An absent minded touch as you laugh and talk, but it has Abby’s breath hitching and her underwear slick.

For a while, neither of you press the topic even when your makeout sessions begin to grow more desperate, hungry kisses trailing down skin and hands touching what is offered up. But actually moving past those? Neither of you push the other, always seeming to come to the same thought that you need to slow down at the same time.

It’s Abby that brings it up, because despite how needy you feel for your girlfriend you know she’s likely more nervous, more… inexperienced than you are. You don’t want to corner her, push her into doing something when she’s not ready for it yet. Abby might showcase bravado for everyone else but with you? You welcome her softness, her hesitation and allow her to make moves as she’s ready.

She’s got one hand roaming across your body, slipping under the hem of your shirt and her touch electric against your skin, sending shivers up your spine deliciously. Her other hand delicately holds your throat, a gentle pressure as her kisses are enough to make you feel dizzy. You’ve got a hand curled beneath Abby’s braid, lightly tugging at the dirty blonde strands while your other hand grips firmly at her hip, guiding her as she rocks against your thigh and makes the neediest of noises.

She doesn’t stop, doesn’t freeze but Abby realises she wants to take that step and the moment is clear to the both of you. Maybe, for you, it’s just that you did take the time to get to know her, rather than just thinking with your pussy. You started to pick up on her tells, the things that give her away. Abby’s lips pull away from yours, a beautiful kiss-bitten pair of lips that part slightly as she takes a breath — no doubt trying to think of what she was about to say. Her hand on your throat lifts, pushing the messy stray hairs framing her face back.

“I want to, I want…” She bites her lip, looking down at you beneath her and swallows her nerves thickly. She feels her cheeks heating, her words tumbling out like she’s ripping off a bandaid.  “I want to do it, I want to have sex with you”

The two of you shift so you’re both laying on your sides, Abby curled into your chest beneath your arm as she talks about her inexperience, her lackluster experiences previously, but also about how she’s been thinking about this, about this experience with you for a while now. Any time you feel Abby start to lose confidence in what she’s saying, in how she’s describing her own feelings and experiences you make sure she’s reassured. Kisses to the forehead, soothing touches against her arm as she speaks — not once speaking, letting Abby say everything she needs to. The only thing you do ask is clarification on if Abby is ready tonight or if she wants to wait, she tries to answer with a hungry kiss but, as much as it feels like it pains you to pull her away, you need to hear it.  “Words, Abigail. You’ve gotta tell me”

“Tonight” Her voice is rough, the words almost coming out like a growl. “I want you tonight”

Abby’s first time with a girl is slow, gentle and easy in a way that eases any residual nerves she has. Of course, she wants to be good — she wants to finish at the end of the night with you praising her as a god, surprise at her performance but she knows the likeliness of this is not in her favor. There’s no rush to jump into anything, languid kisses turn deeper, heavier as the two of you acclimate to it. 

What Abby struggles with in inexperience, she makes up for with enthusiasm. Needy, mewling noises rumbling from her as she tries desperately to get closer to you, peel your clothes off faster, her own clothes off faster — she wants to touch you, taste you, getting so overwhelmed at everything she wants in that moment that all she can do is clench her thighs to try and alleviate the ache from her throbbing clit. 

She doesn’t quite ask, it’s more like she begs to eat your pussy with big, wide and desperate eyes. She doesn’t make any moves to do it, not without your explicit consent, but somehow in your intense makeout she’d already ended up with your legs either side of her. You’re not cruel, you wouldn’t tell her no when her eyes look almost glassy with desperation. She wastes no time after you tell her yes, almost tearing your underwear as she helps (read: yanks) them past your legs and throws them without a care across the room. She forgoes foreplay, a noise of surprise yelping from your lips as Abby spreads you wide, the flat of her tongue licking a greedy stripe from hole to clit, before her tongue laves at your sensitive bud and her mouth closes over, sucking at you sharply. “Oh! Oh! Straight for it then, huh, oh-okay” 

Abby’s not the best, she’s never eaten a girl out before but god, does she put her back into it. She listens for your reactions to try and get an idea on what you like, catalogues what has your thighs falling lax slightly against her with soft, pleasurable sighs and what seems to send shockwaves through your system, thighs clenching and hands in her hair gripping. Her chin is soaked, half her own drool but mainly the arousal dripping from your pretty pussy. Her own pussy is soaked, grinding against her hand but she thinks (embarrassingly) she might be able to cum from the taste of you on her tongue.

She swears she almost sees heaven when she eases two fingers inside of you easily, the velvety tight grip of your pussy turning her on even more. She’s touched herself before, she’s only even cum from touching herself, but this? God, you feel nothing like it feels when she’s inside herself. She listens to you beg and guide her, asking her to please touch you or put her mouth on your clit as your hips roll, guiding Abby’s thick digits inside of you to fuck you. Then as your pleasure builds, asking with a breathy tone still if you can grind against her mouth — Abby’s all to eager, head nodding furiously as she tries not to moan against your pussy. And when you cum, when she finally helps send you over the edge, she thinks for a fleeting moment with how tight you get that you might break her fingers, looking up at you through her lashes with only the slightest bit of alarm visible as she continues sucking and licking at your overworked bundle of nerves.

There’s a brief intermission, aftercare where you both down as much water as you can and just hold each other. Abby doesn’t ask for it, but you can feel the tension rolling off her in waves as you praise her, telling her how good she made you feel, how well she listened as you told her what you liked and how some of her own initiative had your pussy drooling. Aftercare wasn’t something Abby’s had before, so she’s a little surprised when you ask her her jaw is and how she’s feeling, checking if you were too rough at times — it makes her feel seen, cared for when you check in on her.

Abby doesn’t expect reciprocation, but when you ask if you can help her feel good she can’t help but feel a mix of relief and desire. Her underwear is soaked, an unmistakable mess that has a pretty blush tinging her face and spreading down to her chest as you comment on it. It’s not a mean taunting but a gentle teasing, followed by an “All this for me, Abs?”

Her clit is hard, throbbing from lack of attention as you take in her messy cunt. Abby whines above you as you settle between her thighs, your teasing kisses across her chest leading downwards has her biting her fist and throwing her head back as you get close to where she wants, no— at this point— needs you. She whines even more, petulantly, when you avoid her pussy all-together and move to pressing gentle kisses on the inside of her thighs; working your way up on one side slowly before moving to the other thigh. She’s not quite begging but the noises she makes and how ruined her cunt seems to be from earlier has you bringing her sweet relief.

She almost keens off the bed, your hands coming either side of her muscled thighs to hold them in place as she moans loudly, unabashedly at the featherlight feeling of your tongue against her. She’s louder as you get to work on her, easing one finger inside of her first as you practically make out with her swollen clit. 

It’s almost unnerving how little Abby had felt she’d known about how sex worked, how to initiate it and if she enjoyed it to begin with before, because now? It almost sends her into a state of shock how quickly you bring her to orgasm, how you work her over until your mouth is covered in her cum, tongue lazily lapping at her cunt to soothe her engorged clit until she’s lifting you up from overstimulation. 

the fire placed glowed in front of you, its crackling making for a gentle song in your quiet home. dim stars littered the sky as a shade of blue and gray washed over the horizon. it was beautiful, private; just you and abby finding your own rhythm amongst the chaos of the world.

she sat on the worn rug in front of you, sitting criss cross whilst she sipped on her mug of tea. you were behind her, sinking into the couch as your fingers ran rampantly through her golden locks. each wave catching slightly as you massaged her scalp. now and then, she'd let out a sigh of contentment, shoulders loosening with each stroke of your hand.

abby's hair was something sacred. representing her independence and hardships, her own journey of navigating through a vale of tears. when you had first started dating, it was very rare that you touched her locks. opting to let her open that part of her life when she was ready. however, as your relationship began to blossom over the years, she found much comfort in letting you enter that part of her life.

and now here you were, spending the evening reveling in each other's presence, plaiting her hair in the way she had always loved. it made you smile as you looked down at her. noticing the way her eyes would flutter shut as you twisted one strand over another. it made your heart swell to know that she trusted you like this.

"that feels nice" she whispered leaning against the sofa cushions.

"yeah?" you smiled, reaching the end of the braid.

she nodded slightly as to not ruin her hair, and you could tell she was smiling too. not long after, just as the tea ran cold and the sky grew darker, you had finished the lacing of her hair and tied it with a pretty pink bow. she was never one to accessorize, though you felt she deserved to be treated like a princess no matter how silly the occasion might have seemed.

you leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head, a way of letting her know you were finished with her hair. abby felt warm against your lips, the scent of pine and vanilla overcoming your senses as you drew nearer. her head tilted to the side to look up at you, arm reaching to catch your chin before you could move away.

suddenly, her lips were on yours, molding together like the foam of the sea melting into the waves. it was tender and sweet and full of love, both of you sighing into the embrace. her eyes gazed at you once you pulled away, the shades of blue reminding you of the forget me nots in the front yard. the memory of you planting them together when you first moved in washed over you.

"you okay?" she asked, realizing you were staring at her blankly.