older gf!abby who treats your comfort with near-religious seriousness. Blankets tucked around your shoulders. A hand resting against your knee during stressful situations. Her fingers brushing through your hair while you're half asleep.
older gf!abby who always seems to find an excuse to tilt your chin upward when you're speaking. Not because she can't hear you. Because she likes looking at you. Because she likes the fleeting, breathless pause that follows when her thumb brushes your jaw and her attention narrows entirely onto you.
older gf!abby who finds a peculiar sort of joy in indulging you. Not because she thinks you're incapable. Because she likes it. Likes carrying the heavy bags. Likes opening stubborn jars. Likes hearing you call her name from another room whenever you need help reaching something.
older gf!abby who loves how naturally you fit against her. Curled into her side during movies. Half asleep against her chest on long car rides. Tangled around her in the middle of the night. Sometimes she catches herself looking down at you and experiences a strange, honey-thick swell of affection that nearly hurts.
older gf!abby who secretly adores when you seek her out after a bad day. There is something almost embarrassingly primal about the satisfaction she derives from watching you cross an entire room just to bury your face in her shoulder.
older gf!abby who cannot seem to help herself when you're sleepy. The second your eyelids start drooping, she becomes unbearably persistent. A hand on your forehead. A hand at your waist. "C'mon, angel, bed." As if you're some rare and delicate creature liable to expire if left unattended for too long.
older gf!abby who refers to you as angel with such devastating sincerity that it doesn't even feel like a pet name anymore. More like a title. Something precious. Something she handles with reverent care.
older gf!abby whose apartment slowly becomes littered with evidence of you. Hair ties around doorknobs. Skin care products beside hers. Your favorite snacks appearing in cabinets you don't remember stocking. She never mentions it. She just likes the quiet domesticity of it.
older gf!abby who loves the fact that you still have softness in you. That despite everything, there are pieces of you untouched by cynicism. She guards those pieces with almost religious devotion.
older gf!abby who loves fixing things for you because she adores the look on your face afterward. That bright little smile. That obvious relief. She'd rebuild the entire world with her bare hands if it meant seeing it.
older gf!abby who likes tugging you onto her lap while she's kissing you. Large, rough hands roaming your curves possessively, mapping out every dip and swell. She squeezes the soft globes of your ass, kneading the supple flesh. "Gonna mark up this pretty body of yours... let everyone know who you belong to."
older gf!abby whose eyes glint with primal hunger as she drinks in the sight of you, begging her to pay attention to your tits - flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, chest heaving with each panting breath. She looks absolutely debauched and Abby has never wanted anything more. "Since you asked so nicely, baby..." In one swift motion, Abby yanks your shirt over your head and tosses it aside. Her calloused hands immediately go to your breasts, roughly palming the soft mounds. She tweaks and rolls your nipples between her fingers, relishing your cries of pleasure. "These tits were made for my hands, sweetheart. So perfect, so responsive..." she dips her head, capturing one rosy peak between her teeth.
