#cowboy abby anderson??

[elliesbff]

I feel like you’re the person for this job.

I feel like this fandom needs more cowboy Abby fluff. CAN A GIRL GET SOME PURE SOUTHERN COMFORT AROUND HERE??? Like we all know that woman would hold doors open and be such a good little provider yk??

i LOOOOOVEEEE this idea. i’ve seen multiple fan works of abby as like a cowboy, or like a farm worker and sometimes even in a red dead redemption au, and it’s been on my mind ever since.

enjoy these headcanons! (since my brain is fried and i can’t focus on anything) cw: slightly suggestive at some points!

cowboy abby anderson,

she’s such a gentle-woman for you. always opening doors while making a grand gesture with her arm; “after you,”

to add, although she knows you’re perfectly capable of these things yourself, she provides these acts of service anyways, just to show her love and devotion to you.

she’s so good with horses, and animals in general. you always stare in awe as she tends to them, cleaning, feeding and the likes.

on those scorching-ly hot summer afternoons, she’d wear tank tops that revealed that a little bit of her chest and her back. some would say she does it on purpose.

her with a southern accent…. somewhat similar to joel’s, the exaggerated pronunciations of the end of each word. she’d still have those commanding, almost always sarcastic undertones in her voice.

would definitely let you wear her large cowboy hat, and only you.

because of her muscular build, she can easily haul objects such as hay bales, game, and even a variety of animals around — including you, with little to no struggle. use that to your imagination.

she’s exceptionally good at horse-back riding and controlling her hips. it’s no different in the bedroom.

from the amount of heavy duty work she does; lassoing, hurling heavy loads around and such, her hands are ridden with callouses and scars. combine this with her unimaginable grip and strength, your skin is far from safe when it comes to slaps and spanks.

on the outside, she’s a tough, burly stud of a woman who’s strength is near unmatched. but when you dig a little deeper, she’s just a warm ball of energy, who turns to mush at the mere sound of an earnest compliment.

good behaviour is always handsomely rewarded.

her lasso skills come in handy behind closed doors.

she’s old fashioned when it comes to gracing you with affection; neck and hand kisses, inviting you to dance even in the midst of silence, breakfast in bed, and gifting you with flowers she found while hunting.

on the topic of hunting, she’s mighty good at it, and never fails to impress you with her bow and shotgun — watching her come back home with an abundance of loot always amazes you.

her skilful providing never goes unappreciated.

that’s all i can think of for now, sorry if it’s not that good💔💔 i’ll try to think of some more tomorrow!

[youhavenofaithinmedicine]

cowboy abby..... so girl husband

[eyesfullofsttars]

୨୧° 🐎 °୨୧

Ellie Williams was just another lone cowgirl, often lost in her afternoon painting sessions after mornings spent hunting and tending lovingly to her animals. Running a farm inherited from the noblest man she’d ever known wasn’t easy, not even for her. Most nights, she’d find herself curled up with her guitar beneath the pale sheets of a bed far too big for her slender, muscular frame, her black cat nestled on her chest, filling the space that only highlighted her solitude.

She was always in her worn-out jeans, dirt-scuffed brown boots, and that well-worn white tank top, revealing a glimpse of underarm hair that matched her unevenly trimmed, reddish-brown hair—cut by her own calloused hands. Her nails were always caked with dirt, and her freckled skin carried the warm blush of the sun. The tension in her defined muscles made the veins stand out.

(Though, she couldn’t help but have a soft spot for the tall, muscular blonde who made the most delicate flower arrangements for the town’s festivals.)

[abbyspup]

thinking about cowboy!abby sauntering over to you in the club, beer in hand, placing her hat on your head, “claiming” you as hers for the night. after what feels like hours of mindless flirting, you mention something about her horses. without a second thought abby leans in, her breath tickling your ear, as she whispers. “the horses are nice but.. i reckon there’s somethin’ else i’d like to try my hand at riding tonight..” leaning back with a shit eating grin as you stand there, dumbfounded. leading you through the sweaty bodies to her beat up pickup outside :p

[sleepytownzzz]

just like a toreador, i don’t just like, i adore yaaa (listened to a ton of toro by remi wolf while drawing this….no correlation…)

[roquiartwork]

save a horse ride a cowboy they say… 💞😵‍💫

(no color | color ver. )

western!abby AU 🌿

I’m planning some other works with my own TLOU OC…we’ll see if I post it, I don’t know if any of you would be interested in that!

for now here’s the hot babe 🧎🏻‍♀️

[gallonofgoldfish]

Whiskey and Winning

It's easy to get distracted at the rodeo. At least, it should be, under the lights and in the crowded stands, but you've only got one thing on your mind. Champion bronco rider Abby Anderson could say the same.

Pairing: cowpoke!abby x reader (sort of)

Content: established relationship, fluff, poor attempts at depicting the rodeo, reader is barely described, i swear im not slut shaming i just think the term buckle bunny is funny, i don't think any warnings apply

A/N: wrote this last night in a haze. i hardly know anything about tlou and rodeos actually make me really sad but yk. the parasites. might make another part to this at some point. didn't tell my friends i was posting this so if you guys see this hello i love you thank you for hyping me up <3. also friendly reminder fuck neil druckmann and do not give that zionist your money!!!

WC: 1080

The blare of the announcer’s voice from the overhead speakers is deafening, but you haven’t heard a word he’s said. The lights are blinding, but you won’t squint against their glare. The stadium is packed full—roaring with the drunken cheers of thousands of strangers, glittering with the flash of every camera and belt buckle and rhinestone-studded hat suffocating in the stands—but it may as well be empty save for the two of you.

The world is quiet. Eerily so, though maybe the ringing in your ears is playing a part in that. It’s narrow. It’s tinged by the black splotches at the edge of your vision and strained by the clench of your jaw.

The world is the cowpoke settling onto the bare back of the bronc in the chute only a few feet away from you. It’s the wide-brimmed ten-gallon pressed firmly down over the dirty blonde braid hanging between her shoulders. The collared white shirt stretching over her back, quilted with Marlboro patches and brand logos. The crimson bandana you’d had in your hair an hour earlier, resting around her neck.

The world is Abby Anderson, from the freckles strewn over her scarred, sunburned face to the cold focus in her steely blue eyes that evaporates when her gaze settles on you. Ice turns to the warmth of Jack Daniel’s, neat in its absence. To the gray of campfire smoke winding into the white-speckled sky, burning away the chill in the air. Warding off the spectators and the clamor and the awful, twisting feeling of waiting.

This is what it’s about, right?

The rush. The thrill.

The hitch in the air as her hand tightens on the rigging one last time. 

A grin splits her features.

She winks.

And then she’s gone. The gate swings open and the bucking mare takes off with her on its back and the world bursts back into a mess of color and noise. Eight seconds.

You’re yelling—you’re not sure what you’re yelling, but it’s loud enough to leave your throat raw and earn some sideways looks from the flock of buckle bunnies pressed up against the railing alongside you. 

Seven.

Part of Pour Some Sugar on Me blasts from the staticky speakers, and Abby appears on the jumbotrons in perfect detail. 

Six.

The bay mare thrashes into the air, but Abby’s faster, stronger, the muscles in her arms pushing against the seams of her shirt as she holds her free hand held up in the air. 

Five.

The snarling wolves engraved on her belt buckle flash under the lights. 

Four.

Every kick whips the fringe along the edges of her shotgun chaps, but the timer ticks down anyway. 

Three.

She holds on, anyway.

A closer shot brings her face into focus: grit teeth, a furrowed brow, a muscle ticking along the edge of her jaw. 

Two.

Sweat runs down the side of her features and into the scar on her cheek beneath the shadow of her hat’s brim. 

She’s in the middle of the arena now, gritty sand flying up around her. 

One?

If you could tear your eyes off of her, you’d check the time to make sure you’re counting right.

The music stops. An airhorn sounds. She’s still the rider—some distant, mythical thing up on a screen and down in the dirt.

Abby’s mouth opens in a shout when the second set of floodlights kick in, raising her head only to lock eyes with the pair of wranglers who burst out of the chutes after her to rope the bronc back in. She rocks forward with the mare’s motion one more time before swinging herself off its back and bailing into the sand. 

You finally get a breath out, resting your head against your forearm on the railing and heaving a sigh.

The announcer’s words retreat to the back of your thoughts again, but not before you catch her score. 95.

Ninety–fucking–five. The day’s record.

Just as the stadium begins to die down, the strangers beside you erupt into another round of cheers. Abby’s on her feet again, dusting herself off and sweeping her hat off of her head to shake out the loose strands of hair framing her face. And she’s walking. Jogging. Full-on running, back towards the chutes.

Or maybe not. 

She vaults the rickety fencing at the edge of the ring like she’s been practicing and hauls herself up into the stands. You can’t bite back your smile at the sight of her, shoulders heaving, beaming, alive. The crooks of her boots expertly find the backs of the plastic stadium seats between spectators’ shoulders. As she makes her way over, the strangers along the railing surge towards her, arms outstretched over the section’s edge. 

Abby doesn’t even see them; her stare never leaves yours except to glance at the railing before stepping up on the platform and hooking an arm through the top metal rung. 

She’s real again then—the world in flannel and denim and muddy boots, inches away.

Abby. Your Abby.

You’re breathing it in. Smoke from the night before. Pine and sweat.

Then, you’re tasting it. Whiskey and winning.

Her hat settles atop your head. Calloused, resin-stuck fingers thread through your hair at the back of your neck and reel you in. Your lips are on hers—or maybe it’s the other way around—and you laugh against each other.

Heat creeps into your cheeks long before you pull away.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” you scold, but your smile chases off any thread of sternness your voice might’ve held.

“Agree to disagree.” She wipes her forehead on her sleeve and huffs, one brow arched. The rosy blush in her features lingers even when the sweat is gone. 

The screens over her shoulder change to show two familiar shapes. 

“We’re on the jumbotron,” you say. 

Abby doesn’t bother looking back. Just laughs “Good,” then kisses you again. This one is quicker, lighter, but your stomach flutters all the same.

“Go.” You squeeze her arm. “I’m sure you’re gettin’ somethin’ good for a ride like that.”

She scoffs. “I do this for no damn awards,” she drawls.

“Can’t all be adrenaline,” you murmur, tugging at her bandana.

That sly, smoky look creeps across her features again as the hat lifts from your head and sinks back down onto hers.. The corner of her mouth tugs upward. Her eyes dart over your face. Stepping down, she leaves you two more words and a pounding in your chest:

“It ain’t.”

[catfern]

she will destroy you.

pairing: abby anderson x afab!reader

music: crack baby or bag of bones ( or anything from puberty 2 ) - mitski

word count: 3.3k (i'm exhausted)

summary: rumours are swirling, fighting their way through your front door. you hope to keep your work and private life separate, but your proximity with your boss threatens to catch up with you.

warnings: mean!toxic!abby, cheating, porn with a LOT of plot, swearing, tipsy sex, fingering, oral (r!receiving), zero ( i mean ZERO ) aftercare, angst-ish

an: a quick intermission from cowboy!ellie because LORD. i read one page from one book abt a butch teacher yearning for the headmaster's wife and suddenly I NEED AFFAIRS!! I NEED YEARNING!! I NEED SECRECY!! and who better to do that with than a rlly mean ceo!abby who has a PhD in fucking bitches.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Shit.”

A line of scarlet trickles onto the warm printer paper and settles. You drop your paperwork on an unknown desk and suck your finger, hissing through your teeth at the sting. Your phone buzzes impatiently in the back pocket of your work pants, and you fumble with your non-bleeding fingers to pull it out.

we’ll talk abt this when u get home

see u after ur party i guess

A shit fucking day.

You hall back to your desk, defeat slumping heavy on your shoulders. The Office makes an effort not to stare as you walk by, low whispers hot on your feet like coals in a firewalk. You pretend very poorly not to see the half-lidded, secretive looks shared between your old work friends by the water cooler. Water off a duck’s back, your mom used to say in a nonchalant way when you cried to her about mean girls at school. Not that you ever really knew what that meant.

You were never really thankful to be shut off from the rest of the cubicles, until now. A fortress of frosted glass and a heavy door, your desk was the secluded gateway to a place dreaded. Just you and The Boss, which you guess didn’t help the flying tongues of the old, bored fucks in accounting, but it kept people away. Away from you, with their knowing looks and unknowing laughs.

You huff, settling into your uncomfortable desk chair and digging out a small first aid kit your dad bought you when you first started. Pulling the seal off the small tin, you eye its contents. Disinfectant, thermometer, some loose aspirin and bandaids. You whine lightly as you wrap one tightly around your ring finger, feeling it throb and pulse, like a complaint. Get over yourself, you tell your body.

A sharp - ahem - breaks through your mumbling silence. She’s never sick, she never coughs. It’s a bodiless beckoning, a call into the wild, it’s the wordless agreement you have with her. You pick up your notebook, and the nearest working pen, and shuffle quickly through the open door into her office.

The opaque shades are drawn, the natural light greying and dying on the dark, decaying herringbone floor. 

Abby is bathed in the orange light of her desk lamp. With impeccable, almost effortless posture, she’s resting her forearms on her desk, one hand scratching notes into her diary, the other distractedly tapping on the leather top. You follow the shadows that the folds in her dress shirt create, your eyes falling on the contour of her body. 

You know she frequents a few gyms. You’re the one who schedules late night international calls around her evening runs, and her weights sessions, and her triweekly spin class. But now, the results of her efforts are on display, tightly wrapped in expensive cotton, perfectly tailored, down to the very last stitch, to her existence. You swallow an uncomfortable feeling when she deigns to meet your eye.

She looks you over in the way she always does, an uncaring, but judgemental once-over, like an army sergeant inspecting a uniform. she hones in on the bandaid,

“Workplace injury?”

Her voice has the warmth of a dying cigarette, rolling like well-spoken honey off her lips. You almost feel ashamed, your finger so offensive to her you could chop it off. You almost feel like you wouldn’t even mind. You start picking at the ends of the bandaid with your thumb.

“Paper cut.” Your voice is always so out of place here. An echo of something that does not belong. She nods her head, ever so slightly, as if she understood.

“Don’t think you can go claiming compensation for that.” It’s a joke you’re not allowed to laugh at. You smile lightly instead. It’s short-lived, “I need you to correct some seating arrangements for tonight.”

Yes, of course. No problem. In wordless agreement, Abby starts listing off adjustments, complaints and warnings from guests about not being seated next to their five ex-husbands, or their whining step-children, or ex-business partners fallen from grace. your pen fingers begin to ache as the whole process draws out.

“And I’m going to need you seated at my table, to keep track of my evening itinerary.”

Uncertainty quickly sows its seeds in your stomach. The unopened messages from your girlfriend burn their way through pocket, searing at your legs like a brand on cattle. Everyone knows, everyone will know. Every detail of your life will be laid bare, and you’ll be tried publicly and without mercy. Your bandaid begins to unravel as you rub anxiously at the glue underneath.

You need to do something, something to get things back under control.

“Actually,” You start, unsure. Abby meets your eye quickly, without hesitation, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” It’s quick, and condescending. Undercutting any sudden courage you may have had, she meets your eye and stares you down, pinning you under ice, almost imploring you to feel terrified. And then she looks away, busy packing away the seating chart, and you wonder if she even looked at you at all.

She stands, and you try to meet her, your hands clutching your notebook.

“Your attendance tonight is mandatory.” She says it slowly, harshly, like it’s hard for you to understand. Her eyes chase quickly over your outfit, “It’s a black tie event.”

You’re left alone in a dark office, hyperventilating.

The apartment is empty and cold when you arrive home. 7 unanswered texts to your girlfriend tell you she doesn’t want you near her, but she isn’t packed. You expect her to come home, hopefully in the hour you have before you have to go again, and you contemplate just blowing the gala off to wait.

Abby’s voice is sharp in your head, a familiar dedication wringing your body. You can’t leave her. She needs you there.

You put off the conversation with your girlfriend into the furthest parts of your mind, allowing yourself to be swallowed in the minor decisions of clothes and hair and accessories. It’s not until you’re throwing your shoes on, and three times you think you hear her keys in the door, that you give up.

The phone rings 5 times before going to voicemail.

Hey. Listen. I know we said we weren’t going to talk until we were face to face but..

Whatever Maria told you wasn’t true, okay? I promise-I fucking promise you, nothings happened. Baby, okay? People are fucking bored, and I love you, so so much. I’ve gotta go to this one thing tonight - i tried to get out of it i swear -, and i’ll come home and we can talk, and we can fix this. Okay? Jus-Just, gimme some time to explain. Okay. I love you. Bye.

Echoes of quiet chatter uncomfortably ebb and flow off the walls of the ballroom. Too many people. Shoes scuff the cheap marble as the rich make their rounds, with light touches and reused laughter. They all hate each other.

Abby is a familiar sight. Wearing the same thing she has all day, she looks staggering. Hands just breaching her suit pockets, comfortably falling at her side, her hair in a calculated braid, designed to make her look approachable. 

 The air here agrees with her, her smile wide and effortless. You know she’s come straight from a meeting, and you suppose that adds to her charm. The Working Woman, a success story. Her rich friends, who spend their inheritances on shares and indoor tennis courts, lap it up. She’s a foreign object, something unfamiliar and wild.

You don’t interrupt, skimming the sidelines to get to your table. You can feel her glance, without substance, before returning to her conversation. Your event planner ( a shitty flip notebook that fits in every small clutch you own ) sits on the tablecloth at your seat, and you wait. Eyeing the glasses at the placemats next you, you can tell a few drinks has been shared, raking your eyes over Abby’s looser disposition.

She’s happy, and charming. She’s been drinking bourbon. Mint, with ice and syrup, the way you serve it to her in her office, when the occasion calls for celebration. 

Her conversation finishes, her soft hands bidding gentle, kind goodbyes to the couple as they move on. She’s a friend to the people that matter.

“I expected you here before me.”

She doesn’t bother to look at you as she sits, instead fixing her napkin to her lap. You watch as the veins in her neck rise and fall as she talks, “Doesn’t matter now. Run me through everything.”

Right, fuck. You open your notebook and run your fingers over the scratchy writing. Your days leading up to this were spent copying details from obscure emails, tidbits you thought Abby needed to remember. Late nights at the office, life abandoned, deciphering biographies and 2 hour youtube deep dives. You can watch yourself fall asleep from the future, your handwriting slipping, long and longer strokes, spelling dissolving, long words abandoned. your pen fell to the floor, and you slept at your desk. Twenty missed calls. You argued when you came home in the morning.

“The Ambassador is arriving around 8:00pm with his new wife, also named Rebecca. Oh, Old Rebecca emailed asking why she didn’t receive an invitation.”

She’s slowly sipping at another whiskey, a different cocktail she ordered just as you’d arrived. The orange peel brushes her nose as she tilts the glass, her jaw tightens as she swallows, “Tell her the venue was at capacity. Send some flowers.”

It continues like this for a bit. Quiet and attentive, she listens to what you have to say, as her eyes follow the crowd. You too, spy people that you know, a few slimy execs that share a whisper and a boisterous laugh as they look your way. You order gin.

Soon enough, Abby checks her watch. An inexpensive, vintage piece of leather and quartz. She excuses herself with a measure of politeness. It’s time for an hour of speeches that don’t matter, before you’re finally allowed to eat. You sigh.

A quiet buzz rips through the growing silence. You open your clutch and hide your phone under the silk tablecloth, away from the disapproving elderly eyes.

i told u to leave me alone

jesus christ

A pit in your stomach. Dark, pressing, ever present. Your saliva is heavy in your mouth, and you feel like shrinking away. Luckily, the waiter isn’t far. Drinks are discounted for the company staff.

Finally, speeches finish. Abby looked nice on the stage, effervescent under the lights. Her hair catches warm light nicely in the strands.

The food comes, but people disregard it for shallow conversations. Plates are taken away full, apart from slim, polite pickings. Your table orders more drinks, and syrupy laughter echoes as anecdotes about private schools and hedge funds are shared. You don’t belong here. Your body becomes unsteady, restless. Your legs shaking, a hand finds you thigh in the veiled secrecy of the table cloth.

Abby’s not looking at you, too engaged in tipsy conversation to draw attention. A nice gesture, but it’s not. It’s wordless agreement. Her thumb traces the outside of your thigh mindlessly, her jaw clenching as she feels your gaze.

You hesitate.

What else did you have to do? Apart from go home and wait for an argument.

You let her touch you a little longer, soft, ghostly. It’s kind, unmistakably. You let yourself revel in it, in her uncommon affection, before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

Abby follows not long after. She’s confident, her position charismatic, not unlike the other times she finds a drink, and then goes to find you. She doesn’t stop, so sure that you’ll follow her trail as you’ve done so often before. But you hesitate, again.

She turns back to you, a look on her face that’s hard to decipher. You stumble in your reasoning.

“It’s just-, my girlfrien-“

“Are you coming? Or not?”

Your palms itch, you swallow.

What kind of sick sacrifice. Unfair to have both, some would say, but some don’t know you. How wicked it is to taste both fruit and have to choose the sweeter. Fuck. The drinks settle in your stomach.

Your girlfriend wasn’t coming home tonight anyway, not really.

She’s leading you up the stairs, hands flush to her body. You grip the cold handrail to hold you steady. She’s already steps ahead, the appropriate distance. 

A quiet corner doesn’t need to be found. She’s been here before. You’ve been here before. The holy emptiness of the second floor is an accustomed comfort.

She’s quick and calculated, despite the mix of drinks on her breath. One hand pushing you to the wall, the other finding the zipper for your dress. It falls off you like it never belonged to you, kicked away and piled into a corner, forgotten.

Gripping you like you’d run away, she palms your tits and presses crescent moons into your hips. She holds her head away from you, watching you down her nose as you squirm. Abby has always remained detached, carefully groomed a distance between you that now feels too sacred to break. You long to feel her kiss you, to feel her intimately, to run your hands along her arms and feel every curve, every outline. You’ve needed to touch her since the moment you met her. Craved it.

Abby is disrespectful, impatient. She cups your pussy, still hidden in slick panties, letting the rough ball of her palm grind against your clit. It sets you on fire, and she chases it with a hand on your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Get rid of them.”

You strip fast, in a very unflattering way, you’re certain, and throw your underwear close to the ghost of your dress. She moves against you again, her hand softer as it wraps around your lips and cheeks. You look at her, hoping to see that softness echoed on her face, but her eyes are elsewhere, too focused on the movement your tits make as she holds you against the wall. 

Painstakingly, her fingers slide inside you, her hand pressing down on your mouth as you moan around the feeling of her, the intoxication. Your hands lock and unlock, your nails digging at scratching at the wood boards on the wall as you try to balance yourself.

Merciless. She rocks into you, letting you fall into step with her, find her pace, a relentless one. You feel her melting into your core, her fingers curling and stretching your walls as she pounds into you, again, again, again. You sound pathetic, behind the mask of her hand, whining as she leaves, and nearly screaming when she returns.

Abby watches as your face contorts around her fingers, feels you wrap around her. If she feels even a fraction of what she gives you, you wouldn't know. Her eyes remain unkind, left at a distance, but her breathing is staggered. short, laboured. she looks over you, you feel it, feel as her eyelashes rise as she rakes over your body.

You need it to be desire in her eyes. You need her to starve. To crave, like you do. Desperation.

Her hand moves from your mouth, your whimpering breath filling the room fast, the quiet broken. Her pace slows, and you almost rest on her fingers, left to wonder what she’s playing at. Instead, it comes down on your shoulder, still warm and wet with your breath, and she pushes you down onto her fingers, deep, deep. you feel her at the very centre of yourself, your eyes wide as the pressure builds inside you, her fingernails leaving a trail, evidence of her in your walls. She lets your ragged moans echo, hurt and pleasure. It’s an unkind end to things.

You don’t want to let it to end. You can’t.

The distance is broken. You reach out and grasp flesh, firm under your nails. You’re still riding the ecstasy pulse, the heat in your pussy, and Abby lets you stay, holding onto her as if you would fade otherwise. Your cheeks are almost touching, her breath hot on your ear, you hear her for the first time, raspy groans as you squeeze around her. She’s been holding back.

Damn it all.

“Everybody knows. Please. Please, fuck me like you know you should.”

You meet her gaze. Everything is foreign now. Her skin feels different to how you had imagined it. Softer. Her eyes are more uncertain, more than you’d ever seen before. Hesitance.

“Fuck it.”

Whiskey, and a sip of your gin, and tobacco. You didn’t even know she smoked, but you taste it on her like its the only thing she ever did. The smell of pine came in a wave as she moved, hooking her hands under your legs and hoisting you up. For months, you’ve yearned for her to kiss you, begged for it even. And now, her lips are rough, and bloody, and everywhere. Ghosts tracing your neck, unkind, stinging, exhilarating. 

She moves you to the floor without fuss, holding herself over you, your legs spread around her. She’s smiling, and you become so sure that there’s something not quite right with this side of Abby. You’re quickly aware that you’ve landed in hostile territory, vulnerable, needy.

She usually didn’t like it when you begged.

Her tongue is like the rapture on your clit, spitting fire through your veins, in your nerves. You feel it creep up in your body, twisting and tightening through you like something invasive, moans and prayers dripping from your lips that only push her. her name a curse, fallen on your body. You feel her laugh against your slick walls and it jolts you.

Abby, suddenly so aware of you, so kind, so attentive, shifts her posture, “Oh, you’re so needy.” A hand grabs your face, pulling it up from the floor in a dead lull. Her name rolls off your pretty lips once more, “What? You beg for me, and now you can’t take me?” Her tone is mocking, “Which is it? Hm?”

A cacophony. You, you, you. Your head foggy, unsure of what she wants to hear, you beg for again, telling her you can it take it. I can, please, abby.

Her laugh is cruel, mocking as her mouth finds you again, sending cold vibrations up your legs. Slut echoes against your clit.

Inside of you, she feels like a god. Her fingers stretching your walls, pressing deep against your centre at an excruciating pace, and her tongue lazily laps up all that you give her. 

“Fuck! Fu-uck, fuck!”

It’s clear to Abby that the caution she so carefully designed was useless now. People knew, and fuck it if they knew. Fuck it if they heard you dripping on her fingers, calling out her name. Fuck it if they stop the music, and turn to listen - fucking perverts - because it’s her. And you’re the one begging for her.

Stars creep in through the haze in your vision, and Abby’s trying to ask you something harsh, but you don’t hear it. You’re tethered to the feeling of her fingers, your whole body knotting around her like a planet in orbit of the sun. 

You’d burn if she wanted you to, happily.

You’re so fucking tight around her fingers, your legs shaking and a vicious call ripping through your body. Her Name.

The warmth from your body is too much, and the cool of the floor is lulling, soothing, as you collapse. Abby’s fingers leave you empty, incomplete. You whine as she leaves you, your walls tightening around the absence of her. She wipes your cotton slick on your leg.

She stands, and rolls her shoulders. Fixes the few hairs that fall out of place. Guiltless.

“Get dressed, before someone sees you.”

[fandomphantomfreak]

may be stretching a bit but. truly the trope of all time.

[dnvrsmedia]

The Farmer, The Wrangler, & The Cowboy - TLOU II AU

Part Two - One Step

18+ series

Summary: You're the new farmer in town with a big heart and an even bigger love for two women. What happens when these two women apparently hate each other? Part 2 follows the events of the Spring Fling.

Part One I Series Masterlist

You were absolutely elated on your way back home from the farm. You lived down the street from the town’s square, where the Spring Fling will take place. You had moved out from your mother’s house a little over a year ago, packing your things and heading to the familiar town of Jackson, Wyoming. Your Grandfather used to live in Jackson, so life up here wasn’t all that unfamiliar. You and your mother would make the 30 minute commute every weekend to visit him and the countryside. Through him you were able to learn all the farming tricks you know,him being the reason why you fell in love with the earth and animals in the first place.

Life back at home was fine, yet you couldn’t help but have a thirst for more. You always knew you wanted to be a farmer, but that wasn’t possible for you to do back home in the city. You felt stuck in your daydreaming for something different, so, you decided to make the short move into the town that you practically grew up in. Now here you are, having a fulfilling and successful farming life. Although, your social life is definitely the part where saidsuccess was running dry. The only people you talk to are Abby, Ellie, and your boss, Joel. A sweet old man that was nice enough to give you work. He said that your grandfather taught him a lot, so he knew you must be just as good as he was. Minus the farm animals, you only ever talk to three people. You couldn’t help this though,you were a very shy kid growing up. Never having as many friends as the other kids , always feeling left out,like an outsider. That was before you found yourself enjoying the connection with animals and crop growing,farming is your peace that you are grateful for.

Having been surrounded in a community that appreciates all the hard work you do, you’ve felt yourself begin to branch out a bit more. That is exactly how you met your best friend, Abigail Anderson. Although you were very attracted and afraid of her simultaneously at first glance, you have grown to love her for her hard exterior and gooey insides. Having her agree to go to the dance was a whole other mission in itself. It took a lot of promises of sleepovers, doing her chores, and lots of making her food for her to agree. And who could blame you? You wanted to see your hot best friend dressed up with a drink or two in her system. Abby got protective and handsy when tipsy and boy did you look forward to tonight.

After a few errands, you anxiously decided to get dressed for tonight. You wanted to look good for your girls, for your friends. With a huff of air, you start the tap in your shower to wash off the grime and muck of the day. The spring sun has left you kisses of a tan on your body. You smile at yourself, loving the way the tan made you look. Your wandering mind made you begin thinking about how the sun brings out the extra freckles on Ellie and Abby. This made your mind wander a bit more… You found yourselfdeep into your psyche, something you did in the depths of the night, alone in your bed. Obscenity carrying your thoughts about both girls, how you wondered just how far down their bodies the speckles of darker skin spread. Fantasies about having the both of them fill your mind as your hand slightly wanders south. A shaky breath escapes your mouth as the gentle feeling of the tip of your fingers trailing down your chest, down your stomach, and stopping just above your core. Just as you were about to dip into your fantasies, you heard a loud knock on the bathroom door;Abby. You forgot that you invited her over to head over to the dance together. You curse your past self for giving her a spare key.

“Darlin, you okay in there? Ya’ know we gotta leave soon, right?” You could basically hear the smirk in Abby’s voice,almost as if she knew what she was interrupting in here. Your eyes shoot wide open at the thought. There's no way that she saw me..right? You shake your head at the stupid thought and finish rinsing your body.

“Mhm! M’ all good Abs!” You answer back in a huff, distracted by your pulsing core. You turn the water cold in hopes of clearing yourself of your dirty thoughts about your best friend next door.

You rush to get ready since you definitely spent way too long in the shower. Abby asked what you were doing in a joking manner. It took everything within you to keep a somewhat decent poker face. You didn’t trust your voice one bit, so you did the next best thing, you flipped her off.

“Watch the attitude, princess!” she shouted from your living room.

You were dressed in your best black chinos and a simple black t-shirt. Your favorite bandana was tied on your head, pulling your hair up and out of your face. You slip on your trusty brown blundstones boots and make your way out to the living room. You almost drool at the current view in front of you. Abby sat there with her legs wide on your galaxy blue couch, Her muscular thigh in her tight chinos chiseled and contoured her legs. Your eyes trailed up to her torso; her strong hands lay on her stomach, fingers slowly massaging her stomach in no specific pattern. Her beautiful blue eyes were trained on the TV in front of her,other hand raked through her loose locks. Fuck, you love her with her hair down. Her cream colored hat sat next to her on the couch. She looked like she was out of a movie scene,the way the setting sunlight glistened and illuminated her body had you struggling to breathe. You suddenly felt anxious about tonight. You weren’t stupid, the women in Jackson had eyes. Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one to notice Abby’s beauty. You wanted her in ways you wouldn’t form in your mind,yet still, you couldn’t make a move. You inhaled once more and made your way to your best friend.

“Sorry I took so long, I got distracted.” You anxiously fiddled with your fingers. Abby looks at you with a hard to read face,you never know what is going on in that brain of hers. She clears her throat after a few beats of taking you in and rises from the couch letting out a low whistle. The blonde walks over to you and fixes the sleeve on your shirt.

“You look perfect, sweetheart.” Her low drawl seeps out her mouth and into your ears. You immediately turn your head away from her eyes, feeling shy in front of her. Abby tsks and gently grabs your chin to look up at her.

“C’mon, none of that. You look beautiful. Now, take the compliment n’ say thank you.” Abby raises her eyebrow. Your breath gets heavy at how close you two are. The 6’2 goddess towering above you as you crane your neck to look into her eyes.

You bite your lip and flush. “M’ sorry, thank you,Abby.”

Abby nods her head in acceptance and leaves a pec on your cheek. She grabs her hat off the couch and leads you towards your front door. She doesn’t even have to ask for you to follow her, she knows that you’ll be there.

The casual dominance that Abby exudes leaves you feeling dizzy. She is a woman who demands respect from anyone and everyone. She didn’t get so far in her field to be thought of as a pushover. Unlike you, Abby always demanded the space she was in. It was the little things that she did that made your heart absolutely flutter;holding the door open for you, walking on the side of the walkway that is closest to the road, having a possessive placement of her hand on the base of your hip, and so much more. It was also the little things that confused you.

Abby was much harder to read than the auburn girl who runs parallel in your mind. You can always tell when Ellie was being flirtatious. Ellie Williams was a ladies girl, her whole entire being is one big ball of flirt. At least with her, you know that she is trying to get you under her. On the other hand, Abby is quite the opposite. Abby is the definition of never kiss and tell,she is too focused on her reputation and goals that she never bats an eye at the women fawning over her. You could only hope that she sees you differently than them.

“What’s gotten you suck in that head of yours?” Abby speaks up from beside you; the two of you on your way to town square. Her hand lay gently in your back pocket, a new thing she has seemingly picked up on.

You shake your head with a smile and look back up to the blonde.

“‘S nothin’ you gotta be worried about, Abs.” You give her a smile. Abby returns a smirk, yet you know she doesn’t believe you.

“Ya’ know, I thought you’d be more excited. Ya’ somehow got me n’ Williams to agree to be in the same place.” She huffs, trying to cheer you up from whatever has gotten you in your head.This seems to do the trick because you are immediately back to your wide smiles and doe eyes.

“Oh my goodness! Almost forgot!” You giggle and nudge Abby. A genuine grin adorns her face as she sees your smile. The lengths she’d go to make you laugh. ‘As long as they’re happy’ is what Abby tells herself.

“Ya mean I could’ve turned around?” She pouts like a kicked puppy. You smack her giant bicep with a frown.

“Hush! Now c’mon! We’re here!” You pull at the hand in your backpocket until she places her big hand in yours. You are practically barrling in the doors, dragging Abby behind you in amusement.

The once dingy church was converted to a beautiful meeting center for the townspeople. Events such as weddings, birthday parties, and community dances now take place. Glowing fairy lights arch their way across the ceiling, illuminating the faces of individuals from different corners of town. Abby slows you down with a gentle tug as she prevents you from colliding with a townsperson,you don’t even notice with your head in the clouds.

“C’mon darl’, lets go grab a drink.”

Abby firmly presses her hand on the small of your back as she escorts the both of you to the bar. Suddenly, a low whistle is heard from beside Abby as the two of you wait for the bartender to serve you. Lo and behold, Ellie Williams appears into your line of vision. A gracious smile appears on her face as she sees how excited you are. Ellie makes deep eye contact with Abby, silently exchanging words with each other before turning her attention back to you.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Ellie’s eyes trail from your tight-dress pant clad legs up to your perfect smile. Abby notices and grips your hip a bit harder. Ellie rolls her eyes at the blonde’s protectiveness, something she knows all too well.

“Howdy, Anderson.” Ellie tilts her hat in greeting. Her eyes linger on the blonde, taking in her stature. Unlike you and the other girls, Abby’s eye contact remains. Her face level, hard to decipher. You can’t tell if you are gonna need to break up a fight, but either way you have decided you need a drink. Abby nods back at Ellie with an unreadable smirk and Ellie…blushes? You can’t tell if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but you don’t get to read into it much when the bartender finally comes to take your order.

You grab a beer as Ellie and Abby grab a whiskey neat. You giggled when they both cut each other off when telling the bartender what they wanted. You have always said that if the two of them got off their high horses, they’d be the best of friends.

Small talk is traded between the two as you try and delve in conversations with the both of them. Abby and Ellie, too proud to do much more with each other, lead them to fight for your attention. Everytime one had your attention, the other found a way to have their body on yours. The combination of the alcohol and the feeling of them all over you made it hard for you to think straight.

Unbeknownst to you, Ellie and Abby could see the squeezing of your thighs and felt that flush of your warm body. They silently decided to join forces, both enjoying how needy you were getting.

You were practically sitting in Abby's lap as Ellie was whispering in your ear about something stupid. Their excuse was that you needed to be close due to the loud noises coming from the dance and the band. Abby's hand trailed up your thigh, slightly getting closer to your core as time went on. Your breath was ragged and your face was flushed. All of your thoughts were jumbled, yet two things remained clear, your need for Ellie and Abby.

A familiar song starts to play in the background as Abby and Ellie exchange some words between each other. You snap out of your haze and immediately wrangle out of Abby’s grasp.

Abby tightens her hand on yours and pulls you back to face her. Both Abby and Ellie are confused at your sudden burst.

“What’er ya doin’?” Ellie draws with a lazy smile.

“Needa-hiccup-dance!” You sway drunkenly as the blonde and the auburn haired girls look back at you in amusement.

When did you get this drunk? Everything felt like a haze when you were around them. All your thoughts turned into mush.

Abby stands so that her hands on your hips; she’s trying to stop you from drunkenly stumbling out of her line of vision.

“Hmph, let go Abs! -hiccup- can do it m’self! Wanna dance!” You pout like a baby. Why couldn’t she understand you wanted to dance?

Abby chuckles at you and shakes her head.

“Darlin’ yer drunker than my aunt Kathryn on a friday night. Ya’ know ya’ lightweight.” Abby pushes you closer to her so that you’re resting your head on her chest.

You look at Ellie for support, yet she’s just smiling at the two of you. She stands up and sandwiches you between Abby and her. You’re surrounded by pure muscle. The two similar but very distinct smells of their respective bodies fill your senses.

“Don’t look at me, princess! Anderson’s got a point. Ya’ know how Kathryn gets n’ yer gettin’ there.” Ellie cackles at the memory of Abby’s aunt. All you do is pout in response.

Abby perks up at the familiar sound of Ellie’s laugh. She would never admit it outloud, but she missed it. You let out a huff and loosen yourself from Abby’s hold.

“Gonna dance right here then!” You huff.

God, you hope you don’t remember this in the morning. You turn yourself around so that your back is facing Abby’s front. Feeling the music, your drunken self starts sensually moving your hips on your best friend. You can feel Abby’s hands on your hips grow tighter as if she was warning you not to continue. You feel her breath hitch on your upper back as you grind onto her lap. Your eyes are locked in on Ellie as she takes in the sight of you. Seeing you rub your body on Abby as her strong hands grope your torso makes her mind flurry with excitement.

Ellie leans forward and places her hands below Abby’s, resting dangerously close to your ass.

“What are ya up to, sweetheart?” Ellie whispers in your ear. You bite your lip and place your hands onto Ellie’s.

“Dancin’ with my favorite girls. S’ that a crime?” You bat your eyes. Ellie looks up from you to lock eyes with Abby.

“Think you can share, Anderson?”

“I mean we are on our best behavior, right?”

[olive-fics]

Maybe you could write abt older abby thats like a cowboy and her and the reader live together and their like happy n domestic?!

-Sure! Love this idea hehe (not proofread.. like usual)

Abby leaned against the wooden fence, her gaze fixed on the hills that stretched out before her. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden hue across the expanse of the farmland. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of hay and the sweet aroma of wildflowers. A toothpick sat between her teeth as she wiped small beads of sweat from her forehead onto her pants.

The sound of your voice carried from the barn, breaking the silence calling out that supper was ready. Abby pushed herself away from the fence, her worn boots kicking up a small cloud of dust as she walked towards the homestead.

Abby trudged up the porch steps, her boots heavy with the day's accumulated dirt, making sure to not track any more grime into the house. She had dirt, oil, and who knows what else on her hands from the farm work she had been doing.

"In the kitchen Abs!" You called out to her with a giggle.

You stood in the kitchen, your hand, steady and practiced, tapped a spatula against the sizzling pan of bacon, releasing a tantalizing symphony of sizzles and pops. Upon the wooden countertop, golden-brown biscuits, along with a pot simmered with corn and a plate of porkchops.

Abby walked in and leaned on the doorframe to the kitchen, she was dirty and smelled like the barn, her baby hairs stuck to her sweaty forehead and neck..

"Well, aren't you a dirty lady?" you laughed, a playful glint in your eyes as you couldn't resist teasing her. You grabbed a damp rag from the sink, moving closer to where she stood. With a gentle touch, you began helping her wash away the grime from her face.

"I can do it myself, pumpkin," Abby giggled, her voice filled with affection. She leaned down and planted a soft, tender kiss onto your forehead. Her smile held a mixture of playfulness and gratitude, as she tried to keep her dirty hands away from your clean clothes and body.

"Baby it looks too good.. I can't wait to eat." Abby murmured into your ear. "I'll fix you a plate, hon. Go sit," you insisted with a warm smile, your voice filled with care and affection. You leaned in to plant a soft, lingering kiss on her lips before she could protest.

With the plate of delicious food in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other, you walked over to the table and set everything down. As Abby began to eat, you settled into your own seat across from her, your gaze fixed on her.

"It's great, Y/N. I love it like always." Abby giggled, her mouth muffled from the food, she said followed by a genuine smile.

"Good- I know how hard you've been working and I just wanted to make sure-"

"No need to explain yourself okay?" Abby put her hand on yours rubbing it gently. "It's wonderful my love."

You smiled and nodded.

♡

Later that night you snuggled next to Abby on the couch reading a book together, "Sense and Sensibility" -Jane Austen. Abby's hums were enough to make anyone drowsy, it was like a drug to you..slowly making your eyes heavier...

"Getting sleepy baby girl..?" Abby would murmur so she didn't wake you.. Gently petting your hair and caressing your cheek, she looked down at you and noticed you were out. Her lips pulling into a tender smile..She gently bookmarked the page in the book.

"alright then..bed time it is." She carefully lifted you into her arms, up the stairs, right into bed where she too would tuck you in and cuddle right behind you holding you close.

"Goodnight, my love."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

hehe sorry for my break I've had no motivation to do anything. :,) I really like this prompt and I honestly wanna write more on it.. IDK YOU GUYS LMK!!!!! :))

ALSO. TYSM FOR 180 FOLLOWERS?? HELLO? WHERE DID U GUYS COME FROM LOL. I LOVE U ALL.

ok, peace!!

[darl1ngpearl]

SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWGIRL ,

RELIGIOUS!READER

coming soon…

[chai-berries]

hello - sugarland / cowboy take me away - the chicks / bless the broken road - rascal flatts / where have all the cowboys gone? - paula cole / wondering why - the red clay strays / you’re still the one - shania twain / jackie and wilson - hozier / landslide - the chicks / cigarettes- the wreckers / bitch - meredith brooks / you were meant for me - jewel / save a horse, ride a cowboy - big & rich / whiskey and women - maddie rean / i’m the only one - melissa etheridge

august 2024

[eyesfullofsttars]

— “now you hang from my lips like the gardens of babylon with your boots beneath my bed—forever is the sweetest con...”

(ellabs!cowboys as cowboy like me by taylor swift!)

[abbyspup]

every time people make cowboy abby moodboards/fics 25 years is added to my life span

[apricxtt]

i reblogged fanart and ideas of cowboy abby before and i was bored sooo...

i made her on a picrew maker!! credit to: @ummmmandy on doll divine for the picrew maker :) it's beautiful, please check her out

below is a little thing of cowgirl abby i tried to make not the best but i like it :)