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screechingdefendorpuppy-blog · 3 days ago

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⊹ ₊ ⁺‧₊˚ SIGNAL

pairing: abby anderson x fem reader

synopsis: after months flirting with your online gaming partner, the last thing you expected was to unexpectedly meet her at a work meeting.

cw: reader is fem presenting, sugestive talking, eventual smut, not proofread

You had already lost track of how long you'd been trying to complete that mission. The screen glowed in front of you like a cruel reminder of failure, again. It was as if the game had decided to toy with your sanity. You had faced hard bosses before, confusing puzzles, but this? This was pure digital torture. Even with your partner's impressive skills, the two of you seemed stuck in an eternal cycle of trial and error, and error… and error.

You let out a frustrated sigh, sinking deeper into the gaming chair that had already molded to your shape. One hand went to your forehead, rubbing your temples like you could massage the desperation away. You closed your eyes for a second and muttered a few low curses, just enough to ease the tension, or at least try.

But Abby heard everything through the headset, trying to stifle a laugh at the sound of your despair.

“If you’re about to start cursing me out, mute your mic. You know I’m sensitive.” she replied in a theatrical tone, with an obviously fake offended sigh.

You let out a short, dry laugh.

“Shut up.” you snapped back, but there was already a smile forming on your lips. “I’m just too tired. I’m done, seriously. Can we try again tomorrow?”

“I can’t tomorrow.” Abby answered, using that casual tone she always pulled when she wanted to spark your curiosity.

You squinted at the screen, like you could see her on the other side.

“You have a date or something?” you asked, slightly defensive, trying to sound casual but failing miserably to hide your curiosity.

“You know you’re my only girl.” she replied, and even though you couldn’t see her, you could practically picture the smug smile on her face, just from the tone of her voice that gave away how proud of herself she was.

You leaned back into the chair, trying to hide the sudden heat rising to your face. You had known Abby for a while now, and over time, she’d started saying things like that more often. You never took it seriously, assuming it was probably just a joke she made with all her online friends. And thinking that way was what kept your heart at peace every time you turned down Abby’s invitations for the two of you to meet in person.

You two had a good thing going, so why ruin it with a potential meeting? It probably had a lot to do with your terrible breakup with your ex-girlfriend, which had left you a little insecure, but Abby didn’t need to know that.

“Keep talking. Maybe one day I’ll believe you.” you teased, trying to keep a laid-back tone.

“I’m just working late.” she replied, laughing.

“Oh right, your job…” you mocked, just a little. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe you’re not some antisocial weirdo living in your parents’ basement, gaming with strangers online.”

“You only say that because you’ve never seen my basement.” Abby shot back proudly. “It’s fancy, classy, probably too good for you.”

“Is that supposed to make me want to see your basement?”

“Yes, it is. And if you keep being good to me and hold out just a little longer until we finish this hellish mission, I’ll come to your place and drag you there myself.”

You laughed, but your legs were already stretched out, and your body was deep into the “I give up” phase. Then you turned your head to check the time on your phone. It was late, and you definitely didn’t want to spend another hour banging your head against that cursed mission.

“That sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.”

“It is. A prestigious offer. You should think about it carefully… besides, I have a really comfortable bed here, just so you know.” she added with a smirk, lowering her voice into that seductive whisper she used whenever she was trying to convince you of something.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” you replied, trying to suppress the laugh that slipped out between a yawn and a sigh.

“I just wanted you to know!”

“I’m really tempted to sleep with you right now. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it. Thank you very much.” she answered quickly, sharp as ever, with that same charmingly sarcastic air.

You brought a hand up to your eyebrow, scratching lightly while smiling way more than you should have at your screen.

“I’m going to bed, okay?” you said after a few seconds. “I’m seriously exhausted.”

“Okay then. Go rest.” she replied in a softer voice, almost a gentle whisper. “Good night, princess.”

You smiled, closing your eyes for a moment. It was almost pathetic how easily her words got to you, and you silently thanked God she couldn’t see you right now or you’d never hear the end of it.

“Night, babe.”

You took off your headset slowly, almost reluctantly. Even though you were completely drained, a part of you still wanted to spend a few more minutes talking to her.

Still smiling, you turned off the screen, stretched, and let yourself fall onto the bed, Abby’s voice still echoing in your mind like a lingering whisper.

The next day, you were sitting in your office chair, trying with all your might to avoid eye contact with your friend, who had been begging insistently for your help since the exact moment you walked through the building’s door. The coffee had barely started to kick in, and there she was, clinging to you like a custom-made curse.

“I already said no!” you groaned in frustration, burying your face in your hands and pressing your eyes like the gesture could somehow make her persistence disappear. “leave me alone or I'll throw you out the window!”

But of course, she didn’t. She approached with that melodramatic stride only she could pull off, stopping behind your chair and resting her hands on your shoulders like she was pleading with her whole body. Then she started to rock you gently, like a stubborn child trying to get her mom’s attention.

“Please, I’m begging you.” she practically whimpered in despair, loud enough to make a few people nearby glance over, curious about the scene unfolding. “It’s just for today, I swear, just today! Please!”

You slowly lifted your head, glancing around the office with an expression that said you were one step away from screaming. Several coworkers shot amused and judgmental looks your way. Cursing her silently for putting you in that position, you removed her hands from your shoulders and gripped her wrists, stopping the theatrics.

“Fine, okay. I’ll cover for you.” you grumbled through clenched teeth, wearing the defeated expression of someone who had just signed a deal with the devil. “But stop making a scene!”

“Thank you! Thank you!” she practically jumped for joy, letting go of your arms and clapping softly, like she’d just won the lottery.

“You’re buying me lunch today.” you added without hesitation.

“Yes, of course, no problem. I’ll buy your lunch for the rest of the week if you want!” she said quickly, still too euphoric about her win.

She wrapped her arm around yours and rested her head on your shoulder for a moment, smiling like the world was on her side.

“So… This project—”

You shut your brain off the moment she started explaining what that project was. It wasn’t something you’d have to follow forever, so why stress about it when you could just ignore her?

The only thing you actually heard was that it was an online project, so there would be a lot of programmers in the meeting.

“So, it’s going to be a room full of computer nerds? Wonderful.” you muttered, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

She made a face but kept talking.

“You don’t have to like the company. You just need to sit there, pretend you’re paying attention, and write down all the important things they say. You don’t even have to talk, okay?”

You sighed deeply, already bracing yourself for unbearable boredom. She grabbed both your hands, pulling you out of your chair. The two of you started walking through the office, with her practically dragging you toward the meeting room.

“Fine.” you mumbled, knowing there was nothing left to complain about if you’d already agreed to do her the favor.

“Good girl.” she replied, flashing that cheeky smile that made you want to punch her. “Now get in there before you change your mind.”

You rolled your eyes but obeyed. You crossed the hallway and entered the meeting room, keeping a neutral, polite expression as you greeted a few people already seated around the large rectangular table. Your eyes scanned the space, strategically looking for the seat farthest from the projector. All you wanted was to go unnoticed, do your time, and leave with your soul intact.

Gradually, the room filled up. Most people came from departments you hardly interacted with, so the faces were unfamiliar. You limited yourself to polite smiles, exchanging a few words with a friendly woman who sat beside you. The conversation was light, and for a brief moment, you almost felt comfortable. Until she walked in.

You saw her from the corner of your eye at first, but it only took a second for your full attention to be stolen. She was tall. Really tall. With a confident posture and a body that made it clear weightlifting wasn’t just a hobby but something she did religiously. Her blonde hair was tied into a braid that fell over her shoulder with almost cruel charm, and her eyes… her eyes were such a deep blue that anyone would drop to their knees if she asked.

You quickly looked away, your face burning like you'd been caught doing something illegal. In a nervous gesture, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to act natural while your heart pounded. She nodded to a few people with a restrained smile, then pulled out the chair directly across from yours and sat down with a casual grace that only added to her allure. And just like that, your plan to focus on your notes was ruined.

You found yourself watching her more than you should, your eyes betraying you every time she moved. It was like time slowed down whenever she wet her lips thoughtfully or ran her thick fingers over her notes. The white shirt she wore might as well have been tailored to highlight her muscular arms, and for a moment, you hated yourself for imagining all kinds of very inappropriate things right in the middle of work.

Your legs crossed with involuntary tension, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stay grounded in reality. You gripped your notebook tighter, the blank pages exposing that you’d given up taking notes long ago.

But then she spoke.

Her voice filled the room with a soft, clear tone, distinct and impactful like a perfect hit to the chest. You froze. Your whole body tensed like you’d been electrocuted. Slowly, you raised your eyes, wide and disbelieving, your mouth slightly open. That voice. That tone.

You couldn’t mistake that voice even if you wanted to.

You had spent months talking to Abby nearly every day, hours and hours hearing that voice through your headset while you played, laughed, teased each other in increasingly suggestive ways.

And now… now she was here. Just a few feet away. Sitting right in front of you.

And you had no idea if she knew who you were.

Your heart was beating so loudly you were sure everyone could hear it. The pen slipped from your fingers and hit the floor with a soft clack, and you bent down to pick it up, using the moment to hide from the world. You were in shock. Your stomach turned, and your mind spun in circles trying to come up with a logical explanation.

Abby was here. And she was even more beautiful than your imagination, which was almost unfair.

You swallowed hard, your face hidden as you stared at your notebook. How were you supposed to survive this meeting?

But then, an idea.

You were almost certain that woman in front of you was Abby. But a stubborn part of your brain, clinging desperately to the hope that this was just a caffeine-fueled hallucination born of sleep deprivation and loneliness, insisted you could still be wrong.

With your heart pounding and fingers slightly trembling, you discreetly pulled your phone from your pocket, hiding it under the table. You opened the contact saved with a video game controller and skull emoji, and typed as casually as you could:

hey abs

kinda bored rn

wyd

You hit send, pretending to be nonchalant while internally bursting with anticipation. This was your test. Subtle enough to pass as a coincidence if it turned out to be nothing, direct enough to give you confirmation if it was real. And if this was really Abby… well, you didn’t want to miss the chance to find out.

You pretended to go back to paying attention, but you could barely register a word. Every second dragged like time itself was conspiring to keep you in suspense. Your phone didn’t buzz. Abby hadn’t replied.

Maybe you really were going crazy. Maybe she just sounded like Abby. It was possible, right? Just another gorgeous woman you’d never have the courage to talk to.

You were starting to convince yourself. Your mind was crafting internal excuses for your overreaction. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw it. She looked down at her lap, subtly checking her phone under the table.

And at that exact moment, yours vibrated.

You swallowed hard and looked at the screen.

in the middle of a super boring meeting.

You froze.

Your body locked up completely, and your head shot up so fast it almost hurt your neck. Your eyes met her face again, just for a second. She looked back at the projector like nothing had happened, with that same stoic, elegant, composed expression. But now you knew.

It was her.

Abby was real. Abby was that woman. And that woman was, without exaggeration, the most attractive person you’d ever seen in real life.

Your mind spun. You wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or run to the bathroom, look in the mirror, and confirm this was actually happening. For months, she’d just been a comforting presence in your headset, with her raspy, playful voice, her silly jokes, her flirty remarks you pretended to ignore. But now she was here. Tangible. Present. And extremely, extremely hot.

You leaned back in your chair, slowly crossing your legs, becoming aware of your body for the first time in minutes. Your fingers gripped your phone more firmly now.

You stayed frozen for a few seconds, wondering what to do. But after replaying every interaction you'd ever had with Abby, everything was starting to feel different. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was a sign that it was finally time to stop running from relationships and try again. And she was so stunning that missing this chance felt almost like a crime.

So, you decided to take it. But first… why not have a little fun?

You grabbed your phone again, holding it on your lap as you typed quickly.

sounds boring asl

any cute girls there

You adjusted your posture, flipping your hair over your shoulder. Across the table, you saw Abby glance discreetly down at her phone, reading your message. You smiled to yourself, tilting your head just enough to show off your best angle, pretending you were completely unaware of Abby’s eyes scanning the room.

The reply came seconds later, and you looked down as your phone buzzed in your lap.

Your face heated instantly.

You blinked.

Read it again.

You shifted in your chair, stuffing your phone back in your lap with a slightly offended expression. The warmth on your face betrayed your faint embarrassment. You sighed under your breath, crossing your arms with the dramatic flair of someone who just got rejected without even making a move.

No?! Seriously?!

a/n: english isn’t my first language. let me know if you would like a part 2 <33

taglist: @mr-random-man

flower divider: @plutism

sparkle dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

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screechingdefendorpuppy-blog · 3 days ago

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We’re being called up. Isaac wants us at the front. What? Are you serious? I’m afraid so. We should hustle. We’re leaving now?

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screechingdefendorpuppy-blog · 3 days ago

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Couples who play siege together stay together:

Abby Anderson x fem reader

Established relationship (college au)

An: as a little thank you for over 500 followers here's a one shot while I work on the series also finally figured out how to make a masterlist : p

Abby’s apartment was technically campus housing — technically. Realistically, it was far enough from the main quad that walking there felt like a punishment. The heating made noises like it was dying on purpose, the fridge leaned at an angle that suggested that you and abby were freaked out, and the hallway smelled vaguely of paint thinner. But the windows let in good light, and Abby kept it clean in the way someone does when they hate clutter but live with someone who thrives in it.

That someone being Nora, who was currently stretched across the couch like she paid rent in square footage.

“You realize most people start with Mario Kart, right?” you muttered, fingers clumsily navigating Rainbow Six Siege’s absurd number of controls. “Maybe even Wii Sports? Not a tactical shooter with forty-five buttons and an entire war to lose.”

From where she sat cross-legged on the floor behind you, Abby tilted her head, grinning. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe in not dying before I’ve even located a door?”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m staring at the ceiling, Abby. I’m dead. I died. A man shot me through a plant.”

Abby reached out and adjusted your headset like it was a crown. “Just means you’ll respawn smarter.”

“Wow. Motivational and condescending.”

“I try.”

From the couch, Nora cracked open a soda with the air of someone watching a sitcom. “This is better than TV,” she announced, taking a sip. “She’s dying every two minutes and Abby’s still pretending this is going well.”

“I’m building her confidence,” Abby said dryly. “It’s called positive reinforcement.”

“I just fragged myself.”

“You’re learning what not to do. That’s growth.”

You gave her a look, then immediately got flashbanged in-game and screamed.

Nora cackled.

Abby bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “Okay. Okay. Let’s take it slower. You know what a wall is, right?”

“I swear to god.”

“Good,” she said, squeezing your shoulder. “Next step: don’t walk directly into a tripwire.”

You sighed and leaned back against her, already mentally preparing your apology to the fictional hostage you were definitely about to kill. “Why do I feel like this is a test of our relationship?”

“It’s not,” Abby said, resting her chin on your shoulder. “But if you shoot me again, I’m sleeping with Nora tonight.”

Nora snorted. “Bold of you to assume I’m sharing my bed. You chose this chaos.”

“You’re all heart.”

“And you’re the one who said, ‘let’s teach her Siege,’” Nora replied. “Next time, try Scrabble.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother replying. The next round started, and once again, you found yourself spinning in a circle while Abby gently guided your thumb to the correct stick.

“You’re getting better,” she said.

“I just shot a lightbulb.”

“Progress.”

“I threw a grenade instead of opening a door.”

“Unconventional.”

“I might actually cry.”

Nora sighed dramatically. “Can you two flirt later? I’m trying to focus on your incompetence.”

You flipped her off. Abby kissed your temple. The round ended. You lost. Again.

And still — you kind of liked this. Abby’s arm loosely wrapped around your waist. Nora’s dumb commentary in the background. The smell of takeout on the counter. Laughter that felt like comfort, not cruelty.

Maybe you were objectively terrible at this game.

But you were in Abby’s hoodie, in Abby’s arms, dying over and over again while two people who actually gave a shit about you made fun of you like it was a love language.

It wasn’t a win.

But it sure as hell wasn’t a loss.

Later, the controller had been abandoned on the rug, Siege paused mid-round. You were curled up on the couch now, legs draped over Abby’s lap, your head resting against her shoulder. She absently toyed with the sleeve of your hoodie — her hoodie, technically — while Nora scrolled through her phone at the other end of the couch, muttering half-hearted commentary about bad dating profiles.

Abby leaned down slightly, her voice quieter than before. “Thanks for trying.”

You tilted your head, eyes still half-closed. “At the game, or just in general?”

She smiled, brushing her fingers along your wrist. “Both.”

You huffed a laugh. “I shot a hostage, threw a grenade at myself, and screamed at a smoke grenade.”

“You’re still my favorite teammate.”

“Low bar.”

“Sure,” she said, gently squeezing your hand, “but you clear it.”

From the corner of the couch, Nora groaned. “I swear to god, if you two start whisper-flirting again, I’m going to lock myself in the bathroom and scream.”

You didn’t even look at her. “Bring me the rest of the fries first.”

She chucked a cold fry at your face. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” you mumbled, grabbing it off your lap and eating it anyway.

Abby laughed — a soft, low sound you could feel more than hear. She leaned her head against yours. “You were actually getting better. A little.”

You smiled, letting your eyes close again. “You’re just saying that because you like me.”

“Guilty.”

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screechingdefendorpuppy-blog · 3 days ago

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abby anderson | positive, part ii

masterlist | part i

words: 2.7k warnings: pregnant!reader, pining, hurt/comfort, contractions, references to blood, death, fluff for once!!!!! but also then angst sorry synopsis: abby knows you shouldn't be on patrol at seventh months pregnant, but you refuse to sit this one out. a storm isn't the only thing that hits when the two of you seek shelter in the bookstore – and with contractions beginning, maybe it's time to admit that it isn't only friendship between you.

credit to @allmyfavesarementallyill for the bump holding idea!

tags: @hakandnsjoqmsn

The mirror’s reflection gives you pause today. You can’t remember when you got this big, only that your bump popped all at once a month or so ago and now it never seems to stop growing. It’s a good thing. A great thing. A strange thing, to feel the little guy moving, all elbows and feet, so you can’t help but want your old body back. Sharing it is exhausting.

Abby appears in the doorway to your bedroom, faltering for a moment and then approaching you. You lock eyes in the mirror, wondering what she thinks when she looks at you now. She promised you a lot. More than she should have. You keep waiting for her to realise that this is real, that you’re having a baby, and dart the other way. The father sure as hell did.

But she hasn’t yet, eyes softening with nothing but fondness. “You okay?”

It’s the first, and last, thing she asks everyday. You nod, running a hand over your bump. “Other than nauseous, crampy, exhausted, sore, and struggling to breathe. Oh, and I look like shit.”

“You look beautiful.” Her arms slip around your waist, drawing light circles around your belly button. “You always do, but especially now.”

Your heart flutters. You and Abby have never discussed what this is. Why, over the months since discovering your pregnancy, she’s started sleeping in your bed, keeping the apartment clean where she never used to, even finding you a fucking crib for when the baby comes. She’s your best friend, sure, but sometimes…

Sometimes, you wish it was something else. You wouldn’t act on it. You’re a single mom-to-be, and she’s Abby, and if you ever lost her, it would devastate you. But if, god forbid, you did, you wouldn't want it to hold the extra heartbreak that would come if you were in a relationship. And you certainly wouldn’t want her to feel any more obligated to take care of you both than she already does.

“The maternity pants fit okay?” she asks.

You bow your head to admire the new elastic band sewn over your cargos. She stayed up all night, pricking her fingers and cussing out the needle, to make sure your old clothes fit over your bump. “Perfect. For now. I keep getting bigger.”

She smirks. “I think that’s sorta how it works, sweetheart.”

“It’s getting heavy,” you admit, pressing your spine just a little firmer into Abby’s chest.

“Here.” She gently lifts your bump, and you sigh out at the relief it grants you. You forgot how it feels to not have a giant weight on your hips and lower back. Without meaning to, you rest the back of your head against Abby’s shoulder, humming. With your eyes fluttering shut, you don’t see her watching the pleasure it brings. Don’t see the satisfaction crossing her features because at least she gets to help you this much, even if the rest is up to you. Don’t see the adoration, because she loves you like this. You're becoming, day by day, a softer, more vulnerable version of yourself as you prepare for parenthood, and there is nothing but beautiful strength in that. Maybe a bit of magic, too, because she is watching you create a human you're both going to adore.

“Feels so good,” you admit.

“Yeah? How about you go back to bed? Should get as much rest as you can.”

"We have patrol in…” You check your wristwatch and curse. “Now.”

Abby frowns. “You signed up again?”

“I’ve still got two months left. I’m not going to spend them sitting on my ass, feeling sorry for myself.” You bat her hands away, skirting around her to grab your pack. Partly because you’re late, and partly because you’re in love with your best friend, and it fucking hurts sometimes — way more than the aches and pains of pregnancy.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Abby admits.

You spin defiantly on her. "I’m grateful that you’re taking care of me through all this, but please don’t start treating me like I’m weak.”

“I’m not treating you like you’re weak. I’m treating you like you’re pregnant.” She grits her teeth. “If we get caught up in something, it’s not just you we have to think about.”

“I can take care of myself. Of us both.” You shuck on your backpack. Ignore the twinge in your lower back. You’ve never sat out of patrols, and you’re not about to start now. You’re looking forward to being a mother, yes, but you don’t intend to slow down until you have to.

Abby says your name, a chastising grunt.

You glower, and it’s enough to make her stand down. Begrudgingly.

“As long as I can still stand and pull a trigger, I’m good to go.” To prove it, you grab your gun from the bedside table and load the bullets. Abby bristles with each click.

“So fucking stubborn,” she mutters, but there’s nothing but love there. She grabs your bump, kneels to say: “Did you hear that, Squirt? Your mom’s stubborn as hell.”

You purse your lips, trapping a laugh. It’s adorable when Abby talks to the baby. Makes you think of a future where she gets to hold them, love them, probably help them break your rules and teach them a shit ton of pranks.

“You two done talking shit about me?” you quip.

“Nope.” Abby continues, “But it’s okay, ‘cos she’s strong as hell, too. Just don’t give her any problems today, ‘kay?” And then to you: “Okay, now we’re done.”

“Great. Thanks.”

She chuckles, grabbing your coat before you can forget it. Taking care of you, because it’s all she ever wants to do.

***

She shouldn’t have let you come. The streets of Seattle have become canals in little over four hours, and all she can do is shove you into the nearest building to protect you from the relentless rain. Thunder cracks and lightning rips through the black clouds, and it’s not safe, she thinks. If the Scars find the two of you now, you’ll be at a disadvantage, clothes heavy, teeth chattering, limbs numb.

She shouldn’t have fucking let you come.

“Fuck,” you breathe, taking your dripping hair out of your eyes. “Didn’t think it was gonna be this bad.”

“We'll have to wait for it to pass. It’s too dangerous out there.” If you weren’t here, or at least not pregnant, she might have risked it, but not now. If this baby has taught her anything, it’s the art of caution.

You look like you want to argue, but in the end, you’re shivering too vigorously to even try. You drop your pack, Abby barricading the doors while you look around. As far as hiding places go, this one isn’t too bad: an old bookstore. It'll keep you entertained, at least.

“Sit down,” Abby orders, nodding to the armchair by one of the collapsed shelves.

“You sit down,” you retort, and she almost bares her teeth. Usually, your refusal to let her care for you is cute, but you’re both drenched and hungry, and you’re growing a whole fucking human — one who she intends to love as ferociously as she does you, by the way — inside you, so why can’t you just listen?

Her muscles strain as she shoves tables, chairs, bookcases, up against the door, going through way more effort than she usually would to make sure that nothing is getting in.

You huff, peeling off your coat and draping it over the bannister of a rickety staircase. “Gonna go make sure we’re clear in here,” you say.

“Like hell you are,” Abby growls out. “Not on your own.”

“Abby,” you snap. And then pause, face scrunching with something that looks too much like pain.

Abby’s by your side in seconds, panic rattling through her. “What? What is it?”

You turn away from her. It breaks something in her. “Nothing. Just one of those Braxton Hicks thingies.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

But she isn’t, because you do the unthinkable. You sit down. She gulps, reaching in her pack for water and snacks she packed in a hurry: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, because you’ve been craving them like a mad woman for weeks. She damn near searched every building in the city to find the crunchy version when the smooth just wasn’t cutting it.

She kneels, fingers caressing the damp fabric over your belly. “Hey, Squirt. Thought I told you not to give her any problems,” she chides.

You half laugh, half whine, and Abby’s thumb smooths over the wrinkle of your brow as though it might chase away the pain. “We need to get you warm.”

“I’m fine,” you repeat exasperatedly. “Go check the damn building.”

Abby rolls her eyes, standing up. “Fine. Drink your water.”

“Fine,” you mimic, and then you’re both smirking, because you know this anger comes from only love, and you know that since losing her dad, she feels the need to clutch onto you with both hands.

You’ll always let her, even when it makes her a pain in the ass.

Abby checks the building thoroughly if only to stop herself from hovering and pissing you off more. She returns fifteen minutes later with a pile of children’s books in her hands. The Hungry Caterpillar, The Gruffalo, books she remembers Jerry reading to her as a kid.

She’s excited to show you, until she finds you hunched over yourself, breathing heavily while leaning on a shelf for support.

Not just Braxton Hicks.

“Baby…” The endearment slips out as she drops the books and kneels in front of you again. “Hey. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Getting worse,” you grind out, pale in the darkness. “They don’t feel like fake contractions this time.”

“Okay.” She allows herself just a moment to suck in a breath, find her composure, and then she’s brushing hair from your cheek, steady as a rock because it’s what you need, even if there’s a tempest crashing in her stomach. “It’s okay. Didn’t Nora say this could happen? Contractions can start and stop for a while before labour becomes active.”

“I don’t… I don’t know. I’m scared, Abby. It’s too early.”

“You don’t need to be scared. I’m right here.” She cups your jaw. “Let’s give them another ten minutes, see if they settle, yeah?”

You nod, lower lip wobbling. “You were right. You were fucking right.”

“Always am.”

“Shut up,” you hiss.

She guides you over to the armchair again, helping you sit. Your gaze snags on something behind her. “What are those?”

“Hm?” Abby barely registers your question, too focused on you, your pain, the fact the baby might be coming and you’re stranded in a flood, at least ten blocks from the nearest WLF base.

“The books.”

“Oh." She shrugs. "Got them for Squirt.”

You soften all at once, tears glistening in your eyes as, gently, you comb the errant strands of Abby’s hair off her face. She stiffens in surprise at first. Usually, she’s the one initiating contact. But then she realises how good it feels, how right, and she leans into your touch as fire licks over her cheek.

“I love you,” you whisper, “d’you know that?”

She can hear her heart thud in her ears, louder than the thunder and the rain. And maybe she didn’t know that. Maybe she has thought, at least since her dad died, that she doesn’t really deserve it. She’s killed. She’s paused seeking justice to take care of you, leaving Jerry’s murderer out there, living. She’s done things for Isaac that have left her bloody and unrecognisable.

And she was so angry. She still is, sometimes, but it’s easier to forget when she looks at you.

A few weeks back, she got a lead on Joel. Wyoming. She went home intending to tell you that she would set off the next day, but the baby kicked at the sound of her voice and you were laughing, and she couldn’t. She has put aside vengeance for the sake of this strange, small family the two of you are curating from stupid jokes and gentle touch and rotting nursery furniture she gathers on runs.

She’s never done it to hear those words. To think differently of herself. She does it because you are her constant, and because she wouldn’t have fought her way through the trenches of her grief without you.

Because she loves you, too, and the life you’re creating.

Her cheek twists so she can kiss your clammy palm. She wants more of you. Hopes that maybe it can exist one day, when you aren’t going through so many changes and the city isn’t fractured by war. But then she thinks of all the bodies she sees on a daily basis, and wonders: why not now? What if she doesn’t survive long enough for that day to come?

“I’m in love with you,” she admits. “And now is an awful time to say it, but really, there’s never a right time, so… before Squirt comes along — not today, y'here? — and before everything changes, I need you to know it, okay? I’m in love with you. I think maybe we could work. I mean, we already are working, right? We live together, and we sleep in the same bed most nights, and I love this baby. I want this baby.”

Your mouth parts in shock, your hand falling from her cheek, and she has ruined everything. She has tried to make this baby about her.

She pushes out of her squat, wishing she could take it all back when the thick silence suffocates. “God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Abby—”

“Ignore it, okay? This, what we have right here, is enough. More than enough. I’m gonna go see if I can get through to base.”

“Abs, wait. I'm—” You grapple to stand up, only to crease as another wave of pain wracks through you. "Oh, god!”

Abby darts to you again, hands hovering because she doesn’t know what to do. She can bandage wounds and heal your broken heart and fight like hell to keep you alive, but she can’t stop whatever this is.

Your arms loop around her neck, tight, like you’re afraid she might disappear, her braid fisted in your hands.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“No. No, I think the baby’s coming.” Tears roll down your cheeks. “I can’t do this now. Please, not now.”

“Listen to me,” she begs, fingers curling at the nape of your neck. “I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to either of you, you hear me?”

“What if something’s wrong?” you fret through chattering teeth. "What if this means the baby's not okay—"

“Nothing’s wrong. The baby's perfect.” Abby plants her hands on your bump, as though a gentle nudge might convince the baby to stop. Stay there a little while longer. She feels when your stomach tightens with another contraction, a guttural keen falling from you as you use her for support.

Her heart leaps into her throat, worse when she sees the damp across your cargos. This soaked, she has no idea if your waters have broken, but while her pants have dried slightly, yours haven’t.

“I need to radio base,” she decides, which will be hard considering there was no fucking signal last time she tried upstairs.

The contraction must ease, because your grip on her loosens. “This isn’t happening,” you’re murmuring over and over. “This can’t be happening.”

“You gotta sit back down for me. You wanna lay on the floor?”

“No. No, I can’t.” You’re panicking, and so is she, but only one of you is allowed to show it, so she bites her cheek and keeps you upright as she pulls out her walkie. As before, the signal crackles. She tries to tune in, announcing herself on every station, but there’s nothing.

“Fucking storm,” she hisses.

“Abby.” You’re saying her name again and again like it’s all you can grasp, forehead resting against her shoulder.

“I’m here,” she’s saying back.

“Abby, I’m in love with you, too.” A mangled sob falls from you as you fight to look at her like it’s something important. Like she’s important, even in the midst of this. “We’re yours, okay? So if something happens, if I don’t make it, now or ever, you’re still a mother. Squirt's still yours.”

It's everything she's wanted to hear, only it's tainted by the idea of losing you. Her eyes shutter as she states, “No.”

“No? But you just said—”

“If you’re going to tell me that, it’s not going to be because you think you’re going to give birth here and die. I’m getting you to fucking base. Get your shit. You can tell me again when we’re home and safe.” Because she will get you home, and nothing will stop her. Not the storm, not contractions, not the fucking baby.

She puts the books in her bag, because she intends to read them to you both tonight, regardless of whether the baby is here or still growing inside you. And then she helps you with your coat, takes your pack on her shoulders over her own, and she pushes away the barricaded furniture with a new, fierce determination.

She just got a family. She doesn’t intend to lose it.

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