#if you want more I can give you those too

[tonycries]

Night(wing) Crawler - G.S.

Synopsis. Trapped with a too-smug, too-handsome Nightwing by the very same villains you were trying to swindle was not how you planned to spend your night. Luckily for you, Gojo can think of a much better way to pass the time.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! anti-hero!reader, Nightwing! Gojo, BATMAN AU, enemies-to-Iovers, forced proximity, píning, MARATHONS, manhandIing, Gojo goes FÉRAL, overstím, he is BIG, making it fit, cervíx kíssing, tummy buIges, BREÉDING, RIPPING suits, spítting, cúmplay, chokíng, arguing during it, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, matíng presses, making Gojo CRY, oraI (f + m rec.), p talking, breaking furniture, Red Hood! Geto cameo, slight vioIence, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 10.4k

A/N. *evil laughs* I just had to.

“You.”

“You.”

“Enchanté, sweetheart.” And Gojo - oh, it’s so undeniably Gojo Satoru’s sapphire gaze behind that satiny mask - tilts over his tall, bubbling glass of champagne towards you with the cockiest of winks. A wink. 

Your teeth set on edge - out of all the pompous, boorish high society balls that he could crash undercover, it just had to be the one that you were planning to heist. 

And by the most pompous, boorish hero of all. 

If looks could kilI, then you’d be upturning Gojo’s grave to finish him off yourself already. 

“Didn’t think you were one for masquerade balls.” He’s leaning in to brush off an invisible piece of lint from your shoulder, words coming out in scorching hot puffs against your ear. Low, hoarse. “Changed much during your lil’ vacation, hm? How is the Gotham State Penitentiary this time of year?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How’s the hottest one of the Bat Family doing?” You’re sniping back, head cocked innocently. Silent for just how long it takes for Gojo’s eyes to widen, breath to hitch- “Y’know…Toji Fushiguro. How’s Batman doing, Nightwing?”

There’s a strangely sharp glint in his stare, and his traitorously handsome jaw clenches through a wild grin. 

With a wide sweep of the bustling ballroom, he murmurs over the live orchestra. “You’re gonna give me away~”

“Don’t even have to try.” You’re tilting your head up in defiance when he closes in so many sultry inches, all the way until you could feel the heated press of Gojo’s ticking biceps through his formal suit. Heady masculine cologne invading your senses, “That mask does more than enough damage.”

Honestly, what fool dons a disguise with a mask that looks exactly like his hero one? 

Though, you weren’t complaining - if Nightwing accidentally provided the perfect distraction for you to swindle future big-shot congressman and business heir, Naoya Zenin, out of his precious diamonds then so be it.

The fact that Batman’s protégé would be humiliated was only a plus. 

Scoffing, “So what you’re saying is you want me out of it? Scandalous, but I don’t fuck before a first date.”

A very, very big plus. 

“Never in your wildest dreams, Nightwing.” You’re pettily raising your voice just a pitch to make the sculptured man in front of you squirm, as much as he would never admit it. “S’it that you don’t fuck or you don’t get to? Come here to try out your hand with the wives of the bourgeoisie?”

“I’m here on business, sweetheart. Gotta get to that brat Naoya’s office.” Gojo nods towards a gaggle of ogling older ladies, ever-the-charmer. 

It’s enough to make them swoon, and - you hate to admit it - for your heart to stutter just a beat. 

Because Gojo Satoru looked good. All powerful, lean muscle that carried him so many numerous inches over six feet. The rich, yolkish lighting makes his dark blue jacket look almost painted to his slender waist, and those meaty, meaty thighs. 

Easily the sexiest man in this room full of sordid businessmen and shifty politicians.

If you dared to let your gaze roam, you’re sure they’d stray past his milky collarbones to catch a hint of the even tighter black and blue hero suit he was surely wearing under. 

He looked more than good, if you were being honest.

But when has one of Gotham’s most notorious cat burglars ever needed to be honest?

And you’re so caught up in pondering just what the others see in him that it gives you an electric jolt to feel the doughy pads of Gojo’s gloved fingertips brushing down your thigh. Feeling as if he was searing through your saucy, glittering gown.

There’s a tremor of amusement when his sensory tips meet the cold hilt of your famed dagger. Hidden. 

Tonality dripping with something sickly sweet that makes your tummy lurch, “And it seems like I’m not the only one, Prowler. The Zenin diamonds?”

“The Zenin drug smuggling ring?”

You both give a curt, almost-missable nod. Your eyes back to analyzing the sprawling celebrations for any sign of the aforementioned Zenin heir himself.

Though, not for long- “Y’know, maybe I should send you back to your lovely penitentiary right now, girl. Already did once.” Whispered right against your sensitive earlobe. 

“Darling–” Your plastic smile is almost painful as you feel the interested stares from around the room. You did make quite an eye-catching pair, especially so close. Hand drifting to his beefy, veined forearm and pinching, “-you’re too close~”

“I don’t think I’m close enough.” 

Nails clawing down his smooth skin and towards his pale wrist. “Close enough for me to strike a vein without a single person here knowing any better.”

“That’s kinda hot–” Gojo’s lips quirk upwards, sleek brows quirking up to the curtain of his snowy bangs. And you don’t know where to look - down below, where he’s adjusting his pants with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, or up above where his irises follow a triangle between both your eyes n’ your lips, dead-on. “-for a petty thief.”

“You little-”

“Big, actually.” And of course, he has to interrupt with a look on his face that tells you he knew you were fighting to not take a glance downwards and confirm for yourself. “I’m very big.”

“I hear words compensate.” You’re batting your lashes through your own lacy Stygian mask, too close. “And I hear Toji’s bigger.”

“Enough with the-”

“My my, young love sure is fiery!” Saved by a rough, booming voice to your side of the festivities. Though, you’re not sure if it would technically be considered a “save” when you’re finally snapping your head and recognizing the source of those words. “I always do tell Naoya ‘ere that it’s time to settle down. No such luck so far!”

As Naobito Zenin slaps an overly harsh hand down on his son’s crisp, suit-cladden shoulder with a bark of laughter, you mutter. “Can’t imagine why.”

Though, perhaps it was a bit too loud.

Because Naoya’s nostrils flare in a sharp inhale, and you’re hearing Gojo stifle a breathy rumble of laughter from his broad chest- shit, since when were you two even pressed up like this? No wonder it must have looked…romantic to an outsider.

“Naobito Zenin, at your service.”

“Ah, my apologies for being so rude.” You’re pushing away from the hero as if it burned - and by the strange tingling on your skin, maybe it really did. Reaching over to the wizened, leering man for a handshake. “I’m-”

“Mrs. Gojo, of course.” Gojo gets there first. “My wife and I are new to Gotham, you see. We wanted to make connections here in our new home.” A warm hand casually slings over your shoulder, slender digits tight. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

What….the fuck.

And perhaps you should’ve screamed bloody murder - maybe that would make the Zenin’s take pity on you after an encounter with this lecher. 

“That’s right.” Perhaps you shouldn’t have leaned in just as you did to his hard front. But if the way that Gojo was momentarily stunned told you anything, it was that you were doing something right. “It’s all been quite a change.”

Naoya’s thin, mahogany brows raise silently - new to the city and already invited to one of the most elite social gatherings of the year? That certainly was intriguing.

“Gojo? Gojo…so familiar…” Naobito muses out loud, and your veins boil with anxiety as his face scrunches. Before he clicks his fingers with flourish, “A-ha–! You wouldn’t have anything to do with the revered Gojo Enterprises now, would you?”

Your faux-husband places a hand over his heart, “Ah, my most beloved little project.” 

“President?”

“CEO.”

Calling a multi-billion dollar foreign company a “little project” was generous, you think. But what was even more so was- “Though, it’s nothing in comparison to what I have coming up soon.” Gojo gasps dramatically, “Oh! We probably shouldn’t reveal much, however. Confidential, only friends and family.”

Naobito Zenin was practically frothing from the mouth at this point. And you notice that even Naoya’s suspicious furrow had almost completely disappeared. Almost. 

“C-confidential-” The older man squeals, before bumping a fist into Gojo’s puffed-up chest. “Why, we’re friends now, aren’t we? Tell me tell me- just between you and I, how big are we talking?”

“Big.”

“Bigger than Gojo Enterprises? S-surely impossible-”

You cut in, “Bigger. Better, considering the association with the parliament we’ve negotiated this time. Whoops- my apologies, darling, that simply slipped out.”

And through it all, Naoya stays unnervingly quiet - even while his father tries and fails to hide his squawks of delight. 

It would’ve almost been comedic if the air wasn’t so cut-throat tense. As if the clinking glasses and chatter of the ball were infinite miles away from your little bubble now. 

Past animosity almost evaporated, you’re managing to meet Gojo’s eyes. His cloud-pale eyebrows wiggling with a knowing waver, and you find yourself plastering on an exaggerated look of distress before carrying out the finishing blow.

“Oh, but you know–” Patting the delicious curves of his pecs, “-my husband has been so stressed lately. I’m afraid he’ll overwork himself mad with this new project.”

“Aw, dear…”

“I do wish he’d take on a partner to collaborate and split the innumerable profits with. But, alas, there hasn’t been a company competent or high-profile enough for our taste.”

And by the sharp elbow Naobito digs into Naoya’s ribs, you already know that you’ve won. Well, that the two of you have won.

Reluctantly, almost as if every word made his bones ache, his son purses out a tight. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, my father and I certainly hope this isn’t too forward, but we believe that- ah, we might just be exactly what you’re looking for.”

You both adopt a look of faint surprise, “Oh?”

Another nudge, another step forward. 

“Apologies for the late introduction, but I’m Naoya Zenin. Future congressman, future CEO of the immensely successful Zenin Corporations” Each syllable practically oozing with icy smugness, “I believe I know what you want, and we are it. Please, allow me to reach out on behalf of our Zenin hospitality and lead the two of you to our private business room; where we can discuss this further…in-depth.”

Somehow, the trail end of his sentence made you shudder. 

“Ah, how wonderful!” Gojo’s arm wraps possessively around your waist, “Lead the way, Naoya.”

And if you were lucky to be led straight to the dragon’s lair of treasures, then you were even luckier when one of those said dragons stayed behind.

Indeed, Naobito was held back in conversation with another undoubtedly important parliamentary figure as you and Gojo followed Naoya out of the massive, gilded doors. Silent. Rigid. 

“Take him out. Drug-smuggling documents, then diamonds.” Gojo rasps from the corner of his mouth, voice barely audible for you let alone the stiff figure a few steps in front of you. Leading you along windingly decadent corridors and staircases. 

You’re shaking your head, eyes following the velvety curtains and gleaming ornaments on display and wondering whether you should increase your scope for this heist even more than just the diamonds. “Diamonds, then whatever. I don’t give a shit what you do.”

“Drug-smuggling documents, then diamonds, then prison for you, girl.” He snarks back, “Unless– you wanna make up for this appalling date by actually going out with-”

“We’re here.”

It seems that the Zenin’s did have quite an affinity for interrupting you two at the most important of times. 

And the only thing keeping Gojo from curling his features into a sneer is the sight of those rich, mahogany double doors in front of him. This was it. 

The infamous Zenin office room.

With enough secrets to overturn the nation, and– Gojo sneaks a glimpse at the determined set of your gaze - enough diamonds, too. 

Naoya’s spindly fingers twist on the burnished golden door handles, letting them creak open just a few inches ajar. Dim lighting floods out through the crack, and you’re seeing the outline of an expensive cross between an office room and a lounge room.

He gestures his hands in a wave inside with an almost-bored sort of drawl, “Guests first, I insist.”

Your fingers itch towards the dagger strapped to your thigh, and Gojo’s stare narrows. Tone steely yet polite, “No no, as the future master of the house-”

“I insist.”

“Alright…” He plants a staggering palm on the small of your back, “Come along then, sweetheart.”

Tentatively stepping onto the luxurious red carpet inside at the same time, you swear from your cunning optics you see Naoya’s lips twitch-

And then it happens.

All in the span of a nanosecond that neither you nor Gojo have the time to react - the floor and the ceiling crack open in an almost metre-wide line dividing you two and the door, a thick wall of metal snapping! shut in place before you can blink, and suddenly– suddenly, you’re trapped. 

“Fuck-”

“No!”

“You must excuse me for the rude welcome-” Naoya’s voice drifts over, and you’re noticing that the gleaming wall had a small window pane. Enough for you to see a sliver of crazed, honeypool eyes, “-Prowler and Nightwing.” 

He knows.

Of course, he knew. You were here trapped between a thoroughly bolted, heavy-duty panel of metal harder than diamonds. Ones especially made for trained heroes and- well, you. 

And one furious bang! of your fist told you that not even your overpowered strength would be able to break through - it barely even rattled the barrier’s bolts that proudly stood circumference of your head. Running the expanse from floor to ceiling, you were backed into a corner. 

Looking behind you, you’re met with the rest of the gleaming office; shelves upon shelves of books, a busy desk, cushy loveseats. And no window. 

No exit.

He’s spitting, face twisting into heaps of wrinkles as he grins. “My father might be half-blind, but I’m not.” Pointing accusingly, “You almost got me, I admit. But any fool could tell- the tension, the stupid flirting. Who else would it fuckin’ be if not for you two?”

Crossing your arms, you do your best to keep out the tremble in your voice. “Quite frankly, I’m almost insulted.”

“I’m not.”

And you do not glower at Gojo…this time. To firmly disprove Naoya’s point, if anything. 

The other man clenches his teeth, throwing his hands. “I don’t care what you feel. This is checkmate, so now you both simply die.”

Running your hands through your cage, you could practically feel the power. The strength. “Well, it seems you’re not just beauty- well, you’re not beauty at all, actually.”

“Don’t forget, he isn’t brains either.” Gojo pipes up, nodding towards you. “I know this daddy’s boy wasn’t the one to make this lair. It reads more like the works of-”

“Shut up shut up shut up-” You and him watch in mild astonishment as your captor drags his fingers through his hay-blond locks and pulls. You swear you could count every red, popped blood vessel in his bulging eyes. “-insufferable fucking- I have you two at my mercy, and when my father hears about this he will be pleased. Very pleased.” 

You will yourself not to gulp, “There’s nothing you can do to us.”

“Wait and watch. After all, I am the future head of Zenin Corporations, I’ll kill both of you. It doesn’t matter how.”

Before you can torment him any further, he turns tail and throws a withering glare your way. Hands on the doors, it feels like something leaden is forming in your throat. “Better sit tight until the ball ends and we can have our ah- fun little afterparty.”

.

.

.

“Can’t you stop that infernal noise, girl.”

You’re halting your body mid-punch, a thin line of sweat trickling from your temple. Heaving out, “I don’t see you helping.” 

Not even waiting for a response before you’re back to gifting the office wall with a solid CLANG! You’d already attempted the same with the metallic partition, to not even a single crater. And by the unaffected state of the rest of the room, you’re slowly realizing that every one of these four walls might just be made from the same material. 

Fuck.

BANG!

“For fucks-”

“What are you doing, then?” You’re whirling around to face a precarious Gojo Satoru, standing on one foot on top of a high bookshelf and murmuring utterly ridiculously to something clutched in his palm. “An interpretive dance routine won’t get us out of here.”

He’s been like this for the entire time - it could’ve been hours, it could’ve been minutes - since you’ve been trapped here. All he’s done was rifle through a few files and snatch a few documents. And…this. 

Hell- you didn’t even find your diamonds, yet. 

“You think about ‘us’ a lot?”

Rolling your eyes- you can’t even bother with a scowl. Instead, turning back to spend your time planting CRASH! after CRASH! over his protests. 

“Keep it down, sweetheart, I can’t-” Punching your way through even harder - making even louder noise, on purpose. “-hear-” Perhaps you could kill him before Naoya even gets here. “-the mic-” 

“What?” You’re grunting, ears still ringing from the deafening noise yourself. 

And just then you find your brows knitting together because Gojo Satoru looks so…satisfied. It strikes you to your very core. Which was definitely never a good sign. 

Jumping down from the bookshelf in one, fluid motion, he shows off a tiny rounded gadget grasped in one hand. “You’ll see.” Gojo purrs at your questioning gaze, winking. “You’ll see very soon. We’ll be fine, promise.”

Yeah, you really didn’t like the sound of that.

But before you can swivel back to your target - you swear you were seeing a crack - Gojo’s tucking away the mysterious object into his jacket pocket and taking it off. Letting the silken fabric hit the floor with a dull schwf! Right along with his tie, his belt-

“Wh-what are you doing?” It comes out more breathless than you’d have liked. 

“Changing into my supersuit, that’s what.” He lifts up his mask to roll his eyes, full and well knowing. The pinkish perk of his tongue drags a slow glide of wetness across his lips as he unbuckles his belt - looking you straight in the eyes. “Why? This turn ya on, sweetheart?”

“No.”

Yes.

Fuck, you hated how even despite turning away, you couldn’t help but angle your body just so that you’re ogling Gojo from your peripheries. You hated how every thud of clothes hitting the floor made a fresh new layer of goosebumps bead along your clammy, heated skin. 

It was so hot. 

“You should do the same– you must be getting warm with all that ruthless, blundering violence.” Comes the sing-song voice from behind you, oh- he was enjoying this. It sent Gojo’s heart racing to watch the way you were all flustered because of his actions. His body. 

Scoffing, another punch. “You just want to see skin, lecher.”

“With a body like that- fuck yeah.”

“Save it for the wives of the bourgeoisie.”

“Scared, Prowler?”

Oh, for the love of-

“Not on your life, Nightwing.”

And then you do it.

You make the mistake of giving into your instinctual desire to glare at Gojo Satoru, as if your eyes never wanted to leave him. And then you see it. 

All his long, tantalizing muscles and curves - being hugged so tightly in that black and blue suit that you could count every one of his eight washboard abs. Fuck. Gojo’s body seemed to go on for miles, pulling the latex tightly over his rippling flesh. 

Right on cure, your eyes trail from the bulging valley of his pecs, to the ridges of his v-line to…you gulp.

You always did think it gave him an unfair advantage - just how sexy he was. It was one of the reasons he managed to distract you enough to lock you up in Gotham State Penitentiary last time, after all. 

Tittering, “Take a picture it’ll-”

“Take this fist to your face.”

“Kinky~ it’ll only make me harder, y’know.”

Hard-er. 

And all of a sudden it was as if the tension in the room was like molasses, and you were drowning in the saccharine concoction. Nightwing- Gojo really was too cocky for his own good, but what was even worse was he could back it up, too. 

Your skin flares up with a burning breeze, and your voice comes out peaky. “Fine.” Through his mask, you swear his eyes widen once your hands fly up to take off your own. And then to the zipper of your gown, “But only because it’s so hot.”

Pulling it down just an inch before-

“Wait…let me?”

Just a flash of that glossy black suit of yours, just a single sneak-peek of it enveloping your skin and he was pressing you to the wall. Ravenous.

You were gorgeous. 

Balmy heat of his body making yours sizzle up, all Gojo needs is only one of his massive palms to pin both your wrists wayyy above your head. Meaty thighs massaging up against yours to stop your jostling body. 

Lips twitching up into a smirk at the carnal hunger in your eyes, “Let me…help with that, yeah?” His gravelly words resound in your eardrums and make your thighs squeeze. The fat fringes of his digits draw slow lines down the side of your figure, memorizing. “S’a hero’s duty, after all.” 

You’re growling, “Do it. Do it if you’re not scar- ah!”

But that’s exactly what Gojo had been waiting for. 

Exactly the moment to make your pretty voice break, exactly the moment for him to tuck a finger behind your back and all but rip–! your dress from the back.

“Would ya look at thaaaat-” He’s snickering out in awe as your flimsy gown falls halfway through tatters around you, all along with your dagger. Revealing a snug suit that makes his mouth simply water. All gorgeous lines of your body that he can’t get enough of. “Always fuckin’ hated this suit.”

His sinful pants strike you in gusts when Gojo leans his admiring head down, down, down to push right into the valley between your heaving tits. “Made me s-soooo fucking hard every time I saw ya in it.”

Did you just make Gojo Satoru stutter?

No wait- even better, was that achingly hard outline bumping right between your legs what you thought it was?

He’s rubbing the swollen outline of his mushroom tip at the target of your hot core, drinking in that cutely surprised expression on your face. Something devilish. “Oh~? What’s this? I-if this is what it took to shut that pretty mouth, I’d have done it sooner.”

But what he didn’t account for was the way that you would take the initiative shutting him up. 

The way you would breach that almost-non-existent air between you two and crash your lips onto his. In French kiss so filthy that it makes Gojo moan–

“You’re better like this-” You spit between his strawberry pink lips, the taste of his bubblegum sweet taste now your most favorite. Cherry flavored, almost. “-when you shut up.”

In response, he’s nipping on your lower lip and draaaagging. Smirking at the adorable squeal that lets off from your ajar jaw, “Can’t even keep yer h-hands off of me, always knew you found me irresistible.” And Gojo doesn’t even need his other hand to entrap you now, pinning you with his muscled front. A sultry glissade of mere inches up n’ down up n’ down up n’- 

You could tell that he was big. 

So could that soft palm of yours, sneaking down to cop an agonizing feel of his rotund bulge. Fingers rovering generously along the damp crevice of his slit, “What was that?”

“Found me ir-re-sis-”

Harder. 

“Shiiiit.” He hiccups, head swimming. “Suck- suck on my tongue.”

You do. Making Gojo’s eyes glaze over at the twist of your pillowy lips, making him rut-

“Fuckin’ dirty little thing.” The rough texture of his tastebuds swirl across your own, and even through his mask you swear he looked fucked-out already. Taking off his suave gloves, he leaves one spank on your thigh. Two. “Mmm- spread them f’me now.”

You’re snarling, despite the furious throb you feel from your leaking cunt. “Who’d ya think you are to ngh- boss me around?”

“Have it your way then, girl.”

And when he says that shit, he means it.

Before you know it, he’s sitting on the capped curves of his knees with a loud bam! You’re grimacing for but a mere split-second at just how much it must have hurt, before realizing that Gojo doesn’t care.

It’s the last fucking thing on his mind once he’s gliding an open, calloused palm underneath one of your unsteady legs and wrangling it on top of his sculpted shoulders. 

You’re latching a hand through his soft, fawny strands with a yelp. “Asshole.”

“Witch.”

“Pussy.”

“Pussy, alriiight—” The borders of his short, manicured nails draw an invisible line down, down, down to coast the puffy fissure of your pussylips. Before pinching and tearing cleanly between the legs of your latex suit. Breathing deeply in- “There she is. Pretty girl…hey there, the name’s Satoru. I’m the stuff of your wettest dreams.”

You can’t even bite out a retort - a plea - before Gojo’s diving nose-deep allll the way into your drooling cunt. Nudging apart your gluey folds with his perky buttoned nose, lengthy tongue slathering your hole with a fat drag-

He’s basically glued. Addicted with only a single taste, and swerving his tongue to scratch up in solid, dizzying circles around and around your soppy entrance. 

“Sh-shit-” Your thighs break out in jitters, and he only responds with a firm tug to interlock your craned limb ‘round his neck. Making your spine bend the perfect curvature off of the cool wall, “-more. More.”

SPANK!

The rims of Gojo’s fingers burn into the globes of your ass, and he’s so unrepentant about it. So smug. Making such a spectacular show of letting your globs of slick pour down his tongue. 

Kiss-bitten maw hanging wiiidely agape to make you watch the thick rivulets of sap that hit the back of his awaiting throat. He’s dripping wet all the way down to his bobbing Adam’s apple, treacly splotches of juice hitting the floor in puddles. 

Gojo gurgles out something feral, still mushing his pert maw to your wet mound so you’re feeling each n’ every vibration. 

“Dooooown, kitty.” Another spank, and another steamy snog of his mouth. Though, this time he’s letting his pearly whites catch on your plumpened clit. Dangerously so. “Watch ngh- watch it, I bite.”

With a frustrated tut, you’re pushing his pretty features even deeper into your pussy. Making him pinch your sensitive nub between his teeth even harder. Slobbering a long drag from every inch of his pointed chin, to the very apples of his high cheekbones. 

“Maybe m’into that…Satoru.”

“Oh- Oh.” Through the bleary gaps in your eyes, you’re noticing that Gojo was blushing. Bright. Red up to the tips of his ears. Burning skin chafing up into your own, and you’re practically melting at his heat.

That sound was like heaven to him. You were like heaven to him. And Gojo’s dilated irises hold direct eye contact with you once he’s digging his round fingertips roughly onto your asscheeks. Resonating out such saturated squelches after squelches as his tongue laps every nook and cranny. “You’re gonna get it- fuck, you’re gonna get it, sweetheart.”

So many delirious moans rip out of you with every slash of his tongue, perking it in every right sensitive spot of yours - without even trying.

Mewling, “Toru- ngh- Toru.”

“Easy there, easy there.” He giggles out in a wet sputter right into your inner thighs, ragged voice all waterlogged with so many ounces of you and your sweet pussy. In the blink of an eye, you feel like you’re floating - only mere moments later do you realize that it’s because Gojo’s holding you up. 

With only one hand.

Relieving you of any thought other than jerking your cunt repeatedly on top of his open mouth in a sultry tempo. Back and forth. 

“Have no idea h-how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He spits into your weeping pussy - both literally and figuratively. Free hand darting upwards to push aside the glutinous barrier of your folds and spray it with a thick wad of spittle. Licking over the shiny sheen, “No idea. Always actin’ so ngh- high and mighty. Had to fuck my fist every time I fought ya, had to run off and- shiiiit cum to the thought of you all over my tongue.”

Gojo was babbling, and right now it was as if he started and couldn’t stop.

“Annoying fuckin’ girl.” He’s snarling, every syllable falling out before he can even think. The swollen point his thumb treks past your walls and catches on the fluttering orifice of your hole. “Ya just need to be eaten out reeeeal proper. Lemme show you how it’s done.”

Then you feel like you’re being split-apart, and you knew you were fucked. 

Because Gojo’s fingers were both long and girthy. 

Such a lethal combination that had you mussing up his silky bangs while you held on for dear life. 

His barreling inches crawl right past that first cozy outer ring, showering it with such lustrous layers of pure, slippery need. Pushing and pushing until they’re skirting to thrash right into the bulging area of your g-spot. 

And just when he’s pummelling your molten wall with a harsh strike, just when Gojo’s mouth parts at the pure ecstasy of finding it. Of how pretty you looked. 

You’re letting your own, too, in a frail whimper. “Th-that all you got, Nightwing?”

“Ohhh, I love a woman that bullies me.” 

All that Gojo whispers into your cunt - low, almost reverent - before his touch turns deadly. Cock aching painfully, thighs squeezing together until his pulsing, hot shaft gets squeezed. 

You’re faced with the full force of his slick-covered fingers pumping direct hit after hit. Sending white-hot flashes of pressure straight from the stout ends of his fingerpads and right to your brain.

“That all I got? H-heh, that all I got-” He’s echoing your previous words like a mantra. Breaking. Octaves higher as if he was on the verge of laughing. “How fucking cute.”

“C-cute?”

“So fucking cute.”

“I-I’m not- fuck!”

Pinpointing his long index purposefully in a massage right up against your g-spot, like it was a button for him to toy and push. 

Gojo’s smile leers ever-wider as he holds it there, listening to the way your moans pitch creakily. “What’s that?” And you’re barely spilling off a few more syllables in response before he angles his wrist deeper to push down even harder. Making your entire body shudder, “What’s that? Yeahh, s’what I thought.”

You were so tight around him that Gojo’s forcing himself to bite his driveling bottom lip to hold back countless embarrassing whimpers. Because you were clinging onto him like gum, tugging his fingers back into your boiling hot depths every time he’s reeling back.

And the problem with Gojo Satoru was that he couldn’t decide. 

He wanted you. And he wanted it all. 

Couldn’t stop from alternating between scissoring his dexterous fingers into every ridge and crevice of your goopy cunt, and making out with you like he was parched. Lolling his tongue like he was drunk- all over your swooping slit and rubbing in tiny hearts on top of your hooded clit. 

“Need you. Need you s-shoooo fuuuckin’ badly.” He couldn’t even speak properly at this point. You’re flinching as a third finger slimily squirms inside your pussy. “Want it all.”

So fucking sloppy in ways you’ve never seem him.

Your dewdrops of slick coat the outside of his mouth and stick in delicate strings, growing thicker and thicker by the minute as he once more strikes your magical spot and makes your toes curl. Gasping, “Yeah- yeah, fuck. Take it, take it ngh- all, Satoru—”

You think you’re gonna snap.

“Upsie daisy.”

Basically being manhandled to lean your entire weight on his shoulders. You don’t think you’re even holding yourself up at all this point. Feeling every flex and ripple of the hero’s deltoids underneath your fleshy mounds.

You’re so loud - and not just from your mouth.

“Hell yeah. Talk t’me.” Juicy sloshes spring onto the edges of Gojo’s mouth after every gyration, practically devouring you. He narrows his lust-murked stare to your glistening hole, giggling - fucking giggling - at how your hips just can’t stay still. “She’s saying…ohhh she’s saying- saying she’s gonna be good f’me.”

You’re blinking down with dazed intrigue, watching with an empty head at the way that his motions only get faster. And faster. 

Pupils sprinting allll the way to the back of your heavy lids, “Close. Think- think m’so close, Toru.”

“Ya think?” He muses, drawing a bold stripe up your bruised and battered g-spot. One so hard that it has the corners of your lips flooding with a bubbling torrent of saliva, it has your eyes shuttering- “Oh, girl– I know. You’re cummin’ already, sweetheart.”

Shit- you were? You were. 

Head spinning, throat raw. 

And you didn’t even realize it with just how fucked-out you were on his long, lecherous tongue. Rendering your head permanently dizzy with those vulgar patterns he was drawing with it, both inside and out.

Your goopy walls tingle with the force of your high, ears popping with the pressure of those startling peaks after peaks. Ones that Gojo drags out gladly. 

“Cumming from the hah- the great Gojo Satoru, huh?” He’s groaning, tonality husked with a shiver of something predatory. Unstable. Needy. Smashing away over and over and over on your most tender spots, buzzing. “Cumming all over my mouth. Always was meant for this- meant for me.”

If you thought that the squelches from before were blasphemous, then you surely weren’t ready for the slurps that follow now. 

So loud. 

Slithering the curling tip of his tongue to slap down on your quivering entrance, he’s pounding your hole dually with a mean mouth and even meaner fingers. Merciless. 

You’re cumming and cumming and he’s stringing you along with every explosive ram and suck. Tired fingers pulling out of your hole with a wet plop! and lurching down to squeeze his achingly hard cock. Grinding the fat of his palm over n’ over across his length-

“S-soooo sensitive—” You’re sobbing out, eyes leaking hot tears once the crescendo of your orgasm pulls taut, powerful tingles rushing from where Gojo was latching his neat teeth onto your clit and biting. 

And not even wringing your fingers to scratch his scalp, not even draaaagging Gojo by his sweat-matted hair could get him to part. 

He wasn’t done yet. No. 

His chin hits the very back of your cunt as he targets your pussy with yet another viscous few wads of spittle. Scattering it all over your sloppy hole when he’d drunk up all your sweet sap and there wasn’t enough. “Wanna taste more o-of you. S’fuckin’ sweet, wanna taste more.”

Because to him it would never be enough.

Not even when you’d finally let your toes uncurl, not even when your cracked whimpers were turning hushed. Bated. 

Not even when he finally breaks his kiss between your legs with one last looooong slurp. Well, multiple. Gojo simply kept parting and coming back every few seconds with the most vulgar kisses because it hurt him to leave the very same pussy he’s been dreaming of since the day he first met you. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Gojo seethes out through rough pants. The soppy thwack! of wiry ribbons of drool from both sets of lips smacking him in the face. It lacquers all over his prettily flushed face and makes a mess.

Yet, you think he’s never looked prettier. 

And the only thing messier was that smile he was giving you - dopey, and crazed. With beads of syrupy slick hanging off of his cerise lips, “You…you got my mask all dirty, sweetheart.”

“Dirty” was an understatement. 

Gojo’s black mask was drenched, soaked through until every bit of his milky skin touching it smeared with a shimmery lamination of sap. You’d done such a number on him that when he hooks a thumb underneath, it lets out the most sinful squelch!

“Hear that?” You’re watching, speechless, once he tugs it off haphazardly. Impatiently. Ethereal white locks splaying out and over like a halo, “That’s the sound of ya being eaten out reeeal good n’ proper.”

And when Nightwing takes his mask off, you have to blink. 

Because you’d fully and completely thought that Gojo Satoru could never be prettier - but when he was like this? When you could finally see his face fully?

Shit, you’re feeling your heart hammer against your ribs with a painful ba-dump–! just by looking into his summer blue eyes. The cute blush painting his features even more evident, and you’re catching his nose crinkle. 

You’re pushing back the stray twines of his bangs sticking onto his prespired forehead. A touch that makes him shiver, a touch that makes his hardened cock twitch in his supersuit. “Never put that on a-again, I swear.”

“Ate that pretty cunt out and you’ve hah- fallen f’me already, hm~?” He’s wriggling his pale brows, and the look in his eyes is so enchanted that it leaves you momentarily speechless.

If you’d fallen for Gojo now, then he had already fallen for you a long, long time ago.

You hand on his hair tightens, searing. Angling his handsomely pussydrunken face until he’s looking up at you, “And who was saying they’ve been hngh- dreaming of eating my ‘pretty cunt’ for ages now?”

“I…”

“Shut up.”

And when you tell him to shut up, he shuts up. For perhaps the first time in the twenty-something years he’s been terrorizing this Earth.

Oh, for just how famed Nightwing was for his reflexes, Gojo barely sees it coming when you’re pushing him onto the muggy floor and collapsing right on down with him. Feverish. Needy. 

He was so fucking hard that you swear you could see the zig-zag of his inflated veins through that massive bulge. Through his clothes-

Seriously, you’re ripping through the tough latex-y fabric wrapping around his inner thighs with a smirk. If he got to rip your supersuit then you should only return the favor. 

You can’t help yourself, the very tip of your mushy tongue drips with a few pearls of saliva with just how badly you wanted him in your mouth. You’d seen the way that Gojo was huffing and grinding his cock as much as he could when he was filthily making out with your cunt.

Judging by the way he was jolting and moaning at your every touch, you were surprised he didn’t cum just from-

Oh.

He did. 

And from the startled look of awe on Gojo’s face, he didn’t realize he had, either. 

“Oh?” You’re skimming the fat plane of your thumb over his leaky orifice right in the middle, bawling out thick ropes of creamy white which slipped n’ slid allll down your wrist in generous heaps. “A-and you called me ‘cute’.”

Shit, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know where to look.

True to his word, Gojo was big - more than big, actually. 

His cock was oh-so-pretty, standing red and proud at something near nine or ten inches. Oodles of buttery seed dripping down the side and ready for you to lick up. 

Nestled above breeder balls, he’s lightning bolted with fat, rosé veins you couldn’t wait to feel scratch up your insides. A girthy circumference that made your poor knuckles ache to wrap around, so needy that every throb made your wrist jolt. 

So…sexy.

“Satoru…”

And something in your tone of voice seems to jolt Gojo into overdrive. 

He’s letting his meaty thighs crack open, displaying you with the attractive ripples of muscle. “C’mon, sweetheart-” A large hand softly cups the back of your unsteady head, “-clean up this- this mess you made.”

If this was any other time, you might’ve snapped back something about it being the mess he made himself. If this was any other time, you might’ve teased him for the teary cracks shattering his words.

But right now, you were striking the bullseye of Gojo’s round, coral pink divot with a hefty dump of saliva. Thumbing it right over his weeping middle and lazing your tongue tenderly all down the grooves of his veins.

You could feel him throb and buck underneath you, so turned on that you could practically taste it. 

“Gods. Fuck. Fuck, girl-” He’s spitting out through lowered lashes, watching your tongue flop out to lap ‘round and ‘round his mushroomy tip like your favorite lolly. “-like that. Just like that.”

Gojo tucks a thumb underneath the curve of your chin, prying your maw to fall open just enough so that he can tap-tap-tap his blushing, thick head on your tongue. So that he can spurt out a few more gumdrops of seed and watch them glisten all the way to your throat. 

He’s watching you with an open mouth,  “Oh yeah. Oh yeah, my girl. Now you’re gonna hah- take all of me, right?”

Your pussy twitches with interest at his words — “my girl.” And the only thing you can think to do is let your digits sift underneath his tender slit, grinning. “Make me.”

It’s all the confirmation that Gojo needs to lurch open your slobbering mouth even further and plunge his veiny cock into you. Hissing at the way your tongue drags underneath his sinking shaft, he burns red to the tips of his ears. 

“N-now now, play nice and say ‘ahhh’—” Your mouth was so hot. And it was working so many wonders on his fat cock that it was forcing him to gasp out tiny sobs. “Take me- fucking- fucking take me or god help me-”

He didn’t even know what he was saying.

Never breaking sultry eye contact, Gojo’s swabbing his cum around your plumped lips like a whitish lipstain. Fucking up feverishly, his trickling tip hits the very bottom of your throat and stays there-

“Ya like that?” He’s snarling out, perfect teeth pulled back on full display. You’re moaning into his tufted, snowy-white pubes at the sight of his glinting canines. “‘Course you do, course you do. F-fuck don’t know how many ngh- time I-I’ve imagined this. All because of you, nasty girl-”

Without warning, he’s pinching your nose together and you whine in answer. Crescents of your nails clawing down red, red lines all over his toned abs, “Alright alright- ngh- mostly because of you.”

He lets go, finally. Snickering at the steady tears that fall down your cute face. 

Fighting against his flapping lids to watch the way you’re bobbing your head in a primal cadence now. Your nose brushing up against his heated skin every time. A fat few rivers of drool find themselves glazing your lips, your chin, Gojo’s shifting pelvis in a puddle. 

He was so hot and weighty inside, and your jaw was starting to ache just from the sheer bulky fatness. Your cunt leaking - bawling - at the way his ballooned-up veins rub against the roof of your mouth up n’ down.

“You and that damn suit n’ those damn eyes a-and that-” He bucks up, up, up, core tensing sexily each time. Smashing the rounded curve of his tight balls against your chin. “-damn mouth. Now mine, all mine oh—”

Your fingers just barely graze over Gojo’s plump sack, making his precious, pinkish skin wrinkle. Making him gasp- “O-oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-” His head snaps upwards, eyes rolling to the very backs of his head. “-c’mere. C’mere.”

Maybe it’s because of the remaining aftereffects of your mind-shattering orgasm, maybe it’s because you wanted him so bad you couldn’t think; but you’re so pliable in Gojo’s big, strong arms.

He’s bending a few degrees to scoop you up in a mess of boneless limbs, all in one go. Sitting you all pretty and struggling to balance on his slender hips– his v-shape was mouth-watering. 

And your thighs fit so perfectly snugly on either side, glissading your pussylips up and down on his cylindrical shaft. You’re riding all along his bumpy veins, head bobbing at every probing spiral that pokes past your folds. 

“Fuck me.” Gojo whispers against your throat. Reaching over languidly to rip even more of his supersuit for you, all the way down his inner thighs, his chest, everywhere. For you to ruin. “Fuh-fuck me.”

Whining, “Give it- give it t’me, Toru–”

He blushes. 

You didn’t know who was yearning for it more. 

Gojo repeatedly spanks your slippery hole with the very rounded crown of his cockhead, sandwiching himself between your bloated lips. And the sight makes him grin, the sight makes him twitch- “Open. Open wiiiide, sweetheart. Tight fuckin’ thing.”

Your knobbly knees ricket as you splay them out shamelessly, “‘Nough teasing. Want it- a-and I want it now.”

Bratty girl.

Though, he always has loved that side of you. 

And it’s exactly what makes Gojo depart his hips off of the ground in a sudden rut and fill you up to your brim. Just the plump circle of his tip mazing past your entrance enough to render you stupidly speechless. 

You swear you hear him bludgeon just the few inches of his head into your channel with a wet plop! Before your ears ring with something even louder…even wetter. 

“Fucking- shit shit shit-” You’re almost letting your mouth sing with a whimper once his gorgeous eyes shutter closed, a cute pout smearing over your face. Gojo’s shifting, he’s restless, he’s planting his feet firmly flat on the floor and bucking wildly. Through clenched teeth, “This is- all- your- fault.”

Suddenly, you’re feeling something warm and thick soaking through your walls. Slathering ribbons of liquid sloshing around your wet inners and mixing with the waves of your aroused slick. 

Did he just…? Just from putting it inside? 

And, really, you felt so heavenly inside - what was a man to do?

Your gooey walls molding around his length like molten gold, it was driving Gojo crazy until all he could do was wrap his arms around the small of your back as if you were his lifeline. Panting out cloudy breaths against your face, he stares deeply into your eyes and cums-

Your eyes flap open alertly, “T-Toru– did you just-”

“Shut up.” He’s huffing, gnawing on his wobbly lower lip like chewing gum. To shut you up, he’s shoving your face between the plummy cushions of his pecs. Grunting when your tongue comes out to suck his rose pink nipples. “I’m just- I’m- ngh–”

Just fucking his globular wads of seed until you were overspilling, is what. Pumping the bottom of your pussy so full that you’re feeling him smear sticky streaks down your cervix, the gluey-texture making your back arch for more more more-

“Can’t help that this p-pussy is so fuck- filthy.” He’s trawling out syllables from the back of his hoarse throat, a thin line of saliva leaking from one end of that fucked-out grin. Eyeing the plapping of his cum pouring in bucketloads out of you and onto his skin, “That you’re so…”

Can’t help that he’s been dreaming of this since forever. 

Gojo didn’t have to say a word, because the massive puddle formulating from between your icing-topped folds was chatty enough. Really chatty, in fact, that the man finds himself nodding away blearily with every shrill squelch! from down below. 

Humming, “Mhm— real t-talkative, aren’t you, pretty girl?” His pants puncture with a few breathless titters, watery gaze flickering between your sweaty face and where he was disappearing. Depraved. “Nicer than her, too.”

Lips falling into a partially-offended, partially-delirious oh! your brows furrow, “S-so mean. Don’t make me- ngh- don’t make me g-get off, Satoru.”

“Get off, huuuuh?” He’s drawling, hands pushing you down even further along his blushing red cock. You were so insistent and fiery, it made him so much fucking harder. And it was cute, the way you’re flinching when his tip throbs even fatter. “If you wanna ngh- tap- tap out, jus’ say so, my girl.”

“Never.” 

“Never?”

Rolling those beautiful eyes of yours, “You’d tap out first.”

Fuck yeahhhhh, he was shifting his hips just a little to make you feel how much girthier you were making him. The clingy sides of your walls snatching on the way his crownhead pulls taut, stretching your innards to the very max. “No. You.”

He doesn’t know if you even realize just how much more damp you’re getting. A syrupy wet patch already formed and growing on his v-line, dribbling down to his twitchy balls. “Scared, Nightwing?”

“I’m not even trying, sweetheart.”

And with that said, only now do you realize just how true his words are. 

Two impressive hands interlace on the crown of your sticky scalp, pushing you- bullying you down like some glorified ragdoll. 

Your thighs twitch as if you were unsure whether to clench or spread. You can feel Gojo’s sweltering hot cock squeezing and squeezing his fully proud length inside of you - you didn’t even realize that he hadn’t bottomed out yet because he was simply so big.

But when he did finally fit all the way?

God, it felt like he was drilling his split-ended tip right into your lungs. 

“There we go- thereeee we go.” Gojo breathes out thickly, and it felt like something leaden in his tummy was finally unraveling after all this time. Finally stuffed inside your pussy. “Knew you could t-take me- heh. S’biiig, isn’t it?”

Really big. 

And every shallow bounce of yours made your pulse burst near your throat, stars sparking behind your burdensome eyelids when he pinpricks tiny speckles of pre on your most favorite spots. 

“Yeah yeah- ride me.” He grapples at your scalp and pulls. “Fuckin’ ride me. S’all yours n’ I wanna see you ngh- milk it.”

“Gods- ohhhh gods.” You’re shrilling out in a strained pitch when he jerks upwards and clashes into your g-spot, your nails claw ragged lines on the carpet as if you’d just been thrown to the wolves. Stupid now. Hips jerking away from his tantalizing pace-

“No running.” Gojo spits, pained. One hand curling around your throat and dragging you down to smack the backs of your thighs against his weighty balls, the other cupping your face delicately. His long, textured tongue laps up the salty pearls of your tears with looooud slurps. “Wh-where the ngh- fuck do you think you’re going?”

You didn’t even have an answer because every possible one was being fucked out of you. Brutally. 

One sharp jab. Two. Three into your tender alcoves and you feel like collapsing, your front melting into his toned one, drool spilling out in spit-loads. 

It’s all you can do to gyrate your waist back and forth in sloppy circles to meet his pace. Looong figure eights that made Gojo’s thighs shudder, and your clit scratch his creamy happy trail. There were so many thorough inches being fed into your cunt, probing deeply. Over and over and over- 

And no matter how full you were he’d keep rutting and rutting. Like he couldn’t stop. Rotund head sagging down your cervix to leave streaks of pre and he was still pushing.

Gojo bores up at you with glazed eyes, saliva-glistening lips parted ever-so-slightly while he pounded up into you as if in a daze.

You’re swearing his dilated pupils have formed into hearts- “Mmmm– love you, my girl.” He carries out a tender kiss on your forehead, and a rough squeeze on your throat. Jostling your lolling head back and forth ever-so-slightly, to dab his digits in a seeping puddle of slick and push past your lips. “Love fucking you. Being haaaaa– fucked by you…”

It’s not often that anyone can catch Gojo Satoru off guard.

But you’re not just “anyone.”

With your honed expertise, all it takes is one jackhammered thud! into the back of your pussy - two - before you’re flipping your ravenously glissading bodies over. 

“Then f-fuck me properly, Toru.”

Maybe he heard your words through the static-y buzzing in his head, maybe he didn’t. Either way your tone makes something inside him twitch, full-bodied. 

And you don’t think Gojo even registers it beyond a stuttered ohhh–! at first, you don’t think he even realizes the way he’s immediately sprawling you out flat on your back and bending you into a rude mating press. 

Still not slowing down. Still not faltering. 

Ah, you don’t know if you’re a genius or just plain stupid. Because you still manage to yelp, “S’that- s’that it?”

As if on primal instinct, he’s letting out a growl near your mouth. “Hah- haaah– Y’know…I-I’m reeeeal flexible, my girl.” Your calves burn with exertion once he throws them unceremoniously over his shoulders, core tensing in a way you can’t help but ogle. “Real flexible.”

At first you didn’t understand why he was telling you this. At first.

Before Gojo drags his large feet up, up, up until he’s planting them where you can see - sweaty thighs lugging forwards where he’s bending you in half and then some. 

It was so cute how pliable you were underneath him, manhandled to every whim and want and need-

This brand-spanking new angle was everything. 

Thrashing into your springy cervix - hard. Stretching out deeply-seated sweet spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. It makes you feel so fucking filthy at the sting of his papping balls bruising your ass like never before. 

And his tip is so greedy, feeling the swashing splash of his own seed dripping all over your walls and still bursting to erupt with more. He could tell he was close, aligning himself to crash into his favorite target of your g-spot. 

“Fuck–” Your mindless legs threaten to close - not that he would ever let them. “So much. Fuck me, p-please.”

“What was that?”

“Please…”

“What was that?”

“Please!”

Gojo’s hunched over, seethingly red in the face. Ivory bangs half-way covering his intensely half-lidded stare, stray spatters of perspiration hit your chest like bullets. 

“Gonna ngh- fuck you properly.” He spits, hands ghosting over your tummy - namely that globed bulge he was fucking into you. A mere nudge of it with his thumb leaves Gojo’s breath leaving his lungs in a sizzling woosh! Sculptured chest vibrating, “Gonna breed you properly. Gonna…” 

You’re flinching when fingers waft over your nubbed clit, the stark volts of electricity prompting your ass to hit back even rougher against his sharp pelvis. 

“Want it, Toru.” Wobbly arms wrapping around his flushed neck to pull him in close. He looks at you lovingly, while he fucks you like he hates you. “W-want you to ngh- breed me.”

And that does it - for the both of you.

Gojo Satoru’s breath hitches with a cry, balls achingly tight. Needy. “Gonna make you m-mine.”

Running headfirst into your highs, it hits you like a tidal wave. You don’t know where you’re seeing white from; the flurries of stars speckling your vision, or from the torrents of cum Gojo pours out past your sloppy entrance. 

“Your p-pussy–!” Gojo bursts, drilling into you as if he was crazed. Fat tip swirling around your pretty insides with decorative ribbons of pure white, his cum seeps into you thickly and you swear you can feel him well up the door to your womb. “O-ohhhh your pussy your pussy your- p-pussy, takin’ me so well.”

“Fuck me-” You tug on his pink lips with your teeth and it makes Gojo empty out another few webbed streaks of sap into the bottom of your pussy with a thud! Brows furrowing, “Deeper.” Even though he was so deep you think you might burst. “Harder.” So hard you felt raw. “More.”

You were already overspilling, the throes of your burning hot orgasm just barely letting you register the splat-splat-splat of his cum pumping in n’ out of you. 

Two of his slender fingers urgently scoop those few escaping globs back through your pussylips, Gojo’s girth so wide that he doesn’t even have to try to plug you full and tight. 

“A-all safe and sound.” He’s patting at the cumflated outline on your tummy, cylindrical and round. Your walls were so plump and tight with him that just the simplest dig had you squealing. “A-all…”

And Gojo looked like he could purr if he could. 

All fucked out and satisfied, the pussydrunken grin on his face seemed permanent - and so was that tender glint in his eye. Peeking up at you through long lashes, he leans his head over to listen to your juddering heartbeat, “All mine.”

Your tummy lurches, and you find yourself smiling before you can stop. But it’s not like you wanted to stop.

In fact, you didn’t want to stop at all. 

“That last one’s a tie.” Your voice scratches the favorite crevices of Gojo’s brain; so mushy and melted that it takes a long while before his lips drop into an understanding oh! You sweetly peck his lips, “Rematch, Nightwing?”

Fuck. 

His poor, overworked cock twitches.

Fuck. 

And of course, it was a rematch with the two of you.

Of course, the one rematch turned into two. Into three. Into four. Into- you’d lost count after five, and you were sure right now that you couldn’t even do any maths past that.

After breaking Naoya Zenin’s loveseats, after splitting his desk literally in half. Eventually, you’d either forgotten about the man himself and your fate, or you just didn’t care. You were so fucked dumb that all you can cry is a broken, “Sa-to–ru!”

Because if there was one thing that Batman taught in his rigorous training scheme, it was stamina. 

Gojo was taking you from behind right now- well, that was being generous. 

He was slumped down over you until his abs were liquefying down your arched spine, head buried deep into the clammy crook of your neck. Swirling his sensitive cock all around your tenderized insides, thighs trembling where he was pinning the both of you down onto the floor. Too sloppy and fucked to even try anywhere else.

“M’here—” Gojo drawls out, heavy tongue stumbling over the sounds. He pats the cute tummy bulge that he’s responsible for first, and then your gushing pussy. Pulling you to him, he really was acrobatic, “M’here. Toru’s h-here, my sweetheart.”

Fuck- those last two words make him jetstream out a sweltering few beads of seed. He couldn’t even cum properly anymore. 

Driving into you until every voluminous mass in his body was now packed intensely between your snug walls, he shifts inside of you with a sloooow gyration and feels the knotted mess he’s made. 

“My sweetheart–” Gojo’s biceps bulge where he’s shoving your head into the soft carpet, into the pond of saliva that just won’t stop leaking from your parted mouth. His words depart in a cracked plea, “My girl.”

“Y-yours.”

Maybe you’re cumming, maybe you’re not - you don’t even know, at this point. 

Half-lucidly aware of the faint tingles shooting up your spine, and making your temples throb. Gojo himself feels out of control, hips reeling back, back, back to slam into your jiggling ass. 

He’s pawing himself a rough handful of your fleshy mounds once he throws his head back and lets his aching shaft jolt. Straight from his drenched base, all the way to his overstimulated tip- exhausting out one bead of pre. Two. 

Before Gojo cums dry.

“O-oh.” His teeth snag near your pulse, wet splatters of tears soaking your skin. Something animalistic twinging at the back of his cottony mind at the way you literally milked him until he was dry. Despite himself, he laughs. High-pitched. Crazed. “S’a- tie- s’a tie, I went e-easy on you…”

Somehow, you’re managing a grin. “My hero~”

And Gojo was just about to open his mouth - maybe to counter back something nonsensical, maybe to ask for a rematch over n’ over until he passes out.

But what happens instead is that overly familiar metallic gate explodes open.

You have to blink away the clingy fog in your eyes in alarm, and you’re embarrassed to admit that it took longer than you thought. Dammit, he really did win that last round- ah, rematch.

Still stunned, you can barely even dredge up some semblance of dignity as a towering man in a red helmet and skin-tight black suit walks in. Past his sexy biker vest, and those muscles upon chiseled muscles, you think you see- yeah, it really is. A red Batman logo. 

Red Hood. 

A low snicker sounds from underneath his mask, swiftly being taken off to reveal a man so pretty that you feel your jaw slacken. 

He runs a hand through silky, waist-length black hair, amethyst eyes glinting with amusement and something…more as he takes in the sight. Long lashes fluttering, he lets go of a specialized machine gun you assume was used to break down your cage. “Yo, Satoru.”

“Suguru.” Gojo gruffs out in a condensed gasp, though he makes no move to stop. None at all. Still balls-deep, and rubbing his tip down your spongy cervix. “Wh-what- fuuuck, don’t squeeze like that, my girl- took ya so ngh- long?”

Red Hood- Suguru, waves his other hand airily, only then do you see the knife clutched in it. The extremely…bloodied knife. “Ah, y’know~ Had to clean up some messes. Toji wanted revenge on the Zenins, the usual family drama.” Eyes flashing, “He’ll be up once he’s done to ah…join us here.”

Oh god, was the entire Bat Family here? You get the distinct feeling that this was not just “usual family drama.”

But you can’t say a word when the other man bores his piercing gaze onto you next. Tone smooth and syrupy, “So…Prowler, I’m assuming, by the ripped up costume?”

You feel your skin heat. “The one and only.”

“Geto Suguru, gorgeous.” He pulls out a tiny spherical gadget that looked exactly like the one Gojo had been toying with hours- days? ago. “I already know your name, Toji and I heard it over and over. Which, by the way, you should remind that idiot Satoru to turn his microphone off.”

Ah, that explains a lot. And wait- it was on this whole time? 

Shit. 

While Gojo only huffs out a pant of laughter, planting yet another deep jackhammer into you, you feel the apologies bubble to your lips. That is, until- 

“Unless you want someone to feel…” Geto licks his lips slooowly, bangs swooning over his sleazy gaze. You watch with widened eyes as a hand falls to his bulky belt, carnally. “-left out.”

A/N. Mhm what happens when ya let a girl listen to Nightcrawler.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[yanderenightmare]

how is our little playboy bunny navigating all her apex predator clientele, I wonder

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, hyrbid au, sex club, sex worker reader dystopian laws, subjugation

♡ FEM reader

♡ P1: Playboy Bunny

A run-down of your usual clientele?

Your most regular visitors are wolves. They come in big packs of dozens at a time. Cops. Dirty cops. They usually book a private room so that they can be as rambunctious as they want, leaving their guns and badges out on the table just to remind you of who they are.

They like their drinks bitter, their cigars fat, their stakes rare, and usually wind up depriving you of your leotard sometime during the evening when making you sit on their blue laps, passing you around between them as if you were just another piece of meat for them to share.

They can get quite loud and heavyhanded and don’t tip very well, either. So, they’re not your favorite clients. Their fur is also rough and unkempt, and after catering to all their knots, you spend the entire night tossing and turning, trying to dispel all the cum they leave in your womb.

But you know, at least they’re straightforward.

The felines are harder to read. Dogs are dogs for the most part—except for foxes—but big cats differ greatly from one another. 

Lions mostly ignore you as they talk amongst themselves. Politicians, most of them. Congressmen, senators, and such. Their manes are always slicked back with gel, soft and smooth, all dressed in expensive suits steeped in cologne.

They keep you on their lap with a paw on your ass, sometimes squeezing your tail. They just want you to hold their drink and bring it up to their lips when they give you a bounce.

It’s honestly rare for them to do much else than ask you to fetch stuff like more ice or cigars. But sometimes one or two of them will have you join them someplace private. They’ll talk about the wife they have at home. Sharp-toothed and long-clawed and never in the mood to fuck anymore.

They volley with their praise, telling you how soft and sweet you are, such a good bunny rabbit for them, then switching it up with sneers, calling you a slutty little cotton-tail whore.

They scare you.

Jaguars and leopards are a bit different. Wallstreet brokers.

They’ll smooth-talk to you. Heavy on the compliments. Flirting with you and smiling when they make you blush or giggle nervously. They like that—selling it, making you want their touch.

Oh, and when they’ve gotten you really flushed and hooked, they’ll groom you. Using their sand-textured tongue to lap up all that sweet-smelling nervousness like you’re a desert. Kneading your soft parts like you’re their own personal stress-toy. 

But felines are great tippers, even those who don’t use you much. You think they see it as a status thing. 

Birds of prey are the same. They like to talk. Or, talk is a generous term. They’re vain creatures and will mostly ask for your opinion on their plumage and how you like their feathers—if they aren’t just the most magnificent wings you’ve ever seen in your life.

It took you a while to understand them—what type of money they were—but if the tattoos they keep on their skin are any tell, your guess is mafia.

Funny enough, they seem like one of the less dangerous types of clientele you have. They just like having fun for the most of it, always asking you to kiss their rings before they throw the dice. They’re all gambling habits and signed deals, trying to act as sophisticated as possible, even when they’ve all got freshly bloody knuckles on each visit.

But you’re a well-trained bunny, always sitting pretty and never ever asking a single stupid question that might get you in trouble.

Then there’s the hyenas, of course. They find work where they’re wanted. Candy men and loansharks, but mostly just muscle for the real mobsters.

They also come in packs and take a little too many party drugs. Always left drooling all over you, eyes blown wide and bloodshot, rutting as if they’re competing over who can do you fastest or who can do it the most times—you can’t tell—teeth bared as they sink their claws a little too deep into your flesh, almost hard enough to tear your coat and definitely enough to leave spots the boss won’t be pleased to see.

They’re bad with money and are often chased out and banned from coming again. But they have ways of earning their keep, and somehow, they’re always pardoned after a week or two and welcomed back with open arms.

And speaking of being begrudgingly welcomed. Foxes are usually considered runts—not true apex predators, but they're still allowed entry for dubious reasons.

They’re romantic, coming to the establishment in tailored suits and fresh haircuts. Yeah, they might come across as clean, but in truth, they’re scavengers who fight tooth and nail for their cut of the steak.

Blackmailers and extortionists who pawn themselves off as good-faith advisors, meanwhile running their own organization with private investigations going in every direction, always dealing in confidential information they’re not supposed to know.

They're not entirely accepted by the others but are seen for their value nonetheless, if not out of respect and fear.

A strange species, you'd say. They can play well with anyone, not just canines, making it their mission to secure a favor amongst all the big names. Silver-tongued yet sleazy all the same.

You never know what their agenda is—telling you they’ll take you away somewhere, lavish you with the lifestyle you deserve. But you know they’re just trying to get you to spill on your other clients. Surely you must have heard something interesting?

You just smile and play dumb like always—you’re just a bunny, after all, what were they expecting?

Then there are the reptiles—crocs, gators, and snakes. Lawyers, the lot of them. High-profile lawyers.

You have that in common, you suppose. All their clients are your clients, after all.

They like to boast about their winnings. Make you say, “Oh wow!” and “No way, really?”

Oh, and they love to strangle. They’re maybe the most eccentric species you serve—and the most taxing. They’ll slither their tongue in your ear, keeping their hand around your throat, feeling you kick and struggle beneath them, watching your eyes roll back as they nearly squeeze you free of life.

Somehow, they always know the exact moment to let go. And at that point, they’ve achieved their high. Paying double what they’re owed as if in shame before leaving.

Suppose some types enjoy playing with their food more than eating it.

Lastly, there’s the boss. Big Bear.

He calls himself a businessman, but he’s really just a glorified pimp.

He’s begun taking you off floor duty in favor of having you for himself. He’s always had favorites, you’re told. If you play your cards right, he might just add you to his personal harem.

You try your best to cater to him, but his grizzly cock makes your hips feel as if their dislocating each time you take him, not to mention the way he leaves you completely bedridden, feeling like the spoils of a hunt. 

But unfortunately for you, despite your incompetence, he seems to have taken a liking to you.

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[nemesyaaa]

sweet creature // truck driver!rafe x housewife!reader

summary : just a few mixed headcanons.

warnings : +18 content. minors dni. strong age gap. sweetheart x old man trope. smut. p in v. teasing. smoking. size difference. full nelson position bc big men lovers club here. hand fetish(sorry.). sleazy!rafe. squirting. loss of virginity. please, be aware of the warnings before reading.

author's note : muchas gracias a mi dulce @rafesangelita for giving me the idea bc i really loved to work on the concept of truck driver!rafe. shout out to crush by ethel cain too for give me the inspo of the story. <333

can't stop thinking about truck driver!rafe who's a proud working man. he's soooo bulky from charging alone some weighty goods on his eight wheelers everyday to deliveries driving for weeks and days. he's massive without forcing just because he's doing so hard with his hands on daily.

speaking of this, he's got such big sized hands. apparent thick veins on the back and calloused on the palms. large fingers with too much strength. easier for him to manhandle you or lift you up. they're very manly and rough. fat and round biceps with a strong size. he's tall and big, literally showing you without speaking who’s the man of the house, and who you belong to. you feel so secure every time he's around because you can be sure no one is touching you, no one is looking down at you, no one just dare to even glance at you. he doesn’t like to fight because he doesn't want you to think he's gonna hurt you one day, but if it's for you, he can do anything.

even if you don't like it, he's always smoking a bunch of cigarettes while he's driving and listening to some kind of old music. john denver or johnny cash are his favs.

he's always buying some new marlboro reds at the gas station with some gum when he's taking a break. if he's not smoking, he's chewing some gums until there is no flavor. he's just needs to get something in his mouth. just a bad habit.

he’s a loyal man that doesn't care about women hitting on him at the gas station. but sometimes, he's nostalgic because years ago , you were one of them. you were that pretty rebelious girl who's acting like she has no dad, no family and proudly flirting with him, doesn't give a fuck about getting away with a stranger. at first, you called him old man to joke. at contrary, he directly called you sweetheart, thinking that you're such a sweet thing.

both of you ended up in the motel. “ im curious of what you’ve got in your pants, old man. ” “ you're too young for that shit. ” “ huh, huh…don't you think it's more like you're too old for that shit, sir ? ” the smirk on his face at the moment was really something else. that fucking attitude of yours making him bite his lips.

the minute after, you were pinned down on the mattress, his whole body size over yours. “ repeat it. ” “ i said, you're too old to fuck, sir. ” “ isn’t a fucking virgin thing who doesn't even know anything about the word she's saying who's talking right now ? ” “ I'm not a virgin. ” you lied, rolling your eyes at the sight. “ i swear, I'm not ! ” he laughed softly. “ why are you lying, so eager to be a little slut ? that's why you ran away with strangers like me ?” it was the first time a man like that, and you were speechless. not in a bad way. it was just surprising. “ i think you're forgetting your manners. ” he said carefully, his blue gaze burning over yours.

“ if you want it, i will fuck you. but i need you to say it. clear and ‘oud. ” you turned your head away because there's no way you're gonna say such a thing to him. “ i will find someone else then. that receptionist girl was pre…” “ fuck me. ” you quickly said before repeating it slower and clearly. “ i want you to fuck me…” “ alright. spread those fucking legs for me, sweetheart…huh, look at you, being so wet for me…you really need me.” “ ugh, just touch me ! stop talking, old man. ” you gasped. “ remember that you asked for it. ”

“ yea, yea. ” he started to unbuckle his belt before taking off his pants. your mouth was gagging at his fat cock hanging between his heavy thighs. “ it’s not gonna suck itself. ” you gasped loudly, swallowing hard. “ i j-just don't know how to do it…show me please. ” “ fine. after all, it's my job as your eldest. ”

and that's how you consumed your first night with rafe.

truck driver!rafe who’s got such a pretty polaroid of you that stays and never leaves his truck. there is your lipstick stains on it and a sweet “ good luck ” written on the white space.

as a good housewife, you always prepare him some delicious meals to keep him fed even if he's away. you're always checking on your man' and loves when he's gaining more weight.

he's starting to get old, hitting his forties soon. he doesn't really care about his physic anymore but you still find him so attractive. when you met him, he was already a grown man so it didn't really change anything. he loves to wear a cap on his messy mullet, thinking that it makes him look cool. biggest tees with long sleeves lover. the fabric is not good enough to hide his muscular frame because his big size is so obvious. and he's wearing those blue jeans that fit his muddy boots.

he's not very hairy, but he's not the type to shave often like he used to when he was younger. he's fine with the apparent thick hair of his happy trail and mustache that makes him look like an 80's pornstar. when he's come home, shirtless and sweating, he's just serving you the best look to fuck.

you're obsessed with his scent after a long shift work. you don't care how strong he smells, you just want to hug him and never leave. while he's holding you tight, he's getting you locked on his hug, your face buried against his heavy and glistening chest. and you can't help but kiss his wet sweating tee.

even if he's tired, just knows this man gonna fuck you very hard, especially when you're so clingy to him. you can forget vanilla with truck driver!rafe, there's no way he's gonna be sweet on your fucking pussy, especially after you've been teasing him with dirty pictures of yourself while he was away and driving. also, he does need some stress relief so prepare to be dumb for at least one fucking day raw.

he's excited the moment he sees you. there is no more teasing. he's now in charge of everything and you better take everything he's gonna give you. this is not like he gives you other choices. at this moment, his favorite position to fuck you will be full nelson because you're trapped on his tight muscular hold, forced to bounce on the thickness of his dick. he's dicking you down so hard that you could hear the famous flap flap flap of his heavy balls slapping your skin.

“ don't fucking move. ” he treaths you with the raspy sound of his voice, while your body is bouncing at every of his thrusts. you're shaking loudly on his rocked abs, lips filled with drool and tears running down your heated cheeks. ” you're so fucking tight..! gonna give your pussy a big stretch…fuck ! ”

every back and forth is powerful enough to make your pussy throbs. the way his fleshy cock is moving and bruising your hole — going further and further to the point your stomach is filled with every inch of his shaft, the veiny lines of his dick pulsating inside your cunt and growing harder on your belly. all your whines and cries are nothing for the truck driver, nothing more than a sign to fuck you even faster and stronger. he still holding your twitching body against his toned chest, feeling every squirms of yours on his sweaty skin, and his hands grips at your back legs, while giving you the craziest thrusts. his hands feel so warm and huge on your lower tummy, fingers bruising at your belly while his length is striking to your spot each time. “ you're d-deep…fuck, rafe !! ah…it feels so good…” you cry out of emotions, tears bursting on your face again. “ yea, right ? fucking deep’. you really feel it inside you baby. ”

he's stretching your cunt so well that you can't stop screaming and quivering, feeling his sweat sticking to your body. his breathing is hard and heavy on the side of your cheeks, his jaw slacks but he keeps his mouth wide open loudly panting and getting deeper and stronger, lips tugging at your ears.

he's such a bully. i mean, his dick is. hitting and hitting your g-spot with any fucking breaks, always striking at it like a weapon. getting no mercy and pity on the way he's making you cry. he loves to see your face turning dumb, eyes wide shut, mouth leaking too much saliva, stupid babbles coming from your trembling lips. he's just pushing himself so deep inside your swollen core, breathy moans filling his lips as his cock hardly twitch between your walls, making your throbs even more. you can't even breathe without choking on yourself.

it's like he knows how to take all your energy with his thrusts. his cock won't leave your pussy alone, the veins still hard and bulged with pumping blood, and balls full even after your first orgasm. but not only he wanted you to come but to squirt too.

“ r-rafe, i feel it coming…nghh! ah stop. i c-ca…” “ just let it go, baby. can you do that for me ? ” and it happens just two seconds after, your stretched pussy opening bigger to splash a strong liquid over your folds and making a pool everywhere on yourself. you can't even process the situation that his dick is back into your walls again, merciless pounding your wetted hole. with the same fucked pace. you're such a shivering mess you can't feel anything except the length that's driving hard in your soaked insides. now that you're squirted, it's such a big wet place on your cunt. and he leads him to make you squirt another time. the sound of your pussy pumping his dick is so squishy and loud.

when he comes inside you, you can be sure it's gonna leak a lot from your slick. he's gonna fuck until his balls are empty, and your pussy gonna coats with so much of his sperm.

to be sure of his cock being dry, he's softly slapping at your lips with the tip, and making you clean it. he loves how sloppy you're sucking when you're tired, but he's a hard sucker for the look you give him when his dick weakly falls out of your mouth, and a stream of his sperm sticks at your lower lips.

and you're just off, laying your body back to the sheets.

you can't believe this man was soon forties. you simply can't believe it.

[seasidefallenangel]

gimme, gimme, gimme a man

calling bllk boys your husband while you're still dating ft. isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, itoshi sae

notes: fluff, banter, down bad loverboys, use of "wife" in sae's but gn other than that

༄ isagi: “... i’ll grab a chocolate shake, and my husband’s gonna get the vanilla.”

✣ freezes on the spot and stares at you with wide eyes. him? husband? you wanna marry him? he was hoping you were in the long haul the same way he was, but hearing those words from your mouth made him even giddier than he assumed he’d be. imagine when you two actually get married? he’ll be in the trenches.

⁀➷  “did you mean that?” he asks when the worker closes the window while you wait for your order. you can practically see the tail wagging behind him as he beams at you with those sparkling blue eyes. when you give a nod and a small smile, he has to stop himself from blowing up with excitement. instead, he kisses your forehead and murmurs, “i can’t wait to marry you one day.”

༄ nagi:

“oh, that copy in the corner! my husband’s been looking all over for it.”

✣ eternal soldier in the idgaf war. you can’t even tell if he heard you because his facial expression doesn’t budge in the slightest. he’s still tap-tapping away at his phone while the shop employee grabs the game case and hands it to you. it’s only once you’ve paid and left the store that he finally puts his phone down and rests his head on your shoulder from behind, staring up at you with those big, brown puppy eyes.

⁀➷ “‘husband’”? he asked softly, curious but not displeased. you nod sheepishly, admitting it just sort of came out before you had a chance to think. he hums softly, wrapping his arms around your waist and snuggling into your neck. cute as it is, you’re still very much in public, and he’s not exactly light. when you ask him to get off, his face shifts into a pout and he mumbles, “can’t believe i’m gonna marry someone so mean.” despite his attitude, this’ll be lingering on his mind for awhile.

༄ rin:

“excuse me? my husband wanted to kn-” “boyfriend.”

✣ is having absolutely none of it. he swears his blood pressure has gotten concerningly high since he started dating you and dealing with all your stupid pranks. it seems like he’s annoyed since he immediately interjected, but it’s more the opposite. he knows he wants to marry you, but do you really think he’s worth the trouble? looking that far into the future worries him, but he’d never let you know that. ⁀➷ a pair of lithe fingers squeezes your cheeks after rin pulls you away from the employee with a deadpan expression. he pulls at your cheeks with narrow eyes, asking you, “what the hell was that about? husband? are you stupid or something?” your lower lip juts out as you express to him that you really do want to marry him someday, and just wanted to hear how it sounded coming from your mouth. he knows you’re playing him as you try not to grin, but the confession is rather cute. he lets it slide with an “idiot” under his breath, and you decide not to mention the slight blush on his cheeks and the fact he has your hand in a vice grip as you walk out of the store.

༄ sae:

“oi. my wife asked for a medium. remake it.”

✣ beats you to the punch. he’s always one step ahead in every aspect of your relationship, but this is too much. how on earth did he know that you were gonna call him your husband to see his reaction? well - he didn’t. he just refers to you as his wife internally most of the time, and occasionally when he’s out buying gifts and tells the employee who he’s buying it for. after all, you’ll be his wife one day. might as well start early.

⁀➷ sae glances down at you, raising an eyebrow at your disgruntled expression. when you bemoan that he “stole your thunder,” he flicks you on the forehead before wrapping an arm around your waist. his lips brush against your ear, making you shiver while he speaks, “you do know that you being my wife also means i’m your husband, dumbass. does it matter who said what?” when you sputter and try to pull out the fact he hasn’t even proposed yet, he tugs you closer, looking irritated that you’d even bring up something so simple. it’s a cold day in hell before anyone else gets the chance, and he informs you as such, saying, “because none of the diamonds i’ve found are big enough,” leaving you speechless while he pretends like nothing happened. you’ll never win against him - ever.

[bunnis-monsters]

Yandere!Dragon Hybrid Fluff

A/N: another kofi req! Enjoy!

It had been a while since you visited your dear friend, so you took a day off of work to bring them some freshly baked cookies and spend the day with them.

Working as a waitress in your local tavern wasn’t something you had planned on doing, but your family was poor and no one had asked for your hand in marriage.

Your parents had done all they could to put food on the table, what more could you ask for? Repaying them was the only thing on your mind as of late, leaving no room for your own desires.

Even if late in the night you imagined a beautiful and rich man falling for you, that wasn’t likely to come true. Even if it did happen, you doubted your parents could pay for your dowry.

At least the tavern owner was kind enough to give you a day off. You didn’t like missing work, but even you couldn’t keep going without rest. It wasn’t possible, and you needed to socialize before your mind became mush!

Leaves flew past you as you continued down the forest path. As of late, every day has been windy and cold. It was strange though, the wind followed you wherever you went.

“It’s freezing…” you murmured, pulling your winter coat tighter around your plump frame. In the past you wouldn’t have minded a nice snowy day, but spending it walking through a forest alone while the wind howled made it irritating.

The wind picked up, and all you could hear was how it whistled and howled around you.

But this wasn’t wind…

You nearly fell over, steadying yourself as a strong gust of wind swept over your body. All of a sudden, it all stopped…

“Hello, pet.”

You froze, a shiver running down your spine as someone spoke up behind you. Before you could even turn to see who it was, a talon wrapped around your entire body and you were lifted up into the air.

Not able to process what was happening, you lost consciousness from the pure shock.

The last thing you saw was a massive dragon carrying you off to god knows where…

“Come, my pet… wake up.”

You whimpered as you awoke, your eyes slowly opening. There was a figure leaning over you, but your vision was still too blurry to make out any identifying features.

“W… where… am I?”

A rough chuckle caused you to tense up. The deep rumble nearly shook the bed you were resting in.

“You’re where you belong, my precious one. Here, you’ll be safe, warm, and fed…”

He leaned forward, a claw tenderly caressing your cheek. “Is there anything else you could possibly need?”

Still too exhausted and scared, you fell back asleep.

When you finally awoke, you rubbed your eyes and got a good look at your captor.

He was a handsome man that seemed to be a bit older than you, his tanned skin mixed with red scales. When you recoiled from his touch, he only let out an amused chuckle.

“Scared you, did I?” he cooed, grabbing your chin and tapping it with a talon. “You’ll get used to me, princess. There’s not much else you can do besides that.”

You soon learned that this creature had been following and observing you for quite some time now. That explained the wind that followed you…

“Why, though? I can’t understand the reasoning behind any of this…”

His eyes moved down your body, landing on your soft thighs. “… there are not many of my kind left. Those that are don’t have what I want.”

He sat down, a large carcass of something that looked like a deer yet three times the size of one being skinned by the man as he spoke. “You are someone I wouldn’t mind having hatchlings with. That’s a compliment, I despise most humans.”

You were served a bowl of stew, with large chunks of meat, potatoes, and carrots. He held you in his lap as you ate, rubbing his head against your hair and cheeks while giving you a few sniffs between bites of his own stew.

Despite being a creature meant for battle who should only care about preserving his riches, the hybrid seemed quite fond of you. Every single night, he held you in his arms, his thick tail wrapped around your lower half.

“My little one, precious little thing…”

He only left to hunt game, and returned as soon as he could. As time passed by, you became fond of him as well.

When you thought about your situation late at night, you couldn’t be too upset. The dragon left a fortune to your parents in exchange for your hand, and you had always wanted a handsome and rich man as your husband.

He had provided everything he said he would. Warmth, food, and safety.

In times of poverty, war, and harsh winters… could you in good conscious ask for more?

——————

YANDERE TAGLIST: @katerinaval @avalordream @atransmuter @bazpire @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96 @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @sandramalikstyles-blog @anonymouskiwi @pedropascalbabygirl @flamefoxx @an-ever-angry-bi @bath1lda @ilyanadelarosa @iswearimnotadrugdealer @whysageee @yumikomoon @rainejiang @lostsomewhereinthegarden

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

Friday night I was the only hairy lady in a hot tub full of shaved/plucked/waxed women ranging from 18-85.

They let me in.

They didn’t comment.

They were happy to see me because we’re all friends who sing together and they’re aware that I’m living my best Sasquatch life.

We sang 2 songs and talked about margaritas. Then we walked back through the hotel to go to bed before needing to be up and singing at 9 the next morning.

They try to pressure me into wearing foundation too dark on stage every year like clockwork but have never once mentioned my body hair INCLUDING the hair on my face.

I work at a place dominated by women. In the summer, I go to the office in shorts and tank tops. Unshaven. No one cares as long as I don’t smell/my clothes don’t have holes/profanity/cover me properly, and I get my work done on time. The hand full of guys who work with us don’t even care. They just want to meeting to be over so they can go back to chopping firewood and fixing broken stuff.

I go to the grocery store looking a right mess with leg hair more impressive than the men around me. I use it to scare fuck boys away from me and my friends. No one else give a shit.

I still get served food at restaurants.

I still get help at the doctor’s office.

Spa personnel still provide me the services I pay for.

Literally no one cares and the ones who do either run away scared or keep their comments to themselves.

If you have people in your life not minding their own business about it, maybe fuck those people are little cause it’s not your fault society decided to sexualize prepubescence so much in the 20th century that women aren’t supposed to be mammals anymore. And honestly the people who are enforcing that status quo by being mean to those who don’t care are the problem.

I shave sometimes for reasons ranging from I’m bored to I want to feel like a dolphin, but it’s literally not worth the effort as all the time upkeep.

Free yourself!

Be hairy!

You’ll be ok.

sometimes i wish i could tell other women that you can just stop removing your body hair and in many cases the consequences will be way less severe than u expect. you can go to the beach with all your leg hair intact and nobody will stop you or say a thing. you can stop waxing your upper lip and people won’t stare at it the way u might be bracing yourself for. you can quit plucking your brows and eventually they will grow back into themselves and no one will even notice. like for sure women are punished for not participating in beauty rituals but i also feel like so much of it is like The Panopticon sometimes where you just convince yourself that if u stop that kind of gendered upkeep everyone will be mad and stop talking to u forever when in reality you just keep existing and nothing remarkable happens. it’s not always easy but you can kind of just stop for real

[plutoslastwords]

can we get more babynorris!reader pleaseee i loved those they're soo cutee

stream sniper

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: lando makes a surprise return to streaming, baby norris makes a surprise appearance on said stream

warnings: none!

w/c: 1.1k

a/n: this is short and terrible, i'm sorry, but i wanted to get something out before work starts to pile up on monday! tysm for requesting!!!! 🤍

~~~

“Goodnight my darling… sleep well baby.” Lando placed a gentle kiss on your forehead as he tucked you into bed and your eyes fought to stay open. “Daddy’ll come wake you up in the morning okay? There we go, good girl.” He smiled as you snuggled up with your favourite bunny toy and drifted off to sleep. 

He quietly creeped out of your bedroom, and into his office where he had a message from Max (Fewtrell):

Max

you wanna join my stream?

Read the message, which Lando pondered on for a minute, before reaching a different conclusion.

You

only if you join mine

After a much too long hiatus, Lando was ready to return to his streaming days and with you sound asleep in bed, there was no better time than the present.

He struggles with setting up the stream, having to be retaught by Max, god, it’s really been way too long..

However, soon enough he was back in the familiar rhythm, gaming, cracking jokes with his friends and generally entertaining his stream. He’d missed streaming, between being a dad, F1 driver and all of his other duties he had not had much time to just enjoy some gaming with his friends with the rest of the world. 

Him and his friends were just messing around for about 20 minutes when, silently, the door to his office slowly creaked open, which went unnoticed by him, but definitely not his stream.

You toddle in, holding your rabbit toy with messy bed hair and bunny pyjamas. 

“Daddy..” you try calling, you couldn’t fall asleep and you needed him to give you another cuddle and tuck you in better. However, your call falls on deaf ears, Lando too engrossed in his game with his friends.

The chat is going insane, you’re very rarely shown to the public, Lando wanted to keep your life relatively normal, you’re only 3 after all, so therefore whenever his fans get a glimpse of you, chaos ensues. 

Lando’s mods are desperately trying to get his attention that his daughter was in the background, knowing he’s anxious about how much of you should be shown to the public, however his game is much more interesting than any discord message from his team. 

You pout when he ignores you yet again, the chat going crazy over your adorable scrunched up face. You know your daddy doesn’t really like it when you interrupt him when he’s working, but you chose to forget that, waddling over to where he sits and tugging on his shirt.

Lando jumps in surprise, having completely missed the fact that you had wandered into his office, and now were being shown in front of 15 thousand people. He quickly mutes his mic and turns his camera off, pulling you into his lap.

“Babygirl, why’re you here, huh? I thought you were meant to be in bed? Daddy’s working sweet thing…” he says softly.

“Couldn’t sleep daddy… wanna be with you…” He can hear his friends asking what’s wrong through his headset, he doesn’t want to upset you, but he also doesn’t want to stop the game, he very rarely gets chances like this to spend with his friends.

He pauses for a moment, going through his options, before eventually relenting. “Why don’t you stay here whilst daddy plays angel? Sit on my lap and you can fall asleep if you get tired, okay?” He coos at you.

In response, you nod, that sounds nice, getting to spend time with your daddy, especially when it’s past your bedtime. He smiles at you, “good girl, sweetheart..”

He turns his mic and camera back on, your little form now on view to the stream.

“We gotta new guest, chat, someone didn’t wanna fall asleep hm? Say hi to chat, my love” He strokes your hair gently.

“Hi chat…” You say shyly, waving, but you’re not really sure at who, there is no one there?

The chat immediately fills up with love for you, all of Lando’s fans adore you, who doesn’t? Lando smiles as he reads the messages of greeting, he loves how much everyone loves you, how much joy you bring to people, especially him.

Lando continues to play his game whilst you sit quietly, drifting off into a sleepy state from time to time. Occasionally you point out something that you could see on his screen, to which he would respond with a beaming grin and a ‘yeah baby, that’s right, clever clever girl!’, to which his chat would go even more insane.

Overtime, however, sitting watching your daddy’s strange game becomes a bit too much for you, and you are struggling to fight your heavy eyes. Before you know it, you are sound asleep on your daddy’s lap, head buried into his chest.

Noticing this, Lando smiles, “Gotta be quiet now, chat, the princess has gone to sleep..” he whispers, gently rubbing your back in order to make sure you are having as peaceful a sleep as possible. He grabs your bunny from where you had left it on his desk, placing it gently into your hold, knowing there’d be tears if you were to wake up without it. 

The stream continues on for about another hour, but everyone can tell that it is no longer Lando’s main focus, too busy watching your peaceful little body on his lap. He finishes up the steam swiftly, having bigger priorities to focus on.

“Hey, baby, daddy’s finished now, we gotta get you back to bed, yeah?” He whispers softly, as to not startle you, gently rubbing your shoulder to wake you up.

You just rub your head into his chest in response, still groggy and half asleep, but awake enough to get your thoughts across, “I stay with daddy.” You mumble firmly.

“No, baby, daddy’s gotta go to bed too, we gotta get up, okay?” He chuckles at your insistence.

“No!” You say, firmer this time, “I go to bed with daddy!”

Lando sighs, but there is no real malice, he would love nothing more than to have you with him, he sleeps the best he ever does when you’re right there, but he knows that it’s a bad habit to continually let you sleep in his bed.

He quickly shuts those thoughts down when he looks into your pleading, big, sweet, sleepy eyes, and all resolve cracks.

“Oh, of course, my darling, anytime, you know that..” He coos, standing up with you in his arms and heading towards his bedroom. “Daddy loves you more than anything, little monkey…”

~~~

a/n: sorry this isn't very good :( thank you sm for all of the love 😁 and pls keep on requesting anything about baby norris or anything else you'd like to see!

[astrocafecoffee]

Mars observation ❤️‍🔥

* FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY, ENJOY*

( nevermind i am a TWD fan 💀)

🔥Mars in Capricorn tends to be so serious about their goals that they can come off as a little work-obsessed, but what most people don’t realize is that they have a soft spot for organizing little surprises for the people they care about. Whether it’s a secret birthday party or planning a perfectly timed gift, they’ll go to great lengths to ensure everything goes smoothly and they’ll do it with military-like precision. They love being the quiet mastermind behind the scenes, and the joy of seeing someone’s reaction is their reward.

🔥Instead of the traditional, action packed Mars energy, Mars in Pisces will often take a dream driven approach to goals. They might “daydream” their way through challenges, letting their imagination be the guide. They’ll spend a lot of time visualizing what they want, sometimes way too much and this often leads them to unexpected, highly creative solutions. If you're ever stuck on something, they’re probably the person who will suggest a completely off-the-wall idea that turns out to be genius in a roundabout way!

🔥Mars in Virgo’s love of efficiency and perfectionism can make them amazing cooks (even if they don't always admit it). They might not go for extravagant recipes, but give them a few ingredients, and they’ll whip up something incredibly delicious and perfectly balanced. They’ll even have a system for how to chop vegetables just right. It’s like a cooking ritual for them every step is part of the process. And they’ll never follow a recipe without tweaking it to make it just a little more efficient.

🔥Mars in Scorpio is famous for their ability to keep secrets not just their own, but others as well. They have a natural talent for holding on to information, and they’re not the type to spill the beans unless it serves a higher purpose. This ability to stay quiet even when they know things is both enchanting and slightly mysterious. But sometimes, they might hold on to information a bit too tightly, keeping their own emotions and thoughts hidden to the point where it can be a bit... overwhelming for others to navigate.

🔥Mars in Libra is gentle, polite, and often hesitant to create waves, but once they’ve decided to defend someone they care about, their protective side comes out in full force. They’ll step in without hesitation, but they’ll do it with such grace and subtlety that it won’t even look like they’re “defending” anyone at all. It’s like watching a charming diplomat put their foot down without ever raising their voice. You’ll only realize how strong their loyalty is when the situation is already over, and you’re left in awe of how they handled it.

🔥Mars in Aries has a strong sense of personal initiative, and they love jumping in to help other especially when they feel their “help” is needed. But,they often step in without being asked, sometimes even when it’s not necessary. They’ll see a person struggling with something and swoop in to save the day, even if that person had everything under control. It’s like the classic “I’ve got this” attitude...

🔥Mars in Taurus doesn’t like being pushed or rushed into making decisions or taking action. If you try to hurry them up, they will likely dig in their heels. But If someone tells them they can’t do something or that they’re taking too long, Mars in Taurus will often react by going into overdrive to prove the naysayer wrong. It’s like they didn’t want to be rushed, but now that you’ve challenged them, they’re going to do it perfectly and on their own time. It’s not about speed ,it’s about showing they can do it right.

🔥Mars in Leo is all about action, but sometimes beneath all that bold confidence is a soft, sentimental side. They may not always show it, but they do care deeply about the people and things they love. They’ll take pride in making memories, creating meaningful traditions, and doing grand gestures for those they care about. It might not always be obvious, but they have a way of expressing love through actions that can melt your heart.

🔥Mars in Gemini doesn’t usually want to feel too tied down or dependent, even in close relationships. While they enjoy companionship and conversations, they often need their independence and space to explore other ideas or activities. This doesn’t mean they aren’t invested, it just means their expression of affection may be more cerebral and less physical or emotional.

🔥People often misunderstand Mars in Cancer as fragile or overly sensitive, but in truth, their emotional depth gives them lasting resilience. They know how to protect themselves emotionally and are often much more psychologically tough than they appear. They may retreat into their shells to recharge, but they bounce back with an inner strength that is built on emotional wisdom and a deep understanding of what it means to nurture and care for others.

🔥Mars in Sagittarius has a natural skepticism about traditional authority and systems, and they may challenge ideas that feel too rigid or dogmatic. This can sometimes make them seem rebellious or contrary, as they want to explore ideas and beliefs outside the mainstream. While they are driven by a quest for truth, they can often appear dismissive of conventional wisdom, favoring instead a more personal, adventurous approach to discovering what works for them.

🔥Mars in Aquarius often comes across as cool, aloof, or even emotionally detached, but this doesn’t mean they lack deep feelings. Instead, their emotional depths are often hidden beneath their rational, progressive exterior. They feel deeply for social issues, injustices, and global problems, but they may not express these feelings in a conventional emotional way.

🔥 Mars in 1°/13°/ 25° people might find themselves competing with authority figures rather than working alongside them. They don’t like being told what to do and can have a hard time submitting to control.

🔥 Mars in 2°/ 14°/ 26° people might not make a lot of noise about their intentions, but their actions speak louder than words. They influence people not by being outspoken, but through their reliability, consistency, and practicality.

🔥 Mars in 3°/15°/ 27° people can be incredibly sharp-tongued or enjoy debating especially when they know they can outwit someone. They don’t need to raise their voice or make physical moves to assert dominance. Their words and ideas are their primary weapons, and they can often win a battle simply by being the most articulate or quick-witted in the room.

🔥 Mars in 4°/16°/28° people often avoids direct confrontation. They might be more comfortable retreating into their shell or expressing their frustrations through passive means rather than engaging in a full-blown argument.

🔥 Mars in 5°/17°/29° people often seek validation and admiration, they often push themselves to be the best at what they do, which can lead them to overwork or overexert themselves in their pursuits. If their output does not meet their high standards, they may feel disappointed or frustrated, even if others don’t see the imperfections.

🔥 Mars in 6°/ 18° people excels in roles that involve mentorship or coaching. Their ability to break down complex tasks into manageable steps and their focus on efficiency makes them great at guiding others toward success. They may not be the loudest voice in the room, but their leadership comes through their quiet, behind the scenes contributions that ensure everything runs smoothly.

🔥 Mars in 7°/19° people deep fear of disharmony or discord in relationships. This can sometimes lead them to avoid direct confrontation or suppress their own needs to keep the peace. Bro don't do it, just communicate otherwise you will feel burnt out at some point.

🔥 Mars in 8°/ 20° people may struggle with vulnerability. They are often fearful of exposing their true selves to others, and instead, they prefer to remain in a position of power and control. They only reveal certain parts of themselves to a select few.

🔥 Mars in 9°/21° people often has a constant feeling of restlessness, which can lead them to never feel truly satisfied with where they are. They are often driven by the idea that there is always more to discover, both in the world and in themselves. This can create a sense of unsettledness, even when things are going well in their lives, as they crave new experiences and growth opportunities.

🔥 Mars in 10°/ 22° people dislike waste, especially when it comes to their time and resources. Mars in Capricorn individuals are extremely efficient, preferring to channel their energy only into pursuits that have long-term value. This is why they are often great at building sustainable and lasting success.

🔥 Mars in 11°/23° people tends to reject routine, as their focus is always on new possibilities and big ideas. They can become irritated or disengaged by repetitive or mundane tasks. If they find themselves stuck in a routine, they may feel a lack of motivation or creativity, and may even sabotage their own efforts to avoid falling into boredom.

🔥when Mars in 12°/ 24° people feel emotionally invested in a cause or a person, they may find it hard to draw clear lines between their personal energy and the other person’s needs. This blurring of boundaries can lead to emotional overwhelm, especially if their drive and energy are used for causes that don’t allow for personal fulfillment or rest.

Thanks for reading.....

- PIKO 💖

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 17

Remember when I said that ch 18 may take longer? Yeah, so I surprised myself- I thought the little fight sequence would kill me but I found a work around- kinda.

Here's ch 17, hope y'all enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 17 >>next

“Wait- you and Superman were friends? Ok, no- let me back track. You know Clark is Superman?” You asked, sipping on your Tedi drink as you stopped looking over Luthor’s plans for a Mars station. “This won’t be of any use, by the way- Mars is already populated, has a mind control parasite problem, and the Martians are quick to execute people.” Lex just laughs.

“Yes, we were. Yes, I know. No, I won’t tell you, it’s a story for another time. And I’m working on finding a diplomat for a treaty and on something to fix that little problem. Now, how did you know Clark is Superman?” You just shrug. “Not like he’s wearing a mask. Sure, the posture difference and the unfitted suits he wears helps, but if you look close enough at Superman it’ll be hard not to connect him to someone. And his face is too soft to be Bruce Wayne.”

"And I saw Lois kiss him." Luthor’s amused cackle got cut short as the doors to his office opened, Slade Wilson strutting in as if he owned the place. “How did-“ Lex almost hisses at the man, but Slade waves him off. “Does it matter? I’m already here.” The man smirks as he hands you the garment bag he was carrying, taking a seat in the other armchair near Luthor’s desk while watching you critique the work on your suit. “Ha! This looks brand new, thanks- oh this reminded me.”

You get up, swinging the closed bag over your shoulder. “I have to cut our gossiping session short, I have to go rob a billionaire. Don’t kill each other.” You snatch the pointer from Luthor’s desk, slashing your nails through the air to open a portal. “And up your security Alex!” Lex just cringes at the name, grunting in displeasure.

Slade finally turns to look at the bald billionaire. “So? Have you thought about my offer?” Luthor sighs as he slums in his chair, eye twitching at the assassin’s question, his fingers tapping the armrest. Of course he has. “You are assuming she’ll just accept it like nothing.” Slade just raises an eyebrow. “I’ll take the blame, don’t worry.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“So, who's in?” You grin widely as Rex and Amanda immediately raise their hands, mischief glinting in their eyes. “Alright- hey, calm down- why do you even want to go rob Bruce Wayne? I know you hate the guy but aren’t you afraid of Batman?”  Black Samson intervenes, the others looking at the board you produced out of thin air with pictures depicting the Wayne manor and Bruce Wayne with some drawn red horns and goatee.

“Well- it’s not technically stealing. I’m just taking my childhood stuff back. Mainly plushies.” You shrug. “Childhood stuff? You lived there?” Dupli-Kate voices what others are thinking, getting a simple yes. “Don’t get fooled by his fake clumsy act, the man is cold. And he was a deadbeat to me.” You pointed Luthor’s pointer at the Immortal. “No, I will not elaborate on my parental issues, and-“ You moved to point at Rudy when he opened his mouth. “Magic. Well, more of a pocket dimension I already had the board in.” You shrug. “Still used magic to teleport it here.”

“Can we go already?” Rex's whines are quickly followed by Monster Girl’s voice. “Yeah, I want to check rob the rich off my bucket list. And to try those cookies you keep raving about!” Samson sighs as he gets up, arms crossing looking like a disappointed father. “I can’t in good conscience let you do that. Immortal, back me up, man.” But it took one look at your unimpressed face for the spineless man to fold. “Well, if he was such a terrible father-“

“That decides it then!” You smile brightly, grabbing the message board and throwing it back into the pocket dimension. You quickly grab Rex and Monster Girl and fly away, not giving anyone else the chance to argue. “Jesus, do we weight anything to you?” Amanda grabs tighter onto you. “Nope. It’s like holding a couple of grapes.”

Samson’s eyes move from your departing figure to the ancient man, disappointment shining through as he sighs and shakes his head before going back to the GDA computer.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Can’t believe we almost got caught by the billionaire.” Amanda giggles as she eats another chocolate chip cookie. “I can’t believe the butler almost caught us! These are so good-” Rex groans, moaning as he too stuffs another cookie in his mouth. “Alfred’s highly trained, actually. Even if we were invisible, he probably still felt our eyes on him.” You shrugged, dangling your feet over the edge of the building you three sat on.

“That Bruce guy… he seemed quite wrecked when he passed by your door.” At Amanda’s worried words, you just brush her off. “He’s probably worried about it ruining his image or something.” Rex’s brows furrow as he looks at you. “What about your mom? You’ve never talked about her before.”

“Nobody asked before. But seriously- compared to Debbie, hell, compared to Eve’s mom, mine was doing it more out of duty. I loved her, I still do. She was a better parent than Bruce, but she still had her faults. Now that I know what a mom is truly like, I feel like I was more of a doll she occasionally played with when she was bored of men and work.”

“Damn. First your mom, then Wayne, now Omni-Man- you can’t catch a break, can you?” Monster Girl joked, trying to lighten the mood. You laugh and groan, eyes fixated on the stars. “Twice is a coincidence, three times is a curse, eh?” Your small talk is interrupted by the sound of your phone, the screen lighting up with a message from Mark only stating an address and to get there as fast as possible. “Well, the fun is over, I have to go. Let’s get you two home.” They both booed as they got up, making you laugh.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You anxiously sat in a seat as the alien was starting up his spaceship, giving a small smile and thumbs up as the Thraxan asked about your comfortability. “Yeah. Thanks… Hey, how long until we get to Thraxa?” Mark asks, seemingly just as nervous. “Approximately six of your earth days.”

“Wicked.” You muttered sarcastically, eyes meeting Mark’s. “We so should have talked to mom face to face.” The older sibling sighs. “I mean- you got that teleportation magic stuff, you could always just check in with her once we get there, right?” You give a noncommittal hum as you pout. “Still feels wrong. Like a trap.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Tim Drake was staring at the video footage and audio recordings, playing the sound over and over again. “Can’t believe the fuckers went through my stuff.” Keeps on being repeated by the Sorceress as two others help her throw plushies and paintings through a Lazarus green portal. His eyes move to the clock. Four in the morning, and he has been awake for about a day. His eyes moved to the only picture they seemed to find of you, the one Alfred had ran around the house with, before his eyes moved back to your figure on the screen.

He puts the coffee mug on the table while he gets up, going straight into the elevator. He was hallucinating. He must be. You were a normal kid and he was tired, and in distress, he was seeing things, associating The Sorceress with his little sister because they were two unknowns. Yes. Definitely that and not because he was in denial. Granted, Tim was tired enough not to see another figure looming in the shadows. So, he wasn’t lying to himself fully.

By the next morning, everyone in the manor found out there was missing stuff from your old room, and while Tim was sure that he was awake then, he had no proof of anything he saw. No footage, no voice recordings, nothing. His eyes drifted to Damian’s seemingly annoyed but unbothered expression, rubbing at his eyes after the younger boy gave him a smirk. Damian’s face was as blank as ever. Tim decided to get more sleep. He has to be seeing shit.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

While Nuolzot was trying to wake up your brother gently you just grabbed your pillow and whacked it across his face, making the young adult wake up screaming, fists raised ready for a fight. “We’re here sleeping beauty.” You snicker at his expression, moving in synch with him once he’s by your side, completely ignoring his mumbles.

When the door of the spacecraft opens you both flinch at the sound of the Thraxans exclaiming greetings and cheers. You both awkwardly waved. “Oh, don't mind them. Come. The monarch wants to meet you at once.” Mark and you simply follow the alien as you look around. “Wait, what exactly about this planet needs saving? Where are the meteors?” The man asks only to be answered with confusion. “Meteors? What meteors?” You give Mark a look before turning back to Nuolzot, speaking with just as much confusion. “Uh- the ones that are supposedly killing billions?” This was definitely a trap.

“Oh, yeah, those meteors. You know, must be a touch of dementia.” The alien shrugs nervously. “We age much quicker than you humans, you know. Uh, don't worry, the monarch will explain all.” The Thraxan quickly ushers you two towards the staircase, nudging you to bow politely. “Your Majesty. May I present Invincible and Sorceress of Earth.”

You look at Mark with a face that clearly shows how tired you already are of this madness. But nonetheless, you kneel alongside your brother, only looking up when a familiar voice greets you both. As your eyes meet the monarch your brows furrow. “Oh, you mother-“

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou @asillysimp @aalunar @cxcilla @sirenetheblogger @pinkluv29 @br33zy-blizzardz @victoria1676 @of-poetry-and-dreams

[inklessletter]

"Let me hate you." "That won't change a thing."

This is what happens when the amazing, unbelievably talented @stervrucht suggest that we collab (like, this morning, literally). Dropped everything to give her something to work her magic on.

At risk of being a bit too much (I warned you), let me tell you, this is the most fun I've had playing around with art in a long, LONG time. Thank you for this amazing experience, art buddy 💞

Lineart + ficlet (below) - @inklessletter

Colouring - @stervrucht

WC: 917 | Steddie, Steve's POV, Mild Hurt/Comfort, internalized homophobia.

THE CAGE

In the cage, they're always skin to skin.

Lip to lip.

In the cage, there's an obscene amount of props to change the scene whenever Steve feels like it, so they can be together in every alternative universe.

(Oh, Steve knows now a lot of alternative universes, because it's hard not to listen to him when he speaks so passionately.)

He speaks up, shares secrets, holds hands and looks straight in the eye of Eddie Munson with no fear, in the cage.

And Eddie reciprocates. He stares back right into Steve's soul and he feels like nothing but flesh and bones made to break with love words. Steve longs to be no more, no less.

In the cage.

The cage is safe, because it's secret. Nobody knows about it, not even Robin. Talking about the cage means it exists. And if it exists, then he has to do something about it. It hasn't always existed, though. There was a time where Steve wore his heart on his sleeve and, well, you know, he never got a good eye to guess how strong or delicate are the things he holds.

His heart was fine once, though. Now it's patched up, now he's more careful with it. Fragile, damaged goods that he's sure that can't afford another blow. Not even a little one.

Not even by accident.

So, the cage is impenetrable. Nobody comes in, nobody comes out except what Steve decides, and this time, the cage fits everything that can't exist with Eddie Munson out of it.

The cage is where all those feelings he can't ever express go to die, and they both bury them together. Steve and Eddie. They make art with it.

The cage is fine, the cage is safe, because everything is contained in there.

Until it's not.

Until that stupid morning he wakes up in a mess of bed sheets that feel ablaze, and he's sweaty, and half hard, and wet, and he wakes up with Eddie's name in his lips.

But hey, nobody is there to listen to it, so does a tree make a sound when there's nobody to hear it fall down?

That is no comfort, though. Not even in the slightest.

Because there's a breach in the cage, now.

He said his name and his heart is balancing on breaking branches and unstable now.

After that day, everything leaks.

He blushes, ridiculously so, when Eddie so much looks at him.

He tries not to flinch at the accidental touch, not to react to the shock wave it sends through his system, and given that Eddie is a very tactile person, it's torture.

He never looks at him in the eye. He might see the breach. The cage.

They are never alone.

Not anymore, really.

Steve avoids it, and it's getting more and more difficult to find excuses, because they see each other all the time.

He's starting to notice that Eddie knows something and Steve is freaking out. Eddie acts a bit hurt with every rejection, and good. Steve would rather Eddie thinks that he doesn't like him than to admit the truth.

But it's a loss.

The cage is the home of uninvited grief now.

Steve wonders, when he's alone, holding his heart with shaky hands, if he has the right to cry.

Hasn't cried in years.

Steve decides that he hasn't any.

Puts his heart away, broken glass, in a shelf to gather dust, though he knows he might forget about it and break it accidentally when he tries to clean his cage.

Has happened before, will happen again, because Steve is cursed.

A fight is the better choice.

Destroy the cage.

He goes to meet Eddie to be his worst self, he's got experience in that. He can be mean, no, cruel. He'll be cruel, he'll make him want not to be in the same room with him and Steve will eventually find peace.

He will be able to rest.

To fall in a dreamless sleep in what's left of what was safe once.

Yeah, he'll do that.

Only it's not that what happens.

Steve is tense, doesn't know if to punch or run. Push him against the wall because how dares Eddie to be understanding. How dares he to be considerate, and how dares he to read and listen what's coming out of the cage.

What give him the right.

How dares he to say "it's okay."

Fuck you, Eddie, it is not okay.

He's wrong.

He's delicate.

How dares he to grab his heart, he's going to crush it with those stupid, careless fingers full of stupid rough silver chunks he wears for jewelry.

Fuck you, Eddie.

He actually says that, though.

"Fuck you."

The fact that he's about to cry, now, of all times he could have done it, he's about to cry now, when his voice is shaky, and his insults don't land.

"I love you."

His heart is in pieces.

He is in pieces. Destroyed. Demolished.

"Let me hate you", is what he begs. Isn't that pathetic?

"That won't change a thing."

Eddie is touching him now and Steve is not flinching. He wants to grab his face, push him away, scream and spit on his face. Why is Eddie not seeing what Steve is trying to do here? He's just trying to survive, because he can't avoid it anymore. He's already broken.

Has been for a while now.

Outside the cage, they're now skin to skin.

Lip to lip.

[00valentina-writes00]

♡♥︎ shelter me ♥︎♡

Warnings: slow romance, the last of us “zombies”, eventual smut, slow burn, tension, explicit language, violence, blood, scissoring, soft dom!Abby, gentle giant!Abby, feelings

Word count: 22k

I tried to use my purple line brakes but I ran out of damn space :(

You never asked for this.

Life wasn’t supposed to be like this—not a constant scramble for survival, not the never-ending hum of danger in the back of your mind. But here you are, on the run from the infected, your heart pounding in your ears as you struggle to keep moving. Blood streaks across your face from the gash along your temple, and the pain in your side is enough to make you stagger with every step.

The world feels different now. Silent. Everything’s muted in shades of grey and brown, a world stripped of color and warmth, replaced with decay and death. The buildings that once thrived with life are little more than hollowed-out shells, homes to scavengers, to predators—sometimes both. But what cuts the deepest is the loneliness, the silence that creeps in when the world around you is suffocating.

You were used to being alone.

Always had been, really. You’d never been good with people, even before everything fell apart. You didn’t trust easily, not even with those who had tried to help you. People had let you down more times than you could count. It was safer this way, on your own. Trust wasn’t a luxury you could afford. Not anymore.

But you hadn’t anticipated the danger of this particular day.

You were just trying to make it to the old safe house you’d heard about—somewhere beyond the ruined city, away from the cluster of buildings and the infected that roamed like they owned the place. You’d been tracking through the wreckage for days, picking your way over debris and shattered glass, heart racing with every noise in the distance. But it hadn’t been enough. The infected had caught your scent.

And now you’re here, back against a crumbling wall, hands shaking as you reload your last clip into your gun, but the magazine’s barely full. Panic stirs in your chest, a cold sweat prickling your skin as you hear their low, guttural moans—so close, so close, and you can’t afford to miss a single shot. The blood from your side seeps through the makeshift bandage, the warm slick of it making your stomach churn.

You can’t do this alone anymore.

Your breaths come in shallow gasps as you glance around the corner of the building, desperate, trying to spot any kind of escape. Your pulse is a drumbeat in your ears, and your vision is beginning to blur. Your body wants to give up—wants to just collapse and let the darkness take you. But no. Not now. Not when you’ve made it this far. You can’t let them take you. Not like this.

And then, without warning, there’s a burst of gunfire.

The infected closest to you drop to the ground, lifeless, their rotting bodies collapsing in a heap. The shots ring out again, precise, echoing through the narrow alleyway. You blink, confused, trying to process what’s happening, but before you can even gather your bearings, a figure steps into your line of sight.

Tall. Muscular. Strong, yet graceful in the way she moves. Her blonde hair is tied up in a messy ponytail, strands falling loosely around her sharp features. Her eyes—cold, blue eyes that look like they’ve seen too much—lock with yours. She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t need to. She’s here to save you.

“Get up,” she commands, her voice rough, but not unkind. She’s in control. She knows what she’s doing, and there’s something in the way she holds herself that makes you think she’s been through this kind of thing a thousand times. But it’s not just that. It’s her eyes. The way they flick over you with a practiced gaze, assessing, calculating.

You hesitate for a moment, still in shock, before you force yourself to move. Your body protests, every part of you screaming with exhaustion, but you push through. You manage to get on your feet, unsteady, but upright. Abby reaches for you, her grip firm as she pulls you toward her, her strength practically lifting you off the ground. The contact sends a spark through your body, and for a split second, you feel something like warmth. Something like hope.

“You’re bleeding pretty badly,” she says, as she pulls you behind cover, crouching beside you. Her voice is soft but urgent. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me.”

Your pulse hammers in your ears as you stare at her. There’s no time to process the overwhelming mix of emotions swirling inside you—the shock, the fear, the lingering terror of almost dying alone. All of it has you dizzy, your body desperate for rest, but your mind sharp enough to recognize the truth.

This woman. She just saved you.

“Thanks,” you manage, your voice raspy from the dust in the air and the panic still clinging to your chest. But even as the words leave your mouth, doubt sets in. Trust doesn’t come easily. Not anymore.

“You’re welcome,” she mutters, though her attention remains focused on the infected still gathering in the distance, drawn by the noise of the shots she fired.

You catch your breath, trying to keep your composure. You can’t afford to appear weak—not now, not in front of her.

You swallow hard, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. The motion smears the blood from your temple across your skin, but it’s not like anyone’s around to judge you.

“Who are you?” You ask, eyeing her carefully. You’re still trying to figure her out, still trying to figure out if she’s friend or foe. You know nothing about her. She could be a bandit, someone who’s just using the infected as a cover to rob you. Hell, you’ve seen enough to make you question everything.

She shoots you a quick glance, her lips pulling into something that might almost be a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Abby,” she answers shortly, without hesitation. “I’m not looking for trouble. Just trying to get through this shitshow like everyone else.” Her eyes flick over your bloodstained form before locking with yours again. “You’ve got a long way to go, if you plan on surviving.”

You stiffen at the implication. “I can handle myself,” you retort, though it comes out more defensive than you’d intended. The truth is, you don’t know if you can. You’re too tired, too far gone.

Abby doesn’t respond to the challenge in your voice. She’s already back on her feet, scanning the horizon.

“Can you walk?” She asks, her voice low and deliberate. “I’ll help you get to a safer spot, but we have to move. It’s not going to get any better.”

The last thing you want is to rely on her, but you’re running on fumes. Your vision wavers again, and this time, you’re not sure you can make it alone. You take a breath, willing your body to respond.

“I can,” you say, though it’s more to convince yourself than her.

With a grunt, Abby crouches down, offering you her back, the muscles in her shoulders rippling beneath her shirt. You hesitate, before carefully accepting her offer, gripping her shoulders as she rises.

She doesn’t look back at you, but there’s a gentleness in the way she holds you, like she’s offering something you can’t quite name. You cling to her warmth, your heart still pounding in your chest. It’s too soon to know if you can trust her, but for now, she’s the only thing standing between you and the hell outside these walls. And, as much as you hate to admit it, you need her. You need someone.

Her movements are sure and fast, weaving through the shattered streets with ease. She’s efficient, her every action calculated, but there’s something else there—a quiet steadiness that calms the chaos in your mind.

For the first time in a long while, you let yourself breathe.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s a sliver of hope left in this broken world.

But it’s still early. You don’t trust her yet.

And she doesn’t trust you, either. Not completely.

The road ahead is long.

The journey to Abby’s safe spot is a blur, a mix of exhaustion and relief. Your body aches with every movement as she helps you along, her firm grip never once wavering. Your mind is cloudy, not just from the pain and blood loss but from the swirling mess of emotions—confusion, wariness, a tiny thread of gratitude that you don’t want to acknowledge just yet. She saved you, but you don’t know her. Not yet.

You’ve been alone for so long, relying only on your instincts and the sparse, fleeting alliances you’ve made along the way. The idea of trusting someone again feels… wrong. But Abby, with her sharp eyes and that subtle strength she carries in her every movement, isn’t like the others. Or at least, that’s what you want to believe. You have to believe.

When she finally pushes open the weathered door to the cabin, you inhale sharply, taken aback by how simple and quiet it feels. The walls are bare, save for a few nails and hooks, the wood cracked and stained by years of neglect. The floor creaks under your feet as you step in, and the faint smell of mildew and dust fills your nose. It’s a world apart from the chaos of the outside, a small patch of refuge in a crumbling world.

“Sit,” Abby orders, her voice like gravel, cutting through your thoughts. She doesn’t look back at you as she moves toward a stack of old blankets by the hearth.

You obey, sinking down onto the floor near the fireplace. Your legs feel like lead, and the blood loss makes your vision swim. You’re so tired, your body so heavy, but you fight it. Not yet. Not until you know you’re safe.

“Let me take a look at you,” Abby’s voice is low, but there’s an authority in it. She means business.

You raise an eyebrow, confusion flickering across your face. She pauses for just a moment, staring at you. Her gaze is calculating, like she’s trying to assess how far you’ll push back.

Then, without warning, she pulls the knife from her belt and sets it down gently on the floor, within easy reach. It’s clear she’s not looking for a fight—at least, not now. Abby doesn’t threaten you with words; she doesn’t need to. There’s a quiet power in her that speaks volumes.

“Do you trust me?” she asks, her tone softening just enough to make you reconsider your stance.

Your mouth goes dry. The question lingers in the space between you, heavy with unspoken meanings. You don’t trust anyone. Not anymore. Not after everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve lost. But the alternative is to keep pushing yourself beyond your limits, and you can’t do that, not when you’re already on the verge of collapse. Abby might be your best shot at survival—at least for now.

Swallowing your pride, you nod stiffly. “Yeah. I trust you. For now.”

That’s as much as you can give.

Abby’s gaze flickers to your blood-streaked clothes, the torn fabric that clings to your body in the humid air. She steps closer to you, her presence almost overwhelming. Her strong hands reach for the hem of your shirt without hesitation, her movements purposeful but not rough.

A soft gasp escapes you as her fingers brush your skin, the heat of her touch both comforting and intimidating at the same time. She’s being careful, trying not to hurt you further, but the closeness is a stark reminder of how little you’ve allowed yourself to trust others.

“Let’s see what we’re working with,” she mutters, her voice low and steady. Without asking, she pulls your shirt up, exposing your torso to the cool, stale air of the cabin. The room seems to shrink around you, and you can’t stop your heartbeat from pounding in your ears as her eyes flick over your body, lingering on the raw skin, the bruises, the cuts. Her gaze softens slightly as she scans for signs of infection, any telltale marks that might mean you’re carrying the sickness.

But then, Abby pauses, her hand hovering just above your waistband.

“You need to take everything off,” she says, voice even but firm. “I can’t see if you’ve been bitten with your clothes on.”

A flush of heat rises to your cheeks. You stiffen, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you are, how exposed. The idea of stripping down in front of her, a woman you barely know, feels like a violation, even if she’s only trying to make sure you’re not infected. You avert your gaze, unwilling to meet her eyes as embarrassment floods through you, mixing with the fear that has been gnawing at you ever since you first encountered her.

“I—” you start, but Abby doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence.

“Now,” she orders, her tone not unkind, but insistent. “I need to make sure you’re not gonna turn in the middle of the night. Do you want me to leave you out here to die, or do you want to live?”

You want to protest. You want to argue that it’s unnecessary, that you’re fine, but the cold weight of her words stops you. You know the reality of the world you live in, and Abby is right. You don’t have the luxury of being coy. So, with a deep, shaky breath, you reluctantly pull your shirt off, tossing it aside. The air hits your skin like a shock, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth of Abby’s eyes that follow the motion. Her expression softens, but you can still feel her focus on every inch of your skin.

Next, you unclasp your belt, letting it drop to the floor before tugging your jeans down. Every movement feels like an eternity, your body screaming at you to just hurry up and get it over with. But as you step out of your jeans, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties, your face burns with the raw sting of embarrassment. You try to cross your arms over your chest, an instinctual move, but Abby’s sharp eyes don’t miss it.

“Don’t do that,” she says, her voice still soft but commanding. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. I’ve seen it all, trust me.”

The weight of her words hangs in the air between you, but her matter-of-fact tone makes it harder to hold on to the overwhelming self-consciousness that rises in you. Still, you don’t lower your arms. You can’t. Not just yet.

Abby steps forward, her hands moving over your skin, checking for any bites, any signs of infection. The touch is clinical, efficient. She runs her fingers over the bruise on your side, the one that’s already turning a sickly yellow-green. Your skin prickles beneath her touch, and you catch yourself holding your breath every time her hands move too close to a sensitive spot. You don’t know why you’re so aware of her presence—it’s as if every nerve in your body has been tuned to her, to the way she hovers just inches from you, her breath warm against your skin.

She stops when she reaches your thighs, her fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of your panties before she meets your gaze. “You’re good,” she mutters, voice low. “No bites. No signs of infection.”

You exhale in relief, but it’s fleeting. Now that the worst of it is over, all that’s left is the heavy feeling of vulnerability. You feel exposed in ways you can’t put into words, but you don’t have the luxury of feeling sorry for yourself. Not now. Not when there’s still danger outside these walls.

Abby steps back, turning toward the corner of the cabin where a small cot lies, piled with blankets and a few pillows. “I’m setting up a spot for you,” she says, not giving you much of a glance. “You’ll sleep here. I’ll keep watch.”

She grabs a thick wool blanket from the pile, spreading it out on the floor beside the fireplace. It’s a far cry from the comfort you once had before everything fell apart, but it’s better than sleeping in the dirt. You can feel the weight of exhaustion in your limbs, every fiber of your being begging for rest, but something stops you from lying down immediately. You stay standing, watching her, unsure of the next move.

A soft bark breaks through the silence, and Abby glances over her shoulder with a smile you don’t quite understand. A large, Chesapeake Bay Retriever trots up to her, tail wagging enthusiastically. The dog’s coat is thick and matted with dirt, but there’s a kind of warmth to her, a friendliness in the way she sits beside Abby.

“This is Alice,” Abby says, crouching down to pet the dog’s head. “She’s been with me through all of this.”

Alice gives a low whine, her dark eyes meeting yours. There’s a moment of connection—pure, unspoken. For a brief second, you feel a flicker of hope, of something softer in this place that’s otherwise stripped of humanity.

And for the first time, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you’ll be okay.

But Abby’s still watching you, waiting for you to lie down. You know that the night is far from over, but at least, for now, you’re not alone.

The morning light filters through the cracks in the cabin's weathered walls, casting a soft glow over the dim interior. It's not much, but it's enough to stir you from the uneasy sleep you didn't quite want. You wake slowly, the drowsiness of exhaustion still clinging to your limbs, and a distant ache that you can't quite place. The warmth of the blankets and the faint sound of soft breathing around you lulls you into a state of half-awareness. For a moment, you almost think you're back in a world where things make sense, where you're safe.

But then you feel the wet warmth on your cheek.

Your eyes snap open, and you're met with a large, brown face, a pair of curious eyes staring at you from just inches away. A wet tongue flicks over your cheek again, and you recoil, instinctively pushing the dog away with a grunt of surprise.

"Alice!" Abby's voice cuts through the moment, dry but not unkind. "Leave her alone."

The dog—Alice, you recall—huffs in protest, but she backs off, her tail wagging with that exuberant energy dogs always seem to have, no matter the world around them. You take a deep breath, wiping the lingering dog saliva from your face with the back of your hand, your heart still racing from the sudden wake-up call.

Alice settles at Abby's feet, her eyes never straying too far from you as you sit up. Your muscles ache from sleeping on the hard floor, but the warmth of the blankets lingers, and for a brief moment, you forget where you are. That is, until Abby's movements pull your attention back to the reality of your situation.

She's in the corner, sitting with her back straight, eyes focused on something in her hands. You can hear the faint rasp of metal against metal—the sound of a blade being sharpened. The sight of Abby, so methodical in her movements, is oddly comforting and unsettling at the same time. There's something about her presence that speaks of years of survival, of brutal efficiency. She doesn't have to look at you to know you're awake; she doesn't have to say anything at all to make you feel the weight of her assessment.

When she finishes, she tucks the knife back into her belt and stands, walking toward you with a quiet intensity. She doesn't smile, doesn't offer any pleasantries. She's the kind of person who communicates without words, and you've learned to read her body language—tense, controlled, alert. There's no room for softness in this world, at least not in the way you once knew it.

"I hope you're hungry," Abby says, her voice rough but steady as she pulls out a small, crumpled protein bar from her pack. She holds it out to you, but it's not exactly a gracious offering. There's a bit of a challenge in her eyes as if she's waiting for you to refuse it, to show some sort of weakness.

You take the protein bar from her hand, your fingers brushing hers for just a second. The brief touch sends a strange warmth through you, but you quickly shake it off. You're too tired to care about that right now.

"Thanks," you mutter, though you don't have much of an appetite. The thought of eating anything that's been in someone's pack for who knows how long doesn't exactly make your stomach sing with joy. But it's food, and that's enough.

You tear open the wrapper, the stale scent wafting up, and take a bite. It's dry, tasteless, and almost immediately sticks to the roof of your mouth, but you force yourself to chew. It's better than nothing.

Abby watches you, her eyes narrowing slightly as she observes your reaction, but she doesn't comment. Instead, she picks up her pack, slinging it over her shoulder with a practiced motion.

"We're heading out today," she says, her tone businesslike. "I need to gather supplies. If you want to stick around, you'll have to keep up. Got it?"

You nod, though a part of you wonders why she hasn't just left you behind. Why go through the effort of bringing you along if she doesn't fully trust you? You still don't know the answer, and it's gnawing at the back of your mind. But you can't afford to question it too much. At least you're not alone.

"Yeah," you reply, swallowing the last bite of the bar. "Got it."

You push yourself up from the floor, feeling the weight of the world settle back on your shoulders as you gather your things. Abby watches you closely, her gaze never wavering. She's sizing you up again, testing you. You don't need to hear the words to understand it.

You can't help but feel a little irked by how carefully she watches you, like she's waiting for you to mess up, waiting for you to show her that she can't trust you. But you push the feeling down. You've been in her position before—paranoid, cautious. You don't blame her for not trusting you, not yet.

The two of you head out into the overgrown woods, the sounds of the cabin fading behind you. Alice trots ahead, her tail wagging as she sniffs the ground, clearly enjoying the day's new adventure. Abby keeps her eyes on the path, her steps purposeful, while you follow a few paces behind, your gaze constantly flicking between the trees and the horizon.

You know you're supposed to keep quiet. You know the rules by now—trust is earned, not given freely. And Abby hasn't given you any reason to think she'll be any different. There's no real camaraderie between you two yet—just the unspoken understanding that you need each other for survival.

The walk feels long, but you're grateful for the movement, for the distraction. Your body aches from the tension of everything, the constant awareness that at any moment, something could go wrong. But with Abby leading the way, you feel a tiny thread of security, even if it's fleeting.

You finally arrive at the house Abby had been heading toward—an old, dilapidated structure that looks like it's been abandoned for years. The roof is sagging, the wood rotting in places, and the windows are shattered. It's the kind of place you would have avoided on any normal day, but now, it's a potential treasure trove of supplies. The smell of mold and rot wafts through the air as Abby approaches the door cautiously, her eyes scanning for any signs of movement before she pushes it open.

The hinges creak loudly, but the house remains still, its emptiness palpable. The air inside smells of dust, mildew, and decay. You step in after Abby, your feet crunching against broken glass and debris as you make your way into the living room.

"Look for anything useful," Abby says, her voice low. "Medkit, food, weapons. Whatever you can find."

You nod, moving cautiously through the room. The furniture is mostly ruined, covered in dirt and cobwebs. There's nothing particularly valuable in sight, but you dig through the drawers, opening cabinets with a careful, practiced hand. You don't know what you're expecting to find, but you keep searching, scanning the corners for anything that might help.

Abby moves off to the side, checking the walls and windows as she goes, keeping her eyes sharp. Alice, meanwhile, has found something to investigate—a pile of old boxes near the back of the room. You watch her curiously as she noses through the mess, tail wagging.

It's when you step toward the back of the house that you hear the faint sound of Alice's barking, followed by her scratching at something. You walk over, curiosity getting the better of you, and peer over the dog's head to see what she's found.

At first, it doesn't look like much—a weathered box, tucked away behind some old crates. You kneel down to examine it, brushing off the dust and debris. As you lift the lid, your eyes widen in surprise.

Inside, neatly packed, are a few items that immediately make your stomach churn. A box of old vibrators, dildos, and other... "toys." You're not sure why they're here or who might have left them behind, but the thought of it feels like an intrusion—an uncomfortable reminder of how life used to be before everything went to shit.

You blink, unsure of how to react to the discovery, and you hear Abby approaching. Her gaze flickers over the box, and you notice her lips twitch—just for a second—before she masks it with a blank expression.

"What is it?" she asks, not looking at you but at the contents of the box.

You clear your throat, holding up the box awkwardly. "Uh... looks like... well, looks like some old toys," you say, your voice trailing off.

Abby's eyebrow arches, her gaze finally meeting yours. "Well, this is a surprise."

You can't help but chuckle, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once. The world's ended, and yet people still had time to stash away things like this? It's strange, unsettling, and for a moment, it almost feels like something normal.

Abby just shakes her head, her lips curling up slightly at the corners, though she quickly suppresses it. "Grab the medkit and leave that junk behind."

With a sigh, you shove the box aside and begin digging through the rest of the items. As you find the medical kit, Abby moves to check the rest of the house.

The cabin is quieter than usual when you return, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and the faint crackling from the fireplace. The shadows from the evening stretch across the small room, and for a moment, you can almost forget the weight of the outside world. But the reality creeps back in quickly—the gnawing tension in your muscles, the unease of not fully trusting the person you're sharing this space with, the constant fear that at any moment, everything could come crashing down.

Abby is already moving with purpose, the worn edges of her jacket shifting with each step as she moves toward the corner of the room. Her broad shoulders flex as she begins gathering tools—old nails, a hammer, some loose boards she'd scavenged from the house you two had visited earlier. The familiar rhythm of her movements is steady, like she's done this a thousand times before. You're not sure if it comforts you or reminds you how small and vulnerable you still feel in this strange partnership.

She doesn't speak at first, focused on the task at hand, but you know what she's thinking. The storm outside is only a threat in the literal sense; the real danger comes from the unpredictability of the infected, and from the loneliness that thrives when you're forced to survive in isolation. This cabin, no matter how quaint it might seem on the outside, is still a fragile little bubble in a world that wants to destroy everything it touches.

"Help me with this," Abby says, breaking the silence. Her voice, though low, carries a certain weight to it—an edge of expectation. "We'll reinforce the barricades before dark."

You don't hesitate, moving toward her and picking up a few nails, taking the hammer from her hand. There's something oddly comforting about working together like this, your motions mirroring each other as you secure the makeshift boards over the windows. It's a quiet, intimate kind of task, one that doesn't require a lot of words, just a mutual understanding of the urgency of it all.

The rhythmic sound of nails hammering into wood fills the cabin, and after a few minutes, you find yourself glancing over at Abby, noticing how the muscles in her arms flex with each strike, how her jaw clenches when she concentrates. There's a power in her—raw and undeniable—but there's also something else, something softer beneath it all that she hides away, buried beneath the hardened exterior.

You can't help but wonder about her past. About who she was before this world came to be.

"So, uh..." You speak without thinking, the words tumbling out as you hammer another nail into place. "Before all this happened... Did you ever have any kind of routine, y'know, like something you did every day?"

Abby doesn't immediately respond, her focus on the work at hand, but you see her pause for just a moment, the hammer still in her hand. It's enough to make you wonder if you've touched a nerve.

"Like a routine?" she echoes, her voice rougher than usual. "I guess I used to... but that was a long time ago. Before things went to shit."

There's a slight bitterness in her tone, but it's not directed at you. It's just the weight of everything she's been through—the losses, the pain, the constant struggle to survive. You can feel the years of hardship in the way she speaks, and for a moment, you wonder if that's the real Abby—the person burie  beneath the tough exterior.

You don't push her further, but something compels you to share. Maybe it's the quietness between you two, the shared understanding that sometimes, it's easier to talk about the past when you're not alone.

"I used to walk to school every day," you begin, your voice quieter now as you focus on your work. "There was this old woman named Rose who lived on the way. She wasn't anyone important, really. Just some crazy lady who swore like a sailor and always had a cigarette dangling from her lips." You smile softly at the memory, a warmth you haven't allowed yourself to feel in a long time. "But she was sweet, y'know? Every time I'd walk by, she'd always shout out at me, 'Hey, girl! You better not be late for school!' And I'd laugh, even though I didn't have time to stop and talk."

You pause, lost in the nostalgia of it. The way Rose's voice would ring out in the mornings, how she'd shake her fist at the clouds when it rained, swearing up a storm while laughing at the same time. She was eccentric, yes, but she was also one of the few people who made the world feel just a little less bleak.

"I used to wonder why she was always there, sitting on her porch, with that crooked smile on her face like she knew something the rest of us didn't," you continue, your fingers tightening around the hammer as you push the memory further into the present. "She was the kind of person who didn't care about what anyone thought, y'know? She was just... living her life, no matter how crazy the world was."

You laugh softly, the sound a little too sad to be entirely genuine. "I guess I miss that. Miss the simplicity of it all. The way people used to live like they had all the time in the world."

Abby's hammering slows as she listens, her eyes flicking over to you for just a moment, studying the way you speak, the far-off look in your eyes. There's a long silence that stretches between you, one that feels different from the silence that usually hangs in the air. It's as if the both of you are processing the weight of the past in that brief moment, without needing to say a word.

When Abby speaks again, her voice is softer, less guarded. "Yeah, I get it," she says, her tone quieter than before. "I used to have... a rhythm, too. Waking up, training, working out... just doing whatever it took to survive, I guess. But there was always something comforting in the routine, you know? The predictability of it, like you had control over your day, even if the world was falling apart around you."

She pauses, her gaze flicking away as she adds, "But all that's gone now. We don't have routines anymore. Just... survival. And that's enough."

You hear the unspoken weight in her words, and though you don't fully understand what she's been through, you can feel the emptiness in the space between you two. It's like a slow burn, a simmering fire that neither of you can extinguish because it's all that's left.

The hammering resumes, a steady, rhythmic sound in the quiet of the cabin. You work in silence for a while, the task feeling oddly comforting, almost like it's grounding you in something you can control, something that doesn't feel so fragile. The sunlight outside has dimmed, casting long shadows that seem to crawl across the floor, and the wind howls through the cracks in the walls.

But the cabin feels safer now. More secure. And in the quiet, you can almost hear Rose's voice again, her words ringing out across the years. Maybe things were never simple, but there was a time when people found joy in the small things—the little routines, the unexpected moments of kindness.

The sound of Abby's voice breaks the stillness once more. "I think that's enough for now," she says, stepping back from the window, wiping the sweat from her brow. "We'll check everything again tomorrow. Just gotta stay on top of it."

You nod, taking a step back as well, wiping your own hand across your forehead. The cabin feels sturdier now, less vulnerable, and though the weight of the world still presses in from all sides, there's a flicker of something else—something small but growing. A feeling of connection. Of shared understanding.

"I guess it's not so bad," you say, looking around at the reinforced barricades. "Being here. With you."

Abby looks at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable, before she finally nods. "Yeah," she agrees softly. "It's not so bad."

The cabin feels quieter than usual when Abby steps out, her boots crunching against the gravel outside as she heads off into the woods on a short supply run. It's something you've become used to—the way she leaves without a word, only a nod to let you know you're in charge for a while. She doesn't give you much else. No instructions, no reminders. Just the bare minimum of information, as if trusting you doesn't come naturally. You're starting to get used to the silence, the stillness that settles over you when you're left alone.

You can't help but watch her leave, her broad back disappearing into the trees, the familiar sound of Alice's paws clicking softly behind her. It's strange—being left behind in a world where survival is everything. The weight of being alone, even for just a few hours, doesn't sit well with you. But there's something oddly liberating about it too.

You stand in the doorway for a moment, the cabin cold and empty, and then shake yourself out of it. You have work to do, whether you like it or not. The inside of the cabin feels too small for comfort, too suffocating, the four walls pressing in as though they're closing in on you. Abby's presence always felt like a shield, but now? Now it's just you, surrounded by her things.

A small voice in your head whispers that you should respect her privacy—that you shouldn't go rummaging through her stuff. But another part of you is too curious. Too desperate to understand her, to find out who she really is beneath the layers of toughness.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you start moving toward the corner where her things are strewn across the floor. You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the door as if expecting Abby to walk back in. But the sound of the wind outside is steady, and you can hear Alice barking in the distance. You figure you have a few minutes.

You start with her pack—simple, worn, and sturdy. The kind of pack someone like Abby would carry. You unzip it cautiously, pulling out the first few things that catch your eye. It's mostly survival gear: matches, a small first aid kit, an extra jacket. Things that make sense in a world like this. You set them aside carefully, making sure everything looks untouched, in case she checks later.

As you dig deeper, your fingers brush against something heavier, something paper-thin but dense. You pull it out slowly, unfolding the corners of a small, weathered journal. The leather binding is cracked, the pages yellowing with age. There's something oddly intimate about it, the weight of it between your fingers. You open it to the first page, the scribbled handwriting messy but familiar, like someone trying to make sense of their thoughts on paper.

The first entry is dated not too long before the outbreak. You can almost hear Abby's voice in the words, the frustration and bitterness that laces her every sentence.

"I don't know why I bother anymore. Owen's been distant for months. I don't even know if he's trying anymore. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm just not good enough. Every day it feels like he's slipping further away, and I can't bring myself to fix it. Not that I think he wants me to."

You pause, staring at the words. Owen. The name hits you like a ton of bricks, and you're almost afraid to keep reading, but the pull of curiosity is too strong. You flip the page, your fingers trembling slightly as you find the next entry.

"I confronted him today. God, it went as badly as I expected. I asked him why things felt off. He didn't even look at me when he spoke—just stared at the ground like he didn't care. He told me he was too busy with his work to deal with me, like I was some kind of problem. Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm just the distraction. The one thing that was always in the way of him becoming something bigger, something better. I should've seen it coming."

The words burn through you, the pain in Abby's writing raw and honest. You can feel her heartbreak, the weight of a relationship crumbling, of being in love with someone who didn't feel the same way anymore. You're not sure why, but you can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her.

The journal entries are full of small, painful glimpses of Abby's relationship with Owen. Each page reveals more of the hurt she's carried, the uncertainty she's lived with for so long. You almost feel like an intruder, reading this personal history, but the more you read, the more you realize that it's not just her relationship with Owen that's been broken. It's her, too. She's been broken in ways that run deeper than the surface toughness she shows the world.

You flip through a few more pages, scanning for anything that might give you more insight into the woman she is now. There's a pattern in the entries, a kind of struggle to find a balance between who she was and who she's become. The last few pages are sparse, written after the collapse—quick, almost clipped sentences that make it clear that Abby has changed in ways even she doesn't understand yet.

"Owen's gone. He's not coming back. I couldn't save him, even though I tried. I tried everything. But I couldn't keep him safe. The world's too broken. And now I have to survive. Alone. I don't know if I can."

You close the journal, a lump forming in your throat. You weren't expecting this. You weren't prepared for the vulnerability she's left behind in those pages. Abby, the woman who's been so cold and distant, who hides everything behind her eyes, had once been the one reaching for something—someone—to hold on to. Now, it's clear that what's left of her is just fragments of that lost hope.

With a quiet sigh, you carefully tuck the journal back into her bag, trying to be as gentle as possible. But as you do, something else catches your eye—a photo, half-hidden beneath the pages. You pull it out, feeling a pang of guilt as you look at it, unsure of whether or not you should even be holding it. It's a family photo, worn around the edges, the corners creased with age.

Abby's parents, you realize with a start. It's clear from the way they smile, from the way they stand next to her, that she was loved—once. Her mother's arms are wrapped around her, a protective, maternal gesture, and her father is grinning like he's proud of the family he's built. Abby's younger in this photo, her face softer, her eyes not yet hardened by the world.

You can almost feel the warmth that radiates from the photo, the love that was there before everything changed. You trace the edges of the photo with your thumb, unsure of what to make of it. Was it a different world for her then? Was she someone else entirely, before she became the person standing in front of you now?

You quickly tuck the photo back into the bag, feeling the weight of it against your chest. The last thing you want is for Abby to come back and find you holding on to something so personal. You don't want to make her angry. You don't want to see that cold, distant look in her eyes again.

You rush to clean up the rest of her things, shoving everything back into the bag as best you can. You don't take the time to really put it away properly; you just want to make sure it looks like nothing has been touched. You glance nervously at the door every few seconds, listening for any signs of Abby's return.

Finally, you hear it—the sound of boots on gravel. Abby's back.

You barely have time to breathe before the door creaks open, and there she is, her boots heavy on the floorboards as she steps inside. She looks around, and for a moment, you think you're going to be caught. But her gaze doesn't linger on you, doesn't give anything away.

"Got the water," Abby says, her voice steady, casual. "Everything okay here?"

You nod quickly, wiping your hands on your pants as you try to act normal. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just kept the fire going."

She gives you a quick, unsmiling nod and sets the water down by the stove. She doesn't ask any further questions, doesn't seem to notice the way your hands shake just slightly. You've done it. You've managed to keep everything hidden.

But the memory of the journal, of the photo, stays with you. The pieces of Abby you've glimpsed in her absence—the parts of her that were never meant to be seen—are now imprinted in your mind. And no matter how hard you try to act like you didn't see anything, you can't forget what you've learned.

It's funny. The more you know about her, the more you realize that maybe the toughest parts of her—those walls she's built—are just the things she's using to protect herself from everything she's lost.

And as the silence stretches between you two, you wonder how much longer it will take before she lets you in completely.

Hours later the fire crackles softly in the corner of the cabin, the warm glow casting long shadows that dance against the rough walls. The sound of the wind outside is steady now, a low whistle through the cracks of the old wood, but within the cabin, there's a strange sense of stillness. The only movement comes from Abby's slow, steady breathing as she sleeps, her body curled up on the bed she's claimed as her own.

You should be asleep too. But your mind is too full, too restless, racing with thoughts of the day and the things you've seen—things you shouldn't have seen.

Abby's presence is like a weight in the room, the intensity of her personality even in sleep undeniable. It's strange, seeing her like this—vulnerable, unaware of the scrutiny. Her usually taut, hardened features softened, her face relaxed in slumber. The way her breath rises and falls evenly, the rise of her chest visible beneath the layers of her worn clothing, the small, unconscious shift of her body as she adjusts to the position she's chosen to sleep in.

It's almost peaceful, this side of Abby that you never get to witness while she's awake. She's always alert, always on guard, the muscle in her jaw always clenched, her eyes never fully relaxed. But here, in the soft glow of the fire, she looks almost... human. Almost like she's just a person, like anyone else, and not the battle-hardened woman who's been through things you can barely imagine.

And yet, the vulnerability makes you uneasy. It's unsettling, seeing her like this—like she's just a woman, and not some untouchable force of nature. You swallow thickly, your eyes fixed on her sleeping form.

You shouldn't be watching her. You know that.

But you can't stop. Your curiosity is too strong, the need to understand her too overwhelming. You want to know more about the woman behind the walls she's built. The woman who hides so much of herself behind that unyielding exterior. The woman who's seen things that have broken her, who's been through hell and survived.

Your eyes trace the contours of her face, the sharp angle of her nose, the way her brows furrow even in her sleep, like she's constantly battling with some unseen force. You notice the way her shoulders are pulled tightly even while lying down, her muscles still coiled, as though she's waiting for the world to crash in on her at any moment. There's a rawness to it, a vulnerability in her that makes your stomach twist, even though you've never seen her so still before.

Suddenly, Abby shifts in her sleep, letting out a quiet exhale, and you freeze. Your heartbeat picks up, and you're acutely aware of every sound in the room—the crackling of the fire, the steady rhythm of your breath, the soft rustle of the blankets as she moves. Your eyes flicker down to her hand, resting on her side, fingers loosely curled around the edge of the blanket. For a moment, it feels like you're intruding—like you've crossed a line you weren't meant to cross.

You want to look away. You should look away.

But you don't.

You don't know how long you've been staring at her, but the minutes slip by like hours, and the silence between you both feels heavier, the air thick with something unspoken. The fire crackles again, and Abby shifts again, her lips parting slightly as she mutters something under her breath. You can't make out the words, but it sounds almost like she's still caught in the remnants of a nightmare.

It's then that you realize something: Abby is pretending to sleep.

Your stomach churns with unease. It's a gut feeling you can't ignore. The way her breaths are just a little too even, her body held just a little too still. It's almost like she's waiting for you to do something—waiting for you to slip up, to make the mistake of revealing your presence. And the realization hits you like a slap across the face.

Abby's not asleep. She's pretending.

Her voice cuts through the stillness, low but sharp, and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

"You know, you're a real creep, right?"

The words land like a heavy weight in the air, and you freeze, your blood running cold. The fire seems to die down a little, the crackles of embers the only sound in the room now. You can't speak. You don't know what to say.

Abby's eyes are open now, her gaze trained on you with a sharpness that sends a shiver down your spine. She's watching you, studying you, as though she's been aware of your every movement, your every breath, all along. And you feel a surge of embarrassment hit you in the gut. The thought of being caught like this, of having her know you've been staring at her—of violating the fragile, unspoken boundary between you both—it's enough to make your stomach flip.

"You've been staring at me for God knows how long," Abby adds, her voice steady but laced with a hint of amusement. She doesn't look angry, not exactly, but there's a quiet intensity in her eyes that sends a wave of shame washing over you. "What, you couldn't find something better to do with your time?"

You open your mouth to speak, but the words feel stuck in your throat. There's an awkward pause, the tension palpable between you both as you try to form a coherent thought.

"I..." You swallow hard, your voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to. I just... I couldn't sleep."

The lie feels weak as it falls from your lips, but you're not sure how to explain yourself without sounding like a complete creep. It's not like you planned to do this. You didn't mean to invade her space, to watch her like some kind of voyeur. But the moment you'd seen her sleeping, all your curiosity about her—about the woman behind the hardened exterior—had taken over. You'd wanted to see her like this, wanted to glimpse the Abby that no one else gets to see.

Her gaze softens slightly, though it still carries that quiet edge. She doesn't look angry, but the sharpness in her eyes doesn't completely fade. "Look, I get it. I'm not exactly an open book. I get that you want to know more about me, but this?" She shakes her head slightly, her voice turning softer now, more measured. "That's crossing a line."

You nod quickly, your face burning with the weight of your own guilt. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't— I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

There's a long silence between you both, a gap that feels wider than it really is. Abby shifts slightly, sitting up straighter in the bed, her eyes not leaving yours as she rubs a hand over her face.

"You don't have to apologize," she says, her voice quieter now, a little more resigned. "But seriously, don't do it again. I don't know what you're looking for by watching me, but that shit won't get you anywhere."

You feel the weight of her words, the sternness in her voice, and it hits you just how much you've crossed a line. It wasn't just about curiosity—it was about respect. The things you've seen, the things you've learned, those are hers to share with you if she ever wants to. You don't get to just take them.

"I won't," you reply, your voice small, embarrassed. "I swear."

Abby studies you for a moment longer, her eyes still sharp, but there's something else there now—a flicker of something almost understanding. She exhales a breath, then glances away, her gaze flickering toward the window.

"Good," she says, a slight shift in her tone, like the conversation is over. "I'll be keeping an eye on you."

You nod, grateful for her words even though you're still reeling from the situation. You can feel the heaviness of the moment in the room, but Abby doesn't seem inclined to make it worse. She looks back at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Now, get some sleep. You'll need it. We're leaving early tomorrow."

You nod again, finally feeling the tension in your chest ease slightly. You shift back toward your spot on the floor, not daring to look at Abby again, but feeling the weight of her gaze linger on you.

The air is cool and crisp as the sun starts to peek over the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and orange. You've been awake for an hour, your mind still heavy from last night's conversation with Abby, but the moment you stand and stretch, the cool morning air clears the fog in your head. The cabin behind you feels distant now, tucked away in its secluded corner of the forest.

Abby is already preparing the supplies for the long trek ahead. Her movements are efficient, fluid—a woman who has been doing this for years, who has learned what to carry and what to leave behind. Her broad shoulders shift beneath the layers of her worn-out jacket, the muscles in her back defined and powerful, a testament to all the battles she's fought. Her dog, Alice, sits beside her, a quiet, alert presence as always, her ears perked up at every sound.

You're not as used to this. Walking for miles on end, hauling everything you need on your back, moving through rough terrain—it's new to you, and your body is already protesting, even before the journey begins. You feel the weight of the pack on your shoulders, heavier than you expect, but you try to push that discomfort aside. You need to keep up.

"Ready to go?" Abby asks, glancing over at you with a raised eyebrow as she adjusts the strap of her own pack. There's a glint of something—maybe concern, or maybe just her usual hard-edged practicality—but whatever it is, it's quickly masked by her neutral expression.

You nod, wiping the sleep from your eyes. "Yeah. Let's get going."

Abby's eyes flicker over you briefly before she gives a sharp nod. "Stick close. Forty miles isn't a short trip, and I don't plan on carrying you back if you get too tired." Her voice is firm, but there's a quiet understanding in it as well. She doesn't want to drag you along, but she also doesn't want to leave you behind. You appreciate that, even if it comes off a little more blunt than you'd like.

The two of you start walking, the soft crunch of your boots in the dirt mixing with the occasional rustle of leaves from Alice trotting behind. Abby's strides are long and purposeful, her legs pushing forward at a pace that leaves you struggling to keep up. Your legs are shorter than hers—hell, everything about you feels smaller compared to her broad, towering presence—but you push yourself to match her pace, your lungs working harder with each step.

The forest around you is dense, the trees towering above you in silent watch, their limbs swaying gently with the wind. You've walked through woods before, but there's something different about this place—something about the quiet, the isolation that gnaws at you as you push forward. It's peaceful in its own way, but it also feels empty, hollow. There's a tension in the air, a sense that danger could be lurking just beyond the thick underbrush.

You can hear Abby's steady breathing ahead of you, her movements sure and calculated. Alice is a few paces behind, trotting quietly, her ears flicking at every sound, every rustle. The rhythmic sound of their footsteps creates a kind of lull, and for a moment, you forget about the miles ahead of you. The silence between you and Abby isn't uncomfortable, but it's not easy either. There's still so much you don't know about her, and the distance between you both feels more pronounced as the minutes tick by.

The walk feels long but steady. You focus on your breathing, keeping in time with the sound of Abby's boots crunching against the dirt, trying to ignore the aching burn in your calves. Every time your legs start to protest, you grit your teeth and push forward. You don't want to fall behind. You can't afford to.

And yet, despite your best efforts, your steps are slower than hers. You feel the distance between you widening with each passing hour, her long legs eating up the miles in a way that seems effortless, while you're struggling to keep up.

Your breathing becomes heavier, your legs stiffening as the day stretches on, but you force yourself to ignore it. Every time you think about slowing down, about asking for a break, you hear Abby's voice in your mind: I'm not carrying you back. It's enough to push you forward, even if every part of you is begging to rest.

The wind picks up, rustling through the trees, and you pull your jacket tighter around your frame, the chill creeping in despite the sunlight trying to push through the canopy. You can't help but steal glances at Abby as she walks ahead of you. There's something about her—something imposing, something hard to pin down. Her posture is perfect, always upright and sure. The way her broad back flexes as she moves through the terrain is almost hypnotic. You've never seen anyone walk so effortlessly through the woods, and it makes you feel small, inadequate.

It's not like you want to compare yourself to her. It's not like you expect to be able to match her every step. But there's a part of you that feels... lacking. Abby has been through more, has survived longer. She knows how to handle herself, how to move through the world without hesitation. And you, well... you're still learning.

A few more miles pass, the trees growing thinner, the path ahead more uneven. Your legs ache more with each step, and your breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps. You try to push it away, to focus on something else, but it's hard. Your muscles are sore, and the fatigue is starting to set in. You tell yourself it's normal, that this is what walking forty miles feels like. But it doesn't help much.

"Hey," you hear Abby call from ahead, her voice more distant than you'd like. You pick up your pace, trying to match her stride. "You need a break?"

You  shake your head, teeth gritted as you force yourself to catch up. "No," you lie. "I'm fine."

She doesn't respond immediately, but you can tell she's paying attention. Her eyes flicker over her shoulder briefly, catching sight of you struggling to keep up. "You sure? You look like you're about to pass out."

That's an exaggeration, but you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. "I'm fine," you repeat more firmly this time.

Abby doesn't argue, but you can tell she's unconvinced. She slows her pace a little, her steps more measured, waiting for you to catch up.

"Don't push yourself too hard. We still have a long way to go," she says, and you catch the hint of something in her voice—concern, maybe. It's brief, fleeting, but it's there.

You manage to catch up to her, walking beside her now, your legs protesting the entire way. The silence between you feels less heavy now, and for a moment, you almost forget about the exhaustion that's creeping up on you.

As you walk side by side, you glance up at Abby, studying her as she moves with purpose, the set of her jaw, the sharpness in her eyes that never quite fades, even in moments like these. You wonder what she's thinking, what's going through her head as she walks next to you, as you both make your way toward the hospital that's still miles away. Does she ever feel the weight of the journey, or does she just keep moving, like the rest of the world is nothing but a blur?

Alice is a little ahead now, her nose sniffing the air, tail wagging. She looks back at you both, then lingers, waiting for you to catch up before moving forward again. There's something comforting about her, something steady in the way she moves through the world. It makes you feel less alone, less out of place.

As the miles stretch on, you try not to think about the distance ahead. Forty miles. It feels endless, like you're walking into a void. But there's a part of you that knows you can do this, that knows you can keep going, even if your legs scream at you to stop. You're doing this for you, for survival. And there's something about the way Abby walks—so sure, so certain—that makes you want to keep up. Makes you want to prove to her, to yourself, that you're strong enough for this.

And so, you keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Step after step.

The morning has long since given way to the relentless midday heat. You've been walking in silence for hours, your body adjusting to the steady, rhythmic strain. Your legs are still sore, your feet beginning to ache with every step, but the pull to keep going is stronger than the urge to rest. You keep your eyes on the ground ahead of you, trying not to focus on the burning in your thighs or the way your breath comes in shallow bursts.

Abby's pace hasn't faltered, her steps steady and unyielding. Alice, ever alert, has stayed a few paces ahead, her ears twitching at every sound. You follow her lead, trying to keep up, but it's hard. Abby moves through the terrain like she owns it—surefooted, confident, never wasting a step. Meanwhile, you're still figuring it out. You're trying not to think about it, though. You're here. You're alive. And that's what matters.

That is, until the air changes. You're not sure how to describe it. There's a sudden shift in the atmosphere, a tension that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The silence of the forest seems to thicken, and for a moment, you feel like something is watching you, waiting.

Abby stops in her tracks, her body going rigid. Her sharp eyes flicker to the side, scanning the trees and the underbrush with a precision that makes you tense. You stop too, heart hammering in your chest. It's Alice, who's now alert, her body stiff as she stares into the thick woods just ahead.

You squint, trying to see what Abby has already picked up on, but all you can make out is the hazy blur of the forest, the leaves swaying in the breeze. Then, just as you think it's nothing, there's a sound—a low, guttural growl that comes from somewhere deep in the woods, a sound that sends a chill through your spine.

Abby's expression hardens, and she takes a step toward you, positioning herself slightly in front of you. Her voice is quiet, but firm. "Bloaters."

The word hits you like a punch to the gut. You've heard of them, of course. The infected that are swollen with the spores, bloated and disfigured, with thick skin that barely holds them together. They're dangerous in the worst way—slow-moving, but with explosive, toxic gas that can take out anyone foolish enough to get too close. And they don't work alone.

You swallow, your throat dry as you try to steady your breathing. Abby's already pulling her rifle from its sling, her fingers expertly checking the clip before sliding it back into place with a click that echoes in the tense air.

"What do we do?" you whisper, your voice a little shaky, betraying the anxiety gnawing at your insides. You can't help it. You're not used to this. You're not as experienced as Abby.

"Stay low. Stay quiet," she says, her voice steady despite the tension, her eyes never leaving the woods ahead. "Let's move to the side. We don't want to draw attention."

She's already moving before you can respond, slipping behind the cover of a large, fallen tree that's partially hidden by underbrush. You follow her, your breath caught in your throat, trying to keep your footsteps as silent as possible. Every sound feels amplified in the stillness—the crunch of leaves beneath your boots, the rustle of your jacket as you shift. You try not to think about it, about the infected waiting just ahead.

As you crouch behind the tree, you finally catch sight of them. They're staggering through the trees—three of them, their bloated forms moving slowly but with an unsettling purpose. Their bodies are grotesque, their skin sagging and swollen with infection. Some of them are covered in patches of mold, while others have gaping, fleshy wounds where their skin has torn open. The scent of rot is thick in the air, overwhelming, but it's the sounds that make your stomach churn—the deep, sickly growls that rattle from their throats, the guttural gurgling as they move.

You freeze, your breath coming in short bursts. You can't look away. You don't want to. But the more you watch, the more it sinks in just how close they are, how dangerous they are. One of them, its face half-masked with putrid, decaying flesh, takes a slow, dragging step forward, its eyes wide and unseeing. Another lumbers behind it, dragging its foot with a sickening scrape. The third stumbles forward with a low, hissing noise, its bloated stomach dragging against the dirt.

Abby shifts next to you, her body tense, muscles coiled like a spring. She lowers her rifle, not aiming at the bloaters, but keeping it ready. Her expression is grim. She's assessing the situation, weighing her options. You can see it in her eyes—she's done this before. She knows how to handle them. You, on the other hand... you feel like you're holding your breath, waiting for the first wrong move.

Then, just as you think the situation is under control, there's a sudden noise from behind you—another growl, but this one's closer. A fourth bloater, you realize. And this one's much too close. Too close for comfort.

You feel Abby stiffen beside you, her hand grabbing your arm, pulling you closer to her. Her grip is firm, her body radiating tension. You can hear the pounding of your heart in your ears as you turn, your eyes widening at the sight of another bloater stepping out of the underbrush. It's huge, its body grotesque and bloated, the skin sagging and torn in places. Its eyes lock onto you, and for a moment, you're frozen, unable to tear your gaze away from the disgusting thing as it hisses, its rancid breath filling the air.

"Shit," Abby mutters under her breath. "There's too many of them."

You can feel the panic rising in your chest, the sense of helplessness that tightens around your throat. You're not ready for this. You can barely walk forty miles, let alone take on a group of bloaters.

But Abby doesn't hesitate. She pushes you down behind the tree with surprising force, her hand on the back of your head as she shields you with her body. "Stay low, stay quiet. Wait for my signal," she orders, her voice a low growl.

You nod, trying to steady your breathing, trying not to make a sound as the bloaters draw nearer, their movements slow but inevitable. You can feel the sweat gathering on the back of your neck, your hands trembling from the strain of holding still.

For a long moment, everything is deathly silent, the tension in the air almost suffocating. Then, with a sudden, explosive movement, Abby rolls to the side, rifle raised and aimed at the nearest bloater. The shot rings out, echoing through the woods, and you flinch at the sharp, deafening sound.

The bloater stumbles, its body jerking back with the impact. Abby doesn't hesitate—she takes another shot, aiming for the head this time. The bloater's body drops, collapsing onto the ground with a sickening thud. You're barely able to process the horror of it before Abby's voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding.

"Move!"

She's already on the move, sliding across the forest floor, her rifle up and ready. You scramble to follow her, your heart pounding in your chest, your legs shaking with the adrenaline surging through your veins. You don't even know if you're running or crawling, but you move, driven by the need to stay alive.

The rest of the bloaters are still coming—closer, faster. Abby fires again, the shot narrowly missing the second bloater's head, but it stumbles back, momentarily disoriented. She doesn't wait for it to recover, quickly reloading her rifle and taking another shot. The bloater crumples to the ground.

You're not sure what happens next. Everything becomes a blur of movement, of sound, of adrenaline. Abby is a blur beside you, moving like she was born for this—cool, collected, deadly. You, on the other hand, are just trying to survive.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the last bloater falls. The forest falls silent again, the only sound the harshness of your breath, the pounding of your heart in your ears.

You collapse to your knees, the world spinning around you. Your hands are shaking, and you realize just how close you were to death.

Abby kneels beside you, her eyes scanning the area, still alert. "You good?" she asks, her voice rough but steady.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah. I think so."

"Good," she replies, her tone softening just slightly. "Let's keep moving."

The hospital loomed before you, its cracked windows and broken doors a testament to how much time had passed since anyone had last walked through it. The building stood like a monument to the "before" times, a place where lives were saved, and now a crumbling reminder of everything that had been lost.

Abby motioned for you to follow her toward the side of the building, where a small gap in the rubble provided an entrance. Alice squeezed through first, her tail wagging despite the oppressive atmosphere, as if she was used to this by now. You followed, trying to keep your movements quiet, but the sharp, muffled sounds of your footsteps echoed through the empty halls.

The hospital was eerily silent. The air was stale, filled with the faint scent of decay and rot, and you couldn't help but shudder as you moved deeper inside. The walls were peeling, the floors cracked and uneven. It felt like the building itself was holding its breath, waiting for the world to end completely.

Abby led the way, her movements efficient and quiet, as if she'd done this a hundred times before. You watched her from behind, your mind wandering despite the circumstances. She was so used to this—used to surviving, used to being the one in control. You admired her for it, but it also made you feel small, like you didn't quite belong.

Eventually, Abby led you to an old patient room, the door creaking loudly as it swung open. The room was a mess—papers scattered across the floor, remnants of broken equipment piled in corners, but it was safe. For the night, it would have to do.

"We'll sleep here," Abby said, her voice low as she scanned the room for any potential dangers. "It's not perfect, but it's as good as it gets."

You nodded, too tired to argue. The adrenaline from the walk had long since worn off, and now all you wanted to do was collapse onto something soft. You watched Abby and Alice settle into the room, Abby immediately beginning to check the windows and barricade the door with what little furniture she could move.

You sat on the edge of one of the beds, the springs creaking under your weight. It had been so long since you'd been in a bed, even one this shabby. You ran your fingers over the rough fabric of the sheets, the texture almost foreign to you now.

Abby finished her work quickly, her eyes constantly scanning for danger, but when she finally turned to face you, her shoulders relaxed. She moved toward the bed, sitting down beside you, her body tense but clearly wanting to rest.

"Alice will keep watch," she said, her voice hoarse. "We can sleep for a few hours, but we leave early to check the loot"

You nodded again, your eyes tracing the lines of Abby's form as she settled beside you. The dim light from the cracked window cast shadows across her features, highlighting the sharp angles of her jaw and the steady rhythm of her breathing.

For a moment, there was only silence. The kind that stretches out long and heavy, filling the empty space between two people. You should've been asleep by now, but your mind was too restless. Your body ached from the walk, but your thoughts kept wandering back to something... something that had been bothering you since this morning.

Abby let out a soft sigh, adjusting her position on the bed until she was lying on her side, facing you. Her eyes flickered toward yours, and she gave you a small, quiet smile.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice softer now, like she actually cared.

You hesitated, your fingers twitching where they rested on your knee. You'd been through so much in such a short time, and the constant stress, the fear, the uncertainty—it was wearing you down more than you cared to admit.

"I'm fine," you replied, though the words felt hollow coming out of your mouth. You weren't fine. None of you were.

Abby's eyes softened, her lips pulling into a small, understanding frown. "You can talk to me, you know. I'm not gonna bite."

You gave her a weak smile, not sure what to say. You wanted to open up, to tell her about the things you'd been carrying around—about the life you'd lost, about the people who were no longer there. But you couldn't find the words. It was easier to keep them locked away, to pretend like everything was fine.

Instead, you let your gaze drop to the rough fabric of her shirt, your eyes tracing the outline of her muscles through the thin material. You couldn't help it. Abby's body was... impressive. Strong, defined, the kind of strength that you envied and admired in equal measure.

You hadn't really noticed before, but now, in the dim light of the room, the way the fabric of her shirt hugged her torso, you could see the defined lines of her abs. The way her chest rose and fell with every breath. You felt heat crawl up your neck as you traced the faint outline of her muscles with your eyes, trying not to be obvious about it.

Abby caught you staring—though, by the way she raised an eyebrow, she probably knew exactly what you were doing. Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly averted your gaze, pretending to be interested in something on the floor. But you couldn't shake the warmth that spread through your body.

"You're staring again," she said, her voice teasing but not unkind.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest. "Sorry, I didn't—"

"Relax," Abby interrupted, her voice still low but gentle. "I'm not gonna bite your head off."

You chuckled nervously, the tension in your chest easing just a little bit. "It's just... you're kind of a badass. I didn't realize how... how much you've been through."

Abby's expression softened, and for a moment, you saw something else behind her usual guarded demeanor. Vulnerability, maybe? Or just a fleeting glimpse of the woman behind the soldier. But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the hard, calculating look that was so familiar to you now.

"You don't know the half of it," she said, her voice quieter this time, more thoughtful. "But it doesn't matter. I'm here. And you're here. That's what counts."

You nodded, unable to find the right words to say. Instead, you just sat there, the soft rustling of Abby's breathing and the distant sound of Alice's paws on the floor the only noise in the room.

And then, out of nowhere, you found yourself talking. It was strange how the conversation came so naturally, like a river finally breaking free of its dam.

"Back before all this," you began, your voice almost a whisper, "I had a cat."

Abby glanced at you, curiosity in her eyes. "A cat?"

You smiled, the memory of your old pet making you feel warm inside. "Yeah. His name was Mr. Mac and Cheese. He was... he was an ugly-looking motherfucker. Like, real gremlin vibes. I'm talking crooked teeth, matted fur, and a hiss that could shake the walls. But he was my cat. And I loved him."

Abby chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Sounds like a real charmer."

"He was," you said with a small laugh. "He'd follow me around the house, yowling at me for food, and then he'd curl up on my lap like he was the king of the world. I miss him. I miss the stupid little things."

You glanced at Abby, and for a moment, you could swear you saw a flicker of something soft in her eyes—maybe understanding, maybe something else. But it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

"That's the thing about all of this," she said softly, "we lose the small stuff. The stuff that made everything feel... normal."

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of connection with her, like for a moment, you weren't just two people surviving. You were just two people, sharing memories of a life that seemed so far away.

As the night stretched on, you and Abby shared more stories—of the lives you used to lead, of the things you missed. And when you finally settled into the bed, your bodies close but not quite touching, you couldn't help but feel a sense of calm settle over you.

It wasn't much. But it was something. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe again.

You woke up to the strangest sensation.

The first thing you noticed was warmth—so much warmth. It enveloped you like a heavy, comforting blanket. You tried to shift, but something was holding you there. Something... solid. Your eyes fluttered open, and you realized, with a start, that your face was pressed into Abby's chest.

Her body was warm and firm against yours, and in the dim light filtering through the broken windows of the hospital room, you could see her long, muscular arms draped loosely around you. You had somehow managed to end up tangled together in the night. Your legs were intertwined, your bodies pressed so close that it felt like you were physically fused into one being.

Your heart skipped a beat.

You froze. Your mind scrambled to piece together what had happened while you slept. Had you—had you moved in your sleep? Or had she pulled you close somehow, without realizing it? The heat rising in your cheeks was almost unbearable, but you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. Not when the weight of her arm around you felt so safe, so solid.

You felt her chest rise and fall with every slow, steady breath. Abby was still sleeping, her face relaxed in an expression that was unfamiliar to you. It was vulnerable, soft. Not the hardened, battle-worn expression she usually wore. In that moment, she looked... almost human. Not just a survivor, but a woman who, like you, had been through the wringer and come out the other side.

Still, you didn't want to overstay your welcome in her personal space. You carefully began to inch away, gently extricating yourself from her hold, when the sound of a low growl came from beside you.

You startled, your heart racing. The growl wasn't from Abby. It was Alice.

The dog had been curled up at the foot of the bed, her ears perked and her eyes wide open, watching you. She let out a small huff, clearly unimpressed by the situation.

"Shut up, Alice," you muttered, half to yourself, half to the dog, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping up your neck.

Just then, Abby stirred, her arm slipping off you as she slowly woke. She blinked, confused for a moment, before looking down at where you were sitting next to her, tangled in the sheets. Her eyes narrowed, and a small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Morning," she murmured, her voice still husky from sleep.

"Sorry," you mumbled, feeling like a fool. "I didn't mean to—"

Abby just shook her head, not looking at you with any judgment, but rather with that same unreadable expression she always wore. "You're fine. Don't worry about it."

You scrambled to untangle yourself, your mind racing. You didn't know if you were relieved or mortified, but one thing was certain—this wasn't the first time you had woken up in close proximity to someone in this hellhole of a world. Still, something about the way Abby had held you made your chest tighten, and you tried to brush it off as you stood up to stretch.

Abby, always the efficient one, was already on her feet, ready to move. "Let's get to work. We need to check out the rest of this place," she said, adjusting her gear and grabbing her rifle. Alice was already up, tail wagging as she trotted over to Abby's side, her nose sniffing at the air.

You nodded, trying to shake off the awkwardness of the morning, and followed them both into the next part of the hospital. The place was a wreck—flooded in places, walls cracked, debris scattered across the floors—but it was as good as it would get.

Abby led the way, her movements precise and controlled. Alice trotted beside her, and you brought up the rear, trying to stay alert. Every hallway you walked through seemed to stretch on forever, endless and empty, but you knew better than to let your guard down. This was a hospital, yes, but it wasn't the kind of place you could trust anymore.

As you passed an old office, Abby stopped, holding a finger to her lips to signal for quiet. Alice immediately froze, her ears perked, and you held your breath, looking around. There was something in the air, a wrongness that only Abby seemed to pick up on.

A faint noise echoed down the hallway—a scraping, skittering sound that made your blood run cold. A low growl followed, and you instinctively pulled your knife from your belt.

Abby's face hardened, the softness from earlier gone. "Runner," she whispered, and you nodded, already moving into position. Your heart pounded in your chest, your grip tightening on your weapon as you crouched low, eyes trained on the hallway ahead.

Abby moved first, gliding silently into the room from which the sound had come. Alice, at her side, was completely still. You followed, your steps soft as you kept close behind Abby.

And then you saw it.

The Runner.

It was hunched over in the corner, its emaciated form twitching as it sniffed the air, its decayed skin taut against the bone. It hadn't spotted you yet, but it was close. So close that you could almost feel its rotting breath against your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, but Abby didn't hesitate. She took one swift step forward, moving like a shadow, and her knife was in her hand before the creature even knew what was happening.

The sound of the blade slicing through the air was sickening, and the Runner let out a screech of pain as Abby drove the knife into its throat. The thing collapsed instantly, its body twitching violently before going still. You took a quick step back, your stomach turning at the sight of the blood pooling on the floor.

Abby stood over it, her chest heaving, eyes scanning for more threats. Alice barked, once, sharply, as if to remind them that danger was still lurking, but Abby gave a small nod, her posture stiff and ready.

"That's the last of them," Abby muttered. "Let's keep moving."

You swallowed hard, the image of the Runner still burned into your mind. You were getting used to this—used to killing, used to surviving. But that didn't mean it didn't make you sick.

Abby led you further into the hospital, her sharp eyes constantly on the lookout. You passed by rooms filled with old medical equipment, some still intact, others broken and useless. You spotted syringes, needles, vials of various medicines—none of it useful to you right now. You were looking for something more specific.

As you moved deeper into the bowels of the hospital, Abby's eyes lit up when she spotted a cabinet in the back of one of the rooms. She moved toward it quickly, and you followed, watching as she pulled it open.

"Batteries," she said, her voice low but filled with relief. "We need these."

You took a deep breath, your shoulders relaxing. You hadn't realized how much you were hoping for a good find, but the batteries were a godsend. The radios, flashlights, and even the few devices that still functioned in the world required them. Abby stashed them in her pack with a satisfied grunt before moving to the next cabinet.

You stood by the door, scanning the room, letting your mind wander again. There were no more Runners, no more infected to worry about—for now, at least. You looked around at the other supplies: medical junk, unused bandages, and even some leftover morphine. There was something bittersweet about it all—the remnants of a time before the world had gone to hell, now just useless scraps in the hands of people who had to make do with whatever they could find.

Abby, meanwhile, was already rifling through a stack of old medical masks. She held one up and gave it a quick glance. "Could be useful," she muttered, tucking it into her bag.

Alice padded around, sniffing at the shelves, but she didn't find anything that piqued her interest. The room had been picked over, but Abby was nothing if not thorough.

Finally, Abby nodded, slinging her bag over her shoulder and turning back toward you. "That's enough for today. Let's head back before nightfall."

You didn't argue. You were tired, and the weight of the world outside the hospital was growing heavier with each passing moment.

As you made your way back toward the entrance, you could feel Abby's eyes on you—observing, calculating. She hadn't said much since the Runner, and you could tell she was still on edge. But at least now, you had some supplies to keep going.

The cabin was eerily silent, save for the occasional rustling of leaves outside and the soft crackle of the fire in the corner. You sat on the edge of the cot, the thin, worn blanket draped loosely over your legs as you stared at the ceiling, your mind racing in the darkness.

Abby was supposed to be asleep.

But you knew her better now.

You'd both come back to the cabin after a long day scavenging, your bodies aching from the trek through the wilderness, your bags heavy with supplies. Alice had immediately curled up near the door, content in the safety of the cabin's four walls, but you were restless. Your mind wouldn't shut off. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see were the infected you'd fought off, the quiet tension between you and Abby, the overwhelming weight of survival hanging over everything you did.

The cot wasn't comfortable—nothing really was in this world—but it was better than the hard floor. Even though you tried to convince yourself that you were tired, that you needed to sleep to survive the next day, your thoughts wouldn't stop. The stillness of the room only made it worse.

You could hear Abby's breathing, slow and steady from across the room. She was on her cot, just a few feet away from you, the faint outline of her muscular frame visible beneath the rough blankets. You'd gotten used to the way she moved, the way she breathed, the way she seemed to take up so much space in any room. There was something about her presence—something that calmed you even when you weren't sure if you were supposed to be comforted.

You didn't know what it was, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. A connection that had formed, silently, in the wake of everything that had happened. Yet, even with that, you still didn't know her fully. You didn't know what she thought about when she lay awake at night or what haunted her when she closed her eyes.

A quiet, almost inaudible sound caught your attention. You blinked, trying to pinpoint it in the darkness. Was it the wind?

No.

It was Abby.

She shifted in her cot. A soft grunt escaped her lips, barely a sound, but you could hear it. It was subtle, a clear indication that she wasn't asleep like she'd let on earlier. She was awake—just pretending to sleep.

You felt an irrational surge of curiosity, of loneliness, mixed with the nagging feeling that you didn't want to be alone. The warmth of the fire couldn't quell the cold ache in your chest, the unease that kept creeping in no matter how much you tried to distract yourself.

Sighing, you swung your legs off the cot and stood up, moving silently toward Abby's cot. You glanced over at Alice, who was fast asleep by the door, her soft breathing the only other sound in the cabin. You stepped carefully, making sure not to wake her.

You paused just beside Abby's cot, hesitating for a moment. You had no idea why you were doing this. Maybe it was the quiet ache that had settled into your bones, the kind of ache that only silence in a place like this could bring. Or maybe it was just that you couldn't handle the weight of the darkness pressing in around you alone.

But before you could second-guess yourself, you gently lowered yourself onto her cot, the blanket shifting beneath your weight. Abby didn't move at first, but you could feel her tension—like she was holding her breath, waiting for you to make the next move. You didn't say anything. You just sat there, your back against the wall, legs crossed awkwardly as you stared at the fire.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then, finally, Abby shifted, turning her body slightly toward you, her back still mostly to you. She was pretending to be asleep, you could tell, but the movement was telling. She was aware of your presence, of the fact that you were so close to her now.

"I'm not asleep," she murmured, her voice low, rough from sleep.

You stiffened, heat flooding your cheeks. You hadn't expected her to acknowledge it. "I didn't think you were."

There was a brief silence between you two, the kind that stretched out too long, filled with the unspoken things you didn't know how to say. Abby didn't turn around, but you could hear her breathing change, like she was considering her next words carefully.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, her tone soft but not unkind.

You shrugged, feeling a little ridiculous. "I don't know. Just... needed to get out of my own head."

Abby didn't reply at first. The air in the cabin was thick, and the fire crackled faintly in the corner. The tension between you was palpable, but somehow, it didn't feel as suffocating as it could have. There was a strange kind of comfort in it, even if you didn't know how to navigate it.

"Yeah. I get that," Abby muttered.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything more. You both simply sat in silence, the weight of everything pressing on your shoulders as the minutes ticked by. The smell of the fire and the damp wood filled the air, mixing with the faint musk of sweat and exhaustion that clung to both of you after a long day on the road.

You were beginning to wonder if she was going to ignore you again, when Abby finally shifted, her movements slow and deliberate. She didn't say anything, but the next thing you knew, she had rolled over slightly and scooted closer to you. You could feel the heat of her body next to yours, the familiar presence of her just inches away. It was strange. Comforting, but strange.

Your heart skipped a beat as she propped herself up on her elbow, her eyes glancing sideways toward you. The dim light from the fire barely illuminated her face, casting sharp shadows over her features. You could see the intensity in her gaze, the rawness of everything she had been through. You didn't know how to read it, but it felt like something was shifting between you—like the tension had started to break just a little, if only for a moment.

"You know," Abby said after a pause, "it's been a while since I've actually slept in a real bed."

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of what she was getting at. "How long has it been?"

"Too long," she replied with a sigh, leaning back against the wall, her gaze turning toward the fire. She seemed lost in thought for a moment, her posture relaxed but guarded.

It was strange to hear Abby—someone who had spent so long fighting, surviving, always one step away from danger—speak so openly about something as simple as sleep. It was human. It was raw. And it made her feel... real. Like she wasn't just the warrior that the world had turned her into, but a woman who needed rest. Who needed peace.

"I used to sleep like a rock," Abby continued, her voice quieter now, almost to herself. "Back before all this. But now... I'm always listening for something. Always expecting the worst."

You could relate to that. The endless vigilance. The fear that never quite leaves, no matter how long the night stretches.

"I know the feeling," you said softly. Abby's gaze shifted back to you, her eyes softening. "Yeah. I figured you might."

There was a long pause, and then Abby did something unexpected. She shifted closer, her shoulder brushing against yours. It was a small thing, but the closeness hit you harder than you expected.

"You're welcome here," Abby said quietly. "I'm not gonna push you away. You don't have to be alone."

The sincerity in her voice caught you off guard. You'd expected her to put up more walls, to keep herself distant. But instead, she was offering you something you hadn't realized you needed—something that, despite everything, you wanted.

You couldn't find the words at first, but the weight of it settled over you, heavy but comforting. "Thanks," you said, finally, your voice small but full of meaning.

The air was crisp, the kind of cold that bit at your skin without mercy. The cabin was warm inside, but you were outside, standing beside a small clearing at the edge of the woods. The fire was still crackling in the hearth inside, but Abby had insisted on getting some more firewood for the coming night. It was a routine—something you’d gotten used to in the past couple of days—and the familiar weight of the axe in her hands seemed to be almost effortless for her.

You, on the other hand, were more than content to stand there, watching.

Abby swung the axe with a practiced motion, the edge biting into the thick log with a resounding thud. Her biceps flexed with each strike, her muscles taut and defined beneath the worn sleeves of her shirt. You couldn’t help but stare. Honestly, who could blame you? The sight of her—her sheer strength, the way she handled that axe like it was a part of her—was enough to make your heart race.

Her arms were sculpted, strong, every movement fluid and controlled. There was something undeniably sexy about the way she worked. She wasn’t just a survivor, she was a force, and every time she swung the axe, it was like you were watching her claim her space in the world, piece by piece.

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, trying not to stare too obviously, but failing miserably. The fire crackled in the distance as the wind rustled through the trees, and all you could focus on was the rhythmic swing of the axe and Abby’s focused expression.

She wasn’t looking at you, of course. She was too absorbed in the task at hand, her brow furrowed in concentration. She wore a tight-fitting shirt now, sleeves rolled up, and you could see the way her muscles flexed beneath the fabric with each motion. The way her body moved was effortless but graceful, each swing of the axe sharp and powerful, her form seemingly made for this kind of work.

Your heart skipped a beat as the realization settled in.

Fuck, she’s so hot.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed before. You had, of course. The way she moved, the way she carried herself, the confidence in her every step. You had seen her before in moments of action, in the heat of danger, but now—now, in the soft light of the early afternoon, with the faint scent of wood in the air—it hit you harder than ever.

Abby Anderson was fucking beautiful.

Her shoulders were broad, strong, with the kind of muscles that weren’t just for show—they were practical. Everything about her, from the way her jaw tightened when she focused to the way her hair fell in wild, golden streaks across her face, made your stomach flip. The sense of calm authority she radiated, mixed with an intensity that burned beneath the surface—it was intoxicating.

You realized you were staring a little too long. You quickly tore your gaze away, looking down at the ground, heart racing in your chest.

Get it together, you thought to yourself, but it was no use. Every time you glanced back over, you were just… drawn to her. It was impossible not to be.

Abby swung the axe again, and you turned your attention elsewhere—at the wildflowers growing around the clearing. They were a patch of color against the dry ground, a burst of yellow, purple, and white, and you realized with some amusement that they weren’t exactly flowers. The mix of greenery in front of you wasn’t anything special, not by pre-apocalypse standards, but here, in the wasteland, it was a rare sight.

The flowers weren’t exactly pretty—more like little weeds that had somehow managed to sprout from the ground despite the odds—but they had their own kind of charm. Maybe it was the way the petals swayed in the breeze or the contrast they provided against the stark landscape. You weren’t a botanist, but you knew they were about the only thing in the area that could pass as “pretty” without much effort.

You crouched down and started picking a few of them, hands shaking slightly. They were delicate, surprisingly tough despite their small size. You could make something out of these—something simple, something that would make Abby smile. You weren’t sure why, but the thought of making something for her made your stomach flutter.

You twisted the stems together as best as you could, braiding them into a loose circle, and after a while, you had something that resembled a flower crown—however rough around the edges it was. The flowers didn’t match perfectly, their mismatched colors giving the crown a quirky charm. You stood up, holding the crown carefully, inspecting your work. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something. A little gift in the middle of all this chaos.

Abby was still at the log pile, chopping through the wood with her axe. She was so absorbed in her task that she didn’t notice you approach, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You stepped up behind her and, without thinking too much about it, placed the crown gently on her head.

Abby froze, mid-swing, the axe hanging in the air as she glanced down at the flower crown perched atop her head. Her expression was unreadable for a moment. You held your breath, suddenly unsure of what to expect. Did she think it was silly? A joke?

But then, Abby’s lips quirked into a smile—a smile so rare, so genuine, it made your heart stutter in your chest. She lowered the axe, the weight of it still in her hand as she reached up, carefully touching the flowers with a look of surprise in her eyes.

“You made this?” she asked, her voice soft but with a teasing edge to it.

You nodded, trying to hide the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “Yeah, I… thought it would be nice.”

She let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Well, I wasn’t expecting a flower crown today,” she said, her voice light but appreciative. “But… thanks. It’s, uh, actually kinda cute.”

Cute? You nearly choked on the word. Abby had just called your awkward little gift cute, and she didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed about it. For a moment, you just stood there, completely flustered. Your mind scrambled to make sense of what was happening, but all you could focus on was her smile—the one that had turned from surprised to something warmer, something that made you feel like you could breathe again.

The flower crown sat awkwardly atop her messy hair, and you couldn’t help but laugh nervously. “It’s not much,” you said, your voice trailing off. “But I thought… maybe it would make you smile.”

Abby tilted her head to the side, considering you for a moment. “It did. More than you know.” She paused for a beat before adding, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You felt your heart race at her words, that simple acknowledgment making everything inside you buzz with an unfamiliar energy. You were grateful she hadn’t brushed it off or made you feel foolish. Instead, she seemed… pleased. Even more than that, there was a strange tenderness in her eyes as she looked at you. The moment felt raw, like something real—something that wasn’t just about survival or the day-to-day grind of living in a broken world.

Abby reached up and, almost shyly, adjusted the crown, her fingers brushing against your hand for just a second before she pulled it away. “Well, I think it looks better than I expected,” she said, her voice softening. “You know, it’s not just the flowers… it’s the thought behind it. I appreciate it.”

You couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across your face at her words, the weight of everything in your chest lifting just a little. The past few days with Abby had been a whirlwind of emotions, of survival, of tension, but this moment—this simple, sweet moment—felt like a turning point.

You realized then, as you looked at Abby, how much you had started to care for her. How much she had become a part of your world, even in the chaos of it all. You had no idea what the future held, but in that moment, with her standing there in your flower crown and a rare smile on her face, everything else seemed a little more bearable.

And maybe, just maybe, this was what hope felt like.

The liquor store was barely standing. The roof had caved in on one side, shelves toppled over and glass shards littering the floor. The scent of dust, mildew, and something faintly sour filled the air, but nothing compared to the relief of finally finding something worthwhile.

“Think any of this is still good?” you asked, stepping over the broken remains of what used to be a checkout counter.

Abby huffed, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she scanned the shelves. “Only one way to find out.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d scavenged together, but it was the first time you’d come across something fun. Most of your searches had been for the basics—food, meds, batteries. But liquor? That was a luxury.

You carefully maneuvered through the wreckage, eyes scanning labels. A lot of bottles had been smashed, their contents long dried and sticky on the floor, but tucked behind some fallen shelving was a single dusty bottle of whiskey.

You picked it up, squinting at the label. “Holy shit, this is the good stuff.”

Abby turned, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

You grinned, wiping some of the dust off the glass. “Good enough to make us forget this hellscape for a night.”

She smirked, walking over to you. “Or make us regret it in the morning.”

You shrugged, holding it up. “Worth the risk?”

Abby rolled her eyes but took the bottle from your hands, inspecting it before finally nodding. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Back at the cabin, the fire crackled in the background, casting flickering shadows on the walls. You and Abby sat on the floor, the bottle between you, two mismatched cups in your hands.

Abby uncorked it, taking a sniff before making a face. “Jesus.”

You snorted. “That bad?”

She poured you a generous amount before taking her own. “Only one way to know.”

You clinked your cups together. “To… I don’t know. Not dying?”

Abby chuckled. “I’ll drink to that.”

The first sip burned like hell. You winced, feeling the warmth spread down your throat to your stomach. “Fuck,” you coughed.

Abby wasn’t much better, her face scrunching as she swallowed. “That is strong.”

But neither of you stopped.

The second sip went down smoother, and by the third, the warmth started to settle in, spreading through your limbs, loosening the tension that always seemed to cling to your bones. The world outside still sucked, but here, in this moment, with Abby sitting across from you, her cheeks dusted pink from the alcohol, things didn’t feel so bad.

“You’re staring,” Abby said, her lips quirking into a smirk.

You blinked, snapping out of it. “Am not.”

She raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall, stretching her legs out. Her muscles flexed, and your brain short-circuited for a second. “You totally are.”

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip, letting the warmth settle. “Maybe you’re just nice to look at.”

Abby’s smirk faltered for a split second before she scoffed. “You’re drunk.”

“Not yet,” you shot back. “Just tipsy enough to tell the truth.”

Abby shook her head, amused, but you caught the way she shifted, suddenly a little more aware of the space between you.

The drinks kept flowing, and soon enough, the conversation drifted into easy laughter and stories from before the world went to shit. You told her about stupid pranks you used to pull in school, about the ugly little stray cat you once had named Mr. Mac and Cheese. Abby laughed at that one, deep and genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“He was a menace,” you said, grinning. “Ugly as hell, but I loved him.”

Abby hummed, swirling the liquid in her cup. “Sounds kinda like Alice. Ugly but loveable.”

“You take that back,” you gasped, feigning offense. “Alice is adorable.”

Abby chuckled, shaking her head. “Fine, fine. Maybe not ugly. But still a menace.”

The warmth of the alcohol made you bold, and before you could think twice, you leaned in just a little closer. “You’re cute when you laugh.”

Abby stilled, her gaze flicking to your lips for just a second before she swallowed, looking away. “You really are drunk.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, setting your empty cup down. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

The air shifted.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, there wasn’t as much space between you. Abby’s eyes were locked on yours, and for the first time, she didn’t look away.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she murmured.

“Why not?” you asked, voice softer now.

She swallowed. “Because I’ll believe you.”

Your breath hitched.

The fire crackled behind you, but all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat, loud and steady. Abby was close—so close you could feel the warmth of her breath, the scent of whiskey on her lips.

“Abby,” you murmured.

That was all it took.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in the softest, most hesitant way. It was barely a kiss—more of a question, a silent is this okay?

You answered by closing the space entirely.

The kiss was warm, a little messy, the taste of whiskey lingering between you. Abby sighed into it, her hands finding your waist, pulling you closer. Your fingers tangled in her hair, nails scraping against her scalp as she deepened the kiss.

She was strong—God, she was strong—but her touch was surprisingly gentle, like she was afraid of breaking you.

“You’re gonna regret this in the morning,” she murmured against your lips.

You grinned, breathless. “Then I’ll regret it in the morning.”

Abby huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head before kissing you again, harder this time.

And fuck—if this was a mistake, it was the best one you’d ever made.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the weight on your chest. Heavy, warm, and steady, like a furnace pressed against your ribs. The next thing you register is the dampness on your forehead, sticky and cool, like the remnants of a fever dream. Your eyelids flutter open, but everything is blurry—your head feels like it’s been split in two, the aftereffects of too much whiskey catching up with you in the worst possible way.

A groan escapes you before you can stop it, and the tightness in your chest shifts, slightly. The pressure eases, and a soft breath of air ruffles your hair. You blink again, trying to focus, your vision still fuzzy from the remnants of your hangover. Slowly, your mind pieces things together, like a jigsaw puzzle snapping into place. The floor beneath you is hard, but you’re warm, too warm. The smell of the fire, mixed with something distinctly… Abby, lingers in the air.

And then, the realization hits. You’re in Abby’s arms.

The heat surges through your chest, followed by an immediate rush of panic. What the hell happened? Your mind races, a series of fragmented images flashing—laughing, the kiss, her lips, the warmth of her hands on your skin—and it’s all there, in full clarity now, each second dragging you deeper into the weight of the situation.

Abby’s arms are around you, wrapped tightly, her body sprawled over yours as if you two had collapsed together after a long night. Alice, her Chesapeake Bay Retriever, is curled up on top of you both, her weight adding to the suffocating heat that lingers. You swallow thickly, trying to calm your heartbeat as you shift under the dog’s fur, trying to extract yourself without waking her.

But Abby stirs, shifting beneath you. She lets out a soft groan, and you freeze, hoping you haven’t disturbed her too much. Her breath tickles the back of your neck, and a strange sensation prickles through your skin, making the hairs on your arms stand up.

When she speaks, her voice is rough, hoarse, like she’s just woken up from a deep sleep, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “You awake?”

Your breath hitches, your mouth suddenly dry. You turn your head slightly, finding her face so close to yours. Her eyes are still closed, lips parted in a small, soft sigh, and you can feel her body rise and fall with each breath she takes.

“Yeah,” you croak, your voice sounding foreign in your own ears. “What the hell happened last night?”

Abby doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, she shifts again, tightening her grip around you like she’s unwilling to let go. Her cheek brushes against yours as she nuzzles her face into your hair, her breath hot and slow against your skin. You freeze, and her voice, softer now, cuts through the space between you. “I don’t know. But… I remember.”

You blink, your heart thumping in your chest. “Remember what?”

Her eyes crack open, the blue of them piercing through the haze of the morning. She looks at you, and for a moment, there’s a vulnerability in her gaze that makes your breath catch.

“The kiss,” she says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You swallow thickly, the air between you thickening, the weight of her words settling over you. The kiss—right. The kiss. You remember it, too. The taste of whiskey on her lips, the heat of her hands on your skin, how everything had felt in that moment. How perfect it had felt.

Your stomach flips.

“Shit,” you mutter, shifting slightly, trying to distance yourself. The space between you suddenly feels too small, too intimate. You try to sit up, but Abby’s grip tightens, keeping you close, her arm snaking around your waist like she’s afraid you’ll run away.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep. “I’m not letting you go that easily.”

You try to laugh it off, but it comes out weak and strained. “It’s not that,” you say quickly, but your mind is racing, and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. “I just… fuck. I wasn’t expecting that, Abby.”

The silence that follows is thick. For a moment, it feels like everything’s holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to break the tension. You both just lie there, the soft rise and fall of your chests the only sound filling the room.

Abby’s grip loosens just slightly, and she turns her head, resting her forehead against yours. “Me neither,” she admits softly, the words gentle, raw. “But…”

“But what?” you ask, your voice small.

She hesitates, pulling back just enough so she can look at you fully. Her hand moves to brush a strand of hair from your face, her fingers lingering against your cheek. “I don’t regret it.”

You freeze, your heart hammering in your chest. You look into her eyes, searching for something—anything—that might tell you she’s not just saying it to fill the silence. But there’s only sincerity in her gaze, and the tenderness that radiates from her makes your breath catch.

“I don’t either,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

There’s a beat, a shared understanding that passes between you, before Abby leans in again. This time, her lips don’t hesitate—there’s no uncertainty. She kisses you slowly, gently, a soft meeting of lips that deepens only when you kiss her back, just as eagerly.

It’s different this time. Slower, more deliberate, as if you both are testing the waters, trying to see if this is real, if this could be real. The kiss is warm, sweet, and it makes you forget everything except the feel of her lips against yours, the way her body molds perfectly against yours.

Alice shifts then, her body pressing a little more heavily onto you both, and the moment breaks. You laugh softly, breaking the kiss with a sigh. Abby smiles too, her chest rising with a deep breath.

“Guess we’re not getting up anytime soon,” she says, her voice low and teasing.

You chuckle, trying to push Alice off of you. “This dog is a menace.”

Abby snorts, moving Alice’s body off of yours with ease, before she pulls you into her arms again, settling into the floor with a groan. “But she’s a good girl.”

You smile at that, the warmth of Abby’s body against yours calming the storm of confusion in your head. “Yeah, she is.”

The air between you two isn’t as thick with tension anymore, but it still lingers, a quiet promise hanging in the space between breaths. You close your eyes, your head resting against Abby’s chest, and for the first time in a long time, you feel… safe.

It’s not the kind of safety that you’ve been craving all along, but it’s something else entirely—something warm and new. Something you could get used to.

“So,” you begin, shifting a little to look at her. “What now?”

Abby smirks, her fingers running through your hair. “We figure it out,” she says simply, her tone steady. “But I’m not in a rush to leave this spot right now.”

The rain falls in sheets, tapping softly against the cabin’s roof, drowning out any other sounds. The storm outside is relentless, the wind picking up and rattling the few broken windows. You’re tucked away inside, safe and warm beneath layers of blankets, but the atmosphere feels tense in a way you can’t explain. The air inside the cabin is thick with silence, punctuated only by the occasional sound of Alice’s paws scratching against the wooden floor or the low crackling of the fire.

You can’t remember the last time you had a day like this—a day to do absolutely nothing. There’s no rush, no immediate danger. Just you, Abby, and Alice. The entire world seems to have quieted, leaving the three of you in a little bubble of warmth and… something else.

The tension between you and Abby is palpable, though. The kiss from last night still lingers in the air, unspoken words hanging heavy in the space between you. It’s like you’re both trying to figure out what to do with each other now that the line has been crossed.

You’re sitting on the floor by the fire, nursing a mug of warm tea—if you can call it that—while Abby lounges nearby. Her head is propped up against the wall, her arms stretched out on the floor in front of her. She looks… comfortable, but something about her posture, the way her jaw tightens every time you glance at her, suggests otherwise. She’s always so damn composed, but you can tell the calm exterior is just a mask.

You shift uncomfortably, aware of her presence in a way that makes it hard to breathe normally. Abby’s so… Abby. The kind of woman who can make something as simple as sitting together in silence feel like a thousand emotions crashing through the room.

“Is it always this quiet?” you ask, your voice breaking the silence. You didn’t mean to sound so tense, but you can’t help it. The awkwardness is so thick between you, it feels like you’re both walking on eggshells.

Abby lifts her head, her blue eyes locking onto yours for a moment before they flicker toward the window. She shrugs, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of her lips. “I don’t mind it,” she says, her voice low and casual, like she’s used to this kind of quiet. “Sometimes, it’s nice.”

You nod, taking another sip from your mug, hoping the warmth will settle your nerves. But it doesn’t. The silence stretches between you two again, but it’s different this time—sharper, somehow. You can feel the weight of Abby’s gaze on you, even if she’s pretending to be distracted by Alice, who’s lying near the fire.

Your pulse quickens when you realize that Abby’s not pretending. She’s just as aware of the air between you as you are.

“So…” You try again, your voice a little lighter this time, but still full of that same nervous energy. “Anything fun you’ve got planned for the day?”

Abby chuckles, the sound warm and low. “Can’t say I’ve had much of a ‘fun’ day in a while.” She turns her head to look at you fully now, her eyes holding something you can’t quite name. “But I’m open to suggestions.”

Your heart flutters in your chest, a strange, electric feeling that surges through you whenever she looks at you like that—like she’s seeing right through the walls you’ve built around yourself. You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Alice suddenly perks up, her ears twitching, her eyes wide and alert.

Abby’s gaze snaps to her dog, and you follow her line of sight to see Alice standing, tail wagging furiously, looking toward the door with an intensity you’ve never seen in her before.

“What’s up with her?” you ask, leaning forward slightly, your eyes narrowing in curiosity.

Abby doesn’t answer right away. Her lips press into a thin line as she watches Alice for a moment longer. Then, with a curse under her breath, she stands up suddenly, the movement so fast that it catches you off guard.

“Alice!” Abby snaps, already halfway to the door, her boots thudding against the floor. “No!”

Your heart skips a beat as you scramble to your feet, watching as Abby hurries to the door. Alice, of course, doesn’t listen, already dashing toward the yard. You don’t even have time to process what’s happening before Abby pulls open the door, stepping outside into the pouring rain, her figure disappearing into the mist.

You hesitate for only a second before your legs start moving, instinct taking over. The last thing you want is for Abby to be out there alone in the rain, especially with Alice causing chaos. You grab your jacket and follow her out, braving the storm as the rain drenches you from head to toe in a matter of seconds.

You catch up with Abby just as she’s already running through the mud, her expression determined as she calls for Alice again. Her breath comes in sharp bursts, and the way her muscles flex beneath her soaked clothing has you momentarily distracted before your brain catches up with the situation.

“Alice!” you shout, your voice rising above the sound of the rain. “What the hell are you doing?”

You see Abby’s hand shoot out, and for a split second, you think she’s about to grab you, but then she takes a sharp turn and starts running again, pulling you along with her. The tension between the two of you—now amplified by the chase—is unbearable, like you’re tethered to her by something deeper than just the shared mission of catching Alice.

But Alice is fast. You can barely keep up with her, your legs shorter than Abby’s. You watch her weave through the trees, dodging between thick trunks and leaping over rocks like she’s been doing this her entire life.

“I swear to god, that dog,” Abby mutters under her breath, her voice gruff with frustration. Her biceps flex as she pushes herself harder, trying to close the distance between them.

You don’t realize you’re breathless until you stop, leaning against a tree to catch your breath. You watch Abby, the rain dripping down her face, her hair plastered to her forehead as she sprints after Alice. There’s something captivating about the way she moves, something hypnotic in her raw strength and determination.

But Alice is just as stubborn. She’s not stopping, and before you know it, Abby has stopped running, both of you standing in the middle of the rain, panting and laughing in equal measure.

“Fuck, we’re never catching her,” you say, your voice hoarse, the sound of the rain pattering on the ground barely registering anymore.

Abby chuckles breathlessly, shaking her head. “She’s got more energy than I do, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe she knows something we don’t,” you reply, glancing over at her, suddenly aware of how close the two of you are standing. Your heart races, the cold rain making your skin flush as your eyes linger on Abby. The sexual tension that’s been hanging between you two finally breaks, but it doesn’t go away. It thickens.

She looks at you then, really looks at you, like she’s seeing you for the first time, and it sends a jolt of electricity straight to your chest.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” Abby murmurs, her voice quieter now, though still edged with that same raw, unfiltered energy. “But you drive me crazy.”

You swallow thickly, your pulse hammering in your ears. You want to say something, anything, but the words are caught in your throat, tangled up with the feeling of her eyes on you. Instead, you take a step closer, the rain still coming down hard, and for a split second, the world slows down.

But before you can get any closer, Alice finally stops. The dog has clearly tired herself out, and she looks back at the two of you with a little wag of her tail, as if saying, “Are you coming or what?”

You laugh, finally breaking the tension, and Abby follows suit, a relieved chuckle escaping her lips.

“Come on, let’s go before she runs off again,” Abby says, turning toward you, her expression softening. “Rain’s not so bad when we’re together.”

You nod, your heart still beating fast in your chest as you follow her back toward the cabin, the weight of the moment still hanging between you two—unspoken, but undeniable.

The rain came down in heavier sheets now, turning the world outside into a blur of gray.

You sat on the creaky cot, peeling off your damp shirt and pants, your fingers stiff from the cold. Alice was off in the other room, probably making the floor wet from her adventure outside. Abby stood near the fireplace, stoking the embers, her broad back illuminated by the flickering light. Her tank top was soaked through, clinging to the contours of her muscles, making it impossible not to stare.

She turned, catching you looking, and smirked. “You alright?”

You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. Just—cold.”

Abby hummed, tugging off her own wet shirt, revealing the white sports bra underneath—well, what used to be white. Now it was stained, stretched, the fabric barely holding together. Your eyes dipped lower, drinking in the way it clung to her, the outline of her firm breasts teasing through the thin material.

“You’re staring,” she teased, stepping closer. “…again”

You licked your lips, tilting your chin down shyly. “I am..”

Abby huffed a small laugh, but there was heat behind her gaze now. She reached out, cupping your jaw with a gentleness that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t be shy…I like it,” she murmured, pushing down her pants and kicking them off.

You barely had time to breathe before her lips were on yours.

Her kiss was warm, slow, like she was savoring the moment—like she was holding back. You pressed closer, your hands finding the solid planes of her stomach, tracing the ridges of her abs. She inhaled sharply against your mouth.

“Fuck,” Abby rasped, pulling back just enough to look at you. “You sure you want this?”

You nodded, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her boxers, teasing the warm skin beneath. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’ve wanted this.”

Abby groaned low in her throat, her resolve snapping. She lifted you with ease, her strength effortless, placing you in the center of the bed before climbing over you, caging you in with her broad frame.

Her lips found your neck, sucking slow, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse. Her hands roamed, slipping beneath your shirt, pushing it up, exposing your bare skin to the cool air.

“You’re so soft,” she muttered, her palms sliding up your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts.

You arched into her touch, gasping when she finally pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside. Her mouth was on you in seconds, wrapping around a nipple, her tongue warm and wet as she sucked lightly.

“Abby,” you whimpered, your fingers threading through her blonde hair.

She groaned in response, her hands gripping your hips, keeping you in place as she kissed her way lower. She took her time, pressing kisses down your stomach, across the waistband of your underwear, her breath hot against the damp fabric.

“You’re already so wet,” she murmured, pressing a kiss right over your clothed clit. “You been thinking about this, huh?”

You whined, hips twitching, desperate for more.

Abby chuckled, hooking her fingers into the sides of your underwear, dragging them down your legs. She sat back on her heels, eyes locked onto your glistening folds.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “You’re perfect.”

You flushed, squirming under her gaze. “Abby, please—”

She cut you off with a deep, possessive kiss, pressing her weight against you, making you feel every inch of her. You could feel the heat of her through her boxers, the firm press of her core against your inner thigh.

“You wanna feel me?” she asked, voice thick.

You nodded, reaching down, pushing at the waistband of her boxers. Abby lifted her hips, helping you tug them down, and when her slick heat pressed against yours, you both moaned.

She was so warm, so wet—her swollen clit pressing right against yours as she ground down, slow and deliberate.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, your fingers digging into her shoulders.

Abby groaned, her breath shaky. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

She moved with precision, her strong thighs flexing as she rocked against you, the drag of her clit against yours sending sparks of pleasure up your spine.

It wasn’t rushed—Abby was taking her time, watching every reaction, learning what made you gasp, what made your nails dig deeper into her back.

She kissed you through it, swallowing your moans, her hands gripping your hips, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.

“Look at you,” she murmured, pulling back just enough to watch your face. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

You whined, lifting your hips to meet her thrusts, the wet slide of your bodies making your head spin.

Abby cursed under her breath, one hand slipping between you, her fingers joining the mix, rubbing tight circles over your swollen clit.

You cried out, your body tensing, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

“That’s it,” Abby whispered. “Let me feel you, baby.”

You shattered beneath her, your orgasm rolling through you in waves. Abby didn’t stop—she worked you through it, her movements slowing, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure until you were trembling beneath her.

She pressed her forehead against yours, her breath coming in heavy pants.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

You smiled, still catching your breath. “More than okay.”

Abby chuckled, kissing your temple. “Good.”

She wrapped you in her arms, her body warm and solid against yours. And for the first time since you started traveling together, you felt safer than ever.

[the-lady-bryan]

2-3.

It helps that when I was younger I was too big too soon for training bras that do up in the front and went straight to regular women's bras. So I never learned it any other way than behind me. I never have more than 3 hooks on any bra I bought. (I now only wear sports bras due to fabric/skin issues).

My trick was to hook the center hook first. Then the other two. Takes a few tries to get it down with different bras (some are stretchier than others). I also would move my shoulders back and towards one another while reaching back for my bra. This maneuver pushed my chest out but helped bring the back sides closer together for easier hooking.

You also want to make sure the back hooks area are on at least 1 - 1 1/2 inch of fabric vertically because when they are too close together it's difficult not to hook the wrong hook in the wrong eyelet. If your back strap is too thin, it also can mess with the stability of the whole bra, cause the sides will also be a bit too thin.

Think of it like this - a bikini top that only ties offers no support at all. You just go flopping about. That's too thin. 12 hour-support bras have the super thick straps in the back with a zillion hooks because you're not gonna want those things flopping at all and are gonna need more back support for a long day, too. 3 hooks tend to be the balanced spot of comfort plus support. Two hooks is mostly just comfort. 4 hooks is ore support.

But yeah, middle hook usually was first then followed by top and bottom. Try to move your shoulders towards one another as best as you can to close the gap and give the fabric a little slack so you can more easily feel the hooks and eyelets.

[03den]

bfhamzah headcanons - part 2 ( gnreader )

a.n: my god i was not expecting allat on my first post, thank uuu sm have some more fun w my rambling (slightly suggestive & reader is referred to as gf/wife)

part 1

in part one i briefly talked about how hamzah texts you a lot, and i stand my ground on that. he def spams you with the most random things. if he encounters a funny thing on the street, he immediately takes his phone out and sends you a photo. wait, did hamzah just thought about a really bad joke that is not funny in the slightest? he's proudly texting you it with no context at all. sometimes you're sitting in the same room, both on your silent phone time, and he's just repeatedly sending you brainrot reels, laughing to himself. oh, and you better watch them and the tiktoks he sends you, because he will reference them later and be dramatic about it if you don't understand it. "hi im ol- ol- oliver" "what?" "you don't know what i'm talking about? babe, no. i literally sent you the og tiktok!" ohh he's going to be salty about it.

onto that, i don't think he's the biggest pet name user. i think he prefers to call you by a nickname only he has for you—he thinks it makes him more special. once, martin tried to call you by that same nickname during a video, and hamzah just side eyed him and went "dude, no. stop.” occasionally, he will call you babe or baby in situations where he's attention seeking, half-asleep, high, trying to win your affection back after pestering you for too long... but that's also what he calls you during those moments, when his mind is foggy with different thoughts, and constant stimulation steal his ability to self-control. anything other than babe or baby, i can see it lowkey making him cringe

something corny that def doesn't make him cringe though is matching clothes—oh, this man loves it. and i don't mean subtle matching. yk those iconic t-shirts hamzah and martin constantly wear? the ones he buys to match with you are like that—white t-shirt with black letters saying 'i think they're hot' with an arrow each pointing to different sides. he for sure has asked you to wear that shirt with him for a youtube video, and made you sit so the arrow on his shirt pointed to you, and yours to him. has bought himself the ‘i love my gf’ black hoodie and wears the ‘i don't need an encyclopedia my wife knows it all’ t-shirt more often now that you're dating. don’t worry tho he let's you choose normal matching clothes as well

he can be a very silly bf, specially in public where he feels too exposed to be vulnerable, however, deep down he’s so so sweet, so caring. mumbled confessions against your neck late at night, hamzah tells you things weighted with such love it puts you under some daze. it’s not so easy for him to be in such vulnerable state, his words come out messy and shy, but the fact he tries nonetheless gives his voice a certain rawness—there’s no room for you to doubt his words

his heartfelt ‘i love you’s are always heard during these moments. repeated over and over, in between kisses, one no more genuine than the other. hamzah feels every word in ‘i love you’, and so do you, so they’re more reserved for times like these. that doesn't mean you ever separate ways without a quick "love you" with a peck though, that's an essential for him.

you are so important to hamzah, like actually so important it’s in everything he does. it’s in the way he does his groceries thinking about what you’d want, in case you come over; it’s in the way every other concern is pushed aside the moment he sees you; it’s in the way his house is covered in evidence of your presence; and in how he cannot stop posting you—be it on tiktok, youtube, or wtv

something else the fans noticed during a video is how he keeps a polaroid of you two on his phone case—a selfie of you next to each other, camera too close to your faces but that still managed to capture your laughing fit and his grin. it’s cute, and even tho it was a moment between js the two of you, the picture clearly conveys the love you have for each other.

after some time dating, youtube gets flooded with compilations of your relationship. ‘hamzah annoying name for 15 minutes straight’. ‘every clip of Hamzah being absolutely in love WARNING: long video.’ ‘moments where name and hamzah openly flirted in front of the camera.’

extras!

literally had no idea on what to put on the brainrot line.. i havent been keeping up w brainrot also im so obsessed with every photo of him included in this post

[dokyumms]

seventeen's reaction to you overworking yourself (maknae line) !

pairings: maknae line x reader (find the hyung line ver. here)

genre: fluff, suggestive ? (dino)

word count: 900

cw: overworking, light cursing

a/n: second part to the last reaction! tried to make this shorter and a little less angsty since i feel like i made the last one unnecessarily long. also thank yall so much for 100 followers!! i only started posting a couple days ago and i definitely wasn't expecting so many people to enjoy my work, i love you my kings ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

dk - dokyeom will do everything in his power to distract you from whatever you're doing. hunched over your computer? he's pulling you up and asking to dance. you're at the office for way longer than usual? he's calling you and telling you he's fainted, just for you to rush home and be greeted by a bear hug that you'll never escape.

he does it all in a jokingly manner, but in reality he is so scared that you're pushing yourself too far. at one point he'll sit you down and plead for you to take off some hours, and of course you can't say no when he gives you those puppy eyes.

mingyu - mingyu waits outside of your office when you normally get out of work so he can surprise you with a night out. after 20 minutes of impatiently waiting, he realizes you've decided to keep working, again. so he walks in, ignoring all of the staff that gawk at the fact they've never seen someone so attractive walk into the office (maybe besides you *wink*).

when you notice someone peer over your cubicle, you look up to be met by mingyu's face.

"gyu? what are you doing here?" he frowns in response.

"to pick you up, of course! need to get you off this damn computer," he mutters, walking around the cubicle so he can shut down your computer. "hey! i really need to finish-" he cuts you off, "you've been doing this to me all week babe, you don't see that this isn't healthy?" when you try to argue against him, he shuts you down with, "you'd do the same if it were me, so please, let me take care of you."

the8 - you know minghao is going to be so pissed when you get home. it's around 1 in the morning, and you're just now getting out of the office. your phone is dead, but you already know your boyfriend has called you a multitude of times.

when you finally enter your apartment, you see minghao at the counter. he sighs before making his way to you.

"were you seriously working this whole time? don't you know how late it is?" you apologize, trying to explain why you decided to stay back, but he unexpectedly embraces you.

"i don't think you know how much you scared me. you didn't even answer my calls y/n," he mumbles into your hair, only humming at your response when you tell him your phone died. "come on, i'll give you a bath," he suggests, dragging you towards the bathroom without giving you a chance to respond.

seungkwan - when you call seungkwan to tell him that you'll be home late again, he's very, very upset to say the least.

"baby, this better be a joke. it's already so late right now! how will you get home? wait- don't answer that- i'll be there in 5 minutes. don't move a single foot! love you!" and then he hangs up.

you try to finish what you can before seungkwan calls you, "y/n! i'm here, and don't you ignore me to keep working because i'll drag you out here if i have to." you definitely do not want to test THE boo seungkwan, so you pack up quickly. when you get down to the lobby, you're met with a rather determined looking seungkwan? something like that.

"that's more like it, now let's go home, you've been ruining my sleep schedule," then he grabs your hand. sure, he said he wouldn't drag you outside, but he wants you home and asleep by 10:00 pm sharp tonight.

vernon - vernon respects the hustle, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. he sits next to you and proceeds to watch you unravel for the next 4 hours as you try to hold your group project together.

you're pacing back and forth in the living room, rambling on how you just finished an exam and the last you want to do is carry your group project. he realizes it's too much, so he gets up off the couch to give you a back hug.

"hey, it's okay. you don't need to push yourself like this." he says, swaying you from side to side. "hansol, this is really important,"

"i know, but i can't just watch you tire yourself out like this, at least let me help you," to which you comply because with the way he's holding you, you're lowkey in a daze.

dino - chan's plan to get you to stop working? seducing you, duh. well- it's actually his like 50th plan, his 49 other attempts doing a whole lot of nothing. you're on your bed, tapping away on your computer when chan suddenly crawls onto the bed.

"chan? what are you doing?" he shuts your laptop before pulling you in for a kiss. you're wide-eyed, unsure if you should try to pull away or let him do what he wants, a little surprised he's so determined to get you to stop working. tossing the laptop to the side, he pins you to the bed and starts kissing your neck.

"babe, my work..." you say, attempting to keep your priorities straight as he basically devours you. he chuckles, "i think i have a better way to spend your time," it's going to be another long night, but this time, it's not because of your work.

[dorealis]

Series Title: Pound of Flesh

<-pt.1 pt.2 pt.3->

Summary: Simon has always wanted something soft to call his. The problem is that he's always had issues with women. When he stumbles across a dark website that traffics people, he knows he should tell someone. But that thought goes out the window when he sees her.

Content Warning: non-con. Reader is a trafficking victim. Stockholm Syndrome. Simon is not a good man here.

Simon is almost certain that his Lovie hates him. She cries a lot and shies away from him. She won't look at him, and she has picked up the habit of screaming bloody murder when he touches her. He knows it must be scary being ripped away from everything and everyone that she knows. He chalks it up to it being a symptom of homesickness. Maybe she's just scared and her feelings are too big for her.

No matter. He can relate. He too has been a victim of feelings that are too big for his own body. He wants her to want to be near him. Wants her to seek him out on her own. So he turns the heat completely off in his home. He's been in freezing temperatures before, dealt with frost bite, shivering bones and harsh angles since his childhood. When he breathes, nothing but frost expells from his lungs. He's always known cold, ice even, and is comfortable with the numbness that accompanies it.

His Lovie, unfortunately, is not acclimated to such harshness.

She's shivering and the thin and short tee-shirt he gave her only stops just below her chest. Arms wrapped around herself, trying to self soothe or keep warm. He thinks it's cute, precious how she rocks back and forth. He has her perched on the couch, and he sits down next to her, legs spread out so that his thigh touches hers. The flinch she gives off melts into another shiver.

"Simon...I'm cold." Her teeth chatters on her words. Those sweet and dangerously attractive doe eyes get turned to him. "Can I at least put on pants?"

"Did you earn the privilege of pants?" He says to her. "You've been on your worst behavior all day."

She doesn't say anything and just rubs her arms. Tears, his second favorite part of her, spring into her eyes. He loves when she cries, it does something to him. The sight stirs the blood in him and makes his cock hard and already he can feel himself chubbing at the sheer thought of tasting her tears. He prompts her to answer with a raised brow.

"No sir...I haven't." She whimpers.

"What are you willing to do to earn your warmth?"

Her eyes widen in shock. Body trembles as she forces out her next question, "I don't understand."

He chuckles and pulls her into his lap, another thing he likes to do. He enjoys just moving his Lovie whenever he wants, however he wants. She naturally fights him and stills like a deer in headlights when she feels his cock pressed against her. He watches her breathing pick up, her chest heaving hard, on the verge of panic.

"You're such a little dummy." He kisses her temple and the grips the back of her neck. "It's okay, I normally hate having to explain things, I do that all day at work." He nips at her earlobe and she draws in a sharp gasp, she squirms. "You just have to be trained is all. The more you love on me, the more I will give you."

She stares into his eyes, horror etched on to her face. She's weighing her options, he can see it in how she shifts her eyes away from him. "You- you promise?" Such a small and sweet voice. Everything about her sweet and he could eat her alive. Swallow her whole, crack her bones wide open and drink the marrow. Consume her, devour her, infuse her soul into his.

She doesn't know it but yet, but he is utterly enchanted by her. In love with her since the day he saw her photo on that site. Enamored by the way the camera had caught her in just the right light, her hair a halo on her head, smile brighter than the sun itself. When he reached out about her that night in the world's most shadiest chat room, he was given a price and asked if he wanted her delivered or if he wanted her corralled for him to hunt. He obviously chose to hunt her, all he had to do was give the preferred venue and everything would be set into motion.

"Will I get to have pants and a blanket?" She asked him, pulling him from his thoughts, "I'm cold."

"This isn't a two for one sale Lovie." He glances down at her chest and see her nipples are hard and poking through the fabric.

Lovie takes a deep breath and she places her soft hands on his cheeks. She's crying again, but it's not the hysterical crying, it's the adorable silent type. With a lick to her lips, she leans in, eyes sliding shut and presses her lips to his. It's the first kiss she initiates, and it makes Simon's heart skip a beat. The kiss is gentle and a bit clumsy, and he loves it. His hands drift down to her hips and gives them a squeeze in encouragement.

But it's not enough. The sick monster in him is growling. Maw opening in a twisted stretch, itching to snatch more than what his sweet Lovie is giving him. He holds back though and tries his best to kiss her back in the same fashion. He isn't sweet, he's more like vinegar that's soured, and he's surprised that she hasn't jumped back in disgust. All too soon she pulls away and looks pleading.

"What does that get me?"

He smiles, "It gets you shorts."

She closes her eyes and slowly trails her hands down the plains of his chest towards the drawstrings of his sweats. He watches the fine tremble of her hands. His Lovie is so shy, meek, it's a wonder she lasted so long in life without him.

"Your mouth gets you pants. Cunt will get you a blanket. So both and you get both. Your ass gets the heat turned back on for the night." He explains as she pulls his cock out and holds it. There's already pre-cum pearling at the tip and he's enjoying how he feels in a hand that has never known hardship. "Well Lovie?"

She slips off of him, settling between his legs, and moves to place her lips on the red and rudy tip of his cock. He grips her jaw though and gives her stern look, "You bite and I break your jaw." He smiles sweetly at her but it comes off menacing.

Lovie nods once and kisses the tip before sliding her mouth onto him. He knows it must be uncomfortable for her jaw, the stretch too much. But the inside of her mouth is warm and wet, almost as good as her cunt. He sighs and places his hand on top of her head and encourages her to take more into her mouth. She does her best, the soft sound of her choking makes him groan.

"You're okay Lovie, you're doing fine." He restrains himself from fucking up into her mouth. He imagines breaching her throat and feeling her panic and jerk trying to breathe. Sucking in a sharp breath, he relaxes as her hand squeezes the base of his cock lightly. It makes him shiver in anticipation.

Lovie pulls back and plunges herself down again and he helps along, finding a rhythm that he likes and that she can maintain. Watching his love, his girl pleasure him through lidded eyes almost makes him blush. The way she sucks and her cheeks pucker up on each pull, makes him twitch. Her spit begins to drip out of the corners of her mouth and it's a bit messy and he likes it. Without warning he bucks his hip and she gags trying to pull away.

"Look at me sweetie." He rasps. He wants to see her eyes, and Jesus fuck. With the angle she looks up at him, the dried tear tracks on her face and her still watery eyes, he loses his patience. She yelps when he grips her hair tightly and yanks her off. He's on his feet and shoving his cock harshly back into her mouth. Panicked hands swat at his thighs as he forces all of him down her throat. It's just as he though it would be.

Tight. Warm. Euphoric.

He fucks her mouth like it's her cunt. Suffocating her when his wiry hairs meet with her nose. She's crying again, fat crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks. When she clamps her eyes shut, he jostled her head.

"Eyes open, look at me." He pants out. She complies and it's everything he didn't know he needed. "Fuck, good Lovie, good girl."

There's vibration in the back of her throat from the muffled crying. The tip of his cock feels it and that sensation zips and zaps up his spine. It's going to Pavlov him into getting hard whenever she cries and it's really her fault. It will be her fault when every little thing she does makes him insatiable.

But it'll be a feedback loop.

He'll train her, her mind, and her body, to crave him just as much. Every little need she has, will be linked intrinsically to him. She wants to be warm? She will look for him for warmth. She wants a little bit of comfort? Her first instinct will be to present herself to him like a bitch in heat. She wants something that he considers to be a luxury and a privilege? She will be wet and dripping at the thought of doing whatever to have it.

Simon can't wait, and he knows he's going right to hell for this, but he's ecstatic for when she wants comfort and love. When she wants that she will seek him out.

Lovie gags and whimpers as he pistons out of her mouth. His pace is feverish as he squints down at her through his lust induced haze. She looks like an absolute doll like this. Her slaps against his thighs have lessened and she grips onto the fabric of his sweats tightly. Desperate to hold on, and the sound of her struggling to breath even through her nose is too precious. He has her very being in his hands and it makes his need for control thrum wit satisfaction.

"Oh Lovie, my sweet Lovie, youre too sweet to me." He grunts and shoves his cock impossibly far down her throat. She won't taste his cum this way but he doesn't mind. There will be other times for her to savor the taste of him, to memorize it. He feels her throat and body tensing as he cums. The pure idea of all of his spend collecting in her stomach makes him twitch. He grinds his hips into her face, basking in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He guides her mouth off of him carefully. She coughs and breathes deeply, trying to get as much air into her lungs as possible. She sniffles and stares up at him, the look is pure heaven. She seems as if she's ashamed of her actions. He can't let her feel that way.

"Oh Lovie, you sweet sweet thing." He wipes some of the drool from her lip. "You did such a good job."

Her voice is raw, "Can I have my pants now?"

"Sure Lovie." He said as he put himself away, his mind already thinking about what elese he withhold from her. He takes off his sweats and offers them to her. She tries not to scrunch her face up in disgust, but she takes them.

"Thank you." She ties the drawstrings tightly.

"Oh my lil' Lovie. I'll always give you the clothes off my back. You need only ask."

[laufeysvalentine]

full moon, remus lupin

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x afab!reader -- in which remus misses the birth of your child because of the full moon. post hogwarts, kind of suggestive at the beginning. hurt/comfort, fluff, a tiny bit of angst?

word count ༄ 4k

nora’s notes ༄ sorry this took more than three weeks i swear my timing gets worse every time i write a new fic… anyways! i had to sit down with this one and really question my life choices. i don’t know anything about giving birth so pls bear w me

“y’know i love you so, so much, right? i couldn’t love anybody more.” remus, your boyfriend, your lovely, wonderful, perfect boyfriend, is lying with his head pressed against your stomach. his lips are on your waist, pressing those lazy open-mouthed kisses onto your bare body. his murmurs vibrate through your whole body, making a shiver run across the top of your skin. within a second remus is sat up, hand on your arm. “are you cold, dove?” 

you smile at him, a yawn stretching out your mouth. “no, rem, i’m fine. as well as someone seven months pregnant can be, anyway.” 

he hovers for a second but after a stern glance from you, accepts your response and lies back down, pulling the bedspread over you. “i don’t want you to catch a cold.” 

“i won’t, i swear.” he’d been a lot worse when you first told him you were pregnant; you could still remember how he cried and cried. you’re still not sure if they were happy tears or not. having a family, being this domestic was a reality he never ever saw for himself, not since he was bitten. he was terrified–but at the same time, overwhelmed with a love he never thought was possible. a child. with you, the love of his life. everyday, he thinks he could never love your small family anymore. everyday, he gets proven wrong. 

he was so overprotective at first, especially around the first few full moons. he would hardly let you out of his sight, never allowed you to strain yourself in any way that could hurt the baby. you got fed up, as anyone with a shred of desire for independence would, and the two of you had a long talk about boundaries. which he is trying his best to understand and respect. 

“let me get you a shirt at least,” he fusses, and you let him. 

you sit up and he helps you pull yourself into one of his favorite t-shirts and boxers. his hand floats to your belly as if pulled, rubbing light circles on the fabric. 

“do you feel them?” he whispers as he drops onto his side. his eyes are shining with a boyish earnestness as he gazes with all his love at you. “any kicks?” 

you can’t help but smile, reaching a hand out to smooth down his hair, which is all mussed up from how you tugged and tugged on it. “darling, you would feel them too if i did. our baby’s sleeping, and I’m going to too.” 

remus pouts, and you just have to reach down and kiss his soft pink lips. 

“g’night baby.” your fingers come to a rest, tangled in his hair, and his palm keeps resting on your belly, a bare leg slung over your own. the two of you are so incredibly intertwined. 

how did you end up with the most perfect man ever? 

—

“howdy, y’all,” a call comes up from your driveway. 

“morning, sirius,” you respond from the kitchen, sleep waterlogging your voice. 

there’s the sound of a lock clicking, the knob turning, and then a terrible imitation of a texan accent: “and how might you be on this fine morn? i brought the hash and eggs from the farm down on old country road.” 

“i don’t think they speak like that in the u.s., siri,” you say with a laugh, leaning over the counter to accept his hug. 

“um,” he leans back, as if terribly offended, incredulity lining his expression. “i believe they do.” 

you roll your eyes. “mhm.” 

“right, how’s little lupin? and yourself?” he settles onto a chair and passes you the breakfast foods you had requested him to bring. 

“good and good. i feel like i’ve swallowed a watermelon and the watermelon likes to kick, that’s certain. only a few weeks left though, thank merlin. how’ve you been?” you’ve just taken the containers from sirius’ hands when remus comes in. his hair is wet and tousled from his shower, and he smells like aftershave and an old book when he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a short kiss to your neck and cheek. 

“let me do that, dovey. you sit down with pads, hm?” he takes the eggs from you, not taking no for an answer. 

“thank you, rem. my feet are murdering me.” you give him a proper kiss before spinning towards the table. 

“no hello for me then, moony?” sirius pouts. when remus only shakes his head, the 

(self-proclaimed) dashing ravenette flops back into his chair. “i’m losing all of my friends to this whole marriage thing.” 

“tough luck,” he shoots back, cracking open the eggs. “are james and lily on their way, then?” 

“how would i know, i’m not their messenger.” sirius scoffs while propping his legs on the table. “but yes, they’re coming. they’re going to be a bit late cause harry’s acting up or something. just like his uncle padfoot. oh, if only he knew how much trouble his father and his good old godfather caused back in the day. man…” 

“please stop talking about yourself in the third person, sirius.” you pat his leg. “and get your feet off my nice table. it’s new.” 

“amen to that,” a voice yells from the hallway. it follows james and baby harry, who’s resting his head on his father’s shoulder. lily, in all of her deity-like beauty, even at nine on a saturday morning with a whiny toddler, enters the kitchen. “these boys like to ruin everything new, don’t they?” 

you nod, pushing sirius’ legs from the table and standing to give her a half-hug. 

“no, you sit down,” she fusses, lightly pushing you back into the seat and giving you a kiss on the head. “and how are you, beautiful? you look gorgeous as ever. pregnancy glow.” 

“if you’d please stop flirting with my girlfriend, lils,” remus says from the kitchen. 

“seconded.” james raises an eyebrow as he passes harry to sirius, who immediately begins fussing over his godson. 

“don’t worry, lily. they’ll never be able to interfere with our love,” you declare with a dramatic flair only acquired by spending too much time with sirius black. “i’m lovely, you?” 

“amazing now that i’ve seen you.” she winks and you blow a kiss back. “you’re much nicer than i was at almost forty weeks. i was crabbier than sirius when he doesn’t get his way.” 

“hey, i don’t–” sirius swats at lily, who sweeps just out of reach, into the waiting arms of james. 

“no, sometimes i just want to rattle remus by the shoulders until his wonderful, huge brains come out and scream at him for doing this to me. i just want to push this damn baby out,” you admit. you flash a smile at the blond in the kitchen, making breakfast for all of you. you got so lucky with this man. 

he grins at you, unabashed and loving. “you’re welcome to do that anytime, darling.” 

“okay, i don’t know what kind of kinky shit you two are into, but you can keep it behind doors, please,” sirius coughs, covering harry’s ears. “not in front of the child.” 

“you’ve done and said worse in front of him,” you scoff. “harry’s scarred for life anyways.” 

“i have not,” he huffs. “i don’t appreciate the baseless slander.” 

you just smile in response, accepting the cup of tea your boyfriend hands you with a kiss–he’s made it exactly how you like, as he always does. you’re so happy to be here, with your friends, your family. 

“you’re all ready for the baby, then? what’s your plan?” james asks, chin on his wife’s hair. 

“yes, rem’s been reading and reading about it for months. he has my birth plan down more than i do,” you chuckle. “we’ve had the bag ready since i was in my second trimester.” 

“i’m excited,” he admits, sliding a plate of breakfast to your guests. “i know i shouldn’t say anything cause i’m not the one giving birth and pushing a baby out of me, but i’m really excited. i’m glad i’ll get to be there. to meet our baby for the first time.” 

the look that he gives you fills your belly, like he’s lit a candle in your heart and you’re feeling the warm wax melt all inside of you. clearly your child likes it too, because you can feel them hurling ruthless kick after ruthless kick against your poor body. 

“oh, you’ve got to get out of here,” you groan, resting your head on the back of your chair. “i think my uterus is bruised.” 

“i’m excited to meet you too, lovie.” remus presses a kiss to your belly, then to your lips. your whole body ignites with pure love for him. you’re going to have a proper family soon. 

sirius gags in the background, but you really can’t bring yourself to care. 

—

remus has been growing more and more on edge for the past few days, ahead of the full moon. you can tell its presence has been slowly nibbling away at his well-being, if his mussed hair, four days without showering is any indication. he’s sitting on the couch, looking at absolutely nothing at all, fingers twining and breaking apart every five seconds. 

“you’re stretching yourself thin, rem.” you come up behind him, trying to parse out whether he’s okay with you touching him or not. he’s tense but not overstimulated, so you reach out your palms to massage his shoulders and back. 

“i just–” his voice catches, and you think your heart may be bruised by the way his eyes look up at you, slick with worry and a fear that delivers yet another punch to you. “i don’t want to leave you alone tonight.” 

you smile, leaning down the best you can and melting your lips to his. “the baby’s waited for forty weeks, they’ll be okay with another night.” 

he pulls the inside of his cheek in between his teeth, chewing and chewing. “i’ll never forgive myself if i miss this.” 

“you won’t,” you say firmly. “now, i’m pregnant, and you know you can’t stress a pregnant woman out. so take care of yourself tonight. please, rem. don’t think about me, yeah?” 

“i can’t ever not think about you, dove.” he pulls you down for another kiss, and you practically fall over the couch into his lap, lips all over each other. “you become more and more beautiful everyday.” 

“every time i see the two of you, i just want to shout for you to get a room,” a voice snarks from the doorway. you pull away from remus with a tactful reluctance, like the two of you slathered yourselves in glue and half-dried, and now pulling away from each other is impossible. a weird example, sure, but you just can’t bring yourself to let him go. 

james pops his head in after sirius, offering the two of you a nod. “ready to go, moony? sorry we were running late.” 

with a sigh heavy enough to move mountains, your boyfriend stands. next to you, he looks so solemn, tall. handsome. his hand finds its way to your shoulder, rubs. he drops a kiss to your head, then your forehead, your lips. 

“i love you so much,” he whispers, first to you then your belly. “i’ll be home as soon as possible. i’ll be there, dove. i promise. i wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

you smile up at him. “i know you wouldn’t, rem. now shoo, prongs is right. it’s getting late.” 

he presses his lips to yours once more before letting sirius drag him out the door by the wrist. you blow him a kiss as he leaves, a sort of heaviness settling over the apartment in his absence. a smile twists its way onto your face as you make your way up to the bed for an early night. it’s best for you to not stress as best you can. you still have a week until your due date. he’ll make it. you’ll be fine. 

–

well, you’d jinxed it. you wake up in a puddle, wetness still leaking from between your thighs. oh shit. after a few minutes of obligatory panic, you call upon lily by muggle phone, who answers with sleep crowding her voice. 

“mm?” she mumbles, and you feel bad ringing her at–what was it–twelve thirty seven on a saturday night, but you don’t have anyone else to call. “who’s there?” 

“i’ve either pissed myself or my water’s broke,” you say wetly into the receiver. “never thought i would say this in my adult life, but i’m praying it’s the first one.” 

“oh merlin. y/n? that’s you? i’ll be right there, just have to drop harry with our neighbor.” not even a minute later and it sounds like she’s downed a cup of coffee, instantly more alert. 

“thank you, lils. i love you,” you say before she agrees and hangs up. fuck. what are you going to do? to your bump, you murmur, “please stay in there. just for a few more hours. like, twelve. until remus gets here. please.” 

the next few minutes crawl by slow, too slow. you sit on the edge of your bed, a contraction tearing you open, too heavy and exhausted to move or stand or speak. not to mention the fear that clamps into you. 

how could you do this without remus? the one night you’re alone, and… no. you can’t. 

lily’s bursting through the door only seconds after your first tear lets itself loose, and you want to hate yourself for it. “y/n. how much pain are you in?’ 

you don’t say anything, just hold onto her image for a second–she looks like an angel with the moonlight tousling her bright hair, falling onto the back of her shoulders. when she approaches you, she does so with kindness, caution. 

“are you okay?” she asks with a maternal tenderness you forgot she had. “when was your last contraction.” 

as you swallow, you realize the lump in your throat has grown. “mm, i’m not sure.” 

“okay, love.” she rests a hand on your hair, smooths it out. “we should start timing them. they’ll only let us into the hospital when they’re closer together.” 

and so she sits with you as worry begins to fester in the pit that is your stomach. you pray for your baby to just stay inside of you, just for a few more hours, just until remus can get there. fuck. what horrible timing. they’re certainly shaping up to take after their uncle sirius. 

“fuck, lily,” you cry out almost three hours later. you hate the helplessness that’s encased itself around you. you can do nothing but wait as your contractions grow in strength and volume, nothing but wait and hope for remus to come home earlier, nothing but lie on your bed and wait. 

“i’m sorry,” she whispers. she gets it, you’re sure. the two of you haven’t talked much. she fixed up your bed, gave you some water and food and made sure you were as comfortable as you could be. 

but her words signal a drop, letting the tears that have been building loose. you clutch onto her sleeve, sob after sob pounding out of you. 

“i can’t do it without h-him,” you hiccup, barely intelligible. “i can’t, i can’t.” 

“i know, i know,” she murmurs, kissing you on the head. but she doesn’t reassure you. she’s not sure she can. for a first time labor, he should have been able to make it. under any other circumstance. any other night, he would have. 

but she’s been measuring your contractions. you’ve been progressing much faster than what would be expecting. your baby wants out, and it wants out now. 

usually, that would be great. usually. she’s been thinking that word too much. nothing about this–remus being a werewolf, tonight being the full moon–is usual. she just has to hope that’s okay. she hates seeing you cry, or be in this much pain. 

what would remus do in this situation? he would be calm, maybe stroke your head, make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. she did all that. it’s just not enough. not compared to having your boyfriend there, with you. 

and she’s so, so sorry she can’t. 

the daylight has begun to slither through the white of your curtains, kissing your face with morning. your eyes are puffed pink from all the crying you’d done, and your hand has danced its way over to remus’ side of the bed, looking for him even in sleep. you’d been in and out of a restless nap as lily watched over you, woken every time a contraction hit. it mostly consisted of you closing your eyes every twenty or thirty minutes, just preparing for the labor ahead. 

eventually, they become too painful and frequent to ignore, and you’re forced to rise from your bed, stumbling to the hospital. the whole thing feels like a fever dream–maybe it is. a quiet hope seizes you. maybe you’ll wake up, your boyfriend beside you, and the two of you will be there together as your baby meets the world. 

and then you hear lily tell your name to the receptionist, and your bubble pops. he’s not here. you’re alone in the hospital, about to give birth without your child’s dad to help you. an exhale draws itself out of you, weak and shaking. 

you spend the next hour in a prayer, a red-hot fever that overtakes you. you spend your moments alternating between gritting your teeth through contractions and trying to force your baby back inside of you. please, just an hour longer, please. everything begins blurring together, penetrated by bursts of pain, haziness swarms your being. 

when you close your eyes, he emerges. he’s sitting right beside you, hand in your hand, palm on palm. he tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses your forehead, looks at you with that easy smile. he makes everything better. remus, oh remus. 

and then someone’s calling your name, nudging your shoulder. it’s lily. a furrow has wormed its way between her brows. she’s worried about you. why? 

“the doctor’s calling for you. she wants to know if you’re ready to push.” she puts her hand in yours, but it’s not right. her hand is clammy, cold where remus would be warm. you’re sure he would’ve been sweating, maybe crying too. are you crying? 

you put a finger under your eyes, pulling back when you feel a wetness. oh, you are. fuck. 

nothing is right, right now. 

“i can’t,” you whisper to her, sheep eyes wide and slick with tears. “i can’t do it without him.” 

“y/n, i know this fucking sucks. but he won’t be able to be here for another four hours, and your baby wants to come out now. you can do this.” she rubs her thumb on the back of your hand. her fingers are rough, hard on your skin. 

you want to hold on. you’re trying your best. remus is unreachable right now. he’s a wolf. he can’t come. and your body–your body’s telling you to push. 

“fuck.” you mutter, a wail threatening to drag itself through your throat. the tears are heavy now, your hospital gown is practically soaked. “fuck.” 

“ready?” the doctor comes in, gloves snapped on. 

you can barely bring yourself to nod, but you do so anyway, and push. remus is there with you. it’s a fever dream. your pain is through the roof. he’s there, your angel. what’s happening right now? remus holds your hand, whispers something in your ear. a fingernail rakes across your palm. you’re gripping a hand with all your might. it’s lily. her face blurs. remus. push. he kisses your hand. he’s whispering something. the doctor yells something. what’s happening. 

the doctor hands you your baby, and you sob. you sob because you had to do it all alone, because you had to fall in love with a man who was a werewolf, because your baby had to be born today, because it’s here with you, and he’s not. 

but when you look down at your child, the perfect mixture of you and remus, the sobs turn from terrified to hopeful. remus will come. your child is perfect. and you pass out. 

—

when you awaken, the first thing you notice is a feeling. your hand is wet. soaked. there’s some sort of sniffling on your right side. 

your eyes flutter open. 

and your heart stops. 

there he is. 

remus.

he looks like an absolute wreck. one of his scars on his face has reopened, and it’s pink with drained blood. his hair is matted, messy, all over the place, gone from a dirty blond to an almost brown. his lips are puffy, same with his eyes. he’s crying, eyes and nose rimmed red. 

he is beautiful. 

“remus,” you whisper. your voice is scratchy. you’re not sure what time it is. nothing makes sense and everything makes sense, all at the same time. he opens his eyes, and there you are. 

remus fell in love with you back at hogwarts. he knew you were the one when you got along with all of his friends, even sirius, who usually turned people–at least, the people remus was usually attracted to–off immediately. he knew you were the one when he told you about his lycanthropy and you didn’t run. no, you kissed him, placed a hand to his back, massaged him and made a joke about it. he knew you were the one the day he laid his eyes on you studying in the corner of the library. 

you had always been it for him. and knowing that he couldn’t be there for you, on one of the most important days in your relationship, fucking destroyed him. 

your name slips from his mouth, involuntary. a sob on its heels. 

“i’m sorry, i’m so, so sorry,” he cries, his head on your blanket. his knees are aching, they’re on the ground, but he feels like he deserves it. “i fucking hate myself, dove. i can’t–” 

when your hand reaches out to his hair, carding your fingers through it, a tear slips through your eyes as well. seeing him so heartbroken, for something that he didn’t do–oh, merlin. 

“remus.” 

his name pulls him up from his stance. you pat the bed, in the little space you have left. 

“please. i need to be with you right now,” you admit, sobs in sync with each other. and there you lay, the two of you, holding each other. 

“i can’t apologize enough, i can’t imagine you being here, by yourself. you’re so strong, but i wish i could’ve… if only i weren’t–” he pauses, a hiccup echoing through his throat. 

“stop. you can’t help it. i chose to be with you, remus, do you understand me? i chose this life. i chose it because i love you. so much.” you cup his face with your palms, thumbs roaming over his cheeks. he is so smooth, so warm. everything you needed. “i knew this could happen. and yes, it sucked being here by myself. but you know what matters? you’re here now. and we could never forget that.”

you melt into a weeping mess, the two of you, always as one. 

“have you met her yet?” you ask, after your tears have mellowed. he has a death grip on you. now that he has you, he won’t ever let you go. 

he nods. “she’s sleeping. lily, prongs, and padsfoot are in the other room. they want to see you.” 

you shake your head, tighten your hold on remus’ body. “not yet.” 

with perfect timing, your baby begins to fuss from across the room. he springs up and practically sprints to the bassinet. and holy shit. 

watching him stand over your daughter, tears tracking down to his chin, with the most tender smile slipping onto his face, staring at her with so much love, more than you ever could have imagined existed, oh, god. you knew that he would be the best father there ever was. 

and that, no matter the time that passed or the trials the three of you faced, your love for them would only ever grow.

masterlist

tags: not tagging anyone out of shame because i hate this hahahahah okay love u bye!! ❤️