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onsomenewsht · 2 days

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Aching legs that often told us it’s all worth it

About when you just win everything and you just want a hug

》 Barcelona Femini x Reader, Leah Williamson x Reader

》 word count: +2k

》 cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit cras amet [latin verse]: let the one love tomorrow who has never loved, and let the one who has loved love tomorrow

It’d be hypocritical to say you have never imagined this moment, that you have never dreamt of this exact moment. It’d be hypocritical to say that you have never, in the comfort of your bathroom, lifted a bottle of shampoo picturing this very trophy.

But no dream nor bottle of shampoo can remotely come close to how you feel when the referee blows the whistle three times, proclaiming your club the winner of the Champions League.

The legs, which just until a moment ago were close to giving up under the weight of an intense and stressful 90 minutes of running back and forth, suddenly sprint towards the centre of the pitch to join the Blaugrana bubble.

Screams and celebrations in more languages than you can recognise can’t bother you as you know well enough you’re all saying the same thing, you’re all sharing and expressing the same joy.

“Non ci credo!” [I don’t believe this!], Giulia jumps on your back without a care – the excitement to win such a big competition at such a young age fills you with pride.

What a bright future these kids have in front of them.

“Credici, it’s the first of many”

You’re optimistic tonight, it’s the first Champions League for you too after all.

You carry her around the pitch for five good minutes, hugging and cheering with every single teammate you meet in your path. The Italian girl gets dragged away not long after to join the kids’ groups.

You don’t mind it too much, you feel too old to keep up with their endless energy anyway.

For the first time since the end of the game you find yourself looking around, looking for a blonde woman – probably hidden behind a ridiculous hat.

It’s Keira who manages to catch your attention, screaming in that incomprehensible accent of hers right in your ears and dragging you towards the podium.

The trophy ceremony flies in a blur of cheers and confetti, despite your best attempts to savour every single minute of this incredible and historic win.

When, between pictures and out-of-key chants, a moment of apparent calm arrives, and you take advantage of it to look in the stands for your family.

At least the journey was not in vain this time.

The wrinkles around your mom’s mouth are a clear sign she’s been smiling for hours, the watery eyes of your father are the clearest expression of pride you will get from him. You hug them both for as long as they allow you, still reserving your biggest hug for your brother.

No sign of her yet.

“Here I was, thinking I couldn’t be more proud of you”.

You can’t hold back your tears.

After all, he’s your biggest and longest supporter, cheering for you since you used to play with boys double your age and size.

“Shut up and let me hug Andrea”, you say, reaching for your excited nephew.

The attention the toddler gives you is long enough to admire your medal and to kick a couple of times towards the goal when you let him onto the pitch. As soon as he spots Claudia, recently declared his favourite player ever, he sprints in her direction to steal her from Patri. You let him be, there’s Irene with the group of barely-grown-ups.

You don’t hold back a laugh as you see María run out of nowhere, her flag secured in one hand and a contagious smile on her face. You can’t wait to see her play again.

Then the sudden realisation you’re alone hits you hard. You’re alone, not too far away from the middle of the pitch. As much alone someone can be in the middle of a Champions League final celebration, but alone nonetheless.

Around you, teammates and friends and families are gathered in different bubbles, jumping and cheering without much of a care. The stands are filled with Blaugrana colours, singing loud and proud.

For the first time today, you let yourself get carried away by the supporters’ passion, admiring every single corner of the stadium as the privileged spectator of your own story.

You just witnessed a moment in football’s history.

You’d cry if not for the fitted body that crushes into you unexpectedly, bringing you back to the green grass without much effort.

“La poeta!”

“La reina!”

You share with Alexia a hug way more intense and sentimental than what you’re used to. You let emotion overcome you one more time as the captain holds you firmly, large hands caressing your back and keeping you present.

Her eyes are as shining as her all self, this victory means so much more than the obvious for most of you.

“You had to come in and score just like that, celebrate just like that”

“¿Qué puedo decir?” [What can I say?], the blonde shrugs her shoulders, but after years of friendship you can tell when the fine line between being humble and being aware of your own greatness blurs.

Alexia holds your face between her hands, the smirk painted on her lips shifts slightly to a more serious smile.

“Te lo mereces, lo sabes?” [You know you deserve this, right?]

“We all do”

“No, no, you deserve this”, she says firmly, addressing the elephant in the room dressed as the loan that last year broke your confidence.

You were there in Turin, it looked like a twist of fate to be away from Barcelona when they lifted the most beautiful trophy in Europe’s football.

This victory means more to you than what you’re willing to admit, even to yourself.

That’s one of the reasons why you’re still looking for her in the crowd.

“Enough with this mushy stuff, where’s my favourite Putellas?”

“Lo juro, si no dejas de hablar así de mi hermana–” [I swear, if you keep talking like this of my sister–]

“Oh, I was talking about your mom, but now that we’re on it–”

The punch she throws on your arm is light, but the message is clear. You and Alba have too much fun provoking Alexia, who is way overprotective of the both of you to realise that the jokes are only aimed at annoying her.

Feeling called upon, the two women join you with huge smiles on their faces. Eli welcomes you with a motherly hug, somehow sensing the tension on your shoulders.

“¿Qué es esa mala cara?” [Why the long face?]

“She can’t find her girlfriend”

“¡Alba, callate!”

Alexia raises an eyebrow at her sister’s quip, not happy to be let out about this.

She doesn’t know about the situationship you find yourself in. It’s not like you don’t trust the blonde, you do. But you’re aware of the protective tendencies and, on top of everything, you’re a bit scared of the lecture about the importance of being honest with your feelings and all that shit.

She’s too emotionally mature now.

Luckily, Olga comes running to meet you, distracting the captain from any inquisitive question without much effort.

“You’re disgusting”, you say to Alexia, now used to her open smile and carefree attitude whenever her girlfriend is close enough to light up her usually stoic face.

“¡Oy!”

“I wasn’t talking about Olga, I like Olga”, you state, dropping an arm around Alba’s shoulder who immediately joins the joke, “Yeah, lovesick Alexia is scary”

Eli has to intervene, still laughing at her daughter’s expense.

“They’re just jealous”

Olga’s right, you can hide it from everyone but yourself. You’re definitely a little envious of the cute relationship and happiness that seem to follow your friend like a glowing shadow.

You want a love like that too.

Your gaze starts wandering around the pitch once again, hoping to find the person who’s hunting your dreams and nightmares.

You know she’s here, you overheard Keira talking about her before the game.

She’s just not here for you.

Quickly excusing yourself from the Putellas’ family, muttering something about looking for your nephew to relieve anyone who found themselves babysitting, you bid your goodbye.

Before you can get away Alexia hugs you one last time, letting you know you’re not escaping her questions.

You find Andrea easily, entertained as he runs around followed shortly by another child – Mapi.

“Oh, wow, it’s like looking at your future!”, you teasingly nod at Ingrid, who’s way too entranced by the scene.

The Norwegian just grins, holding you as she kisses your forehead, always amused about the height difference. Her silence is loud enough.

Another jolt of jealousy strikes your body, immediately subsided by the reassuring presence of the defender and the loving gaze reserved for the enthusiastic Spanish woman nearby.

You couldn’t hate them even if you wanted to, they’re too beautiful together and you’re too happy for them.

When your nephew finally notices you, he seems to remember you actually are his favourite person. He outruns María, literally jumping between your arms – risking falling on his face just once by tripping over the flag that one of your teammates must have tied around his neck like a cape.

“¡Visca Barça!”

“Your father supports Milan”

“Ser del Barça es el millor que hi ha!”, he states in an impressive Catalan.

“Who taught you that?”

The kid points at Aitana and Jana, both sporting a smug grin all over their faces as they greet you from close by. The latter is lucky you’re feeling merciful enough to not embarrass her in front of her girlfriend.

You can just shake your head and laugh about the situation.

“You can give Keira Spanish lessons”, you say to Andrea as you position him comfortably on your shoulders.

You try to be subtle as you observe all the people on the pitch. If anyone asks, you are simply looking for your brother in the crowd of Blaugrana to return the child to its rightful owner.

Even if your brother is not a gorgeous footballer you can’t get out of your mind.

Of course you find him in a conversation with Keira.

“Tell me more about this high school suspension”, you hear the English midfielder ask.

“Tell her absolutely nothing!”

The chat goes on for a few more minutes, you’re a little ashamed to admit that you’re not listening to a single word as you still look around.

It’s your nephew who brings you back to reality, pulling you by the collar of your medal. You quickly bid your goodbyes to both of them, making sure you can meet again before they have to go back home and you have to be dragged into all the post-final engagements.

“You’re hopeless”

“What?”

“You’re both unbelievable”

“Where is your girlfriend? You’re bearable when Laura is around”

“She’s somewhere with your girlfriend”

At her obvious taunt, your gaze still flies in all the directions your neck humanely allows.

You really are hopeless.

Keira’s laugh is the final nail in the coffin, the only one amused about the situation.

She’s also the one who introduced you to the person you thought would just be a fun night out over a year ago, the person who turned out to be comforting and a constant thought.

The person who makes you realise midair you’re falling in love.

No strings attached though.

“Go to her!”

“She’s not here for me”

“Don’t drag me in, you useless stubborn–”

The blonde has a point, you can’t deny that the mutual friendship is the perfect excuse to find each other in the same places at the same time. The perfect opportunity to see each other again as much as possible without questioning the blurred line between an armless fuck and growing feelings.

Nights of fun soon turned into morning talks in the warmth of a hotel bed, then whole days spent exploring each other’s lives.

If only one of you dares to admit wanting more.

“Ohi, champ!”

As you hear her voice you never turn around so fast in your life, almost injuring yourself from the force with which you move. You don’t even hear Keira bust out laughing at your side.

“Hi”

“Ciao”

What a stupid smile you have on your face, just staring at each other a few steps away.

You’re sweaty and tired from the match and the celebrations, pretty sure your hair is a mess and your legs are on the verge of giving up. Yet she thinks she has never seen you more beautiful.

“Oh, for fuck’ sake, just kiss or whatever”, Keira grabs you both by an arm when neither of you makes any sign of moving, impatiently pushing you closer to the other and leaving, muttering something you’re not sure you want to know.

“Don’t run too far, you still have an interview in Catalan to do”

You don’t hear your friend’s response, you don’t even see her finger up in the air. When Leah laughs every other sound and person fades into the background.

“Can’t wait for that to happen”

“You and any other culés”

A few more moments pass before the blonde adds, “I think congratulations are in order”, pointing to the medal you wear around your neck – suddenly heavier.

“Thank you”, you whisper, lowering your gaze and nervously turning the object over in your hands.

You don’t need to see her, always hyper aware of her presence around you. You feel her approaching and enveloping you in a warm embrace, the hug you’ve been waiting for all day.

You have to admit to yourself it’s the best you’ve received today.

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #barcelona femini x reader #barcelona femeni #leah williamson x reader #woso fanfics #barca femeni #leah williamson #barcelona women #alexia putellas #keira walsh #woso imagine #here we go again #my english is somehow getting worst #still planning a part 2 #my wo(rd)so

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aegonslawyer · 13 hours

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a crimson headache, aching blush;

gif: @barbieaemond (thank you for letting me use it, Liv!)

pair: aegon targaryen / wife!reader

cw: self-indulgent menstrual smut, descriptions of menstrual cycle and symptoms, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving). Aegon being a doting albeit horny husband.

words: 1.4k

The joys of womanhood your mother had called it the very first time you bled. She ensured it wouldn’t be painful nor difficult. After all, her own menses were light.

You were not so lucky.

Though you had delivered a child a year ago, the agony of labor now seemed like a distant dream. Knuckles white, your fingers grasp the chair you lean against as you breathe through the cramps that twist your gut, a stinging pain that reaches your rectum. Your breasts are tender and your belly bloated, you had sent your maids away in hormonal fury.

“My dearest.” Aegon’s voice is smooth as he reaches around you, breathing hot against your ear. You can only muster a hum of acknowledgment as his large hands rub circles on your stomach. “It seems you only get worse.”

“The second day is usually the most troublesome.”

He fell quiet, kissing your hairline. Aegon had never been the most muscular of men, but he’s sturdy and perfectly broad in the shoulders. His chest is warm, your head leaning back against it as he holds you close.

It reminds you of when you were pregnant and he couldn’t keep his hands off your swollen belly.

“I read something this evening.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you could read.”

Aegon, in his good humor, chuckles, the light stubble on his cheeks scratching your exposed neck. “I know, I surprise myself- but enough about my wit. I know just the thing to help you.”

With his hands on your hips, he guides you to the bed with a strong grip. You sigh, arms wrapped around yourself as he bent at the waist; pulling a gaudy tapestry blanket from under your bed, a wedding gift you both rather disliked.

As he laid it down atop the blankets, you sucked your teeth in worry. “It’ll be messy.”

“I will clean up.”

“It has clots, you know.”

“That’s alright.” Aegon smirked playfully, carefully tugging at the ribbon that kept your nightgown clad to your sore body. Your lower half is clad in thick linen to catch your blood, even now as you stand you can feel it slowly excrete from your aching inner walls.

You want to ask if he can smell it the same way you can, the way you’re certain the scent clings to your body despite how much you bathe. His lilac eyes never once dull, the same excited sparkle as always whenever he beds you.

“You are beautiful, even like this.” Aegon softy encouraged, holding your hand as you carefully laid yourself atop the bed. The tapestry itches against your back and thighs, but you doubt it’ll be on your mind for long.

The golden rings on his fingers are cold as he massages your thighs, slowly urging them apart. You nod tentatively as he glanced at you, silent consent shared as he hooked his fingers into your linens and carefully pulled them off as you lifted your hips.

You turn red as you see the still wet stains of blood, you expect him to make one of his awfully timed comments but he never does. Instead, he carefully discarded your undergarments and removed his rings, the gold tinkling as it hit the ceramic bedside bowl he often left his jewelry in of a night.

“Do you want to know what I read?” Aegon asked, his thumb caressing your mound, feeling the course curls of your pubic hairs against his skin. “Apparently it is excellent pain relief for a husband to use his fingers when his wife has her blood.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple as he settled beside you after some awkward shuffling, laying on his side as you laid on your back with your legs spread wide. His warm lips ghost your jawline before suckling at your throat, tiny purple marks forming beneath his teeth as his thumb circled your pearl.

It was not long before heat pooled in your gut at his expert touch, he knew you well by now. His breath is hot as he whispers praises, his fingers finally dipping lower, your cunt slick with blood and wetness offers little resistance as he slowly pushes one of his thick fingers inside you.

You gasp softly, your walls clenching around him instantly. As he slowly moves his wrist, he attempts to mouth your swollen breast, you usually loved it when he suckled at your tit, but not today.

“Not that-”

“Forgive me.” Aegon apologized instantly. He propped himself up on his elbow, gaze wandering all over your figure before focusing on your womanhood. His lips part slightly, brows raised in pure awe even as blood dribbles from inside you, two of his fingers slide in and out with practiced ease.

Your hands curl around the fabric beneath you, it feels strange.

Oftentimes, you felt more heated than usual when your cycles began, but you always saw yourself as unclean, dirty. Your husband touched you with the exact same fervor he always did, even as the scent of it filled his nose and his hand quickly became soaked.

He was right, or rather; what he read was correct. Your cramps unravel, head relaxing against the pillows as you finally feel some relief without the mind clouding medicine of maesters.

“Are you alright?”

“It feels odd.” You admit, tilting your head only to find him already staring at you. “It is not bad, Aegon but I cannot say I’m feeling pleasure.”

“Hm.” Aegon suddenly stopped, withdrawing his digits. You think you had upset him before he crawled between your legs. He stripped off his white shirt, but not his breeches despite the telling bulge within. “Do not feel shy, my sweet wife. I told you, I am not afraid of blood.

Without hesitance, his face dives between your thighs, his hot tongue swirling your clit eagerly as his two fingers return to your pussy, buried deep inside and curling. You have little time to scold him, your back arching and hips bucking against his teasing mouth.

“A- Aegon-!” You moan, his eyes rolling back while your nails dig into his scalp, tugging at his silver locks. His hips hump the bed, whining muffled by your cunt, his free hand squeezing your thighs as your legs wrap around his head.

His mouth leaves your sex with a deep breath, his pale chin and pink lips crimson. “Seven hells, you are divine.”

You barely catch your breath before he smothers himself once again, growling deeply against your sex. Your cramps are long forgotten now, with his large fingers pumping clumsily in and out, his tongue eager despite the taste of blood that fills his throat.

Aegon is happy to be used, your hand in his messy hair guiding his movements greedily, chasing your peak. Your legs quiver as your back arched, unaware of the painful grip you suddenly have on his mane. Your orgasm brings forth ecstacy, momentarily forgetting your woes of being a woman.

And your husband looks as if he personally hunted his own game, mouth smeared red, eyes clouded yet a far too pleased smile on his face. Aegon kissed your thigh, slowly removing his bloodstained, soaked fingers as your pussy clenched around the digits, selfishly wishing you could keep him inside you in every way.

When he sits up, you spot the wet patch on his breeches, his hot seed spilt simply from pleasuring the woman he loves.

“Wait here.” Aegon whispered, retrieving a cloth from your bedside basin of cool water. He wiped his face clean and then his hand, ringing the bell at your bedside to call for the servants.

Whether it's charm or fear, they listen when he claims you had an accident and your blood had leaked through your linens. These people, you do not know their names, they have seen your naked flesh more times than you can count by now.

“A warm bath, rose perhaps- or thyme will do.” He instructed them, hands on your shoulder and arm as he carefully pulled you into a sitting position. “How do you feel, my love? Any pain?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “No, I have found relief far greater than that of milk of the poppy.”

The two of you sit in the bath, Aegon rubbing his hands all over your body as he peppered your face and neck with tiny kisses. The hour is late, and you enjoy the quiet solitude against his chest.

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon #aegon smut #aegon x reader #aegon x you #tom glynn carney

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spacebarbarianweird · 2 days

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Okay so I know you're a big Dadstarion fan. So what do you think of Astarion and Gnome! Tav having a baby. (I'm not sure if it is quite possible given the size difference but let's say it is.) I couldn't help but start thinking about Astarion and a teeny tiny gnome baby the other day. Doing headcanons for this would be interesting I think 🤔

OK, so, I did some research. Apparently, there is a half-official sex guide that says that gnomes don't mate with elves. But there are no breeding rules at all. So, people suppose that unless it's human x elf or human x orc, the mixed kid just ends up inheriting one of their parents' race (so in this case Astarion will probably have a gnome kid whose elven ancestry will manifest in some minor details).

When I write fantasy I usually stay firm on biology issues (some races can have mixed kids, and some can't have kids at all coz they are different species - so they can just fuck without contraception which is good), but it doesn't have to be the common rule at all.

Masterlist

Headcanons The image of Astarion's daughter is inspired by Leroy van Vliet from Art Station (I love the ears)

So, you actually were sure it wasn't possible to make kids.

He is a vampire and he is an elf.

Gnomes don't mate with elves, that's for sure!

Do they?

Right?

When you find out you are pregnant, it's the worst time in your relationship.

You are afraid you don't remember being assaulted. Astarion blames you for infidelity.

Then, you are just afraid you can't carry a bigger child without consequences (elven kids are small that's for sure but not small enough for a gnome).

You often quarrel till you end up in tears. Once to twice you hit his knees with all the strength you have while insulting him in gnim.

But to your surprise, pregnancy goes... normal.

You go into labor when it's due and give birth to a gnome, just like you and all your relatives.

But with very familiar silver hair.

A gnome with elven ancestry, that's how it's called.

Astarion feels uneasy holding such a small child. She looks like a toy in his hands.

But the girl grows up looking very similar to Astarion - his facial features, his nose, his hair color, his crafty hands.

Just a different race.

Astarion jokingly calls her his pocket princess since she is small enough to be put in a bag when he needs to go somewhere.

Often, when Astarion takes a job helping an unfortunate person with shitty supernatural contracts, people can notice a little gnome looking out of her father's traveling sack.

"Here, princess, have an apple - daddy is busy"

And the little gnome keeps chewing an apple while looking at the world with her big green eyes.

As she grows, her mixed ancestry shows off.

She is way taller than other gnomes. 4 feet tall! A giantess!

Thanks to that she easily wears armor crafted by gnomes and the swords are all light to her.

But there is some miscommunication since Astarion subconsciously believes his gnome daughter is a baby when she isn't.

She is short, but ferocious and gorgeous- and you know that at least five young gnomes (three girls and two boys) can't take their eyes off her.

Outsiders sometimes assume she is an elf though bigger palms and a weird shape of ears betray her true nature.

Sometimes Astarion misses the days when he could fit his daughter into a pocket or a bag because now she is an adult who fights monsters and dates humans (because she has daddy issues and a thing for tall men).

But he still can carry her around, placing her on his shoulder while she gets angry for "being treated like that".

She actually doesn't mind. There are not many people who dare pick her up.

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deepouterspacecandy · 2 days

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Say My Name

It’s been a minute since I last posted, but I couldn’t go without expressing my gratitude for all the kind messages and asks I’ve received during my hiatus. Your thoughtfulness means the world to me, truly. Thank you for taking the time to reach out. I haven’t decided if I’m coming back full time yet, but I still enjoy writing for Abby and connecting with you beautiful souls.

This is a dialogue heavy, 8k word, friends-to-lovers piece with a post apocalyptic twist. We’ve got some angst, fluff, and even a half-decent helping of smut this time around. All my works are 18+ only. Violence and sexual themes.

“Tell me she ditched breakfast because you wore her out,” you say.

With a loud clatter, your faded plastic tray hits the table, making your juice wobble critically close to spilling and turning your sugared toast into a soggy sponge. The ballistic storm cloud swirling above Abby’s head shifts just enough to make space for you, her icy blue eyes studying the clumsy way you drop into the seat across from her. Her brief, elusive smile vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

The frigid breeze leaking through Abby’s porous mood is enough to leave daggers of ice dangling throughout the mess hall, but you’re likely the only person to notice. To the outside world, she appears as composed as ever, her true feelings hidden beneath a calm facade.

“The weather girl didn’t quite make it to morning, then?” you ask, keeping your voice low as the fling in question enters the room, looking rather morose.

The moment she spots Abby from across the room, the brunette spins on her heel, her face contorted into a frown that suggests she’s never experienced pleasure a day in her life, before marching back out the door.

“Something like that,” Abby mumbles, stabbing an undercooked cube of potato with her fork and waving it before her like a disgruntled magician.

“Yikes. You good?” you ask.

“Hookups aren’t my style—I’ll leave the one-offs to Manny,” she says.

Abby is relentless in her self-judgment, almost cruelly so, and it’s apparent that she’s trapped in a cycle of self-loathing that is disproportionate to her actions. The pattern repeats itself each time. Out of nowhere, a beautiful girl approaches her, someone who she would have never suspected harboured any feelings. The pursuit ensues until Abby finally succumbs, but as soon as things get real, she discovers a reason to sabotage it or, more famously, she overlooks the minor red flags until a massive one whips her in the face.

You believe with every fiber of your being that she hasn’t encountered the right person yet, but Abby carries the burden of blame entirely on herself.

“I hope you satisfied your sweet tooth, at least,” you say. “Or did you skip dessert, too?”

The cloud above Abby’s head is now a looming grey thunderclap and you have the good grace to lean too far over the table to reenact it for her. Unaware that your hoodie is benefiting more from your breakfast than you are, you playfully extend and retract your fingers, pretending to unleash bolts of lightning.

Abby barely lifts her gaze to meet yours, but when she does, she brandishes an eye roll so extravagant it leaves you in a fit of unbridled determination.

“What even is that—what are you doing?” Abby asks, gesturing at your twirling hands. “Everyone’s staring, you know that, right?”

“I’m the storm above your head,” you exclaim, accentuating the cloud impression by puffing up your cheeks. “See?”

A sincere burst of laughter emanates from your dearest friend, only to evaporate against her kingdom of self-loathing. Your attempt at mimicking the sound of thunder is not as well-received by Abby, evident in her listless expression, which, of course, only urges you to resume your shenanigans.

“Who needs a weather forecast, anyway? I’ve got my very own cyclone right here, all blonde and brooding,” you say. “I know exactly what’s going to happen with this tornado.”

The battered table groans under the weight of your dramatic performance, and you refuse to sit back down until she gives you a sign. Any small indication that she won’t be spending the next three hours punishing herself in the gym.

“Brooding,” Abby snorts. “Pouting, maybe. Would you knock it off already?”

“No can do,” you say, your fingers transforming into a deluge of raindrops, patterning against an imaginary umbrella. “Here comes the torrential downpour, folks. You better saddle up.”

“What does that even mean?” Abby chuckles. “Okay—you look insane. Sit back down before you hurt yourself.”

“Sorry, but you’re not the boss of me, Abigail.”

“Don’t test me,” Abby teases. “I’ve got more pull with Isaac than you think.”

It’s not long before your excitement gets the better of you, the jagged charms of your bracelet snagging Abby’s hair and creating a tangled mess in a flash. She grabs hold of your arm, attempting to get ahead of the inevitable tugging of her hair and the sudden movement jolts through your body, forcing you to grab onto her shoulder with your other hand for balance.

The awkward position you take across the dining table sparks a deep, fast burning flush, and you feel it crawl up your chest to pool in the apples of your cheeks.

It’s a blunder you already know Abby will use against you more than once, just as soon as you untangle yourself from her. She and anyone from her crew who might be watching your antics at the most inopportune moment.

“Satisfied?” Abby asks.

“This is your fault,” you say, struggling to stabilize the tsunami of amusement and horror. “I told you this bracelet was a bad idea. Oh god, I’m really tangled here!”

The way her pouty mouth curls into a smirk, with one side slightly lifted, is devilishly captivating. A flutter builds between your ribs until it flips your stomach upside down. It’s evident to anyone with vision why Abby has become the most sought-after bachelor in Seattle.

Women across all sectors of the WLF either aspire to be built like her or desire to be in Abby’s company, and you get it. When you consider her skill in hand-to-hand combat and survival, it’s downright self-preservation to love her.

She is such a loyal human being that despite stirring jealousy up inside you a time or two, there’s been no reason to fret. Abby will always have your six.

“Are you going to help me out, or what?” you blurt. “My plank game is suffering.”

Abby braces your abdomen, her grip firm, as you struggle to untangle the charms from her hair in a hurry. The sweet fragrance of cinnamon and brown sugar, a lingering reminder of the breakfast that will soon lose appeal, accompanies the warmth of her breath against your wrist. Not only is it confusing all your senses, but the gentle tickle of her fingertips against your sides has you losing concentration.

“Hit the gym with me more often,” she says with a wince of discomfort, strands of her hair clinging stubbornly to the chain. “I’ll have your table Pilates up to scratch in no time.”

“How are you so calm right now? I’m literally sweating,” you huff.

With a knowing smile, Abby gives your waist an affectionate squeeze. PDA makes both of you uncomfortable, but she is especially adept at keeping her emotions under wraps. It’s not like this minor mistake is a profound admission of your feelings for her, but everyone at the stadium loves to gossip, and news about Abby spreads like wildfire.

“It’s the Christmas light fiasco all over again,” Abby says. “You’re hopeless at untangling shit. Just take it off—it’s fine.”

“Take what off, Abby? Your hair is a freaking rats’ nest right now.”

“The bracelet! Just unclasp it,” she says. “I’ll cut it out if I have to.”

“I’m trying, but your hair has wrapped itself around everything! Maybe if you’d sit still—”

In the eight years of your friendship with Abby, every hug has left her blushing from head to toe. You can tell that she’s more anxious than she’s letting on, and the panic is pulling your spine bowstring tight. Every passing moment, the condition worsens as her hair becomes more enmeshed with your jewelry and you become less confident in your capacity to remedy it. The wispy tendrils of hair at Abby’s temple are curling, and you can feel drops of perspiration trickling down your back.

The moment a soldier wolf whistles at you on his way to the meal queue, your life as a yoga entrepreneur comes to an abrupt and impetuous end.

“Alright, time’s up,” Abby announces.

Hoisting you over the table with a soft grunt, she settles you onto her lap, directing an unfriendly gaze at the new recruit. It happens in the blink of an eye, her strength so effortless that it leaves you fumbling for a place to rest your hands.

“Better?” Abby asks, her stare remaining fixed on the offending soldier as she poses the question to you.

Abby is feeding the rumour mill with both palms today, the young soldier’s face turning pale as he reconsiders his decision to catcall unfamiliar women.

“I feel like we could’ve handled this differently, but okay,” you say, heart pounding against your ribcage. “You owe me breakfast. I’ve seen those lemon bars hidden under your bed.”

“And you have to fix my hair, or I’ll hang you from the motor pool by your thong,” Abby retorts without an ounce of malice in her tone. “Let’s ride, mi reina.”

“I hate when you say stuff like that,” you chortle. “Manny is a terrible influence.”

“Time to skedaddle,” Abby suggests instead, giving you a hard bounce on her lap, relishing in the speed she can burrow under your skin. “Ready to jet? Let’s hit the road. Come on, these are great!”

As you take in the sight of your disheveled table, food strewn about, you reach out and pull at Abby’s earlobes. When she closes her eyes, a goofy grin lights up her face, bringing to mind all the reasons you adore her.

“We gotta sort this out first,” you say.

One moment your juice is drinkable, and the next it’s only fit for slurping from your tray. Your thighs are now a spectacle to behold, covered in a sticky, cinnamon-infused brown sugar butter and Abby’s face is such a deep crimson hue you question her ability to recover.

At this point, it’s hard to tell if Abby’s glaring red flush stems from embarrassment or boiling rage.

You’re well equipped to handle any range of emotion from her, no matter how complex, but she surpasses you in physical strength in every scenario. Should she choose to decapitate a comrade for disrespecting you, all you can do is sit back, grab a bowl of popcorn, and enjoy the show.

“Earth to Abby. We need to clean this up and not murder random dudes in the chow hall, yes?” you say.

Abby shrugs, her breath catching in short, shallow gasps. The sensation of her poking at the mess on your lap makes you acutely aware of it seeping through your pants, leaving you with a sudden desperation to change your clothes.

When Abby glances at the soldier behind you, her nostrils flare and you tap her forehead to redirect her focus.

“Anderson,” you warn.

“I’ll handle it,” Abby says with a laugh. “I’ve got a pair of shorts you can borrow if you don’t want to walk back to your place.”

“Why are we even friends, huh?” you ask.

“You tell me,” Abby murmurs, the room growing hot as her squirming comes to a sudden stop, her fingertips skimming your hips like a hungry shadow.

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

While Abby indulges in a shower, you pace her messy apartment, skin buzzing with the weight of her earlier remarks. Prior to vanishing into the bathroom, she, being a woman of integrity, repaid her debts by throwing you her hidden supply of lemon bars.

Your mouth waters, but you just can’t bring yourself to eat.

Her side of the apartment is tidy, save for a few stray books and a stack of toppled dumbbells next to her sleeping quarters. Manny’s side of the room looks like a bomb went off and he tried to set things straight by ordering another blast.

Clad in Abby’s tattered shorts, you venture through a room that you’ve explored countless times before. Abby, the creature of habit that she is, has kept most things the same, but not everything is as it used to be. Your stomach tightens as you contemplate which roommate took off the pink bra hanging from the lampshade in the middle of the room.

It’s delicate and woven with lace, the kind of thing you wouldn’t typically consider wearing. Your days are so consumed with trying not to catch an arrow through the kidney and clearing infected from high-rise buildings that lingerie is the last thing on your mind.

“That’s all Alvarez,” Abby says, propping herself against the hallway wall to clear her throat. “I’m not that bold.”

Absentmindedly, she picks at the softened callouses on her hand, a result of washing off the morning. Stripped of her army fatigues and the need to assert dominance, her true gentle nature shines through. When she’s not overwhelmed with the responsibility of being in charge, she’s a selfless sweetheart, and you can’t help but feel sorry for those who miss out on this side of her.

“Not a fan of bra-tossing, eh? Finally, a sport you’re not immediately good at,” you tease.

“I never said I wasn’t good at it,” Abby smirks.

Water droplets from her wet hair have soaked her sports bra, leaving it damp against her freckled skin, while the towel draped low around her waist forces you to look away. The image of your best friend unhitching a lacy bra and flinging it off leaves the surface of your face licked white-hot with flames. You distract yourself with a novel on her bedside table, careful not to disturb the bookmark she’s tucked inside about midway through.

It’s the bookmark you made for her, back when you were just a couple of nerds tasked with organizing the FOB’s reading material together. You incorporated pressed flowers into the design, gathering them from an untamed garden outside the stadium walls. It’s seen better days, but Abby has salvaged it by carefully taping the areas where the lamination has peeled apart.

“How come we haven’t gone back?” Abby asks. “We used to love that spot.”

“The rose garden? I don’t think it’s there anymore,” you say, absentmindedly thumbing through the pages of her book, the musty smell transporting you back to the quiet corners of an old library. “Isaac had that entire lodge torn down a couple of years ago. Back when he was all hellbent on expanding the lookouts.”

“Oh, I remember that nightmare. He’s always thinking so big,” Abby says, laying the sarcasm thick.

You hear the shuffle of her slipping into her favourite pair of joggers, followed by the soft thud of her towel landing perfectly on the post of her bed. She goes out of her way to throw it from afar, and as you turn to look, she winks at you.

“Your cockiness isn’t cute, just so you’re aware,” you lie.

“Duly noted,” Abby calls over her shoulder, escaping into the kitchen to quench her thirst.

Abby’s cuteness extends to even the most supremely annoying aspects of her personality, but you’d never tell her that. Your relationship has always thrived on unspoken understanding. Together, you have an undeniable synergy, making you an invincible team in combat.

You trust Abby with your life. With no explicit labels, the bond between you is tangible.

“Thinking about giving dating another go?” you ask, as you delve more closely into the book in your hands.

You notice that she’s dog-eared a page, marking a steamy section, the passage so erotic you’re obliged to slam it shut.

“What about that girl from the kennels? She’s been crushing on you for ages,” you continue.

With a tray of snacks in one hand and two jars of iced tea in the other, Abby rounds the corner. Her stern expression suggests that she has no interest in talking about her courtship woes tonight.

“The one who hijacks my morning runs to vent about her ex—telling me about all the dudes who hit on her when she leaves the FOB? Doesn’t make for great pillow talk in my experience,” she says. “Please take this before I drop it.”

“Hold up. You pillow talk your girls?” you ask.

Abby’s nose crinkles in annoyance, her silent plea for you to take the tray of snacks from her growing more desperate.

“Way to make me sound like a gigolo!”

“I’m just saying,” you jest, taking the tray of snacks from her and freeing her arms from their burden. “Is it like—sweet nothings or some seriously raunchy dirty talk?”

With a calming breath, Abby lets her arms go limp and juts out her hip, bracing for a harrowing interrogation.

“Oh my god, it’s super filthy, isn’t it?” you gasp.

“That’s enough—get out of my apartment. No movie night for you.”

Her words lack the bite she’s suggesting, and she’s already halfway through making the bed for you, piling up pillows for your gratification. The memory of helping her haul a new bed into her room brings back the smell of fresh paint and the feeling of accomplishment as she excitedly prepared her new, comfier space to sprawl out.

While she kneels on the bed to adjust the mountain of cushions to absolute perfection, you’re struck by the hard muscles of her back. She hasn’t skipped a day in the gym in several months and it shows.

It’s not just for herself that she pushes her body to the limit. The thought of serving the people she loves drives her to be the protector. The person everyone turns to for help, the one who ensures a peaceful sleep back home by handling the spooky things that go bump in the night beyond the ramparts.

“You’re not wrong,” you say, rehashing your earlier conversation. “If I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t want to waste time talking about other people. I mean, I’m sure she’s a great girl for the right one. But you’re you. Plenty to unpack there without bringing other shit into the mix.”

With a swift leap off the bed, Abby settles herself on the edge of the mattress nearest to you, a curious grin spreading across her face.

“Come again?” she asks.

“You deserve to feel like the only woman in the room, that’s all,” you clarify. “I think it’s okay for you to want that—to wait for someone who really sees you.”

Abby sits with her hands laced together in her lap, tilting her head at you, her gaze glossy and welcoming against the dim light. Within the tranquil space, her shoulders exude a quiet strength and breadth, no longer needed for aggressive deeds. With her legs spread wide and her stature relaxed, Abby appears as if she is untouched by the perils of your violent world.

“Maybe the next one keeps you feeling secure all the time, you know what I mean? Puzzle pieces and all that mushy stuff,” you say.

She’s just staring at you, her long lashes catching the light, and you can feel the nerves creeping in through the soles of your feet.

“Is that right? Puzzle pieces,” Abby says, biting her bottom lip into a pale pink invitation to ogle at her mouth. “Tell me more about that.”

“Yeah, you know. The peanut butter to my jelly or whatever,” you say.

You linger a little too long, and as she snares you in the act, your attention shifts to the frayed strings of your shirt. You fiddle with the unintended tassels, hoping she isn’t seeing right through you.

“Hey,” Abby whispers. “Come here.”

A sudden knock at the door causes both of you to jump, scattering in opposite directions like pyretic shrapnel. Abby’s hair, wild and loose, sticks to the small of her back as she pulls a sweatshirt over her head. She wrestles with her thick hair, trying to liberate it from the grip of her sweater’s collar, until she finally fashions it into a tousled bun.

“Where’s your damn key?” Abby barks, tearing open the door. “Oh, Jesus. What happened to you?”

Her previously relaxed posture withdraws as she stands rigidly, ready for whatever lies ahead.

Manny’s voice, tinged with fear, quakes as he speaks from the other side, leaving you with a sense of unease.

“They fucking got him. Isaac’s dead.”

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

For six long months, Abby spearheaded the war against The Rattlers, but eventually, the casualties and loss of resources became too much to bear. Neither side emerged from the battle unscathed, both factions left depleted, with survivors departing with only what paltry baggage they could carry.

You try to banish the memories from your thoughts as an endless canopy of trees whip past your peripheral vision, Abby’s motorcycle vibrating between your legs.

She steadies the handlebars with one powerful hand, the other securing your arms around her waist. Now and then, she taps your hands to prevent you from dozing off, turning her head just enough to better hear you checking in with her.

“I’m okay,” you shout over the roaring wind. “I’m good.”

Your fingertips graze against her smooth leather jacket, feeling the heat emanating from her stomach. You’ve been traveling for half a day, and exhaustion is starting to kick in earlier than usual. She nods at a motel in the distance, its algae-stricken neon sign nothing but a desolate ghost against an overgrown landscape.

The risk is too high, with the potential for a multitude of infected lurking around. Since neither of you have had proper rest or decent meals in weeks, it would be a fool’s errand to clear them alone.

With a head shake from you and a nod of acknowledgement from her, the cruiser lurches forward as she gains speed, determined to reach a safer destination.

The cabin you stumble upon is nestled miles away from the main road, hidden deep within the wilderness. It’s a time capsule, transporting you to a world that no longer exists—ivy and carpets of moss reclaiming the wooden exterior. Decaying chairs, some overturned, sit ominously across the dense lawn, perhaps a testament to the hurried departure of their previous occupants.

The air is thick with the scent of damp pine and when Abby slows the motorcycle to a stop, the forest around you falls silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves. The sound of gravel crunching under her boots sends an echo through the lonely property as Abby hesitates to dismount. She straddles the bike, taking a moment to absorb her surroundings, not yet giving you permission to hop off.

“This looks promising,” you say, leaning back to find support on the bike rack behind you. The metal is cool against your palms as you stretch your sore muscles. “We still have some time before it gets dark. Want to give hunting a shot? Pun intended, obviously.”

Abby puffs a quiet laugh as if your levity pulled her from a worried thought.

“You hate hunting,” she says.

“Yeah, well, we gotta eat. No way I’m sending you off by yourself.”

With a gentle tap on your thigh, Abby gestures with her chin, indicating that you should be the one to swing your leg off the bike first.

“Let’s scope the place out and go from there. We don’t need any surprises today,” she says.

Her statement is heavy with the burden of many unfortunate events that have accumulated over the past few months. An abundance of shocks to the nervous system, with a dire shortage of luck.

“Maybe this one’s got a gym,” you say, knowing full well the chances are paper thin. “I’m getting major health nut vibes.”

Night after night, the sound of Abby’s spirited grunts and the clanging of improvised dumbbells have disrupted your sleep. She lifted cinderblocks once, her sweaty, breathless performance well worth losing a little shuteye. While she may not have the same level of stamina on such restricted sustenance, she is still a formidable force.

You long to offer Abby something more stable, but she has never complained.

Swinging herself over the seat and regaining her sea legs, Abby stretches with such intensity that she momentarily lifts herself onto her tiptoes.

“Teach me Pilates,” she teases, a melancholic beauty imbedded in her tired smile. “You were killing it back in the day.”

The memory of that morning in the chow hall floods back, and a bittersweet ache fills your heart for the tight-knit community you once called home.

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

The cracked and dusty windows are a stepladder for twisting vines, as they make their way across the walls and onto the mantel of an imposing stone fireplace. A few of the stones have shattered, leaving a layer of rock dust on the old, mildewed carpet below. Moth-bitten curtains do little to filter the light, but anticipation fills you, eager to see how the sunset will paint the end of this era with a vibrant palette of hues.

“Check this out,” Abby says, leaning over a wobbly table near the entrance.

She’s browsing through an aged daybook, with its pages yellowed and curling. As you sidle up next to her, she immediately senses your presence, her hand gravitating to the small of your back.

“It’s a log or something. Looks like a couple people have come through over the years,” she mutters, before reading aloud a recent entry.

We got bit playing truth or dare. It was fun while it lasted, but I wouldn’t suggest lowering your guard. I was so hyped about the wine cellar that I forgot to secure the door. Stupid, right? The booze is total shit, but it’s taking the edge off. Since she’s beating me to it, we’ve made up our minds to walk our butts away from here, so the next suckers have a better go. I never thought my girl would turn so fast. She’s always been so much tougher than me. I guess that’s the way it goes. If you’re reading this, don’t be a pussy. Seize the moment so you’re not stuck living with regret. I never quite got there for some reason. FYI, there’s a decent well pump out back. Dying is thirsty business. Cya.

Abby’s brows furrow as she glares at the note, causing a knot to form in the pit of your stomach. Every day in recent memory, gruesome death has confronted both of you without fail. You hoped that this might be the day you escaped any haunting reminders of the infected, but perhaps it’s just wishful thinking on your part.

“Are you alright?” you ask, resting your hand on Abby’s shoulder. “Let’s put this down for a while.”

Out of nowhere, Abby bursts into uncontrollable laughter, her infectious giggles filling the abandoned space. She is loud and full of sudden energy, causing her entire body to quake. You have never witnessed her so hysterical about anything, and concern niggles into the back of your mind. It’s possible that the never-ending mayhem is wearing her down and having negative consequences on her psyche. It’s surely affecting yours.

For a split second, Abby pauses in disbelief before collapsing with laughter again.

It’s difficult to maintain your composure when you hear these rare, gleeful sounds escaping her, no matter how precarious they may be. For the first time in a long time, Abby’s face is free of sadness.

“Sorry but—who the fuck dies playing truth or dare?” Abby wheezes, wrapping her arms snug around her abdomen, unable to stop the unbridled mirth from spilling out. “I mean, I’ve seen some shit, okay? I really have. But this. Oh, my god.”

The realization that you’re not finding it amusing only makes her laughter grow louder and more overwhelming. When you reach for her hand, the comradery in your approach seems to ground her, allowing her to catch her breath.

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

The forest, mostly unexplored by humans and seemingly unaffected by any contagion, makes hunting a straightforward task. With Abby’s fastidiousness in preparing the meat and your efficiency in building the fire and ransacking the cupboards, dinner is ready in no time.

You eat until you can barely move, your sides aching from the excess. Positioned between you, a jug of fresh water is too refreshing to resist. The cool liquid drips down your chin and you’re too content to care.

“You look happy,” Abby says, her lips glistening with a hint of grease, evidence of a nourishing feast. “Did I do okay? I got a little sloppy with the cuts, but I was so damn hungry I just wanted to get it on the plate.”

Her gaze meets yours, and in her baby-blues, you see a spark of optimism intertwined with the orange glow of the flickering fire.

“Are you kidding?” you say between gulps of water. “Abby, you are sodamn good to me. If you only knew.”

It dawns on you, after uttering the words, that your voice has taken on a seductive undertone, a subtle shift flashing across Abby’s expression. It’s not a negative one from what you gather, but your heart races. Abby��s cheeks are rosy, leaving you to ponder if your praise had any influence, or if it’s the aftermath of a hearty meal and a toasty shelter.

While you haven’t had a proper chance to explore your feelings for one another, the pressure for you to do so continues to mount. With each lingering gaze, every timid touch, the countless hours spent together on the road, your desire for her deepens.

Abby takes a swig from the water jug and lets out an obnoxious burp. Your boots collide as you send her an impish nudge, prodding her to remember her manners.

“Excuse me,” Abby says, moving to trap your boot between hers. “Not very becoming of me to belch like a cowboy in the presence of a lady.”

“And all this from a surgeon’s daughter too!” you say, smitten by the way her eyes sparkle and her smile broadens when you mention her father. “Lucky it’s only me.”

Abby’s eyes sweep over you, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip. The flames in the fireplace surge and dance, a rich tapestry of light and shadow fighting for prominence on the wall. The mix of irregular pops and hisses, with a steady rhythmic thrum, turns the cozy ambiance into a blanket you can almost reach for.

“Truth or dare?” Abby asks, her arched eyebrows springing up.

“What?” you blurt. “Nuh-uh!”

Despite still having you trapped between her boots, with a confident show of docility, Abby shifts her body, settling onto her side. She patiently waits for you, resting her head on her palm with a wicked grin.

“You seriously want to play this right now—here?” you ask. “What if we die?”

“You really think I’d let anything happen to you?”

No matter how strong your defenses might be, no matter how diligent your efforts, things will unfold in this world with no consideration for your intentions. You’ve learned it a thousand times over. But you’re strangely motivated to live each day with more courage.

If anyone can keep you whole against all odds, it’s the girl whose seafaring eyes are glinting up at you with admiration, as if you were the pioneer of fire.

“Alright, fine. But remember, what goes around comes around,” you say. “I won’t hesitate to fuck your shit up if you make me do something weird.”

“I won’t,” Abby says. “Promise.”

“Okay, I pick dare then,” you say.

Abby smirks at you, gleaming with satisfaction, as if this was exactly how she wanted things to unfold. She scrambles to her feet in search of her backpack, returning with the canvas bag unzipped. This time, she drops next to you, her braid brushing against your arm as she hunkers down.

“I dare you to read me something from your journal,” she says. “But it has to be about me.”

“Jokes on you! I left that shit at the stadium,” you chuckle, struck by a twinge of sorrow for the memoirs you’ve both left behind. “And what makes you think I wrote anything about your cocky ass, anyway?”

“Oh wow, look what I found!” Abby says, retrieving the familiar sight from her backpack, a mix of excitement and devastation washing over you as she dances the diary in front of your nose.

You snatch it from her like you’ve poised the book to detonate in the wrong hands.

“You actually read it?” you ask, horrified. “What the fuck, Anderson? I should leave your sorry ass right now.”

“I didn’t, I swear,” she laughs, throwing her hands up in surrender. “Come on, I’d never do that—and as if you’d ever walk away from me.”

“Then how do you know I’ve written things about you, huh?”

The side-bump you inflict on her is strong enough to send both of you tumbling down, but her smile remains wide and luminous, unaffected by the fall. Together, you both lie down on your backs, finding solace in the temporary disappearance of dread from your surroundings.

“Prove you didn’t,” Abby says, her voice carrying a smoky timbre.

Reluctant to expose your vulnerability to exceedingly cheesy diary entries, you lift the journal above your head and scan to the most recent confession. You have a clear recollection of the dream you’d written about, so you know that this passage is about her.

Abby inches closer to you, dropping her head on your shoulder. The sound of a hard mint clinks against her teeth as she toys with it in her mouth. It’s comical to think that while rummaging through your room for your best-kept secrets, she couldn’t resist swiping them from your candy stash. If they’re stale as hell, she deserves it.

“Challenge accepted,” you say, throat squeaking as you swallow. “But I will resent you for the rest of my life—deal?”

Abby’s languid nod sends a surge of adrenaline through you, making your heart pound incredibly fast. The frantic tone of your writing is clear in this entry, with its cluttered letters and hastily scrawled words.

While you can remember the dream, you can’t remember the level of detail you recorded it. You find yourself praying for brevity.

I had a dream last night, and I woke up drenched. This time, not by sweat. But that’s not the worst part. I had to come home at lunchtime today to swap out my underwear, because the dream version of Abby turned me on so much. The things she did to me kept playing over and over in my head until I couldn’t focus on anything else. The ache lasted the entire day.

Abby shields her face with her hands, her chest jumping as she giggles in a pitch you know only comes out when she has lost all self control. In an instant, you’re hiding your face behind the lawless chronicle, your cheeks burning hotter than ever before.

“I hate you so much,” you squawk, voice muffled by the very tome that will be your undoing. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

“Honestly, dream Abby sounds like a God,” she says, bringing the tip of her thumb to her mouth and abusing it with her teeth. “Keep going.”

“This is the worst,” you groan. “Why are you torturing me right now?”

“A dare’s a dare.”

When she looks up at you through her lashes, you melt into the floor.

How am I supposed to face her when she comes home tomorrow? I literally rushed home after assignment just to get myself off to thoughts of her and it was the most incredible orgasm of my life, by the way, so I’m pretty much screwed. What if seeing her only makes it harder for me to get a grip? I’m scared she’ll never speak to me again if she finds out and I don’t want to lose her. I’ve never lied to Abby, but this feels like an enormous one. Am I falling in love with my best friend?

You close your journal and hug it to your chest. Despite its insignificance in the grand scheme of things, the glassy chill of embarrassment engulfs you.

“It’s my turn,” she says.

“Abby.”

“I’m not done playing,” she murmurs. “Unless you want to stop.”

Her knuckles graze your thigh, and you glance down to see her wiggling her fingers, summoning you to trust her. Relaxing the vice-like grip on your journal, you let your arm fall to your side. The temperature rises the moment Abby reaches for your hand, steering it to her lips.

“Do you want to stop?” Abby asks.

“No, I don’t. You’re still Satan, though.”

You shiver as Abby’s minty breath hovers expectantly, waiting for the green light.

With a nod from you, she presses a slow kiss to each of your fingers, one knuckle at a time. In a deliberate serenade, the searing wetness of her lower lip drags along your skin. She teases the sensitive expanse of your wrist with the tip of her tongue, skillfully rotating your hand to ensure she accounts for every inch.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Abby says. “But I wish I knew sooner.”

“Truth or dare,” you ask.

“Truth,” Abby says, leaving you paralyzed by her sudden husky rasp. “Ask me something that’ll make me sweat.”

“My mind is blank,” you admit as Abby’s lips close around the tip of your finger. “Thanks for making it impossible for me to think!”

Heat pools between your legs as her teeth scrape over the delicate bone.

“Try,” she whispers softly, her simple plea simmering under your skin.

“What’s going through your head right now?” you ask.

“Nah, that’s weak—it’s too obvious,” Abby says as she pauses the torment, opting instead to let your hand rest over her erratic heartbeat. “Bring the pain. Get me back.”

You’re convinced that there is nothing this girl could say that would genuinely surprise you. However, she tends to be reserved, and it’s likely that some of her cards conceal undisclosed secrets.

“Spill the beans on something you’ve been hiding from me, something you never want me to find out,” you challenge. “A secret you’d take to the grave if it weren’t for this ridiculous game.”

You flip to your stomach and Abby laces her fingers behind her head, her biceps on full display as she gets comfortable. Following the seams of her shirt, your fingers glide beneath the fabric, riding the rise and fall of her breath.

“Okay, so this one is pretty humiliating,” Abby says.

“Cough it up! I showed you mine.”

Abby goes quiet for a few beats, her eyes darting around the room, as if she’s contemplating what she’s about to confess.

“So, back home, I kind of went through this rough patch, right? My head was a total mess and when I had some alone time to let off steam, I’d get myself close, but I couldn’t finish for the life of me. It went on like that for weeks.”

“Wait, to be clear, you’re talking about masturbating?”

“Good lord,” Abby says with a timid laugh. “Yes, I am referring to masturbating.”

“I think I’m low-key obsessed with this game,” you say.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Abby winces, her freckles blending into a charming flush of red on her face.

“Remember that oily stuff in the tiny purple jar you used to get from the commissary?” she asks, her body in constant motion as she becomes too restless to sit still. “That perfume or whatever, it had a peachy scent.”

“Oh, hell yeah! I ran out of it so fast every time. That stuff was liquid gold.”

“Well, when Isaac sent you on that crazy mission near the old mall and you were gone for forever, you gave me your key to water your plants, right?”

“Which you totally dropped the ball on, by the way,” you goad.

That assignment was an absolute disaster, and despite always entrusting Abby with your plants while you were away, you also granted her permission to stay at your place whenever she needed, particularly when Manny would use the apartment for his illicit escapades.

“You wanna know the reason I dropped the ball so hard?” Abby asks, burying her face in her forearm.

You motion with your hand, encouraging her to carry on as you swing your legs behind you.

“One night, I finish my shift and let myself into your apartment and the scent of you punches me in the gut. It was such a shitty day, and something about it just put me on my knees. I see the perfume on your bedside table and pick it up to smell it. No big deal, I’m just missing my friend. Everything’s fine.”

“Uh oh, everything’s not fine?” you interrupt.

“Well, one thing leads to another and I’m thinking about crashing at your place because it’s late and my roommate is a total womanizer. I crawl into your bed, and I end up fingering myself like a total miscreant. When I hit that wall and can’t get myself off, I reach for that stupid jar. It’s insanely slippery—”

“Whoa, back it up! You or the jar?” you giggle.

“Both,” she confesses. “And it almost works, right? Just as I’m about to get there, the bottle slips from my hand and spills all over your sheets and my favourite jacket. Which, great, I will never get to wear this thing again without bursting into flames.”

“Also, oil tends to stain like a motherfucker,” you add, watching her grimace at the recollection.

“Exactly," she says.

You try to imagine this event unfolding, and the thought of not being there to both laugh maniacally and maybe even join in on the carnal scene is too much. After coming back from the mission, you found brand new sheets on your bed and concluded that Abby must have felt remorseful about leaving your plants in a drought.

“I think the only vulgar part of this story is that you wore your bomber to bed,” you say with a shrug.

“Come on, your room was colder than the Arctic Circle,” Abby retorts. “But hold your horses—I haven’t made it to the zinger yet.”

“So fast forward to Manny setting me up with that girl from the weather station. Funny thing is, she wore the same perfume as you, but it just didn’t smell right on her, and it was all I could think about. But then we start making out because I’m pathetic and horny,” Abby says, halting in her tracks to take a much-needed drink from the water jug. “I might’ve accidentally called out your name and got slapped across the face for it.”

“First things first—if anyone tries that again, I’m laying them out. Nobody puts hands on you.”

You cup her cheek in your palm, hoping to soothe the sting of an unpleasant memory. The scars etched on her face are silent reminders of the countless tribulations she has prevailed, but to you, they all look the same, indistinguishable.

“You remember who you’re talking to, right? You’ve seen me scrap it out with full-grown men armed to the teeth with guns. Trust me, it was nothing. She didn’t even leave a mark. But she asked me if I was in love with you,” Abby says.

“What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t know what to say,” Abby explains. “She called me an asshole and dipped before I figured it out.”

Even though the house is already sufficiently warm for the night, you’re compelled to add another log to the fire. The absence of any noise in the room heightens Abby’s intensity, her eyes fixed on you with laser-cut focus as you concentrate on your work. You step back to avoid a shower of sparks flying up from the impact as the embers descend into the iron mount. Sinuous white smoke gradually wanes, revealing a hammock of scintillating amber coals.

“Are you in love with me?” you ask.

On the dilapidated carpet, she sits up with her legs crossed, idly picking at the flakes of cracked leather on her weary boot.

“I am, yeah,” Abby murmurs. “I think I always have been. You’re my whole world—I’d lay my life on the line for you.”

You can see the secluded cabin as a potential temporary home, imagining yourself digging a vegetable garden and collecting provisions from the nearby town. Creature comforts and personal touches that make it your own.

The idea of finding a bigger group has been a topic of discussion, but it comes with its own set of risks. Perhaps you don’t have to resign yourselves to a nomadic lifestyle, either.

“It’s my turn,” you exclaim. “I choose dare.”

“I dare you to show me what we did in that dream,” Abby says.

If you didn’t know better, you’d swear your skin caught a thousand stray embers at once.

“Stand up,” you order.

Abby rises, her eyelids heavy from the treacherous journey and the oppressive heat radiating from the hearth. You kneel before her, loosening the muddy, ragged laces of her boots. You lend a hand as she pulls her feet free. Her socks, worn with holes, bear witness to the countless miles she walked to keep you safe.

“We’ll freshen up and then I’m going to eat you out until you scream. You cool with that?” you say.

The rapid thumping of your heart is dizzying, making the surrounding room spin. When Abby runs her hand through your hair and tilts your chin up, the light-headedness subsides.

“Only if I get to watch you,” Abby says. “But we’re not doing it here. I’m taking you to bed.”

The two of you have gone without the luxury of a proper bed for what feels like an eternity. You aspire to be a sexual acrobat, but the reality is, you both need comfort for your bodies to heal. With time, everything else will fall into place.

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

Shrouded in darkness, the ethereal glow of moonlight seeps in through a ruined windowpane. The faint beam provides just enough visibility to lead you to the timeworn bedspread. Abby puts in her utmost effort to remove the dust, paying special attention to the pillow you’ve claimed.

With the job completed and the blankets properly pulled back, she nervously fidgets with her hands.

You climb in first, feeling the smooth texture of the sheets against your bare legs, and after she takes a sizable breath, Abby follows. She cuddles up so closely that your foreheads collide, and your eager giggles fill the room with mythical light.

“Sorry,” she says.

“Don’t be.”

In the dark, she explores the contours of your face with her fingertips, causing your skin to tingle every place she touches.

“Can I kiss you?” Abby asks.

Your thumb glides across her bottom lip, and she nibbles at it.

“Where?” you murmur.

“Everywhere.”

You pull Abby into you, and your lips meet in a kiss that is so deep and electrifying, your body rocks against her hard thigh in search of release. She taunts your tongue before drawing it into her mouth, leaving you powerless to cling to anything but pleasure.

Keen to explore, Abby seeks out the precise areas on your collarbone that elicit delightful little whines when she indulges in them. You guide her hand to your chest, inviting her to experience the effect she has on you.

“Holy shit,” Abby breathes. “I want to taste you so fucking bad.”

The painful stiffness of your nipples prompts you to slide your hand to the back of her head.

“Start here,” you say. “Please.”

Abby savours you, flicking and swirling her slick tongue around your hardened peaks, until you’re making a conscious effort to refrain from pulling her hair. She leans over you to get a better angle, her leg offering friction where your dull throb has turned into a wild, delicious craving. You pilot her hand between your legs, and her touch is so intuitive, it’s as if she’s explored every inch of your body before.

“You’re so wet,” she says. “Let me make you come.”

You spread your legs to accommodate her, and she finds your sweet spot quicker than you can steady yourself. A fierce bolt of lightning shoots down to your toes and forces them to curl, spurring Abby to move faster.

“Tell me how you want this to go down,” she demands in a hot breath against the shell of your ear.

“Your fingers,” you choke, as she toys with your earlobe. “Don’t be gentle.”

“Do you want my mouth, too?” she asks, teasing you until her hand is a sticky mess against your thigh.

“Please, Abby. Oh fuck, I can feel it.”

With no time to spare, Abby slithers down the bed and settles between your thighs, trailing kisses from your kneecap to your clit. Your body begins to shake, and you grapple the headboard, begging for her to slide her fingers inside before you reach the crest.

She fits two long fingers inside you, elevated by your arousal, and when she curls them, a burst of white light sparks behind your eyelids as you squeeze them shut. Her tongue finds the rhythm you need and your entire being trembles, your climax clamping her fingers tight.

“You’ve got me so fucked up,” Abby says. “Look at you.”

You drench her hand until there is nothing else left, each pulse of your core heightening the feeling of bliss until it becomes too potent to stand.

“Stop, stop, stop,” you pant, wracked with delirious spasms.

Abby obeys and huddles up next to you. She delicately brushes away the strands of damp hair that cling to your face, a tender gesture while she waits for you to come down.

“That was incredible,” you say, nestling into her neck to plant a lingering kiss. “Thank you.”

“I could do this all night,” Abby says. “I got a lot out of that.”

“Good. Because it’s your turn.”

Maneuvering yourself into position over her hips, you straddle her, stripping off your shirt to toss it into the abyss.

“How do you want this to happen?” you ask, playfully mirroring her method.

“Surprise me,” Abby smirks.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby #abby smut #abby x masc!reader

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sweetstars-posts · 2 days

Text

SKINNY,

M. STURNIOLO x FEM!SINGER!READER

(if you don't want to be a singer, it could be anything in the public eye, it’s only mentioned a little!!)

WARNINGS — mentions of eating disorders, depression, anxiety, ALSO pet names (bc apparently that triggers ppl or smth).

a/n — this is a deep story based on billie eilish’s new song, skinny. as someone who faces troubles with eating, i wanted to make this for me and for those who need it <3

word count — 1.5k

(not proofread)

The rain is hitting the glass of my bay window as you stare helplessly out of it. The window opened a crack; the smell of fresh rain wafting into my room.

Your eyes are dull and lifeless — like you’re waiting for something that won't ever arrive. There's an aching feeling in your stomach, one that isn’t just nerves.

Your body ached as you haven’t moved from the soft plush cushions of the bay window for a couple hours.

Nothing in life felt appealing right now. The constant bodyshamming from the public eye got you back into a seemingly never-ending spiral.

People only seem to like you if you’re skinny. Eating was always a struggle, but now it almost feels like a game. Competing with yourself over and over again for trying to reach a certain weight goal that you won’t realistically achieve.

Everyone keeps saying you’re happier now. But are you? No. Complete sadness overtook you, but it was okay, because now you’re skinny.

But you also felt guilty.

You haven’t spoken to your boyfriend Matt in a couple days. You’ve been dating for 3 years and he knows every single thing about you. You still don’t have the energy to get up and try to find your phone which is nowhere to be found at the moment.

But knowing Matt, he probably knows what’s happening again. This seems to always happen. It’s like a record player that keeps repeating and repeating until the vinyl slowly starts to scratch and warp.

Your eyes falter slightly but they never seem to fully close. It’s like they can’t.

Your mind is racing 20 miles per hour but you can’t seem to comprehend a single word going through your brain.

The phone rings, the sound coming from somewhere in the mess of sheets on your bed.

A little while has passed and your phone still hasn't stopped. The obnoxious ringing made you even more aggravated. Yet somehow you felt stuck, like you couldn’t move to get your phone.

The sound absorbed into a dull hum from all the thoughts racing through your head.

You felt numb and lifeless. Like you were viewing yourself in a VR headset.

Time shaped into nothingness as your bedroom door creaked open. Your boyfriend, Matt’s, head peeks through the door.

His eyes soften as he sees your fragile figure on the soft cushions.

He closes the door behind him as he walks into the room. He makes a mental note to clean your room for you later. As he nears you, he sits on the floor, in front of the bay window.

His soft hands, grab your hands lightly, “I got you, it’s okay,” he finally breaks the silence.

Short jagged breath’s release your mouth, as you finally move your eyes away from outside, to him. He slowly moves to hold your head between his hands.

Tears slowly start to prick your eyes, yet you still don’t look away from him. Tears flow and flow, you have no control. Strangled breaths release, as you struggle to catch air.

“Hey, hey, I got you,” Matt’s fingers brush your tears away, his cold rings sending a series of chills down your spine.

Matt brought you into a warm embrace, lowering you down from on top of the seat, to his lap. He cradled you as if you were a broken fragile doll.

He pressed kisses towards your head, letting you release all those pent up emotions.

Neither of you knew how much time had passed, nor did either of you care.

Your breath’s evened out, and your tears died down. And Matt was still there by your side.

“Do you wanna talk?…” Matt questioned after a while.

“I’m just….tired” Your small tired voice let out.

Matt kissed your nose lightly before slowly standing up, pulling you up with him. He made his way to the bathroom connected to your room.

Upon setting you on the counter, he turns on the bath, letting it run for a little. He got everything ready — your clothes, a brush, and got all the small essentials, as you got in the tub.

He washed your hair, lathering the shampoo lightly. He then grabbed your brush and slowly brushed through the large matted knots.

“How about…after this we go back to mine? We can watch Inside Out because I know how much you love that movie,” His offer makes you smile, “And then we can work our way from there, how does that sound?”

You nod in response, too exhausted to speak.

After finishing up, Matt slowly helped you into one of his large sweaters and some pajama pants. Matt started to grab your phone and small things you would need to stay over (although most of your things are already at the triplets house).

“You ready, baby?” Matt extends his hand out towards you.

You grab his hand with a little small smile. Whatever joy you had in you was put towards Matt right now.

Matt led you to his car, opening the passenger seat. You could tell Chris sat there last. The seat was reclined and the seat was altogether far. You smiled at the way Chris left it.

“This kid doesn’t know how to fix his seat, I swear” Matt complained, as he helped you fix the seat.

Matt soon got into the driver side soon after closing your door.

“Where too?” Matt asked gently.

You looked at him in confusion. Weren’t you going to his house?

“C’mon, baby, we’re going somewhere to eat. Even if it’s something small, just… get something in your system.” Matt rubbed his hand against your knee.

The thought of food makes you want to throw up on the spot. You hated that he knew, but you loved that he cared.

“Nowhere..” You mumble quietly, head against the window.

You didn’t want to make this harder on Matt. But the genuine guilt fills you by just thinking about laying a finger on food.

“Sweetie, you need something.” Matt started the car, but ended up driving towards his house, “When we get home, you can have some toast. Even one slice, okay?”

You silently nod.

Matt pulled into the garage. As you and Matt make it inside, you can already hear Chris and Nick yapping about some movie they are watching in the living room.

As much of a bad mood you could be in, those triplets will always put a smile on your face.

Matt’s hand rests on the lower section of your back, gently guiding you through the basement. The two of you slowly walk up the stairs.

Chris and Nicks heads snapped towards the stairs as they heard footsteps, obviously Matt had told them.

Nick came running up to you guys first. He pulled you into a light hug, holding the back of your head with his hand, rocking you ever so slightly.

He pulled away, his hands resting on your face, “I’m so glad you’re okay, kid.”

Chris pushed Nick out of the way, “HEY! My turn”

Chris pulled you into a bone crushing hug, way more strong than Nicks. You smiled slightly into his shoulder.

“We were all so scared,” Chris whispered quietly.

As you guys pulled away, Matt grabbed your hand again, walking you towards his room, but not before bidding a small bye to Nick and Chris.

Matt closed the door behind him, as you went to sit on your designated side of his bed.

“I’ll be right back okay?” Matt kissed your head gently, before walking out of the door.

Matt had started to make a small piece of toast. Knowing you won't want to eat the other half, he put it on a plate for Chris to eat later.

Matt walked the short trip to his room, pulling the door open.

“Here, love” Matt put the plate on your lap.

You slowly grabbed at the piece of toast. Guilt swarmed you like a bunch of bees. Instead of taking a bite, you just stayed there.

Matt was now seated on his side, “It’s okay, Baby, it’s fine,” He rubbed your arm encouragingly.

Slowly but surely, you ate the piece of toast. Matt put on “Modern Family” while you ate. He never pushed you to eat faster, he was comforting and only wanted you to be comfortable.

“Good job!!” Matt’s large smile was contagious, it made you smile too.

As some time passed, you guys just stayed in each other’s presence. Not many words were said, but it was a comforting silence that everyone needs in their lives.

You and Matt were all cuddled up, your head resting on his chest. His hand rubbing your back gently.

His soft touch and actions, that lured you into a soft slumber.

“Goodnight, my love” Matt kissed the top of your head, himself feeling awfully tired.

At the end of the day, all you needed was a loving soul to guide you through your troubles. And Matt was that person. He was the light in your dark cave.

#spotify #chris sturniolo #fanfic #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #fluff #video post #y/n #youtube #billie eilish #hit me hard and soft #the sturniolo triplets #angst #struggle

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my-darling-boy · 3 days

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Have you had any ✨Ghost Experiences✨ in Scotland yet? Meet any new ghosts???

Ohhhh plenty, but far too many to list without going off on a ramble haha

We’ve done many overnights in castles and old buildings up and down the UK with a team of investigators which has led to really neat experiences, some of them absolutely poignant. I think my favourite interaction has been with a sweetheart of a young seaman called William aboard the RRS Discovery docked in Dundee, also the best K2 session I’ve ever had was there. But yeah, various castles, historic buildings, manors, prisons, etc with some really fascinating results.

I do like how it’s also putting the mediumship to the test which is something I still don’t really like bringing up in general to people but I have apparently shocked investigators/employees at these places with describing events, people, and other things with detail that is not even public or only known privately by people who frequent that location. Nearly all locations I’ve never been to and make a point not to read up on them before I go, which makes these instances more compelling? I often don’t even know the significance of what I’m (sheepishly) describing only to be told I just described a specific thing that happened in a room when there’s no way I could know about said thing. One of the best instances of this was on the RRS Discovery when trailing behind the group in the lower decks, I stopped suddenly. It felt as though something SMACKED very hard and very sudden right where I was standing, someone had lost their life in this very spot. I thought with the boilers around perhaps someone had been hit somehow and died or maybe fallen from the above platform and hit their head on the metal below but was told there were no known records of someone dying in that room and that the platforms didn’t exist at the time. I was perplexed by this as I was 100% sure something had happened there but I just ignored it, maybe I was wrong. We get up to the top deck finally and are told about a boy who, in 1901, tragically fell from the crows nest and died. The investigator and I suddenly realised I had been standing directly below the spot he would have hit on the upper deck when he fell. Another would be a nice young man I’d encountered at a private castle who seemed to be wearing some sort of chainmail and white tunic, followed me around for most of the night, and at one point I picked up on a story about a strange looking gold disc with all these markings on it on the alter in the chapel which he immediately told me not to ask about and refused to elaborate more, I had no idea why he was so adamant about this. I later learned after enquiry the castle historians have documented the place being used by the Templars and it’s a private fact at this location that the Templars have buried artefacts beneath the castle they are working to recover… most notably, beneath the chapel. I’d be talking for ages if I described the other occurrences, but that’s one I’ll always remember!

All and all, I do actually recommend doing it, even if you don’t believe in the stuff, because you get entire historic locations basically all to yourself, at night, which is cooler. I once sat for nearly an hour in a 200 year old jail on the floor, in the dark, at 2 AM, just chilling. On free roam while everyone is usually at base, I’ve been able to explore places by myself, in the dark, opening doors to rooms not even shown to us, panning my torch to old paintings and artefacts in basements to attics and bedrooms and so much more. I’ve sat alone in century old ships and played sea shanties which echoed hauntingly down the passageways. Sprawled out in the pews of medieval chapels in the pitch dark, wandered dark castle corridors alone, sometimes I’ll sing out old songs and just listen to it drift out through the halls and rooms. You feel like some character in a novel, it’s quite a liminal space! Like all these places where so many other people came before you, where people lived and died, sometimes even right where you’re sitting, and you’re able to lay out on the stones in the dark with it all and just feel connected to it yk?

Anyway that still ended up being a ramble HAHA so yeah! I recommend it for both believers and those less inclined because at the end of the day, you’ve basically got several hours of private access to historical locations, at night, no tourists, and sometimes to places the public isn’t allowed at all, and hey maybe something Strange will happen while you’re alone in the darkness.

#can I just say too there is something so hauntingly beautiful about the alone time on my free roams #like usually these places get locked up at night or you’re limited by opening hours and tight your schedules and roped off areas #but when I’m alone on these things you get near unrestricted access in some of these places #and you’re just alone in the quiet where some people used to laugh or lost their lives #like I cannot explain how—even in a non paranormal way—you feel a new connection to the past #without the distractions of the day and ropes and time and tourists and noise #it’s just you and everything that has come before you #and you’re like wow we are all humans in this together huh #asks #paranormal #long post

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octoberautumnbox · 24 hours

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https://x.com/RREFP22/status/1795434393097646152

YulYen campus threesome. The short skirts are making me feel things

AWW THEY'RE ADORABLE JHGKJSHFDKJH I MISS YULYEN SO BAD WHY DIDNT THEY JUST SING TOGETHERRRRR

~~~

(warning: con-noncon)

Yena slams Yuri right up against a nearby wall. Her palm connects with Yuri's throat, keeping her in place, and her fingers squeeze around her windpipe, not to choke, but to warn. "Don't embarrass me like that again." Her eyes are intense behind her shades, smoke nearly coming out the top of her head, but Yuri remains unfazed.

"Come on, you look ridiculous, unnie," she sings. She pulls off Yena's eye coverings and takes a quick look, then discards them off to the side. "It isn't even that bad. Nobody would have noti-- Ghk!"

Yena follows through with her threat, her hand constricting Yuri's throat harshly. It forces the younger's mouth open and the reflex makes her tongue stick out. The two make eye contact, Yuri's wide-eyed gaze against Yena's murderous stare.

"Fuck. You." The younger almost doesn't see it, but at the last second she's able to spot the older's other palm rise high and threaten her with a slap. She flinches, but for the wrong reason, and Yena swipes at the chance to take Yuri's tongue in her mouth.

All the while Yuri frantically tries clawing her unnie's hand away from her throat, she leaks her spit conveniently for Yena to lap up in the opportune moments and let her dongsaeng breathe just a little bit of fresh air.

And true to Yuri's own character, the continued semi-lack of air and her unnie's insistence on this poorly-timed makeout session send the wrong signal to her core, her libido rising in the worst possible situation for her at the moment. She feels herself getting wetter down there, and true to Yena's character, she knows.

The older tosses the younger to the floor by the neck, and Yuri chokes on her spit and the sudden increase of air she accidentally inhales. She tries catching her breath on the ground, the world still spinning around her, and before she knows it, Yena is able to maneuver her onto all fours.

"Unnie, please, I'm sor-- hngg~!" It turns out Yuri was less aware of her surroundings after all, and in the apparently not-so-short time she was on the ground Yena was able to strip her of her shorts. She was also able to push three fingers into Yuri's core, all the while threatening a fourth.

"Apologize by cumming on my hand, fucking bitch." In no way at all was Yena gentle or considerate, and Yuri felt every ounce of her wrath through the merciless fingerblasting she was being subjected to. The last rational thought in her head thanks her lucky stars she was wet to begin with, otherwise it'd be impossible to muffle the panicked moans that try to escape her mouth.

Yena feels her former member clench and leak more, telltale signs that she's getting close. She bends her finger inside her to start hitting Yuri's favorite spots, forcing her to increase in volume and shame.

"You fucking slut, being this loud when someone could hear you and just walk right in. You're even enjoying this, aren't you?" Each word stabs at Yuri's heart: all of it is true, and she can't deny it. She lets her unnie feel how tight she's getting to be, and it fills her with shame how she's nearly there, almost there...

And it comes earlier than expected. The pleasure finally peaks and Yuri's floodgates come crashing open. "AAAAHHHHHHH!!" she screams, having lost control of herself and now in a mere freefall of wrongful pleasure. Her cum shoots out of her in messy streaks all over the floor beneath her crotch, all the while she tries burying her face in her hands to hide how this feels so good.

Once her orgasm starts fading out, Yena pulls out her fingers from Yuri's abused pussy. She pulls Yuri up by the hair, making sure the poor girl can see as her beloved unnie licks up all she can of her essence on her fingers. It fills Yuri with a deep sense of embarrassment to get off in such a way, but she can't help it— it's Yena.

"Mmm, delicious. Don't disrespect me again, whore. Don't make me teach you this lesson another time." Yuri is tossed to the floor again, weak and out of breath. Just as Yena gets up, Yuri grabs her ankle in the hopes of delivering her final words:

"I thought... we only do this stuff... at home?" Her speech is impeded by deep breaths that try to make up for her sore lack of air.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Got carried away, hehe. You okay?" She kisses Yuri on the forehead in apology. "Text me, baby. Gotta go, my turn with the fans."

"Okay... Just finish the job later." Yena sprints off to the center of the stage, leaving Yuri lying on the floor.

#girl group smut #kpop smut #izone smut #jo yuri smut #choi yena smut #choi yena #jo yuri #izone yena #izone yuri

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bambi-kinos · 2 days

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loved ur recent post on paul whump !! besides the linked one(which I've never read so thanks!) do you have👀👀 any recommendations👀👀👀👀

tl;dr - it's slim pickins out there.

First let's bring back an old differentiation: there's physical whump and then emotional whump, and that was an important distinction back in the day. I have looked for both and while there are some good emotional whump pieces, there is no readable physical whump besides the su!c!d3 fic. Physical whump is more of an action movie thing and in general Beatles fandom is not terribly interested in action and adventure so they don't write it. And the thing is, that's fine, that's a valid choice that anyone can make and we should write about the things we enjoy and not what we think others expect. But it also means that Paul whump fics basically don't exist in modern fandom as we know it. There are probably some on LJ or in the Google Docs McLennon archive since Stargate and Smallville were so big on LJ at the time and there was more x-fandom pollination but I don't want to Snipe hunt right now.

(For the record, I do have something in the works to fix this hole but it won't come out until next year if we're lucky.)

Emotional whump is more plentiful and there's well written stuff out there for sure. Most of the emotional whump I've enjoyed is centered around John's suffering and while Paul's misery is apparent it's not the focus of those pieces. So this took some digging into my bookmarks and memory. What I like in a good Paul whump fic is how his own arrogance and narcissist tendencies come back to bite him OR he's having to put up with John's shit when John is being horrible.

In that spirit, here are my recommendations for decent emotional whump focused on Paul:

Barcelona - Selena. I enjoy this one because Selena let's Paul be a whole person here. It's not just John and Brian bothering him, it's the fact that he's trapped with someone who reminds him of what he's lacking and how this hurts him, both now and in the past. Parallels to the Barcelona situation are subtle and well drawn so you get all of the agony without being hit over the head with it. John is opaque to Paul who doesn't understand why he's acting like this which is a nice change from what we often see in fanfic where John just blurts out what he's feeling. Here we see how much Paul suffers when John is trying too hard to be clever.

A Hole in the World - RosalindBeatrice. Linda bears witness to the aftermath of John's murder in Paul. Easily the absolute best fanfiction on this list.

Birthday - Selene. Love this one because Selene writes Paul as an actual character instead of the heteronormative girly thing he often gets slapped with. Paul is once again bitter, angry and unhappy because the boy he fell in love with has already disappeared. He is forced to be the adult in a room full of manchildren and he hates it...but he also sucks it up and does it anyway. Because he is Paul McCartney and being the foundation of The Beatles and cleaning up John's messes is exactly what he signed up for and he will do it because no one else can. I think of this one all the time. It lives rent free in my head.

Red Sky - thinkpink20. What I appreciate about thinkpink20 is that she is brave enough to let John be absolutely awful but she also humanizes him so you can see his inner pain and confusion driving that horribleness. This is a nice one where John is no where near to figuring himself out but Paul is, and then when Stuart's living shadow gets into the mix, no one is happy.

From Barcelona To Santa Cruz - thinkpink20. Another post-Spain fic but this time John articulates his defense well which of course humiliates and angers Paul even further because John proves he is human and capable of empathy, which Paul didn't want to write into the equation.

the crane wife - mynamesbetty. Betty was showing me the first drafts of this one and all I could say was: "Paul is a horrible person. He's a fucking homewrecker. He deserves this." That's what I like best about this story. Paul is a selfish asshole and he hurts everyone and himself by being self centered, petulant, and cowardly. Every single awful thing that happens to him is strictly the result of his own actions. He manages to make himself the Coyote in a Looney Tunes cartoon including the bit where he runs straight off the cliff, doesn't realize it, and then looks down just as he starts falling before he shoots the viewer a look asking for help. And then the ACME anvil falls on him.

So those are my recommendations on Paul whump. It ended up being a longer list than I expected so that's something. Hope you enjoy the recommendations and please check out the other fanfics by these authors, they're all great.

#the beatles #paul mccartney #mclennon #fanfiction #fanfiction recommendation #fanfiction rec list #fanfic rec #paul whump

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1-xo-xo-xo-7 · 2 days

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Another proposal : Clark Kent with a Southern accent ^^

THIS IS NOT SUPPOSED TO STEREOTYPE, PLS! T-T

So, you all know of Clark's upbringing, right? He was raised in a farm with loving parents located at Smallville, Kansas, BUT, what if he actually adopted a Southern accent due to Kansas' close range to Texas? [9 hours, approximately 💀, I'M TRYING TO CEMENT MY IDEA HERE-]

And it would actually be better for me if his parents had relatives in Texas, or friends from Texas living in Smallville- THIS IS AN AU, PEOPLE! T-T

So, even when he became Superman and a part of The Justice League, he never really got to grow up from his -quite apparent- Southern accent. Yet, I reckon it only shows up when he's relaxed with his family and/or friends, etc. ^^

[The JLA are currently having a pseudo-meeting/casual hang out, a mere formality for a coincidental alightment of lax schedules at HQ, Batman assessing some files, Wonder Woman sparring with Flash, Green Lantern with Aquaman getting some food, and Martian Manhunter just meditating on his seat.]

[When Superman came in, dressed up in his suit, noticing an uneventful and rather comfortable gathering, smiling in happiness as he waved.]

Superman : Hey, y'all. Noth'n much goin' on righ' now?

Batman : [Paused. Before slowly spinning around, stood up, and sat on his seat, just right of Superman's] No, all is well.

Wonder Woman : [Accidentally hit Flash much harder on a nigh-on uppercut] Ah... Apologies, Flash.

Flash : OWOWOWOWOW! [ Is holding his chin as if it was disassembled when really, it was just a bit dislocated] DIANA!

Green Lantern : Oh shit... That's hot. [Is practically drooling on his BatBurger, ogling his eyes in Superman's way]

Aquaman : That's disgusting, Lantern. I feel bad for your food. [Is ACTUALLY cringing in disgust as if he didn't just choke on his smoothie, making it come out somewhere it wasn't supposed to]

[Also discreetly wiping his neck after. Gills, amiright?]

Martian Manhunter : Good morning, Superman. How are you? [Absolutely not fazed]

Superman : Oh... Act'lly, It was a pret'y good start to m'y day. [Is practically like a golden retriever with his sunshine face and goofy smile :>]

I bet MM wasn't fazed 'cause he meditated beforehand. >:]

Anyways, it's just a little idea. Thank you for reading! ^^

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sortyourlifeoutmate · 3 days

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So the BBC went out to go and ask some Young People what they thought of the Tory national service plans. Results were predictable, at least to me.

They spoke to four teenagers (that’s representative, that is!) and two were lukewarm on the scheme at best, and two were surprisingly positive. I was surprised! At least until I read the words in front of my face, because those words told me that one of them was an air cadet and the other was an army cadet and ALSO A YOUNG CONSERVATIVE MEMBER.

Yeah, no shit they’d think it sounded good! Fuck’s sake!

That being said, kudos to Samir Qurashi, who apparently actually has some level of understanding:

"Government cuts have seen the size of the Army fall. It does make me question why this is happening, and why young people are having to pay the price of this.” "The government has stated it will cost around £2.5bn and it makes me question first where that money is coming from, and how much that money could do for young people living in poverty," he said.

And this bit, which really hits the nail on the head:

“All the skills they’ve mentioned can be easily gained in a school or college environment. They should invest that money in schools and colleges."

I know I'm biased but the young conservative guy really got on my tits, too. Specifically, in two of the times they've quoted him he's mentioned 'pride' and making people 'proud', which is always a bad sign.

To whit:

“It will give young people life skills and give them the chance to give back to the country - it will make people proud to be British,” he said.

And:

Mr Brooker said of his experience as a cadet: “I’ve gained friendships but also a sense of pride that I’m doing something: I feel positive. It’s also getting you active and not just sitting down all the time, and gives you a sense of pride for your country.”

I will grant that it is eminently possible that this chap had a wonderful time and took something very positive from the experience that he chose for himself, but the line of thought that runs "Make people do a thing -> ?????? -> PRIDE!" aggravates me.

Again, this is a pathetic and meaningless gesture thought up on the spot to serve specific ends. Whatever benefits they suggest might magically occur as a result of this unworkable, uncosted plan are incidental. It's flash.

And it's also utter nonsense, let's bear this in mind. I am annoyed we have to engage with this like it's a real idea.

#uk politics

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amberskyyking · 2 days

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Great news Tech fam, its Bad Batch Day and I am still on my bullshit with no end in sight, so welcome to another installment of This Isn’t Over Till I Fucking Say So, our man is alive and loved and coming home and canon cannot stop meeee!!!!!!! 😈

Implications Of Being Alive

Chapter 6: Is This The Real Life (Is This Just Fantasy)?

***CW: Talk of decom/death, dehumanization, and past medical trauma***

CX-2 activated… or… or perhaps Tech awoke.

Because Echo was still here, still holding its hand, even. It distinctly remembered asking Echo to stay with him, and Echo had responded Of course, vod. Right now there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, exactly.

He had kept his word.

Omega was here again, too, just like Echo had said she would be. He could barely make out the bright yellow of her jacket and tuft of blonde hair without corrective eye lenses of some sort, but the soft snoring sounds from nearby alerted him to her presence, and when he squinted, he could tell it was her, slouched over in a chair with her mouth hanging open.

Tech must have woken up, which meant it was dreaming again. Not that it particularly minded. That meant it hadn’t been decommissioned yet. Besides, it had never been able to stop the dreams before, but they had usually been pleasant. It was still registering some residual pain, but it suspected that if it woke, that particular issue would become significantly more apparent.

For now, it would accept the glitches. They were allowing it him to see his family one last time, which was more than he deserved.

“Well, look who’s up,” Echo muttered softly. “How are you feeling, Tech?”

Tech considered the question a moment before responding.

“Improved,” he settled on. What lingering pain he was still experiencing paled in comparison to anything he had been subjected to earlier, though he couldn’t say that it was completely gone.

“That’s good to hear,” Echo replied with a warm grin. “You should be in a lot better shape now. Not every medic knows how to work with biomechanics, but I happen to know of a few good ones myself. We got you a few upgrades. Couple of your servos were fried and your prosthetic arm was practically slag after that explosion. Omega got some good hits in on you too, but they weren’t lethal. Thank the maker she was holding back,” He muttered the last part under his breath.

“I would have to agree,” Tech said, glancing back over to her sleeping form in the chair. Omega had shown significant improvement in form and strategy in their fight since he had seen her last. It was obvious that his brothers had continued her training, and with his own degrading body and mechanics, it seemed unlikely now that he could truly match her. “I would rather not be dead.”

Echo grinned a little at that, though something sad flickered behind his eyes as he did. “Yeah… We prefer you not dead too, vod.”

Tech wasn’t sure what to make of Echo’s expression, but he nodded, moving an arm to prop himself up a bit better but quickly became aware of something strange. The arm felt different. Despite Echo’s claims of his arm being practically slag, it was fully functional, but not at all familiar.

“Ah… We had to completely replaced that,” Echo said softly, noticing his apparent confusion. “Even if the old one wasn’t destroyed, it was pretty outdated. Then again, I’m one to talk.” He spun his scomp a couple times, making a small whirring sound with it, and chuckled softly. “It’s a good model though, I made sure of it. Comfortable interfacing. Customizable, too. I… Figure you’ll want to make some adjustments of your own, once we have you out of here.”

“That would be ideal,” Tech replied, lifting the new prosthetic close to his eyes to examine it. There were modifications he had made to his old one that would likely be missed, however, many of those had been due to necessity in order to prolong function. If this arm worked as intended already, duplicating what extra features he was missing wouldn’t take much effort. Perhaps there would even be room to install some experimental ones.

A sharp inhale from the corner chair pulled his attention from the arm and he twisted eagerly in the bed to face Omega.

“Mmm awake,” Omega yawned, blinking rapidly as she jerked upright in the chair. “Wha’d I miss, I… Tech!”

Tech gave her a small smile and a nod. “Hello, Omega.”

“How are you now?” She asked in a voice full of concern, practically tripping over herself to cross the room to his bedside. “Are you still hurting or is it better?”

“My pain levels have decreased significantly.”

“How’s the arm?”

“It will suffice. It merely needs some modifications to achieve maximum functionality. Nothing I cannot handle.”

“How’s your head?”

“I-”

“Slow down there, Omega,” Echo said soothingly. “Let’s not overwhelm him just yet.”

Omega nodded curtly and met Tech’s eyes. “Sorry.”

“No apology is needed,” Tech said wryly. “It is natural to be curious…”

But he trailed off as he spoke the words. Even for a dream, that was certainly not an approved sentiment. Then again, neither was cohorting with rebel insurgents, or wishing to postpone its own decommissioning. Tech’s brow furrowed in thought.

“I’m glad you still feel that way,” Echo said with just a hint of suspicion. “I… We… Do need to ask you a few, uh… Sensitive questions. We can take it slow, as long as you answer honestly.”

Tech hesitated a moment, but nodded.

“Alright,” Echo said uncomfortably. “We’re really glad to have you back, vod, but… You were clearly sent by the Empire to stop us. Probably to kill us. Including Omega,” Echo gestured to the girl with his scomp. “We need to know why.”

“And you can tell us, Tech,” Omega said earnestly. “It’s okay. We won’t judge you, and we aren’t going to let them hurt you anymore.”

Tech nodded cooperatively. There wasn’t any harm in telling them, considering none of this was even real, though he knew better to believe Omega’s promise that somehow these figments of his imagination could save him. “My orders were to locate and eliminate the rebels completing a munitions transfer on Terova led by Hera Syndulla or be terminated in the attempt,” He recited. “I… Failed. On both counts, apparently.”

“Good,” Echo said, his eyes flashing before he visibly attempted to calm himself.

Shock flickered on Omega’s face. “Yeah… They should never have asked that of you Tech, that’s… That’s wrong. But we weren’t even transferring munitions,” She said crossly. “It was relief aid. Just rations, and most of it was for refugees…”

“That… is not what my intel reported,” Tech mused.

“Well. That’s not surprising,” Echo said. “So they ordered you to kill a bunch of relief workers or die trying?”

“That is what I said,” Tech stated. Although, he had to admit, at least to himself, that when Echo put it that way, it did sound… Disturbing. Calling it as such may be considered treason, but at the least, the mission had been an ineffective use of available resources. Not that it was CX-2’s place to decide that or have an opinion on the matter. Colonel Bragg had to have her reasons.

“Then what is stopping you from trying to finish the job now?” Echo asked darkly.

Tech blinked up at him a couple of times, then at Omega, who seemed to be holding her breath. He shook head. There was nothing for them to worry about, not here.

“The mission is a failure,” Tech repeated himself. “I will be decommissioned shortly.”

“You won’t,” Echo said firmly, but Tech shook his head.

“It is, sadly, standard procedure. My tracker cannot be removed. When they locate my body, if it is still… Functioning,” He chose the word carefully, it was important to be accurate when articulating these sorts of things to avoid unnecessary confusion, “I will be-”

“They won’t find you,” Echo snarled, his face contorting into something dark and vicious, giving Tech pause. “Hemlock may have designed it so removing that thing would kill you, but I made damn sure that the Empire can’t use it to find you anymore. You’re safe, Tech.” He let out a short breathy sigh and ran a hand over his bald head. When he spoke next his voice sounded softer and a little bit choked. “I told you, we’re not letting them take you back. Ever. And I’m sorry we ever let them get to you in the first place…”

Omega put a gentle hand on Echo’s back as he took a moment, covering his eyes with his hand. “Is… Is that all?” She asked hopefully. “The orders are gone so you’re just… you… again?”

Tech looked between the pair of them in confusion and concern. “I… Do not believe it is that simple… Or particularly relevant, here.”

“He’s not the only one they’ve turned against us, ‘Mega,” Echo muttered. “He’s right… It’s never that simple.”

“We’ll figure it out together then,” Omega said firmly. “You’re not alone anymore, Tech.”

That… would be nice.

But it wasn’t really true, was it?

“Tech?” Omega said his name again quietly.

Tech raised his eyes to meet hers. They were golden and sparkling and lifelike, just like in his malfunctions memories, but… That’s all this was. It was all just memories, fragments of his past manifesting themselves with whatever synapses were still firing in its brain and sending it these strange signals, creating the comfortable medical room and the advanced new prosthetic arm and dulling its pain. Omega and Echo acted so much like themselves because that’s how it knew them, that’s how he recognized them, but it wasn’t them.

They weren’t here. He was still alone. And he it shouldn’t care about such things anyways, it wasn’t allowed to, it wasn’t really alive and it would be dead soon anyways so what did any of this matter?!

The realization shouldn’t make a lump form in its throat or the heart monitor go off either. It squinted its eyes shut and shrank back into the bed as the noise pulsed maddeningly overhead, willing it all to just go away.

“Easy there Tech,” It heard Echo’s voice from overhead, and the same as last time it felt a hand slip into its own as if to draw it back, but a sharp jolt cut through his insides as he did. Whatever they were looking for in him, their effort was wasted. There was nothing of him for them to fight for. Everything it used to be back when it had a family and a purpose had been scooped out and shredded, there was just a hole in its psyche where the malfunctions that remained could reverberate off empty walls, taunting it, like they were now. Its actions proved as much. If that family even still lived after years of opposing the Empire, if they ever saw what their brother had truly become, they would want nothing to do with it. Those people had been good and kind. They had fought for each other, taken difficult stances against impossible odds, been loyal to one another, held up situations to a set of morals rather than simply to orders and taken action to protect the innocent and vulnerable from exploiters throughout the galaxy, even when they themselves had struggled to survive.

And CX-2… CX-2 hadn’t been that way for ten years.

It had been helping to build the very Empire that imprisoned and tested on the Clone Troopers who won it the war. It had hunted down insurgents of all kinds without question, using its ruthless efficiency, tactical cunning and fighting prowess to kill countless people. Whether or not they were innocent never mattered. It knew several had been civilians and that never made a difference. If Omega was to be believed, even its latest mission had resulted in destruction and possibly even death solely to stop people from delivering food and medical supplies to compromised populations. Such a thing couldn’t even be justified as a threat to the Empire, if it was true, and CX-2 hadn’t bothered to determine whether or not it was.

It killed all those clones on Teth.

It cut off Crosshair’s hand and taunted him as it did.

It even tried on its final mission to execute Omega!

“Talk to us, Tech,” Omega’s voice spoke soothingly overhead, making its stomach twist into knots. “Can you tell us what you need? We just need to know, we can help.”

“You can’t,” CX-2 choked out bitterly.

“We can, and we will. Whatever you need, we love you-”

“You’re not real!”

The words left its mouth and the tension in its chest crumbled like wet flimsi. It hurt to acknowledge as much, but pretending this was anything other than what it was would only hurt worse when reality came crashing back.

“You’re not real… None of this is real,” It repeated. “You can’t help me or save me so stop - Stop saying that you can…”

Whichever one of them was holding its hand tightened their grip and it opened its eyes. Both of them wore matching expressions of horror and shock, but… But of course they did… The people in its memories would be upset to hear it talk like that…

Echo nodded demurely, and Omega’s eyes shone with unshed tears, but she gulped hard and steeled her expression first. “So… what do you think is happening?” She asked, her voice wavering just a touch.

“All of this… It only exists in my mind. It’s a… A malfunction…”

“Uh huh,” She said, looking him fiercely in the eyes, though her voice somehow grew calmer. “So like a… A vision? A fantasy? dream?”

“It… It is more likely a dream…” It replied, wondering where this was going. A dream did sound more probable, given the circumstances. Its body ought to be unconscious back on Terova, whatever state it was in. Echo was giving Omega a miserable, quizzical look, but she didn’t break CX-2 Tech’s gaze.

“Okay. If it’s a dream, then… What happens when you wake up?”

Tech’s eyes went wide with fear. “I-”

“I don’t mean where are you going to wake up,” Omega said steadily. “Or what will happen to you. You don’t know if the Empire has found you yet. I mean what will you do? What choices will you make if you have the chance to make them?”

Tech opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. He… Wasn’t sure. It really depended on his circumstance, didn’t it? The question would be entirely useless if he woke up in the Empire’s clutches again, or if they decommissioned him before he woke up at all. He hadn’t considered the possibility that the Empire would delay looking for him, though, that he might have to choose how to proceed.

“I… Would return to Colonel Bragg,” It said slowly.

“Is that what you want to do?” Omega asked gently.

“No,” Tech responded without hesitation. “I want to stay here.”

His answer surprised him a bit, but then again, it was true. That was what he wanted, even if he wasn’t supposed to, even if it was impossible. Echo seemed slightly surprised as well, jerking his head up with wet cheeks and a hopeful glint in his eyes.

Omega gave him a small grin, but she alone seemed unfazed by the admission, and when she spoke her voice was still strong. “Do you want to see your brothers again, too?”

“I-” Tech started, but his voice caught in his throat as several questions tore through his mind like razors. He did, of course he did, that should be obvious, but - but were they still alive? Were they safe? Would his tracker attract the Empire to them if they were or had Echo really disabled it? After ten years would there even be room for an unexpected guest in their domicile, nonetheless after he blew up the ship that served as their last one? And did… Did they even want him back, after everything he had done?

“Tech,” Echo said, giving his hand another trembling squeeze. “They want to see you… They’ve missed you so badly. You… You have no idea.”

Tech took several breaths, parsing out everything he knew and turning those words over in his mind as if to analyze them. No matter which way he looked at them, though, it didn’t change his answer to Omega’s question. The heart monitor beeped a couple of times just before he opened his mouth to give his answer.

“I do want to see them,” He conceded, his eyes flickering between Omega and Echo in anticipation. “If that is true. That they… Want me back.”

There was something fragile in his voice when he said it, but Echo nodded warmly at him and lifted Tech’s hand in his own, touching both their knuckles to his cheek with a small sniffle. Omega’s face broke into a blinding smile, even as she finally blinked the tears from her eyes and hastily wiped them away with the edge of her sleeve.

“They do. I promise,” She said brightly. “I think the medics want to run just a couple more tests on you to make sure you’re healing well enough to travel, but as soon as that’s done, I can bring you home.”

---

Tech hadn’t been sure what to make of their conversation from before. Even as the medics returned to test his mobility, check his vitals, and attend to his surgical sites, the idea of going home seemed strangely surreal. If this were a dream it would make more sense to simply skip to that part rather than be subjected to these tests. For one awful moment, he had realized the possibility of his body being tested on in real life, all the cold pricks and sharp prods a mental manifestation of whatever final experiment Colonel Bragg was subjecting him to prior to his decommissioning. If that were the case he might not make it to his brothers again after all, he may run out of time, the world could go black and he may never see their faces!

The heart monitor went off again and Echo talked him through those particular fears, shooting impatient glares at the medics as Tech did his best to focus on Echo rather than his thoughts or all the unpleasant sensations, and suddenly it was over. Tech was vaguely aware of someone declaring him fit to be released, but Omega let out a cheer and helped him down from the bed, and then they were walking, Echo on one side and Omega on the other. The pair of them led him through ship halls that were far from imperial, passing people who Tech could too easily imagine having on the other end of his blaster. They reached the hangar and boarded a ship Tech knew he had just shot down, one that bore an uncanny resemblance to the Marauder in places, and yet it wasn’t. It couldn’t be… He had destroyed that ship ages ago, after dedicating so much of his own time and care into its maintenance and customization…

“Welcome back to the Havoc Zillo!” Omega said enthusiastically, gesturing around the inside of the ship with pride. “She’s fully functional again so don’t worry about a thing. The trip is a shorter one. Hope you still like varos flavored rations.”

Tech nodded, looking around the ship in a bit of a daze. A droid waddled towards him with frantic, familiar sounding gonk gonk’s.

“I know, Gonky!” Omega grinned. “He’s starting to do better, I’m excited too.”

The GNK droid stopped just short of colliding with Tech and leaned itself forward towards his hand. Tech obliged with a small, warm smile of his own, resting the mechanical arm on it’s oversized top, and it let out a series of soft gngngngngngnk’s.

“Aww. He remembers you,” Echo crooned.

“Droids memory banks are not like sentients. Their data recall is significantly-”

“Oh I know, Tech,” Echo chuckled. “It’s still sweet.”

Omega had skipped her way to the cockpit already and the outer door hissed shut behind them. For a moment Tech grasped at the nearest console to steady himself as she prepared for takeoff, but he barely felt the lurch as they left the ground and the ship left the hangar behind.

She had learned well, after all.

For a second, Tech gazed at the blur that was the back of her head down the hall, considering it. This was a dream, it had to be, but… This Omega was older than in his memories, no longer the naive adolescent female who chose to sit with them in the cafeteria and picked a food fight in their defense. Granted, she had grown beyond that well before his time with the Empire, but this was something else entirely. Even if what he was seeing now wasn’t real… He hoped that the young girl he knew back then had gotten the chance to grow into someone like this. His brothers deserved the chance to raise her this way, even if he never got to see it.

Then, his eyes slid just past her, to a place on the console where a blurry object sat, glinting against the black expanse of space in the viewport behind it.

“Those are yours,” Echo said softly at his side. “Do you want to see them?”

Tech wasn’t quite sure what to say, he couldn't even see what the object was with his poor quality eyesight, but the statement made curiosity flare up inside him, and he nodded. Echo got up and crossed over to the cockpit, whispering a couple of things to Omega before taking the little item in his one hand and returning.

Echo held them out, and Tech recognized them at once.

“My goggles,” Tech said in astoundment, taking them gingerly in his hands. He had seen them before in the memories but they really did feel familiar in his hands now, too. Both the lenses were shattered and one was missing several chunks, they wouldn’t function without significant repairs but… But they were his.

Nothing had been his in years. It shouldn’t matter, he knew it in his head, but somehow it did. This should be a dream but the familiarity of something that was his own in his hands just felt so real, and if this was real…

Through the gap in the hall Tech saw as the color outside the cockpit changed from pitch black to fuzzy streaks of blue as Omega put the ship into hyperspace, and his breath caught in his throat.

“You should know,” Echo said under his breath, “Even if you weren’t there… She never flew without you.”

He nodded at Echo’s words, unable to speak, and held the goggles close to his chest, just in case they were real.

Link to the full story written in full fledged domicile angst here: Implications Of Being Alive

Please scream in my comments or something, I live for validation I guess, it’s fine 🫠❤️

Oh and I guess I should do a tag list for this, maybe? If that’s wanted? Lemme know if I should and if you wanna be on it!!!

#tech lives #that man is alive #domicilegate #tech is cx 2 #bad batch fanfic #malicious canon compliance #the bad batch #tech bad batch #star wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfiction #arc trooper echo #omega tbb #starwarsficnetwork #the bad batch spoilers #bad batch spoilers #fix it

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