peachyglo

[peachyglo]

sucking abby’s strap <333

give me that mouth, baby,” abby encourages, opening your mouth with her index and middle fingers. you shuffle closer, sitting on your knees in front of abby, who was sat on the edge of your bed. you stick your tongue out, letting abby slap the tip of her silicone cock against it. “good girl. relax your throat, baby,” her fingers move to ghost down your neck, trailing back up into your hair. she holds it tight, her dick filling your mouth, slipping down your throat. “hold it, baby. hold it in your throat. good fuckin’ girl,” she holds your hair as she moves your head to fuck your throat gently. she hisses, biting down on her bottom lip, her head thrown back in pleasure. you whimper around her, looking up at her through your eyelashes. abby pulls out of your mouth, letting you breathe. “you okay?” she holds your chin, lifting your head up to look at her. you nod, opening your mouth back up.

“needy girl. you want it? you want this dick?” she teases, her shit eating smirk looking down on you. you nod vigorously. “come get it, baby. come on,” abby lets up. she holds it in her hand, guiding it to your mouth. her hips rock into your throat softly, smiling at your gags as her cock hits the back of your throat. “careful, baby,” she teases. you whine around her, abby’s hips moving quicker, more forceful. she inhales sharply at the gargle leaving your throat as well as the pressure of the strap pushing against her clit. “keep going, baby. fuck, i’m gonna cum. want me to come down this pretty throat? yeah?” you whimper around her more, even louder. she takes that as a yes, your moans only making her fuck your throat harder. abby whines, holding your head harshly as she lets go on the base of her strap.

once she’s calmed down, you pull away, abby giggling at the string of spit connected to her strap and your lips. “messy girl.”

[peachyglo]

sweet✰honey✰buckin

a rodeo!abby x reader.

its a hot spring in the south and rodeo season is here. your hunt for a new fling leads you to an up-and-coming hotshot bull rider with an aversion to groupies. maybe you can change her mind.

wc : 2.509

contains : fxf relationship. barely attempted country slang. fluff. smut. oral and penetrative sex (r!receiving). nicknames (baby, darlin', a single bunny).

a/n : yeah guess who just listened to cowboy carter. idk why i posted about this before writing a single word but i didn't procrastinate this time yall clap it up and enjoy.

if you think about it, this was really all dolly partons' fault.

you could still picture the first time you saw her, the grainy recording on your grandmother's television, the gentle melodies from the blonde bombshell wrapping around you like a warm hug. you'd only been exposed to the south for a few weeks, and you already knew who you wanted your role model to be.

and the buckle bunny stuff also wasn't your fault! you were gorgeous, as people so loved to remind you at every twist and turn. and maybe you used your looks to your advantage sometimes. the first time was when you batted your eyelashes to make a boy do your project a day before it was due in junior year. he was... good-looking, you supposed. smart enough to be on the chess team, so he would do.

so you went to a little party with your friends that night. a spacious house, nice music, and good enough booze. everything was normal until you saw her. she was lean and mysterious, and under the lid of her black ridge top hat you could see her eyes tracking your body as you danced

so yes, her eating you in the back seat of her truck until you cried, holding down your hips when you tried to move changed your brain chemistry just a bit.

now a few years later, you're a little taller, a little smarter, and have collected a handful of studs for your belt. sure you've collected a...not so savory reputation in some of the local bars, but it was nothing a smile and a little flirting couldn't help. and its only going to get better; as the air warms and the trees bloom pussy spirit starts buzzing, and you know rodeo season is upon you again.

it was a hot night at the cow belle and the people even hotter as you scoped the scene from the rim of your glass. you and your friends were perched at the bar, daisy dukes heightened and crop tops tied under your busts.

"i heard red devil rosie'd be here tonight," savannah whispers to your group from beside you, her tall dark legs relaxed with her arm resting on the wood behind you. she always had a bit of a thing for redheads, and she'd had her eyes on rosie ever since it got around that she'd broken up with her fiancee.

"jesus, sav, the poor girl just got heartbroken, now you already wanna jump her bones?" charlize laughs, taking a hard swig of the beer in her hand. standing at a solid five feet and four inches tall the little kentuckian was a handful, always the first in line to ride a mechanical bull or jump in the front of a line dance.

"whats that saying men always use? as soon as you lose one hop on a 'nother?"

"you are deplorable."

as the girls banter back and forth your eyes focus on the rising commotion at the front of the bar. with a slight rise on your toes, making sure not to scuff your boots, and you can't help the growing smile on your face when you spot that blonde hair pushed down by her signature brown stetson.

abigail anderson, the rodeo's angel. she'd only been in the circuit for under two years and sponsors were lining up and begging for her to go pro. it was always easy to spot her, frequently trailed by her already professional friends manny alvarez and owen moore, along with a handful of groupies begging her to look their way.

luckily for you, manny had flirted with you a few weeks back and remained friendly after you turned him down, and he was heading straight towards you while his friends headed to a booth.

"oh god, hide your wives and girlfriends, the buckle brood is here!" he laughs, thanking the bartender for his beer and taking a swig.

"whatever manny, you're just upset our darling here didn't give you a chance." savannah winks.

"i think god was doing me a favor. y'know dixie's been trying to call you for about a week? the poor girls even thought about sending a bouquet. dixie. a bouquet."

"i made it clear before we slept together it would be a one-time thing. 's not my fault she wants more." you sigh.

that just makes the man laugh harder. he chats it up with charlize about how the rankings are looking when he notices how your gaze keeps wandering off, following your eye straight to-

"no."

"hm? i didnt say anything!"

"you said it with your eyes. and im gonna tell you with my mouth that you don't stand a chance. abby hates groupies." he shakes his head.

"abby, huh? i like it." manny grows exasperated as his words go in one ear and out the other. "'n and im technically not a groupie. never seen the woman in my life before now."

"well, look don't touch. or maybe don't look at all, before you put a spell on her or somethin."

you pout, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and bring him into a hug. you see abby look your way in the corner of your eye and make sure to stretch your torso just a tiny bit until you're able to feel the bottom of your shirt ride up just that much more. when you see her eyes trail down your waist you hide a smile into the side of your arm.

you let the man go with a sweet goodbye, watching as he grabs two more beers and heads over to the booth and twisting your head before you can catch the blondes gaze.

its only a few minutes later when manny comes back with wide eyes and invites you over to sit with them.

sitting across from her, you can see why people are so attracted to her. she’s big, her muscles bulging out from the sleeves in her plaid shirt. despite her size she doesn’t try to take up more space then needed; confident but not cocky.

she clearly notices your glances, and maybe even the smile on your face when one of her past flings with a girl is brought up in conversation.

“so, you’ve had girlfriends before?” you ask, stirring your cocktail with the little colorful umbrella that came with it.

“no no, don’t answer that, you’ll regret it.” owen butts in, meeting your glare. you’d never talked before, but you were pretty sure you had slept with his fiancée a few years ago. last you’d heard they’d had a baby, maybe you’d offer to babysit sometime.

“why not? are you a groupie?” abby asks.

“can’t be a groupie if i barely know who you are. so why don’t we get to know each other better. preferably in private.”

“whatever you say, darlin.”

you hear the sudden sounds of a few hoots and claps and a familiar song that they always play to get people dancing.

“why don’t you show me some of your moves, big girl?”

she rolls her eyes, letting out a quiet sigh before following you onto the dance floor.

as much as she’s trying to fight it, you can tell abby is enjoying herself, learning quickly as you show her the moves to the dance. you’re a bit surprised she doesn’t know it already until she tells you she’s originally from utah.

“what, they don’t have country bars out in salt lake.”

“no, not like this. at least i never went to any of them.”

“wellll if you ever need a tour guide i’m available. whenever you want me.”

“god, manny told me about you.”

“really? what’s he say? i can probably guess.”

“so you know everybody thinks you’re a playgirl who sleeps with cowgirls for damn near a living and you don’t care?”

you shrug. “‘m just young and having fun. maybe everyone else, including you, is too uptight.”

“oh really? and what, you're supposed to help me loosen up?” she raises a single eyebrow. you don't answer, deciding to just look at her face for a while.

you like how pretty she is. the soft blue of her big eyes, the freckles dotted across her face that trail down her neck and disappear into her shirt. you feel pride in your chest when you see her cheeks redden.

when the song ends you pull away from her, ready to go over and tell your friends goodbye when a large hand grips your wrist, tugging your body back to its previous position. before you can question her you feel the weight of her hat sitting on your head.

"well? you gonna answer my question?"

you can still remember the looks on your friends face's when abby told them she was heading home, still gripping your hand. manny looked like he had just seen pigs fly.

it was hard to ignore the way she didn't let go of you until she was driving or the looks she was giving you when she was looking at the road, or how desperate she was when you finally got her here, dragging you to her room and attaching her strap like she'd die if she didn't get you in bed.

"i don't see what the big fuss is about, this really isn't that hard." you tease her, admiring the way she whines when you refuse to let her wrists go from your hands, using all your strength to keep her from flipping you over

but maybe you should learn when to shut your mouth because she roughly starts bucking her hips, smiling at the euphoric look on your face before you hide your face in her neck, trying and failing to muffle your moans.

"what? i thought you said this was easy?" she laughs when she hears your muffled groan, failing to ignore when you roughly bite her. you can tell she's getting frustrated at being restrained, her hands clenching into fists and repeatedly trying to get them from under your hands. "fuckin - cmon, baby, lemme help you."

god, she was so cute. you'd never say it out loud but you liked all the little nicknames she gave you, the gentle kisses she would place on your skin when she was warming you up for her. if you didn't have a one-time policy you would have chosen to keep her around. just for a little while.

but you could also see the inner turmoil in her eyes, the battle between dominance and submission. when you first met her you thought she'd be a stone top, so you decide to take advantage and reach one of your hands up to her hair and pull, forcing a loud moan from her as her mouth gaped open.

"not so uptight now, are you?" you laugh, awwing at her when she lets out a small whine.

you didnt realize until it was too late that it was a mistake to underestimate her because she was attaching her hands to your hips, planting her feet on the bed, and thrusting up into you like a wild bull, sucking a mark into your chest like she can't see you struggling to breathe.

"yeah, that's it. not so easy now, is it darlin'?"

and oh how you hate how you can't answer her, only able to muster up a weak glare as the pleasure grows, feeling the burning heat gross in your stomach. you're trying to hold off, not ready for this to end just yet, and hating the satisfied look on her face when your shaky arms wrap around her neck.

"you gettin' close, baby?" she maneuvers your legs to spread wider, hitting that spot inside you at just the right angle. god, everything feels so hot and overwhelming and so damn good-

"that's it, show me how pretty you look cummin around me." once she reaches a hand down and roughly rubs your clit it's over, moaning and gasping her name as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. she never stops her movements, in fact, you think she goes harder once she feels your nails dig into her arms.

your head flops onto her shoulder, basking in your post-orgasm bliss as her large hands rub up and down your back. mind hazy, you feel yourself drifting off and giving yourself a mental pat on the back when you're shocked upwards by a fierce thrust from below you, wide eyes darting to abby's.

"what, ya thought we were finished? if you wanna claim me you gotta earn it, bunny."

"oh no, abby i cant-" you try to decline, not sure you can take another before she presses you back into her sheets, manhandling your legs over her shoulders and your arms under your back. she can tell you're about to fight it because she's pushing her strap into you again.

it's embarrassing how close you are already after a few minutes, unable to move as she splits you open in a damn mating press. trying to hide your face in the sheets is futile so you have no choice but to keep eye contact with her, which only brings you closer to the edge because she's looking at you like she wants to fuck you until she physically can't anymore.

she's quieter now but you can hear her mumbling under her breath about how 'you're too damn fine, jesus you're gonna be the death of me,' and the next thing you know you're both cumming, feeling the wet mess grow between your legs.

she sinks into you, boneless on top of you as she gently rubs at your sides as you do the same for her head. after a few minutes she gets up, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips at your soft whine at the strap leaving you before heading off to the bathroom to get a washcloth.

it's gentle as you both clean the other, softly trailing the rag down her arms as she observes you. its almost...domestic. which you haven't done in quite a while. it feels nice.

when she gets up to throw it in the hamper you reach for your clothes on the floor before she questions you.

"excuse me, what do you think you're doin?"

"uhh...leaving?"

"nope, bad manners if i let you go home now," she tosses you a shirt from one of her drawers, finding her own pajamas before flopping on her bed. "i don't know what kinda girls in the circuit you've been seein', but I'm not like that."

you're on the fence, rubbing the fabric of her large shirt before putting it on and settling in next to her. it couldn't hurt just to sleep with her, right? "fine. but you should know i don't normally do...this."

"me neither. but there's a first time for everything, right?" she smiles, rubbing your hip from over the shirt before trailing it under. "besides, maybe we can go again in the morning. still need to prove to you I'm not uptight."

thank god for dolly parton.

sorry if this is shorter than expected i feel like death. can we all do rodeo!abby this summer. pretty please.

taglist : @euphternal @jupiter-502 @vqxen @youcallmeconnor @andersonlore i love you guys im giving you kisses rn

[peachyglo]

Alpha!Abby is such an oddly specific thing to write about, thank you for your service.

I've never sent a request to anyone ever before but I wanted to ask if you can write more alpha!abby.

Ahahaha, it will make more sense if you know that I spent my formative years in SPN and Teen wolf fandoms when they were at their peak, and in and out of kpop fandoms as well. (+ I worked on og story with omegaverse because I wanted wlw with a strong omega lead, which led to me getting really in depth with a/b/o, and now I'm quite fond of it)

Palestine: what can you do

Fri(end)s pt 2

alpha!abby x omega!reader

Summary: after you start dating, the question of sex comes up and Abby finds out you have 0 (zero) experience. So Abby, being an amazing partner, guides you through everything.

Tags: dead dove: do not eat. a/b/o universe (female alphas have dicks), virgin!reader, no hurt only comfort, communication, they're incredibly comfortable with each other. for smut: dry humping, oral (both receiving), fingering (r!receiving), penetrative sex (r!receiving).

a/n: it's a mammoth (8k). I know. I don't know how it happened.

tags: @ushijimaswife-77

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

There's no such a big difference between being friends with Abby and dating Abby. It might sound good since you're already super comfortable with each other, but being friends for so long with an alpha who is a player leaves its marks. 

You constantly forget you have a claim on Abby. You see other omegas look at her, smell her, and you don't remember that you are her omega, not other people - you just chuckle and do nothing about it. 

Abby gets confused because she can't stop fucking glaring at other alphas - but Abby is a possessive asshole, she knew it would happen. Still, you don't act like you're a couple sometimes, and it kinda hurts. 

Abby watches how once again you freeze when another omega looks at her, your scent going just a bit sour, but you still do nothing, and Abby presses down her frustration. 

It hits her only after two weeks of you doing it, why you’re doing it. She realises it when you two are sitting in her living room, drinking wine and chatting, like always, and when she does, she is filled with desire to tease you. 

“I have a question.” Abby asks with a cocky grin, and you roll your eyes fondly. “You know you can scent me, right?”

Your eyes go comically big before you understand what she is saying, but then you avoid looking at her - not in a bad manner, but more like you want to hide from her.

“Um. Yeah. Right.” Abby laughs kindly and tugs you so you could sit on her lap. You're clearly embarrassed by your own obliviousness, and Abby wants to tease you so bad. 

“Since we're dating? And I literally told you I'm yours?” You groan and Abby laughs harder. 

“I'm so used to you fucking every pretty omega you see, my mind hasn't caught up yet.” You mutter, trying to defend yourself, but Abby's pretty laugh makes you smile. “Did it upset you?”

“A little. But I knew you wouldn't be cruel like this to me, so I figured you had a different reason.”

Your heart breaks a little and you take Abby's face into your palms, staring into her pretty blue eyes, while her arms are wrapped around your back. 

“I love you.” You say with all your soul. 

Abby blinks, her mouth falls open. She blinks again. Then her whole face goes red. You giggle and kiss her forehead. 

“Thank you.” Abby says eventually and you laugh harder. 

“What kind of response is this?” 

Abby blinks and buries her face in your shoulder, embarrassed.

 “I love you too. And I'm thankful for your love.” 

You giggle and kiss Abby, pressing closer to her as her scent envelopes both of you. Abby holds you so tightly you can't take a full breath, but you don't care, you like being close to her. 

You break the kiss and very tentatively, as if you expect Abby to stop you, rub against her scent glands. Abby's fingers dig into your ass and she sighs, her voice low. The room starts smelling like arousal and Abby chuckles. 

“Have you caught up on the fact that I really want to fuck you or do you need more explicit confirmation for it as well?”

Your face burns with Abby's every word, but then there's a sudden smell of anxiety that makes Abby slow down. 

“We don't have to do anything if you don't want to.” She reassures you, her hand caressing your back to bring you some comfort. Abby really doesn't like being a cause for your anxiety, especially in a topic that requires trust.

“Thanks.” You sigh and cringe at yourself. You're an adult, for fuck’s sake, there's nothing to be ashamed of. “I just.” You take a longer breath. You feel humiliated - not by Abby, never by her, but by some social expectations. “Please don't be weird about it. I'm a virgin.”

Abby freezes. You watch her blank face nervously - you don't know how she'll react. You keep repeating “there's nothing to be ashamed of” over and over in your head, but you start to crumble when Abby stays silent. 

“You're being weird about it.” You chuckle nervously. Abby shakes her head and smiles. 

“Sorry.” She then grins like she won this life. “I know it's stupid, but it makes me happy.” 

You understand what Abby is saying: she is happy you trust her with this. She is also smug as fuck, this asshole, and you don’t say anything more  - you’re not going to boost her ego out of the stratosphere.

“Do you want to have sex someday?” Abby asks gently, watching your face as your scent keeps being sour. She wants to comfort you, any way she can. 

“Yeah. It's not like I don't know what it is, heat really makes you creative. But I've never been with another person. I'm nervous.” You tell Abby honestly. She nods, although your scent tells her you’re more scared than nervous.

“You've never smelled of anxiety before, when I flirted with you. Is it different because now it's a real possibility?” 

You take a moment to think about it, and then nod.

“Yeah. I mean, I knew I wouldn't let us have sex, and you also knew I'd regret it, so I wasn't worried when we'd make out.”

Abby hums, figuring out how to handle this conversation and make you feel safe. 

“What are you nervous about?” 

You take a moment to think - it's not like you haven't spent time worrying about it, but you're not with some imaginary stranger right now, you're with Abby, so you make an effort to pinpoint the exact reason. 

“Doing something wrong. You know how I always have to get everything right on the first try, and I guess sex is not an exception. Plus, you have so much experience and I'd be lying if I said it doesn't make me feel insecure.”

Abby hums again, thinking about your words. 

“Got it. Well, I mean- having experience is great for building confidence and seeing how diverse people can be, but when you come down to it, every person is different. Every time when I was with a new person, it was the first time all over again, except my hands didn't shake and I didn't cum in the first five minutes.”

It makes you feel better and you chuckle. You're grateful for Abby taking such care with her words. 

“Do you know what I like in bed? Do I know what you like in bed? I've got some experience, but we have no experience with each other. You know, even if you weren't a virgin, I'd still be nervous too.”

You laugh at this, not being able to imagine this alpha nervous. Abby doesn't do nervous. She is hot and confident and knows what she is doing. 

“Would you?” You ask sceptically. 

“Of course! You're my dream girl, I want it to be perfect.” 

“You're such a sap.” You shake your head and kiss Abby, the smell of love and affection filling your noses. “Thanks. For being so patient with me.” 

“Shut up, it's basic decency.”

“Well, when you put it this way, thanks for being basically decent with me.”

Abby pouts and you laugh, kissing her again. 

You decide to take it slow so you can get used to being close to Abby in a different way. You talk about it more later on, go on a “let's get tested” date and make a system as Abby would slowly introduce new things to you and you'd tell her if it's something you like or not. 

You're very eager to explore Abby's weak points - seeing what makes her run electric. You get fond of kissing her neck and rubbing circles into her hip bones - it never fails to get a sigh or a grunt out of her. Abby loves how enthusiastic you are, especially when you get all sciency-like with her and experiment on different parts of her body - that's how Abby finds out her sides are actually pretty sensitive. It's more playful than sensual, but you progressively get more comfortable with her. 

Then you start touching each other under your clothes, and Abby has a hard time not growling into your mouth as you trace her newfound sensitive sides with your warm fingertips, while Abby gets to explore your back, running her fingers over your spine. She doesn't hurry into touching your tits under your shirt - only when you hesitantly cup her rib cage with both of your hands and run your thumb under her tits, Abby feels like she is free to do the same. Still, she needs it to be talked about.

“You can touch me, if you want.” Abby rumbles into your neck, sniffing this beautiful scent of arousal and love. “Do you want me to touch your tits?”

“Yeah.” You smile and Abby giggles before carefully cupping you right tit. You copy her and sigh, surprised. “Oh. It feels good. Yours is so soft.”

Abby laughs kindly at your childlike wonder and kisses you. 

“They're sensitive too.” You grin and squeeze Abby's tit, but in your eagerness you do it too hard and Abby jumps. “Easy.”

“Sorry.” You ease up and gently run your fingers over Abby's nipple. “Does it feel good?”

Abby chuckles and runs her thumb over your nipple. You sigh and shudder, suddenly very turned on.

“You tell me. Does it?” 

“Uh- yes.” You pant and Abby keeps brushing her thumb over your nipple, making you squirm. “Shit. I didn't even-” Your hips start to move and Abby watches you as you get desperate and needy. She can fucking smell how wet you are. 

“If you want, you can rub against my thigh. Make yourself cum while I play with your nipples.”

You think about it for a moment. 

“Okay.” You pant, but then you get an even better idea. “Wait, can we, um-” You swallow as you try to get your brain together, a little overwhelmed: Abby's touch is so much more pleasant. “Can you grind against me? So we both cum? Or it doesn't work f-”

You don't get to finish your sentence because Abby turns you on your back and gets between your legs. 

“I fucking love your brain.” 

You grin and let Abby part your legs, even though it makes you nervous. Abby can smell it, so she checks in with you. 

“You okay? Wanna stop?” 

“No, fuck no. Maybe slow down a little?” 

Abby nods and doesn't make any quick movements. She puts your legs over her thighs, letting your knees rest there, but she doesn't move closer until you feel comfortable, caressing your thighs. You can see the tent in her pants and it makes you feel all giddy - you will never get tired of getting Abby hard. 

“Come here.” You tug Abby down and she grins before kissing you. 

Abby holds herself on her forearm while the other arm slowly guides your thigh on her hip, slow enough so you could stop her before she puts all her weight on you - it might feel safe, but it also might feel scary to be caged like this. But you eagerly let her manipulate you and buck your hips - you love having Abby’s weight on you. You can't help but arch into her desperately, keeping your legs spread wide. 

“Fuck, it reminds of that time when you were with me during my heat.” You murmur and brush baby hairs out of Abby's face.

Abby smiles, visibly trying to be all collected and calm for your sake, but her scent betrays her - it's overpowered with lust. Her blue eyes have sprinkles of red in them and you grin. 

“Move, Abby.” You laugh, and Abby laughs too, but then she presses her clothed cock against your covered pussy- “Uh!” 

Abby smirks at you and starts slowly grinding her hips, while you try to not make any embarrassing sounds. It feels amazing, her cock is thick enough to rub you in all the right places, the tip of her dick catching on your clit and making you swallow another whimper. 

“Do you want me to touch your nipples?” 

You nod and Abby slides her hand under your shirt, rubbing and lightly pinching your nipple. You bite your lip before any embarrassing sound can escape, and Abby would find it endearing, but she wants to hear you. 

“Hey, I wanna hear. Let it out. Let me know that I'm making you feel good.” Abby pants. Her cock rubs against your clit just right and you whimper quietly. “Yeah. Good.”

“If you call me- fuck! If you call me good girl I'll-”

“What? You'll cum?”

You buck your hips and glare at Abby: and she knows you're playful, but she's also scared of hurting you with unnecessary teasing. 

“Do you want me to call you a good girl?” Abby asks genuinely and you get all flustered, not answering her question. 

Abby kisses you behind your ear and you shudder. God her cock feels good and it's not even inside you yet, it's absolutely not fair. It is also unfair that Abby makes you feel good and you're doing nothing, so you slide your hands under her shirt and hold her sides, stroking them with your thumb. Abby's pace stutters and you grin. 

“You're a menace.” Abby growls and pinches your nipples a little harder. 

Her grinding gets quicker, bringing you closer to your orgasm. You wish you didn't have two layers of clothing between you, that you could feel Abby for real. 

“Abby-” You whimper her name and Abby grunts, her hand squeezing your tit almost painfully. Her thrusts become erratic and you feel like you're on fire: Abby is cumming, her scent spiking with pleasure. She is going to cum because you said her name, oh god. “Abby, please-” You whimper again and Abby moans, her other hand gripping the blanket you're laying on. Her hips shake as she keeps grinding against you and you buck your hips, wanting to cum with her. 

“Call me-” You ask Abby, desperate, hoping she will understand. 

“Good girl, such a good fucking girl-” Abby growls and you cum with a quiet shriek, your thighs closing on Abby. She watches you like she's obsessed, like she is witnessing a miracle, and her dick keeps twitching and soiling her pants. 

It takes a minute for both of you to even out your breathing, and then you laugh, covering your eyes in embarrassment.

“Wow. You're so fucking hot.” You tell Abby and she kisses your tit through your shirt. “Do you think when we get to real sex it will feel even better?”

“Just because I didn't put my dick in you doesn't mean this wasn't real sex, babe.” Abby murmurs, tired. “Who knows. Maybe you'll try it and feel like this is better. There's only one way to find out.” 

You huff fondly and run your fingers across Abby's shoulders. 

“Have you ever been with virgins before?”

Abby hums in agreement. 

“A few. It was cool.”

“Was it awkward?” You ask out of curiosity: you don't feel awkward with Abby at all. She is your comfort person.

“I mean, not really. It was when one of them didn't tell me she was a virgin and I hurt her. So you know, thanks for telling me.”

“O wow. That must've sucked.”

“Well, we stopped and I ate her out in the end.”

“Oh.” You feel your face warming up. 

Abby catches your little “oh” and looks up, curious. She thinks back to her words and grins. 

“Wanna try? I'd love to eat you out.” 

“Yeah. Sounds great.” You laugh, cringing at yourself kindly. “I feel like we won't go all the way before my heat with all of these things you can show me.”

“We're not going to rush. We'll find plenty of ways to fuck anyway, so if you want me to be with you during your heat, we'll figure it out.” 

“Of course I want you to be with me, you dum-dum. You're my alpha.”

Abby wiggles on top of you and you kiss her head. 

“You're a fucking simp.”

Abby bites your shoulder and you bite her too. 

Now that you two are being more close than before you started dating, you finally feel the pull to mark Abby and glare at other omegas - of course they want Abby, she is fucking perfect, but she is yours. 

You have it on good authority. Abby told you. Herself.

You start scenting Abby and she beams every time. She also notices your glares and she can't be happier - she loves when you get possessive. One night she teaches you how to leave hickeys, and you leave an absolutely gigantic one - you really opened your mouth wide for this one - and Abby, who is notorious for having no shame, feels the need to cover that one up because it's scandalous. You grin, satisfied, every time you look at it and Abby gives up. She stops wearing her turtlenecks. 

After a few months, the campus finally accepts that Abby Anderson is now taken. Omegas stop looking at her like they have a chance, but keep looking at her like she is a god. You don't mind. 

After that time when Abby made you both cum in your pants, you grow impatient. You don't rush with the whole penetration thing - you’ve felt how big Abby is and it is intimidating - but you want to get naked. You want to feel Abby’s skin, and feel her with your lips and feel her lips on you. (You might wanna grind on her cock as well)

“I wanna take my shirt off.” You tell Abby when you're making out in your living room: Abby is half lying on the couch while you're on top of her. 

“Please do.” Abby smirks. 

“I want you to take off your shirt as well.”

Abby doesn't say anything and just tugs her shirt off and then helps you take yours off. Abby stares for a moment, mesmerised by your tits - she knew you didn't have a bra on - they're pretty, they're soft and Abby really wants to play with your nipples and see if you'd be sensitive too when she will use her mouth. 

“Holy fuck, doll. You're fucking beautiful.” Abby marvels and brushes her fingers over your warm skin, going from your shoulders to your hips. 

“Take your bra off.” You nod at Abby's last defence and she takes it off so quickly she almost gets stuck in it. You lie down, pressing your chest on her chest and it feels so good. Abby is so warm and yes, she is pure muscle, her abs and chest are very defined, but she is still very soft. You kiss her shoulder right above her collarbone and Abby grips your waist harder. “Does it feel good?” 

“Yeah.” Abby sighs, happy. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“I want to get fully naked.”

“Jesus Christ.” Abby swallows. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“I thought maybe I should take you on that offer to eat me out?”

The way Abby's eyes don't take even a second to become bright red makes you giggle. Abby tries to suppress her desire to make you submit to her, but you feel her alpha presence getting stronger and more suffocating than ever. You nuzzle into her neck and Abby growls quietly, like a teenager - but you know she is fighting herself on just doing everything her way. You know it's tempting - you can't say you haven't fantasied about Abby just pinning you down and fucking you until you can't take it anymore - but Abby does have amazing self-control. Even if her presence tells you how much she wants to just bend you over and fuck you through this couch, her hands are gentle and she doesn't move. 

“But first let's just get naked.” You smile and Abby nods. 

You both strip completely and you just stare at each other. Your cheeks burn as you trace Abby with your eyes: her long legs, muscular thighs, her half-hard cock with curly blonde pubes around it, the v-line of her hips, her abs, perky little tits, her round, muscular shoulders, her arms. God, her arms. Soft, strong fingers, veiny wrists from lifting weights, chiselled forearms, the curves of her biceps and triceps. Abby looks like a god, her blonde hair almost like a halo, liquid gold around her. You don't want to stop looking, trying to see every mole and every scar on her. 

You get so stuck staring at Abby you don't have a moment to get self-conscious, but then Abby reaches for your hand and the spell breaks. You realise you were just standing there, fully naked, in front of a literal Greek goddess, and your insecurities flare up.

“I really need to hit the gym, huh.” You try to joke, but Abby doesn't buy it. 

“You're perfect.” Abby says with all the love she has in her heart. “I’m so privileged to get to see you like this.”

You chuckle, but hug Abby around her neck as she kisses you softly. She holds your waist, but as you're kissing, her hands start wandering over your hips, your back, stopping at your sides just to feel your curves. It feels good, having her warm strong hands all over you, and you press closer, feeling Abby's cock poke your stomach. Abby hums into the kiss and gently grabs your ass, messaging it. 

“Bedroom?” Abby asks in a raspy voice and you nod. 

You giggle as you walk to the bedroom holding hands, fully naked, and Abby chuckles at you - she loves how much fun you have, how comfortable you are with her. You're still nervous, but you don't smell sour anymore, and it's all Abby needs. 

You climb the bed and watch Abby climb after you with a smile, opening your arms for her as she lies on top of you. You feel her cock and you can't help yourself - you buck your hips and sigh.

“Stop it.” Abby laughs and you buck your hips again. Abby gets harder and her grip on your waist gets tighter. “I'm gonna get you for that.” 

“Yeah?”

Abby wants your cocky smile gone, so she leans to your neck and sucks a hickey into your skin, making you squeak and shudder under her. Abby smiles, her canines grazing your skin and you feel yourself getting wet. Abby is so damn hot. 

“Can I put my mouth on you?”

“Yes, fuck-” You sigh and pet Abby on her head, weaving your fingers into her hair. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah.” 

Abby starts leaving kisses all over your shoulders and chest, avoiding your tits at first, but then she feels confident enough to wrap her lips around your nipple and you gasp. Abby can smell how wet you're getting and she growls, her control slipping away. 

She can't help it: you're pretty, pliant under her, you make the best noises and you're hers. She wants to sink her teeth in you. 

“Fuck, it feels good.” You sigh like you're surprised. Abby chuckles and sucks on your nipple making you sigh louder, not moaning yet, but not quiet anymore. “Are yours this sensitive too?” You manage to ask and then you yelp when Abby gently bites you. 

“Yeah.” Abby frowns when she sees your excited eyes. “No, right now you're just going to lie and be pretty for me.”

Your breath hitches - your body relaxes immediately and your head falls down on the pillow. You feel all fuzzy and horny, ready to do whatever Abby tells you to do, whatever your alpha tells you to do. Your thighs relax and Abby presses closer, her abs pressing against your cunt. The change in your behaviour is so sudden Abby slows down and looks at you, only to groan helplessly: your eyes are golden and pleading, inviting her to destroy you. 

“Breathe.” Abby tells you and you breathe for a minute. Your head gets clearer and the golden of your eyes fades away. 

“What the fuck was that?” You pant, surprised. You don't smell scared or anxious, and Abby can breathe easier.

“I accidentally used my voice on you.” 

“Uh. Okay. So that's how it feels. Cool. Good to know.” Abby laughs and you laugh too before tugging her up and kissing her. Abby is getting impatient, so she breaks the kiss and resumes her trail down your body. She licks your nipple and you squeak again, but then she goes lower, kissing your stomach with an open mouth, biting you gently, while her hands bend your legs. Abby is so close to your pulsing cunt she has to force herself to be slow, and judging by how your scent changes just a little sour, it's for the best. 

“This is embarrassing.” You laugh and cover your eyes when Abby finally moves down and puts your legs on her shoulders. 

Abby kisses your thigh, ignoring the scent of your dripping pussy - she wants to bury her face in you - and then she blows a raspberry on your skin. You jump and laugh, glaring at Abby fondly, but she only blows another one. 

“This is very unsexy of you.”

“Not true. I can smell how horny you're. You liked it.” Abby smirks, noticing how the sour smell left your scent almost completely.

You huff, but all your giggles stop when Abby kisses your thigh lower - you can feel her hair tickling your pussy. She moves lower and you fist the blanket under you: even feeling Abby's head move between your legs is already a lot. But it also so fucking hot, and then you feel her breath on your pubic bone and you grip her hair tighter.

“You smell so fucking good.” Abby says reverently, dragging her nose over your pussy. You're tense, so fucking tense under her, but you don't smell like you're distressed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it's just a lot. Every time you move I feel it so intensely.” 

“Take a breath for me and relax.” You listen to Abby and breathe out, relaxing. 

Abby is slow: she kisses all around your pussy, the junction of your thighs, your lips, your pubic bone. You're suffocating in her scent, you feel already devoured by her with the heavy scent of possession and dominance filling your nose. It helps you relax and Abby finally opens your thighs so she could eat you out properly. Her eyes are red and she can't help her growling - god, if you ever want to mate her she'll leave her bite right between your legs, because this pussy is hers. 

Abby licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and you jump, your grip in Abby's hair tight.

“Fuck!” 

Abby doesn't listen anymore: she tasted you and her brain waved goodbye. She licks all of your pussy, rubs your clit gently while you whine above her. You can't keep your legs open, caging her between your thighs, so Abby wraps her arms around them and pins you down, her instincts going berserk with the want to keep you under her control. 

You look at her biceps bulging and roll your eyes in pleasure, letting the word “alpha” escape your mouth. 

Abby's brain short-circuits and she moans into your cunt, humping the bed. You buck your hips in response but she just presses you down and shoves her tongue inside you, moaning at your taste. You squeak and get up on your elbows, overwhelmed: it's too much and absolutely not enough, having Abby's mouth on you, hearing all the noises she makes because of you, smelling her scent dominating you. It's good, it's so good and you feel so empty, you need to have her inside you.

“Abby- fuck-” You screw your eyes shut when she sucks on your clit. “I wanna- want a finger.”

Abby looks up and you fall back on the bed after meeting her feral eyes: you submit to her fully, and Abby smirks, satisfied. Abby moves away and watches your soaked pussy for a moment before caressing it with her fingers, making you twitch when she touches your clit. 

“How many do you usually use?” Abby rasps.

“Two.” You whimper. Abby hums and slowly, very slowly, pushes one finger inside. 

“God, baby.” Abby sighs dreamingly. “So tight.”

“I'm a virgin, Abby.” You giggle, but feeling Abby inside distracts you.

Abby tries not to think how you'll feel around her dick, so hot and tight, clenching around her, but even a glimpse of it makes her hump the bed. She watches your face as you get used to having someone else's finger inside of you, and then she curls her finger gently. You gasp, and nod, humming in approval.

Abby starts moving her finger and curling it, seeing your cum collect at the base of her finger. It takes you little time before you relax and Abby pushes the second finger in. It's tighter and Abby doesn't move her fingers when she smells a faint scent of hurt. 

“Hurts?”

“I like it.” You say shortly, because you do like feeling how Abby stretches you. You think about her dick stretching you and you clench around Abby's fingers, making her growl, her self-control crumbling.

You don't need Abby to be careful, but she still is, curling her fingers gently. You're moaning quietly on every curl and the hurt evaporates from your scent - it's beautiful. Abby puts her mouth back on you and you whine when her thrusts inside you match the pace of her tongue on your clit. 

“Oh my god you'll make me cum.” You whimper and Abby groans, her humping gets more aggressive. You fist the blanket in your fingers, feeling your lower stomach tensing in approaching orgasm. “Shit, oh my god, Abby, please-” 

You grip her hair tighter, practically shoving her face into your cunt and Abby moans again: she loves feeling your fingers in her hair, loves hearing you beg. 

It takes one more gentle curl for your whole body to tense and a loud whimper to escape your throat. Your scent spikes in euphoria and Abby groans when she feels how you pulsate around her fingers. She drags her cock over the covers and shudders, too turned on, while she watches your face. You're fucking divine like this, cumming on her fingers, the only thing keeping you still is Abby's grip on your hips. 

“Abby, oh my god, fuck!” You moan and your hips jump when Abby sucks on your clit, but the pleasure starts to hurt. “It's too much, please-”

Abby moves away and watches your cunt flutter around her fingers rhythmically, drenching her hand. She is spellbound, and for a moment you two are in separate worlds: you're coming down from your high and she is somewhere in her darkest fantasies. Abby will never hurt you, but she cannot not think about fucking you right now, pushing inside you and not letting you escape her, splitting you on her cock. 

You take a big breath to calm yourself down, but then you look at Abby and gulp: her eyes are so dark with something hot and dangerous. It makes you shudder and you remember that she hasn't cum yet. 

“Abby-” Her sharp eyes look up and you feel like you're in front of a predator. “Come here, baby.” 

Abby climbs on top of you, her fingers still trapped inside you, and you kiss her. You feel her cock poking your thigh and suddenly you’re overcome with the need to make her to cum. 

“I wanna fuck you so bad.” Abby admits and licks your neck, half-feral.

“I wanna make you cum.” You tell her and kiss her temple. “Lie down.”

Abby slowly takes her fingers out of you and licks them clean, making your face burn, but you don't stay embarrassed long: Abby lies on her back and you're presented with the magnificence that she is. 

“I'll need your help.” You tell her: even though you're very turned on, you're still intimidated. For a moment you feel like you bit more than you could chew, but Abby gently pets your head and nods.

“Of course. Don't push yourself, doll.” 

You feel easier after that and lean down to kiss Abby's scent glands. She squeezes your thigh and hums in pleasure. You move lower, kissing her sternum and then, like under some spell, you latch onto her nipple. Abby twitches and moans quietly, and your ears ring: it was one thing hearing Abby groan when she was between your legs, and another thing knowing it's your direct actions that make her moan. 

Your eyes fall on her stomach, where the precum is glistening, dripping from her hard, wet cock. Abby is big, fuck she is big, and you mouth salivates. You try not to think how it's going to fit in you one day, but right now you really want to fit it in your mouth. 

You crawl between her legs and Abby gulps while her fingers grab your hair. She is not guiding your head, letting you control the pace. You wrap your fingers around her cock and Abby hisses, so turned on by seeing your hand on her dick. You look up, panicking that you hurt her, but Abby's scent only spikes with joy. 

“Tighter, baby.” Abby pants and you listen, eagerly wrapping your hand tighter and pumping her cock. Abby starts panting, her chest heaving, and you smile. 

“I love seeing you like this.” You murmur and then, in a sudden wave of bravery, you lean down, licking the head of her dick. Abby grips your hair tighter, almost causing pain, but you don't care. 

You take your time to adjust to the velvet soft texture and the salty taste, but the more you lick, the more addicted you get, especially smelling her growing arousal, her desire to break you. 

“Shit, baby.” Abby growls and very lightly pushes your head down: you don't even register it at first, but then you eagerly swallow her down, as much as you can take. Abby moans and her thighs shake: your mouth is hot and wet, and Abby breathes through her nose to not cum immediately. 

You notice and grin before sucking on her head, whirling your tongue slowly. Abby groans, soft delicate sounds falling from her lips and you look up to her, making eye contact.

“I won't last long, babe.” Abby growls and you wiggle your butt, delighted. “Yeah? You like the thought that you can make me cum so soon?” You hum in agreement and Abby's head falls on the pillow. “Shit!” 

This is interesting. You keep moaning around Abby's cock, sucking her off as best as you can, and then you cup her balls gently, scared to hurt her. Abby moans, loud, and you wish you had something inside you right now to compensate for emptiness Abby’s fingers left in you. It's so hot seeing Abby coming undone, Abby, who probably had way better blowjobs in her life, but because it's you, it turns her into a teenager.

“Fuck. Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum.” Abby moans and you hum again. “Fuck!” 

You let Abby cum in your mouth, even though you don't know quite what to expect - but you feel her balls tighten and her cock pulsate as your mouth gets filled with her cum, and you don’t move away, too greedy. It's a lot, but it's not unpleasant, although you can't keep up and swallow everything. You let her dick out of your mouth and a few spurts end up on your face. 

Abby pants and moans, watching your surprised face: she laughs through her moans and wipes your cheek with a shaking hand. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

You grin and flop on top of Abby, kissing her. You both are covered in cum, and it makes you giggle, knowing you're gonna smell like each other for the next few days.

“Love you.” Abby murmurs, sleepy: she always wants to nap after sex. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing. Can't wait for you to fuck me properly.”

“Whenever you want, babe. Whenever you want.”

It's ironic, but you have your first “real” sex (cue’s Abby's eye roll) in the morning. It's Saturday and you both sleep in: Abby's holding you close even in her sleep, her arm wrapped around your waist. You wake up earlier than Abby and giggle: not the first time when you wake up with Abby's hard cock pressing into you. You have no idea what she is dreaming about, but you hope it's you. 

And this time, you can actually do something about it. You snuggle closer to her and kiss Abby's scent glands, making her sigh. It makes you grin and you snake your hand down into her boxers, lightly brushing your fingertips over her cock. Abby sighs again and bucks her hips, seeking more, but you stop and kiss her neck again.

“Abby.” You call sweetly, not wanting to startle her, and she hums. “Wake up.”

“What's up?”

“Your dick.”

Abby laughs at this and you smile, happy. 

“Wanna do something about it?” 

You hum and stroke Abby's cock gently, feather like - the quickest way to get her worked up. Her scent gets heavier and you chuckle, gripping her cock tighter. Abby grunts and sneaks her arm behind your back, prodding at your hole - you're wet, your thighs are sticky with your cum.

“Got yourself worked up, huh?” Abby asks, her voice still sleepy and raspy. You nod and wiggle your butt, trying to get her fingers inside you. “How about you ride me?”

You gulp, suddenly extremely turned on, your scent getting thicker with desire, and Abby moves the blanket away. She helps you straddle her and you part your lips so they're on either side of Abby's cock, your clit dragging over her length. It's hot, you love covering Abby in your cum, feeling extremely possessive over her. 

Abby holds your hips in her strong hands and guides your moves on top of her, keeping them slow. You both pant and moan, you twitch when Abby pinches your nipple under your shirt. 

“Take it off.” Abby growls and you smile, a little fuzzy from her voice: she can't always control it, ordering you around. You throw your shirt somewhere and Abby grunts: seeing you on top of her, confident, safe, giggling and moaning, is the best view in her life. 

Abby squeezes your sides when your clit catches on the head of her cock, and when you slide up, you feel her poking your hole. It sends a hot wave down your spine and you try to do it again, slowing down every time you grind back, making Abby's cock press into you. 

Abby catches up on your actions and moans: you are a menace. She wishes you pushed a little harder, pulled her inside, into your tight, hot cunt. 

“Abby-”

“Yeah, baby?” Abby pants, watching your determined face. 

“Fuck me.”

Abby blinks and digs her fingers into your thighs, so fucking turned on: you want to take her. She will finally claim you, she will be the first (and the last) person you trust with this. You still smell a little nervous, but Abby learnt to read it by now: when you're good nervous and bad nervous. This seems to be a "good nervous" scent.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Abby brings you down and kisses you, kneading your ass so you could keep grinding against her, her scent quickly growing agressive. She pushes one finger in carefully and you moan, desperate.

“Abby, please-” You beg and Abby gulps, fighting for her self-control. 

She turns you both and slides down to put her mouth on you, and you whimper when Abby gently sucks on your clit. You're wet and you smell like her, your scents mixing together. It drives Abby crazy: she wants to mate you so fucking bad, she wants you to be hers for the rest of your lives. 

You take two of her fingers easily, dripping down her palm after all these times Abby fingered you, and Abby licks up all of your cum, addicted to your taste. But then Abby presses the third finger in and you grip her hair, excited. It goes tighter, but you love it - you even get a little sad when the sting of the stretch passes. Abby curls her fingers and you jump, dangerously close to your orgasm.

“Abby- Don't- don't make me cum.” You beg through your moans and Abby looks up.

“Why?”

“Want to cum on your cock.”

Abby would laugh if it didn't turn her on so much. She sucks your clit on purpose and you jump before tugging on her hair.

“I swear to god-” You start your threat but Abby curls her fingers, making you squeak. 

But Abby slows down: she wants you dripping, relaxed and blissed out before she fucks you. She keeps moving her fingers slowly while she licks and sucks on your pussy, and you sigh sweetly above her, your grip on her hair relaxing. Abby is almost lazy, but she watches you intently. You're wet, your cum mixed with her saliva and Abby moans quietly, getting off on the fact that she marked you. Your thighs start twitching soon, and you tug on Abby's hair again. 

“Come here.” You ask, and Abby obeys. She slowly takes her fingers out and kisses you, letting you taste yourself. You moan when you feel Abby's taste lingering as well.

“You're so beautiful.” Abby murmurs into your neck as she nuzzles you, wanting to comfort you and make you feel safe. 

You nuzzle back, grinning: you love how Abby takes care of you. You hug her shoulders and kiss her gently, slowing down as well. Abby snakes her hand between your bodies and slowly circles your clit with her thumb, watching intently as your face changes from pleasure; she tries not to overwhelm you. You sigh softly and Abby chuckles into your shoulder.

“You're cute.”

“Fuck off.” You laugh, embarrassed. Abby laughs too and kisses your tit before gently sucking on your nipple. You thread your fingers through Abby's hair and arch into her. “I love you.”

Abby's scent spikes and you giggle. 

“Love you so much.” She whispers feverishly into your skin. 

She takes a pillow and puts it under your butt, making you comfortable. Both of your clothes are around you and you feel extremely safe. It's Abby, it's your alpha, she will take care of you. You spread your legs and Abby parts your folds, replacing her thumb with her cock. You sigh and shake under her, too sensitive. You love when you grind against each other: it's so intimate and perfect. You know Abby loves it too, your slick making the best sounds for Abby's ears. 

You watch Abby frown and bite her lip to not make any sounds, so you kiss her, not letting her hide from you. Your clit catches on the head of her cock again and you both moan. 

“Come on, baby.” You encourage Abby and she nods, lining up her cock with your hole. 

“If I smell hurt, we're stopping.” She warns you and you nod. You don't want your alpha to know she hurt you during your most vulnerable time either.

Abby doesn't push right away, just lightly pressing on the edges of your hole like you did it yourself before, but when she gets the head of her cock wet enough, she pushes harder. 

“God.” Abby sighs, feeling your tight walls squeeze her cock. You don't smell like pain so Abby pushes further while you cling to her shoulders. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

You hum, but you're too concentrated on your own feelings: Abby is so big and it's a lot, it's intense and feels so different from her fingers. You're thankful she doesn't go all the way in, giving you time. Abby slowly pushes back and forth, fucking your gently until all of her length is inside you, and you relish in the feeling of her being in you. Abby bottoms out and you cling to her, turned on from being so full, so stretched. It doesn't hurt but it still stings a little - and you like it. You like knowing Abby is a little too big for you. 

“I'm gonna cum.” You whine when Abby slowly thrusts inside. You need one little touch to your clit and you'll come undone, you're sure of it. “Slowly, yeah?”

Abby nods and kisses you as she slowly fucks you; she doesn't go all the way out, letting you get used to it. You moan softly as she moves, her cock touching every nerve ending in your walls. 

“Good?” Abby asks, and you understand that she is nervous. Your heart swells with affection and your scent spikes with love.

“Perfect.” You smile and kiss her. “You can go harder.”

Abby grips your thighs and thrusts hard enough to punch the air out of you. You choke on your moan and Abby pulls out, watching her cock glisten with your cum. It makes her feral and she gets more confident, fucking you harder, letting her hips slap against yours. It's intense and you can't think, overwhelmed by how good it feels, so you let your brain go all fizzy.

“Fuck, Abby, please.” You whine desperately and Abby swallowa, gripping you harder. She doesn't want to hurt you, but you start bucking your hips, trying to get Abby deeper and that's it. 

Abby’s scent changes: it’s suffocating now, bending you to her will, dark and possessive. Abby pins your thighs to the bed and starts hammering inside you, growling on every thrust. She knows you can take it, smells your pleasure, so Abby doesn't restrain herself. She fucks you hard and fast, listening to your whines and whimpers with the only thought in her head:

“Mine.” Abby growls and you bare your throat for her like a good little omega you are. “You were made for my cock, taking it so well on your first try, huh? Good fucking girl.” Abby leans down and sucks a hickey into your scent glands, claiming you.

Your eyes roll into your skull and you claw at Abby's shoulders, so desperate. You're close, but your brain is a mush and you can only beg. Abby smirks and moves her hand down your thigh so she can hold you open and flick your clit with her thumb. 

You shake and cum with a loud moan, spasming around Abby's cock, and she groans. Abby bottoms out and stills, letting herself feel it, how your walls trap her inside. It's better than any of the fantasies she had before: not only you're so tight around her, but you're also so fucking pretty, with her mark blooming on your neck, your throat still bared. You're vulnerable, trusting, and Abby feels honoured she can get you to this point. But then she gets hungry. She starts moving again, and you're lost in your pleasure now: your head is so fuzzy, your cunt is full with your alpha's cock, and all you want now is for Abby to cum deep inside you, claiming you. 

“I'm yours, fuck-” You squeal when Abby thrusts especially deep. 

Abby chuckles and starts thumbing your clit, eager to make you cum again. 

“And I'm yours, pretty girl.” Abby sighs, getting hazy with her own devotion to you, the smell of love almost overpowering lust. “Cum.”

You close your thighs around Abby and cum again, not able to disobey her. It's a neat trick, having Abby use her voice on you, making you even more turned on. Abby moans softly as she tries to fuck you through your orgasm, but you spasm right on her head and she cums with a groan, bottoming out, painting your walls with her cum. You’re still pulsating around her, milking Abby’s cock and she pushes even deeper, until you choke on your moan and press on her shoulder to stop her, but you’re so deliciously tight Abby can’t help herself. She digs her nails into your inner thighs and pulls out just to see her cock covered in your and her cum, mixed together. 

“So fucking pretty.” Abby growls and pushes back in, overstimulating herself. You feel her twitch inside you, and you sigh, also overstimulated.

You're shaking, but you still find some strengh to bring Abby closer, burying your nose in her neck, whining and panting into her ear while she sinks her teeth into your shoulder gently, not causing any pain. 

“Jesus.” You pant as your head clears up. 

“Are you okay?” Abby asks and you chuckle: there she is, your caring soft alpha.

“I’m fucking floating in space, Abby.”

“Good.”

You lie like this for a few minutes before Abby pulls out - you wince, sore, and Abby comforts you with kisses. She insists on helping you in the shower and brings you her softest clothes, and you tease her for being so whipped. Abby rolls her eyes and puts her hoodie on you. It hurts to sit just a bit, but you don’t mind and hiss at Abby when she tries to make it easier for you. 

You’re hers, your body and soul, and you want the evidence of it to be constant. 

[peachyglo]

Good luck babe!

CW - Owen mention, fingering (R receiving), oral (R receiving), hair pulling (A receiving)

Reader is fem, described as wearing a dress and heels.

WC - about 3000

Leave me requests so I can get out my writers block pls and thx xo

If Abby Anderson wasn't in denial of her sexuality, there's a chance you two could've been real. You got along like a house on fire, practically a perfect match. But the mix of comphet, her on and off again relationship of Owen and her crippling fear of being vunrable has left you two like this. Having not talked in just over a month, not a word since your argument about the fact she had been using you as an experiment without considering how you felt. And how did you feel?

Crushed.

Maybe you should know better. But yet again it's a Friday night, your other hook ups weren't out tonight and who else but Abby fucking Anderson was giving you eyes from across the room. Leaning against the bar with a tight black wife beater that makes you drool and matching cargos.

It's the first time you'd seen each other since you screamed in her face and called her selfish. And yet the butterflies in your stomach were boardering on a stampede. Her eyes scanning your body up and down while her hand stays clutching her beer bottle. So tight you're almost worried it'll smash in her unforgiving grasp.

Against your better judgement you decide to ignore the angel on your shoulder, also known as your best friend Ellie. Chugging back your drink and handing her the glass. Starting to make your way over to Abby.

Ellie rolls her eyes and shouts after you. Hardly breaking through the noise. "Don't come crying to me when she breaks your heart again!"

"Cmon Els, it's just some fun" you call back before pushing your way through the crowed dance floor and coming out at the other side. Looking up at those baby blue eyes that make a rush of emotions flow through you. You should be mad at her, should cuss her out again for using you. But tonight, you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

You just needed her again.

"Can I get you a drink?" Her normally confident voice has a slight wavier to it. It makes a slight smirk spread across your lips as you take the beer from her hand. Taking a large drink before your nose scrunches up at the taste. You were more of a spirits girl, a cocktail if you felt fancy.

"So no Owen tonight?" The venom in your voice is clear. There's not a soul in Jackson you wanted to punch more than him. The whole reason Abby was so unsure of herself in the first place. The way he managed to weasel his way back into her life time and time again. But yet you couldn't hate Abby for doing the same thing to you.

"He's back with Mel...shes pregnant." You give her a sympathetic look before handing her back the bottle. "I don't wanna talk about it" she mumbles, barely loud enough for you to hear over the thumping music. She finishes it off before placing it on the bar counter behind her.

"How about we don't talk at all then?" You say before she can even turn back around. Watching as her movements stiffen, and she slowly faces you again. Cheeks flushed that shade of pink you could never be sick of. "Your place is close, Ellie's gonna meet with Dina soooo". Your sentence trails off, the suggestion in your voice clear.

The mention of your best friend makes her eyes widen. Looking around the room to try and spot her. "Ellies here?". There's a slight fear in her voice, something that makes you roll your eyes and scoff.

"Oh calm your tits Anderson you could literally kill her, I don't know why you're you're scared".

"Um let me think" she says sarcastically before looking down at you. "The psycho bitch keyed my car". You fight back the giggle that wants to escape your lips. After days of you crying over your ruined situationship Ellie took it into her own hands. And while you told her it was a stupid idea, you couldn't help but hug her and say thank you.

"Can't prove that" you shrug, looking down at your feet a little nervously. Scuffing your heels off the ground. "Look if you dont-"

"I do" she interrupts, her hand now resting onto your exposed arm. You look back into her eyes. Taking a deep breath and accepting that this was going to hurt tomorrow, but it was worth it. Since even just this little touch was making your skin feel like it's on fire.

"Say it." Your voice is stern, watching as Abby bites her lip softly. Leaning down to whisper into your ear.

"I...I want to fuck you"

Your hand comes up to hers, interlocking your fingers and leading her out. "Cmon then" the judgmental gaze coming from Ellie catches your attention before you reach the door. So you wave over and mouth 'I'll call you' while making a phone with your hand. As soon as you're out the warmth of the bar and in the unforgivng chill of the night, a shiver runs up your shine. "Fuck it's cold!" You squeal slightly.

Abby chuckles, looking around to make sure no one can see you two before her arm wraps around your shoulder. "Wouldn't be cold if you wore real clothes." The playfully dig at your revealing dress makes you push her away. With a fake gasp you point a finger into her defined arm.

"Don't slut shame me Anderson" you giggle softly before returning to her side looking up at her. Taking in the way the streetlamp lights bounce off her features. The way her hair flowed in the slight breeze, it was down for once tucked neatly behind her ears. "Besides I was trying to get fucked not stay warm" The slight look of hurt that flashes across her face makes you raise an eyebrow. "What? You jealous?"

"No" she protests, but they way she won't look at you is telling. Before you can question her again, she points towards the door to her apartment complex. Leading you over before punching in her code and opening the door for you. "Cmon before you get hypothermia"

You walk in and wait for her to be back beside you before you both continue up the stairs. "I thought you were meant to be a super smart med student, it's not cold enough for hypothermia". You're trying to lighten up the mood by teasing her lightly. Remembering the time you were convinced you had hypothermia because the heating in her apartment had gone out while you were over. Her door comes into view, and you listen to her dig the key out from her pocket.

"Yeah yeah, just get inside" Abby rolls her eyes while holding the door open for you again. Maybe it would be easier to hate her if she wasn't so kind, if she wasn't so pretty, if she didn't know you so well. The door shuts behind you as you take off your heels. When you turn Abby is just standing there. Fidgeting with her fingers and avoiding eye contact. "Look um...I- I'm sorry-"

"Save it Abby" you inturput, knowing that it would be nothing productive. It would be the say sorry she gave you atleast five times before you blocked her number. "I don't want an apology I want to cum" Abby steps towards you slowly, your hands moving up to her chest. She quickly takes off her boots before straightening back up.

"Yes ma'am" you giggle softly as her hands wrap around your waist and lift you up. Forcing your legs to wrap around her waist as she carries you to the bedroom. Taking your purse and putting it onto her nightstand before gently placing you down onto her navy blue sheets. Moving so she's looming over you. Her calloused hand running up your outer thigh, inching under the thin fabric of your dress as her lips trail down your jaw to your neck. Sucking a purple mark right in your pulse point that has you gripping for her hair.

"Fuck" you moan softly, feeling her smirk into your skin. You sit up inpatiently, pushing her back by her chest as you fumbling with the zipper on your dress. Huffing when you can't reach it.

"Desperate much?" Abby teases before reaching around and pulling it down for you. Helping to pull the fabric off before throwing it onto the floor. Letting her see the matching lingerie you had picked out for the night. "You really were trying to get fucked huh?"

"Yeah" you swallow hard as her eyes scan over you slowly. "You like it?" The truth was you had bought it for her, baby blue lace that matched her eyes. But she called off your little situatuonship before you got to show her.

Abby reaches her hand out for your cheek, pulling you in. This was new. She'd never been one for kissing during. You guys had made out maybe a hand full of times. Her lips touch yours, and you just melt into her. Arms drapping around her shoulders as she pushes you backwards. Her hand running up from your thigh to your chest. Palming your breast through the barley there fabric. When you moan softly she takes the chance to push her tongue past your lips. Deepening the kiss as your nails start to big into the skin of her upper back. When she finally pulls away slightly, the thin string of saliva still joining you together makes your stomach tighten.

"Abs" you whine softly, arching your back so she can slip her hands around and undo the clasp of your bra. Adding it to the floor alongside your dress.

She kisses you quickly "I love it". Abby mumbles before restarting her trail down your body. From your jaw to your neck, ending at your breast when she takes a nipple in her mouth. Swirling her tounge around the hardened bud as you arch into her. Moaning softly as your eyes flutter shut. Fuck you missed this. The way she made you come undone. Every touch so purposeful.

And God knows if she'd ever let you touch her you'd be the same.

The feeling of her fingers brushing over your clit through your panties makes you gasp. Slightly embrassed by the fact Abby can definitely feel the wetness seeping through the fabric.

"Stop- stop teasing me Abs" you plead as her mouth detaches from your nipple.

"Cmon pretty girl you clearly like it" she teases, rubbing your soaked panties. "What do you want?" You just look at her and bite your lip. Eyes darting down to her fingers but she tsks while shaking her head. "Say it" your own words repeated back to you. Because as much as Abby was unsure of herself when it came to you in public. In the comfort of her own four walls, she's as confident as ever.

"Fuck me" you say, the shake in your voice making Abby smirk. You clear your throat before speaking clearly. "Please Abby fuck me". Her fingers hook onto your panties as she moves back. Slowly peeling them off you and adding them to the pile. You sit up and tug at her shirt. Hoping she'll be feeling generous.

"Baby-"

"Please Abs" you cut her off, bringing your hands up to cup her cheeks gently. "I- I won't touch you, I know the rules by now just...wanna see you" she presses a hand to yours before nodding. Pulling back to grab them hem of her shirt. Slowly pulling it up and over her head.

When you started this situationship you asked her why she didn't like being naked. Why she never asked for anything in return. And the tough girl you'd known just looked at you softly and said. 'I just...I don't think I look good'. You left it at that, but you couldn't help the pity you felt for her. Because the truth was Abby was stunning, maybe the most gorgeous girl you'd ever seen. But there was clearly a voice in her head, who you could only assumed was Owen, telling her otherwise.

When her shirt hits the ground your eyes wander over her body, taking in her black sports bra and her washboard abs like you're obsessed with. "You're so pretty." You don't even realise you've said anything until she blushes softly. As Abby leans beck over you, you reach up and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear gently. Just holding her for a second. God, you aren't drunk enough for this. A wave of feelings washing over you like a tsunami.

"What do you want baby?" Abbys voice breaks through your haze. "I've got the str-"

"Fingers" you inturput, just desperate to feel her. Just her.

"You don't usually want fingers" she teases "that's normally your warm up" Abby slowly moves her hands up your inner thighs, spreading your legs so she can look at your dripping pussy. "Fuck...you're soaked"

"Mhmm" you gasp her her fingers make contact with your clit. Making your hips jump slightly in a way that makes Abby chuckle. "You drive me crazy Abs"

She starts to move in slow, steady circles around your sensitive bud. Working soft gasps and moans from your lips as she kisses up your thighs. "Wanna taste you" she mumbles into your skin. Sure, you heard it but she didn't need to know that. So you snake your hand into her blonde locks at give her a gentle tug.

"What was that?" The fake innocence in your voice almost makes you want to laugh.

Abby looks away from you and goes to say it again so you place your hand on her jaw. Forcing her to keep eye contact. "I want to taste you" you raise an eyebrow, waiting on more. "Please?" The way her voice trembles slightly is the biggest ego boost. Working such a strong, confident woman to a mess like this is better than any drink you could've bought at the bar.

As soon as you nod your head and release her jaw, Abby wastes no time. Kissing down your stomach before her lips meet your clit. She gives you one fat lick from your hole to clit, her arms wrapping around your thighs to bring your legs over her shoulders. Abby's grip is so tight even if you wanted to move you'd stand no chance so instead you throw your head back into the pillow. Moaning shamlessly as her tounge works around your clit.

The pleasure makes a warmth spread across your body, your hand tangled in her hair as you hold her close to you. Trying to grind your hips into her but stopped by her hands pinning you down. You're almost convinced there's going to be bruises there tomorrow. "A- Abby" You whine, pleading for more.

She pulls back slightly, looking up at you with your wetness dripping down her chin. "Hmm?"

"Fingers please" your hand squeezes over her own. "Please Abby I'm so close"

Humming softly, she loosens her grip of her right hand. Slowly tracing over your skin until she reaches your mouth. You don't need to be told. Parting your lips, you let her push in. Sucking while keeping eyecontact. When she pulls them out you whine at the lose but it doesn't last long. As they slip into your hole your eyes roll back. "Fuck you're so wet" Abby gasps softly. Once you take her down to the knuckles she let's you adjust. "You good?"

"Mhm" you moans softly "move Abs please?". She doesn't need to be told twice, her fingers slowly starting to pump in and out of you as her mouth moves back to your clit. You can't help but clentch around her as she works you to your peak. Her neighbours must hate her, or really they must hate you. The way your loud moans echo throughout the room as she gets you closer and closer. You grip the sheets beneath you, screwing your eyes shut as your back arches. Orgasm washing over you while all you can do is chant her name over and over and over again. Completely lost in the pleasure.

Abby's pace slows after your finish over her fingers. Only pulling out once your breathing starts to steady and you open your eyes again. She moves up next to you, slumping down as your arms stay pressed together. The sudden silence hanging thick in the air. Uncomfortable, tense. But you break it.

"Are you gonna accept you like women yet?" You ask quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

"I don't" you don't wait for her to continue, instead you move yourself off the bed to start pulling on your underwear. You've been here so many times you just make your way to her closet, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a tshirt that's going to drown you. Planning on adding them to your small collection if her clothes. Even if they had all been shoved to the back of your closet. Abby sits up, stammer out some kind of explanation as you don't look at her. "I- I mean I do, but you know that this is"

"Mhm" you reply, the agitation clear in your tone. You quickly fix your hair to the best of your ability before picking up your dress and pulling out your phone from your purse. Slinging the bag over your arm as you request an Uber.

Abby just looks at you, nervously playing with the end of her hair. "I- its just the way I am-"

You inturput her with a sigh, finally looking at her with a slight pity. "It's not just gonna go away, but its your life Abby if you wanna be misrable and act like you dont like women thats your call" your app pings letting you know the ubers already here and you're silently thankful. Because the familiar feeling of falling for Abby is creeping back into you. "Good luck, babe" you say softly before heading out. Glancing down at your heels at the door with a groan. Reluctantly slipping them on before hurrying down to the Uber.

Maybe one day she'll change.

[peachyglo]

I’m so not normal about how you write alpha!abby I need more😩

Palestine: what can you do

Thank you for your req, I've missed writing alpha!abby it was so fun!(although this one is sappy)

Fri(end)s

alpha!abby x omega!reader

Tags: dead dove: do not eat. a/b/o universe (female alphas have dicks), modern AU, hurt/comfort, "alphas and omegas can be friends!!" delusion, they really stretch the definition of friendship. No full smut but they get horny.

Inspired by "Friends" by V.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

People say there's no such thing as a friendship between an alpha and an omega. You disagree. 

People just need to embrace the inherent lust that comes with being friends with your opposite and you can be great friends. Instead of fearing to make everything awkward when you both smell your attraction, you should acknowledge it and laugh about it. Be each other's ego boosters. It's not that hard. 

For example, you and Abby - you've been friends for years. It did start with Abby hitting on you, but she backed off immediately when you explained that you're not interested. Anyway, Abby stayed and asked to be your friend, and you agreed - Abby was cool and smart. It later became a running joke between the two of you where Abby'd jokingly hit on you just to get on your nerves or make you smile. 

That's pretty much how you overcame the awkward barrier: you started being honest with each other about everything. You formed a bond so intimate between the two of you that people often mistook you for a couple. You didn't mind. It wouldn't happen anyway, since Abby was a player. 

You had no idea how many omegas Abby's fucked in her lifetime, but you rarely saw the same omega twice. Abby kinda had a reputation around campus. She was aware of it, but what could she do? It wasn’t her fault her dick was good. And listen, Abby wasn’t an asshole, no one could catch her disrespecting omegas or talking who and how and when she fucked. People just knew. Well, it was hard not to know when her partners reeked of her after, but the point stood - Abby was a lady, not a prick when it came to privacy.

She fucked omegas that no one would believe to even have such dirty thoughts/time to fuck around/ability to feel sexual attraction or whatever reason insecure incel alphas kept telling themselves - and Abby always stayed discrete if omegas asked her too. Because that was how you got pussy, you fucking morons, not by insulting and being entitled. 

So Abby didn’t care that she had a reputation - she only cared if her partners felt safe and enjoyed themselves, and as long as it stayed this way, Abby was happy. 

And you knew all of this, because you were her best friend. She told you all of it during one night when you were drinking wine and you asked her about how she felt about her reputation. 

Then Abby asked about your deal, and you honestly told her that you didn't know: you loved the touch and flirting but you felt like you didn't have space for relationships. That you haven't met anyone yet who'd make you want to make an effort - of course Abby joked about her being the one and you laughed. 

“Well, if I ever need help, I'll come to you.” You winked and Abby laughed as well. 

It was easy between the two of you to what some would say, an alarming point where the boundaries of friendship became blurry. 

It wasn't a rare occurrence when you'd be at a party, pleasantly drunk, and then after what felt like an hour of dancing, you'd find Abby, sitting somewhere and sipping her whiskey, looking unapologetically hot in her muscle tee and jeans, and you'd get onto her lap, hugging her neck while she'd support your weight by grabbing your thigh. Her scent would get stronger and you'd smile into her shoulder, teasing her. Sometimes, of course, you'd find Abby with another omega already, her hands exploring and grabbing her partner, and you'd grin and go do something else. You always expect yourself to be upset, but strangely, you never are - Abby is your friend and you're happy she is getting some. 

Tonight is a little different. You're sleepy and horny and overall, want to feel someone's warmth and touch. So you find Abby and straddle her. She doesn't even lift a brow, just holds you by your waist and keeps you safe. Abby smells your arousal and chuckles, but you stick your tongue out.

“I fucking hate being an omega.” You say and start playing with Abby's hair while she is caressing your back. It's soft and cosy despite you being all horny. It's not flirty, it's not subtle: you two just love being close, and Abby radiates her presence, making everyone look away in fear of challenging her. Abby locks her arms behind your back and you arch into her.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Wanna fuck so bad.”

Abby laughs and looks at you with her red eyes: she can't control it when she is drunk and has you on her lap. Abby smells your scent and smirks, her canines growing longer, her presence getting stronger, scaring other alphas away.

“Well, you know I'm always available for you.” You smack her on her shoulder and Abby laughs. 

“Don't fucking tease me, bitch.” 

“We can make out if it'd make you feel better.” Abby shrugs. You think for a second.

“Yeah. Let's make out. I bet you're a good kisser.”

“Five stars reviews, baby.”

You laugh, but Abby is already cupping your cheek and guiding you down to her level so she can kiss you. You go pliant when her warm lips touch yours: Abby is a good kisser. She is slow and gentle, but you feel the power and control behind her movements. She is holding you with one arm on your waist while she is grabbing your neck with the other one, her thumb stroking your jaw. 

It doesn't feel like you two are toeing on some kind of line you're not allowed to cross: it feels natural and normal, like you've done it a million times before. Maybe you feel this way because Abby is confident and knows what she is doing, but she also doesn't push you further. You're just lazily making out, her warm tongue is on top of yours, exploring your mouth. It feels good.

You feel Abby getting harder under you and you grind against her crotch just to be a little shit, and she stops kissing you. 

“And I'm a tease?”

“I love seeing you suffer.” You grin and Abby kisses you again, holding your hips down so you won't be able to grind anymore.

It's affirming, it's an ego boost: you love seeing Abby, hot and amazing alpha, being so weak around you. Abby loves knowing she is the only one who you allow to touch you - loves smelling how horny she can get you. So you keep making out and talking for the rest of the night, existing in your own little bubble. It’s beautiful. 

After, Abby takes you home and you cuddle in her bed before you fall asleep, Abby's strong arm pulling you close, her hair making a cloud of her scent around you, keeping you safe and protected. 

In the morning you wake up with her hard cock pressing into your thigh and you sigh - you want to sleep more, not being humped by a sleeping alpha. Abby shifts and grinds against you in her sleep, and your cunt throbs: you've never been so close to an alpha who is aroused. New experience, but this is Abby, and you want to fucking sleep.

You just shake her shoulder and she grunts, unhappy. 

“Come on, Anderson, you have a morning wood.” You tell her, still sleepy. Abby shifts and turns on her back, taking you with her so your head is on her chest and if you could've been bothered and opened your eyes, you'd have seen the outline of her cock under the covers. 

But you go back to sleep. 

So this is how your friendship is: you're so close there's almost no boundaries between you. You're not afraid to smell horny around Abby and you feel good about yourself when you smell her being horny about you. You're never upset about her hookups and she doesn't growl at every alpha who looks your way. It's perfect.

The smell of love comes early into your friendship, and you both tease each other about it, “can't believe you love me it's so embarrassing”. Abby is your closest friend and you love her, and you two are proof of an alpha and an omega capable of being friends. 

You're comfortable with each other to the point where you complain about your cycles and how fucking horny and unsatisfied you both are during this time: usually it's you who complains because Abby fucks through her ruts. You always tease her about smelling like her lucky omega, but Abby just smirks, still rut high. She looks deliciously dangerous after her rut and the smell of attraction grows stronger between the two of you. Usually Abby’d invite you for a bottle of wine after her rut ends and your drunk makeouts would get more passionate too, since Abby wouldn't hesitate to grab and knead your ass, making you grind on her cock. This is the only time when you let awkwardness fill the room: Abby doesn't control herself and you have to stop her before it goes too far. 

(This is the only time when your heart flutters and your hopes rise. This is the only time that threatens to ruin your perfect friendship. 

You know if you sleep with Abby, you'll never be friends again. You'll get territorial about her, and Abby doesn't need it - it's a question of incompatibility between the two of you. 

So you stop her.) 

But the universe doesn't like anything that is perfect - it's against her nature. The balance is in imbalance, and it tries to restore itself. 

For the last few months your heats have been getting worse - you’re stressed, you can’t sleep and you feel like shit. Your mood swings start to get worse as well - if before you’d just get a little sad and then fall down into the horny fog of a heat, now your mood stays longer in the sad space. It’s tiring.

And this heat hits you very hard. You're not horny, you're in pain and sad and it's hard to maintain your mind. You wish you were just horny - you could just bury your nose in Abby's hoodie that she always lends you before your heat and you'd keep fucking yourself until the heat wave would pass. 

You do bury your nose in Abby's hoodie, but it makes you cry even more. You feel so alone and so useless, like no one truly needs you and you'll never find your happiness, like you're bound to die alone. It's terrifying and makes you sob, and you can't be bothered to be horny because what's the point of it if you will be alone all your life? 

Abby:

u ok?

You scramble to your phone and cry harder: Abby cares. Abby knows about your last struggles with your heats and she checks on you.  You're not alone. 

So you call her.

“Doll, I'm not doing phone sex-” Abby says jokingly, but then she hears you sob loudly. “What happened?” Abby's voice shakes. “Where are you? Fuck, talk to me-”

You take a big breath before Abby'd worry herself into an early grave. 

“I'm fine. I'm home.” You sniff. “I just- It's so bad, Abby.”

“Are you hurt?” Abby is still worried. 

“No. It's a mood swing.” You cry again, feeling so broken. “I feel so fucking alone. And you texted me and I- sorry, fuck.” You wipe your tears and hug her hoodie, pressing the phone closer to your ear. You feel ridiculous - you know it’s your hormones talking.

“Hey, I'm here.” Abby says, trying to soothe you, but you cry harder.

“What if I end up alone? What if I never meet my person? I spend all those fucking heats alone and it's so hard, and I can't think of doing it for the rest of my life all by myself.” You fall into another fit of sobs. Abby is silent for a moment.

“I'm coming over.” Abby says, dead serious, and you suddenly sober up. 

“I'm in heat, Abby, you can't come over!” You sit on your bed, worried.

“I don't fucking care! You're hurting and you're alone, I can't let this happen.” You hear Abby rustle around. “Can you do something for me while I'm on my way?”

“I can try.” You say without any hope.

“Go drink some water and take a shower. And send me some pics so I know you did it, okay?”

“I'm so not sending nudes, Abby.” You chuckle without any bite. Abby huffs. 

“Go drink your water.” Abby ends the call and you stare at your phone for a second. 

You try to keep yourself together - you send Abby pictures of an empty glass and a hem of a towel when you're done, but it takes five minutes before your mood swings again. You shake and try to breathe through another spiral into hell, but it's so fucking hard. You get to the point where you start rocking back and forth like an anxious child, trying to self-soothe. You feel like you're in some kind of trance until you hear your doorbell. 

You fly to the door before your dam would break: you open the door to Abby who's panting loudly - she probably ran up the stairs. 

It takes a second for both of you to comprehend the situation before Abby throws everything on the floor and scoops you in her arms, and you break, sobbing into her chest and clinging to her shoulders. Abby's scent soothes you, protectiveness radiating from her while she holds you tight and kisses your head. 

“I'm here.” She murmurs and you cling to her harder. “I'm not going anywhere. I'll keep you safe.”

It takes five minutes of breathing Abby's scent for your hormones to calm down. You sniff before moving away, but Abby doesn't let you, still holding you. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” You say honestly and Abby lets you go. 

Her eyes are red and she tries not to breathe too much, and you feel ashamed - she got here to comfort you but you stink of heat. Of course Abby reacts to it, she can’t help it, and now she will be stuck between taking care of you and taking care of you. It’s unfair to her. 

“I will take scent blockers.” You turn to go to the kitchen, but Abby stops you, gently holding your bicep. 

“No. It's not the heat. It's the hurt.” You wince: you know it's hard for alphas to smell hurt on omegas. “And I have pretty good self-control.” 

You chuckle and let Abby take her shoes off. She is in joggers and her favourite hoodie, looking cosy and comfortable. You want to cuddle her, and this is exactly what Abby does. She makes you drink another glass of water, feeds you a banana and takes you to your bed. 

Abby stops when she sees her hoodie on your bed like she didn't expect you to actually use it. (Like she totally doesn't use your hoodie when she is too sad to find a rut buddy). But Abby doesn't say anything and just tugs you to the bed, enveloping you in her arms and her scent. It's warm and beautiful and you bury your nose in her skin. 

You don't talk. Abby caresses you and kisses you head from time to time while you get upset again. 

“I fucking hate being an omega.” You sniff. Abby presses you closer, her scent gets stronger, reacting to your distress. “There's something wrong with me, I swear.”

“You're perfect.” Abby murmurs and you blink your tears away. 

“It's so hard, Abby. It's unbearable. With every heat I get more worn out and upset.” You cry quietly. “I will go on suppressants, I don't want to suffer like this anymore.”

Abby swallows. Suppressants are no joke, they ruin people’s health - that’s why they’re taken in emergencies. For everything else there’s scent blockers that don’t disturb cycles and don’t put people in danger. 

“We will figure it out. We will get you back into normal horny heats and you’ll complain about it to me, I promise.” 

It soothes you and you fall asleep, your scent slowly changing to your usual love scent, the one that Abby loves the most. 

Abby knows that sometimes omegas go through their cycle with a lot more pain than normal, but seeing you, the fucking light of her life, suffer like this is torture. She’d honestly prefer to hold herself back from fucking you because you’re in heat, and not wipe your tears while you tell her how scared you’re of ending up alone. 

Abby watches your calm face and caresses your cheek. If you only knew.

“I’ll always be here.” Abby murmurs, knowing you won’t hear her. “I’m yours.” She kisses your forehead.

When Abby moves away she is met with your wide eyes. 

Her heart stops. You’re silent, lost for words, but something starts happening: your scent gets stronger and Abby can see golden sparks as your eyes start to change colour. 

“Fuck.” You sigh. Your chest gets tighter and your cunt starts pulsing with need. “Ab-”

Abby kisses you roughly, pressing your head into the pillow and she shoves her tongue into your mouth, her hands gripping your waist, and now you’re lost in her scent and touch, arching and whimpering into her mouth. It feels amazing, you’re soaking your pants while you cling to Abby and relax under her, submitting to your alpha.  You’ve never felt so good during your heat and you want more. You buck your hips into Abby and she grinds her cock on your pussy, making you shudder and moan. The kiss gets messier, there’s a lot of spit on your chins, but you don’t care - you want Abby closer, you want her in you, stretching you on her cock, knotting you. 

“Abby-” You moan into her mouth and Abby growls. “Fuck me, please.” 

Abby growls louder and licks your neck, her canines brushing against your skin and you whine, desperate. But then Abby stops kissing you neck, stops moving and her grip on you eases. 

“Fuck.” Abby sighs into your neck. She smells how worked up and desperate you are, and she has to fight herself to not fuck you right now. “You’ll regret it. I’m not going to hurt you like this.” Abby rasps and your heart breaks. 

You feel rejected and the smell of hurt fills Abby’s nose. She looks at you and her heart breaks from seeing you cry, knowing she did this. You can’t just reject an omega during their heat - it messes them up and then they won’t be able to keep you in their lives after, too hurt and ashamed. 

“I want to, doll.” Abby tries to console you. “I really fucking want to, but I need you to be sober before we do anything. Look at me.” You obey and Abby kisses your tears. “I promise you, if you agree to this when this wave subsides, I’ll do whatever you need me to. For now we can keep kissing.”

It makes you feel better and you nod, tugging Abby down to kiss her again. You still are very horny and Abby has to pin your hips so you won’t grind against her, but you want to cum and you keep squirming under her while Abby tries to slow down the pace of your kiss. She is so gentle and careful, and eventually you melt and relax, the heat wave going away. It takes a solid twenty minutes of kissing and Abby holding you down before your head gets clearer. You break the kiss and sigh, relieved you’ve finally got a break. Abby looks like she has everything under control and she totally didn’t have to fight you and herself so you wouldn’t make a mistake. Her scent though tells you how much she has to restrain herself - it’s thick and heavy, aggressive, domineering. Abby didn’t lie when she said she wants to fuck you as much you want her to fuck you, and it makes you hormone-crazy heart feel better.

 “You weren’t lying when you said you have amazing self-control.” You murmur and brush Abby’s hair out of her face. Abby chuckles. 

“Are you feeling better?”

“I’m not all sex crazy right now, if this is what you are asking.”  You keep caressing Abby’s hair. She blinks a few times, but the red doesn’t leave her eyes. “Thank you for handling this so well.”

Abby smiles and kisses your cheek. The question hangs in the air.

“I’m-” You take a deep breath full of Abby’s pheromones and it messes with your head, but you try to find the right words. You don’t want Abby to feel rejected too. “I’m not ready to spend my heat with a partner.” I won’t be able to let you go if we do this. 

Abby does smell of regret, but she smiles at you. 

“Of course. But call me if you get upset again. I don’t want you to be alone.”

You nod and walk Abby out, kissing her goodbye. You lock the door after her and sigh, knowing what is ahead. 

You spend three days fucking yourself to a memory of Abby saying I’m yours. 

Only after you’ve recovered and got back to yourself you’re hit with a realisation that Abby actually told you she is yours. You try to find a way to justify her words, to connect it with your friendship and how close you two are, but even your levels of almost no boundaries can’t create a good excuse.

You were not meant to hear her. She thought you were asleep. It was her secret. 

So Abby didn’t say it to make you feel better or trick you heat-brain into calming down - her scent and touch already did it. There was no reason for her to say it unless she fucking meant it. You don’t know what to do. You never thought Abby’d be interested in something like an actual relationship with you.

Your perfect friendship was built on two opposing facts: Abby is a player, and you’re fine being alone until you meet your person. And now you’re not fine being alone because deep down you know she is your person, and Abby said she is yours without wanting you to know. 

You feel like you’re going crazy. You’re terrified of any awkwardness that will inevitably come with this whole ordeal. You know you won’t be able to hide your uncomfortable, shaking discovery from Abby - she is your best friend after all, she will know something is up with you. 

You manage to act normal for a week without Abby getting suspicious - you two are still flirty, but now when Abby touches you, you feel like she sets you on fire with how your cheeks burn. Now there’s a hidden meaning behind her touch - the one you were not supposed to know.

The song on the radio makes you break. 

Abby is driving you two to the Korean restaurant she found and wanted to show you, and you two sit in comfortable silence - Abby is focused on the road and you stare out of the window, taking the view of this part of the city, when this song comes on the radio.

You're in my head / I had plans for the weekend / But wound up with you instead / Back here again  / Got me deep in my feelings / When I should be in your bed 

Your cheeks burn. It is a weekend and Abby spends time with you, taking you, her best friend, to the restaurant. Does she want to be in your bed?

You and I go back to like '09, it's like forever / And you were there my lonely nights, yeah / Keeping me together / So wouldn't it make sense if I was yours? / And you could call me your baby / But we say we're just, say we're just-

You breath hitches. This song is stripping you of any kind of pretence. Your smell changes and Abby looks at you for a second.

Friends, just for now / Yeah, but friends don't say words that / Make friends feel like more than just / Friends, just for now / Now, I'm over pretending / So let's put the "end" in friends

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just remembered something.” Abby hums and doesn’t ask you further.

Friends are not supposed to get too close / And feel emotions that / We're feeling now, now, now / We ain't slowing down, down, down / But once we cross the line / There's no denying you and / I can never turn around, 'round, 'round / Know we'll never be the same 

You take a shaking breath when you think back to your heat, begging Abby to fuck you. Yes, you will never be the same. But you have a choice to make.

“This song is about us.” You chuckle nervously. 

“Really? Sorry, I didn’t pay attention.” Abby laughs, but starts to pay attention now, while you wait for the traffic light to turn green.

You and I go back to like '09, it's like forever / And you were there my lonely nights, yeah / Keeping me together / So wouldn't it make sense if I was yours? / And you could call me your baby / But we say we're just, say we're just-

Friends, just for now / Yeah, but friends don't say words that / Make friends feel like more than just / Friends, just for now / Now, I'm over pretending / So let's put the "end" in friends

Abby clears her throat. She doesn’t joke or flirt - she understands. 

“Yeah. It is about us.”

Abby doesn’t say anything more, but her scent gets a little spicy - she is nervous as well. You also don’t say anything - she is driving, after all. Not the time for this conversation. It’s the first time in your friendship when there’s so much thick, nervous tension between you. 

Abby parks the car and you just sit for a moment, feeling like you need to talk about it right now. Abby clears her throat again.

“So do you want to put the "end" in friends?” Abby asks quietly, not knowing why did you bring it up - do you want to stop being friends or do you want to be something more?

You chuckle, endeared by Abby’s nervousness - she is always confident and calm, you’ve never seen her like this. 

“You told me you’re mine.” You start, fidgeting with your fingers. You’re scared to cross this line and change everything, but you want to. “It made me happy. And very fucking confused, because- You know what I mean.” You cringe - you’re not going to include Abby’s sex life in your confession. “Were you serious about it?”

Abby lost any filter right after she heard “it made me happy”, so she just bursts, spilling all her feelings for you.

“I’m in love with you. I wanna marry you and have a fucking picket fence and a dog and two and a half children with you.” Abby says while her scent becomes ten times stronger with love. “You’re the one for me.”

You blink your happy tears away and look at Abby’s face, full of love and devotion. 

“Maybe we should start with a date?”

Abby smiles and takes your face into her hands, kissing you with so much love you can swim in it.

“A date sounds good.”

[peachyglo]

Baby, I'm yours

Bouncer!Abby x Reader > PART ONE Synopsis: Abby takes you on a date <3 tags/Warnings: 1.6k words, fluff fluff fluff, there’s a bottle of wine, Abby rides a motorbike, reciprocated lesbian pining, there’s like a tiny bit of sexual tension, they kiss!! This is so self indulgent.

Every notification that ran through Abby’s apartment sent her rushing over to her phone, face dropping in disappointment each time. Biting her lip, she scolds herself for being so impatient after only meeting you the night before. I mean, who is to say you even want to message her? You were still a bit hazy at the time she said goodbye and maybe you woke up and realized you had no interest in her. With a frustrated groan she plops down on her couch, laying her head on the back of it to stare blankly at the ceiling. Why can she not get you out of her head? 

The entire morning you had been pacing back and forth in your bedroom, your socks padding against the floors with each step. Seriously, why was this so difficult? She clearly was interested in you; otherwise, why would she have given you her number? Sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for your phone, you stare at the screen in an attempt to will yourself into just sending the message. Your fingers reach for her contact, dancing along the keyboard. Typing, deleting, typing, deleting. Every message either came out weird or too forward or seemingly uninterested. Seriously, it's been WAY too long since you’ve been into anyone. 

Finally you settled on a simple “hey! it’s the girl from last night, thanks for the ride home”. A reply gets sent back almost instantly. 

Hearing another notification, Abby pushes down the excitement bubbling up, telling herself to stop being so desperate but when she sees a text from an unknown number, she leaps to answer it. “Hey!! It’s really no problem, I’m glad you got home safe :)” 

A week of exchanging messages back and forth, gradually getting to know one another through gentle questions and sweet remarks ends with Abby finally asking the question she’s wanted to ask since you both started talking. 

“Hey, no pressure of course but if you are free any time soon i’d love to take you on a date”

“i’d love to! i’m free tomorrow?” 

“Sounds perfect, can I pick you up at 4? I have somewhere I’d love to take you.”

The following evening arrives in a flurry of butterflies residing permanently in your stomach. You smooth out your dress for the hundredth time, glancing between your reflection in the mirror and phone lighting up with a text from Abby. 

“On my way now, see you soon :)” 

Your heart hammers in your chest at the thought of seeing her again, though this time under intentional circumstances. 

Around twenty minutes later a gentle knock sounds at the door. Taking a steadying breath you mentally prepare yourself, straightening your posture before swinging the door open smoothly. Abby stands before you, hands stuffed hesitantly into the pockets of her leather jacket. Your eyes scan over her, her features are softer in the daylight. You can see the freckles on her pale cheeks that weren’t visible the night you had met. 

“Hey” she smiles, tone gentle and timid in contrast to her tough exterior. You return her smile. “Hi! come in while I grab what I need.” Stepping aside you allow her room to enter, closing the door behind her broad frame. 

Abby rocks on her heels, eyes wandering your home, taking in the decorations you have around. Her eyes land on a picture of you and - who she assumes - are your friends. A small “cute” is mumbled under her breath. “So, where are you taking me?” You inquire, curiosity piqued as you walked over to her. Her expression turns sheepish. 

“I, uh, packed us a little picnic. Figured we could watch the sunset in the park, if that’s okay?” Her words lift at the end in question, anxious she may have planned too much too soon. 

(Lesbians, can’t be casual about anything)

Your eyes are soft and earnest as you reply. “I’d really like that. Thank you, Abby” Hearing her name spoken so sweetly off your tongue gives her a surge of confidence, so she extends her hand for you to take.

As you walk out to her bike, she hands you a helmet as well as a jacket, much more prepared for a second passenger this time. Her bike roars to life beneath you once more.

All too soon the scenery blurs to a halt, Abby kicking the stand down and guiding you off with care. You watch as she lifts her helmet off, blonde strands of hair falling in front of her face. She leads you through a trail into a secluded spot, before reaching into her bag and gently spreading a blanket across the grass. There are small flowers spread across the grassy field, a river running in front of your spot. You watch in wonder as a swan glides across the water.

The sky is awash with lavenders and oranges, not a cloud in sight, and you understand now why she chose this place. It takes your breath away. 

“Abby, this is too sweet,” You say warmly, and she turns to you with a smile, shrugging her shoulders.

Wordlessly, she begins unpacking the food she had prepared. Fruits, cheeses, crackers, and some small pastries and desserts before pulling out an expensive bottle of red wine and two glasses.

Abby sits close but not too near, patient and watching with care untainted by expectation or want. “This is beautiful, Abby.”

Her smile is soft, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m glad you like it.” 

You reach over and pick up a cherry, placing it between your lips. It’s sweet and perfectly ripe. As you bite into it you feel the juice trickle down your chin, but before you can reach to wipe it away Abby's fingers are swiping away at your bottom lip, and when you look up at her she chuckles under her breath. “So messy”. She says it absent-mindedly, with no implication or second meaning, but your mind fogs up. Doe eyes meeting hers, she watches your pupils expand and a cocky grin graces her lips before she lifts her fingers to her lips, sucking the cherry juice off before going back to looking out at the water. Your breath catches in your throat and your teeth press softly into your lip before following her gaze out to the stream. you soak in the tranquil setting drenched in the warmth of the setting sun. 

Tentatively, you shift closer till your sides are pressed together, both as a search for warmth in the cool dusk air and the want for closeness you feel building deep inside you. Abby smiles at the movement, curling a strong yet tender arm around your waist. Her calloused fingers trace absent patterns along your hip bone through the fabric, sending tingles up your spine. 

The rest of the sunlight you have is spent like this, voices soft and conversations filled with laughter. Absent-mindedly your hands reach for the one sitting on your waist, bringing it into your vision to trace gentle lines against it. 

As darkness falls, the air cools slightly and you can't help the small shiver that runs through you. Abby's arms tighten protectively at the action, as if on instinct.

"You cold?" she whispers softly, her breath ghosting along your hairline. You nod in response, not wishing to disturb the serenity with unnecessary noise.

Without a word she reaches behind you both, pulling the leather jacket from her shoulders and draping it around your own. The lingering warmth from her body seeps into you, that smell of pinewood invading your senses again.

As stars form above your heads, Abby turns to you as she gently squeezes your side “I should probably get you home”. You nod, silently praying that you’ll get to see her again soon. 

She packs any leftover food back into her backpack and you fold up the picnic blanket. All the effort that she put into this… It’s more than anyone’s ever done for you before. No one had ever put so much effort into their time with you, or been so delicate with you. 

Taking your hand once more, Abby walked with you to where her bike was parked near a line of trees. She helped you swing your leg over to settle in behind her before starting the engine with a rumble.

Being on her motorbike is becoming more familiar now, less nerve wrecking. 

All too soon, her motorcycle rolled to a stop in front of your house. Abby cut the ignition and swung her leg over to dismount before turning to help you off as well. Fingers curled together, you walked the few steps to your front porch in comfortable silence.

Stopping outside your front door, you turn to face her, smiling up at her with warmth spreading over your cheeks. 

“Thank you for letting me take you out,” Abby said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear in a tender gesture. You leaned into her touch instinctively, a smile spreading on your lips.

Abby gazed at you with such fondness and care that it made your heart swell. Slowly, ever so slowly, she seemed to gravitate closer until there was barely any space left between your bodies. Her eyes flickered down to your lips in a silent question.

In answer, you slid your arms up around her neck and closed the final distance, pressing your mouth to hers in a gentle kiss. Abby's hands found your waist, holding you steady as she kissed you back sweetly. Her lips were soft and confident against your own.

Abby placed one last fleeting kiss to your lips before stepping back reluctantly. "Goodnight, beautiful. Sleep well," she murmured, caressing your cheek softly. You beamed at the new pet name.

"Goodnight, Abby. Text me when you get home safe." With that, you unlocked the door and slipped inside with a ball of light beneath your chest. 

[peachyglo]

Baby, I'm yours

Bouncer!Abby Anderson x Reader Synopsis: When your friends leave you stranded at a club you find yourself in the helpful hands of the club's bouncer, who - by the way - is super hot and definitely your type. Warnings: Alcohol, reader throws up, Abby rides a motorbike (she's so hot kms), she smokes a cigarette, both reader and Abby are a lil’ awkward (sapphic pining aww), maybe a part 2??

The bass reverberates through the floor, the bright and colorful lights match to its beat. The alcohol in your system dissipates any self-consciousness you’d typically feel as you dance among the crowds. The world around you is a spinning blur of colors and sounds, if it wasn’t for your earlier taken shots masking it you’d have a killer headache. You look down at your empty cup and furrow your brows, you didn’t remember drinking that so quickly… ah well! Time for another drink!

As the night wears on, the once bustling crowd dwindles, it’s almost 2am now, the club won't be open for all that much longer. When you turn to tell your friend you are going to grab “one last drink” your lips fall into a soft pout realizing they're not dancing behind you anymore. You stand on your tip-toes, scanning the club but drop back down when they're nowhere to be found. Wandering around for a moment a small panic starts to settle in your mind, they were your way home. You’d spent all your paycheck on rounds of shots and drinks for yourself and your friends. Reaching into your purse you fish around for your phone, it's cool against your palm as you lift it to your face, squinting to try and make sense of the messages on your screen. Oh… 

‘Sorry bae, heading home with someone tonight ;)’

Your head starts to spin with worry, your eyes staring blankly at the bright screen of your phone. Your stomach aches with worry and alcohol. You take a deep breath to try and steady yourself, but it only makes your head spin. The air in here is stuffy and warm and smoky, you can’t hear yourself over the music and your eyes are starting to ache from the bright screen of your phone. You need to get outside.

You stumble towards the front doors of the club, barely in control of your body. The doors swing open and walking into the cold, fresh air soothes you more than you could have hoped… Until all the drinks you’d had that night come right back up onto the grass. 

On your knees, alone, heaving up rounds of drinks at the front of a soon-to-be-closed nightclub was definitely not on your itinerary for the night. 

“Oh shit..” You hear from somewhere around you, blocked out by the sound of blood rushing through your head. . A gentle hand finds its way into your hair, pushing it back from your face.

Mascara-filled tears are staining your cheeks as you desperately try to catch your breath, the gentle hand releasing your hair and patting your head in a soothing rhythm. Whether it's in an attempt to neaten your now messed up hair or comfort you, you're not sure, but you’ll take any comfort you can get.

"Hey, you okay now?” You turn around to face the voice and are met with the most attractive woman you have ever seen. She is tall and all defined muscles and broad shoulders. Her hair is braided behind her and you can tell from her clothes that she must be some kind of security. Well shit, that's one way to sober up. You want to crawl into a hole. You think you might ACTUALLY die of embarrassment. Parts of you wish you would.

“Hello??” Her confused tone brings you out of your pity party, “o-oh, sorry! Uhm… yeah. I'm okay,” Your eyes well with tears again remembering the situation that brought you out here in the first place. The woman's eyebrows scrunch in a worried manor, obviously not believing you. 

“You should probably head home, clubs about to close,” she flicks her head in the direction of the building behind you both. “Here, let me help you up” she says softly as she reaches a hand out, your eyes running over her muscular arms peeking out of her folded up sleeves. You place your hand on hers (and feel butterflies swarm in your stomach at the size difference, but that's besides the point). 

“How’re you getting home, sweetheart?” Sweetheart?? Your eyes widen at the pet name, and you wonder if it's her or the alcohol making your brain go empty right now. Wait, she asked you a question… What did she ask?? You look up at her and she chuckles at your reaction before repeating her question (minus the nickname this time, sadly). 

Your eyes look down at your feet and you play with the ends of your dress, not knowing how to tell her ‘oh my friend ditched me and I was too drunk to realize and I have no money and no other way home so I guess I'm just sleeping out here tonight!’.

She watches your face drop and reaches into her back pocket to fetch some keys, “hey, my shift is over, if you need someone to take you home…” You look back at her in surprise, feeling slightly guilty at the idea. As if she can read your mind she quickly adds “it's no issue,” her expression warm and genuine. She looks down at you expectantly, it's starting to get cold and you can feel goosebumps rising on your skin, so pushing your guilt and embarrassment aside, you nod your head. “I’d really appreciate that”.

Her hand is on the small of your back, gently guiding you forward until you reach a sleek, black motorbike. She reaches into the small storage compartment under the seat and pulls out a leather jacket, handing it to you to put on before speaking again, “you ever been on one before?” she asks, nodding towards the bike. You softly shake your head “alright, that's okay. Jus’ sit behind me, keep your arms nice ‘nd tight around me, okay?” Her voice is gentle, reassuring, and you nod in response. She hands you her phone and gently asks you to type in your address before placing it in a small holder on her handlebars.

She effortlessly climbs onto the bike, offering you her arm to hold as you settle in behind her. The engine hums beneath you as she revs it, and you wrap your arms around her, following her instructions to hold on tightly. As she pulls away, the wind whips against your face, the cold biting at your cheeks, so you resort to resting your face against her muscular back.

She smells like pine, it's sweet and earthy and makes your head spin.

She drives fast, skilled hands guiding the bike between cars and filling you with adrenaline. You’re sure she’s even more reckless when she is alone. The idea makes your cheeks go warm.

You take a deep breath, letting yourself sink into her warmth and the feeling of the breeze rushing past you. Your eyes fall closed and your mind clears for the first time in a really long time.

You went to the club to forget your problems, to have a single night where you wouldn’t have to think about all of the shit going on in your life, and yet this woman you don’t even know the name of has eased your mind more than any amount of drinks or loud music or partying. 

You almost whine when you see your street materializing around you, but the idea of a shower and warm food is a momentary distraction from the sadness pooling in your stomach at the knowledge you might never see the woman taking you home again. The sense of comfort that surrounds her is one you know you’ll be longing for. One you already have been, for a long time.

Turning into your driveway, she kills the engine, climbing off the bike and reaching out to help you off. You look up at her and find your words caught in your throat. “Let me walk you inside?” She smiles gently, voice hopeful and nervous. You nod your head gratefully and her hand is on your back again. It sends a shiver down your spine.

When you reach your front door you turn to face her, “thank you… I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t found me” You giggle nervously under your breath. “yeah, of course”. Her voice is ever gentle, soft and reassuring. It stirs something within you. It's a way you’ve never been spoken to before. It makes you ache (both in the heart and between your thighs).

As your hand grazes the door handle, she hesitates, her voice tinged with nervousness as she speaks again “Feel free to tell me to fuck off if I read this completely wrong but- can I give you my number?”

You fight off the urge to squeal in excitement, but can’t fight the smile that grazes your face. The blonde girl in front of you feels her heart thump at the sight, and then thump even harder when you hand her your phone. "I would like that," you reply, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of seeing her again. 

She hands your phone back and you finally take a step inside your home, turning back to bid her goodbye. “Get home safe” you smile softly at her. “Sleep well, sweetheart” She flicks a few fingers up in a wave goodbye

You gently close the door, glancing out the window and watching as she lights a cigarette, blowing the smoke into the night air. Your teeth graze against your bottom lip, pushing down a grin as you recall the night. Glancing down at your phone you feel your heart race at the name ‘Abby <3’ shining back brightly.

[peachyglo]

Ink and Paper Hearts: Part Two

This is the second part of an earlier piece that I absolutely loved writing and had posted for Valentine’s Day. Like its predecessor, this one is over 8k words. We’ve got a bit of everything here. Light angst, fluff, a slice of smut. Violence, gore, and sexual themes. Heavier in tone than the first, for sure. 18+ only.

Dogs barking at a murder of crows outside jolt you awake—their high-pitched caws cutting through the dawn. You suspect the birds have homed in on a corpse beyond the fences or food scraps someone has carelessly left behind for them to scrounge.

The sounds of paws hitting the pavement echo, signalling that someone has already taken the four-legged crew out for their morning walk. The exhaustion in your body is grateful.

Five more minutes to curl up in this stark, sterile cell Isaac has forced you to call home for the past two months.

The hardest part of getting out of bed is no longer the lack of sunshine, but the shock of the frigid floors against your bare feet. Heating a prison that was probably already in disrepair long before Cordyceps hit is a gargantuan task.

Abby’s letters and dried flower trimmings adorn the plain walls, filling the space with a bright fragrance. Nobody at the prison dares read them, every soldier respecting the already dire lack of retreat the barren walls provide.

That doesn’t stop them from teasing you for being the only one in camp brave enough to journey beyond the walls for office supplies.

It also doesn’t prevent them from offering generous trades for a few pens and some paper of their own when you return.

A chilly nose nuzzles against your palm, urging you to confront your troubles and venture outside so that she can serve with her comrades.

“No sleep for the wicked, eh?” you groan, your voice causing her floppy ears to rise. “Oh, no—don’t even think about it!”

With a joyful whine, she eagerly tackles your tired body, making quick work of reducing all your blankets into a messy heap on the floor.

“Troublemaker,” you giggle, letting her spin into oblivion over the soft material before giving her a gentle shove so you can put your bed back together.

“Should we shower first or write to Abby?”

The familiar name triggers Navigator, causing her to bark and spin with enthusiasm. To be certain, you break it down for her one more time, making sure she comprehends.

“Shower?”

She lets out a tiny, impatient whimper.

“Write to Abby?”

Her shrieking bark echoes through the prison, and you wish you had the means to share it with the girl in question. The dog hasn’t even met her yet, but she knows.

Abby is a beacon of light to her handler.

“Alright, alright, you win,” you say, the hazy cloud of your breath reminding you to grab your coat.

Writing to Abby during sunrise would be a beautiful way to start the day. You glance into the hallway to make sure the pathway is clear and turn to your pup.

“Navi—who’s there?” you ask, the command changing her demeanour instantly.

She stiffens and lowers her head, listening.

Before panting in your direction to give you the all clear, she attentively scans her surroundings but detects nothing out of the ordinary.

“Good girl, Navigator—yard,” you say, and she’s almost too thrilled to compose herself.

She bumps into the chair beside your desk, giving the object a quick sniff before moving through the familiar doorway. Her shoulders graze the steel bars, but only enough to help her right herself and course correct.

Your hand instinctively searches for a pen, but catches on a delicate bracelet, its intricate chain hindered by a broken clasp. It didn’t arrive to you that way, but after many sleepless nights constantly clutching it under your sleeve, it eventually gave in.

It makes you miss Abby even more.

Chilly air stings your lungs as you look out at the most recent delivery spilling from an eroded shipping container just outside the gates. These intermodal containers clutter the field, creating an unsightly and hazardous environment.

The level of chaos seems to be escalating, and it’s unclear if Isaac is fully aware of it. 

The prison is evolving into a central hub for storing resources, and speculation about Isaac turning it into a medical facility is increasing.

Someone forgot to close the hatch on the one closest to the entry gate, the dented door of the container left ajar. You whistle for Navigator. Two of her more seasoned companions join her on either side, ears perked at full attention, watching her six.  

“Navi—check,” you command.

It’s a new obstacle, and her busy nose finds the perimeter first. You swallow against your racing heart, praying that nothing has crept inside overnight. Navigator is capable, but she faces unfavourable odds, and everything in this world happens fast.

You have conflicting feelings about helping her develop into a stronger soldier, yet wanting to keep her close to you.

She wags her thick tail as she maps the object and waits for your command.

“Good. Check,” you repeat, and she slows to a silent crawl, her ears on a swivel.

She clips her hip on the rusted lock as she disappears inside the metal box, her nails clicking against the wooden floor. You draw your gun and wait.

A full minute goes by before her nose cautiously peeks out again, and there’s a rush of relief as the tension drains from your body.

“Good, Navi. Good job,” you exhale, crouching to touch her face and run your hands over her in search of injury.

A soldier, who you can only assume arrived with the shipment, makes his way towards you through the mud.

“Who left this open?” you ask, your tone garnering the attention of others in the field, still nursing their morning coffee.

The crew within earshot nonchalantly shrug their shoulders, and the indifference stirs up a storm inside you.

“I guess we’ve got ghosts!” you laugh humourlessly. “If you leave room for trouble, trouble will find you—and then it will find me and my crew. You must close the damn—,” but before you can finish, you’re plunged to the ground, a rancid jaw snapping at the back of your neck.

Gunfire sends every crow to the sky, the blast leaving a deafening buzz ringing in your ears. Your chest heaves on the damp ground as you try to gather your bearings, sweaty palms pressing into the soil against the rotten weight on your back.

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

Abby,

I don’t know what it would look like for you to leave it all behind, but I know it would be better than this.

With enough force to chew through it, you gnaw on your pen cap while reading over the start to your letter. Paper is a precious resource and you’re not above scribbling out the odd mistake, but this requires a new sheet. Considering the stress Abby is already facing, it’s best not to add anything more to her plate.

Abby,

What was the first thing you did when you woke up?

Give me details—what did you eat for breakfast? Did you go to the gym?

I’ve got your letters up on the wall beside my bed and it’s the first thing I see. The first thing I feel… well, that would be Navi’s cold nose. Usually, it’s somewhere at the back of my neck, but today it was my hand, so I’d say all in all, it has been a decent morning.

She’s doing better. We had a minor mishap earlier, but it’s no different from any other dog I’ve trained, really. They all have their quirks. I know she’ll be able to handle everything with a little more practice.

She already likes you, and you haven’t even met. You’ll see what I mean soon. I talk to her about you a lot, she’s a good listener. I still can’t believe we found each other the way we did.

It’s getting crowded around here. I’m starting to appreciate the long walk to town! There’s this abandoned gym I pass by sometimes and it makes me think of you. Maybe I should grab a set of weights and start training. That would only make me miss you more, though.

Oh, any chance the stadium has adopted a jeweller? I accidentally broke the bracelet you sent me and I’m rather grumpy about it. Still makes me smile as much as the first time I saw it.

Maybe you’ll be here whenever it’s fixed, to put it back on for me. Or take it off. The choice is yours.

Is that too much? I’m going a little stir crazy.

 It’s too quiet here at night!

P.S.

Did you have someone before this? Another Dragonfly Firefly?

Abby’s next letter arrives after just a week, and you sprint up the stairs to the top of the guard tower to absorb it. As Navigator curls up beside you, her solid jaw rests comfortably on your lap, creating a soothing weight as you pet her. You notice her spine feels different under your touch, no longer as bony as it was when you first brought her back.

Maintaining a connection with Abby is helping you stay grounded while you cope with life outside the stadium, and so is the growing bond with your affectionate pup. You’re counting down the days until those worlds collide.

Dragonfly,

You make my face hurt. In a good way, obviously.

Bah, should I rewrite this? I’m running low on paper, so I guess I’ll embarrass myself.

Hi, pretty girl.

That slip up was super cute. Did you know dragonflies can live under water for like two years after they’re born?

Do you like to swim?

I bet Navigator loves the water. Can I take her to the lake sometime? Mama, too, of course.

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m jealous of your dog, big time. The thought of waking up next to you does things to me.

Breakfast? Well, I wolfed down a salmon bagel this morning and hit the weights early. I didn’t go to the gym, just me and my dumbbells today. I enjoy working out on my own, gives me time to think. Mostly about you.

If you’re serious about working out, I know an excellent trainer who would love to help you. (It’s me.)

They served me a glass of wine tonight, so I’ve got the warm fuzzies going on. Sitting here with your letter, I’m realizing that this is how you make me feel—like the edges of everything, somehow hurt less. I think about that night on your living room floor, and it gives me butterflies.

Hitting me with the big relationship questions, are we?

Do you remember Owen? He was still around for a while when you got here, I’m pretty sure. He was the only Firefly you speak of. A chapter I’m glad to put behind me. There’s a new one I’m reading and I’m thinking this book might be a keeper.

Nothing you say is too much. Sometimes I worry you’re holding back, like maybe you don’t want me to know how bad things are out there. Please tell me everything, even the bad stuff.

I’m dying to see you all grouchy, but I’ll still fix your bracelet. Don’t need a jeweller for that.

I think you know what I’d vote for, but I’m down for either of those things.

(Just in case, the answer is off. I’d vote for taking it off.)

I made myself blush when I wrote that.

Think of me.

Yours,

Abigail

You crunch the letter against your face with glee, the pup on your lap tilting her head quizzically at your outburst.

“I like her so much,” you say, releasing Abby’s letter in favour of squealing into your cupped hands. “I like her so, so much.”

Navigator searches for them, nudging at your fingers to gauge your emotional state.

“These are happy sounds,” you tell her, dropping a smooch on her snout.

She takes your word for it, cozying back up next to you.

After rereading Abby’s letter, you find yourself lost in thought as you stare out at the quiet grounds, your mind overflowing with things you want to write to her.

And some things that you don’t.

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

The Stalker who attacked you didn’t breach the protective layer of your clothing.

You still find yourself obsessively checking your reflection in the D-Block bathroom mirrors throughout the day—running your fingers lightly along your shoulder blade, feeling for any cuts or abrasions.

Close calls happen, but this has niggled inside the darkest corners of your mind, dive bombing into your nightmares.

As idiotic as those soldiers were, and maybe as green as Navigator is at surveillance, this is how easily it goes down.

A random, insignificant day, before the sun has even risen above the treeline, another human ceases to exist. You’d never considered it before—how you’d prefer it to happen. You know one thing for sure, you’d rather it didn’t shake out at the hands of someone too lazy to keep the area secure.

“Shit, sorry,” a voice groans out. “I didn’t think anyone used these showers.”

As you turn, your eyes meet those of a stranger. She stands before you, a towel tucked neatly under her arm, hair pulled back to prevent her glossy curls from getting wet. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and you can see it’s because she’s exhausted.

“No, it’s okay,” you say, rushing to slip your shirt back on. “I normally don’t use them, but you’re more than welcome.”

“What’s got you back here, then?” she asks. “You good?”

With her narrowed, inquisitive gaze, she reminds you of the importance of conducting thorough investigations on everyone you come across.

“I’m fine,” you say, pointing to the rusted handles protruding from the wall. “Crank it to the left and you might get lucky, but hot water isn’t really a thing around here. Decent pressure, though.”

“So, I’ve heard.”

You hesitate, and she extends her hand with a low laugh.

“Nora,” she says. “I’m a medic. Isaac’s got me here setting up shop.”

“Right, makes sense,” you say, feeling the tightness in your muscles dissipate.

“Did you want me to take a look at that?” she asks.

She’s pointing to the spot where you had the closest contact with the infected and your stomach churns, blood rushing into your ears. You spin in the mirror, yanking your shirt collar down.

“I’ve checked a thousand times! I swear there’s nothing.”

With a calm demeanour, she places her hand on your arm.

“I believe that. But I’m thinking maybe you don’t,” Nora says.

Her touch is enough to keep your heart from ejecting from your throat, but only barely. Her bedside manner alone sets her apart as one of the best medics you’ve encountered.

“Keep focusing on your breath,” she continues. “Are you comfortable lifting your shirt?”

You nod, and she assists you in bunching the fabric under your chin.

Nora slips a knackered flashlight out from her towel, placing her sheathed knife onto the countertop. Clicking on the flashlight, she illuminates the ominous bathroom, casting eerie shadows in the mirrors and around the room as she moves it from side to side.

“I heard about what went down,” she explains, pressing the pads of her fingers into your skin. “Not cool.”

You can’t help but let out a chuckle at her casual evaluation, but your own mistake in the incident quickly comes to mind. You wiggle your fingers into Navigators’ fur; the pup quietly leaning against your leg.

“Shit happens, I guess.”

“Yeah, well,” Nora says, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze before letting the shirt fall to your sides. “Some mistakes shouldn’t happen twice.”

With your head dipped, you shuffle towards the entryway, hesitating at the threshold of the haunted corridors.

“Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s not make it a habit,” she smirks, the faucet screeching under her grip. She raises her voice above the rush of water. “I can think of one person who’d be rather livid if she found out her girl was in danger. That would be all bad.”

Abby’s reputation for being tight-lipped about personal matters makes you suspect that they’re friends, and your chest constricts.

“I shouldn’t tell her, then?” you ask.

Nora plunks a bar of soap onto the partition between shower stalls.

“Not what I said,” she grins, undoing her belt buckle. “Hey—do you mind leaving him?”

She tips her chin at your dog.

“Navigator?” you say, sending the dog’s tail into a helicopter spin. “Uh—yeah. Of course. But she’s not really—she still needs time.”

With tenderness, Nora bends down and cradles the dog’s head in her hands.

“A little lady, huh?”

She runs the pads of her thumbs beneath Navigator’s eyes, whispering something into her ear that is overpowered by the sound of water tearing into the tile ground.

“We’re good,” Nora says. “Now, what’s it going to take to get a little privacy around here?”

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

Abby,

Is the new chapter with me? Please tell me it’s me.

I can’t put a face to Owen. That time was a blur for me, but I remember Mel. She examined me when I first got there. I hope everything went well with the baby.

Uh oh, now you’re asking me all the hard hitters!

Promise not to laugh, okay?

I have no fucking clue how to swim. I could probably… not drown… for a solid minute or two.

When we were little, my siblings told me there were infected in the lake. After that, I always felt too scared to try. When I got older, I’d go in on horseback because they really loved to swim. Luckily, nothing grabbed my feet. That was always my biggest fear.

I miss the smell of horses. That probably makes me a weirdo, right? I’d like to have one again someday. They’re such gentle giants.

Reminds me of you.

Speaking of which, all this gym talk has unlocked fun new cravings in my brain. You could ask me about them, or I could show you.

You make my face hurt, too.

I want to be that for you all the time, which is why I’m scared to tell you this next part. Please try not to worry either, because I swear, I’m okay.

I got jumped by an infected. The fucker laid me out. It’s getting hectic around here and someone forgot to close the shipping container. It was an accident, and nobody got hurt, thankfully. Everyone is being more careful now, I think. But the deliveries are constant and it’s getting a bit out of hand. It doesn’t feel secure here the way it does back home.

On the plus side, I think I saw a radio being carried in today! Do you figure they’d let us use it? I’d really like to hear your voice.

Please be safe.

Dragonfly

From the porch of the administrative building, you hear the unmistakable sound of an engine starting up, followed by the sudden beam of headlights cutting through the darkness of the field beside you. It’s not common for groups to travel after dark, but you make your way to the fence to satisfy your curiosity.

“Where are you guys headed?” you ask.

A woman with pigtails and a wicked scowl casts a sharp, sidelong glance in your direction. “What’s it to you?”

“Are you heading into the city, by any chance?”

She braces herself against the truck’s hood and analyzes you.  

“It’s classified,” the woman mutters, tearing apart a strip of jerky before tossing a piece to Navigator. “What’s the matter—she got something against beef?”

You whisper a command, patting the grass in front of her. The pup easily locates the source of the incredible smell, but you can feel the weight of the woman’s scrutinizing glare.

“We could really use some better lighting out here,” you say, holding up your folded letter. “If I ask you to take this to someone at the stadium, what would you want in return?”

She works you over for a moment, nodding at the multi-tool on your belt.

“Done!” you say.

As you busy yourself with taking the tool off its leather strap, she grunts, “Who’s it for?”

You survey your environment for any potential eavesdroppers, heat creeping up your neck.

“Anderson.”

With a contemptuous snort, she propels herself off the hood.

“Abby? What’s your deal with her?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s classified,” Nora interjects from the shadows, grabbing the letter from you through the fence.

The paper lands against the woman’s vest with a sharp slap. You suddenly feel a wave of concern that she might crumple up the letter and fling it out the window before the convoy moves ten feet from the prison.

Nora turns on her heel to load a crate onto the truck before raising her brow at the disgruntled soldier.

“I’ll make sure she gets it,” the woman says.

“Great!” With a wink, Nora begins her slow, determined walk toward the main gate.   

You get to keep your Leatherman, too.

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

During morning training, Navigator’s keen sense of hearing allows her to mimic the movements of her peers closely, effortlessly blending in with them. The day kicks off on a high note, as every dog under your care triumphs in their practice missions.

Under the cloudless blue sky, the sun casts its vibrant energy into everything it reaches, including you. Perfect timing since you’re already needing to make another run into town.

It’s an easy trek for the first while until you get closer to the roadways. Rusted vehicles marred by fallen trees make it a challenge to explore.

“Navi—up,” you say, keeping your voice low. She sniffs to find her obstacle and seems to recognize it as the mossy log it is. “Careful, it’s slippery.”

You should heed your own warnings, but alas, the ground is so uneven that you stumble and slip about ten times before reaching your destination.

Although there is no post office, there is a pharmacy that shares its premises with a convenience store. You’ve had good fortune in locating supplies, particularly towards the back where someone has stacked boxes in front of the door marked Staff Only.

They act as a barrier, and you have no desire to uncover the mystery of what they’re obstructing. You take what you need and scram.

You notice a city mailbox and contemplate attempting to pilfer what’s inside. When you pull at the drop box handle, it gives out a loud, metallic creak that reverberates through the streets. Navigator goes rigid, her ears pinned as she notices something you don’t.

With your pistol in hand, you carefully sweep your gaze across the area, straining to discern any movement amidst the jumble of abandoned cars. The dog growls, a quiet rumble in her chest at a Runner, rocking unsteadily in an alley. As your blood chills, you quickly backtrack, moving the both of you to safety.

It takes longer to reach the prison, but the detour keeps you whole.

You release your companion to lounge leisurely in the sun with her friends and decide to face the dreaded ice shower. It demands serious mental toughness to withstand being both cold and wet in a cement dungeon, and you’re not quite conditioned for it.

The system you’ve come up with is laughable and miserable, but it somehow convinces you it’s the optimal solution. A bucket, filled to the top, that you can pour over your head to prevent fully submerging yourself.

With a sense of desperation, you lean forward, silently hoping that today will be the day when someone fixes the water tanks.

After subjecting yourself to hygiene torture, you wrap your towel snug around your frame, contemplating the idea of building a firepit inside the bathroom.

A voice unexpectedly pierces the dark and startles you.

“That is a great outfit.”

In a state of shock, her powerful physique and honeyed tone instantly bring you warmth.

“No freaking way!” you shout.

“Get your butt over here, smoke show. Don’t make me wait,” she says.

With a sprint and a leap, you throw yourself into Abby’s arms, your towel slipping from your hand. She holds you so tight it doesn’t shift an inch.

“How?” you ask, your body trembling. “How are you here right now?”

“I took a leave of absence,” Abby murmurs into your damp hair.

She giggles as you wrap your arms snugly around her neck, your legs a vice around her waist.

“Tell me this is real,” you say, voice breaking as you inhale her deeply. “God, you smell so good.”

Abby shifts her weight in a rhythmic sway, soothing you in her embrace as you suddenly crumble.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” she whispers, hushing you gently as you sob against her shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

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

Abby decides you’ve been cold, and towel bound long enough so you throw on your clothes and lead her outside, where you emerge with the sun’s last kisses appeasing your icy skin.

The golden light transforms into a hazy cotton candy glow, casting a celestial hue that electrifies every blade of grass beneath your feet.

With a bright, lopsided grin on her face, Abby lingers a few paces behind you, adding a pleasant energy to the air. Her army fatigues, rugged and worn, serve as a reminder of her toughness, yet her movements with you are graceful, as she effortlessly synchronizes her steps with yours.

“You’re too far away,” you say, keeping your pace. “I’m all alone up here.”

The moment she tackles you, a boom of surprised laughter escapes from your throat. She seizes the opportunity to launch her attack as the last hours of sunlight hit your eyes, raising you carefully above her head to place you on her shoulders.   

“Don’t you dare drop me,” you warn, her grip on your legs helping you defy gravity. “I’m slipping!”

With a sigh, she cheerfully tickles your thighs, poking fun at your theatrical antics.

“You’re fine,” she says.    

“I can see everything!”

“Now you see what I see,” she murmurs, launching into a series of small hops to readjust you above her.

Her words settle within you, and it’s clear Abby is making her father proud, bearing an uncanny resemblance to his sentimental ways.

The years you spent on horseback have honed your core muscles, enabling you to toy with her earlobes as she trudges on. When you take full advantage of your special access to her neck, the sounds she emits are soft as peach fuzz.

Striding through the vast field, she exudes a sense of purpose, as if leading you both home.  

“Where are you taking me?”

“You talk too much,” she teases, pressing her lips to the inside of your thigh.

You feel it consume your body, leaving you breathless. Abby circles her thumb over the spot her lips met your leg, like maybe it was having the same effect on her.

She moves through sparse brush to a crumbling shack, its bones tilting above a flowing creek, summoning the earth to wash it away.

Abby easily adjusts to the incline of the muddy bank while you clumsily flail about. Extending your hands in front of her, she grabs hold of them and steadies you.

“Everything good?”

“I can walk,” you offer.

“Is that what you want?”

“No,” you confess.

 She smooths her hands over your calves, before stepping onto the sunken pebbles.

The bubbling stream welcomes her steady boots, and you close your eyes. Up the trunks of the trees, small claws scamper, accompanied by the fluttering of wings that turn the forest into a harmonious amalgamation of nature.

“I’m not hurting you?” you ask.

She knows what you’re really worried about. With a knowing huff, she easily scales the other side of the bank, as if to prove a point.

“I could deadlift you in my sleep.”

“Move over universe—Abby’s ego is coming through!”

You feel her body vibrate with laughter, and you’re thrilled to be connected to her gales of happiness. But truthfully, the strain of trying to keep your equilibrium and extend your hand to touch her is causing a dull ache to spring up in your back.

When you tap out, it’s in one swift motion down the length of her back. Your feet hit the ground and you wobble for a few steps before becoming reacquainted with your sea legs.

“I like how strong you are.”

“I like that you like how strong I am,” Abby says, her brows arching suggestively, adding a mischievous twinkle to her eyes.

You catch sight of a towering white wall, its grandeur diminished by years of wear. It’s supported by the framework of sturdy steel truss, not intimidated by time or extreme weather the way the rest of the place seems to be. As wildflowers merge with a mob of ancient vehicles, the lot becomes a kaleidoscope of colours against the sunset, bridging the gap between the past and the present.

A weathered marquee sign stands as a charming centrepiece, teeming with prosperous vines. The wind has stolen away a significant number of the movie titles—what remains evokes a profound wave of sadness.

Look for the light.

 “Abby,” you whisper, reaching for her hand. She laces her fingers with yours. “What is this place?”

With her hand still tightly woven in your grasp, she steps in front of you, passionately describing the nostalgic charm of a Drive-In movie theatre. Although she had never been, her dad had shared numerous stories of them.

“So, you’d just sit in your car and eat snacks and stuff?”

“Well, the families did,” Abby snorts.

She plucks a purple flower from the wheel of an RV before slipping it into your hair, her warm breath tickling your face. Your scalp tingles pleasantly at her touch.

“And the others?” you ask, reaching up to feel the soft petals of her affection against your fingertips. “What would they do?”

You weren’t born yesterday, and she quirks a knowing brow at your play of virtue. Your lips moisten with anticipation. Abby tilts her head, her gaze flitting to your parted mouth.

“It’s hard to explain,” she lies, scrunching her freckled nose. “Want me to show you?”

A shiver at the base of your neck sends your temperature rising.

“I think that’s probably best,” you say.

As Abby moves closer, your foreheads accidentally collide, causing both of you to break into hushed laughter, becoming even more enchanted as you feel your breaths mixing.

She swallows, and it’s a loud squeak at the back of her throat, your heart thumping erratically at how timid she has become. It empowers you to tease her, brushing the tips of your fingers along her jaw, tracing the corners of her smile. Your forefinger dips below her chin and drags along the column of her neck.

You gently explore the hollow of her collarbone until her yearning drives her to lean into you.

“The way you look at me,” Abby whispers. “You make me weak.”

“I wonder what happens if I do this, then.”

Your lips skim hers in a slow, teasing sweep until she whimpers against your mouth.

“Please,” she begs.

The taste of her full lips and the sweet glide of her tongue leaves a forest fire burning deep inside you.

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

The moon’s glow penetrates the dense foliage, causing hallucinations that morph ordinary plants into nightmarish beings, making the journey back to the prison a sensory maze.

Your body longs for Abby’s touch, but your mind advises against begging her to pin you against a nearby tree.

“Speak, chatterbox,” Abby teases, pulling you against her side so you can both stumble through the dark. “You’ve gone quiet on me.”

“I’m really turned on right now,” you blurt, and Abby barks such a rich laugh into the peaceful forest that it instantly becomes your favourite tune. “I think I’d put Manny to shame.”

“Wow. I’m that good, huh?”

You imitate the piercing static of a HAM radio, holding up an invisible mic. Your juvenile behaviour nearly causes her to collapse with laughter.

“This is Dragonfly calling Abby’s ego,” you say. “Can someone put my girl back on the air?”

Abby comes to a halt at the edge of the field, her wide eyes transforming into an inky sky. Her gaze bursts with ethereal stars.

“Can I see that for a second?” she asks, gesturing to the invisible mic in your hand.

Your cheeks sting with euphoria as you hand it to her.

Pretending to adjust the coiled cord, she puts on quite a show, and you’re smitten.

“This is Abigail calling Dragonfly,” she says, her confident voice dripping with authority.

When you don’t pick up, she playfully lambasts you.

“But you took my mic!” you squeak.

She cups a hand over the one she stole from you, to whisper, “Grab another one—they’re all over the place out here.”

Your adoration for her leaves you entranced, enabling you to produce another microphone out of thin air. You feel a rush coursing through you, from the roots of your being to the tips of your extremities. You’re not sure if you’re walking or floating.

“Dragonfly here. Standing by,” you say.

As Abby pulls you close, a glaring flashlight steals your vision, its blinding beam eviscerating the little world you’d built together.

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

Nora paces the makeshift medical bay as Abby braces herself on a bedrail.

“She was by my side the whole time,” Nora explains, her face twisted up in anguish. “The delivery squad pulled their truck through the gate and forgot to secure it. Navigator must’ve slipped out. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you say, feeling the anger well up inside you as you think about the lax protocols of the prison. “There are too many people coming and going.”

“She knows where home is, right? I mean—it’s wherever you are,” Abby says, rubbing your back.

“Not sure,” you admit, fear taking hold. “I have to find her.”

You gather a small bag of supplies and Abby stops you before you reach the door.

“It’s not safe.”

“You don’t understand, Abby. She isn’t—she can’t be out there alone.”

“Where do you want this, Nora?” a soldier asks, his arms loaded to his chin with boxes.

Abby marches across the room and slams him against the wall.

“Who left the gates open?” she roars.

“Christ, Anderson! Chill out. I don’t know,” he wheezes. “We got the orders to unload and go. Where’s your gate patrol?”

“We’re a skeleton crew, there is no gate patrol,” you say, hands shaking. “There’s a sign out front for a reason.”

“Isaac hasn’t sent anyone yet?” he asks, shouting over his shoulder as he ambles back into the passageway. “That’s suicide out here.”

“Tell me about it,” you groan.

Abby’s jaw clenches and she balls her fists. “Enough of this shit,” she says. “We’re finding your dog and I’m taking you back with me.”

“Isaac won’t like that. You know it,” Nora warns, pressing her palms into her eyes. “Let me try him on the radio.”

“Wait, did you hear that?” you ask.

Navigator’s familiar, lancing bark reverberates through the prison yard, prompting the three of you to sprint after the sound. Trapped outside the fence, she paces restlessly, her nose sniffing the ground in search of a way inside.

Nora disappears to take matters into her own hands, assigning someone to patrol the gates for the night.

“Will you meet me in the guard tower?” you ask Abby. “There’s something I want to show you.”

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

Flames crackle and hiss inside the base of a small metal drum that Abby hauled up the stairs. Standing in front of the window, her silhouette watches over the field she had explored with you only a few hours earlier.

The fire radiates so much heat in the tower that Abby has abandoned her jacket altogether. You watch from the doorjamb in awe as Abby takes tools off the carabiners on her cargo pants one by one and arranges them neatly in a pile.

Up here, it’s usually silent except for the occasional visit from a curious barn owl. The dilapidated space comes alive under her presence.

“Someone wants to meet you.”

Every movement Abby makes is sluggish, as if she’s drained of all energy, but her smile makes your heart stutter. With a gentle gesture, she kneels and raises her bent arm towards your pup, presenting the relaxed knuckles of her hand.

With the jitters still lingering from her unexpected journey in the woods, Navigator moves slowly, searching for her new friend.

“Hi, sweet girl,” Abby says, her tone softening as she takes a seat and crosses her legs. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

Startled by the unfamiliar voice, the pup cautiously inches forward, her nose quivering as she takes in the scents of the surrounding air.

“You’re okay,” Abby hums tenderly.

Navigator settles into her gentle palms as Abby carefully examines her face, tracing the patterns of freckles that decorate her cheeks.

Abby looks up at you with benevolence.

“She can’t see me,” she whispers.

Upon shaking your head, you immediately feel a tightness building in your throat. You wrap your arms around yourself and take stock of how this indestructible woman can so easily tap into an ocean of empathy.

“But you can hear me, can’t you, sweetheart?” Abby says.

As Navigator’s tail blurs, merrily slicing through the air, it leaves a trail of embers that float and twirl toward the open window.

“Tell her your name,” you suggest.

Bending her head, she meets Navigator halfway, voice brimming with affection.

She murmurs her name as she reaches for her coat, ensuring that her scent lingers for the puppy to recognize.

When she repeats her name a second time, Navigator lets out a buoyant bark, spinning across the floor and back onto Abby’s lap in a heap of excitement, her paws barely gaining purchase before covering Abby’s face in hyper kisses. She braces her arm behind her to keep from toppling over, chuckling through the battering. As they become acquainted through cuddles and play, the tension within you fades.

“You never mentioned it in your letters,” Abby says, encouraging the dog to settle between you.

It’s not long before the soothing ambiance of the fire lulls her to sleep.  

“I couldn’t take the chance. If someone intercepted them, you know?” you explain, mind racing with the consequences. “It ends badly in the wrong hands.”

“Isaac, you mean?”

“Isaac—really anyone with his intolerance for weakness,” you say, messing with a piece of kindling before adding it to the fire. Within seconds, the flames engulf the tinder. “He was always intense. But he’s cruel, now. Power blinds him and he just doesn’t care who it burns. There’s no way he’d let her stick around if he thought she couldn’t fulfil her duties.”

“He’ll find out,” Abby utters, intertwining her hand with yours on Navigator’s back.

“I know,” you confess. “That’s why I can’t stay.”

Abby takes a deep, concerned breath before straightening up, crossing her arm sheepishly over the other. Her chin trembles and tears well up in her eyes.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

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

When Abby speaks about the regrets of her past, she does not mince words. She gets candid about her missteps and how the loss of her father confused her relationships. Abby tells you about Mel, her father’s surgical protégé, a girl who was supposed to be her friend first—instead of becoming a shoulder for Owen to cry on.

She alludes to their covert flirtation building over time and tells you about the painful day Owen asked for her blessing.

He still sheepishly proclaimed his love for Abby, which tipped her world upside down until she launched herself into work and training to keep from falling apart.

Abby faced great difficulty in dealing with her grief, and it was particularly hurtful for her to witness her own people capitalizing on her vulnerability during a time when her world was in chaos.

While recounting the events of their transition from Fireflies to the WLF, she doesn’t overlook the trauma experienced by her friends. But she allows hers to matter, too, and you respect her immensely for it.

She reaches for your hands when she tells you about that night, almost as if she fears you’ll get up and leave.

A regretful one-night affair tinged with a jar of rank hooch and unrequited love. A night which offered Abby closure but only served to open the floodgates for Owen and a world of heartache for Mel.

When Mel was in her third trimester with their unborn child, Owen made a plea to Abby to stay with him—help him make it work.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t in love with him anymore,” Abby sighs. “I cared about him, but I could never give him what he wanted. Not after everything that happened. He needed to get his priorities straight.”

“You deserved better,” you say.

“So did Mel. You should be upset with me.”

She lays her imperfections bare before you, and you only see her resilience. A woman forced to learn how to rebuild herself with bricks made of loss and betrayal. You shake your head and press a kiss to her palm.

“Would it have happened if the roles were reversed? If it were your pregnant girlfriend waiting around for you?”

“Never,” Abby states, her piercing gaze locking with yours. “It’s not even a question.”

“Exactly. It sounds like he was trying to escape his situation, with or without you.”

Even before the affair, Mel griped Owen wasn’t content, and she wasn’t the only person who shared that belief. The gossip had turned into a string of hushed rumours after Isaac had offered Owen a place to stay in Section Ninety-Six. A dedicated area for young families—a home with Mel he’d never set foot in.

In his pursuit of a different path, he seemed to prioritize his own needs above all else.

Perhaps they all had their own personal demons to confront.

By immersing herself in her responsibilities to the WLF, Abby could keep her mind off things until Owen’s desertion caused everything to unravel. The chain of events ultimately resulted in Abby defying orders, Isaac losing his most skilled surgeon to another faction, and Abby finding herself trapped further in the WLF because of her perceived debt to Isaac.

“Owen went AWOL?”

“Yeah,” Abby responds, her brows furrowing as she recalls the memory. “He got himself into some trouble and hid. When I found him, he was trying to fix his boat so he could leave.”

Absentmindedly reaching for Navigator, you mumble, “I’m noticing a pattern.”  

Abby’s gaze softens.

“I did the wrong thing,” she says. “There’s no excuse.”

Her fingertips trace a soothing circle on the back of your hand. Your vision blurs as you reach for the imaginary HAM radio once again.

“Dragonfly to Anderson,” you say, barely audible to the human ear. “Do you copy? This is Dragonfly for Abby—over.”

“This is Abigail.”

She anxiously chews at her chapped bottom lip, and you gradually pry it from her teeth with your thumb until it glistens against the firelight.

“Welcome to being human, Abigail,” you say into the mic, and she stifles a teary laugh, patiently waiting for you to release the invisible button.

Giving her time to process it, you carefully study her features.

“You’re allowed to make mistakes,” you continue, one hand on the mic, and the other on her cheek. “And you’re allowed to be loved as you’re learning to let them go. Don’t let them be the reason I can’t love you—over and out.”

Her eyes dart between yours, and the frown on her face dissolves into something so fragile you cup her jaw to keep her from shattering.

“Isaac blames me for what happened,” Abby says. “He won’t let me go without a fight.”

“Neither will I.”

Swiftly, she maneuvers you over the sleeping dog until you rest comfortably on her lap.

“I know who you are now,” Abby murmurs.

“Who am I?” you ask, captivated by the woodsy scent of her hair as you carefully untangle her braid. “Debrief me.”

You quiver as her hands skim the hem of your shirt; her nails leaving a trail of heat at the small of your back.

“You’re the one I want to dance in the kitchen with.”

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

Moonlight seeps through the crevices of the tower, and Abby is angelic in your arms. A thin film of sweat draws light to the hard edges of her muscles and the depth of her scars. She’s a work of art.

The sleeping bag she unrolled for two tangles between her legs and your sated body as she sleeps.

The woman is a devout soldier, but she’s also a voracious lover. Your skin hums as tiny bruises bloom across the tender surface. You smoulder in the afterglow.

You reflect on her closemouthed moans, and the hungrier ones that slipped through. How she readily poured pleasure into you, yet she was reluctant to let herself feel any in return. It was a profound and intimate moment when she entrusted you to unravel her, powerful hands guiding your mouth across her tight body.

“Quit wiggling,” Abby whispers.

A knowing smirk lifts her drowsy face.

“Go back to sleep, bossy.”

“I can’t,” she groans, her hand kneading your hip. “Your thoughts are too loud.”

“First, I talk too much, now I think too much. What do you want from me, woman?”

She snickers against your ribcage, her lips leaving behind a hungry ache with every lazy, peppered kiss.

“I want you in my fucking bed,” Abby grumbles, and the gravel in her tone makes you shiver.

“Whoa, your filthy mouth is really doing it for me,” you tease.

Abby hides her bashful face in the crook of her arm and giggles. It’s so sweet you can’t help but wrap yourself around her.

“Tell me a story,” she says.

 “I don’t have any stories,” you gripe, playfully wrenching her from her hiding spot to poke at her bottom lip. “What are you in the mood for?”

Abby traps your finger between her teeth and sucks at the tip. It makes a wet sound as she pulls off and moves to the next finger.

“I’m trying to be serious here,” you say, a throb pulsing below your navel at the sensation of her tongue. “You need rest.”

Abby hums, pressing her thigh between yours as she torments your knuckles with her mouth.

“Recovery is important,” she grins. “But you make it so tempting to over-train.”

When she finally acquiesces, she gives your ass a slap of defeat.

“How am I supposed to behave myself when you look like that?” she pouts.

“Where’s your discipline, girl?” you ask.

There’s a split second where you can almost hear the growl of her dominance, making you wonder if she’ll charge at you and assert it. Part of you hopes she will.

She tucks a flyaway behind your ear and kisses your forehead.

“Tell me about the day you found Nav.”

Right off the bat, you know she’s going to wince through most of it. Abby puts herself in danger daily, but the thought of you being in harm’s way leaves her dangling restlessly on the edge.

“You sure?” you ask.

“I can handle it.”

You stagger to your knees to tend to the fire until the wood crackles. As soon as you’re within arm’s reach again, Abby pulls you into a tight hug, her arms clinging to you as if you’ve just returned from war.

“Okay, but you’re not allowed to be mad,” you say.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Abby says, pulling you on top of her.

You nestle into the inviting space between her breasts and clear your throat.

The area you frequently scavenge had been a bitch to navigate your first time around.

The constant rumble of delivery trucks and the sight of patrol vehicles passing by on the nearby highway attracted infected, but the soldiers never ventured inside the nearby towns to eradicate them. Your intention was to gain a strategic advantage by exploring an area that was avoided by everyone else.

But even your innovation and quick-thinking left you at the mercy of a deranged, agitated Runner.

In a state of panic, you found yourself inside the grocery store, desperate for a hiding spot. You ultimately ended up cramming into a stand-up freezer, watching the decaying cadaver pace back and forth, inches from you.

“That’s horrifying,” Abby balks. “You must’ve been so scared.”

“I was,” you admit.

You thought you were out of the woods, but on his third round past the doors, he saw you through the glass. He almost collapsed his own skull, attempting to break through it with his head.   

“How’d you handle it?” Abby asks, her fingers tracing a delicate path along your spine. “I can’t imagine being trapped like that.”

“Took a deep breath and prepared to fight for my life.”

“Good girl.”

“He was loud as hell, making so much noise,” you continue. “I thought I was toast for sure—and then I hear this huge crash. Navigator tore a flat of bottles off a shelf a few aisles down. Started barking and running laps, luring that fucker away. She saved me.”

Abby reaches out her arm to stroke the dozing dog, who remains blissfully curled up by the warm fire, before she presses a slow kiss to the top of your head.

“You want to know why I even bothered with those boring letters?” Abby asks. “The property debt and the mortgage stuff?”

You look up at her as she plays with your hair.

“Humour me,” you tease.

“I thought they might help me find the cabin my dad always promised my mom.”

Your heart squeezes.

“Abby.”

“I found it,” she whispers.

[peachyglo]

Whispering Pines: Part Two

Coming at you with an extremely fluffy second chapter, but as always, it’s 18+ only over here. Thank you so much for the comments and support so far. It elevates the writing experience for me to know my mushy heart is welcomed.

Abby sprints with all her might towards the shore, the sound of her pounding footsteps and ecstatic shouts causing birds and squirrels to scatter from their branches. The sheer happiness radiating from her is contagious, and the sight of the water crashing around her powerful body makes your cheeks sting.

Without hesitation, she plunges headfirst into the lake, disappearing into its depths. Your heart races until she finally emerges.

She is much farther out than you would ever venture to swim, and you fight the urge to shout for her to come back.

In moments like these, you appreciate the diligent, daily perimeter scans that ensure the infected stay at a safe distance. You hope desperately that no curious soldiers wander through the trees and spot you standing completely exposed, yearning for their commander who is frolicking in the nearby lake.

Your toes are the first to touch the freezing water, and the intense heat makes it feel so cold that you hesitate to go further than your knees. Goosebumps rise on your sun-warmed skin as you wrap your arms around yourself, unable to control the laughter welling up in your throat.    

With the surveillance of a shark, Abby notices your reluctance and effortlessly swims a mere four feet away from where you stand quivering like an arrow in the wind.

A mischievous spark dances in her eyes, highlighted by the spirited quirk of her brow.

“What are you doing? Abby,” you warn. You raise your palms, bracing yourself for the impending strike. “Don’t you dare!”

“The water is so nice,” she says.

“I swear to God, if you pull me in—”

“Come here,” Abby purrs, reaching for you. Water flows down her glistening arms in spine-tingling rivulets. “Are you really going to leave me all alone out here?”

You deftly evade her slow advances, finding yourself unexpectedly waist-deep in the water. She’s a smart and tactical woman, and the way she beckons for you to move toward her makes your insides twist.

“Oh, put that lip away,” you say, letting out a squeak as you stumble in a slightly deeper section of the lake, desperately trying to regain stability and make your way towards the shore. “You better back up—I swear I’ll take you down!”

The compliant and submissive attitude she had been trying to lure you in with suddenly evaporates, shifting into sheer, unrestrained determination.

She revels in the thrill of a challenge. You should’ve known better.

“Oh crap,” you blurt. “Please don’t. Please!”

“Begging doesn’t get you very far with me, either,” she smirks. “What’s your next move, hotshot?”

The sun’s reflection off her freckled skin is so radiant that it stuns you, as if a star has suddenly exploded into ethereal sand. Against her imposing form, you adjust your position into a fighting stance, attempting to appear more formidable than you feel.

The moment you decide to go toe to toe with her, a spark ignites, and she drifts closer to you.

“You’re too cute to scare me. Sorry to disappoint.”

Her banter is leaving you tongue-tied as your shoulders slump in defeat. She comes to an abrupt halt, an inch away from your shivering frame.

You were prepared to resign yourself to the inevitable, but she’s allowing you to determine the outcome instead.

The way she has gently motivated you to tread outside your comfort zone without compromising your sense of security is liberating. It’s been a while since you’ve experienced such a profound sense of autonomy.

“I’m just psyched that you finally notice me,” you say.

Her tone shifts into something tremendously genuine as she studies you.

“You think I haven’t noticed you before now?” she asks, gnawing at the inside of her cheek. “I see you.”

Bitten by the cold water, Abby’s nipples are hard against her breasts, and you quickly glance away when you catch yourself looking at her. The proximity to her chiseled body escalates the collision of shame and vulnerability, leaving you more naked in this lake than your own birthday suit.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“Don’t be,” Abby murmurs. “You can look. I don’t mind.”

You lock eyes with hers, and she grins, taking a confident step back to give you a clear view. As you hesitate, the rapid beats of your heart boom like a kick drum.

Right when you gather the courage to take her bare features in, she cleverly exploits the diversion and pulls you into the water.

You come up sputtering, the cold stealing your breath and purging your worries.

“I hate you so much!”

With a joyful laugh, Abby dives backward, narrowly escaping the colossal wave you’re preparing to unleash in her direction. She abstains from venturing as far into the lake as she previously did, and being so close to her, the water’s chill becomes more bearable.  

“Are you a strong swimmer?” she asks.

“I mean, I’m decent at not drowning.”

“Think you can reach that?”

She gestures towards a fragmented section of the dock that has become detached from its pathway and now floats aimlessly on the surface.

The water is so pristine that you can easily see the pebbles and plants at the bottom. You know very well the slimy texture of fish and the spookiness of waterlogged plants as they touch your ankles. It gives you the creeps, even though you’re trying to make a good impression.

“I’ll probably freak the hell out if something touches me, but I’ll give it a shot.”

“Ah, don’t sweat it. I’ll protect you from the big-bad rainbow trout.”

The sight of Abby’s pink tongue poking out at you triggers a fleeting desire to kiss it, leaving you lightheaded.

“You’re so brave,” you say, heavily laced with sarcasm. “Wanna share some of that ego, or are you going to keep it all to yourself?”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

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

Abby chops wood with meticulous precision, each swing of her axe splitting the round with a single, clean strike. The force of the blade sends wood chips flying in all directions, with a few pieces sticking to the bottom of her pants.

It’s a spectacle to behold as she wipes her forehead with her sleeves, then proceeds to roll them up, her swollen veins climbing from her muscular hands like vines.

“That smells good,” you say.

Abby pauses, flashing a smile at you. The axe hangs from her grip with such ease that it appears weightless at her side.

“You dig the smell of cedar, huh?” she says. With the toe of her boot, Abby nudges the mound of wood chips into a tighter pile. “I like it too—I’d stay out here forever if I could. Build myself a log house that smells just like this all the time.”

“Would it have a porch?”

With the blade resting between her boots, she contemplates, alternating the handle between her hands before leaning her weight on the axe like a walking stick.

“Do you think it should have one?” she asks.

You picture Abby’s dirty hands, decorated with thin, red scratches and rough callouses after building a home from the ground up, as she sips tea from a mug and watches the sun go down.

“Definitely. How else will you watch the sunset?”

As she looks up, her long lashes catch the light, her muscles rippling as she counterbalances against the axe handle. You feel a pleasant warmth enveloping you as she pores over your suggestion.

“We’d need a couple of rocking chairs then,” Abby says. “Maybe a table to play cards. I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

When she suddenly includes you in her vision, a wave of flutters spills from your ribs and into your belly.

“Oh god, I suck at card games,” you giggle.

“I’m a good teacher,” she says. “You’d be wiping the floor with me in no time.”

With her arms full of freshly chopped wood, Abby walks over to place the stack beside you, providing the final element to cook your lunch. She watches you work, entranced by the flickering flames as you build them into a pit of roaring fire.

As the flames dance higher, you add a handful of fragrant pinecones from your backpack, filling the air with the burn of citrus and earth.

With a contented hum, Abby tilts her head back and immerses herself in the aroma.

“Speaking of teaching,” you say. “What got you into planning these events?”

Leaning back on her arms, she crosses her feet at the ankle, her boot laces slowly coming undone as she sways them.

“My dad,” Abby explains, as tenderness seeps into her voice, a touch of sadness tinging her words. “He was super into the community thing, you know? Making everyone feel like part of a team and stuff—he really wanted to bring people together.”

“The world needs more of that.”

Abby lets out an exasperated sigh, nodding in agreement.

“Man, he would’ve hated it here,” she says.

“With the wolves, you mean?”

Abby grabs your bag and slides it over to use as a pillow. She rests on her back, hands folded on her chest, seeming to lose herself in the spectacle of the passing clouds. It’s clear that discussing her father is a delicate matter, and you completely understand her decision to shift the conversation.

“Do you ever think about leaving?” Abby asks, with her gaze fixed on the sky. She absentmindedly nibbles on the dry skin of her bottom lip. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay—um. It crosses my mind sometimes,” you confess. “I’m not sure where I’d go, exactly. But I wonder what else is out there. If maybe there are some normal towns with regular people who aren’t killing each other every other day.”

When Abby turns her head to look at you, you’re immediately captivated by how receptive she looks. Is Isaac’s beloved cavalry leader weighing the prospect of leaving everything behind?

“What would you do if you found one?”

“I’d probably get a cat,” you say, using your hand to block the sun as it filters through the trees. “They’re so soft and they keep your feet warm at night.”

Abby’s laughter escapes her in velvety puffs.

She shares a scandalous story about Manny, recounting a time when he was fooling around with one of his girls in a hidden location away from the FOB. Amid getting down to business, a cat unexpectedly jumped through the window and onto the mattress, startling him so badly that he leapt out of bed and ran naked down the hallway.

The woman he was with at the time berated him relentlessly, emphasizing the danger of encountering an attacker or an undead creature. She blamed him for deserting her in a potentially life-threatening situation.

Following that enlightening incident, they decided to keep their relationship strictly platonic.

“I’m totally keeping that one in my back pocket,” you say.

“Plenty more where that came from,” Abby says, interrupting her disclosure of Manny’s secrets to quench her thirst with a swig from her canteen.

“Manny has interesting taste in women,” you say.

“He was sure head over heels for you, though.”

Abby fusses with a splinter on her thumb, a small, satisfied grin playing on her lips.

“He was not!”

“Oh, big time,” she says, your response seeming to trigger her penchant for teasing. “He thought you were into him, too, for a bit—always following him around.”

As you think back to your early friendship with Manny, you remember how uncertain and undefined your relationship was before you clarified you weren’t interested romantically. His kindness was clear from the start, even before he fully grasped the reason behind your lack of reciprocation.

The knowledge that Abby was aware of your existence during that time, even in some trivial way, excites you.

“Maybe I was hoping to run into someone else.”

As Abby considers the notion, she unconsciously drags the cap of her canteen across her lips. Before taking another sip, she smiles at you, her head tipped back, revealing the enticing flex of her throat as she swallows.

“You know what?” Abby says. “I really like when you flirt with me.”

The boldness that has been emerging as you come out of your shell collides with the shy warmth spreading across the bridge of your nose.

“You do?”

“I think I’m a little jealous of Manny, actually.”

“He tried to kiss me once,” you say, giggling as Abby’s eyebrows nearly fly off her face in astonishment. “A perfect gentleman, but he still got a face full of my hair.”

Intrigued, she leans forward, encouraging you to delve deeper into the story.

“Yeah—they roped me into spin the bottle,” you continue. As you run your fingernail along the firestick, the last bits of bark spiral away, leaving behind a polished wood finish. “Do you remember when everyone thought that was a good idea? Before it turned into a relationship destroyer.”

“I forgot about that,” Abby laughs. “Isaac shut that shit down so fast. I didn’t make it to any of the parties, really.”

If Abby had attended, that ridiculous game would have received a much higher rating from you, that’s for sure.

“Did you want to be there?” you ask.

She tells you about Isaac’s efforts to shape her into a skilled assassin. How it resulted in her growing apart from Manny and her closest companions during that time. He prioritized her duties as a soldier, taking advantage of both her trauma and her unwavering discipline.

“I didn’t really know where I belonged, you know? We all got along, but I was going through something, and it changed me. It was probably weird to watch me climb the ranks so fast on top of it. I mostly kept to myself between assignments.”

Isaac, as usual, manipulated the situation to his benefit. Hearing about the ways he fractured their relationships is painful, as he seemed to have kept them at a distance while still prospering from their loyalty.

Every little thing she sacrificed to be a protector and a cog in Isaac’s machine brings forth an undeniable twinge of sadness. It echoes through the chambers of your heart.

Adolescent games paled in comparison to the plethora of experiences Abby must’ve missed out on.

“You deserved better,” you say, your voice a gentle hush. “Still do.”

You grab another handful of pinecones and pass one to her.

It’s a work of art, uniform and unblemished. A testament to nature’s elegance. Abby rolls it between her palms with care, treating the overlapping scales as if they are delicate glass.  

“How are you so pretty?” you ask breathlessly.

When Abby’s gaze meets yours, it’s like the gate to her cage has swung open, granting her the freedom to roam the boundless forest.    

“Where were you when I was young?” she asks.

The raw sincerity in her query finds you longing to comfort her.

You stoke the fire with the gnarled branch, ensuring that the glowing embers stay contained within the pit to reduce the chance of it spreading. Seattle can only handle one forest fire at a time, and the inferno crackling beneath your skin shows no signs of abating.

“I guess I was busy perfecting my cooking prowess,” you say. “Are you hungry yet?”

“Starved,” she says.

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

Abby’s creativity blossoms when she’s well-fed, and in a matter of hours, you’ve made significant progress together, working on her project.

The breadth of her abilities alone is enough to inspire anyone—but observing her as she skillfully exercises her talents in an exhibition of physical strength turns your knees to jelly.

Whether it’s the consequence of too much sun or falling hard for Abby, you’re exhausted, and the sun hasn’t even started to go down.

Cognizant of your struggle with the knot she previously taught you; Abby quietly approaches from behind to assist you again.

“You’re so close,” she says, sidling her front up against your back. You feel her breath on the nape of your neck, dropping onto your collarbone. “Can I?”

Below your own, Abby’s hands hover, patiently seeking permission to become your shadow, guiding the cord around your fingertips.

You nod, and she presses closer to you, her hair tickling your shoulder as she rests her chin there. Her support enables you to acclimate to the unfamiliar movements, the delightful fragrance of her skin simply a gratuity you get to enjoy in the meantime.

“Is this how you always teach?” you ask.

With a short-winded chuckle, you feel her shake her head.

“Never,” she says. “This is only for you.”

[peachyglo]

The happy end to this story! (childhood friends to lovers). Thank you for voting!

Palestine: what can you do

Morning comes way too early and your head is absolutely killing you. You sit on the bed slowly, scared you'll get dizzy, and try to remember how much you drank yesterday.

Instead you're hit with a brick to your face when you remember the end of the night.

Holy fuck.

You can't breathe for a second. Why the fuck did you confess to Abby? Did she kiss you as well? What the fuck? What the fuck happened?

You don't feel like you can even start to unpack all of that in your current state. You take a shower with a slight tremor in your body and keep your head empty: it's not hard when the headache is still pounding at your temples.

You brush your teeth and lazily slump to the kitchen, eager to drink something - dehydration is such a bitch. You make yourself tea and sit on a chair, staring at your table.

It's not true, is it? You had these dreams before when you'd wake up and swear something happened, but then details wouldn't add up and you'd come to a conclusion it was your drunk hallucination. This was probably one of them, right?

Should you text Abby and ask if anything happened?

Yeah, no. You'd rather die.

It eats you alive and if it's really happened, it'd be the end. No way Abby really kissed you yesterday - she probably left and your mind decided to sweeten the pill and played the same tape it plays every time you get too upset. It's pathetic and humiliating, but it makes you feel better. Usually.

It doesn't make you feel better now since your intuition is screaming at you, telling you yesterday was real, but you ignore it, because you can't afford hope.

And even if it was real, what's next? Hey Abby, do you want to break up wi-

The doorbell rings and startles you - and now you're terrified. You don't want to know who is there. (Because you know who it is.)

But you can't ignore the doorbell because it hurts your head way too much, so you go to open the door just to end this awful noise.

And Abby is there, smiling with a bag of a takeout next door she knows you crave on the hangover.

"Hi." She breathes out and there's her usual adoring look you can't handle. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm genuinely considering dying as an option." You joke, but you'd really prefer to be anywhere else than face Abby and yesterday's.. situation.

"Did you wake up not long ago?" Abby makes her way around your apartment to go to the kitchen and you're puzzled.

"Half an hour ago."

So did something happen yesterday or not? Is Abby being normal or is she pretending to be normal? Your dry ramen brain can't figure her out, so you decide to go with the flow and see what happens.

Abby serves the food and you sit down to eat. Your stomach growls and there is disgusting smell of alcohol when you breath out; you cringe and start eating, your mind is still half-empty. You feel like a zombie with no functioning brains and it's better than hearing your anxiety.

"Thank you." You say and take a large bite, because apparently you're very hungry.

"I broke up with Mia."

You choke on your food.

"What the fuck Abby!" You cough and it takes a few minutes to calm down. "You can't just say it when I'm chewing, come on. But also: What?"

"I went to her place just before I came here. We talked and I told her I can't keep dating her. She was upset, but she said she understood."

You blink. Your hands start shaking and it's not hangover. You press your lips together to not smile because Abby's words give you hope.

"So yesterday was real?" You ask, scared shitless.

"Yeah." Abby smiles and reaches out, tangling her fingers with yours. "You thought it was a dream?"

"Yeah." You admit and stare at your joined hands. "Are you being friendly right now?" You are cautious. You can't have any subtlety right now, you need Abby to be clear with you. After yesterday there's no space for blurred boundaries and friendly flirting.

"No, I'm not." Abby chuckles. "You want to hear it?"

"Yes." You sound like you're begging and Abby giggles.

"I'm in love with you."

You fold. Literally. Your body gives up and relaxes in the chair and you take a deep breath. It's real. It's all real, and Abby is here and she is in love with you.

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Oh my god." You squeak under your breath. "Yes. Yes. Fuck. Fuck, I will."

Abby smiles happily and raises your fingers to kiss them. You shudder and you feel like you're going to throw up.

Oh shit.

You run to the bathroom and empty your stomach. Abby runs after you, laughing, but keeping your hair out of the way.

"Really?"

"Shut the fuck up, Abby." You say and wipe your mouth. "I'm hangover."

Abby washes your face for you and kisses your forehead.

"Is it gross I still want to kiss you?" Abby murmurs and you feel your face heat up.

"Incredibly gross. I'll brush my teeth first."

Abby laughs and watches impatiently as you brush your teeth. The moment you finish she is turning you around and kisses you, wet and hungry, and your knees buckle. Abby is not shy and she is not trying to slow down, practically devouring you, pushing her tongue inside your mouth and squeezing your waist as if she is mapping you with her fingers. You're overwhelmed by all of this, but you respond eagerly and hug her shoulders. The kiss tastes like mint, but both of you don't mind.

"I guess your skills improved since we were 14." Abby teases you, but she is smiling happily. You are both panting, and you pinch her side enough for it to be painful.

"And you still drool all over my face."

"Well." Abby smirks at you. "You seem to like it."

"Maybe." You return the smirk and kiss her again, wondering if your God is a still a God if you can reach her?

You think she is.

[peachyglo]

Whispering Pines

I plan for this to be a two-part piece, at least, as there are many mushy and maybe even spicy things planned for it—but today is my birthday and I’ll be away from my computer for a few days to celebrate. I really hope you enjoy reading it in the meantime. Big fluff, 18+ only.

In a world where infected roam the earth and surviving has become a daily battle, life is as good as it can be. Perfectly fine, by your standards, until Abigail Anderson entered the picture.

From the moment you saw her shredding all competition in the gun range, she stirred something inside of you that now clouds your mind and distracts you from almost everything else.

The term “crush” makes sense to you now, with the overwhelming burden of longing and unseen affection absolutely crushing you into miniscule particles of dust, drifting hopelessly at her feet.

Your infatuation has pushed you into a range of activities you wouldn’t have pursued otherwise. While it has undoubtedly made you a more capable soldier, it is unfortunate that the attention your accolades have received is not something you can reciprocate, even if you wanted to.

It’s not just her striking smile, or her perfect blend of rugged and soft features—not the sheer strength she exudes when she ambles through the chow hall in her tank top, cargo pants so snug across her muscular thighs it makes your knees weak.

It’s just her. A beautiful amalgamation of countless quirks and habits that, for some wicked reason, forces your senses to impossible heights when you desperately need them to subside.

“Are you hearing me right now?”

“Shit, sorry,” you say. “Go again.”

You lower your head apologetically, Manny’s face expressing absolute scandal when he notices the broad-shouldered goddess that diverted your focus from him. His very best friend and comrade, naturally.

When he waggles his brows at you and calls Abby over, your stomach swoops so low that the rapid beating of your heart contradicts the notion of standing still.

“Manny, don’t—Manny! Oh, Jesus Christ.”

With a brief, calculating glance at your fidgeting form, he meets Abby halfway, abandoning you in line.

As you lose focus on your surroundings, panic draws emphasis to the position of your hands. You become acutely aware, contemplating whether they should rest in your pocket or if that would come across as too deliberately cool.

You avoid watching them talk amongst themselves, the air thick with secrecy, because obviously if you don’t see her, she can’t see you and then you can vanish without a trace, escaping to a haven that grants respite anywhere but here in the damn burrito queue.

When you reach the front of the line, you snatch up your lunch with such speed that the person serving you may have mistaken your haste for a bad mood as you swiftly exit through the nearest doors and into the hallway.

“I can’t believe you,” Manny pants, trying to catch his breath as you fumble with your overcrowded keyring. “The first woman who’s ever tried to escape my charm.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you snicker. Metal jingles aggressively as you struggle to enter your apartment. “God, what’s wrong with this damn thing?”

In a display of cunning, Manny unveils a spare key, undoubtedly gained through some act of thievery, and shoves you aside. With a kick, he swings the door open and stretches his arm above your head to hold it for you.

“Do I even want to know?” you ask, gesturing at the stolen key.

“Probably not,” he chuckles.

He rests against your kitchen counter and, realizing you won’t ask him to go, hops onto the hard surface. He devours his meal, one enormous chomp at a time, legs casually swinging as you wander through your suite, trying to regain your appetite.

“So,” Manny says, balling up the wrapper before tossing it at your head. “You’ve got it bad for my girl, huh?”

“You’re actually the worst, do you know that?” you say. “I hope you never get laid again.”

Laughing uncontrollably, Manny tries to catch the messy wrapper you toss back at him, causing him to nearly tumble off the counter.

“That’s what you get, sucker!” you exclaim. “Looks like you won’t be making the softball team, after all.”

With a snort, Manny jumps down from the counter and starts rummaging through your mini fridge, in search of something to wash down his lunch.

“We’ll see after this weekend who is the real sucker.”

“What does that mean?”

With a voracious gulp, he drains the last drops of your juice rations, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He’s finally seeking retribution for all the snacks of his that you’ve been helping yourself to.

“Manny, what did you do?” you groan.

An abrupt knock at your door startles you, as Manny’s knowing look turns your mouth bone-dry.

“I’ll go wash up. You better get that,” he says.

With a leisurely pace, he saunters down the hall, his footsteps creating a gentle rhythm as he heads towards your bathroom and out of sight.

Thunderous knocks continue to echo through the room, causing your thoughts to scramble. You smooth out your shirt and fuss with your hair, taking a few calming breaths before flinging open the door.

A pair of bright, curious blue eyes greet you on the other side, setting your cheeks on fire. Swallowing hard, you stand there speechless, desperately grasping for something significant to say. Knowing what Manny told her would provide some helpful context, but that shithead has left you in the lurch twice today.

Abby sizes you up, her attractive face adorned with a growing smirk that spotlights her confidence.

“Hi,” she says with a warm smile, extending her hand for a friendly handshake. “I’m Abby.”

“Hey, yeah—I’ve noticed. I know,” you blurt, feeling yourself internally recoil at the gibberish spilling from you like a waterfall.

As you both stand there, the handshake lingering for an unusually long time, Abby’s amusement at your expense only seems to intensify. As she patiently waits for you to decide when it ends, her eyes crinkle cheerfully at the edges. By the time you pull away, your whole body feels sweat dappled and flushed.

Manny shouts from somewhere inside the apartment, sending your shoulders straight to your ears. “Are you going to invite her in already—where are your manners?”

His outburst earns a gratuitous eye roll from Abby, who then tilts her head with empathy towards you.

“Would—you like to come in?” you stammer.

“Yeah,” she says. “That’d be great.”

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

A few times each year, Abby takes charge of organizing events for the younger generations on the FOB. She leads a series of survival challenges—scavenger hunts, fishing and hunting, target practice, crafting competitions, herb, and plant identification—to help keep morale up and to preserve strength in the community.

Although you haven’t taken part, you’ve heard positive feedback from soldiers and their families on base. It’s a good thing too, since Manny has kindly stepped in and volunteered you to help Abby with the next one.

“I know it sounds corny, but it really helps build teamwork and keep everyone active,” Abby explains, referring to a relay race she wants to set up outside the walls.

“No, not at all—it sounds awesome,” you say.

“I was going to go solo, but if you want to come along, I’d appreciate the extra hands,” she says. I usually camp for a few days and build everything myself. It’ll be nice to have some company out there.”

Abby’s fingers find a loose thread that is spindling out from a tear on her jeans, and she starts to fiddle with it. Manny clears his throat, prompting you to join the conversation rather than staring at her like she’s an enchanting extraterrestrial.

“I love camping!” you squeak, putting Manny on the verge of collapsing with laughter as he hears the sheer excitement in your voice.

It wouldn’t be completely terrible if the couch swallowed you whole, but despite your nerves, Abby does a decent job of making you feel relaxed in her presence.

“Yeah? Do you have a tent and everything?”

It’s clear that the universe is conspiring to make you look like a fool, so of course you don’t have camping gear of your own. To be honest, you’ve always been thankful for the opportunity to choose your work while off base because every time you observe your unit setting up camp, it reminds you of how complex it all seems.

Your inclination is to prioritize keeping everyone fed and using your expertise in weaponry and stealth. If you attempted to pitch a tent with only tarps and some rope, someone would inevitably wake up in a puddle.

“I’m not so great with the tent erecting stuff,” you say, mentally cuffing yourself the minute you hear yourself speak.

You’ve never uttered the word erecting in your life before now.

You avoid glancing at Manny’s face, aware that he’s eagerly anticipating the chance to mercilessly ridicule you. With a sugary, lopsided smile, Abby boldly extends her middle finger towards her best friend. You can bet that he is making all sorts of faces behind your back.

“We can share mine,” Abby offers. “If that’s cool with you.”

“Sure, that works for me,” you say with a nod, trying like hell to stay composed against the heat climbing your neck.

Abby bites her cheek to suppress a smile.

“Good, it’s all settled,” Manny says, slapping your back. “Just you and Abby, all alone in the great outdoors.”

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

“I’m going to kill him,” you grumble.

Upon hearing the news of Manny finally pairing you and Abby together, Nora is giddier than you’ve ever seen her. While assembling a medical kit for your camp out, she gives you a cheeky look.

“That girl needs her shit rocked,” she says, bouncing her flawlessly manicured brows. “If you want my vote, I say you send her home to us limping.”

“Oh, my god! I’m never going to get my face to calm down.”

You press your palms to your forehead, desperate for a cold cloth.

Nora’s bright, warm giggles fill the room, matching the kind-heartedness she emits.

“There’s no way Abby isn’t dreading this,” you say, passing a roll of gauze to Nora’s outstretched hands. “You should’ve been there—it was like I forgot how to talk or something. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Well, if I know her as well as I think I do,” Nora says with a grin. “She probably found your mess pretty damn cute.”

“You think so?”

“Totally. She digs the dorky ones,” she shrugs, handing you the fully stocked medical kit. “Just be real with her, okay? Everything with Owen did a number on her. I’d hate to have to kick your ass when you get back.”

“I don’t think this is that kind of trip,” you say. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Leaning against the desk, Nora twirls a pen in her hands, lost in thought. The Salt Lake Crew, as you understand it, formed an unbreakable bond, strengthened by the shared experiences and obstacles they encountered while growing up together side by side. Though some challenges they faced have become distant tales, her face still carries the etching of the profoundness of their connection.

“I’m going to tell you something because I trust you, but please don’t make me regret it.”

The sound of the pen tapping against Nora’s thigh is quick and incessant as she gathers her thoughts. A small puff of air escapes her as she studies you intently from a distance.

“Fuck it,” she says, her lean hands gripping the tabletop. “Abby gets these—bad dreams, okay? Not all the time, but when she does, it can be rough. It’s why she goes out there alone.”

“Oh,” you breathe.

“Yeah. So, it’s a pretty big deal that she’s bringing you along this time,” Nora explains. “Please be good to her.”

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

The two of you venture outside the gates in the early morning, the scorching heat prickling your neck. The drought-stricken summer is the hottest you can remember in ages, dry grass crunching beneath your boots as you trek on.

You bring your shirt up to swipe at your sweaty face, drawing Abby’s gaze as it travels down your body.

This time, it’s her face that flushes with a rosy hue as she realizes you caught her stealing glances.

“It’s cool of you to help me out,” Abby says, redirecting attention. “Even though it’s boiling out here.”

“I thought about bailing, I’m not gonna lie,” you chuckle.

The heat and Abby’s quick pace are leaving you out of breath, but you’re determined to keep up.

“Why didn’t you?” she asks.

You reflect on Nora’s words and how she pleaded with you to treat Abby honourably. Her advice was to be authentic, and even though vulnerability can be frightening, you’re going to bite the bullet.

“I’ve wanted to get to know you for a while,” you admit. With the sun piercing through the trees, blinding your vision, you tightly clutch the straps of your backpack and hang your head. “I hope that’s not weird.”

Abby stops in front of you, and it momentarily obscures the bright rays of sunlight, offering you instant relief. The freckles sprinkled along her sun-kissed skin become more prominent, enhancing her natural beauty. She’s so pretty it makes your chest ache, and your thoughts run wild.

Kneeling, she hunts through her bag and pulls out a crumpled ball cap. When she stands up and carefully places it over your head, making all the necessary adjustments, flutters stir between your ribs.

“This hat is weird,” Abby says, her soft smile contrasting with her words.

Before continuing the journey, she pauses to fix a few messy tendrils of your hair, her touch lingering behind your ear for a split second. It’s enough to overlook the blazing temperature outside, mistakenly convincing you it’s only a sensation within your body.

“What about you—where’s yours?” you ask.

Despite her attempt to hide it, her smile is unmistakable as she tilts her head away.

“It looks better on you.”

“I highly doubt the accuracy of that statement,” you quip.

If you had known she was such a sweetheart behind closed doors, you might’ve summoned the courage to approach her differently. Life is brief, and it dawns on you how much time you’ve squandered in fear.

Amused, Abby shakes her head and then gestures for you to follow her. You would willingly accompany her to the deepest depths of the earth if she wanted. Fortunately, you’re already experiencing a preview of that, with the summer heat threatening to sear you like a salmon steak.

Abby jogs ahead of you, her eyes hooked on something beyond the treeline. You match her speed, eager to discover what has caught her interest.

She leads you to a lake, with its surface as clear as crystal, mirroring the vibrant emerald hues of the surrounding trees. Wildflowers bloom at the water’s edge, cradled between pebbles, their petals a delicate splatter of yellow and purple. A family of ducks glide gracefully across the surface, leaving ripples in their wake.

You wish you had something to offer them.

“Please tell me we’re going swimming,” you say, spellbound by the lush oasis and the promise of a refreshing dip. “I haven’t been to the lake for years.”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Abby says, beaming at you. “Have you ever gone skinny dipping?”

Her teeth graze anxiously over her bottom lip, examining you—her watchful eyes appearing filled with hope that she didn’t unintentionally cross a boundary.

“Only in my bathtub,” you say with a nervous giggle. “But I guess that doesn’t really count.”

“You’re a total dork,” Abby teases. “It’s kind of growing on me.”

“I’ll take it,” you say, delighting in the way she impishly scrunches her nose at you. “So, are we doing this or what?”

“You first,” she says, her eyes gleaming mischievously as she flicks at the brim of your hat.

When you toss it aside, Abby lifts her shirt up and over her head, balling it up to pitch on top of her bag. Her long, honey-blonde braid sways between her exposed shoulder blades as she widens her stance, unfastening her leather belt. Her back is a landscape of tight, defined muscles that leave you feeling dizzy.

Abby’s gaze meets yours as she looks back, a trace of wonder dancing in her eyes.

“Like what you see?” she asks.

[peachyglo]

Ink and Paper Hearts

I wanted to write something for Valentine's Day, and wound up with over 8k words. Sheesh! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for being here! Be kind to yourself and others. 18+ only. Violence and sexual themes. Angst, fluff, etc.

Raised on a cattle ranch, you spent your early days on horseback tending to the farm and living off the land. When disaster left you orphaned, a ragtag group of survivors embraced you as one of their own. Over time, they had become your family, and together, you’d endure natural disasters, famine, and hordes of infected.

It only took one sweep of malevolent raiders to destroy your home and turn everything you’d ever known to dust. You escaped the attack within an inch of your life.

Isaac was the one who discovered you withering away in an old diner off the freeway, fending off the infected with nothing but your integrity and a baseball bat. His medical team, which accompanied him as they moved between compounds, took care of your recovery, and nursed you back to health.

The leader of the Washington Liberation Front admired any person who possessed the strength to fight and the compassion to care for animals simultaneously, and in exchange for a safe place to lay your head, you promised to do just that.

It was a relinquishment of power; you learned early on. Anything involving Isaac came at a cost. Your bond with him was duty-bound, but he offered you another chance at having a family and a purpose. After being all alone in that desolate place, you’d been more than willing to fall in line.

Still, you were a different person when you first arrived in Seattle.

Some would say naïve. You saw yourself as a practical optimist. Now, you’re not so sure.

It’s truly astonishing how a year of unrelenting conflicts with the Scars can diminish the brightness of your silver lining.

The ability to find distraction in your work is a double-edged sword.

A jack of all trades, you spend most of your time working with the four-legged soldiers of the WLF. You have extremely limited patience for the human variety, on both sides of the fence. You tolerate a handful of your comrades, but between assignments, you’re happiest with your nose in a book, savouring the quiet and escaping into distant realms.

The drive for escapism hasn’t been a difficult undertaking lately.

A group of thirty soldiers left the grounds on assignment last month, and only two returned.

It left the stadium halls quieter, heads hanging lower than what you’d ever witnessed. Interactions that would otherwise leave you with a sunny lilt, instead left you carrying a heaviness that you couldn’t quite shake.

Few civilians choose to dive into surface level banter like they used to and the collective fear and sadness shrouding the compound has kept it that way for some time.

It serves as a reminder that even with extensive training and the most advanced military equipment, tragedy can strike without discrimination.

Unchecked and alone, the infected will forever wander through the shadows, driven by an unending quest to find their next victim. Maybe the same idea is true for all adversaries.

Your primary objective is to ensure the community remains united and intact. If you manage to stay sane, that’s a plus.  

“How are you today, my little sunflower?” Manny asks, mischievously tugging your jacket.

“You better be talking to the dogs.”

“And if I’m not?” he asks, kneeling to offer unlimited ear scratches to the newest litter.

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to refer you to every other time you’ve ever asked,” you say, giving the bottom of his boot a kick. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Yes, he does!”

A woman’s voice booms from the other side of the unit, and Manny forces a smile.

“The bane of my existence.”

You chuckle at his misery, knowing little about his relationship with Abby outside of the kinship they portray in combat and their supposed insufferable roommate arrangement. Something you’re only privy to after running into her after hours at the library as she was trying to catch some shuteye on the couch there.

“Will you quit harassing pretty girls and grab a damn dog already?”

As she approaches, tails of all shapes and sizes wag with incredible speed, exuding pure happiness. You wonder how much time she has spent in the kennels when you’re not around. Isaac has her spearheading every mission from here to Chicago, so you rarely see her. But the dogs never forget a kind face.

You exchange a few pleasantries with Abby before she drags her unenthusiastic partner to work. Manny’s womanizing ways at the stadium serve as a constant reminder of your boundaries in relationships.

You’re safer by yourself.

Abby does seem like a sweetheart, though.

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

“We ship out tomorrow morning,” Abby says, handing you an empty canteen and a backpack, a clipboard braced to her side by her white knuckled grasp.

Her abrupt tone makes you jump when it normally wouldn’t. She’s struggling to keep her voice steady, but you suspect she has more important things to worry her mind about. 

“Right,” you nod. “Any idea how long?”

As she’s rushing to complete the next task, your query hits her at the worst possible second, adding to her already teetering stress load. You recognize it a moment too late and your teeth ache at the back of your jaw when she spins on her heel, pinning you with a glare.

“Do you expect a serious answer, or are you just trying to piss me off?”

“No, I—”

“Promises around here are as worthless as the ETA themselves, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Promises? What did that have to do with anything?

“I’m sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

“Anything else I can assist you with, soldier? Or can we finish wasting my time?” Abby bellows.

You knew it would be a mistake to leave the K9 unit, but circumstances with the Seraphites have forced your hand. They not only invaded WLF territory, causing destruction and casualties among your people, but they’ve also been blocking your teams from conducting supply runs, leading to a rather grim situation in the reserves.

“You don’t have to bite my head off,” you say, feeling the tension rise as you widen your stance against her more imposing one. “We’re all stuck in this mess.”

“Oh, really?” she seethes. “Good to know. I’ll be sure to hand you a shovel next time our people turn up in body bags. Give you a break from scooping dog crap to help us grownups with the actual shit.”

Abby is your superior and you know better than to test the hierarchy. The moment you denied Isaac’s advances, you tumbled from the top spot. But you’re no chump.

“What’s your problem?”

In a split second, Abby’s body looms over you as she detonates, “You’re my problem,” her breath hot against your face.

She flinches when you lose your balance and stumble backward, narrowly catching yourself. If her instinct was to rescue you, she restrained herself just in time, her hand frozen in mid-air. A twitch nags at the corners of her tired eyes.

“You’re no different from the rest,” you say, walking backward, chest heaving. “It’s all the fucking same.”

You’re down the hall and veiled by the four walls of your room before the opportunity to fumble your conversation further buries you in shame.

It’s going to be a long night.

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

Manny runs through his roll call sheet twice, inspecting each soldier with every measure but a squat and cough. If he thought he’d catch you on a minor clothing infraction, hell, a mismatched pair of socks, he’s sadly mistaken. You wouldn’t give Abby the satisfaction and besides, you hadn’t slept a wink preparing for this assignment.

“Where’s Anderson?” Manny asks under his breath. The team surrounding him dip their heads and you try to avert your attention. Brush it off like you had been too busy inspecting your gear to overhear him.

“We’re not going blind, are we, Alvarez?” Abby says, shouldering through the group to drop her bag on the tailgate of the Humvee.

When her arm brushes yours, you recoil, your fist hitting your stomach with a muffled thud. Her head snaps in your direction, but her gaze is less volatile than before. You make a point not to place too much trust in that emotional assessment, finding solace in the familiar sensation of your twisting hands.

“Alright,” she shouts above the murmurs of your unit, the quiet chatter falling into silence. “You will work in pairs, at all times, even when we are in proximity to each other. This is unnegotiable, so don’t ask me if you have to bring a friend to the pisser. The answer is yes.”

The group’s attention is undeterred, even as a faint chuckle escapes them, their eroded black boots facing her commanding presence.

“If you hear something, say something,” she continues, her chin bowing slightly. “It may save a life.”

You swallow thickly and lean against the armed vehicle, its cold steel biting into your back. It’s possible that your sleepless night will affect your performance, but you decide not to emphasize it and hoist yourself upright before anyone notices.

“Our destination is approximately sixty miles from here, and we will cross into Scar territory temporarily, so we’ll need to be cautious. Eyes on rooftops, balconies, you know the drill.”

The group divides between the Humvee and a military truck, and it’s only after twenty minutes of driving that you realize Abby has chosen you as her combat partner for the time being. You feel the weight of her thigh against yours, as she adjusts her legs to accommodate her backpack, and you’re left pondering her decision.

There is a clear sense of trust between her and Manny, making him not only her closest friend, but a lifeline in warfare. Does she think you’re weak and in need of a stronger match? You gnaw on your bottom lip at the notion, focusing on the greenery flitting past your window.

“Come on, Anderson, your balls aren’t that big,” Manny teases, gesturing to her outstretched posture, particularly the way her legs take up enough room for two. You shift toward the door to free up some real estate between you and concentrate back on the road.

As their banter fades into background noise, your attention shifts to observing the deserted surroundings, vigilant for any indication of danger. Apart from a pair of rabbits hopping around, the streets are completely motionless.

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

The cavalry parks outside a derelict warehouse, its craggy roof adorned by a lush carpet of moss. Rust-bitten chain link fencing surrounds an expansive lot at the rear, cube vans with faded labels scattered throughout. It’s a tempting location to scavenge, but the prospect makes your stomach lurch.

The presence of tall grass and the lack of windows on each vehicle creates ample opportunity for trouble. A lurking enemy, dead or alive, is something you’d like to avoid. It’s possible that someone has already searched the vans, despite their undisturbed appearance.

“Let’s break this down into teams and tackle it all at once,” Abby announces, nodding at the parking lot and the adjoining building. “Six outside, inspecting the trucks, and six inside. We’ll scour the property first, and then we can set up for the night.”

“Wait,” you say.

She blows out a frustrated breath.

“This better be good.”

The temptation to tell her to fuck all the way off is intense.

“Maybe we should put a couple scouts up high, search the grounds together,” you say, pointing to the safest vantage points. “Eyes in the sky.”

“Any other suggestions?” she asks.

“I mean, no—but,” you begin.

Abby interrupts, holding her hand up. “Like I said. Six and six. We don’t need to be out here longer than necessary.”

“Fine.”

She guides you toward the building, her palm on your lower back, and you jerk away from her grasp. She may have the authority to call the shots, but you decide where you place your neck on the chopping block.

“I’m with them,” you say, trudging toward the trucks.

“Hey!” Abby says.

“Oh, Jesus Christ. What?”

She gives you a once over, gritting her teeth.

You throw your hands up and let them slap against your sides, waiting for her to hurl her discontent at your head, clearly eager to tear a strip off you in front of your squad. With a distant gaze, she fixates on the hollow space behind you before heading towards the warehouse.

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

It took several hours to secure the perimeter and set up camp inside.

Your heavy eyelids rejoice at the promise of rest. The team in charge of the mail trucks uncovered a mother lode of undelivered packages, chock full of useful supplies. It was almost as impressive as the haul the WLF brought back from the airport a few months back.

Within the building, soldiers set up their bedrolls among a labyrinth of cluttered offices. It’s quite comical to overhear the entertainment value of some dusty, redundant telephones and keyboards. You catch snippets of the amusing conversations while rearranging your own space, the sound of playful jabbering rising from the ashes, finally allowing you to release a deeply trapped breath.

Abby eases up on her protocols to make the rounds and ensure everyone is okay. You make use of the time alone to freshen up and explore, gathering candles from various boxes to arrange in your shared office, the wax and wicks a rare, comforting find.

Abby spots them as soon as she returns.

“Nighttime always feels darker away from home,” you explain, worried she might find them frivolous.

She doesn’t.

“Candles are good,” she says, picking one up to roll in her hands. She scrapes her thumbnail along the wax base and shifts on her feet. “I like them.”

“Alright,” you say, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

You try to ignore the intensity of her gaze as it grazes over you, but beads of sweat build along your lower back. It might be time to crack a window. Occupying yourself with that activity, you grow increasingly frustrated as the most accessible ones refuse to budge.  

“Let me try,” she offers.

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” she huffs, and you glimpse her crossing her arms over her broad chest.

You reckon Abby isn’t used to being turned down, and it sours your stomach a little to be the outlier.

By climbing the desk closest to the wall, you gain some leverage and drive your palms into the ridge of the window. You feel the sharp edge digging painfully into your flesh, your back muscles tightening to an impossible degree.

“For fuck’s sake,” you grunt, putting all your might into another attempt, the image of a bottle smashing through the pane something you’d seriously consider acting upon if you were alone.

“Stop being stubborn and let me help.”

“I don’t need your help,” you groan, the tickle of sweat now threatening to break into a full stream down your spine.

“Sure seems like you do,” she says, the arrogance in her tone combined with the weight of her gaze on your back, sending your lid rocking chaotically over a burgeoning boil.

You suck in a rigid breath and ignore her remark.

“Look, if you just—”

“Abby!” you say, jolted by your own shout.

Manny must overhear the commotion, slinking against the door frame to clear his throat. As they murmur behind you, you bow your head and brace your hand against the glass, waiting to be reprimanded.

When you twist your body to offer an apology, the room is empty.

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

Even as the sun disappears below the horizon, the air in your office, as well as the rest of the building, becomes oppressively warm. You dig through your bag for a less cumbersome shirt but resort to stripping down to your sports bra and a pair of boxers. Abby hasn’t come knocking for a while, long enough for a clicker to obliterate you ten times over, but you temper your outrage.

Downstairs, there’s a treasure trove of unopened loot piled on racks, beckoning your interest. Abby abandoned her rule of two and frankly, you couldn’t care less.

Truthfully, she never wanders too far from her pack.

It’s possible she’s unaware of your whereabouts while you gather boxes from the metal racks downstairs in your underwear.

But it’s also possible she has eyes on you wherever you go.

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

“What’s all this?” Abby asks, lingering in the doorway.

Lost mail spills from the bins surrounding you. You’re captivated by the untold stories inside them. A peek into a world you’d never known.

“Letters, mostly,” you say.

Just inside the entryway, Abby slouches against the wall, absentmindedly playing with the fibers of the carpet using her socked feet.

“What kind?”

You’ve torn through dozens of envelopes, the contents of each one wildly different. It’s almost disturbing to imagine how many people had an entire universe they experienced through their eyes only.

You’ve already envisioned yourself journeying from one post office to another, gathering historical accounts and breathing new life into forgotten tales.

“I’m a bit lost with most of them,” you say, credit card debt and bank statements flying straight over your head. “Structures before the outbreak are a lot different from ours.”

Abby clicks her tongue, moving further into the room to sit across from you. She’s careful not to encroach on your space and a twinge of remorse worms into your belly. You offer an olive branch, handing her a photograph.

“But then there’s stuff like this,” you continue.

Abby’s eyes widen at the provocative image of a woman, her slender figure draped across a pristine silk sheet, the vibrant red of her lace panties and sharp stilettos creating a striking contrast. Attached to it is a note that reads:

When you’re alone, close your eyes, and I’ll be whispering your name.

Abby puffs a quiet laugh as a flush of pink creeps along the high points of her cheekbones.

“Who’s it addressed to?” she asks.

You search for the envelope among a sea of scribbled addresses and realize it’s a futile endeavour.

“I’m honestly not sure,” you admit. “I think I lost it.”

“Damn,” Abby smirks, running her thumb over the curled edges of the polaroid. “Lost in transit twice.”

You give a half shrug, noticing how enraptured she is with the picture. Her blonde lashes catch the candlelight at an angle that cast long shadows across her freckled skin.

“Manny would lose his mind,” Abby says, rolling her eyes. “He’s obsessed with shit like this—women in general, really. Horny bastard.”

You can feel the giggles bubbling up inside you, and you clamp your lips together to keep them from escaping. Abby Anderson, the most revered soldier of the Washington Liberation Front, sitting criss-cross applesauce talking smack about her best friend.

It is about the funniest thing you’ve seen in weeks.

“Have you—ever sent one?” you ask, treading dangerous waters and bracing yourself.

She blows out a ragged breath, pocketing the evidence.

You wonder if it’ll be a gift for Manny or something she keeps for herself. The notion causes vicious heat to rise across your forehead and down the bridge of your nose.

“Not a chance. It’s not really my thing.”

The mountain of mail between you becomes a welcomed distraction, and you make use of having a focal point to stare at.

When she tosses the question back your way, it throws your stuttering heart into a full gallop.

“Have you?” she whispers, leaning back to study you with a leg outstretched. The heel of her foot rocks to a slow tune only she can hear.

Her muscular arms bulge as she balances herself and you do your level best to pretend you don’t care. You expect her to wriggle uncomfortably or try to change the subject, but she doesn’t. Instead, she waits on you to bounce the ball she has rolled onto your court.

It’s you who can’t stop squirming.

“I haven’t found anyone worth the effort,” you say, and it feels a little embarrassing, maybe, but you figure honesty goes a lot further with Abby. “People suck.”

“Would you?” she asks. “If you found someone.”

Your racing heart leaves you dizzy.

It’s too goddamn hot in this office. You crane your neck to fire silent vitriolic arrows toward the stubborn windows, desperate for a fresh gust of air to grace the back of your damp shoulders. Abby stumbles to her feet, stepping over you to solve your problem once and for all.

With a soft click, the lock releases, and the window glides open, allowing the cool evening breeze to sweep through the space.

You squeeze your eyes shut and groan.

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Abby smirks, dropping back down to her spot on the floor. This time, she lies on her side, head propped up by her arm. “You almost had it.”

The crooked smile quirking up on her mouth hits you like a flashbang.

“I kind of hate you right now,” you say without venom. “But I should probably say thank you, huh?”

“Probably,” she grins, teeth raking slowly over the pout of her bottom lip.

She has freckles there too, and you’re suddenly envious of them.

“I won’t,” you blurt, tearing open another envelope. “Say thank you.”

“I wouldn’t either,” she laughs, and it’s a deep, warm cadence. A laugh meant only for your ears. She gestures to the letter in your hand. “What’s that one?”

The grin you’re desperately trying to hide causes your face to ache.

The brash woman you’re hardly accustomed to sharing a home with at the stadium is full of surprises, it seems. There’s a side to her that isn’t militant and melancholy, but rather the opposite.

She’s playful and witty. Her eyes, a staggering blue lake, are gentle and kind.

You could fall madly, painfully in love with a woman like Abby.

Abby herself, even. If she wasn’t an unstable box of dynamite.

You skim the handwritten letter with the tip of your finger, and another wash of warmth blooms inside you at the bulk of the sentiment.

“It’s a confession,” you explain, fixing your attention on the last paragraph. “He’s been in love with her for a long time, since they were kids.”

“Will you read it to me?”

Her gentle query sends a shiver of sunshine down your spine. Her eyelids are heavy like yours, and the shadows beneath hers speak volumes about the burden she carries. The weight of the world.

“Only if you promise to read the next one.”

“Deal,” she murmurs, sliding your bag over to use as a pillow. She snuggles into it and your whole body vibrates.

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

The trip home is lighter, despite the nearly crippling load. Clothing, toys, garden seeds, tools, home goods, toiletry items — the list is a mile long. You couldn’t take everything, but the mass of what hadn’t deteriorated or spoiled made it through the gates.

It’s a hopeful thing, not only to witness your group returning home unharmed, but with enough supplies to ease the strain taken from a new fruitful avenue.

The moment you and your squad walk into the chow hall together, you’re met with a chorus of cheers and applause. As Abby vanishes amidst the swarm of people, you exchange a few handshakes before seeking escape from the cacophony.

Your sleeping quarters are the chaotic aftermath of hurried packing and abandoned reading material, with your mattress being the only semblance of order in the disarray. It was Manny who taught you how to make your bed to military standards and perhaps his goal was to inspire more in you than routine, but either way, the habit stuck.

Gratitude simmers for it now more than ever, the crisp, clean sheets offering respite. Freshly showered and dead on your feet, you crawl into your cozy bed and drift away.

A thunderous crash shocks you awake.

You blink against the abyss, immediately comforted by the stadium lights leaking through your curtains. It drives other citizens insane, the absence of darkness, but you’re thankful for it.

Someone appears to be banging your door down.

“Cool it, already,” you say, scrambling for your cotton robe. The brutal assault on your sleep at this hour deserves to be outlawed—prohibited by the laws of the WLF. “Holy hell, are you trying to wake the whole neighbourhood?”

You tear open the door and any visceral anger coursing through you evaporates at the sight. Tall, fierce, and devastatingly gorgeous, all blended with the rich spice of amber liquor.

Loose tendrils of hair cascade along her shoulders and collarbone in protest of her braid.

“What are you doing here?”

“I have something for you. Can I come in?” Abby asks, and it’s not a question.

Before you can even request a moment to compose yourself, she unceremoniously dumps a heavy grey bin on your living room floor, adding to the chaos, before collapsing onto your couch.

“What’s going on, Abby?”

She may be a delightful, luminous drink of water when she wants to be. But damn, can she ever snore the walls down in record time.

You plop yourself onto the bin beside her and try to make sense of her unexpected visit. Should you venture down the hall to wake her roommate? There’s likely a sock hanging from the doorknob by now, but it’s an option.

“Anderson?”

The sound of your hands drumming on the sides of the plastic container fills the room, while you contemplate the amount of bourbon your crew has consumed from lunchtime until now. An indulgence that landed on your doorstep all the same.

When Abby whimpers and curls in on herself, you resolve to drape her in your heaviest blanket, hoping to help her tackle the unsteady beats of her sleep cycle and a looming hangover. She bundles the fabric in her fists and clenches it underneath her chin.

Captivated by her klutzy aura, you nearly trip on the forgotten bin.

The lid doesn’t want to come apart from its secured spot and you have the presence of mind to check for a locking device, just to be sure. There isn’t one, of course, but you’ll never let yourself live down the office window debacle.

It’s going to require elbow grease and a hefty tug. You hiss as it separates in several loud pops. Luckily, the noise only costs the weary girl on your couch a flinch or two.

Letters fill it to the brim, and you’re enthralled by Abby’s decision to bring them back with her. Your instinct is to open each one, but it doesn’t feel right without her there to chirp commentary at you.

“I don’t get it,” you breathe in disbelief, expecting your words to meld with the shadows and disappear.

Her ghost-quiet voice turns the thermostat up a thousand degrees.

“I was mean,” she stammers. “You didn’t deserve it.”

It appears that you’re tapping into her guilt-ridden subconscious, which feels so delicate you consider shaking her awake. You doubt she’d want to lay it all bare.

Does she always talk in her sleep?

“No, it’s okay,” you say. “Water under the bridge.”

Your response seems to placate her overworked brain. You can relate, as your own tries to lure you back to the land of lonely slumber.

You notice her face doesn’t relax, even when her breathing slows, the lines in her forehead streaked with dirt. To never find peace, even during sleep, must be exhausting beyond what most can fathom. It seems cruel to disturb her, even if she’s restless. You settle for leaving a glass of water on the side table for her before settling in at the end of the couch. If she startles awake, you’d rather she doesn’t do it alone.

Cramped onto the only slice of cushion she hasn’t claimed, you let the commotion of the day pull you under.

As morning greets you, you find yourself back in your bed.

The familiar scent of Abby drenches your blanket, but she’s long gone.

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

It’s your first day off in months, but you check the work assignment list to confirm. On your way back from the bulletin board, the classrooms are abuzz with joyful energy. Children eagerly play with the toys and delve into the books your squad brought home, and it gives you a sense of belonging. A goal beyond surviving.

Until now, you have thought little about your life beyond protecting the community. It always made sense to put your neck on the line for the greater good. While casually strolling past the gym, not in search of a certain soldier, you can’t help but wonder if there might be other adventures awaiting you.

Abby’s breath tickles your ear, and you leap a mile out of your skin.

“Looking for me?”

“Son of a bitch,” you wheeze.

She doubles over with laughter, imitating the strangled noise you make when you’re caught off guard. She takes a minute to catch her breath before she gives you a generous shove.

“You’ve got quite a potty mouth,” she teases, wrinkling her nose impishly at a passing group of young ones. “There are little ears around here, you know.”

“Yeah, well, they probably know better than to sneak up on a person,” you say, finding Abby’s laughter rather infectious. You bite back a grin. “Who does that? Is an apocalypse not enough for you people?”

Abby breaks into another bout of giggles, seeming to enjoy your newfound passion for merging the old world with the new one.

“Is it our apocalypse though, if we were born into it?”

“Yes, Abby, it is,” you huff, eager for your heart rate to return to baseline. “We’re in an active apocalypse and you’re awful.”

As she leans against the large window you’d been peering through, the sounds of the gym fade into the background. She tilts her head at you, eyes sparkling with intrigue. Clad in workout gear that accentuates her sculpted body, she doesn’t appear sweaty.

You must’ve caught her on her way in.

“Are you busy later?”

“Not really,” you say, fidgeting with a frayed string on your sleeve. “Are you?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Okay,” you say, staring at a scuff on your sneaker before catching her gaze.

“Okay,” she mimics, directing her nose scrunch at you this time, turning your mouth dry. “Feel like being busy later?”

It’s not as if her tone is explicit or even her language, but this woman is a supernatural force. So, tingles rise into gooseflesh from your head to your toes, regardless.

“What do you have in mind?” you ask.

The roars of a lively group of soldiers reverberate through the gym, their spirited chants urging their champion to hurry her ass up. They beckon to her as if they are a part of the kindergarten cohort, causing both of you to snicker and shake your heads. One of them wolf-whistles, the rise and fall of the pitch echoing into the hallway. Abby wastes no time throwing up her middle finger in response.

“I can come by around seven. Does that work?” she asks, reaching for your wrist. She gives it a quick squeeze and slowly pulls away, her fingers sliding to the tip of your pinky.

Her simple touch is unexpected, and it electrifies you.

“Works for me.”

She beams, walking backwards through the gym doors, brows jumping at your frozen form.

You amuse her. This much is obvious.

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

A rhythmic tap grabs your attention, a stark difference from the first time Abby came knocking. But to keep with tradition, she doesn’t arrive empty-handed.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, gesturing to the dishes balanced precariously in her arms.

“I wanted to.”

She sets the meal fit for an army battalion down onto the counter and searches your kitchen cupboards for something to drink from.

With a single, forceful movement of her forearm, she clears space by shoving your knick-knacks aside to make room.

“Juice cool?”

The way she effortlessly makes herself at home in your space leaves you speechless. You nod.

“Good,” she says, a repentant grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Pretty sure I’m off booze for the rest of my life.”

With the same delicate touch she used to tidy your countertop, she pours the freshly squeezed liquid, causing both glasses to hover on the verge of spilling. Abby takes a step back to assess the situation before bending over the rims, producing the most obnoxious slurping noise. It nearly sends you into hysterics as she levels out both glasses.

She hands one to you with droplets of orange decorating her chin and the collar of her shirt.

“Thanks,” you chuckle. “Quality service right here. Plus, I love germs.”

Balancing the glass to the best of your ability in your right hand, you pull your sleeve over your left and use it to pat her face dry. Abby snorts, her normally lively body becoming static under your ministrations. She swallows heavily, and a calmness settles over you.

“I don’t have germs,” she pouts. Her eyes drop to your mouth for a split-second before her cheeks erupt in swaths of vibrant pink. “I swear.”

“You’re a mess,” you scoff, enamoured by this clumsy woman, blazing a path directly into the pit of your stomach. “Did you know that?”

As she nods, her broad shoulders relax, and her frenetic breathing begins to slow.

“Nobody else sees it,” she says, her words hanging heavy in the air.

The pressure of that emotional cargo would cause any person to buckle under the weight sometimes. It’s a strenuous life for everyone on base, but the expectations placed on her are especially burdensome.

“I see it.”

Your confession doesn’t offend her; instead, it seems to liberate her.

She sighs an exhale of relief, and it makes your heart squeeze.

“I can live with that,” she whispers.

The food was prepared with love as is anything set aside for Abby, and she tells you all about the cook who put it together. An original member of the Salt Lake crew, and a phenomenal chef, he got them through their bleakest days.

When the WLF opened their arms, he committed fully to helping Abby achieve her goals, working tirelessly to support her training and keep himself on the straight and narrow after their tragic end with the Fireflies.

She doesn’t go into detail about what happened, and your instinct is to let that be okay. The heart-wrenching rumours are more than enough to go on for now.

“He’s stoked for me to have a little downtime,” she says, waving her fork at the spread now spilling onto your coffee table across various plates. “Hence the whole smorgasbord situation. As soon as I told him—”

She pauses, letting out a little whimper of embarrassment, seeming to scold herself for being so open.

“Told him what?” you press, detecting a subtle grin playing at the edges of her eyes.

“He wanted to make an impression on my friend, I guess.”

Your neck tickles with heat and you attempt to ventilate by pulling the collar of your shirt away from your collarbone for a moment.

“The man can cook,” you say with your mouth full. It comes out funnier than you expected, muffled by chewing. “Sorry.”

“You’re quite a mess yourself,” she smirks, leaning to drape her arms along the back of your couch, scanning the state of your apartment. “Your poor books.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with my books!”

She hauls herself off the couch to make an example of you, crouching at a cluttered stack. So, an earthquake must’ve hit only your room—what of it?

“I mean, this is just sad.”

“We can’t all have bookshelves and organizational skills, Anderson.”

“Says who?” she chuckles, her attention diverted by a novel that has piqued her curiosity. “This isn’t a lack of skill, either. Where’s your discipline, girl?”

Maybe it’s crouched in front of you, a blonde bombshell waiting to go off and properly reduce you to human rubble.

“I’m plenty disciplined, thank you very much.”

“Yeah?” she says, tongue tucked behind her teeth in challenge.

The audacity, when you’re currently over the moon about this delicious meal, you’ll likely never get to enjoy twice.

“Yeah,” you retort, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve like a feral beast. You strip off your shirt and toss it into the abyss, grabbing a clean one from its home on a toppling lamp.

Her bright bursts of laughter make you giddy, a woman who never finds time to play, sitting on your carpet waiting for you to join her.

“Who even are you?” she asks, and it’s so gentle it stops you midway through redressing to ponder her question.

The cotton tank top falls past your hips and you smooth it out, sensitive to the wrinkles in a way you haven’t previously been.  

“It looks good,” Abby blurts, reading you like the sea of books strewn about. “You’re—good.”

There’s something about the fortitude of her honesty that helps you decipher between barbs and a genuine fondness for your idiosyncrasies.

Maybe she’s someone you can trust after all.

She shuffles across the floor to the bin filled with letters and lifts it above her head with ease.

“What on earth are you doing?”

As her brows jump mischievously, she dumps the skeletal remains of a past life onto your floor, filling the room with a waterfall of bones. It ignites a fierce desire to protect this girl—create a time capsule of this moment for the next generation to build upon.

A reminder that not all broken things are hopeless things.

“Well, now you’ve gone and ruined my tidy apartment.”

“My bad,” she giggles.

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

Each passing moment feels like tiny punctures in an hourglass, causing time to trickle away. You’re both aware of it, trying to stretch the night. Abby leaves for a spell to hunt down her chef, in pursuit of caffeine. She returns flushed and sleepy, the bitter aroma wafting through the door alongside her soothing presence.

Curiosity and exhaustion get the best of you, and you ask about her friend. His thoughts on your late-night rendezvous with history. She does a goofy impression that makes you want to wrap your arms around her, and you watch her in fascination like an old cowboy reel, projected onto your heart.

“He says you’re a bad influence.”

“Bullshit,” you snicker, tossing her another envelope.

“Okay, so he didn’t say that. But he did tell me to give him a heads up if I decide to run away with you.”

You try to push that thought aside.

“Really, now? And why does he think that’s in the cards?”

“He thinks you’re my dream girl.”

She speaks as if she’s describing weather patterns to you, and you’re bewildered. The blunt force of her words mixed with the softness of her tone leaves you shell-shocked. You search for a tether; silently categorize every reason it can’t be true.

“What did you tell him?” you ask, busying yourself with a letter you read while Abby was away.

A tale of woe between two quarrelling families. It reminds you of Romeo and Juliet, some less violent, modern-day version, and based on the contents of their struggle, you gather at least one of them was grateful for the pandemic.

“Do you really want to know?” she asks, pinning you with her gaze.

You nod, a buzz of energy flitting through you.

“Yes,” you say.

“I told him to go fuck himself.”

Cackles burst from your chest, finding her candour rather precious. Of course, Abby told the guy off. But she doesn’t look away after she tells you; doesn’t shrug or scoff. She studies your reaction and holds her breath until a tiny smile breaks her anxious expression.

You forget where you are in proximity to the earth for a second.

“I guess I’ll debrief you on that situation at a later date,” you say.

“I hope so.”

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

The sound of her steady breathing is peaceful as the light of early morning whispers through the fog. She idly sips at her coffee and takes her time, setting each letter into their respective piles. It’s engrained in her to keep things orderly, an obvious clash with your paper heap. Unlike you, she finds the government letters intriguing, even the boring ass mortgage and debt related ones, and reads them all thoroughly.

Your hand catches on an envelope shaped differently from the rest. Inside is a card, with a dozen raised hearts adorning the front in varying shades of red. When you flip it open, it reads:

With you by my side, every day feels like Valentine’s Day. Thank you for being my rock, my love, and my everything.

Your family never spoke of this while you were growing up.

“Valentine’s Day?” you yawn. “What’s that all about?”

You show her the card, and she rubs her eyes, nursing the tail end of her own yawn with the back of her hand.

“Give it here, woman.”

She looks it over to confirm her suspicions, and with a knowing smile, sits up straight. She taps the card against her knee.

“My dad told me about this.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s um—it’s a tradition people celebrated near the end of winter. A day to do things for the ones you love, I guess.”

“Like a holiday or something?”

“Sort of,” Abby says, fumbling a bit with her own understanding of it. “Romantic stuff, mostly.”

She rubs her neck, mulling something over while you try to wrap your head around this new information. One day out of the year to do what exactly? Who was supposed to do the things—both people? Did the traditions start after breakfast or were you meant to wait until suppertime? Was it an endeavour meant to last the entire day?

“My dad didn’t really make time to celebrate it,” Abby continues. “He was always too busy at the hospital and then my mom—well, she worked there too, so.”

The veil of exhaustion lifts when you realize she’s peeling back a wound right before your eyes. You suck in a breath and hope she doesn’t mistake it for anything but your desire to let her speak. She drops the card on her lap and wrings her hands.

“They did these small things instead, you know? On regular days,” Abby explains. Her body droops as she seems to pick through her retention of their conversations.

“Like what?” you ask, your voice just a hair above a whisper.

“Like—okay. My dad loved to dance,” Abby says, leaning forward with a sad smile, the slouch of her shoulders regaining composure at the happier memory. “He was fucking terrible at it,” she puffs a laugh. “But he was a music buff and when he met my mom, he said it was the best excuse he could find to get close to her.”

You ache for her to have them here to tell the story, instead.

“So, they danced together a lot?”

“All the time, according to him,” Abby says, her face lighting up. “He told me that my mom was super shy, so she’d always give him hell about it. But he’d ask her to dance pretty much anywhere. Parking lots, gas stations, one time they danced in the middle of the grocery store.”

You try to imagine what Abby’s mom looks like, but your mind can’t seem to conjure up anything beyond Abby’s own image, a showcase of strength and grit.

“Do you remember much about her?” you ask.

“Not really. She died when I was a baby,” Abby explains, adjusting the cuffs of her shirt. “She loved being pregnant with me, though, apparently.”

“Well, duh,” you murmur.

Abby crinkles her nose at you and bites the edge of her smile.

“Dad said her stomach got so big that he started dancing with her from behind. She’d rest her head on his shoulder, and they’d just sway back and forth.”

“I love that,” you say.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, fondness heavy on her breath.

Abby’s speech becomes slurred as the birds on your balcony greet the dawn.

“Every time they danced, the scent of her reminded him of a cabin in the woods, surrounded by these giant pine trees he used to pass on his way to work. He’d dream up this elaborate plan for them to quit their careers and live off-grid. I think he promised it to her about a thousand times.”

“That sounds kind of amazing, actually.”

“Yeah,” she says, tapping her nose with the Valentine’s card, her sleepy gaze drifting to yours. “He was a sap.”

She finishes with the most outrageously loud, cavernous yawn and you’re too tired to do much more than giggle at her larger-than-life spirit.

“You can crash on my couch again, if you want,” you offer.

She wobbles to her feet, reaching for your hand to help pull you up.

“I’m on assignment in a couple of hours anyway,” she says, supporting your elbows while you try not to slip on the paper graveyard below. “I’ll be MIA for a while, but let’s meet up when I’m back, if you’re up for it.”

“Totally.”

“Cool,” she whispers, her fingers tracing patterns on the tips of yours before reluctantly letting go.

As she turns to walk away, her steps falter, and she abruptly spins around to face you.

“Can I hug you goodbye?” she asks.

“Of course.”

Before you can blink, Abby’s arms wrap around you, and you’re a puzzle piece, snug in her embrace. She melts you from the inside out, the comforting rhythm of her heartbeat thrumming against your body. The heat of her chest against your cheek lifts blissful sleepiness from the edges of your resolve and a part of you wants to ask her to stay.

As she gently moves to cup your head and support the back of your neck with her warm hands, you instinctively wrap your arms around her waist, afraid she might drift away.

“I feel so safe right now,” you whisper into her shoulder, and she nuzzles closer, squeezing you tight. Your feet are nearly off the ground before she relaxes her grip.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

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

Two weeks have passed since your visit with Abby and it’s hard to think about much else. It’s a pleasant distraction, even when the memory of her makes your insides flutter as if she tipped a bucket of butterflies between your ribs and set them free.

An unusually large number of soldiers from different stations have packed the grounds, and you’re grateful to have a unique job to keep you relatively separate from the chaos.

Dogs are coming home, but not all of them, and it shatters your heart to toss out their registration papers. You understand the nature of your contribution to this war machine, but it never gets easier. If you could, you’d gather up all the puppies and take them to the same cabin in the woods Abby’s father always dreamed about. Let them bask in the warm sunlight and frolic together amidst a maze of towering trees.

It’s a lovely thought followed closely by the sobering reality before you.

“You’ve done well.”

You drop the leash you were holding, and it clatters on the concrete.

“Isaac. You scared me.”

If Abby is a rare sight at the stadium, Isaac is a ghost. You haven’t seen him in months. He has expanded the WLF across several locations along the west coast and the number is only growing. Reports of a nearby prison piquing his interest have been swirling for a while now.

You’re not sure where he rests his head at night, but it’s almost never here.

“It’s nice to see you too,” he says, inspecting the four-legged fleet without getting close enough to pet them. “I hear your training program is working wonders.”

“I try. They make it easy,” you say, noticing that many puppies have tucked their tails between their legs. “What brings you to the stadium?”

“I’m—restructuring,” he explains, his footsteps echoing as he paces the unit, meticulously inspecting the facility.

Your heart sinks.

“What does this have to do with me?”

He exaggerates a smile, and it sets you on edge.

“You always ask the right questions,” he drawls, heavy hands landing on your shoulders. “I respect that about you. There’s never any fat to trim, just straight to the point.”

It’s more than you can say about him, frankly.

“I suspect you’ve heard about the prison.”

“I have,” you say, bending to pick back up the leash. A narrow excuse to put space between the two of you.

Isaac is still standing uncomfortably close, so you wrap the nylon around your wrist as an act of self soothing.

“Well, it’s proving to be an integral training facility. It’s both secure and unaffected by the flooding, which has been my biggest obstacle up to this point.”

You’d never seen the inside of a prison before, but you’ve read about them. A cold cement cage without access to sunlight, its surface striped with iron. It offered zero curb appeal. You made it a priority to give your dogs a comfortable enclosure for that very reason.

“They need me here,” you say, desperate to get ahead of his plan. “This is where I’ll be most effective.”

“I disagree.”

Your arms tingle with an icy chill as he turns to walk in the opposite direction.

“You said I’ve done well here,” you call out.

“It’s true,” he says over his shoulder. “And your expertise will be crucial. Transport leaves at oh-six hundred.”

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

You should pack to leave, but you’re frozen.

Isaac isn’t one to sugarcoat things and for once, you wish he would’ve.

You curl up in a plastic chair on your balcony and take in the fields below. Neatly organized rows of vibrant crops bordered by fruit trees, bursting with hues of orange and red. Berries snaking through walls of trellis, sweet and ripe. People milling about with baskets of laundry and boxes of produce, keeping society peaceful.

“You should’ve married him,” Manny sighs, dropping beside you. His hand rests on your knee. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you admit, pressing your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “All these fresh faces, and I’m the only one leaving.”

Manny moves his hand to your arm, offering a kind squeeze.

“You are not the only one,” he says, handing you a clipboard.

It’s a short list of dogs you’ll be taking with you, and you’re caught between wanting to laugh at Manny’s ridiculous disposition or sob at your utter misfortune. You wish the dogs could stay behind. They love when the little ones throw the ball for them in the afternoon.

“I have a life here,” you say, and it’s a plea to the universe. “This is supposed to be my home.”

Manny offers you a freshly picked apple and you roll the waxy surface between your palms. The image of Abby’s face flashes in your mind. Maybe it’s silly to feel so much, but you can’t stop it. The weight of never seeing her again makes you nauseous.

“I’m fucked,” you groan.

He wraps an arm around your shoulder to pull you in.

“Keep your chin up, Hermosa. Something tells me you won’t be gone long.”

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

Hey you,

I’ve tried to write this about a dozen times, and I still don’t know where to start. Fuck it, right?

I barely know you and somehow you made me miss you so fucking much while I was away. When I got home and you weren’t there, it felt like someone shot me in the chest.

Manny brought me your bin of letters and I swear I cried for the first time in years.

How did you get under my skin so fast?

I hear you were sad when you left, and that breaks my heart. It kills me thinking of you being unhappy. I hate that you’re somewhere I know nothing about.

What is it like over there? Are you safe?

I check in on the kennels every day. You’re missed around here a lot.

Keep your head up for me. I’m going to make this right.

Please write me back,

A.A.

You’re busy fixing the fence with a skeleton crew when a delivery truck arrives, and someone throws a letter at you. The thrill of it causes your heart to pound in your throat, a rush of adrenaline washing over you. It takes every ounce of self control to keep from disappearing to read it somewhere private.

Trucks come and go regularly, as they divide resources between stations. Isaac seems to prioritize the prison, especially on the artillery front.

You finish reinforcing the fence and race to your cell to lose yourself in your first piece of mail.

You can’t wait to steal a pen to write her back.

Abby,

I read your letter every day.

Okay, maybe more like three times a day, but who’s counting? Seriously… this place has no concept of time and I’m pretty sure there isn’t a single clock to be found.

It makes me sad you were sad. I feel like we’re on a carousel of sadness! We should change that. (Have you seen a carousel before?)

The dogs aren’t doing too bad. They like the open fields here and they’re allowed to sleep in bed with these smelly ass soldiers, which I think is more for us than them, truly.

Thanks for checking in on my crew there. Means a lot.

My bed feels like a hard slab of steel because it is, but at least I don’t have to make it every day. Don’t tell Manny.

It’s nothing like the stadium here. We don’t have gardens and schools and we definitely don’t have a gym. I know, devastating! How will I ever beat you in an arm wrestle now?

The hot water is a work in progress, so I’m learning how to not die during cold showers. That’s also a work in progress, but I squeal less now. Which is something, right?

Try not to worry your beautiful head. I’m tough. I miss your face, though. There’s so much I want to ask you.

Please tell me something about you that nobody else knows. I promise I’m the best secret keeper, ever.

P.S.

If you find any letters from actual prisoners, be sure to fill me in. I feel like they’d have some great tips!

Yours truly,

Me

You hope she lights up as much as you did when her letter arrives. It’s all you can hope for, aside from her safety and possibly a warmer blanket.

To: My Favourite Inmate,

You sure know how to make a girl laugh.

It’s good you don’t have clocks. That way, you can’t obsess over how long you’ve been gone the way I do.

Shit, I should send Manny over there for one of those cold showers. I gave him that polaroid we found, and he hasn’t come up for air in weeks.

It helps a bit to know those pups are there to keep you warm at night. I hope I can be that for you soon. I considered writing another letter because I was afraid to say it, but I think I want you to know. You belong in my arms.

Something I haven’t told anyone before…

Sometimes I miss being a Firefly, especially since things around here are getting worse by the day—but sometimes I guess I don’t want to be anything.

Maybe I’d like to try being just Abby for a while, you know? I’ve never tried that before. What do you think that would look like? Would you want to be a part of it?

I wish you were here beside me.

I’ve made it my mission.

A.A.

P.S.

When you wrapped your arms around me, it felt like lightning.

[peachyglo]

hey hurt/comfort idea:

soo what about the reader and abby being best friends for years and reader always had a crush on abby. they go to a party and abby introduces her new gf to u. she always liked her but thought reader didn’t (always a bit horny around reader, but they know eachother since childhood so abby mistakes readers flirting as being flirty like friends) so reader gets absolutely hartbroken, drinks till she passes out but abby takes care of her ofc. abbys gf is always with her tho so it just hurts even more.

she avoids abby till the next frat prty or smth (maybe it’s college!au) and then they hook up, abby can’t remember cause she’s too drunk and is back w her gf

very messy but i hope u get the idea :P

(also to make it more hurtful make abby mean while she’s drunk bc she’s going through a rough time but isn’t telling anyone)

It took me so long, I'm so sorry

Palestine: what can you do

I've changed a few things (they don't hook up) because I can't deal with cheating, and I couldn't decide on what ending I wanted so there's a poll in the end.

Tags: Modern AU, childhood friends, Angst, pining and unrequited love, of course.

_______________

Abby is a fucking God, and you come to this conclusion when you're 11 and she helps you with your stupid assignment.

When you're both 14 you start to understand that what you feel for her is not, in fact, an admiration. 

You come to this conclusion when you sit in her bedroom and she jokes about teaching you how to kiss because you're a loser and you agree - and yeah, the kiss is a mess, but now you both know that you want to kiss girls. And you want to kiss one girl in particular, but Abby is your best friend and you won’t do anything that will lead to losing her.

Being a God means Abby is out of your reach and you have to live with your stupid feelings.

You're jealous of every boy who jokes around her to get her attention.

You're jealous of every girl who dares to look at her a little too long.

Abby is popular and she starts dating and it breaks your heart every time, and you can't look at other people because all your gods look like Abby.

"Why don't you go on a date?" Abby asks once when you're 16 and you're eating pizza in your bedroom, watching another marvel movie. "I think Jen likes you."

"I don't want to." What would be the point if the only person you want to date won't ever look at you this way?

"Why? Don't you get horny like the rest of us mortals?"

The worst part of being in love with your popular best friend is that she recently lost her virginity and she can't shut up about sex because she is excited about it.

"I have my hand, Abby." You roll your eyes at her.

"But it feels better when the other person does it." Abby winks and puts her hand on your thigh. "It's better, isn't it?" She rubs your thigh and your breath hitches. She looks at you, playful, and goes a little up on your thigh, and your face burns.

"You belong in horny jail, Anderson." You laugh, but don't move her hand: if you move it she'll call you a chicken, but she is a chicken enough herself to not move it further.

And she doesn't.

You live your life peacefully, dealing with your feelings as best as you can.

Then college starts and you're too busy to think about Abby 24/7 and you feel like it gets easier. Like you can breathe around her and you almost don't feel pain when she talks about her sex life.

Almost.

You know it's easy to deal with because all those girls in her bed are temporary while you're in Abby's life forever, and not because your feelings suddenly fainted. Abby likes to sleep around, she is a flirt even with you - a lot, actually, she thinks she can get away with a lot by saying she is touch-starved and then her hands wander off somewhere they're not supposed to be, and you let her, because you'll take whatever you can.

So you go through Abby's fuckboy phase with ease, because sex talk is way better than feelings talk.

A few years pass and suddenly the feelings talk starts, and you're slowly dying inside, because Abby likes someone. Abby talks about how nervous she is around her, she is always on her phone texting her, she is always busy when you want to spend time with her.

You hate this girl with all you have, because she takes Abby away, she takes everything away - Abby is not touchy anymore, she only hugs you briefly when you see her, she is not listening to you half of the time, too caught up in her fantasies.

You hope her girl is a bitch and an asshole and toxic so you can talk Abby out of it, but then Abby tells you she is going to introduce you at the party and you cry yourself to sleep that night.

"How do I look?"

"Like you need Jesus." You say honestly because Abby in the muscle tee and a pair of cargo pants makes you ache.

"Yeah?" Abby looks at you through the mirror with that fucking smirk she knows you like. "Am I fuckable?"

"We both know you prefer to be on the other end of that word, Anderson." You roll your eyes and put your shoes on only to straighten up to Abby's face way too close. She looks you up and down.

"You're very fuckable though."

"Fuck off." You huff and open the door of her apartment, hoping she won't tease you for being flustered. "Let's go before Manny gets so drunk you'll have to carry him. Again."

You spent the night in dread of meeting Abby's girl, dreaming of seeing her red flags or something to have a real reason to hate her to Abby's face, but then Abby lights up and she excuses herself to go and meet her girl, while you try so hard to not throw up from your nerves.

The girl is gorgeous.

"This is (y/n)." Abby motions at you and you smile politely. "This is Mia."

"I'm so happy to meet you." Mia smiles and she looks kind and genuine and fuck, you can't hate her. There's no jealousy in her, no fake smiles, no tense body language. "Abby loves you so much."

You swallow hard.

"I put up with so much of her shit, she doesn't have a choice." You joke and Mia laughs.

Mia is funny and cute and you understand why Abby likes her, because it's impossible not to. Mia is a type of girl that you'd think of as a bitch because she is popular, therefore arrogant, but when you get to know her she is a total sweetheart who'd help you find a way to your class if she notices you're lost.

This is hard.

This is going to break you.

You can't cope with this. You can't cope with seeing Abby's gentle gaze on Mia, with her careful touch and constant care. So you excuse yourself and go to the bar to get drunk, as if you can drown your feelings by dragging them to the bottom of the bottle. You dance and you drink, you dance and you drink and repeat it five other times until all long islands make you feel sick and you can't walk by yourself anymore. You're an independent woman and you refuse to ask for help, but when you can't order a taxi for the fifth time because your eyes are so blurry, Mia comes to you and holds you by your elbow.

"We will take you home, okay?" She says kindly and you feel your lips tremble. We.

"Jus- can you c'll a taxi f'me?" You slur, but you feel Abby's hand on your waist as she supports you. "Don't wanna ruin your night."

"You're not ruining anything." Mia says cheerfully and orders a taxi when Abby gives her your address. "Happens to the best of us."

The drive home makes you super dizzy and Abby has to put her hand between your head and the car door because you hit it all the time. The moment the car stops and Abby goes around to help you get on your legs, you throw up on the ground and it's a miracle you don't get everyone's shoes dirty.

Abby decides to carry you to your place and you can't shut up even for a second.

"I'm s'sorry guys. Not a good first impression. I really like you, Mia. You look kind. Like a grandma. In a good way, I'm sorry." Mia giggles. "Your laugh is very cute. It's cute, right Abby?"

"Yeah." Abby agrees quietly and what you don't know is that for her your drunken rant was way cuter than her girlfriend's laugh.

"Yeah. You look great together, I'm s'happy for you Abby. Haven't seen her that nervous because of a girl in years, can you imagine, Mia? You make this asshole nervous." You're chuckling sadly, you want to cry because you don't make Abby nervous.

No, you just embarrass her in front of her girlfriend because you're so pathetically in love you can't deal with it and drink half of the bar until you forget how to walk on your own.

Abby helps you change and Mia gives you water. She makes sure there is fresh air in your room and she tucks your blanket, and you close your eyes to hide your tears because Mia is so nice. She is a dream girl and Abby is so happy and there is no space for you anymore.

Because Mia took your place in that forever equation.

On the next day you text your apologies to both Abby and Mia (she followed you on instagram and asked you how you felt) and you can't deal with this. It hurts so much because you love Abby so much and you want her to be happy but it seems like the price of it is going to be your heart.

So you start avoiding her as best as possible, and what is more sad - it's not even that hard. Abby is always with Mia, fuck, Mia even asks you to come with them to hang out, which you always find an excuse not to. Library, fever, other plans, other plans again, sorry, paper is due tomorrow, my aunt is in town (she is not). Anything to not meet with them.

You still see Abby during classes and you give each other life updates, but it's been weeks since you actually hung out and you accept the reality that yes, there's no place for you in Abby's life anymore.

You cry every fucking night.

Then Abby suddenly remembers you exist and she asks you if you want to hang out, just the two of you, because she misses you. You miss her too and you agree.

You regret it the moment she cuddles you in front of her tv. She has a girlfriend now, why is she so touchy again? Did something happen with Mia that Abby came to you?

"Is everything okay with Mia?"

"Yeah, she is great." Abby says and buries her nose in your neck.

No. You can't deal with this.

So you start avoiding Abby at all costs after this - you can't shake the feeling that this is cheating, because for you Abby's touch has never been platonic, no. And it never felt platonic either, it was always giving you hope because Abby was flirting and touching the way friends don't touch each other. Maybe one day she'd finally give you a chance, you thought, but this day never came.

It is another party a month and half later - yay, Abby and Mia have been together for two months now! - and you don't know if Abby is going to come, but you hope she doesn't. You know she knows something is up and she will want her answers if she meets you.

But you have fun. You play games, you drink, you dance, you get flirted with and you forget about your pain just to get so drunk again you can't help but go outside to find a place to cry in peace.

You miss Abby, you miss her because she is a part of you and yes, you're in love with her, but she also your best fucking friend and you hate yourself for being in love with her, because it ruins your life. It has been ruining your life since you were fourteen and actually understood what you felt, but now it was getting serious.

"(Y/n)?"

Fuck.

You wipe your tears and look at Abby who is standing right in front of you.

"Hi." You squeak and she drops on the knees to look at you.

"Did something happen? Why are you crying?"

"I'm just sad. Don't worry." You try to smile but Abby's frown makes you cry more. "I'm going home anyway, so you can enjoy the party."

"What the hell are you saying? I'm not leaving you."

She should. She should leave you and not complicate it further.

Abby calls a taxi and you chuckle in your head - If you had a nickel for every time Abby was taking your drunk ass home, you'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

You tell her as much because the meme is funny and you try to be positive.

Abby helps you out of the car and this time you don't throw up.

"You know, last time I totally embarrassed myself in front of Mia." You chuckle and make your way upstairs with Abby's arm around your waist. "She is cute, I'm so happy for you."

Abby chuckles and leads you inside your apartment, but between the two of you she is mostly sober and she has some questions, and she wants her answers. You know this too, so when you sit on your sofa you feel like all your shields are crumbling: you’re giving up on hiding this from her. If this is the end, so be it.

"You've been avoiding me." Abby says quietly, looking you in your eyes like she is just a little bit mad. 

"Yeah, I know." You admit with a chuckle. "You have a girlfriend now, it's so cool. When was the last time you liked someone like that? Back in school?"

"So you've been avoiding me on purpose." 

"I don't think you can avoid someone accidentally, Abby.” You say, not holding back your venom. “Anyway, I’m so happy for you.”

“Why are you avoiding me?” Abby moves closer to you  and you swallow your tears because there’s nowhere to run.

“Because it’s easier.” You shrug. “I just want you to be happy, okay? Does Mia make you happy?”

“Yeah.” Abby admits and you start crying again: it hurts so fucking much. 

“Good. It’s good. I’m happy for you.” You sniffle and Abby huffs, annoyed.

“Stop saying that. Stop avoiding my questions.”

Inside you all hell breaks loose.

“I love you, okay?” You finally burst. “I love you, and it hurts so fucking bad and I can’t fucking see you with her or know that you’re with her! What do you want me to do? What would you do if you were me? I can’t- I can’t-” You throw your hands desperately and bite your lip, too angry with this whole situation.

“I love you too.” Abby says, confused.

“No, no Abby, you don’t understand.” You’re quiet and angry, almost spitting every word out. “I’m in love with you. I’m not jealous as a friend, Abby. I’m jealous because I want to be in her place, okay? Fuck, I wanted to be in your every girl’s place since you started dating girls!” 

There is silence. You thought it would be terrifying - this silence - but right now you feel nothing except how dizzy your head is. You feel empty and there's no tears anymore. Abby stares at you in shock, her fists clenched, and you chuckle cynically. 

“So can I continue avoiding you now or should I suffer more?”

“Fuck, (y/n)..” Abby sighs and rubs her forehead, going over her face with her palm. “Fuck. Don't do this to me.”

“Well.” You huff, annoyed. “Not like I have a fucking choice, Anderson.”

Abby throws her head back and stares at the ceiling while you do the same, trying to keep your drunk ass stable. You feel like eternity passes before Abby speaks again, and it is strangely comforting, having your best friend here with you, in this boat of pain, and sharing it with her. 

“All these years. All these years we could have been together.” Abby sounds like she is mourning. 

You thought your heart broke when you met Mia? Forget it, it's broken now.

You sob, howl almost, and Abby is suddenly holding you in her arms, placing kisses to your hair. Her heart can't handle seeing you cry, never could - yes, she tried to move on with Mia, and it worked partially, but all her effort went to shit just now. You're the most precious girl to her and nothing can change it. Abby swallows and braces herself, suddenly making a decision in her head, all her anxiety about what is a right thing to do gone. 

“You know what? Fuck it. Fuck all that time we've missed. I'm not letting you go now.” Abby says in your ear and you sob even more violently. “Come on, baby, I'm here. Let me see your face.”

You can't believe it. You can't even process it: is it your drunken dream? Are you hallucinating? It would definitely not be the first time. But you look up at Abby and she gently wipes your tears and there’s so much love and hurt in her eyes it’s hard not to break into another sobbing fit. 

“I've been in love with you since we were seventeen.” Abby smiles at you and you shakily smile back. “I’m sorry it came to this. But I'm here now.”

“I love you.” You say feverishly and Abby's restraint breaks.

She kisses you hungrily, practically devouring you, and you're weak, so you return her kiss and press into her, soaking in her warmth and strength. Abby is solid and tender, she holds you like she cares and you cling to her for a moment.

But then you remember yourself and push Abby away, shaking your head.

“No. You're better than this. You're not going to betray Mia like this. I'm not going to let you, Abby. We're not doing this,” You motion between yourself and her. “Behind your girlfriend's back. And I'm also fucking drunk.”

Abby chuckles and kisses your forehead. 

“Come on, I'll help you get into your bed.”

Everything else after is a blur as Abby helps you change and covers you with your blanket, and you fall asleep. You can't wait for the morning to come.

****

[peachyglo]

The Wolf and the Fox: Part 2

This chapter is a teeny bit spicier than the first. I hope you enjoy reading it because, as always; I had a great time writing it. Please give me all the fluff. I really love it when writers treat strong female characters softly, especially as a woman who is heavily involved in bodybuilding. Cheers! 18+ only. Violence and sexual content.

While Abby may not rank you among her top three favourite people, she walks you home after your track date and she doesn’t ask for her jacket back even after the heatwave of the stadium halls strong-arm you into unzipping it. Truthfully, the two of you become too engrossed in debating the coolest places you’d explore if you weren’t bound by obligations to the WLF, imagining yourselves as carefree wanderers.

“I hear you, but I still think a ghost town somewhere overseas takes the cake,” you say, fumbling for your keys. “You need to think bigger.”

“Every place is a ghost town, though. That’s what I’m trying to explain. I can drive you fifty miles in any direction—boom! There’s your ghost town. You’re welcome.”

The conversation becomes more intriguing as you approach your door, forcing you to decide between lying about where your suite is and walking until you run out of things to say—or fess up to her after you’ve gone too far and need to turn back.

You fiddle with the zipper, twirling it between your fingers, while she shoots a curious sideways glance at you. Slow down or keep going. Stop or keep going.

“It’s just that we’ve never been to say—Japan or India—and the beauty of the landscapes and architecture alone makes your idea look like a macaroni necklace in a museum.”

“Have you even been to a museum?”

“No, but it’d still shock the hell out of me to find a macaroni necklace.”

There’s this funny thing she does when she’s really frustrated and confused - her hands fly up to shield her eyes, and she ends up doing a spontaneous half-turn, facing the other way.

“I can’t stand you.”

“Bye!” you shout.

You’re trudging along, not knowing where you’re headed—probably some random old lady’s doorstep where you’ll scare the living daylights out of her by pretending to walk in—when Abby wrenches her arm around your neck and yanks you into her.

“So, tell me why my idea sucks, then,” she says.

“Abby, you said Costco.”

She ruffles your hair and gives you a playful push, letting you find your own footing instead of stumbling into hers.

“Right. So, basically, a museum for weapons, food, and probably Lego—but okay. Totally lame.”

“Is that all you care about? Food and guns?” you tease.

“Have you seen me?” she chuckles, playing with her fingers in lieu of her missing jacket cuff.

She directs her focus to her feet, and a small, lopsided smile forms on her lips. A calm silence envelops you before you realize you’re probably making it harder for her to self soothe.

“Oh, sorry. Here,” you say, taking off her coat.

She casually shrugs, leaving you awkwardly clutching it between you.

“Hang onto it for me. It’s too hot in here,” she says.

She’s right, it’s sweltering inside and you’re certain you’ve likely drenched it with your sweat. It might do some good to let the thing air out before she slips it back on.

“Is that really where you’d go?” you ask, hoping the change of subject will ease the knot twisting in your belly.

You’re not convinced. Behind Abby’s eyes, there is a depth you can almost feel, despite knowing very little about her. It stirs a desire to get to know her further and to release some of the preconceived notions you’ve taken on.

Her soft gaze turns to alarm as she fixates on your thigh. Your body tenses as her hand moves closer.

“Are you hurt?”

Before you remember your thievery, you pause for a moment to connect the dots.

“Cherries,” you say, explaining the stain before she panics and drags you to the infirmary. “See?”

You reach into your pocket and pull them out, all except one squished beyond recognition, and present the jumbled mess to her.

The juices spill through your fingers, running down your wrist in a deliciously sweet stream. Hurriedly, you slurp at the sticky liquid to prevent it from slipping down your forearm to stain her coat.

“Why do you have cherries in your pocket?” she asks, as she plucks the only redeemable one from your palm and pops it into her mouth.

“Found them in the gardens.”

Humming softly, she swallows the fruit, her wicked grin widening as she spits the pit back into your outstretched hand.

“You’re disgusting,” you groan.

“And you’re a bad girl,” she says, gesturing to a nearby garbage can. “I should report you.”

“Technically, you’re an accomplice,” you point out, scraping the remains into the bin. “I’d think twice about that.”

You hold your ruined hand away from your side until you can get home to wash it.

“I ate the evidence. I’m covered,” Abby says.

With her perceptive wit, you can’t help but revel in her antics, filling the hallways with your shared laughter as you swap tales of the countless stealthy misdeeds you’ve both accomplished throughout the years. Isaac has given her far more reprimands than you would have thought possible for someone of such a high rank.  

“This is me,” Abby sighs, her hand resting on the doorjamb as she comes to a stop in front of her place. “I figure since you’re being all secretive about where you live, one of us needs to call the shot.”

When she gazes at you, tongue mirthfully peeking between her lips, your cheeks burn.

“I’m not being secretive.”

“No?” she asks, her voice filled with mischievous skepticism. “Do I need to get you a compass?”

“You saying I’m lost?”

Her long, taut body flexes against the doorframe, and it makes your mouth go dry. The rough and tumble demeanour she exudes completely fades as you take note of how stunning she looks in a baggy shirt and sweatpants. Given the way her eyes languidly rake over you, it’s impossible for her not to notice your admiration, causing your flushed face to become even hotter.

“Do you want to come in?” Abby asks.

To ensure your well-being, and for no other reason, it wouldn’t be awful to have a sink for handwashing. Perhaps some water to guzzle, mostly to avoid collapsing from sudden dehydration when returning to your barracks. It’s enjoyable to be in her company, and it’s a relief that the animosity has dissipated. But the longer she studies you with those intelligent blue eyes, the harder it becomes to control your senses.

When Isaac forced you together, you suspect his intention wasn’t for you to swing the pendulum all the way over.

“I should get home,” you say, loathing the words the moment you hear them out loud.

“Bummer,” Abby whispers. “Next time, then.”

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

In the kitchens, there is a flurry of activity as the news of a potential treaty between the Fireflies and the WLF spreads. Abby hasn’t come by to harass you for a few weeks, and you hope it’s because Isaac has her swamped with work, not because she’s purposely avoiding you.

You can’t even fathom the darker possibilities that arise from her absence.

No one in your circle has deliberately made efforts to find her, but if you’ve been going to the track every night after work hoping to bump into her, or discreetly seeking her out every time you finish a set in the gym, it’s something you’ll take to the grave.

Abby’s bomber jacket hangs forlornly on a hook by your gym bag, the sharp tang of freshly cut pine hitting your nose at the end of each day. Just thinking about wearing it around the compound makes your stomach churn, but you find comfort in having it around. In the off chance it makes her uncomfortable running into you with it on or it fans the flames of the rumour mill, you have committed to abandoning the garment by the door for now.

“I’ll take a hundred blueberry pancakes, please.”

The mess hall is now devoid of any occupants, save for the colossal tower of pots and pans awaiting your diligent scrubbing, enabling Abby’s gravelly voice to travel across the kitchen unimpeded.

“Strange,” you blurt exuberantly, pretending not to see her powerful form in the entryway. “I swear I heard a voice asking me for pancakes, but I just don’t recognize it!”

“Oh, I see,” she chuckles, her eyes sparkling as she moves confidently into your personal space. “We’re twelve years old now and Abby’s a spooky ghost.”

Your lips press together painfully, concealing a smile that threatens to break free.

“You have been gone a long time,” you say.

The sink is on the brink of overflowing with suds as you scramble to turn it off. The never-ending cycle of dirty dishes continues as you reach the third round. Armed with a scrub brush, you start chipping away at the grime.

Abby joins you with no hesitation, despite the exhaustion reflected in the dark circles under her eyes.

“It’s okay if you missed me,” she teases while rinsing a pot and splashing both of you with soapy water.

“If you didn’t spill more water on the floor than on these dishes, I would miss you even more.”

After placing the pot on the drying rack, she reaches for the next one.

“So, you did miss me, though?”

You shake your head, amused by her youthful pestering, and pass her another pan to rinse.

“I think I liked you better when you were mean to me all the time.”

You’re kidding around, but this joke seems to hit a raw nerve with her, unlike the others. Setting the next few dishes onto the rack, she lets out a discontented sigh and leans her back against the sink.

“I still owe you a proper apology for that.”

“You really don’t. I’m just messing with you. It’s water off a duck’s back.”

Abby’s fatigued disposition is visible as she fusses with the hem of her shirt, her posture hunched. Seeing her yawn, one that engulfs her whole body, you decide to send her home to get some much-needed rest.

“Will you come by when you’re finished here?” she asks.

“Tonight? But you need to sleep.”

With a tender plea, Abby reaches out and gently guides your wrist towards her, tracing the ridges of your damp hand with her thumb.

“Just wake me up, okay?” she murmurs. “There’s something I want to show you.”

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

When you finally arrive at her door, it dawns on you that it’s late and she might still share the place with a roommate who values a solid night’s sleep more than she does. For a solid two minutes, it prevents you from knocking, leaving you loitering outside. Once you summon the courage, you’re wound up like a spring. Your soft knocking is so faint that only someone with supersonic hearing could detect it, making matters worse.

A voice behind you nearly sends you through the roof.

“She sleeps like the dead,” Manny says, waggling his brows. “Do it like this.”

The force of his thrashing is astonishing, making you wonder how the door holds up against such abuse. For the sake of her neighbours, you feel an instant sense of remorse.

The door opens and Abby emerges, dressed in only her boxers and a sports bra. While she’s still half-asleep and rubbing her eyes, you entertain the idea of slipping away to conceal the restless energy bubbling up inside you. Manny is the first person she spots, and she immediately fixes him with a withering glare.

“You live here, asshole. Where’s your key?”

Manny sucks his teeth at her and jerks his thumb at you.

“Someone needs to teach your squeeze how to enter the dragons’ lair. Shame on you, leaving women in the hallway for me to rescue.”

As soon as her eyes lock onto you, they widen in surprise, instantly jolting her awake.

“There she is,” Manny snickers, shouldering past Abby and into their apartment. “It’s a miracle you’re able to get any action.”

Abby blushes from head to toe, squeezing her eyes shut at his comments, as she bashfully welcomes you into her home. You’re still reeling from the echoes of Manny’s noisy commotion in the hallway, making it hard to focus on anything he says or to fully appreciate how adorable Abby looks in her disheveled state.

As he shoves some belongings into his duffle bag, he continues, “I had no clue this was your thing, cuñada. Are you my competition now?”

“Stop talking,” Abby groans, glancing at you apologetically. “I thought you were gone for the night. Did your chick boot your ass out again?”

While they argue, you take advantage of the distraction to observe your surroundings and gather your bearings. Large windows undoubtedly invite ample pools of natural light inside during the day, complementing the open layout. Resembling a cluster of distant stars, the stadium lights glow in the night, saturating the room with a pleasant, amber shade.

Abby has spruced everything on her side of the room, except for her bed, which is cozy and rumpled. Above, she has meticulously organized her books, and you’re delighted to find a harmonious mix of romance novels. Nestled next to her pillow, one book in particular catches your attention.

“Have fun, ladies,” Manny says as he goes, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

“I’m so fucking sorry about that,” Abby winces. “He’s actually pretty chill once you get to know him.”

“It’s fine,” you say, plopping down onto her mattress. “What’s this?”

On her bedside table, a stack of polaroids waits to be flipped through. She nods at you to pick them up and see for yourself.

The first shot captures a sun-drenched beach with boats lining the shore and log cabins in the background. The second is a medical bay, stocked to capacity, a fully equipped haven for healing.

“Who’s this?” you ask, holding up the next photograph.

“That’s Mel and Owen’s rug rat,” Abby says, giving your leg a quick squeeze. “She’s pregnant with their second one, if you can believe it.”

“How whimsical,” you croak, slipping the photo to the back of the stack.

Abby tries to conceal her amusement by averting her gaze, but neither of you can help but break into chortles at your pettiness.

The rest of the shots showcase a community that is unfamiliar to you, yet it appears to be thriving and operating smoothly. As you look closer, you notice the intricate patches on their clothing.

“Fireflies,” you say.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The rumours are true, then?”

With a tired smile, Abby rises from her spot to grab drinks for the two of you.

“There’s this thing Isaac wants me to attend,” she calls out from the kitchen. “A gala or some shit like that. Mingling with the rival to make nice and whatnot.”

“But those are your people.”

“My people are here,” she says, handing you a cup. “But the fewer groups he expects me to fight, the better. I don’t know how much of that I have left in me.”

With her old group rising from the ashes and becoming a formidable force, the pressure she’s under is beyond comprehension. It’s impossible to imagine that she hasn’t contemplated reuniting with them.  

“Gotta run it by Isaac first, but I was hoping you’d come with me.”

Throughout the years you’ve lived under the WLF, there hasn’t been a single event even remotely resembling a gala. In an effort to prevent morale from completely fading, they hold markets for a week during the summer, providing a casual setting for people to gather and trade. Last year, they treated the crowd to live music for a few hours, adding a delightful twist to the event, but they tasked you with security detail, anyway.

“You’re asking me to be your date?”

“Something like that,” Abby grins.

“I feel like we’re going to give Isaac a freaking heart attack.”

“Lucky us.”

It is more distressing to think of her being taken in by the Fireflies than to avoid her at the stadium and still have the knowledge that she's nearby. It’s selfish, but it’s niggling at you. She's convinced she won't want to go back to them, but what happens when she sees their community firsthand?

“So, doing a little light reading before bed, are we?”

Even with her sleep-tousled hair and wrinkled clothes, she maintains an impressive level of composure as she grasps the significance of your findings. It’s not the content of the literature that surprises you, rather the smuttiness of it. When it comes to lesbian reading material in the FOB, the one that she holds dear before falling asleep is the most enticing you can think of. You’d be open to indulging in a thorough exploration of her theories on it.

With a shy sweep, Abby moves her hair to one side, baring her neck. While toying with the chain there, she inadvertently drifts to her collarbone, running her fingers along the hard dips and smooth curves.

“That usually goes under the bed,” Abby laughs nervously. “I passed out so quick when I got back. Are you freaked out?”

“No, not at all. That’s um—that’s right up my alley,” you say.

With a gentle bump, her knee meets yours, and she keeps it there. Even Abby’s prickly calves are so lovely that they send a frenzy of flutters through you.

“I wish you would’ve told me when everything went down with Owen.”

You considered it. But the gossip circulated too rapidly, and you had kept it to yourself until then. It didn’t feel like the right time to pour out your heart, especially if everyone would assume you were lying to preserve your reputation or something equally awful.

“Would you have believed me?”

“I really hope so,” Abby whispers, the weight of her optimism and concern stark in the deep lines that settle on her forehead. “If I could go back and handle it differently, I promise I would. I’m sorry that I made you feel unsafe around me.”

Her glossy eyes hold a genuine kindness that tugs at your heart.

“You’re scary when you’re mad,” you say, teasingly knocking your knee harder into hers, hoping to lighten the mood. “But I can hold my own.”

“I know you can,” she says, her voice transforming into a deeper, more authoritative timbre. “You’re the only person who has ever dared to go toe to toe with me like that. It’s impressive. That’s why I saw you as a threat, I guess.”

“How do you see me now?” you ask.

Abby’s gaze lingers on the shared contact between your knees, then travels up your thighs to your chest, before finally locking onto your soul.

“If you could read my mind right now,” Abby says as she shivers, her hands instinctively moving to find warmth between her thighs. She squeezes them tightly together as if warding off a sudden chill. “I’m not sure if you’d run or come closer. It terrifies me.”

The absence of contact leaves you with a peculiar emptiness, steering you to seek a means of reestablishing it. You’re tempted to inch closer to her, but the weight of the moment holds you back, knowing that any sudden movement would be irreversible.

“Which one terrifies you?”

"Both," she says with a breathless chuckle, her cheeks flushed.

“Well, good thing I suck at running,” you say, mustering up the courage to extend your trembling hand towards her.

Without hesitation, she eagerly reaches for it. The room fills with the choppy sounds of your breathing as her nails graze each groove in your palm, her fingertips tracing every thin line.

“I’ll only ever chase you if you want me to,” Abby says, lips parting to make room for her short, panting breaths.

“I want you to.”

Standing up from her mattress, you walk backwards towards the tall, backlit windows, carefully avoiding the dumbbells on the floor. Biting her cheek, she leans forward as you move away, tempting her to close the distance.

“I’m fast,” Abby warns, hands flexing at her sides.

“But are you clever?”

Resting your head on the chilly windowpane, you willingly make yourself a spectacle for her to hunt, arms stretched above your head in a deceptive display of tricksy submission. She rises from the bed with such slowness that it blurs the edges of your surroundings, shattering your anticipation of her sudden aggression and leaving you momentarily thrown.

“You’re cute,” Abby sighs, her voice barely audible as she steps closer to you, stealthier than you’ve ever seen. “I’m onto you, though.”

“You think so?”

She presses her body against yours, gently pinning you against the window, her hands gliding up your arms and interlocking with your fingers. They go lax in her sweaty grip as every muscle relaxes into her warmth.

“I know it,” Abby says, lifting your chin with her knuckles. “Beautiful girl.”

“Kiss me.”

Her pouty lips glisten as she licks them, reminding you of the sweet cherry juice you shared. Lowering a hand, she pulls you closer, the heat of her touch spreading through the small of your back. The taste of her is somehow sweeter as she teases your lips open with the tip of her tongue, a constellation of bright sparks dancing behind your eyelids.

[peachyglo]

The Wolf and the Fox

I’m feeling rather sentimental lately, so I just wanted to pop in here real quick and say that kindness matters. Kindness for yourself, and for others. If your art, whether that be writing or something else entirely, helps you navigate this world—it matters, too. I hope you feel safe today, online, and in real life. This piece and all my work, really, is 18+ only. This one isn’t hot and heavy by any means, but there’s some violence and sexual themes sprinkled about. If you enjoy it, maybe I’ll chip away at another chapter. Otherwise, thank you so much for spending some of your precious time with my words and my mushy heart. Be well.

“This rivalry—whatever it is—ends now,” Isaac barks, pinning you both with a vicious scowl.

Abby crosses her stubborn arms across her chest, a snarl curled on her smug lips. You’re struggling to control the urge to roll your eyes with such intensity that they detach from your skull and land on the floor.

“Not a word from either of you?” Isaac says as his glaring frustration builds. He points irritably at the chairs across from his desk. “Sit down. Now.”

“But I have training in twenty minutes,” Abby explains, her meek manner only apparent when she is around the boss.

“I don’t give a damn—sit!”

Isaac raises his voice, making her flinch, and a sense of gratification fills you. It quickly dissipates when he directs it towards you.

“Did I stutter?” he shouts, kicking at the legs of your chair for emphasis.

As Abby turns her head, a smirk spreads across her face, igniting a fiery determination within you to bring her haughtiness crashing down by any means necessary.

“If it weren’t for him, I’d drop your ass right here,” you mumble.

She opens her mouth to retort, Isaac’s hands slamming down on the desk, causing both of you to jump.

“Consider yourselves lucky I haven’t tossed you both in the stockades. I need you to get your act together before the next raid. Otherwise, I would not hesitate. You embarrass me.”

Abby pinches the bridge of her nose, blowing out a heavy breath.

“Well, I’d hate to be the reason she ships off in a pissy mood,” you say, throwing your hands up in mock surrender. “Now you only have about a hundred other people to accost before she leaves.”

“Fuck you,” Abby says.

“Enough!”

Isaac leans back in his worn leather chair, and the metallic creak breaks the sudden silence of the room. The weight of his authority is suffocating, leaving your mouth dry, while Abby’s hands twitch anxiously beside you.

His finger jabs in her direction first.

“I expect more from you,” he says. “This ends here. Do you understand me, Abigail? I will not tolerate this petty behaviour.”

The verbal lashing doesn’t bring you any delight; instead, it serves as a painful reminder of her superiority over you and the respect the WLF has for her. Respect you’d happily offer if she didn’t treat you like a floating piece of swamp trash.

“You,” he says, his fury focused solely on your shrinking form. “I had high hopes for you. I’m now questioning my judgement and that does not please me. Are you trying to make me look like a fool?”

“No, sir.”

“Come again?”

“No, sir,” you say with conviction, dipping your chin in submission. “It won’t happen again.”

“Delightful,” he growls, his hands steepled in front of him. Sarcasm oozes out of his mouth like venom. “Tomorrow presents the perfect opportunity for you to address your troubles, as I’ve scheduled you both to ship out.”

Abby keeps quiet, but her head drops back with melodramatic flair. Your eyes involuntarily roll in response, unable to contain your annoyance this time. Isaac doesn’t ignore the barbs before him.

“With bells on, do I make myself clear?” he orders.

He gestures for you to leave the room, instructing Abby to stay behind for a mission briefing.

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

In the gym, you can feel the tension and stress melt away as you push yourself to your physical limits. Amidst the clanging of iron plates and the rhythmic flow of blood in your muscles, your restless mind finally finds peace.

In an act of defiance, you increase the weight on the barbell, determined to spite Abby even if she isn’t there to see it. With the image of her smug face behind your eyelids, you push yourself through six strong reps, feeling your arms shake on the seventh.

Vascular hands appear above you, hovering just below the bar.

“Spot someone else,” you huff, adjusting your legs and arching your back.

“Seven is good. Eight is better,” Abby says, standing her ground. “Again.”

As the vibration in your arms intensifies, your frustration towards her swells.

“Use it,” she advises, leaning in closer for better guidance. “Let that anger drive you. Again.”

You’re considering quitting and giving her a piece of your mind. You picture yourself ripping into her and leaving without a second glance. Her body remains rooted in place, an unspoken challenge for you to make a move.

It’s the heaviest load you’ve ever pushed, and you can feel every ounce of weight straining your muscles. A guttural whimper escapes you as you force the weight up. Only at the end of your final rep does Abby touch the bar, leaving you to swipe the sweat from your forehead.

“Not bad,” she says.

You hoist yourself up and off the bench, returning the dumbbells you previously worked. It’s late, and the gym is empty save for the gargantuan pain in your ass following you around like a sullen shadow.

“You’re just going to ignore me now?” she asks, leaning flippantly against the squat rack.

“That was the plan, yeah,” you mumble, attempting to restore order to the chaotic pile of free weights, likely abandoned by a soldier with an inflated sense of self.

“Your plan is total crap, but okay.”

Trying to maintain your composure, you shake your head at her arrogance, staying focused on the task at hand.

“Look, we should try to get along,” Abby says. “I don’t want this affecting what goes down out there. People depend on us.”

“Okay, Isaac,” you say, slinging your gym bag over your shoulder with a scoff. “I’ve wasted enough time with this. See you at zero six hundred.”

Her voice echoes behind you as you push through the gym doors and into the dim, vacant hallway.

“Don’t be late!”

If your arms weren’t so sore, you might consider the idea of flipping her off through the window.

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

The rift between the two of you didn’t happen overnight. It resulted from a multitude of minor incidents and one miscommunication that was blown way out of proportion. As Abby trudges ahead of you on foot, swearing up a storm under her breath, you’re reminded of this.

“You’re being too loud,” you say, breaking into a slow jog, trying to catch up with her massive steps.

Even as you approach a full sprint, your footsteps are blades of grass in the wind compared to hers. As she spins on her heel to glare at you, you can’t help but feel a pang of embarrassment at how out of breath you are, desperately trying to keep up with her.

“Cardio wouldn’t kill you,” Abby says, waving a dismissive hand in the air before striding off. “I might, though.”

You contemplate staying put, observing how far she goes before she finally notices your absence. It’s likely that she’d travel two states over before she bothered to look back.

“Duly noted. Since we’re on the topic of what wouldn’t kill us, how about you practice walking like an adult human?” you quip. “Instead of a full-grown safari animal. Are you trying to get us assassinated?”

“Just you,” she says.

You’d love nothing more than to fling a sticky ball of mud at the back of her head and leave her sputtering. Unfortunately, you are miles from home and stranded without the vehicle you left the stadium in.

“Screw this,” you exclaim, raising your hands in annoyance before veering off from her direction and choosing to follow your own path.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“Away from you.”

It’s incredibly reckless and potentially life-threatening, but common sense is the last thing on your mind. Before the WLF came along, you had already endured years of living outside the safety of the city walls. Currently, Abby’s actions are hindering concentration, and you’d rather deal with Isaac’s rage than spend another hour bickering with his golden soldier.

“You’re going the wrong way!” she shouts, her voice reverberating off the crumbling apartments.

Sudden, gurgled screams in the distance paralyze you. The racket seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, growing louder with each passing moment, turning your skin to ice.

“Oh, fuck!”

Chaos erupts as a group of decomposing Runners break through the glass doors of the building next to you, hell bent on tearing you apart. The sheer intensity of their shrieks overwhelm your senses as you fumble for your gun.

When Abby clutches your arm, it jolts you back to the present moment.

“Watch my six!”

With a swift yank, she hurls you behind her, rapid gunfire ringing out and adding to the deafening commotion all around you. As you empty your clip, the acrid smell of gun smoke fills the air. A runner emerges, and the lethal tip of your knife slides into his skull, dropping him like a sack of bricks. Your wrists ache as you slash your knife across any infected that break Abby’s barrier until you’re stunned by a pustular crawler who drags you to the ground.

Just as you think it’s all over for you; Abby fearlessly straddles the festering monster and snaps its neck.

With ease, she throws the corpse aside and pulls you up. Your wobbly knees collapse beneath you, expeditiously forged by gelatin and nothing more. Disorientation prevents you from formulating any brilliant escape plan.

You’re not sure how the two of you ended up barricaded inside an eighth-floor condo, but somehow you made the trek unscathed.

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

Spirals of peeling paint adorn the large, cracked walls, and you wonder how long the inhabitants survived when the pandemic struck. Despite the layer of mold and dust that coats every piece of overturned furniture, the scent of old leather wafts from the neatly aligned suitcases by the door.

You try to investigate who might’ve called this place home, but the clues are bleak. Empty picture frames rest on the fireplace mantel, with broken glass scattered about like grains of sand on a long-forgotten beach.

Abby disappears down the hall as you lose yourself in the moth-bitten curtains fluttering hauntingly against several fractures in the towering panoramic windows. It’s so quiet in this suite that you doubt anything is still lingering, even in the darkest shadows.

“Let me take a look at that,” Abby says as she flips over the loveseat, laying her jacket over its musty cushions. “Cop-a-squat.”

As you continue to stare at her, she fidgets, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. She clears her throat, gesturing at your ankle.

“You’re limping. Let me see.”

The adrenaline was pumping so hard during the fight that you didn’t even notice that you had rolled it at some point.

“It’s fine,” you dismiss. “We should check for scratches first.”

The snail’s pace you’ve adopted reflects your reluctance and Abby blows out a harsh breath.

“I’m clean, and that can wait—you don’t want that to swell up,” she says. “Come here.”

“Maybe I’ll turn when you’re busy playing doctor. Then what?”

You’re only half joking, but the way her mouth quirks up into a soft smile eases your mind. You can count on one hand how many of those you’ve witnessed on her. It’s a fleeting thought that you swallow down with the lump in your throat, but Abby is exceptionally pretty.

Yeah, you definitely caught Cordyceps.

“I decide who bites me and when,” she says, patting the sofa to hurry you along.

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as her comment sinks in. Her inquisitive gaze dissects your response, and her modest smile transforms into a full-bodied grin.

“That was too easy,” she teases. “An unsullied girl, huh?”

Plunking down in front of her, you watch as she kneels to inspect your injury with a light hand. A dull throb blooms along your foot as she presses and maneuvers it. You do your best to suppress any wincing, but the moment she rotates the joint, pain shoots up your calf.

She pulls a medical kit from her backpack and makes quick work of treating your ankle.

“You are way off track,” you say, trying to scrape your dignity off the stale carpet. “Your train is taking a dirt road—that’s how off track you are.”

“Got it,” she smirks, wrapping the tensor bandage snug.

“And who says unsullied? A gravedigger from the fifteen hundreds—Jesus,” you say. “I didn’t realize you were a whole two centuries old.”

When she looks up at you through her lashes and giggles, the sound is more infectious than spores. You chomp on your lower lip to keep from smiling, but your cheeks sting from suppression.

“I read a lot,” she says with a shrug. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Abby’s rugged hands linger as she rests your foot casually on her lap. The weight of her touch is more comforting than you’re willing to admit.

“I’m personally more concerned about your pale complexion and aversion to sunlight,” you say, wiggling your toes to keep the pins and needles at bay. “Does Owen know you’re a vampire?”

She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip.

“Is this where you finally confess you have the hots for him?” she asks. “You’re off the hook now that he’s no longer my problem.”

It’s as if the God of thunder himself dropped you in an ice bath. As soon as Abby mentions the flat-out conspiracy theory, it extinguishes the glee building between your ribs, leaving you deflated.

“I never had feelings for him,” you say, pulling your foot from her grasp.

“That’s not what he said.”

“Yeah, well, your boyfriend is a fucking jerk and a liar. But that’s obviously no surprise to you, given how everything shook out with Mel.”

As Abby’s heavy gulp echoes through the hollow room, you stand up just in time to avoid registering the pained look on her face. Although you may not be her biggest fan, it never brings you joy to see someone sad, never mind take part in it.

You attempt to distance yourself from the resurfacing memory of Manny’s party. The night Owen’s unrequited alcohol-infused advances made a mess of everything. Until that deceitful night, he had been a loyal friend to you, and it still unsettles you to remember the needless drama his cowardice brought about.

“His story checked out.”

“Oh, did it?” you chuckle humourlessly. “Supreme investigative journalism went on right under my nose, and I had no idea!”

“Why can’t you just admit it? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“You know what, Abby? You’re dead wrong. But I don’t have to explain shit to you. I’m going to sleep.”  

With a purposeful shake, you rid her jacket of any dust before throwing it back to her. Driven by your determination to rise with the sun and get the long, miserable journey home over with, you stagger down the hall into the nearest bedroom.

Why did the damn Humvee have to malfunction and leave you deserted today of all days? If you didn’t get your butt handed to you on a silver platter, you would blame Isaac.

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

You are roused from sleep by a faint, repetitive thudding noise coming from somewhere inside the apartment. You blink against fatigue, the sky momentarily captivating you with its mesmerizing gradient of rich purple and blue. The shabby blinds filter the light, creating a lattice-like pattern of warm orange strokes on the walls.

It dawns on you that this dwelling must have been opulent in a previous time.

You stretch your weary muscles and track the sound until the subtle drumming leads you to the balcony. As the first light of dawn breaks, you find Abby poring over a tattered book, her heels absentmindedly knocking against the broken balcony ledge. Her long hair is golden and untamed, cascading down her bare back in wild ropes.

Your voice cracks from disuse as you mumble, “That’s one way to flag our team down.”

Engrossed in her book, she fumbles around for her damp shirt, the fabric slung over a nearby chair. Your etiquette kicks in and you hand it to her, averting your eyes.

“There’s laundry detergent on the counter,” she explains, dog earing her page to in favour of dressing herself. “It’s ancient but it smells better than I did, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Would you come inside already? That looks like it’s about to collapse. Aren’t you afraid of heights?” you ask.

Backward, she crab-walks through the sliding glass doors, her movements awkward and unsteady. As she hops up, the aroma of freshly fallen rain clings to her clothes.

“It’s not so bad when I’m distracted,” she says, thumbing at the abandoned novel. “How did you know?”

“Heard it through the grapevine,” you lie, gnawing at the corner of your chapped lip.

Following your team’s impressive escape through a high-rise complex, Isaac was the one who brought it to your attention. He thought that your fearless leadership would blend seamlessly with her fierce leadership, creating a formidable force. Abby could be the anchor that helped you find strength in your most terrifying moments, while you could be the guiding light that helped her find courage in hers.

Despite its initial promise, Isaac’s lack of realism is well-known.

“What are you afraid of?” she asks.

In this world, there is an abundance of things, enough to fill a scroll ten miles wide.

“People, mostly.”

She purses her lips, a frown pulling her feathered brows together.

“I guess I didn’t help much with that.”

“Yeah well, you don’t owe me anything.”

Her expression contorts as if she’s itching to argue against that statement. You divert her attention from the process by prioritizing the task ahead.

“We should go,” you say. “While it’s still quiet out there.”

She nods, pitching the book into a prehistoric pile of ashes in the fireplace.

It elicits a flabbergasted squeak from you, and she’s beguiled.

“What?” Abby chuckles.

“Now you won’t know how it ends,” you say.

“Nah, I’ve read this ending a million times,” she says, staring after the discarded book. “It’s nothing new.”

You would retrieve it for her if it didn’t threaten to leave your hands and all your gear covered in soot. Maybe her assumption is flawed.

“You’re just a rainbow of positivity in the morning,” you razz, and she snorts at your proclamation. “No, really. I’m floating on air over here.”

“You’re funny,” she says, and the sincerity of her tone takes you by surprise. “I didn’t let those monsters turn you into a zombie. That’s got to count for something, right?”

You suppose it does.

She takes extra care not to appear intrusive as she reaches over to lift the backpack from your shoulder.

“I’ve got it,” she says. “I’ll carry the heavy stuff today.”

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

As you settle back into the FOB, Isaac has you on light duty work assignments. It has helped you heal over the past four weeks, and as you’re easing back into your gym routines, you’re feeling strong. You find yourself in uncharted territory though, as this is the longest you’ve gone without joining a supply run—but lending a hand to the cooks in the kitchen is surprisingly fulfilling.

Avoiding Abby in the past has made it easy to continue to do so, even unintentionally. The only connection you’ve had with her since returning to base was through the stack of blueberry pancakes you whipped up for her team, which ultimately got passed on to her by someone else.

Since the mention of her name no longer brings you emotional pain, you’re satisfied with where things are. That is until Abby unabashedly leans over the cafeteria counter and whistles at you, attempting to grab your attention from across the kitchen.  

“Hi pancake girl,” she smirks.

“Pancake girl?” you groan, drying your hands on your apron. “I’m officially banning you from assigning nicknames. I’m still recovering from unsullied.”

Abby’s mischievous expression brightens up the poorly lit mess hall before she quickly commits to a truly theatrical act of sulking—bottom lip jutted out like a little kid.

“Oh man, I hate being punished—for how long?” she pouts.

The line of people behind her seems to multiply, and you try your hardest to juggle multiple tasks, but it becomes incredibly difficult with her playful gaze fixed on you.

“The rest of your natural born life feels appropriate,” you say, sliding a jug of juice across the counter for a group of soldiers. “Or at least until you come up with something better.”

“I can work with that,” Abby says, shuffling aside to make space for the growing queue of hungry civilians. “Your pancakes were a hit, though. My squad won’t shut up about them—and I love blueberries even though they stain the shit out of my hands.”  

Amidst the busy kitchen rush, a fellow crew member steps in to lend a hand, giving you a chance to take a breather. You chug a glass of water before giving Abby your full attention.

“I think it’s time we teach you about some ground-breaking eating tools.”

“Is that right?” she grins.

“Definitely,” you say, grabbing a roll of cutlery from the cart behind you. “For example, this here is a fork and knife combo. Rather brilliant in preventing blueberry stains instead of eating your pancakes like a toddler.”

Abby’s chin dips as she snickers, her spirited mood doing a fantastic job of lifting yours.

“What about that spoon thingy—where does that fit in?” she asks.

“Well, when you bless me with another horrid nickname, I can use this tiny shovel to dig through the floor and escape.”

The sound of Abby’s laughter is magnetic, drawing in everyone around her. She effortlessly embodies effective leadership, and it’s something about her you respect.

“It’s not usually this easy to make me laugh,” Abby says.

“I’m just that good,” you retort. “Unless you’re drinking on the job or something. Are you a day drunk, by any chance?”

She can barely contain her fascination as she shakes her head and looks up. The chow hall fades into a blur as soon as your eyes meet.

“No, I think it’s all you,” she murmurs, her fingers toying with the cuff of her sleeve. “Come on a run with me, okay?”

The clamour of clattering dishes and trays makes it difficult to hear her.

“I didn’t catch that. Come where?”

“A run with me,” she says, pronouncing each word like she’s teaching you to speak for the first time.  

“They haven’t cleared me yet.”

“Not that kind of run,” Abby says, pushing herself back from the counter, brows jumping. “Meet me at the track later, yeah?”

Trying to bridge the growing distance between you, you shout, “How about no!” as she continues to walk backwards, awaiting your response.

Disregarding your answer, she calls out the exact time she expects you to join her, overpowering everything else with her radiant grin.

“But I hate cardio!”

“Don’t leave me hanging, lazy girl,” she chimes, shouldering through the doors until all that’s left of her is a whirl of confused flutters between your ribs.

Her sprightly tone gives that moniker a whole new meaning, making it the most tolerable by far.

By the time your shift lets up, the halls are serene, as most of the residents have retreated to their quarters for the night. By helping to prep the food for the next few days, you’ve lightened the load for tomorrow’s workforce.

Cardio with Abby is bound to leave you needing a rest day.

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

The stark contrast between the bustling stadium and the peaceful calm that descends after everyone wraps up their day never ceases to leave you in awe. You’ve spent countless hours in the nosebleeds, admiring the arena you call home.

While cutting through the gardens, the sweet, floral scent that fills the air enchants you. A basket of cherries precariously perches on the edge of an overturned crate, beckoning you to indulge in their juicy goodness.

After popping one into your mouth, you sneakily pilfer a few more for later.

Pushing through the gates with your hip, Abby catches your eye immediately.

Clad in a pair of sweatpants and a baggy tank top, she jogs along the opposite end of the track. Her hair is in a wavy, swinging ponytail, and she looks like a completely different person from where you’re standing.

Despite your instinct to sprint and catch up, your legs remain rooted to the spot, inexplicably frozen. It is surprising to see such grace in someone who’s composed of mostly muscle and grit. The idea of how you might look while running enters your consciousness, a thought that never occurred to you before this moment. You walk just fine. Surely you can run without humiliating yourself.

“You made it,” Abby pants. “I was beginning to think you bailed on me.”

“I should’ve,” you tease. “I could be cozied up on my couch, watching the same movie over and over.”

“Which one?”

“The Breakfast Club,” you say with a half-hearted shrug. It may not be to everyone’s taste, but there’s an elusive charm that entices you to keep picking it up from the library. “It’s my comfort flick right now, I guess.”

Abby flashes a self-assured smile and nudges you forward with her elbow, urging you to get a move on. After a few minutes of walking side by side, you work up the nerve to inquire about the source of inexplicable happiness etched on her cheeks.

“I found that one, actually,” Abby explains, her shoulder brushing against yours as she drifts into your lane. “The Breakfast Club.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“The thing made it through a hellish trip all the way from Eastern Montana. I thought it might be the only thing that made it back for a bit there.”

“That bad, huh? Sounds brutal,” you say, your attention drawn to the laces on her left sneaker, as they slowly loosen. “Well, good thing the movie survived.”

“Ha-ha,” she drones. “You’re just hilarious.”

You appreciate her lightheartedness as she shrugs off the playful jabs, and you contemplate teasing her about her lack of spatial awareness as she keeps unintentionally bumping into you. As you notice her shoelace giving way and dragging on the ground, you swiftly extend your hand to her chest, signalling her to stop.

Without thinking, you crouch down in front of her to retie it, noticing her panting heavily above you at the ministration. Fumbling your first attempt, she chooses not to mention it and instead adjusts herself to make it more comfortable for you.

With one shoe firmly secured by a double knot, you see that her other shoelace is gradually unraveling. You fix that one, too.

“Don’t need anyone rolling their ankle,” you say.

You spring to your feet, causing her face and neck to turn a rosy shade that appears too vibrant for moderate exercise. You’re too preoccupied warding off the heat that is climbing up your own neck in tingly vines to tease her about it.

She softly whispers her gratitude.

Without ever picking up your speed beyond a steady stroll, you continue to complete laps on the track, the repetitive motion becoming almost meditative. She eagerly shares details about the book she’s immersed in, and you hang on to her every word, intrigued by her perceptive theories.

“Wait, did you invite me here just to talk about books?” you ask. “Because I have to admit, I don’t totally hate it.”

“I’m not boring you to death?”

“Not at all,” you say. A crisp breeze dances across your arms, and you to hug yourself to fight the chill. “It’s fun to read books through your eyes.”

“Hold up.”

She jogs toward the bleachers and returns with her bomber jacket in hand.

She clings onto it for a while, long enough for you to question if she intended to wear it herself. Abby clears her throat and clumsily extends her coat and her generosity to you.

“I don’t mind the cold,” she says. “For you—if you want.”

“Oh, so I get to choose now.”

“Yeah, but can you please wear it? The rejection is killing me a bit.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. Even when she’s just messing around, she reveals delicate parts of herself that help you understand her more. With the garment draped over your frame, you jog ahead and give her a spin.

“Ay! Watch that ankle!”

“Oh, I’m back, baby,” you boast, darting back and forth to show off your agility.

She watches as you frolic around, and you swear the dorky smile on her face only slips when she catches herself doing it.

You stop in front of her, tracing the nametag stitched neatly below the collar.

Anderson.

“It looks way better on you. How is that even fair?”

 “It’s all this running we’ve been doing—I’m the superior athlete now,” you jest. “You might as well quit while you’re ahead, Anderson.”

“Think you can back that up?” she asks, her competitive edge shaking to the surface.  

She points at a couple of lamp posts across the field and starts the countdown. With a sudden burst of energy, you take off like a bullet before she’s ready, provoking her to hurl fake threats after you as she closes in on your head start.

Your uncontrollable laughter is hindering your ability to run as the thunder of her approaching steps grows louder. You cut her off before she can pass, interrupting her momentum and taking the win by a hair’s breadth.

“Not cool,” she huffs, folding over at the finish line. Catching her breath, she steadies her hands on her knees. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, right?”

“You’re just jealous I outsmarted you. All those muscles and for what?” you taunt.

Abby puffs out her chest in a defiant gleam of rebellion.

As you blindly try to free the rogue strands of hair that have become entangled with your lashes, you feel an annoying tickling sensation on your sweat-slicked face.

“Oh, come on,” you gripe.

“You’re ridiculous,” Abby says, drawing nearer. “Let me get it.”

With a slight tilt of her head, she patiently waits for you to acknowledge her offer.    

“Close your eyes for me,” she says.

You oblige, and suddenly, your heart pounds in your chest as her fingertip skims the sensitive skin between your eyelid and your brow. She meticulously brushes your hair back, tucking what she can behind your ears. A warm hum settles inside you as her touch makes your scalp tingle.

“Why are you being so nice?” you ask.

“It’s what you deserve,” Abby murmurs without missing a beat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t before.”

[peachyglo]

CALLING ALL FANFICTION AUTHORS!

please reblog this. i've talked about this twice before, but obviously not everyone has seen it. i am calling for anyone who writes fanfiction or posts about a certain game/show/universe in any connective manner to please, please- PLEASE, copy this memo below comprising links to supporting palestine, education on the situation in gaza, and a must-need for those who engage in TLOU tumblr; links regarding the creators (neil druckmann) zionism, and how the plot of tlou2 is based on the israeli occupation of palestine. i don't care if what you write seems "insignificant" or "small" in the grouping of larger fics. no. everything that is not related to palestine in any form NEEDS these links. because, when we stray away from reblogging, or writing up our own posts in support of palestine/sharing journalists stories/etc. even for a SINGLE piece of writing, we could be missing people who are unaware (which, shouldn't be the case atp, but..) and fucking especially because in these fandoms, fics are the most popular thing. not reblogs about palestine, unfortunately; there are so many fanfiction accounts who very clearly don't give a fuck about the whole situation, seeping in silence, posting fics during strikes, not taking accountability for it now, so on and so forth. please, for the love of all that is good- CALL THEM OUT! people gaining hundreds of notes, tens of reblogs, supportive comments on a post that completely disregards what is happening SO BOLDLY right now, should irk you. i swear, if i see one more fuckass "i didn't know!" apology from an author who is CONSTANTLY on tumblr, REGULARLY posting fanfiction, i'm going to fucking lose it. if you are on tumblr to begin with, being this active- you have time to reblog. actually, educating yourself and reblogging is way quicker than writing up fanfiction of any length. are you fucking kidding me? you are laughable. comical, not real, and i have nay an ounce of respect for you. ever. but besdies that; the memo. i want everyone to copy this, or make something similar. put this above your summaries, authors note, whatever comes before the writing. every post you make should link back to supporting palestine, cause you never know how many eyes it will reach. it could change a lot of things. on pc, i believe copying it completely will preserve the links, but i'm not sure if mobile will. again. do whatever you can to add it. don't be lazy. put this in ur masterlists/navigation too.

for all fanfiction authors:

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

for tlou fanfiction authors:

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

you may add what is necessary, i wanted to keep it short for attention span sakes, and to avoid people skipping it entirely, and so on. i may edit these, fix up anything, but again, if you're using them you can edit them however. as long as you are linking anything in general, that is what matters. thank you, love from aestra. from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

[peachyglo]

Moon peppers (3)

(2)

Palestine: what can you do

were!Abby x witch!reader

Summary: Abby runs away from her (former) pack and into your forest. You're not happy with your new (woods?)mate.

Tags: fantasy au, sloppy worldbuilding (fuck it we ball), fem!reader, alpha!abby, witch!reader (so not an omega), sentient forest, stubborn idiots in love who annoy each other.

Notes: near-death experience, Caitvi being the cutest.

Taglist: @abbysbae @poxismind @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @pjmispunk @herdelreydear @lmaoo-spiderman (if you want me to tag/untag you for the whole series dm me please)

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Annoyance prickles you all the way home. You feel a little exhausted after having your shields around yourself for so long, and if it wasn't for the stupid wolf, you'd be fine. You can't shake your irritation: you even offered the wolf peace, and it still attacked you! You keep in mind that the wolf might not be lucid - like it was with the bear, and you had to bring it back to the human form while avoiding getting killed - but on the other hand, it moved away when you threatened it with magic. 

“Fucking weres.” You spit and trip on a root. “Ouch. What, you have a soft spot for them?” 

The woods don't answer and you huff. You're used to the forest’s weirdness and mood swings, but sometimes you don't understand them. Who would have thought you can have an argument with a forest? But you had, on multiple occasions, and it showed that the forest remarkably worse at communicating than an emotionally stunned man.

When you see your hut, you let your shields down and take a long, tired breath. The wolf destroyed your sense of safety in the woods, and it makes your blood boil from fury, but you take another breath and try to calm down.

After all these years your anger is still the hardest to control. You still shake with the desire to just hit something, but it is still better than the desire to choke someone until they go cold and stiff. But it's hard to let go of this irritation and you haven't found a way to let it out-

Oh. Actually, you know a way. 

You sigh and slump on your porch to take a small break and recharge. The shields around the hut are not powered by your flow of magic, rather than by the bunch of stones and threads underground that you have to charge from time to time, so at least this is not draining you right now.

Fucking werewolf. 

You look over the edge of your shields and get angry again at the wolf. Your anger springs you into action, and you go inside your hut to get your things together. You take the fish out and put it in the chest full of ice - you're not cooking dinner today, you have no patience for it. 

You put another bottle of special tincture and head out, eager to go somewhere where there's no crazy werewolves. You're grim and the woods feel it, and they're rightfully offended by your attitude, but you can't bring yourself to care right now. Your mood is not directed at them rather than at one furry monster, and you know the forest knows it too, so you don't bother with sorries or excuses: you are not going to lie about your feelings, and you're tired from bottling up your anger.

As if not feeling anger is a goddamn requirement to be a good person.

When you're out of the forest, the sun gets closer to the horizon, and the evening's lights are beautiful enough for you to forget your spite for a moment. 

Then you continue stomping your way down the path and past the village, until you reach the odd house. 

You knock, shifting from foot to foot, and wait for someone to open the door. It takes a moment, but then Vi opens the door and the suspicion on her face turns into surprise when she sees you. 

“Damn, what happened to you?” 

“Can you spar with me?” You ask impatiently and come inside when Vi lets you in. 

“Is it a bottle in your sac, witch?” The dwarf grins and you roll your eyes. “I'm always happy to kick your ass, don't worry.”

“Thanks.”

Vi leads you to the kitchen where Caitlyn is cooking something and you shiver when you feel her magic: elven magic comes from stars, so it always feels cold. It's unnerving and makes you feel deep loneliness, and you don't know how Caitlyn deals with it. Do all elves feel as lonely as her magic makes you feel? 

But then Vi leaves a quick kiss on Caitlyn’s cheek and you chuckle. Vi, as any other dwarf, works with fire and metal, she always runs hot or is covered in coal, so you guess she balances Caitlyn and keeps her warm. 

“Darling!” Caitlyn smiles and hugs you, sending another wave of shivers down your spine. “You came back earlier than I expected.”

“She is going through some shit.” Vi immediately tells on you and you throw her a nasty look. “Listen, I didn't come here and ask to spar instead of saying hello.”

You huff and sit down on a soft chair, unloading your sac on the table. Vi grabs the bottle right away, but Caitlyn gently takes it and places it on the shelf. 

“Did anything happen?” The elf asks carefully and you let out a depressed snort. Caitlyn pours tea for all of you while Vi grumbles that she wanted her booze, but she still takes a sip.

“Another fucking were.” You say, defeated.

“No fucking way.” Vi groans. She was the one who had to deal with the bear after you brought it back and let's just say, they both didn't enjoy the experience, cursing and cussing at each other nonstop.

“It chased me to the hut, tried to jump me at least five times, refused to change back into human form and took Sevika's den. And when I warned it that she will come back and kill it, it made me walk backwards until I was out of its territory, growling and snarling at me. Un-fucking-believable.” You sigh. “And I'm so anxious my magic became unstable. I almost boiled myself alive.”

Caitlyn's face is so full of sympathy and concern it's hard to look at, so you look at Vi instead. She looks puzzled and just as annoyed as you are. 

“Is it a bear? Again?” Vi asks and it's almost funny how she is still full of spite after the werebear. “Why do you always get the crazy ones?”

“They fucking sense my own crazy.” You grump. “It's a wolf. A giant one, I've never seen them this big.”

“Probably an alpha, then.” Caitlyn says. “It's strange. Wolves live in packs.”

“Well, this explains the aggression.” You try to joke, but you sound more anxious than before. “I fell into the river today because of it.”

Vi cackles and you want to punch her. 

“So I'm angry. This is why I want to spar.”

“I think it is not wise for you to spar with Vi when your magic is unstable. I much prefer my starlight healthy and happy.”

Vi is clearly embarrassed by being called starlight - as always - but Caitlyn's loving look stops her from complaining and you from teasing. Elves are infinite and their love is too big and encompassing for mortals, however long they can live (Vi has another 500 years ahead of her, you think), and it's too much sometimes. 

“Have you been meditating like I showed you before?”

You feel stupid. 

“No.” You sound embarrassed, as you should be, but again - your anger management is still work in progress. 

“Well then. Let us go to the garden and I will guide you through it. Then you can spar with Vi, if you still wish to.”

You nod and follow Caitlyn. 

It's dark when Abby wakes up, and she feels better. The food and sleep helped her recover, and now she can finally change into human form to treat the rest of her wounds. 

The problem is, she doesn't have any supplies, since you took all of the moon peppers. So she will have to find something that will help her before she returns to her human form. 

For a brief moment she considers talking to you, since you are too weak to be a threat, when she gets better, but then she remembers you standing next to her blood stains near the den and the consideration is forgotten. 

So Abby cautiously shows her nose out of her den and takes a long sniff. Thankfully there is no one around who can hurt her, so Abby gets to her feet and goes for her search. 

Her wolf nose is more sensitive and she can smell more plants and animals around her than when she is a human, and it takes her less time to get to a comfrey bush. It's not in bloom, but Abby can still use it on her injuries to help with some of them that still bleed. 

Abby takes a breath and turns into her human form. She stands on her fours, shaking and grunting as the new level of pain washes over her body, but it slowly subsides. Abby is breathing deeply through it until her head stops spinning and the shaking goes away. Then she is able to sit down and check herself. 

Abby slowly raises her shirt up and winces in pain. Her right side has three deep long scratches that have been closing but not fully, so her shirt is soaked in blood, but that is what comfrey can help with. Her left thigh and calf have seen better days, and the hole from the claws stings painfully when Abby tries to move. It might be infected already, and this thought terrifies Abby. She thinks about going into the village to see their healer, but she might give herself away, so she will have to deal with it herself. 

Abby slowly breaks a few stems and starts turning them into mush - it would have been easier if she actually had a mortar, but alas, she has to adapt to her current situation, so she just kneads the stems in her hands until it's as gooey as it could get. Then she applies it to her side and moans in pain. 

“Fuck.” Abby whispers, but the mush helps immediately: her werewolf healing is way faster than anyone's in the world and her wounds finally close for good. It doesn't mean it's healed fully, but at least Abby stopped losing blood and avoided infections. 

Abby smells her former packmates one second, and the next second she is back into her wolf form. They're surrounding her from every direction and Abby tries her best not to panic, but somewhere deep in herself she knows she is not going to make it this time. There are obviously more wolves than before, hell, did Isaac bring the whole pack just to end her?

Abby hears growling from behind and turns around to face her threat, but the blow comes from the side, and Abby falls. She expects them to immediately go for her throat, but the wolves step away, clearly waiting for her to get up. 

Oh, so this is going to be a whole humiliation party, Abby thinks, but stands up anyway. They want to make an example of her - well, she is not going to let it happen. If Abby is going down, someone will go down with her. 

Abby narrows her eyes and tries to pick up Isaac’s scent and attack him, but he is nowhere to be found. Abby then moves to her closest target and attacks the wolf, going straight for their neck - it's a weaker one and Abby is sure she is going to kill it, but they're quick and Abby misses, falls on her feet again.

Someone jumps on top of her and bites into her shoulder, but Abby throws them off and leaves a nasty bite on their stomach - even if they escape, they will die on their way home. That brings her some satisfaction, but it's short-lived: another wolf jumps and bites her scruff. It hurts, but Abby throws them off again.

Then they're relentless: she throws off one wolf and another attacks her. Abby is getting exhausted and it's hard to get up now, but she still does. Her hind legs are shaking and her just closed wounds are open, but she snarls at her previous packmates, not giving up. 

Abby is happy she doesn't pick up Manny's scent among them. 

Suddenly wolves stop and step away, and Abby smells Isaac. Fucking coward waited until his wolves tired Abby out so he would stand a chance against her. He'd never win in an alpha on alpha fight, and everyone knows it. It makes him look pathetic and Abby knows wolves can smell her contempt and feel how Isaac's presence triggers her alpha’s pheromones. Some wolves whine, scared of her even when Abby is so weak she takes two tries to stand up, and Abby's smells like boasting. 

Isaac growls and shows off his own pheromones, but Abby overpowers him by a mile, which in return pisses him off and he lunges at Abby. 

They clash and Abby puts all her strength into most fatal attacks, clawing at his most vulnerable spots, but Isaac gets away from her.

Abby is panting and shaking, she is getting dizzy as her body starts to give up, and Isaac feels it. He lunges again with more force and keeps biting and clawing, waiting for Abby to slip up. 

And Abby slips up. 

Fangs sink into her throat and Abby whines as a piece of meat gets ripped out of her. She can't breathe, she is choking on her own blood as everything starts to fade away. 

Her former pack leaves only when all of them are sure Abby is dead and her heartbeat can't be heard and her scent can't be smelled. 

Isaac huffs in triumph at Abby's lifeless body and leads his pack out of the woods.

“So, do you still wish to spar with Vi?” Caitlyn asks after you finished your meditation. It's not the most comfortable experience and you'd really like to have some hot tea now, but you feel calmer and the flow of magic in your body is more stable. 

“No. Thank you, Caitlyn.”

The elf smiles gently and leads you back to the kitchen where Vi is already sipping your tincture. 

“You can't be left alone, can you?” Caitlyn sighs lovingly and Vi grins. 

“Try it. It's great. Not to your posh elven standards, your majesty, but you will like it anyway.”

Caitlyn huffs, embarrassed, and lightly slaps Vi's bicep. She just chuckles, catches her hand and leaves a gentle kiss on her palm. 

“You're adorable.” You coo and Caitlyn smiles at you. “I think I'll be going now. The forest wasn't happy with me.”

“Just like that?” Vi complains. “Next time bring two bottles.”

You laugh and leave after saying your goodbyes to the odd couple. 

It's dark outside now, and you come back to the forest with a lighter heart than before. The forest is silent, but you don't feel any anger towards yourself, so you're a little puzzled. 

And then your path suddenly makes a wrong turn. You don't question it and just follow wherever the forest leads you: it happens from time to time and you're always happy to help, especially now, when you're in such a good mood. You get suspicious when you recognise the path leading to Sevika’s den, but then it takes a different turn and you calm down. This is the way to comfrey and you walk confidently since it's familiar.

You reach the bushes and then you see blood on the ground. Oh, this is not good.

You follow the blood and you see the big shadow of the wolf on the ground. You flinch, scared it will attack you again, but it doesn't make a sound and it doesn't move. You come closer and now you can see it’s covered in blood and its back doesn't rise like it's supposed to if it was breathing.

“Fuck." You whisper. "Hey!” You call, but the wolf doesn't react. 

You make a few steps closer and then you run to the wolf when you exactly how much blood is there. There's a giant hole where its throat is supposed to be and you feel the cold dread crawl on your back. 

“Fuck. Fuck! What do you want me to do?” You ask the forest angrily. “I'm not powerful enough, I can't do shit!” You're on the verge of tears: yes, the wolf is annoying and scary, but it doesn't deserve to die! 

The woods respond with a gentle warm breeze and you take a deep breath as your fingers grip wolf's fur. Okay. Okay, there is an option which you're afraid to use, but it will work. Well, if the forest agrees, of course.

“Give me one of your trees and I'll be able to save the wolf.” You say quietly, knowing you have no right to ask for it, knowing the woods have no reason to trust you or believe you won't become dangerous again, but it is literally the only way. 

You're also afraid and you don't trust yourself, but the wolf is dead and you can save it. You can bring it back to life. You have no idea what happened to the wolf, but it simply doesn't deserve to die. 

You sigh and go around the wolf to the tree behind it. Your hands are shaking but you firmly put them on the bark and gasp: you feel the life energy flow in it, the forest will let you do this. It's so much your breath hitches but you calm yourself and begin to drain the tree.

You hear the rusting of the leaves as they turn into ash and your body gets filled with the life force of the tree. It's exhilarating and you can't help your surprised giggle when you feel your magic grow. Fuck, it's been so long since you felt so powerful and you feel alive.

The half of the tree is gone and you now notice that your hands are glowing. But it's not your hands that are glowing, these are your tattoos and runes. It makes you flinch in terror as memories flow through your head, but you keep going and try not to pay attention to every line and letter and patch that glows through your clothes. You haven't seen them in years and you'd much prefer not to see them ever again, but alas, the power comes with consequences. 

Everything now is covered in ash and you feel like you're going to burst from this amount of life energy in your body, so you quickly come back to the wolf and hold its head between your hands, and then you start pouring the energy into its lifeless body. Your tattoos stop glowing so violently as time passes and you see how the wolf's throat grows back and gets covered in fur. The wolf finally exhales loudly and inhales again, and you feel its heart restart. 

You sigh, relieved, and sit down, still holding the wolf's head and putting more energy into it, but now you're calm: the wolf breathes and gets warmer with every second. 

You murmur a spell that will let you continue giving the energy to the wolf and then you cast another one that makes the wolf float and follow you to the hut. 

You notice the blood on your hands and take a shaky breath as an ancient temptation gets the hold of you: you can put this wolf in debt, you can make it leave you alone (which is a not a fair price, but you have priorities), you can do whatever you want since you have its blood. 

You swallow sickly and shake your head to calm down. 

When you get to your hut you're not sure where to place the wolf: it will take a night and a day to finish healing, but the moment the wolf wakes up it will try to kill you, so you need to do something. It's not your greatest idea, but you really have no other option except to leave it outside and risk the wolf running away and breaking the bond. So you go to your stillroom, put all the protective spells you know on everything so the wolf won't trash the place, and summon some furs so the wolf won't be lying on the cold floor. You stand there for a second and cast restraints on the wolf - again, stupid idea, but it's for your own safety. Tomorrow, when the wolf wakes up you'll explain everything and release it, of course, but if you want a chance on said explain, the wolf should be restrained. 

When you go to bed you become aware of just how much energy will stay in your body after this, and it makes your heart sink. 

You only hope it won't drive you mad.