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atyourmerci · 2 days

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Softdom!abby X plus sized insecure reader ♡

Abby painting all the things she loves about your body

CW: smut, MDNI, softdom!abby, sub!reader, plussized!reader, reader is anxious, me making up shit ab artistry, face sitting, fingering, mult orgasms

♡ ♡

In your sun kissed painting room, abby lies against your velvet couch, her blonde hair glowing against her pale flesh. She often modeled for all of your class assignments so she was used to her spotlight.

She loved watching you at work, so concentrated as you perfected your craft. She would do anything for you, she just wanted to help her beautiful girl.

As your eyes are trained on the majority of a blank canvas you zone in on creating your base, knowing your girlfriend would stay still so you can get your perfect shot.

“Why don’t you ever let me pain you?” Is heard from behind the white canvas propped up on your easel.

It caught you so off guard your head peaks around the board to look at your girlfriend. hmmm? Comes out as an honest confusion.

She giggles to herself at how locked in you truly were, “why don’t I ever paint you?” She reiterates.

You giggle back at her question, “because you can’t paint for shit,” you toy with her playfully.

“And what if I wanted to try huh, maybe I’m not using the right medium perhaps,” she comes back with a sophisticated air to her tone.

“Yeah yeah okay, just sit and look pretty,” you say getting back to your work when you hear a rustling, seeing her get up from the couch to approach you, “don’t move! That was a perfect-,” before you could finish her hands are wrapped around your stomach as she kisses the side of your face.

You can’t seem to protest with the naked woman behind you, touches of her sun soaked skin drenching you. You lean into it, letting her do as she pleased.

“I want to paint you,” she says in between peppering kisses down your neck. You giggle at her insistence, “baby I think we’ve been over th-,”

“No, no I want you paint on you,” she whispers into your ear as her hand cups your jaw gently.

“N-now? Right now?” You turn to face her, she had to be joking, right? Abby watches you with doe eyes, nodding back at you.

“But it’s bright in here,” you say averting your glance, the pit in your stomach growing with anxiety of the thought. Your nervous tick of flexing your fingers beginning, and abby notices.

Taking your palms into her own and rubbing circles with her thumbs on top of your hands in order to soothe you.

“I know. I want to admire every part of you. I want you to see what I see baby. Is that okay?”

A white tapestry lies beneath your barren body, stripped of all the confines and masks you build up to protect perception.

There’s no real reason to hide from abby. She adored every inch of you. Every marking on your body was akin to threads of gold to her.

Now tracing them with your paintbrushes, creating flowers from the stretch marks on your stomach, one of the biggest insecurities you had.

You once tried to hide them, turning around to change, avoiding mirrors that may give away your secrets. She’d trace them in the safety in the darkness, admiring your body for taking care of you, protecting you when she couldn’t.

As she aimlessly paints away at your flesh she admires her artwork, not the paint itself, but her own human body sculpted for her eyes. She rambles on about how you represent the body of a Greek goddess, full and radiant.

Her light touches, soft words, and longing glances sending you into the deepest form of arousal you’d ever known.

To be loved is to be seen

Beginning to form dainty flowers amongst the stretch marks in your inner thighs you couldn’t take it anymore, breath getting heavier, her mouth beginning to gape at your dripping arousal…so close to her touch.

“Please sit on my face,” she sounded depraved, as if she’d die without it.

“B-but the paint,” you breathe out, not giving a shit, but knowing there would be a mess.

“I don’t fucking care, please baby,” she pleas, gripping into the flesh of your thighs.

You’d never done this, allowed yourself that vulnerability. You’d berate your thoughts, always worrying you’d be too heavy. What if she thought you were too much, too heavy for her? Would it change her mind about you?

She guides you above your mouth, paint smearing across her cheeks. You begin at a hover, attempting to make yourself lighter, more palatable.

“Baby all of you, please I need you,” you hear from her, tugging on your thighs to sit comfortably on top of her.

A sigh of relief floods you, releasing the tension and submitting to her completely.

If she could have eaten you whole, she would have. Sloppily licking down your cunt, pressing down your thighs to get as close as she could.

She made you whine and shake till your tired limbs gave out, falling down onto her, letting your body rest completely. Planting kisses on your forehead while she runs her fingertips through your hair.

“Let me do the work this time, just lay there and look pretty,” she says gazing down at you with a grin, knowing she’s stealing your line.

Your body sprawled out on the cloth, completely revealed to her open-mouthed gaze, sun kissing your sweaty flesh.

Driving her fingers into you she can’t help but stare at your pretty mess, paint covered, soaking cunt all of her. “Look so fucking pretty like this,” she coos, sending your head back in pleasure.

The feeling of full liberation, complete autonomy over your body, at the hands of her.

‘mine mine my girl my fucking pretty girl’ she can’t stop herself from babbling, watching as her piece of art comes to life.

Even after you finish from her fingers she can’t stop looking, obsessed, utterly enthralled at the thought of getting the honor of fucking a goddess.

Dried paint chips away at your bodies as the sun goes down. Bare bodies lying there for hours. Maybe you’d never leave this moment.

#abby anderson #the last of us #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby tlou #abby anderson tlou2 #abby angst #abby the last of us #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou x reader #abby x you #dom abby anderson #abby anderson x f!reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson fanfiction #abby anderson fanfic #plus size reader

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clairellie · 2 days

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abby abby abby.. the things you do to me.

just thinking about her gripping at your ass, tits, and thighs as you cook dinner for her. she completely forgets she's doing so but you on the other hand- the complete opposite.

“abs, whatcha doin??…”

“hm.. watching you cook.”

“you sure..? u seem to be focused on— something else rather than cooking..”

then she finally snaps back into reality, “you know what babe, im not that hungry. kinda want something else.” she mumbled, eyeing you.

“well to damn bad.”

filler post n i cant get her out my mind.

#abby anderson the last of us 2 #tlou 2 #wlw #abby the last of us #fluff #abby x reader #abby x you #abby tlou #abby anderson x reader

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abbyscherry · 3 days

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❀ — CAFÉS & CROSSWORDS

🇵🇸 daily click | palestine masterpost | important tlou post

loser abby chokes on air, almost drops her pencil, and crossword book on the floor when she notices you walking into the small café that she’s always visiting, for the first time. a bright smile on your face that has her cheeks flushing crimson red under the dim lighting of the area she was sitting in, just because of how bright your smile was. her palms suddenly sweaty when you’re letting out a laugh. a laugh she wants to constantly hear.

the turtle neck sweater suddenly feels too tight around her neck, her blush deepening when you’re turning around, still laughing with your friends, and your eyes slowly trail around until they’re landing on her. smiling softly when you spot her scrambling for her pen, looking away just as quick when she’s realising you had just caught her staring shamelessly.

abby was quickly trying to act oblivious to your staring. if she could stare at you and blush whenever you find her looking, why can’t you stare and smirk when she catches you watching? but it was slightly harder for her because she could feel your eyes burning into the side of her face. almost like you were trying to knock her glasses off just by looking at her.

she had barely even realized you’d grabbed your drink, and made your way over to the selection of books on the shelf when abby turned around, without seeming too shy this time or hiding it better, to look for you. only pouting as a result when she couldn’t find you. had you left? why was she already wanting to fawn over you from a distance and never actually talk to you? was she scared? maybe. would she ever say anything to you unless you did? never.

it was cute. cute watching her look for you and she barely even knew your name.

simply unaware you were standing behind her, finding the whole interaction more adorable with a smile on your face when she’s burying her face back into her book, or whatever it was that she was reading or doing.

taking a few steps forward, you couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing. your interest peaking higher at the pretty blonde who suddenly gained your attention as you heard before you could see the pencil in her hand, tapping on the wooden table and a angry scoffed came from her.

your smile brightened a few seconds later at the simple realisation she liked to do puzzles, and was clearly seconds away from giving up.

“introgression” you finally spoke up after watching her struggle for an extra few minutes on writing and erasing the incorrect answer.

the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, turning around on her chair quickly and regrettably knocking her knee on the table in the process when she found you, standing there with your head cocked to the side and chuckling. with a wince, she replied with a stammered, “what?” looking anywhere but at you.

“the answer to your crossword question. what is a 13-letter word meaning entrance? it’s introgression”

“oh”

“m’sorry, you’ve just been staring at it for a while” you chuckled, smiling down at her.

“it kinda slipped my mind i guess, but thank you”

“you’re welcome” you giggled, fumbling with your bracelet. “do you do crosswords a lot?”

“uhm, sometimes? keeps my brain focused” abby nodded, nervously tucking a strand of loose hair behind her glasses, and pushing her glasses higher up on her nose. “s’tupid, i know”

“no, no. s’not stupid, it’s cute” you reassured her quickly, smirking at her sudden flushed cheeks. “i can help you finish it, if you’d like? no pressure, i just like crosswords too”

“you uh, want to—”

“yes pretty girl, i want to crossword with you”

“aren’t you busy?”

“never too busy to talk to someone as handsome as you. oh and the crosswords too, obviously, i guess”

abby couldn't stop blushing at your words while you placed your hot drink on the table, sitting down on the chair opposite her. “you’re definitely here for the puzzle” she giggled.

“and something else, but let’s finish this before we get to the details about our date, yeah?”

#loser!abby #abby anderson #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson fluff #abby the last of us #abby anderson tlou2 #abby tlou

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chappellroansdreamgirl · 2 days

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getting called angel, baby, honey, pretty girl and sweet thing by abby anderson could fix me and my mommy issues i'm sure.

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flowersforvi · 18 hours

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u wanna write sub abby so bad…. u wanna write needy whiny sub abby…… you do so bad you have the urge to write sub abby 🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀 (please) (pls) (please)

ohhhhh i think it’s working… oh no….. i typed this entire thing out…. ohhhhh……..

sub!abby who’s just so absolutely whiny as your fingers are dragging in n’ out of her wet pussy, thumb and mouth exchanging turns on her sensitive clit.

she’ll make the sweetest noises imaginable, moaning your name as if you’re going away. abby will grind her entire cunt onto your face, only caring about getting to cum, and nothing else.

“oh–s’fuckin’ good mama— please don’t stop–“

it’s erotic, it’s dirty, and messy. her cunt clenches around your fingers, drooling down them in the process. you take her words as an obvious sign that she’s close, speeding your moments in the process.

“feels good, huh? y’like when i’m making you feel good like this baby, don’t you?”

all she can respond with is almost incoherent mumbles of a repeated ‘yes’, heavy breaths occasionally interrupting her words.

your focus was on making her feel good, and that only.

taglist; @syrenada @satellitespinner @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess @ellieslob @starlynnr @enhanct @s4pphicslutt @marsworlddd @sapphiclesbli @ruelliee @antonellavanella @lasting-lover @desireesfics @marvelwomenarehot0 @elliessslut @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @a-little-bit-of-everybody @aouiaa @fairydxll @seraphicsentences @prwttiestbunny @callmewhenyoukan

#— flowersforvi reqs #lesbian #wlw #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby smut #abbyanderson #abby the last of us #abby x you #abby x reader

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abigails-gf · 3 days

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can you write reader and Abby watching a sad movie and Abby sees reader crying so she comforts her 💕

abby anderson x f!reader.

a/n: hiii nonnie !! thank you sm for sending this request. :3 i cry so much while watching movies. omg. the last movie i cried for was puss in boots 2 :(( saw it for the first time two weeks ago and it was so so good. cried when mama bear said that they'll love goldie even if she decides to give up on them for her wish n stuff. aah. anyway !! i hope you enjoy this. it's a bit short, but i think it's cute !! <3 also, 'm working on a longer request which (hopefully) will be up next week. and i'm sooo excited !! okiii byeee !! mwaaahh 💌💕

how you can help palestine, israeli themes in tlou, more ressources !

you and abby had decided to have a movie night once a week. you'd spend the night at her apartment, bringing some snacks with you. and she'd take care of dinner.

tonight, you two were watching a movie she had picked. you ate while watching the first part of the movie, and then cuddled on her couch.

"oh, no! what is she doing? she can't just leave them like that!" you said, talking about the main character deciding to leave her family. abby stayed quiet and squeezed your hand in hers.

as the movie progressed, nearing the end, she looked at you. you were focused on the tv, the glow of it lighting your face – she noticed tears falling down your cheeks. she chuckled. "baby..." she cupped your cheek as you finally turned to her, sniffling. "oh, honey..." she smiled softly at you as you shook your head. "'m sorry, it's so stupid. it's just a stupid movie..." she laughed a little and hugged you. "oh, baby..." she kissed your cheeks. "it's okay. don't apologise for that." she hugged you until the movie was over.

"it's already over?!" you yelled at the tv. abby giggled and caressed your arm. "calm down, baby. it's just a movie." you hugged your girlfriend as she kept on rubbing your arm. "this movie was shit."

abby laughed and kissed your head. "yeah. the movie was so shitty, you cried." she teased. you looked up at her, slapping her chest. "shh. don't make fun of me." she couldn't help but chuckle. "not making fun of you, baby. would never do that."

you rolled your eyes and kissed her. she kissed you back softly, pressing you against her. "sweet girl..." she whispered into the kiss. you smiled and kissed her some more, as her hands travelled to your lower back. "seriously, abby, don't you ever pick a movie like this." she looked at you and caressed your cheek. "next time you'll pick the movie." she said, giving you a peck. "don't like seeing my sweet girl cry." she kissed you once more.

you two laid down on the couch, cuddling. your head on abby's chest as she rubbed your back. "baby? you alright?" she spoke softly, starting to play with your hair. you didn't answer, soft breaths coming out of your mouth.

you had fallen asleep. abby smiled at the sight. she continued to play with your hair for a few minutes before gently getting up, putting your head down on a pillow. she leaned down and kissed your head. "goodnight, sweetheart." she whispered before picking up the dishes.

#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby x reader #abby anderson x you #the last of us #abby anderson tlou2 #tlou2 #tlou x reader #abby anderson blurb #abby the last of us #abby anderson fluff

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nothing-tolose · 2 days

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Wood Stairs on The Coast.

warning: age gap (4 years). please lmk if there's anything i missed!

a/n: i wrote some words repeatedly im sorry, imsorry imsorry

daily click

You really hate yourself for sitting in the same spot again and again. Resting your butt on the wooden surface of the stairs, your eyes gazing at the ocean merely 270 meters from your house. You letting out a sigh as you bury your face in your arms, cursing yourself because you're still waiting for Abby to return, even though there's almost no chance and reason for her to come back to the little town where you live. It has been five years two months and two weeks since she left you with her promise to wait for her come back in 4 years, well, it was too far late. Now that you're a grown up, no longer the girl who once struggled with her homework, you work at a little bakery shop in your small town instead of pursuing university like most of your friends did. Being 21 years old, you feel old enough to date Abby that you've been waiting for almost half a decade since too young to have her back then. But does it truly matter when the promise remains unfulfilled? All hopes, birthday wishes, and prays you always mean it for Abby, hoping she'd be here soon with her feet touching the ground. You knew where her hometown was at, only if you get enough money, you swear you could go there and meet her. You don't even know if her promise is still worth for believing in or it's just a bunch of lies that you still hold tightly. You rejected the girls who confessed their feelings to you because you were waiting for Abby. Now they got their own girlfriends, you still here, sitting on your house's stairs, alone, not with Abigail Anderson, not with her being your girlfriend. You leaned on the railing, thinking about how much easier life was when she was with you, even if it was only for four months. The past five years hadn't been as amazing as the year before. You've heard great things here, but not as great as they'd be if she came back. Your house remained the same as it was a year ago; there was no chance of her getting lost. Night had fallen, and you sat by the window, facing the coast you've been staring while sit on the porch stairs this morning. The dim light in your room from a white bedside lamp—the gift from Abby for your 16th birthday—that you never turned off, day or night. The lamp served as a symbol of how long you'd been waiting; once it went off, it would be over. Your head leaned against the wall, sighing, "Should I stop, Abby?"

You promised yourself you wouldn't sit again on the wooden stair corner again, yet there you are, hand cupping your cheeks, the gentle breeze playing with your hair, forcing you to tuck hair strands behind your ear every single seconds. You have some rocks on the ground from the beach you visited earlier this morning. You've sorted them by size and now you're playing with them randomly, just to stave off your boredom, as if you were know that Abby won't come back, leaving you feeling hopeless now. You huffed, again. You tried not to care anymore about the promise. But no, you knew yourself better than anyone; deep down in your heart, you still cared enough for her. You were too focused on your mind, hands still playing with the rocks and sand, not hearing the footsteps approaching you. The footsteps stopped a few meters away from you. You raised your head, immediately stood up after you saw the owner of the footsteps. You couldn't say anything as if words had become trapped in your throat.

"You've grown up a lot,"

Without a second thought, you ran to her and hugged her tightly. Even though the promise was fulfilled much later than expected, it didn't matter anymore. She's here, Abby is here, Abigail Anderson is here. No words comes from your mouth, all that mattered was the hug, and she returned it just as fiercely. Her hands rubbing your head while saying "I'm sorry, you've waited me for too long." She was saying sorry to you, for countless times. You shakes your head, crying in between the hug. Abby cupped your cheeks, smiling, her gaze locked on your lips, "Can.. can I?" You didn't wait for her to finish speaking as you simply nodded, you want her to kiss you, you really want it. Your lips met hers, ending five years of loneliness without her. At last, she could kiss you without concern for age differences, and at last, you could having her being your girlfriend. "God, where was the girl who always asks me to help her homework?" You chuckled, along with her wiped your tears away on your cheeks after the kisses, "She's a grown up now, Abby."

"Please, please don't leave me again,"

"I won't, baby. I won't,"

Once again big thanks to Taylor Swift for giving me the idea.

#⋆˚࿔ nothingtolose 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#abby anderson angst #abby anderson #abby anderson tlou2 #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson x reader #tlou abby #tlou2 #the last of us 2 #abby anderson fluff #abby x fem!reader #Spotify

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tlouonmedia · 3 days

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Abby

TLOU ISRAELI THEMES PALESTINE DRC SUDAN ALL IN ONE THREAD

#the last of us 2 #tlouonmedia!#abby anderson #abby anderson tlou2 #abby tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby x reader

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forthelostones · 12 hours

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𝚙𝚝.𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ; 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 ─── ⋆

⟡⋆˙୨ᥫ᭡. 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚞 - 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛ᥫ᭡.୧⋆˙⟡

synopsis: abby was a woman whose presence was becoming deeply irresistible to you. in your final year of nursing school, you toil with the idea of pursuing her — ruin what you have or enjoy what’s in front of you?

warnings. 18+ (mdni); sub!abby, domsub!abby, sexual themes, jealousy, fluff, nickname: dummy, and modern au - pre-established relation.

an: guys. this has been such a crazy ride, thanks for the support on both of my stories. it means so much to me. sorry for the wait... lets get it.

CLICK HERE.

(no y/n)

Abby watched from the row behind you, observing how you chewed on the end of that neon #2 pencil. She could tell by the bobbing of your leg that you were nervous and stuck on a specific question. It was the same during studying — chew, bob, sigh. Almost on cue, a frustrated sigh left your throat. She knew it was her fault that this was happening.

She knew neither of you studied long enough for you to feel confident on this exam. Well, that’s what she kept trying to convince herself, she was already finishing up the last page. Although her pencil glided on the paper effortlessly, she couldn’t help but be distracted by your indecisiveness on the math equations and multiple-choice questions. The once full eraser had been subsided to pure metal scrapping into the pages.

The time on her watch read ten minutes left until the end of the exam and you were only on page two. Studying had become harder for you with Abby around. It wasn’t only the dating component it was mostly the difference in your skills. Her ability to memorize vocabulary and complete math problems without thinking twice about them made you academically insecure. While you averaged low B’s and high C’s, she had a 4.0 and made it look easy. The clock's ticking distracts you from the problem you are trying to solve. It was one you and Abby worked on multiple times, yet you’re frozen, unsure how to solve it. As everyone flicks their pages to finish, you just … froze.

“Okay. Pencils down.” Your professor said just moments after you started a new equation. Your jaw dropped slightly and you squeezed your eyes shut. Abby shook her head, not at you specifically, but herself. You had practically moved in and the nights that would typically be spent studying were now used to learn more about each other beyond your friendship. Realistically, Abby understood that those moments would be worth more than a grade in the long run. But a part of her also resented getting this comfortable, ultimately impacting you. The feelings clashed within her. The heat forming inside of you could only be described as embarrassment. Why was it like your brain suddenly lost all power to its systems? It wasn’t unusual for you to skip a few questions but this was completely unlike you.

You chew on your cuticles and fold the mostly blank pages and pass them down to the front, doing the same for your classmates. Their pages crumbled with computation answers and confidently filled bubbles exposed your shortcomings. You should feel relieved that the test is over but you don’t. A heavy anchor grounded you but you were still floating. Abby met you down in your row where you saw her concealing another A-plus smirk. Once you both exited into the hall Abby’s hand finds the center of your back and she begins to pet it slowly. You shrug her away gently.

“Don’t.” You sigh.

Abby knew it would set you off but she did it anyway to show you she sees you. The blonde’s brain was moving at a rapid pace. She so deeply wanted to ask you about the challenging problems and the scenarios on the quiz. Her translucent lashes tapped frantically as she imagined the sheet of paper behind her eyes.

“I feel good about this one.” She finally says.

“Good. I really did not do well. It’s — whatever. Right?”

Abby looks to you and she couldn’t lie and tell you that it’s not just whatever. It’s your future. Both of your futures — together — it was important to Abby that her partner was just as successful as her.

“You should be happy that you did your best but understand that if you did do as bad as you think, it’s worth asking for a makeup to understand the material.” She suggested.

You hated when she got like this, rigid. Her posture was straight, her mouth set hard, and no softness found anywhere on her face. The regime her father instilled in her stayed and it was evident in moments like this.

“Abby, sometimes I really need you to just listen to me and be rational later.”

A chill followed down her spine following your sharp comment.

“Maybe we shouldn’t study together anymore.” She muttered.

Part of you wanted that to be a joke but knew it wasn’t. The night before proved itself to be deeply uneventful for the both of you.

“You’re distracting me.” You groan as you’re reviewing flashcards on Abby’s bed, the first mistake. She was wearing a thin, white tank top and a pair of loose black sweats, untied, on her hips. Her hair was drying from the shower you two just took and so was her body. The outline of her features was accentuated by the water being absorbed by the cotton. She was so casually beautiful and simply yours. The bed shifted behind you, her weight bending the mattress inwards, as she crawled towards you.

“Am I?” She asks, using the tip of her tongue to playfully lick a stripe of slick up towards your lobe. An instant bubble of relief popped inside of you. “Okay. Okay.”

Abby couldn’t take her eyes away from you. She had seen you in this robe every night now but it was something about how it was gliding with you. As well as your skin's glint from your body oil makes you look regal. You sat at the base of the bed while Abby retreated towards the headboard, leg tucked under her butt. She took off three inches of hair and it looked so fresh, carving out her face perfectly, and highlighting her stiff jawline. “How about we make a deal?” She said brazenly.

“What?”

“For each answer I get right you remove something?”

“Abby,” you chuckle, not denying her advances.

You thumb the index cards in your hand and turn to tie your eyes with hers.

“First question, the section is Anatomy and Physio. What best describes endocrine glands?” You ask.

Abby taps her chin as if she’s searching for the answer. “They secrete chemicals into the blood, growth, metabolism, sexual development and function.”

She raises her eyebrows and shoots her eyes towards your robe. A deal is a deal so you remove the silk, leaving you in your two-piece pajama set. Abby notices the goosebumps lining the outsides of your shoulders and can’t help but desire to rub them warm.

“Question number two. Anaerobic respiration can lead to a burning sensation caused by which molecule?”

“Easy,” she scuffed. “Lactic Acid.”

Her teeth appeared behind her Cheshire grin as your top found its way onto her floor.

“Good job.”

Your words made her cunt pulse.

“The mediastinum is located within which cavity?” You ask.

Abby’s face fell instantly. The outline of your nipples looked delicious and icy, she needed them in her palms immediately. “Fuck. I don’t know.”

You lift yourself off the bed and bend right in front of her to retrieve your shirt, Abby’s shadow overcame you and her hips thrust into your ass in one motion. She spins you around to face her, mouths inches away. “Do you think you’re going to actually put that back on?”

Her index finger traced the outline of your lips with her eyes following. You grip her wrist, halting her movements, “And if I do?”

Abby gently places the index cards neatly on her bedside table and presses you into the wall behind you. Usually, Abby is submissive but the stalking woman imposed her strength on you, like she’s been wanting to do from the first time she saw you in clinicals.

“I’ll just rip it off you.” She giggles.

“Would that be so bad?” You reply, bringing her finger into your mouth, sucking it then adding another. Abby huffed a keen groan as she bent down onto her knees, immediately pressing her mouth into your cunt. She lapped at the fabric separating her from you and didn’t even ask for you to remove them.

You insisted by beginning to take them off but she tore them off you and hoisting up one leg onto her shoulder following the other one.

“Abby.” You gasp.

“I got you, hold onto me.”

She was flexing her skill by fine-tuning your pussy with her tongue while she slowly hoisted you up towards the ceiling. Not only did you feel as if you were floating, you actually were. She was a show off but you fucking loved it.

After that, there was no more studying done.

“Do you think we should cut down on the time we're spending together?” You question, as the night replays in your mind.

Abby’s face scrunched up in immediate disapproval without hesitation at the suggestion. She pulled her bottom lip slightly in her mouth and looked around as if the walls suddenly grew eyes. Abby wanted to tell you no but she knew what had to be done.

“We can.” She grimaced with a shrug.

Despite all the time you spent together the girlfriend conversation had yet to come up. She thought about it the most when you were in her presence. She didn’t comprehend how you liked her so much and yet, you refused to make it official. She truly believed that once you ditched Ellie she’d be over the moon, but right now it’s feeling the same and Abby doesn’t do stagnant.

“Abby, we can still study together, in the library, several feet away from each other.”

She forced a smile. “Fine. Does this mean you’ll still sleepover?”

Before your crush on Abby developed you were denying yourself the fact that it was possible. But during this time, before the dating, your grades had been the best when you were alone, and you know for a fact, that it was because of her. You may not be as smart as Abby but you do want to come out on the other end with a degree too.

“Why don’t we come up with a schedule?” She suggests.

“That would be perfect.” You said.

The schedule consisted of dinners at Abby’s during the week, sleepovers on non-clinical days which were Wednesdays and Fridays, and studying every day at the library. Abby liked the organization but her body had gotten so used to you beside her. A week into implementing the new schedule Abby felt an immense amount of anxiety without you around. She didn’t know how to break down the feeling and why it was so persistent. Although you two were next door to each other, text messages still provided a temporary cushion for her sadness, but it wasn’t enough.

Abby clicked the icon that was the home for your name and called but there was no answer. Dinner was stewing on the stove, and in the middle of mixing a cocktail, Abby called to find out if you could taste what was missing. Another call led to another one and soon Abby was sitting with a candle flickering silently in front of her. Your plate sat untouched and she just picked at the remnants of hers.

Little did she know you were closed off in your room after studying, panicking. You knew yourself more than you wanted to. The schedule was needed for you to clear your brain on the feelings you had for Abby. With upcoming exams and graduation where would that leave you? She'd move across the world while you were huddled up in your small town's hospital circulation? It was coming in so fast and before you could mix in a girlfriend you had to know what you wanted. The pages of your journal turned soft as you tore your pen through the book.

A part of you wanted to hear the rapping of her fist against your door, ready to envelop you and reassure you that you would figure it out. She never came and because of that, a piece of you died. Conversations with her have turned short and passive since the last exam. It wasn’t just the exam it was a culmination of multiple things that either of you were ready to talk about.

Abby put your dinner into a glass container and waited outside your door trying to gain the sense to knock. One of the many nights you spent together gave her a reason to knock instead of sulk in her bed, thinking about all of her shortcomings in the relationship. You were both lying down and Abby lit a candle that night that you bought her. The sweet scent of peaches and cream cut through the bitter smell of her pine products. She loved it. Between the sheets were your naked bodies damp and lazy. Abby had brought a glass of cold ice water and set it on the nightstand beside the candle. You took turns taking sips.

“Thank you for the water.” You smiled.

“Don’t mention it,” She nudged you.

You twist your body onto your stomach and look up to her glimmering, post-sex face.

“Abby?”

“Yes, beautiful?”

“You still make me nervous.”

She cackles and brings her hand to your cheek and massages away your imperfections. With the roll of her eyes she licks her lips before curating a snarky response. But she quickly realizes you’re being serious. “Why?”

“I care so much about you and that’s something I haven’t felt before. With anyone.”

A kind pause swells between you both.

“I care about you too. I don’t want that to make you nervous.” She said.

“I know you see me differently but I am a little insecure.”

She leans down and kisses your forehead tenderly without a breath.

“That’s normal.”

“But I burrow. I distance myself when I get like that and I don’t want to subject you to that. I don’t want to hurt your feelings again. If I do that, get distant, don’t hesitate to just tell me to get out of my own head. It’s not your fault or your responsibility.”

Abby’s fist banged on the door with your words echoing in her mind. The thuds startled you out of the sleepy daze you fell under. You shuffle to the door to see the goofy blonde in her pajamas and slippers holding what was supposed to be tonights shared dinner.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” Her voice was more welcoming than usual. “I was worried. Are you okay?”

Shoving her way past you and nearly tossed the container on the kitchen counter. Without hesitation she opened her arms and you couldn’t help but to run into them. Although she didn’t say anything the affirmation from her presence was enough.

“All too much in your head again aren’t you?”

A sob escaped into her chest and she gripped you tighter. These past few days have been a blunder of confusing thoughts. A part of you knew getting together with Abby would make things unclear in your life. But if she was willing to get uncomfortable and support you, you were obligated to do the same to her.

“Abby, I should’ve answered your calls.” You pull away to notice how unswayed she is of your state.

“You should have but that doesn’t matter right now. We need to talk.”

You nod your head seldomly and she grips your hand and takes you to your bedroom. Abby pats beside herself to welcome you.

“I’m so scared.” You blurt out.

“Me too,”

Abby was scared for the complete opposite reason. When she was with you it seemed like all the decorative things such as school didn’t matter. She wasn’t familiar with how that felt. To have an identity outside of her accomplishments or care about someone. With you, she could flunk out of nursing school, move back to her home town, and still be satisfied. That scared her — that one person could allow her to have such a paradigm shift.

Hearing Abby say those words made your heart settle.

“I care so much about you. I didn’t think I would, this much. I should’ve known because on orientation when I saw you I thought, ‘I need to know who she is’ and I am grateful for that thought blossoming into my mind.”

You couldn’t muster any other word but her name. She picked up your hands to bring them into her lap. She leaned in to place a soft kiss on your mouth and lingered there with her forehead pressed against yours.

“When you moved next door, I just thought maybe this is the sign I need to do something different. To not let my ambitions lead me but instead my heart. And my heart loves you, Dummy.”

#abby anderson smut #abby smut #abby anderson x you #abby x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby the last of us #lesbian #abby anderson #abby tlou

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bunniehrtz · 3 days

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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.”

#the last of us #abby anderson #tlou #abby tlou #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson smut #abby anderson the last of us #abby x reader smut #the last of us abby #abby x fem!reader #tlou abby #abby x you #abby x reader #abby anderson the last of us 2

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dollyhao · 7 hours

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once more to see you; a. anderson

(short little angsty fic based off mitski's song. ive never done something like this so let me know if its good because i have other ideas.)

‘in the rearview mirror i saw the setting sun on your neck and felt the taste of you bubble up inside me’

abby watched you sleep as the sunrised, casting a orange glow to your face. she traces a finger down your arm as your face twitches from the slight touches. she can feel the way you kissed her skin last night like a lingering burn and how she returned them.

‘but with everyone watching us, our every move, we do have reputations’

‘we keep it secret, won’t them have it.’

abby knows you deserve more than sneaky meet ups in her room and on patrols but theres nothing she can do. if she wants to keep the respect and fear of wlf soldiers she can’t have them knowing about you two. abby refuses to let them turn what you two have together into something else. she's doing this for you; for both of you.

‘so come inside and be with’

‘alone with me, alone with me, alone’

you never complain as abby avoids eye contact with you or talks to you formally, like your just another soldier who has to listen to her commands. you let abby initiate intimacy so you don’t have another mishap like the last time.

so you let abby leave you little notes to meet her in empty rooms that aren’t used anymore. and accept as she pulls you into passionate kisses and tight hugs, her silent way of telling you she loves you.

‘if you would let me give you pinky promise kisses , then i wouldn’t have to scream your name atop of every roof in the city of my heart’

you watch abby as she gets close with owen, playfully hitting him, making jokes and laughing. you don’t remember the last time abby laughed with you. you watch and wonder if being in a relationship isn’t the problem for abby but that maybe it’s being in a relationship with you thats the problem.

your heart screams for her when she meets your gaze with a look of (fake?) disinterest. you want her to tell you she loves you like she use to before she went up in rank. you want to yell at her that this can’t be the way you are loved in such an already fucked up world; but you can’t bring yourself to stop the moments you do get together.

‘if i could see you, once more to see you”

abby hasn’t seen you give her a genuine smile in days. when your alone, you give her these half smiles and she watches you lip wobble the slightest bit as she walks into your room at midnight. but your still here, wrapping her into your arms as she pulls you down to lay on the bed with her.

so she takes in everything your giving her right now because your still here, even if your eyes are far away.

#abby kinda an asshole #wlw #lesbian #the last of us #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #i 🫶🏾 abby anderson #abby anderson angst #angst #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson tlou #abby tlou #abby the last of us

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atyourmerci · 22 hours

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I don’t care that you’re a stoner

Ceo!abby

Dr. A.A

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!abby, mean!abby, sub!reader, light bondage (belt), tribbing brrr, talks of strap usage, tribbing breeding kink brrr, degradation, fingering, cum play

A/N: this is technically a drabble but I gave it a title bc that’s what Chappell deserves

◊

Why Dr. Anderson decided to come to you, your pathetic excuse of an ‘office’ instead of your usual frequent visits to hers, was beyond you. Following her around like a dog to her every beck and call. Having to call her doctor since she insisted on getting her doctorate in finance…fucking prick.

Even your credentials, your place in the hierarchy of the company didn’t exclude you from being her little bitch. She seldom gave you the decency of just looking at you when you did her dirty work. Filing her papers, calling her clients, getting her coffee, black of course, like she would drink anything with an ounce of happiness.

She never thanked you. She made it clear where you stood to her, below her. A bleeding, breathing, able-minded body. It could be you, or the next, as long as it was done correctly.

So nice of her as she glares at you from the door of your office that was always open. “What are your plans for tonight?” She says driving her veiny wrists into her slack pockets, her normal intimidating eyes driving into your soul.

“I should be done that paperwork by six, is there something else I need to get to you?”

“After that,” she remarks sternly, as if you should’ve know that, as if that was something she’d ever asked before.

“Uhh go home?” You answer dumbly, utterly confused by her insistence on your personal endeavors.

“Come out with us tonight. We go to max’s down the road,” it was a question with no opportunity for refusal. You didn’t say no to Dr.Anderson.

“Oh I don’t-“ you shake your head before she cuts you off.

“I know I can smell you. Seven. Tonight.”

Sprawled out, aggressively stripped of your outing dress, on her luxurious thousand thread cotton sheets. Dr. Anderson’s Louis Vuitton belt tied around your wrist, her attempt to regain dominance.

Even as she’s panting, muffled curses coming out as pleas as she grinds her soaking cunt against your own. Her clit is so swollen now, after completely abusing your hole. Her pent up arousal seeping into the sticky mess she created with her relentless thrusts earlier.

“Couldn’t fucking stop thinking ‘bout this,” she pants out, rutting into you like a dog in heat, her sticky white cum ruining her precious expensive sheets.

You can’t seem to find words to remark her pathetic admission, so completely fucked out from your previous orgasm.

Kneading your breast in her hand she brings her teeth to your neck, biting down on the thin flesh, sure to leave marks for everyone to see. But that wasn’t enough for her.

“Gonna cum in this needy pussy, let everyone know how much of a whore you are.”

A guttural moan leaves your throat, the thought of her marking you, claiming you as hers.

“Hmm the little slut likes that? Getting used as my fucking cumdump?”

The only thing you can seem to mutter out is a sad ‘mhmm’ as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

A ‘fucking slut’ is heard in the background as you feel her reposition herself, turning herself sideways inbetween your legs, throwing your leg over her shoulder. She reconnects your swollen clits, with the addition of sliding two of her thick fingers back into you. Slipping in with ease, coating her fingers with the mix of pearl slick.

“FUCK,” you come back to your senses at the new sensation, needing to hold onto anything but your hands are still bound by her belt.

“Still so fucking tight, need to stretch her out so it’ll only feel good when I do it.” Her pace beginning to quicken, her hips bucking into your thigh. Her teeth biting into the flesh of your thigh, holding back whimpers of your name.

“B-better take all my cum. Every last drop slut,” she begins losing herself, her thrusts only getting sloppier. Gripping into the flesh of your thighs to stabilize herself, trying to get you off again before herself.

“I-I promise doctor.”

Was what set her off, dropping her head back as her mouth gapes. “fuckfuckholyfuck,” her legs begin to shake, hot white cream dripping out of her pulsing hole, dripping down your clit and finding its home in your own twitching abandoned hole.

Huffing out as she regains her stability, realizing she’s losing time, her cum dripping down to her sheets and spreading. Not where she needed it.

She takes her fingers back to your cunt, scooping up what’s left, pushing it deep inside of you and keeping them as far as she can get.

“This is what you wanted huh? Nasty fucking mess stuffed with my cum,” she says with a grin of the devil herself. So pleased seeing you so dumb for her, another level of submission she could coax you into.

You give a pathetic nod, feeling her cum painting your walls as she’s deep in your cervix. She begins giving tantalizing licks to your clit as she watches your chest rise and fall.

“Abby please-“

Before you could finish you feel a rough grab on your belt adorned wrists, pulling you up to face her.

“Get the rest you missed.” She says pulling you down into the sheets, your mouth opening instinctively. Licking the cum soaked cotton sheets as she watches you from below her.

Once she’s satisfied she grips your jaw in her hand, guiding your gaze to her soaking cunt, still dripping with the mix of both of your orgasms-

“Every. Last. Drop.”

#abby anderson #the last of us #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby tlou #abby anderson tlou2 #abby angst #abby the last of us #abby x fem!reader #dom abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou x reader #abby x you #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson fanfiction #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson x f!reader

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deepouterspacecandy · 1 day

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Spared

I intended to write a short drabble about Abby being immune to Cordyceps, but alas, it morphed into approximately 5k words right before my very eyes. How does this happen? Anyway. I appreciate your presence, taking the time to read these fragments of my mind. Thank you for being here. I hope you enjoy. This is a darker, more angsty, gore-filled journey and, as always, it’s intended for 18+ audiences only. Violence and sexual themes.

A man on a mission, Dr. Jerry Anderson devoted himself to eradicating the plague that wreaked havoc on the world.

Developing a vaccine against Cordyceps consumed his life.

In their quest for answers, people would come from all corners of the globe, hoping to be included in his trial. Despite undergoing countless procedures and surgeries in a desperate pursuit of a cure, most patients tragically succumbed to the treatments themselves or to their initial infections. As the years passed and resources became scarce, his experiments progressively lost their footing.

Mere weeks before his untimely demise, Dr. Anderson conducted his last trial on a patient. The experiment unfolded in a way he never anticipated.

After receiving the injection, the patient, without previous exposure to the virus, experienced a perplexing mutation, developing far more than immunity to the perils of infection.

She possessed the ability to communicate with it and maneuver through it, like a ghost.

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

“You wanted to see me.”

Isaac extends his arm, signaling for you to have a seat at his desk. He swirls a decanter filled with a rich, dark liquid before pouring it between two sturdy glasses.

With a jarring crack against the maple surface, Isaac sets one glass before you.

“I don’t drink,” you say.

As you bring the potion to your nose, the pungent smell of the liquor assaults your senses, and you search for a compliment to give out of courtesy. Hoping to dissuade him from making further gestures of rapport, you decide against it.

“Is this an issue I need to be aware of?” he asks. “I have no patience for drunks.”

Leaning back in his chair, he peers at you intently over his glass.

“No, sir.”

Given the stories you’ve heard about his inebriated escapades, it’s quite ironic to hear such a statement from him.

You feel the uncomfortable burn of his glare, a demand for you to elaborate. Clearing your throat, you offer him a hesitant explanation.

“I prefer to keep my head straight. It’s important in my line of work,” you say.

Unimpressed by your reasoning, he leans forward and flicks your glass, producing a sharp sound that resonates through your chest.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “But I’d really rather not—”

Silencing you with a raised hand, he swiftly cuts you off.

“Good. I don’t recall setting a fire. Have a drink,” he orders. “We have matters of discretion to discuss.”

As usual, his matters of discretion connect you to his hidden mercenary, a soldier you have treated multiple times throughout the years unbeknownst to your comrades. She’s Isaac’s most lethal weapon, a secret you wish you didn’t have to protect. What he is doing with her feels cruel, using her impenetrable body for brutal warfare and then leaving her isolated with her injuries, all while she waits for the next assignment.

It takes weeks for the roiling feeling in your gut to subside after meeting with her.

“When do you plan on ending this?” you ask.

Maybe the booze is taking effect, emboldening you beyond your usual self. It’s impossible to bite your tongue, the torment of watching this unfold gnawing at you.

“Excuse me?” he drawls.

“Sir, she’s alone out there. It’s not right,” you say, reluctantly downing the last remnants of the glass before pushing it across the desk. “There are factors you need to consider. Mental decline, her physical limitations. If you’d consider bringing her in, she’d make a promising squad leader.”

Trying to reason with him about her basic human needs will be futile, so as with every other matter, it’s more effective to approach the situation from a tactical standpoint. His perception of human beings as living entities is questionable as is.

“Do not underestimate her faculties,” Isaac says. “She’s built differently. This is the purpose she serves to keep her people safe, and she does it willingly.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but sir, if you’d just give me a minute.”

“Do I need to find someone else to handle this case?” he asks.

It’s a loaded question, a double barrel to your temple. The act of assigning someone else to handle her case doesn’t entitle you to be included in the mission rotation again.

Only you hold the key to the secret of her existence, and it will die with you.

“When do I ship out?” you ask.

“Tonight,” he mutters.

He turns his back to you, and you can hear the faint sound of liquid pouring into his glass. When he dismisses you by consuming it alone, you see yourself out.

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

The journey to the prison is a tumultuous one.

The absence of infected is a relief, but the spray-painted rattle snakes garnishing the buildings and the maze of explosives on the roadways dangle ominously in your face. With Bear, your devoted canine companion, you make it as far as the gas station before a spike strip shreds the front tires of your Humvee. The sunken road, slicked by rain and oil, causes the vehicle to lose traction completely, sliding sideways into the long-abandoned propane tank sitting at the edge of the freeway.

Warmth spills through your eyebrows, prompting you to reach up and touch your forehead to locate the source. Your fingers, stained bright red, begin to tremble as you observe Bear—his ears flattened with every dark hair along his spine raised in alarm.

It’s a matter of seconds before a pair of violent hands tear you from the vehicle and toss you into the dirt, jarring rock granules forcing your eyes shut. You blink them away until all you see is a mangled police visor staring down at you, its surface speckled with dried blood, a menacing baton swinging an inch from your nose. Though the mask muffles the voice behind it, there’s a barbed, frigid edge to his tone.

Bear lunges out of the cab, seizing the enemy by his throat and forcing him to the ground. It grants you enough time to scramble to your feet, only to be met with the disturbing view of an infected hoard stumbling toward you from the hillside, chains dragging behind some of them.

Your vision becomes increasingly blurry as nausea ferments in your stomach, twisting you inside out. You pilfer the rifle off your attacker, as a group of his mates emerge from the shadows. You lean against the Humvee, examining the firearm before chambering the only bullet attached to the limp body at your boots.

“Fuck ‘em up,” you command.

Bear is a missile, darting through the rubble, his target set everywhere at once. Next to Isaac’s best kept secret, your dog is a diabolical killing machine.

“Shoot that fucking dog!”

Your eyes narrow in on the enemy poised to strike Bear, and you steady your aim. The roar of your scream lingers in your ears as you fire the only round you’ve got. An aggressive swarm of infected are moving toward the chaos in a cluster of rot and tangled limbs and you’re frozen. A horrific slaughter, surpassing any level of violence you’ve encountered, breaks out in a flash.

The infected shred your attackers apart, ribbons of flesh and shattered bone coating the pavement. The moment you call out for Bear, the sudden noise turns a dozen vacant, pustule eyes on you.

With no weapons at your disposal, you frantically scramble onto the roof of the Humvee, scanning the surroundings for an escape route. A sea of infected pool together like a rancid colony of ants.

Some say that the pain from a Clicker attack is unlike anything else. Perhaps it’s their blind, frenzied hunger that makes them so vicious.

You’re on the brink of discovering it firsthand when the decaying corpse, with its outstretched arms and gnarled fingers, halts mid-motion.

The infected stop in their tracks one by one, haunted marionettes with abruptly yanked strings. Save for the sound of your own blood pumping in your ears, the silence becomes deafening. Their bodies writhe in an eerie synchronicity as you try not to breathe.

In rare form, you squeeze your eyes shut to escape the fear. The sudden weight of a hand on your shoulder causes you to swing violently in its direction, your fist caught by a solid, calloused palm. Your piercing scream permeates the silence before you instinctively clamp your hands over your mouth.

Despite your shock, the lifeless figures remain unaffected, and you squint to make sense of it.

“I don’t understand,” you say.

Through tangled locks of greasy hair, celestial blue eyes stare expectantly. Her intense gaze rakes over you, a familiar pearl-white streak marring only one iris. It’s been a while, but her angular face is a sight you remember well.

“They can’t hurt me?” you ask.

“They can,” she explains, reaching up to examine the gash on your forehead. “But they won’t.”

“Bear,” you blurt.

Using her thumb and forefinger, she turns your chin until you spot your dog at the edge of the hoard. You can feel his confusion as his tail wags anxiously, ready for your next command. The simple act of turning your head sends a tsunami of vertigo crashing over you.

Out of nowhere, your mind becomes a jumbled mess, making it a challenge to string coherent thoughts together. She senses your trepidation, and her hands immediately find your hips, offering stability as you falter.

“I’m dizzy. I need to get down,” you stammer.

Her grip tightens and you try to focus on the sharp sting of her fingertips digging into your skin. The world tilts, the infected shuffling and groaning as they slowly snap out of their trance.

“Breathe,” she says. “Stay with me.”

Darkness cloaks your vision before you can summon the energy to respond.

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

As you blink awake, the biting cold hits you first. The source of the unwelcome breeze draws your attention, as the chilly gusts sneak into the room through a slit in the concrete. It’s meant to be a window, but it falls miserably short of the mark.

You’ve spent countless nights inside this prison, mending the wounds of Isaac’s soldier in the dim, flickering light. It’s the first time you’ve landed yourself in her bed.

The blanket, enveloping you like a cocoon, is unpleasantly musty, and you peel it away. Rising from the rigid steel slab, the room spins, deterring you from getting on your feet. Your body feels heavy and sore, a relentless ache pulsating behind your eyes. You give it another shot and stumble to your feet, using the walls as a crutch until you regain your balance.

Bear sleeps peacefully at the foot of the bed, his gentle snores filling the room. It’s intriguing how he finds more peace in the prison than in his own home, but he certainly deserves some rest.

The clank of iron plates echoes down the corridor, and you follow the sound. Your bare feet recoil against the chilly ground, and you’re left pondering when exactly you misplaced your boots. The hiss of heavy breathing and the occasional strenuous grunt accompanies your journey from one cell to the next, guiding you down the hallway toward the sound.

You peek around the corner and wild blonde hair appears in your line of sight.

Chances are, she already senses your presence, but you give a gentle warning that you’re approaching just in case.

“How long have I been out?” you ask.

Performing dips on a rusted bench, she maintains her focus, her back turned to you. Muscles flex and bulge with each repetition and you notice she’s adopted fresh scars across her ravaged back since your previous visit. Without a word, she powers through her reps and smoothly transitions into her next set.

It took several visits before she would give you anything more than a frosty response. Despite the feeling of regression, it’s possible she just needs time to adjust.

“I noticed you grabbed my bag,” you say, idly fidgeting with your hands as you linger in the doorway. “Thank you for that—for all of it, really. I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.”

Her body stiffens into a plank, losing momentum in her push-ups. Beads of sweat roll down her face and drip to the ground, her solid body trembling. She takes a deep breath before releasing it in a huff, continuing her routine without pause.

“Have you eaten? I packed some spices I think you’ll like.”

With a frustrated growl, she shakes her head, trying to dispel the irritation. Your instincts tell you to leave her alone to finish her workout, but for some odd reason, you find yourself unable to hold back the torrent of words.

“I thought it’d be cool to start a garden here. Herbs are nice to cook with, you know? Some for healing, too. There’s a decent spot in the yard for it.”

“What’s next—rose bushes?” she mutters.

“Roses can be great for tinctures,” you explain. “It’s a learning curve, but you get great sunlight for them.”

She props herself up on her elbows mid-push-up and lets out a choppy breath. When she raises her eyes to meet yours, anger fills them to the brim, and the hostility is scalding.

“I want Isaac to stop sending you.”

The pain of the unexpected dagger is far more intense than you could have ever imagined. You often wish that Isaac hadn’t implicated you in his secret, but you’ve grown to care for this wounded soul.

“You might as well take me out back, then,” you chuckle humourlessly. “Because that’s a death sentence.”

“Give me five minutes,” she sneers. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Look, I didn’t ask for this,” you say, a kernel of truth wrapped up in a rather emotional reaction to her painful barb. “I’m his soldier, too.”

Springing up from the ground, she snatches her shirt off a nearby chair and pushes past you. Before she slips the tattered garment over her head, you catch a glimpse of a deep, jagged laceration at the base of her neck.

While you make a mental note of it, you ultimately decide against bringing it up.

Rather than hounding her when she clearly wants to be alone, you decide to hunt for that old claw bathtub, desperate for a soak and maybe a good cry.

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This tomb scatters beauty, but you easily find its seeds.

The copper tub catches the flickering candlelight, and the gleam is otherworldly against the lonely shadows. The moment you step into the hot water, you can feel your skin buzzing with gentle licks of heat and your tired muscles begin to surrender to the relaxation it brings.

You can recall the day she dragged this old bathtub into the prison, the legs of it squeaking across the concrete floor as if the claws belonged to a corporeal animal. Showers alone proved ineffective in hastening her healing process and cleansing her wounds and, surprisingly, despite her initial uncertainty, she took your advice.

The candles differ from the ones you previously left behind, so you assume she still makes use of the hollow luxury when the mood strikes.

Submerging your head, you study the muffled sounds brought about by the density of the water. Everything is disparate beneath the surface, the low-pitched hoots of an owl muted and distant.

“I made food.”

“Jesus Christ!” you choke, body thrashing and creating a chaotic spray of water in every direction.

Your actions soak the woman standing beside the tub and, when she averts her gaze, droplets of water slip from her dirt-slicked lashes.

“Knocking helps!” you say, bracing your arms on the copper ridges.

“Count the doors in here—I’ll wait!”

Her sarcastic wit catches you off guard, and you feel your cheeks sting as confused gaiety tugs at them.

“What’s that face for?” she snaps.

It’s difficult to discern whether she’s asking a genuine question or if she’s in a defensive stance, so you wager it’s a blend of both.

“You’re funny,” you say. “When you’re not being a jerk.”

This time, when her eyes meet yours, the fury dissipates. There’s something soft and temperate where you’ve only ever witnessed the bane of unforgiving steel.

The pads of her fingers are a deep pink hue, and it dawns on you that the porcelain bowl must be extremely hot. You gesture to the side table disguised as a wooden stump and she sets the dish down.

“Can I have a look at that?” you ask, reaching for her hands.

The tub and clever positioning shroud your naked body, but the rest is all about her and her sudden ardent manners. With her face turned away, she offers you her palms first.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” she says.

While inspecting the burn and its surrounding wounds, you notice her shoulders dropping.

“You can sit, if you want,” you say.

Upon surveying the area, you’re aware that the number of chairs matches the number of doors, prompting an apologetic chuckle. A tiny smile teases her mouth as she crouches at your side instead.

“You need to run this under cold water, okay? And I should dress these cuts, so they don’t get infected.”

“What about you?” she asks. “I tried to clean it out, but it’s ugly.”

She moves to touch the gash on your forehead, and her quick movements startle you. When you flinch, her hand lingers in the air until she decides to rework her pace, taking a more languid approach.

“It’s been forever since someone called me ugly,” you jest.

“Missed opportunity,” she mumbles, biting her bottom lip to keep her grin at bay.

“You haven’t polished off that honey I brought yet, right?”

Her expression resembles a guilt-ridden thief caught in the act, and you struggle to suppress a burst of laughter.

“I should’ve known better. Maybe you need a hive instead of a garden,” you say.

She snorts at your suggestion before grabbing the cloth hanging on the tub and dunking it into the water. Instinctively, her weathered hands shape the fabric to dab gently at your injury. The surface is bruise-tender and the pain throbs outward in torturous sparks. She cups your jaw with her other hand to keep you from squirming.

“What if I’m allergic to bee stings? Because that’s a death sentence,” she mimics.

“I’ll try not to throw you in then,” you say. “No promises.”

A wide, earnest grin spreads across her tough features, and you forget how to breathe for a spell. She’s filthy and in desperate need of a hairbrush, but she’s still prettier than anyone you’ve met.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

Isaac never refers to her as anything other than his mercenary, and every time you had considered asking her in the past, your better judgement advised against it. Her preference for anonymity is clear, but you have so many unanswered questions.

In a smooth motion, she glides the cool cloth across the bridge of your nose.

“Do you really want to know?” she asks.

Seeking a moment of connection, you grasp her wrist, pausing her ministrations. Her gaze meets yours with a sense of urgency and she doesn’t break eye contact.

Water trickles from your hands, twirling along her wrist and cascading down her forearm. She fights to keep her eyes open, a raspy hum building at the back of her throat until goosebumps skate across your skin.

“I really want to know,” you say.

Her nod is slow and deliberate, contemplating the price she will have to pay for her decision.

“Once you see me,” she warns, and it’s uncertain whether she’s cautioning you or herself. “There’s no going back.”

“I can live with that,” you whisper.

Just when it looks like she’s ready to share, her body tenses up and you can almost touch the impenetrable barrier rising between you.

“Your stew is getting cold,” she says. “I’ll grab you a towel.”

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Away from the stadium lights, midnight is a mesmerizing weave of glistening diamonds spilled across an indigo sky. The sight of the Milky Way reminds you of her. That blemish etched along her iris—a celestial river carving through blue canvas.

You curl up on a bedroll in the tall grass and listen to the melodious ensemble of crickets and frogs, yearning for extra time in the countryside. There’s a sense of security here, with no sign of danger for miles. The tall and formidable walls back home do little to drown out the blood-curdling cries of the infected. Their presence is always looming, close enough to unsettle you, but never close enough to harm. It’s enough to disrupt your sleep, their ruined faces bleeding into your nightmares.

The once spirited and untamed landscape of home now only grows the carefully cultivated visions that Isaac orchestrates, depriving both his plants and his people of freedom.

Prior to Isaac recruiting you for his mission, you contemplated abandoning your ties to the WLF. You didn’t want to spend another moment on this planet living in a perpetual state of war, never knowing when you’d catch a stray arrow.

The peaceful ambiance of birdsong in the early morning tempers the harsh world for you. It’s a reminder that amidst famine and devastation, there must be more.

“You’re not sleeping inside tonight?”

Bear’s collar jingles, bringing you a sense of comfort as the dog keenly explores the prison yard before heading back indoors to nap. Your pup instantly feels at ease with the mysterious woman from the middle of nowhere, and you have no trouble comprehending why.

“I am,” you say. “I just wanted to see the stars first.”

“You don’t see much of that where you’re from?” she asks.

When you pat the ground, she sits cross-legged next to you like an old friend.

“Not really. It’s too bright in the city,” you explain. “I’m going to need to stitch that up—don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

While shooting you a disapproving look, she absentmindedly traces the cut near her collarbone before leaning back on her rugged arms. She tilts her head to study the cloudless sky, and it draws your attention to the neat braid resting at the nape of her neck.

A fresh and woody scent emanates from her, with a subtle hint of pine carried to you by the wind.

“I’ve always wondered why there are no infected here,” you say. “You keep them away when I’m around, don’t you?”

You know it’s her, the one responsible for it all, but you’re still in the dark about her methods. The extent of its impact on her remains elusive to you, but you’ve witnessed her increasing exhaustion. Her strength and abilities set her apart, but they also have the power to decimate her reserves.

“They’re closer than you think,” she says.

“If I get up right now and walk out those gates, am I in danger?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says, a look of agony flashing across her features. “But not for the reasons you think. I can’t—it’s people I can’t control.”

“I wasn’t imagining things, then?”

Her teeth grind in apprehension, as she plucks blades of grass from the ground to build a small mound above the laces of her leather boots. You let the gears turn, patiently waiting for her to come to her own conclusions. The struggle lies in wanting her to confide in you, wanting to divide the burdens that shackle her.

“I’m here,” you say. “Whenever you’re ready to talk.”

“What if I can’t?”

“I’ll still listen,” you say.

When she turns her head to face you, fragile threads of trust blur her stern demeanour, a courageous step taken in silence. She lumbers from the ground until she finds her feet.

“Where are you going?” you chuckle lightly. “You need rest.”

Brushing the dirt off her pants, she makes her way to the perimeter fence, beckoning you to follow.

Left untended, the field beyond it is a forgotten acreage of towering weeds, sun-stretched wildflowers wilting beneath the somber moon. The ringing chorus of quick, guttural frog croaks fades as a Runner emerges clumsily from the treeline.

Your heart skips as her rough fingers intertwine with your own, a bolt of sweet lightning cleaving through your chest. You can feel the strength in her grip as she guides your joined hands to the chain-link. She squeezes, pressing the tips of your fingers around the galvanized wire.

You’re left bewildered, staring at her, before she gestures towards the field with a subtle tilt of her chin. The writhing, infected body creeps nearer and your heart pounds. With every graceless step the creature makes, nervous vibrations fuse between your ribs. It stumbles, festering limbs lunging forward, and it takes every ounce of self control to keep from screaming.

The warm body at your side inches closer to ease your erratic breathing. Her composure is remarkable, as if she has performed this action countless times, a mastery of the dead—a striking juxtaposition to your tight, hard swallow resonating through the lonesome field.

Behind the disease-ridden shell, the faint traces of a woman’s features start to emerge as the battered body reaches the other side of the fence. The infected woman is so close to you that you can see the intricate network of veins in her eyes, and the red, inflamed rims of her eyelids where her eyelashes once were. Every muscle in your body freezes, not daring to twitch or even let out a breath.

The septic woman pushes her forehead to the fence, head tilting at an unnatural angle, seeming to study every detail of your face. The putrid odour hits your nostrils with such force that it’s impossible not to recoil. As terror grips you, it spreads like wildfire.

“How?” you rasp, your voice so faint, it’s barely a whisper. “Why isn’t she attacking me—doesn’t she want to?”

“It’s all she wants.”

Your attention falls to the soldier whom Isaac has bound you to restore, and you notice she is rapidly losing strength, her skin growing paler as the life force ebbs away.

“Okay, that’s enough. Make it stop,” you order, panic rising as her nose trickles a thin stream of red. “You know what? Fuck it!”

Without hesitation, you reach for the knife holstered on her thigh, sliding the sharp blade through the fence, until the spindly body collapses to meld with the soil.

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Your hands move with care as you suture the wound above her collarbone, the heat of her breath fanning your face. Positioned behind her is a mural she painted, featuring a serene beach and a shipwrecked boat nestled against the coastline. Decorated with kelp and dappled with rust, the sailboat’s intricate detailing is striking.

“I’ve never been to the beach,” you say.

Her blue eyes, wide with curiosity, lock onto yours, and a huff of quiet laughter escapes her parted lips.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“I’ve never been, either,” she admits.

You take a step back to observe her, noticing the lines etched on her face that tell stories of resilience. There is a captivating depth that makes you long to delve further.

“Well, you had me fooled,” you say, reaching for the scissors on the surgical tray. “You’re a talented painter—I’m sorry I hadn’t noticed sooner.”

With a dismissive shrug, she makes it seem like transforming a gloomy prison into a magnificent cathedral of art is a piece of cake. Her artwork is so impressive that you would never guess she has spent little time at the beach.

“Nah, it wasn’t here last time,” she says, adjusting her stance and widening the space between her thighs to provide you with more room to work. “I thought I’d try something new. We’ll see if it sticks.”

You lean in closer, gently tending to the cuts and scrapes that have gathered along her shoulders and neck. Her skin, adorned with freckles, is a beautiful mosaic of its own. Some strands of her braid have unraveled, perhaps because of a lack of practice, but the untidiness complements her.

“I’ve always wanted to learn to braid hair,” you say, pondering for a moment if, for her, it’s a self-taught skill or something guided by someone more experienced. Her mother maybe. “It suits you.”

Her nose wrinkles skeptically as she lifts her hand from her lap, her fingers carefully tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” she asks.

Given the antics outside, it’s a valid question. You can’t think of a scenario that sent chills down your spine quite like that one. But with her by your side, you felt an unspoken sense of protection. She nudges you with her knee, her eyes narrowing in anticipation of a response.

“I think I am,” you confess, pulling the steel cart to the other side of her brawny frame to better access the supplies you need.

“And yet, you stay,” she asserts. “I guess you don’t have much of a choice.”

“I always have a choice.”

While you meticulously inspect her newest scars, cleansing the wounds that besiege them, she takes hold of your hand, motioning for you to stop.

“Abigail,” she says, worrying her bottom lip. “My name—if you still want it.”

In an instant, your inquisitiveness peaks, keen to uncover both her origin and the path that led her to this place. All in good time, you suppose.

“Abigail,” you say, appreciating how smoothly it rolls off your tongue. “That’s a really pretty name.”

You watch in awe as a blush creeps up her cheeks, giving her a rosy glow.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “It doesn’t feel like it belongs to me anymore.”

“Maybe we can change that,” you whisper.

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

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