kieran

i will write for these fandoms … arcane, the last of us, yellowjackets, bg3, tomb raider, the hunger games, danganronpa, and red dead redemption.

You feel her fingers tighten around your scalp as she pushes you further into her neck. Abby's leaned against your headboard, head lulled back, and her shirt and bra stripped to give you better access. It's early morning now, and you'll have to dress if you want to help anyone gear up for battle.

Abby sighs, loud and dramatic as her index fingers taps against your forehead. "I don't want to get up." She whines, sporting her sweetest pout to get you in closer. Abby loosely tugs at one braid, slightly worn at the edges after a week of running around base.

"You don't want to," You echo, wetting your lips to put them right back where they belong. "But you have to."

Abby groans at the bittersweet motivation. Five minutes later she’s fixing you an outfit with the pile assorted near your bed. She gets you to wear her pants, claiming girlfriend privileges as she snaps your belt into place.

“I don’t think I’ve worn a belt since I was twelve.” She teases, fanning her fingers across your exposed waist. Theres blue stripes in the belt, still keeping her with you even when the durags faded after too many nights spent in Abby’s laundry. You snicker, leaning back into her. If this is a good enough distraction for her, you’ll let her dress you as her twin whenever.

Warning signals fire from the tall, barely obscured windows and you both know that means danger and too much stress to bare. Abby puts on your rings too, five for her and the rest to you.

“Think these are sharp enough?” Dull, ruby red gemstones shine on her pale fingers in the morning light. They won’t, but you aren’t killing your girlfriend’s hope.

“Definitely.” You hum, leaning over to kiss her cheek before she gets too caught up in wrapping herself in every weapon she can find. Gun holster gartered around her taut thigh, she’s already prepared.

Abby stays long enough to haul a shirt over your head, and scratch her fingers at the back of your neck. She could carve her initial here, assuming she doesn’t get distracted in the process. She’s always been the type to fall asleep during haircuts.

Seattle was cold and unforgiving in the later months of the year, but as long as they could afford to keep the heater on and the showers cramped, you were content. There was an expectation that everyone in this stadium be prepared all the time. Gun strapped to your leg or hair tied up in case a hoard of clickers burst through those doors. Can't afford to get dragged, even if it's by the school children these days.

You had traded your para-military uniform for something suitable. If the date night goes as you expect it will, you don't want to be wearing something you'll have to shimmy around in. That and your hair needs a refresh.

A blue durag for your blue-eyed girlfriend, and basketball shorts that had been well-worn twenty years before you'd stepped into them. The hem of your wife beater stains with the chocolate your girlfriend had given you a few days prior. "Sweets for my sweetheart." She had declared in a voice that very quickly revealed her embarrassment. It was sweet. She was sweet.

Now, as Abby steps inside your clipped half-apartment, she's sucking in her bottom lip. Flushed and Embarrassed once again. She presses the flowers to your chest, curving your hug on accident.

“Abby?” You venture, raising a brow. She’s wearing a band shirt with strained, cropped sleeves and the coziest sweatpants she most likely stole from Manny. It’s cute, though. You still want your hug.

She says your name back, head tilted towards the overarching windows bleeding moonlight into the room. She missed watching the sunset with you, but if she can get her eyes away from your body, she’ll tell you all about the stars.

“Flowers for–uh.” Abby trails off, shifting her feet as her footing fails. You fear she might be having a stroke before she does a glance over. She isn’t dying, she’s just attracted to you. You bite back your smirk, slinking closer to your girlfriend.

“Thanks, Abby.” She doesn’t flinch. Before you had started dating, she was incredibly touchy. A hand on your shoulder, a thumb digging into your thigh as she drove, blowing air kisses when you left her immediate proximity. But now it’s romantic, and the touch, once so familiar, is foreign with an underbelly of tension. Her fingers twitch at your waist, feeling the skin beneath your tank.

“Let’s—let’s get this started, yeah?” The DVD’s clank in her heavy hands, and you take them to lighten the load. All 0.5 grams of them had poor Abby flailing her hands. She isn’t used to this.

You walk her over to the makeshift sofa and ancient television, and out from the apocalypse you are. Abby’s first pick was the first season of television show.

Your leg brushes against hers, bare there where hers is covered. This is nothing new for your girlfriend, not generally speaking. She had touched you many times, but the prolonged period has her stuffy. You make the first move, and fifteen minutes into the first episode, she’s curled against your side.

Five episodes in, and she’s all over you. She pokes inaccuracies in the script, nose against your neck, hand splayed under your wife beater to lay on your belly.

“Is your favorite color blue?” That question comes out of nowhere. She’s reached the babbling stage. She really loves you. You snort, cocking your head to see her pressed close enough you can count her lashes. She half-smiles back at you.

“Why do you ask?” Your favorite color would be whatever Abby decided it was, right about now. She points at your durag, smug.

“You’re wearing blue, doofus.” You’re wearing blue because the woman facing you has eyes as big as puppy’s, and she’s curious as one too. “Blue like the sky, blue like the ocean,” She pauses, then the real grin comes.

“Blue like my eyes.”

You laugh in her face, but the pout doesn’t come. Your hands come to steady her, and she takes to your lap before she can see the characters making the same mistakes they did mere episodes ago. You don’t dignify her with a response, but the proximity says enough.

<3 Very stern mother. She does not tolerate disrespect in her home and she makes that abundantly clear. Punishments are standard. Pull away for a talking to, stay in your room until x, y, or z, write a letter to her or the offended party explaining what you did and how you plan to avoid ever doing it again.

<3 Abby makes up songs on the spot to serenade her babies. It's actually ridiculous the things she comes up with, and it embarrasses her kids to no end. One of her kids doesn't use lotion after a shower and she's air guitar-scolding them to get back into the bathroom, or they get her a nice mother's day gift and she's singing about how she has the sweetest baby in the whole world. Very silly, and very rarely will she ever sing anything serious. Maybe in the car during a road trip she'll whip out the 99 bottles of pop on the wall song, and give up after 70. <3 On the topic of road trips, you bet your ass she is not pulling over unless she has to! She is not the biggest fan of driving long distance, and usually she'll end up using it as a learning opportunity. "You aren't too old to sit on mama's lap, are you?" And her eldest ends up steering the wheel and promptly getting pulled over for unsafe driving. "Won't happen again, officer." And there her kid is, two hours later in the same position.

<3 Very affectionate mama. She slept in her father's bed until she was fifteen and demanded scalp massages long after that, and would feel almost offended if her kids weren't the same. Kids are sleeping in her bed well into their teenage years and sprawling out across her lap at any time of the day. <3 Absolutely participates in mommy-daughter/mommy-son dances and dates. Her kids are getting flowers and chocolate for Valentine's day and enough kisses to have them feigning disgust, pulling her away and then promptly crawling back into her lap to share their treats. <3 So in love with her babies, truly. Kisses on the nose, the cheeks, the brow and the crown. If she's feeling particularly mushy she starts nibbling on their face or aims for the corner of the lips, pointing out features that aligns with hers. "You have my eyes," And her stubborn set of brows. <3 Abby loves to adorn her kid's gifts. Third grade macaroni necklaces and flower crowns and rings adorned when her babies are away for too long. She won't outright admit it, but everyone knows. Her Instagram feed is all photos of things her kids have crafted, and she remembers to post for their birthday every year with the most ridiculous photos she can find.