Scavenged a pre-war pharmacy today. Found antibiotics, painkillers... and a half-empty bottle of strawberry-flavored lube. The absurdity of it almost made me laugh out loud. Adam was thrilled about the meds, talking about long-term safety. All I could think about was how sticky and sweet my fingers would taste later, pressed against my lips to keep quiet while you fucked me against the pharmacy counter. It’s not about the supplies. It’s about finding the little luxuries that make the filth feel decadent. Who else is using the end of the world as their own personal fuckdungeon?