Abby The Last Of Us Part 2 - Blog Posts

happy mother’s day to my wife and mother of my kids ᡣ𐭩

pics: jordandefender & abbystanaccount

lev’s name also literally translates to “heart” so abby healed because she found her heart… cries

Abby didn’t heal by killing the man who killed nearly everyone she loved, her community of fireflies, her father, she healed by understanding why he killed everyone she knew.

She healed by finding and loving a child she didn’t think she would love and betraying people she once looked up to and abandoning everything she thought she knew for the simple love of someone who needed protection. She looked at Lev and finally understood that she would also kill everyone for this child who trusts her.

She looked at Lev and realized her father was killed because he stood between someone who couldn’t bear to lose the last person they loved and a vulnerable child. He was killed because of love. And that is what healed her, understanding why Joel did what he did, realizing that the reason she killed him was so close to the reason why he killed her father.

They’re the same. And if the Lev plot had happened before the revenge sequence, I certainly think she would have given up and stopped looking for Joel.

It’s important that it wasn’t revenge but understanding that brings peace.

hi 🩵 could you write how you hc abby's sexuality and why? what are the details in the game you noticed that support your hc? i love to think of abby as either pan or les, i feel like both could be her. but i feel very sad thinking she's straight :(. maybe someone like you explaining why they think abby is sapphic and using her personality to support your hc will help me out! kind regards :)

Don’t be sad about her potentially being straight!! She’s not explicitly stated as anything, so all headcanons are welcome and equally valid. My personal opinion is that Abby is pansexual or unlabeled, but regardless, queer. She strikes me as someone who doesn’t lead with labels or make her identity a point of definition—more of a “I love who I love” kind of person. She seems like someone who would fall for people who make her feel safe and seen. She lost her father young. She never had a maternal model. She grew up in a militant environment where vulnerability was dangerous. That means her emotional connection to others, especially romantic ones—is probably built slowly, from trust and shared experience, rather than immediate spark or gendered attraction. She’s not someone who’s chasing “the idea” of a partner, she’s someone who responds to the actual person in front of her. That also makes her more open to falling for people across gender lines, without needing to categorize it. That leads me to believe her sexuality isn’t rigid, and certainly not defined by gender.

She’s not shown being attracted to women, but the absence of that doesn’t mean anything. The game doesn’t give us any hints that she’s been romantically or sexually involved with a woman, but that’s probably because her story is hyper focused on revenge, grief, and survival. Romantic or sexual tension outside of Owen doesn’t really enter the picture, even in subtle ways. Her world is narrow and purpose driven. But she never really says anything heteronormative or dismissive about queer identity either. Through her emotional bonds we see that she connects deeply with people regardless of gender. She forms emotional trust slowly but completely. She’s drawn to connection and shared values. Her attraction and trust are built through shared experience. She doesn’t label herself, ever, and I think she wouldn’t feel the need to unless it became relevant. She has the emotional openness and grounded practicality of someone who loves people, not categories.

Her relationship with femininity, identity, and emotional expression is deeply shaped by both her trauma and her personality. Abby doesn’t perform femininity in a socially conventional way—not because she’s rejecting it, but because it was never central to her identity. Because she’s deeply disconnected from the “expected” version of traditional femininity; makeup, dresses, dainty behavior, emotional expressiveness on demand, she’s free from typical gendered expectations. Instead of trying to mold herself into it, she leans further into strength, practicality, and stoicism—which many queer women do when they grow up without a roadmap for softness that includes them. Since she didn’t have a mother to model that femininity, she was probably never taught or encouraged to engage with gender roles or a girlier side of herself. That left her with space to become someone shaped more by function, purpose, and self sufficiency than aesthetics or gendered performance. She made her own path, and it led her toward strength. That kind of emotional detachment from traditional markers of femininity often coincides with queerness—not because masc presenting women are automatically queer, but because a lack of socialized attachment to gender roles often opens the door for questioning everything those roles are connected to, including attraction and identity. Abby doesn’t feel like someone who needs to define herself by how she’s perceived. She just is.

The Owen relationship was real, but complicated. Abby and Owen were in love, and yes, there’s genuine chemistry and affection there. But there’s also a deep emotional misalignment, especially as time goes on. Owen becomes more idealistic, passive, and emotionally confused, while Abby doubles down on discipline, action, and keeping herself mentally resilient. Some people interpret the tension in their relationship as a sign Abby was never really attracted to him—just going through the motions out of obligation or comphet. But I disagree. I think she genuinely loved him, was physically attracted to him, and cared deeply. The boat scene (awkwardness aside) is reciprocated by her and it seemed like she wanted that connection in the moment. However, love ≠ compatibility. She loved Owen, but she outgrew him. I think that says more about Abby’s growth and trauma, not a reflection of her sexual orientation.

Could she be a lesbian experiencing comphet? Sure, it’s not impossible, I personally just didn’t read her that way, even as someone who has struggled with comphet themselves. Abby doesn’t show signs of resenting or disassociating from her relationship with Owen (in my opinion) just the circumstances surrounding their entanglement. She’s not passive in it, and she initiates physical and emotional intimacy. That doesn’t feel like compulsory heterosexuality, it feels like a real (but flawed) relationship that she outgrew, and possibly even a trauma bond. As badly as I want to see her with a woman, she could very well meet another man, fall for him and have a healthy relationship. That being said if they did make her a lesbian in part 3 (if we ever get it) I’d be ecstatic!

Abby is often misread—by both in world characters and players, as “too masculine,” “manly,” or even “unnatural.” That dissonance between how she looks and how the world interprets it could deeply resonate for a lot of queer people who don’t fit binary beauty standards. But Abby doesn’t apologize for her strength. She owns it. And that quiet defiance is queer as hell. She clearly knows that others see her body and think she looks “too masculine” or “unattractive,” but she never apologizes for it. She chooses function over appearance, strength over daintiness—not to perform, but because that’s who she is. She has self assurance in spite of being misunderstood by others and refuses to shrink herself to meet their standards.

Abby’s strength isn’t just for survival—it’s a core part of her self concept. Fitness isn’t just part of her job. It’s how she processes life. She builds her body with intention, as a form of control, agency, and emotional regulation. That kind of deliberate relationship with one’s body might mirror experiences, particularly for masc-leaning queer women or nonbinary people—who use physicality as both a shield and a sense of self in a world that doesn’t always see them clearly. Her muscles aren’t accidental. They’re a statement. They’re her armor, but also her identity. I do think Abby’s relationship with fitness, strength, and her body can be viewed as queer, even if it’s not exclusively so. In the context of the WLF, being strong is practical. It’s survival. It makes sense that she would train hard regardless of her identity, especially given her role. It’s not explicitly gay that she’s jacked and likes working out. But what those choices mean emotionally, and how they contrast with heteronormative expectations is. The way she uses her body as a vessel of identity, control, and love? That can absolutely be read through a queer lens—and meaningfully so.

How Abby interacts with Lev is so important. The way she immediately accepts Lev—no hesitation, no confusion, no need to ask questions, is incredibly telling. That kind of instinctive affirmation doesn’t just scream ally, it suggests lived empathy. She leads with respect, action, and emotional intelligence, especially when someone is vulnerable. And in Lev’s case, she never misgenders him, she defends him immediately, even against her own people. She doesn’t act like he’s “different.” She just includes him. This doesn’t automatically mean Abby is queer herself, of course—but when you combine this with everything else, it does start to look like someone who may have a personal understanding of what it means to feel different, unlabeled, or quietly shunned—and who maybe recognizes something familiar in Lev’s journey, even if they never talk about it directly. It feels like a silent kind of solidarity, even without any explicit confirmation.

This is subjective, but even her energy itself doesn’t seem completely straight. She feels queer coded in the way she carries herself. Not just because she’s muscular or rejects feminine norms (that alone isn’t a marker of queerness), but because she moves through the world in a way that doesn’t seem gendered. She’s not very verbally expressive, but she uses physicality as a language—training, protecting others, touching carefully, fighting hard. That embodiment of love, grief and control through action is a deeply somatic and queer way to navigate the world, especially when words don’t feel safe or available. Abby feels deeply, but she doesn’t always name or process her feelings in real time. That could mean her understanding of her own sexuality might not even be clearly labeled, even to herself. She might not ever stop and ask herself because her emotional compass doesn’t run on theoretical self definition. It runs on who makes her feel safe, connected, alive. It’s fluid.

All of this builds a strong case for Abby being queer in essence and practice, even if she’s never labeled that way in canon. So while it’s totally valid for someone to read her as straight, gay, bi, pan, or questioning, my take is that she’s pan or unlabeled queer, with a deep capacity for connection that transcends gender. It just hasn’t been fully explored yet because her story arc was focused on trauma, redemption, and survival—not identity.

i hope that answers your question, sorry it took me a minute to get back to you. if you read this far thanks for stopping by! 🤍

clingy!abby who sets an alarm 5 minutes early before work so she can snuggle before she leaves

clingy!abby always sitting on the same side of the booth as you when you go out to eat

clingy!abby always wrapped around you from behind, her head on your shoulder

clingy!abby who’s hand is always in your lap

clingy!abby pressing kisses to your temple whenever you’re around other people

clingy!abby who always wants to just go home and cuddle

clingy!abby sipping from your straw and sneaking food off your plate

clingy!abby living in an “i ❤️ my gf” shirt

clingy!abby playing with your hair and telling you how beautiful you are

clingy!abby always pulling you into her lap, tangling your legs together

clingy!abby always knowing what you need before you even have to ask

clingy!abby stopping by to see you on your break and bring you lunch (with a little note slipped inside)

abby anderson’s music taste

aside from what people may assume, abby actually canonically is a really huge fan of classical music and jazz! combining that with her quiet, introspective personality and the emotional depth she hides beneath the surface, i think she’d be drawn to modern artists who feel soulful, instrumental, and emotionally grounded. music that sits with you rather than demands your attention, and probably a bit niche rather than mainstream.

here are some modern artists i think abby would like:

Laufey, Ólafur Arnalds / Nils Frahm, Hiatus Kaiyote, H.E.R, Daniel Caesar, Norah Jones, Jorja Smith, Faye Webster, Leon Bridges, Hozier, Frank Ocean, Cigarettes After Sex, The Neighbourhood, The Marías, Agnes Obel, Mitski, Brent Faiyaz, Florence + The Machine, Phoebe Bridgers, Yebba, Deftones, Chelsea Wolfe

omg smut with wife!abby or new mom!abby as a new part to your pregnant partner au pleaseee

your writing is gorg 💍💍

abby x reader smut | modern au

pussydrunk!abby | wife!abby | mom!abby | mdni pls

It was late. Quiet.

The baby had finally gone down after a long, fussy stretch for the first time in what felt like days. It was one of those nights where every creak of the floor threatened to undo hours of careful rocking. The apartment was still, bathed in the soft amber of a hallway nightlight, baby monitor low and steady, nothing but the soft hush of late-night calm as I had finished washing my face and stepped quietly into our room.

Abby was already in bed, lying on her side, one arm curled under her pillow, hair still damp from the quickest shower of her life. She looked up when I entered - and something in her eyes softened. Like the tension in her shoulders eased just from seeing me.

I stood in the doorway, backlit by the warm glow of the bathroom light. My dark hair was brushed out, wavy and still a little damp, wearing a sheer robe, barely tied. Beneath it, a bralette and matching lace underwear, delicate and pretty and nothing like the loose layers I'd been living in. My midriff peeked through the soft fabric, skin warm from the shower, still marked by everything I’d been through - but glowing. I looked at Abby like I was waiting for her to say something.

Abby opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

"She’s asleep." I mumbled, stepping forward, one hand lightly holding the edge of the robe.

"For now," Abby murmured. But her voice was quiet. Almost wistful. She let out a breath. "You're-" She stood up, slowly, like approaching something sacred. "Jesus, babe..."

"I thought maybe..." I hesitated, suddenly unsure. "We could just... be close. If you want."

"If?" Abby crossed the room in three steps and cupped my face in her hands. "I've wanted you every day since the minute she was born. But you've been healing. And I didn't want to-"

"I'm ready," I whispered. My eyes were soft, shimmering with nervous anticipation. "I missed you."

Abby leaned in for a kiss— carefully at first. Not hesitant, just gentle. Like she was afraid I might break if she held on too tight. But I leaned into her, hands sliding under Abby's tank top, palm flat against the firm warmth of her stomach.

Abby let out a sound she didn't realize she was holding back. A low, helpless noise, born from days and weeks of touching each other only in passing— quick grazes, a shared blanket, a forehead kiss before one of us stumbled off to soothe a cry.

Now, she had me here. All of me. And she didn't want to rush a second of it. Her hands found my waist, her thumbs brushing over the soft swell of my hips, the gentle curve of my stomach, the place our daughter had grown. And for a moment, Abby just held me there, forehead to forehead, breathing.

"You're so beautiful," Abby said, voice thick. "I don't even know how to tell you how much I-"

I kissed her again, deeper this time, and Abby felt herself fall. Her hands slipped under the robe, tracing my back, adoringly slow.

Abby's eyes stayed locked on mine as I guided her to the bed. The sheer robe sliding off my shoulders and onto the floor like mist, leaving nothing but soft lace and warm skin in its place.

I sat back against the pillows, legs folded beneath me, the bralette clinging lightly to the curve of my breasts, lace framing the swell of my hips— and Abby just stared. Not in a hungry way. In an admiring, aching one. Because I had always been beautiful to her, but now, there was something even more profound. Something that made Abby want to fall to her knees.

She climbed onto the bed slowly, like she was afraid of breaking the moment. She slid her hands beneath the bralette and slowly lifted it over my head, revealing my soft, full chest which had changed slightly since the baby, tender in ways it hadn't been before. Abby's breath hitched. Every inch of skin revealed was like a rediscovery, familiar and new all at once.

My body had been a machine these last few months: lifting, feeding, rocking, enduring. I’d stopped seeing myself as someone touchable. But in Abby’s hands, I felt wanted. Not just needed.

Her fingers brushed over the curves with impossible gentleness, as if she were afraid to touch too hard. "You're... fuck, you're gorgeous," she whispered. She bent to kiss the inside of one breast, then the other, her lips trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses. "I've missed touching you."

My head tipped back as my breath shivered out. "Then touch me."

Abby didn't need to be told twice. She took her time, smoothing her palms down my sides, feeling the new softness of my stomach, the slight give beneath her fingertips. Her lips brushed every new mark, every changed place, not out of pity or reassurance, but awe. Because my body had done something extraordinary. And it was still completely hers. "This... this is where she grew," she said quietly, kissing just above my navel. "You did something incredible. And you're still the most beautiful thing l've ever seen."

I let out a soft sound— quiet, breaking, like it cracked something open in me. My thighs shifted, opening slightly, and Abby moved down, easing my underwear off inch by inch. She didn't rush, didn't dive in like she was desperate. Instead, she kissed her way down my thighs, her hands cradling them like they were something sacred.

When she finally pressed her mouth between them, I gasped. Not from surprise, but from how slow Abby was, how intentional. Every flick of her tongue, every pause to breathe against me, was wrapped in devotion. She wanted me to feel worshipped. To feel loved in the most tangible way possible. And I did — my body arched toward her, breath coming in soft, desperate gasps as Abby worked me open with nothing but her mouth and hands, murmuring things between kisses: "You're perfect." "I missed the way you taste." "I love how soft you are."

"You feel so good," I whispered, nails curling gently at Abby's back.

"I want you to remember this," Abby murmured, her voice unsteady. "That you're still you. You're still mine. You're everything."

When I came, I did so with a whimper and Abby's name on my lips, hips trembling, thighs tightening around her shoulders like I didn't want to let her go. Abby held me through it, slowing only once I had sagged back into the pillows, eyes half-lidded, lips parted in stunned silence. She crawled up beside me, pulling me into her arms, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. "You're everything to me," she whispered. "I've never been more in love with you," she whispered. "Not even close."

I reached down, threading our fingers together over my heart. "I didn't think I could love you more. But then I watched you become her mom. And now it feels like there's not enough space in my chest."

Abby didn't answer at first. She just held on tighter. Then she whispered, "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Both of you."

We kissed again, deeper this time — the kind of kiss that said, I'm still here. I'm still yours. My hand slipped under Abby's shirt, feeling the taut muscle of her back flex beneath my fingers. I didn't say anything, but Abby could feel my intent in the way I shifted — the way my thigh slid between hers, the way my hand curled behind her neck and pulled her closer. When Abby guided my hand between her own legs, I touched her like she was made of glass, and I finally understood exactly how much Abby had needed me.

Abby let her shirt be tugged up and over her head, not bothering to hide the sharp little intake of breath that escaped her when my hands touched bare skin. It wasn't rushed - it was slow, deliberate. My fingertips mapped the lines of Abby's body like they were familiar and brand new all at once: over the swell of her shoulder, down the valley between her breasts, across her stomach where muscle tensed under touch.

"You've been doing all the heavy lifting," I whispered, my voice low and intimate. "Let me take care of you."

Abby swallowed, not trusting herself to speak, just nodded and let herself sink into the feeling of being seen.

I kissed her collarbone first— then the spot just under her jaw, then the hollow of her throat. My mouth was warm, slow, loving. I shifted us gently so Abby was flat on her back, thighs spread slightly with me nestled between them, pressing soft kisses along her sternum, her ribs, the inside of her arms. My hands framed Abby's waist like they belonged there.

And when I finally slid my hand down between Abby's thighs, it was with exquisite care. "You're already soaked," I whispered, my breath brushing Abby's ear.

Abby's eyes fluttered shut. "Been like that since you walked in."

I let out a breath of laughter, but my touch was anything but teasing. I took my time, fingers stroking gently, parting her with practiced ease. Abby's breath hitched. Her hips arched slightly, but she didn't push, she let me lead.

I curled my fingers just right, slow and sure, and Abby let her head fall back with a low moan.

"Right there?" I asked, mouth brushing her cheek.

“God… yeah. Just don’t stop.”

I didn't. I kissed Abby's shoulder while my fingers kept working, each stroke slow and purposeful, the rhythm steady. My free hand laced with Abby's and pinned it gently beside her head, our rings brushing against each other.

When Abby came, she did so with a quiet, broken sound, her muscles tightening, breath catching in her throat, body shuddering under the weight of it. I didn't let go until the tremors had passed. Then I kissed her softly, until her breathing slowed and her body relaxed completely into mine.

We lay there for a while, warm and quiet, legs tangled together under the sheets, the weight of the night still wrapped around us like a second skin. Abby's hand idly stroked my side, fingertips tracing every curve and dip, memorizing me again.

Abby's fingers found the softest stretch of skin on my waist and traced over it slowly, admiringly.

I shifted slightly, stretching with a soft hum against Abby's chest. "You're staring."

"I am," Abby said, no shame in her voice. "Can't help it."

I turned her face upward, a teasing smile curving my lips. "You already had me once tonight."

Abby looked down at me, eyes dark but warm. "Once isn't enough."

I opened my mouth to respond — but the words got caught in my throat when Abby leaned down and kissed me slowly. There was no urgency in it now, just something molten and patient, like she had all the time in the world and wanted to spend every second on me. When Abby rolled us gently, guiding me onto her back again, there was something admiring in the way she looked at me - like I was something sacred.

I smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Greedy."

"You love it."

"I do."

She kissed her way down my chest, lips brushing softly over each breast, taking her time with the curves, the softness. Her hands slid along my thighs, coaxing them apart slowly, and my breath hitched in anticipation.

Abby paused, her mouth hovering just above my center, eyes flicking up. "Okay?"

I nodded, voice gone. "Yes."

Abby took her time. She started slow — just a soft, open-mouthed kiss, then her tongue followed, languid and purposeful, tracing long, deliberate strokes that made my hips twitch. Abby's hands gripped my thighs, keeping me steady but never forceful, grounding me.

I moaned softly, one hand sliding into Abby's hair, my fingers curling there as Abby buried herself deeper, her tongue moving with precision and devotion. She didn't rush— she savored it, changing rhythm only to keep me right at that edge, never letting me fall too quickly.

"You taste so good," Abby murmured between strokes, her voice low and rough. "I could stay here all night."

I whined, not from the words, but from the way Abby said them, like she meant it with her whole soul. I writhed under her, my thighs beginning to tremble from how slowly the tension built.

Abby flattened her tongue and pressed in deeper, drawing out a sound from me that was almost a cry. Her lips sealed over my clit again, sucking gently before teasing again with the soft tip of her tongue. I arched, body tense and wanting. "I can't," I whispered. "Abby-please-"

"Shh," Abby said, her voice gentle, almost amused. "I've got you."

She kept going until I was coming again, my body quaking under Abby's mouth, back arched, fingers pulling tightly in her hair as I came with a sound that felt pulled from somewhere deep.

I was still catching my breath, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling in slow waves — but Abby wasn't done. She hovered above me, eyes dark with something deeper now - not urgency, not just desire, but need. The kind that came from somewhere rooted. She leaned in again and kissed my inner thigh, then lower, just once - soft, adoring. She looked up through her lashes, gaze soft and still heavy with want. My chest was rising and falling in slow waves, the flushed skin along my sternum dotted with faint kisses Abby had left behind. Her hair was messy, lips swollen, eyes glassy.

My breath hitched. "Abby-"

"I know," Abby whispered, already easing her fingers gently along my slick skin again. "I know. Just one more. Let me."

My hand found her shoulder — I could've said no, could've tugged her back up — but I didn't. I let her. My legs parted instinctively, my body answering before my words could.

Abby dipped down again and this time, there was a different rhythm. Not rushed, still gentle, but hungry. Her tongue moved with more pressure now, sliding through the wet heat and circling my clit in slow, perfect strokes. She didn't tease— she worshipped. Devoted.

My body responded immediately, thighs already trembling again. I tried to stay quiet— I always tried, but Abby knew me. Knew exactly how to coax the sounds out of me. The way she sealed her mouth and sucked gently, the firm, deep rhythm of her tongue, the heat of her breath against already sensitive skin - it was too much.

"Abby-fuck, I-" my voice broke as my hips jerked, overstimulated but still craving more.

She didn't stop. She pressed her palms to my thighs, holding me open, steadying me as her mouth kept moving. Her eyes flicked up briefly and she saw my head thrown back, hair damp against the pillow, lips parted in disbelief. And it broke something open in her. She let out a low groan into, the sound vibrating through my core. "You're so fucking perfect."

And then I was gone, falling apart beneath her for the third time, legs shaking violently as another orgasm tore through me, more intense than the last. I cried out, high and broken, hands fisting in the sheets, the sound half lost in a gasp that bordered on a sob.

Abby didn’t stop right away, only pulling back when my body jerked with every touch, breath coming in shallow pants, eyes brimming with tears from the sheer overwhelm of it. She crawled up slowly, carefully, and kissed my shoulder, my neck, my cheek — lips soft, hand gentle against my flushed skin, easing me back down with tender kisses.

"You're okay," she whispered, brushing damp hair back from my face. "You're okay. I've got you."

I let out a breath that turned into a laugh - small, dazed, a little shaky. "I think you killed me."

Abby smiled, brushing her thumb across my cheek. "You're still breathing. Barely."

I curled into her, body limp and spent, my limbs draped over Abby like I didn't want to let go.

Abby pressed a kiss to my temple. "You didn't see yourself. You looked... gone."

My lips curved sleepily. "| was. You ruined me."

Abby's smile deepened, her voice softening. "Good. That's the goal."

We stayed wrapped up in each other, skin on skin, every breath synced as our pulses slowed again. And even in the silence, Abby couldn't stop touching— tracing the lines of my hips, the softness of my stomach, the stretch marks I barely noticed but Abby loved.

"You're beautiful," she whispered again, her voice rough with emotion.

I turned my head and nuzzled into her shoulder. "You really think so?"

"I know so." Abby cupped my jaw, guiding my eyes back up. "You carried our daughter. You're stronger than l've ever been. And l've never loved you more than I do now."

A quiet smile ghosted across my lips. "I love you too. Even when you hog the blankets."

Abby snorted. "It was one time-"

"It's every night," I laughed, kissing her again, a little smug now.

Abby rolled us gently, just enough to wrap me fully in her arms. "Whatever."

I tucked my face into Abby's neck, content as she listened to me breathe, letting myself feel all of it. The love, the exhaustion, the return to my own skin. The way Abby never let me forget who I was. And for the first time in weeks, we didn't listen for the baby.

thank you my love!! sorry this took me a minute to get back to, it’s finals week but i swear a proper part 3 is coming, here’s a little smutty little part 2.5 if you will ᡣ𐭩

more smut here and previous chapter of this fic here

this isn’t entirely proofread because i’m half awake so forgive any errors, i’ll come back and edit later if needed

she’s literally the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen in my entire life and i’m not even exaggerating.

photo from abbystanaccount ᡣ𐭩

sooo why did no one ever tell me the name abigail literally means “my fathers joy”?

i’m actually gonna go bawl my eyes out now! oh jerry and abby my shaylas 😭

she looks so beautiful i can’t

black nail polish, rock star Abby

abby anderson x reader smut 𐙚

soft!abby / switch!abby x fem!reader /afab

cw: nsfw, slow lesbian sex, spitting, ✄

-mdni pls! 18+

・—— ・ ୨୧ ・—— ・ ・—— ・ ୨୧ ・—— ・

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. Outside, it had started to rain— light and steady, a soothing hush against the windows. The air in Abby's room felt thick with something unspoken— anticipation, yes, but more than that, trust. The soft patter of rain against the windows filled the space, a quiet rhythm that seemed to echo the thrum of your heart.

You were curled beside Abby in bed, wearing one of her old shirts with one leg tucked over hers, your hand resting gently on her bare stomach. Your touch lingered there, unmoving, like you were trying to ground yourself. Abby laid beside you, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips — slow and gentle, like you had all the time in the world. Her hands framed your jaw as she deepened the kiss just slightly, savoring the feeling.

Abby didn't push. She never did. Every kiss was patient. Every touch asked for permission. She never took what you didn't offer freely.

"I want you," you whispered. Your voice trembled, but not with fear — with emotion. "All of me... it's yours. If you want it."

Abby nodded slowly, then leaned in to press a kiss to your temple - no rush, no pressure, just the press of lips that said I'm here, as she reached up to gently tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

When your mouths met, it was soft. Exploratory. Not hungry, but intentional. Abby kissed you like a promise, like she had all the time in the world. No expectations, just warmth. You melted into it, hands sliding up Abby's shoulders, drawing her closer, breathing her in— that familiar scent of pine and rain and something uniquely Abby. It calmed your nerves like nothing else.

Abby's thumb brushed gently over your cheekbone, her hand cupping the side of your face. The warmth of her touch alone made your eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed not by fear, but by how safe you felt. Abby leaned in, kissing you softly, lips brushing yours with affection, no rush behind it— just patience, and presence.

"You don't have to be nervous," Abby whispered, her breath warm against your mouth. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," you said, a little breathless.

Abby's voice was low, near a whisper. "I just wanna love you the right way."

And she did. She kissed every part of you she was allowed to— your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, the soft dip beneath your ear. Each touch was patient, asked for with quiet looks, and granted with shy nods. Your breath would hitch, then settle, each time you gave permission. Your skin warmed under Abby's hands, softening beneath her like you were unfolding for the first time in years.

There was no fumbling, no rush. Just soft sighs and shivery exhales. Abby traced slow, careful paths across your skin— nothing more than the pads of her fingers, and sometimes her mouth, learning what made you relax, what made you laugh a little, what made your eyelids flutter shut with a tremble of trust. She cradled your face like something precious, her thumbs stroking soft arcs against your cheeks.

Her touch was full of intention— adoration, unhurried. She didn't rush past the layers. She traced your skin with her hands and her lips, memorizing the soft parts of you, the scar beneath your ribs, the slope of your hip, the tiny mole behind your knee. She kissed your thighs and told you you were beautiful. She whispered, "Tell me what you need.”

Abby guided you down against the pillows, climbing over you carefully, legs tangling as you laid back. Her hands never roaming without permission, every touch was intentional, soft, grounding. She kissed along your throat, your collarbone, the edge of your shoulder, feeling your breath stutter beneath her.

She whispered as she went, anchoring you with her words. "You're safe. You're mine. You're beautiful."

Your fingers clutched gently at Abby's sides, your body humming with nerves and anticipation, but not fear. There was something tender in the way you looked up at Abby— wide open, no defenses left.

Abby took her time, kissing you slowly as her hand trailed downward, slipping her hand under the hem of your shirt, pausing. "Can I?"

You nodded, cheeks flushed, voice barely audible. "Yes. Please."

Abby pushed the fabric up inch by inch, revealing smooth skin and the subtle rise and fall of your chest. She took a moment just to look at you — the flushed pink in your cheeks, the nerves in your eyes. She leaned down and pressed a kiss between your breasts, then over the swell of one, her hand resting lightly just below.

Her hand moved lower, fingers brushing along your stomach before settling between your thighs. She paused again, waiting for the nod, the quiet, "Yes," that you gave her. A soft gasp left you as she touched you, your back arching slightly, legs parting to invite her in.

Abby kissed you again as she slid her fingers down and found you already warm, aching, ready. Gently, she traced against your skin, just the lightest touch, until your hips tipped forward instinctively. She kissed you through it, tongue slipping into your mouth in a slow, careful rhythm that matched the movement of her hand.

You whimpered softly when Abby slipped a finger inside— slow, smooth, filling you just enough to make your breath hitch. Abby kept it gentle, curling her finger as she kissed the curve of your throat, your jaw, your lips again. She added a second finger when you asked for it, her other hand cradling your cheek like you were something precious.

Abby took her time. She whispered how good you were doing, how beautiful you looked, how proud she was of you. Her fingers were gentle but sure, moving with a rhythm that gradually built as she listened to your breath, your little gasps, the shaky way you whispered her name.

"You feel so good," Abby whispered, voice low, lips brushing your ear. "You're doing so well, baby."

You body tensed for a moment — but Abby kissed you just then, slow and anchoring, and you relaxed into it, into her. You let your head fall back against the pillow, thighs parting wider on their own, and let yourself feel.

Your voice was breathy, barely there. "Don't stop."

Abby didn't. She reached one hand between them to tilt your chin up, thumb brushing over your lower lip.

"Open your mouth for me," she said, voice husky.

Your lips parted. Abby held your gaze, then let a slow stream of spit fall onto your tongue. You whimpered, eyes fluttering closed, heat rushing through you as you swallowed.

She moved her fingers with a patient rhythm, listening to every sound you made — the quiet moan, the stuttered breath, the way your hips rolled into her touch. When her thumb brushed against your clit you gasped, your hand grabbing at Abby's forearm.

"Shh, I've got you," Abby whispered, kissing you again, "Come on, sweetheart. Let go for me."

You were trembling now, hips moving without thought, chasing it. Abby pressed her forehead to yours as she brought you higher, never once breaking contact, grounding you every second. You came with a soft cry, legs trembling, body arching beneath Abby as pleasure crested through you — not sharp or overwhelming, but deep, slow and controlled. You curled into Abby's arms immediately after, face buried in her neck like you never wanted to let go.

When it passed, Abby kissed your forehead, brushing sweaty hair from your face. "You okay?" she asked, voice low, eyes searching.

You nodded, smiling as you tried to catch your breath. "I didn't know I could feel safe like that. I didn't know sex could... feel like that."

Abby leaned in, nose brushing yours. "It's not just sex. It's us." She held you, arms wrapped around you, letting you melt into her chest.

When you finally stirred, cheeks still pink, voice a little shy, you whispered, "Lie down. Let me touch you, too."

"You don't have to-"

"I want to," you said, with just a touch of certainty in your voice now. "Let me take care of you."

Abby lay back as you curled beside her, tracing fingers down her ribs, her stomach, watching every reaction with quiet care. It was slower still, more exploratory, but filled with just as much intention. Offering her trust back, not only in words, but through every soft kiss, every shaky breath, and every time you whispered, "I want to make you feel safe too."

You shifted her gently, laying Abby back against the pillows, slowly moving over her, hands skimming across her warm, freckled skin, every muscle relaxed, open, steady. Her breath caught when you kissed along her collarbone, teeth grazing gently before your tongue soothed the spot. Taking your time, memorizing everything, brushing your mouth over Abby's throat, the swell of her chest, the strong lines of her stomach. Your hands were mindful, always watching for even the smallest change in Abby's breathing, the smallest flutter in her eyes.

When you finally slipped your fingers between her thighs, your touch was delicate, achingly gentle— learning what Abby liked, what made her shift, what made her sigh your name. She let out a breathy, soft sigh, her fingers tightening in your hair. She wasn't used to being the one held like this, touched like this, like she was precious. But you gave her that, slow and purposeful, lips and hands moving with a kind of gentleness she hadn't been shown before.

You moved with a rhythm that wasn't rushed, intentional, syncing your own breath to Abby's as you eased in slowly, curling your fingers and finding that spot that made Abby's hips twitch. Abby let out a breathy moan, one arm thrown over her eyes as if the feeling was too much as you kissed her shoulder and whispered, "I've got you.” Your mouth was never far from Abby's skin — murmuring things you weren’t brave enough to say in the light of day. I love you. You're safe. You deserve this.

And you meant it. When Abby came, it was quiet and deep — her body arching up, breath stuttering, your name on her lips like a prayer. Abby's breath caught, hips twitching up as she came undone beneath her, voice catching on a low, "Fuck, baby-"

You kissed the edge of her hip as you slowed your movements, not pulling away until Abby was completely spent beneath her. You crawled back up, draping yourself carefully across Abby's chest, heart thudding in tandem with hers. Abby's arms immediately wrapped around you, holding you close.

You stayed like that for a while, silent, breathing together. And then you pressed a kiss to the middle of her chest, eyes fluttering shut. "You make me feel safe," you said softly.

Abby kissed your hair. "You are safe."

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it. Wrapped up in each other, hearts exposed and unguarded, you found something neither of you thought you’d ever get to have— healing that telt like love.

The sheets were a mess. You laid sprawled and breathless, skin flushed and still tingling from the way Abby had taken you apart. But your eyes never left Abby's face - her flushed cheeks, the wild strands of hair stuck to her forehead, the slight tremble in her arms.

You eached out and brushed your knuckles down Abby's stomach. "Again?"

Abby gave a lazy, crooked smirk, like she was going to argue, always hesitant, always putting you first.

But you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her jaw as you pushed yourself up and gently straddled one of Abby's thighs, easing the other between your own. Your bodies slotted together easily, slick heat meeting slick heat, thighs sliding into place with instinctual precision. The contact was immediate— teasing, electric.

Abby's eyes darkened. "Fuck," she murmured, already shifting to grind back against you. "You're soaked."

"So are you." you leaned in and kissed her, deeper now, slower, one hand cupping the side of her neck, the other holding her hip steady.

She started slow, rocking her hips forward, letting their bodies slide together in a messy, wet rhythm that made them both gasp. Your hand clenched at the sheets, your other gripping Abby’s thigh. She looked up at you like she was in awe — like you’d hung the moon and were now crashing it directly into her.

Your hips moved in tandem, slow and grinding, the friction delicious — slippery, messy, intimate. Every shift of your bodies drew a new gasp, a new moan, a new wave of sensation as your clits slid and rubbed with increasing pressure.

You kept your eyes on Abby's, your voice a low whisper between gasps. "You feel so good against me, babe."

Abby's lips parted around a moan, her head tipping back as her legs spread wider, instinctively trying to give more. Your clits met again and again with every glide, every messy thrust of hips. The pressure built steadily — the intimacy of it made it even heavier.

You dragged your nails down Abby’s back, gasping when she shifted the angle just slightly, making every movement rub directly against the most sensitive spot.

Abby whimpered as you kissed her jaw, her cheek, her mouth and you felt the shiver pass through you.

You let your hand slide along Abby's ribs, then up to cup her chest, pulling her in closer with a quiet whimper. "Fuck, Abs-"

Abby grinned against your lips. "You gonna come for me like this?"

You nodded again, breathless, your whole body trembling. "Don't stop."

"I'm not," Abby murmured, rolling her hips harder now, moving faster, chasing it with you. "Come for me, baby. Let me see you."

The pace quickened, not frenzied but desperate in a softer way — the kind of urgency that came from needing more closeness, not more speed. Her legs trembled, thighs flexing as your legs pushed against each other, slick with arousal, breathing heavy and open-mouthed against one another.

Your hands found each other's faces in the last stretch, lips barely brushing as you gasped, trembling and moaning into each other's mouths as the waves hit, twin releases cresting at once. You cried out, low and guttural, your hand gripping Abby’s shoulder as your body locked up, thighs shaking, back arching. The orgasm hit in a slow, rolling wave— the kind that left you gasping and open and utterly undone. Your body shuddered against Abby's, and Abby's grip on you tightened, holding you close, both of you panting.

Abby didn't stop right away. She rode it out with you, grinding down until you whimpered from overstimulation, clutching her tightly, your foreheads pressed together, sweat-damp skin sliding.

When it was over, you collapsed against her, and she wrapped both arms around you, holding you close, still trying to catch her breath. You stayed tangled, legs still pressed together, hearts pounding in sync, skin damp and flushed. You buried her face in Abby's neck as she breathed, pressing a kiss into your hair.

When you finally settled under the sheets together, skin still humming, you curled into Abby's chest. Abby held you there, her arm firm around your back, her chin resting in your hair.

"Thank you," you murmured, thumb brushing Abby's ribs where her heart beat steady.

Abby kissed your forehead. "You never have to thank me for being gentle with you." she whispered, holding you tighter, pulling the blankets over both of you, wrapping you up in warmth and safety.

You stayed like that for awhile, tangled in warmth and affection, drifting off with hands still clasped beneath the sheets.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

ahh okay that was my first time writing something like this and i’m honestly nervous about how this is gonna be perceived lmao but if you guys liked it i may be able to be persuaded to post more…

dt: @electricneonvalkyrie ✮⋆˙ since you dared me to

Do you think Abby's mother had died or left them? what's your headcanon on that? Just curious :)

i love this question!! i think about it a lot.

i personally think she passed during childbirth or when abby was reallyyy young, like under the age of 2. i say that because there’s no photos of her with them and jerry + abby don’t talk about her at all. i would like to think that even if abby’s mom and jerry had some type of relationship issue she wouldn’t just up and leave abby’s life. if she was a firefly as well, she could have very easily been shot in combat, but being bit or getting sick is also a possibility! all i know is that abby and jerry have been attached at the hip for pretty much her whole life, he was her best friend. so that leads me to believe it’s been just them for a long time. i don’t have a definitive answer but that’s just my interpretation, i always love hearing other ideas too :)

i’m not sure if you’ve seen it already but in case anyone reading this hasn’t, i did an analysis on how abby growing up without a mom would have affected her and shaped her into the person she is 🫶🏼 linked here

abby x pregnant partner

abby x fem!reader . ݁₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ . ݁₊ ⊹

soft!abby / wholesome!abby / mommy!abby | modern au ✿

this is a short series! read pt1 here ᡣ𐭩 more coming soon

cw: pregnancy + childbirth

─────────────────────────

It was late again, hours past midnight. Our apartment was dim, just the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of old floorboards under Miso's feet as she patrolled the shadows. I sat cross-legged on the couch, bathed in the faint light from my laptop. I hadn't meant to go down the rabbit hole. It had just started with a stray thought— what if there was a way for it to be just us?

Abby emerged from the bedroom, rubbing sleep from her eyes, hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder. "You comin' to bed?"

I looked up, guilt flickering in my expression. "Yeah. Sorry. I... couldn't sleep."

Abby stepped closer and caught sight of all my open tabs — articles, speculative journals, medical forums, half-finished thoughts in a notes app. She didn't say anything at first, just sat beside me, knees bumping. "Okay. Talk to me."

I hesitated. Then finally, in a whisper that barely held together, I said, "I just keep thinking... I don't want there to be anyone else involved. I want it to be ours, just ours. No anonymous donor. No third party."

Abby was quiet, her thumb brushing slow, grounding circles along my wrist.

"I know it sounds selfish," I added quickly. "I just... I keep imagining a baby with your freckles. Your eyes. Something that's both of ours. And it hurts a little, knowing that can't happen. Not like that."

Abby looked at me, eyes soft and steady. "It's not selfish. I've thought about it too."

"You have?"

"Yeah," Abby said, with a small, bittersweet smile. "Sometimes when you're asleep, I look at you and I think, I wish we could build a whole person from what we have right here. No outside pieces. Just Us."

I blinked back tears I didn't expect.

Abby leaned in, voice low and warm. "There are some researchers working on it, you know. Cell conversion. They're trying to figure out how to turn somatic cells into viable germ cells. If it works, it means two women could create a biological child together."

"I read about that," I whispered. "They've done it with mice."

Abby nodded. "They'll get there. Maybe not today. Maybe not even soon. But someday."

I curled closer, tucking my face against Abby's shoulder, voice muffled. "I want that someday."

Abby kissed the crown of my head. "Me too."

We sat like that for a long time, wrapped in a silence that wasn't sad — just full. Hopeful. And when we finally turned out the lights and climbed into bed, Abby pulled me close and whispered into my hair, "If it ever becomes possible... we'll be ready."

And I, half-asleep and curled into the warmth of her, whispered back, "They’d look just like you."

── .✦

It had been years since we first sat together, wrapped in our quiet dream of creating a child that was ours, without the interference of any outside sources. The world had changed so slowly, it almost felt like the dream itself was a distant memory — something we had let drift in and out of our conversations on lazy Saturday mornings, when the apartment was filled with the scent of pancakes and Miso sprawled out on the couch, sound asleep.

We had never fully let go of the hope that one day, the research would lead to something more tangible. Every now and then, we would check in- articles, journals, forums, a quiet ritual that had woven itself into the fabric of our relationship. Each update felt like a small victory, a step closer to the "someday" we had dreamed about.

And then, one day, as the world outside shifted into a new season — the leaves turning gold, the air crisp — a headline appeared that would change everything.

"Breakthrough in Somatic Cell Conversion: Same-Sex Couples Could Now Have Biological Children Together."

It was one of those moments where everything seemed to stop. Abby was sitting at the kitchen counter, pouring a cup of coffee, when my sharp intake of breath pierced through the quiet hum of the apartment.

"What is it?" Abby asked, eyes narrowing in concern.

I was standing in the middle of the room, laptop in hand, eyes wide. I couldn't even speak for a moment, the weight of the headline too much to process. I quickly clicked through, reading the article with an intensity Abby hadn't seen in years.

"Abby..." My voice was barely a whisper. "It's real. It's happening."

Abby pushed herself off the counter and moved toward me, feeling the weight of the news settle in her chest like a heavy breath. She read the headline over my shoulder, then scanned the article. It was brief — hopeful, tentative, the first true proof that our dream might one day become reality.

I was shaking, my hands trembling. "This is it. It's actually possible. We could... we could do it, Abby."

Abby took my hand, feeling a surge of emotion. Her throat tightened, the words feeling far too big for what she could express. Instead, she pulled me into a tight hug, burying her face in the warmth of my neck. "I knew it," Abby whispered. "I knew we'd get here. I knew this day would come."

We stood there for a long time, the world outside fading into the background, lost in the overwhelming rush of possibilities. The weight of what it meant settled between us — the dream we had both cradled quietly, now within their reach.

That night, we didn't sleep much. We talked, and talked, and talked. About the future, about what this meant for us, about the world we would build together. We discussed everything from names to how we would decorate the nursery. Abby's mind raced with logistics, thinking through the process, while I held onto the dream with an intensity that was both fiery and tender. We were both there — so deeply intertwined in this future that it almost felt too good to be true.

The next morning, we woke up in each other's arms, and for the first time, it felt like the future was no longer a question mark. It was there. It was real.

Abby slipped her hand into mine, our fingers intertwined. It wasn't flashy or dramatic, but in the softness of that gesture, there was something more profound than we had realized. They had come this far. The dream was happening.

── .✦

The process was slow. Complicated. We went through dozens of tests - cell sampling, genetic screenings, trial injections to prep my body.

The science was new, constantly evolving, and we were part of something that hadn't been done more than a handful of times.

But we kept showing up.

Every appointment, every needle, every fear — we faced it together. Abby never missed a single step.

She kept meticulous notes on schedules and dosages. I kept a journal, sometimes scribbling nonsense, sometimes raw, unfiltered feelings: ‘I don't know if I can do this. I want to. I think I'm scared of loving something this much before I even know them.’ There were tears I didn't always explain, and silences Abby knew not to press on.

A few weeks later, after appointments with a handful of meetings with specialists, we stood in the sterile white of the clinic together— my hand firmly in Abby's, both of us quieter than usual. The consultation room was small and warm, a single potted plant in the corner trying its best to brighten the place. It didn't feel like the kind of place where history was being made. But for me, it was. A specialist had just walked us through the latest breakthroughs, the clinical steps, the risks. It had all sounded distant, surreal.

I already knew it all. We both did. But I needed to hear it one more time. Needed to feel the gravity of it. Because after this, there would be no turning back.

"The embryo is healthy," the doctor said gently, sliding a photo across the desk. "Genetically viable, with balanced markers from both of you."

I stared at the grainy image. A cluster of cells, barely formed. But it was ours. Not half of one of them and half a stranger - not a compromise, not a workaround.

I felt Abby's thumb stroke over my knuckles. I looked over and saw the tension in Abby's jaw, the almost childlike awe in her eyes.

"I still don't believe it," I whispered.

"I do," Abby said quietly. "Because you're the only person in the world who could've made me want this."

That next morning, I barely ate. I showered in silence, dressed in soft clothes, and sat on the bed with my hands in my lap while Abby packed a bag.

When I finally stood, Abby reached out and pulled me into a long, grounding hug. "You sure?" Abby murmured.

I nodded into her shoulder. "Terrified. But sure. I never thought l'd be the one to do this."

Abby's brow furrowed — not with worry, but with that quiet, soft steadiness that always grounded me. "You don't have to do this for me.”

"I'm not. I'm doing this with you." I nodded. “ I want to. I want to try. If it's you... if it's us... I think I could be brave."

Abby's chest tightened, her throat constricting with something too tender for words. She stepped forward, brushing a hand over my cheek and into my hair, steady and reverent. "You already are." Abby let out a shaky breath. "You're everything to me."

I smiled faintly. "We’re about to meet the rest of everything."

── .✦

In the procedure room, I laid back, my knees drawn up, legs in stirrups, sterile lights overhead.

Abby stood by her head, gloved fingers holding my hand tightly. She didn't try to offer empty words - just stayed with me, steady, solid.

When the doctor entered and nodded to them gently, I looked up at Abby. "Don’t let go," I whispered.

Abby cupped my cheek and leaned closer. "I've got you.”

There was pressure. A strange fullness. My body flinched instinctively, and Abby stroked my hair, murmuring nonsense, grounding me with touch.

And then-

"It's done," the doctor said softly. "Congratulations. We'll give you a moment."

Silence.

I blinked up at Abby, stunned. My heart hammered against my ribs. Abby leaned down and kissed my forehead. "You did it."

Tears gathered in my lashes. "We did it."

Later, after we were home, I curled into Abby's side on the couch, our hands resting gently on my lower belly. Nothing had changed physically, not yet. But something felt different. Like a thread had been tied between past and future, looping through both of us.

"I'm scared." I mumbled softly.

"I'll be with you every second."

I turned to look up at her. "Promise?"

Abby smiled, eyes shining. "You're stuck with me, babe."

I laughed, soft and breathless. "Good."

We sat there a long time, silent except for the sound of our joined hearts beating against one another, the smallest spark of something new beginning inside me- something forged entirely out of love.

── .✦

By the second week, my body began to shift.

I was tired. Exhausted, actually. Like my bones were heavier, my limbs slower. One morning, I made it to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, then fell asleep on the couch halfway through drinking it. Abby found me like that — water sweating onto the coffee table, as I curled into the cushions. Instead of waking me, Abby sat beside me, carefully lifting my legs onto her lap and tracing soft patterns into my calves until I stirred.

"Sorry," I mumbled, half-asleep.

"Don't be. You're growing a person. You can sleep through the next three months if you want."

The nausea kicked in not long after. The first trimester was brutal.

Nausea hit me like a wave I could never quite get ahead of. Some days, I curled up in bed and didn't move. Abby stayed close, memorizing my cravings and aversions like exam material. She made toast in the middle of the night. She rubbed my back when I cried because I was so tired of feeling sick and scared and exhausted. She grew even more attentive. She learned to give space when I needed to retreat and brought me quiet comforts when words weren't enough: a warm drink on the nightstand, the soft hoodie I always stole, the old, faded sonogram tucked into a book I had been reading.

Abby had already read three books on pregnancy (and annotated them), watched Youtube videos on everything from fetal development to hip-support pillows, and made a spreadsheet to track symptoms, cravings, and trimester milestones. But none of that prepared her for the sight of me kneeling at the toilet in the middle of the night, my whole body trembling with morning sickness that didn't care what time of day it was.

At first, I insisted I was fine. "It's just the coffee," I said, then the tea, then "maybe the toothpaste?"

Without a word, Abby knelt behind me and held my hair back. One hand resting on my spine. Her touch always so steady.

Abby didn't push. Just started keeping plain crackers in a container by the bed and brought ginger chews home without saying a word.

Then came the night I staggered out of bed at 3 a.m., made it to the bathroom, and barely got the lid up in time. I knelt there shaking, face clammy, forehead resting against my arm as I tried not to cry.

Abby came in a minute later, half-asleep but steady. She didn't say anything. She just knelt beside me, held my hair back, and rubbed my back in slow, quiet circles until my stomach settled.

Afterward, she wiped my face with a cool cloth, and kissed my temple as she helped me up and got me into fresh clothes, then curled around me in bed, whispering,

"I'm so proud of you," like I had just run a marathon instead of being sick. "Gatorade? Water? I'll make you toast."

I blinked at her blearily. "Abby, you don't have to-"

"I want to."

From then on, it was a routine. When the nausea flared up, Abby was already there. She adjusted my pillow stacks at night, made chamomile tea and kept saltines on the nightstand, learned how to make different soups from scratch and carried ginger chews in her coat pocket like a secret weapon.

Around week five, the hormones hit hard.

I cried watching a video of a baby goat hopping around a barn. I cried when Abby made my favorite pasta. I cried when I couldn't get my socks on one morning because my stomach cramped when I bent over.

"Come here," Abby had murmured, kneeling and gently putting the socks on for me. "I've got you."

"I'm losing my mind," I sniffled.

"No, babe. You're just doing something impossible."

── .✦

Doctor's visits became more frequent, but no less surreal.

Abby went to every one, notebook in hand, asking precise questions I forgot five seconds after hearing the answers. She held my hand during the ultrasounds, eyes glued to the screen while I mostly stared at Abby's face instead.

The soft hum of the machine filled the space, and I laid back on the table with my shirt rolled up, cold gel on my belly and Abby seated right beside me, out fingers intertwined tightly.

Abby's eyes were fixed on the screen, even more than mine. She'd been unusually still since they walked in - jaw tight, brow furrowed like she was trying to solve something, even though it was out of her hands.

The tech smiled gently. "Everything looks good. Strong heartbeat. And... do you two want to know the sex?"

I glanced at Abby, who didn't look away from the screen as she softly said, "Yeah."

The tech gave a warm, knowing smile. "It's a girl."

I felt it in my chest first - that swooping warmth, the disbelief. But when I turned my head to look at Abby, it nearly undid me.

Abby's eyes were glassy. She let out a slow, unsteady breath like she'd been holding it for weeks. Her hand lifted to press lightly over mine where it rested on my stomach. And then, almost a whisper, she said: "I knew it."

We left with a blurry printout of the scan and two stunned, quiet smiles. I tucked my arm around Abby's on the walk to the car, rubbing the bump through my coat. Abby looked down at me, eyes still soft with wonder. "You realize we're girl moms now, right?"

I laughed through my nose. "God help us.”

Abby kissed my temple. "She's gonna be the luckiest kid in the world."

Afterward, we sat in the car in the parking lot, not ready to drive away. Abby stared at the blurry black-and-white photo in her lap.

"That's our kid," I said softly. "Our actual... kid."

Abby smiled, tears brimming without falling. "I know."

We didn't need to say anything else. We just sat there, parked in the middle of everything — the world outside moving, and us inside, still. The air between us full of awe.

── .✦

The house was dark except for the glow of the bedside lamp. The hum of the city filtered in through the cracked window, distant and muffled.

I laid on my side, one leg tangled with Abby's, her fingers idly tracing patterns over my stomach - the softest touch, like she was learning me all over again. Neither of us said anything for a long moment. The silence wasn't heavy. Just full.

Then I mumbled, "What if I'm not good at this?"

Abby kissed the crown of my head. "You will be. I've never seen you love anything halfway. Our kid's gonna be the luckiest in world." Abby smiled. "They'll be obsessed with you. You're gonna be their favorite."

“What do you think they'll be like?" I asked softly.

Abby glanced over, her lips curving faintly. "Loud. Probably smarter than both of us combined. Stubborn like you."

"I'm not stubborn," I protested softly, rolling my eyes and burying my face in Abby's shoulder. "God help us if they're as sarcastic as you."

Abby laughed quietly, chest rising beneath my cheek. "They're gonna be loved, that's for sure."

A pause.

"I keep thinking about that," I said. "How different their life is going to be from ours. They won't have to figure it all out on their own, you know? They'll have us."

"You think we'll be any good at this?" Abby's voice was quiet now, a hint of vulnerability tucked underneath her steadiness. "We didn't even think we wanted it."

"I know," I whispered. "But maybe... maybe that's what makes it feel so right. We didn't want this out of obligation or expectation. We wanted it because it became impossible not to. Because we love each other so much it spilled over."

Abby's hand moved to cradle my cheek, brushing my hair back. "I'm scared sometimes."

I tilted my head, eyes soft. "Of what?"

"Messing up. Not being enough. I didn't grow up with a mom. I don't know what it's supposed to look like — to be soft and gentle and still... me."

I leaned up, kissing the corner of her mouth. "We'll figure it out together. You don't have to be anyone else. You just have to be you. And I'll be me. And we'll be imperfect and messy and probably overtired a lot of the time, but they'll never have to wonder if they're loved."

Abby swallowed, nodding slowly. "Yeah."

"I want them to grow up with so much softness," I whispered. "I want bedtime stories and lazy Sundays, and learning how to stand up for what's right. I want them to feel safe enough to be whoever they are."

Abby looked at me, and for a moment she didn't speak. Then she said, "You're going to be the best mom."

"So are you."

Abby blinked hard and pulled me closer, tucking her face against my neck. I ran my fingers through her hair, gentle and slow, until her breathing evened out, her body relaxing into sleep.

And even long after Abby had drifted off, I stayed awake, my hand resting over my stomach, already imagining the tiny heartbeat growing quietly inside me. I smiled in the dark. We were really doing this. Together.

── .✦

It wasn't easy. And as my body began to change, as the pregnancy became visible and real, Abby watched with awe. She never said much, but every once in a while, she'd rest her head against my belly, or trail a gentle hand over my skin, admiring and amazed.

Once, I caught her just staring. "What?"

Abby just shook her head, eyes soft. "You're so beautiful like this."

I blinked. "I look like a bloated beach ball."

Abby grinned. "You look like my future."

My cheeks flushed, heart pounding, I smiled quietly and rested my hand over Abby's.

Neither of us had ever imagined this. I hadn't even liked kids growing up — and yet here I was, trying to imagine the tiny life growing inside me. I would lie in bed sometimes, my hand resting lightly over my belly, and whisper, “I hope you're kind. I hope you're like her.”

── .✦

Nesting hit me hard— and Abby rose to meet it like a mission.

Abby painted the nursery walls pale sage green, carefully taping the edges and climbing up and down the ladder ten times to make sure it was perfect. I waddled beside her with one hand on her back, and kept insisting it was fine. It had taken Abby a full weekend and an almost obsessive amount of tape precision, but the end result was perfect. Smooth, even, peaceful.

"No, see that corner? Uneven," Abby said, focused. "She deserves better."

I rolled my eyes, smiling. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm thorough."

"You're obsessed."

Abby smirked. "With you. And her. Get used to it."

She assembled the crib by hand, refusing to let me help with the heavy parts, and installed a mobile of stars and moons above it. She organized the closet by size and type - swaddles, onesies, tiny socks in labeled baskets. She kept her calloused hands gentle on every detail, folding soft blankets and testing the glider chair twice before I even sat in it.

Abby also quietly baby-proofed things before I could even worry. Door latches, outlet covers, cabinet locks. Some of it wouldn't even be needed for months — but she did it anyway, just in case. That's how she showed her love: in preparation. In presence.

Abby stood in the middle of the room now, arms crossed, a pencil behind one ear, squinting at the gliding chair she'd just finished assembling. It was light oak with a creamy linen cushion. I was sitting in it now, swaying slowly, both hands resting on my belly.

"She's kicking," I murmured, smiling. "I think she likes it."

Abby crouched down and placed her hands over my bump, her eyes softening instantly. "She's got good taste."

A gentle breeze caused the sheer white curtains to flutter at the open window. There were baskets on the floor, half-unpacked with swaddles and tiny hats. A folded quilt with warm, earthy tones lay draped over the edge of the natural wood crib. Abby had spent an hour adjusting the height of the mattress before I told her to just pick one. She settled on the middle setting, then double-checked the screws anyway.

"What do you think?" Abby asked, motioning to the fake hanging vines she'd just pinned around the corner of the room. They draped softly above the changing table, catching the light from a woven rattan lamp that cast a warm, golden glow over everything.

I nodded, smiling as I rocked gently. "It feels like a little forest. Peaceful."

Abby looked around too, hands on her hips. "Still need to assemble the bookshelf."

I watched her, my heart full. "You know," I said quietly, "You built this whole room around her. With your hands. That's kind of... beautiful."

Abby ducked her head, a little embarrassed. "Just wanted it to be right."

"It's perfect." I reached out my hand, and Abby came immediately. She lowered herself onto the armrest, one arm draped across my shoulders, the other falling instinctively to my belly again.

"I can't wait to see her in here," Abby murmured, eyes soft.

I smiled, turning into her. "Me either."

── .✦

The bedroom was still dim, curtains drawn shut with only the faintest slivers of light breaking through - early morning, just after sunrise. The air was cool, still touched with the softness of sleep.

I was curled on my side, long lashes resting against my cheeks, one arm tucked beneath the pillow and the other resting protectively across the curve of my belly.

Abby lay beside me, propped up on one elbow. She was watching me in the way she always did when she thought no one could see — full of quiet awe, like she still couldn't believe she got to be here.

She reached over with her free hand and carefully lifted the hem of my sleep shirt, revealing the gentle roundness beneath. She leaned down, brushing a kiss just above the spot where she'd felt the baby kick the night before. She took the cocoa butter lotion I kept on our nightstand, rubbing a little between her palms to warm it. She moved slowly, smoothing the lotion over my skin with careful hands. Her palms were calloused and warm, steady and soothing as she worked the lotion in slow, circular motions, like she was afraid she'd press too hard.

"Morning, little bear," she whispered, her voice scratchy with sleep, low and quiet. "Sorry to wake you if you were still out. Your mom's still asleep too. She looks like a literal angel right now, by the way. Don't tell her I said that."

She smiled faintly to herself, then rested her hand on the warm skin, thumb tracing absent, lazy circles.

"I've been thinking about how much stuff I want to show you. Like stargazing. And tree frogs. And the exact right way to organize a toolbox — which your mom will make fun of me for, but you'll get it. I know you will."

There was a faint, fluttering shift beneath her palm.

Abby paused.

"Yeah?" she whispered. "That sound good to you?" Another little thump. Abby's eyes softened.

She looked back at me, still resting, but with a small smile curling at the edges of my lips now - maybe half-awake, maybe dreaming.

"She's listening," I murmured without opening my eyes.

Abby smiled. "You both are."

"I like hearing your voice first thing," I mumbled, my voice still heavy with sleep. "So does she."

Abby leaned down and kissed my temple, then my stomach again.

"Then I'll keep talking," she said softly. "Forever."

She stayed like that - her hand resting gently, her body curled close. As the light slowly warmed the room, the three of us drifted in and out of that quiet, perfect in-between place — a soft cocoon of comfort, love, and the slow, steady rhythm of family beginning to take shape.

── .✦

"Nothing," I muttered from where I laid sprawled on the couch, one hand draped over my belly. "Absolutely nothing."

Abby glanced over from the kitchen, holding a glass of water. "Still quiet?"

"She's ignoring me," I grumbled, brow furrowing. "I've been rubbing my stomach and humming like an idiot for twenty minutes and she hasn't moved once."

Abby walked over, setting the glass on the coffee table before crouching beside the couch. "Maybe she's just asleep."

"She was kicking like crazy this morning. The second you left for work, it was radio silence. She's obsessed with you."

Abby grinned, clearly trying not to look too smug. "She just likes my voice."

"She loves your voice," I corrected, a little dramatically. "Which is rude. I'm the one carrying her. I'm the one with swollen feet and acid reflux and a bladder the size of a raisin."

Abby leaned in and kissed the curve of my stomach softly. "You're also the most beautiful person l've ever seen."

I raised a brow. "Flattery won't save you."

Abby smiled and shifted, stretching out beside me on the couch and resting her cheek against the swell of my belly. She wrapped an arm loosely around my waist and spoke in a low, affectionate murmur. "Hey, peanut. Your mom says you're being shy. You hiding from her?"

A solid thump answered. Then another.

I groaned and covered my eyes with the back of my hand. "Oh my God."

Abby grinned into her skin. "There she is."

"She didn't even hesitate. Are you kidding me?"

Another kick — harder this time. Abby chuckled and rubbed slow, gentle circles where the movement had come from. "Wow. You're really showing off now, huh?"

"Betrayal," I muttered dramatically, but my other hand was already moving to join Abby's. "It's because your voice is deeper. Babies like lower frequencies."

"She just knows I'm cool," Abby said dryly, then looked up with that warm, teasing glint in her eye.

I laughed, but my fingers curled into Abby's shirt. "She already loves you so much," I said, quieter now. "It kind of breaks my heart."

Abby tilted her head, eyes softening. "Hey," she whispered. "You're the one she knows. Your heartbeat's her home. I'm just the loud neighbor she kicks for attention."

I smiled, even as my eyes watered.

Abby kissed the stretch of skin between kicks. "But I'll take every little nudge if it makes you smile like that."

── .✦

I was curled up on my side, propped up with a mountain of pillows, my T-shirt stretched gently over the swell of my belly. The hum of the fan was the only sound in the room—until the mattress dipped behind me.

Abby slid into bed carefully, freshly showered, wearing one of my old sweatshirts that was fraying at the cuffs. She leaned over to kiss my temple, then the edge of my shoulder. "How's the peanut?"

"Restless," I murmured sleepily. "She's been having her own little dance party for the last half hour. I think she misses you."

Abby smiled, already pushing the covers down and shifting lower on the bed so she was face-to-belly.

She eased me onto my back, her touch gentle. Her big hands cupped the sides of my stomach, warm palms smoothing over the soft skin.

"You giving your mom a hard time?" she murmured, then pressed a kiss just above my belly button. "I hear you've been kicking all night."

The baby responded instantly—a solid, thudding kick to the side of my belly, right where Abby's hand was resting.

I let out a breathy laugh. "Unbelievable."

Abby laughed too, but softened as she moved even closer, gently tugging up my shirt. She rested her cheek right against the bare skin, wrapping her arm around my waist, grounding herself there. "You've got strong legs already, huh? Like your mama."

Another small thump. Abby's grin only grew.

"Okay, okay," I said, half-amused, half-exasperated. "You win. She's yours."

"Nah," Abby said softly, voice muffled against my belly. "She's ours." And then, without warning-she started to hum. A low, soothing tune, something simple and old and wordless. I recognized it after a moment-it was a melody Abby had once said her dad used to hum when he was cooking. Now it filled the quiet space between us like a lullaby, like a story passed down.

The baby stilled, then kicked again. Gentler this time. Rhythmic, like she was listening. "She likes when you do that," I whispered.

Abby hummed a little more, then pressed a kiss to the curve of my stomach. "She'll probably fall asleep to this once she's born. Bet I'll be pacing the living room at 3 a.m. singing this with my eyes half-shut."

"She's so lucky to have you." I murmured, my hand reaching down to thread through Abby's hair.

Abby didn't respond at first-she just stayed there, curled close, holding my belly like it was the most sacred thing in the world. Then she whispered, "I think I'm the lucky one."

You’re going to be the best mom. She’s going to be so safe with you. You’re steady, strong. You look at me like I'm making something precious, even when I feel like a mess— I hope she gets that from you. That softness, under all the muscle and the serious face."

── .✦

The room had gone silent sometime after midnight.

I had drifted off, my breathing deep and steady, one hand resting loosely on my belly. The fan hummed softly in the corner, and the occasional creak of the old building settled into the silence.

Abby hadn't moved. She stayed where she was, lying on her side, head rested gently on my belly, as if it were the most natural pillow in the world. Her hand had stilled, fingertips curved softly over my skin, but her eyes were wide open-quiet, thoughtful. She glanced up once to check on me, and when she saw the gentle rise and fall of my chest, her voice lowered into a barely-there whisper.

"I know you can't really understand me yet," she murmured, voice husky with the softness of it. "But I wanted to talk to you anyway." She closed her eyes for a moment, pressing her cheek more firmly against the swell of her daughter's little world.

"Your mom is the best person l've ever known," she whispered. "She's brave, and smart, and so full of love even when she doesn't think she is. She's scared sometimes. But she still shows up—every day. And she's already given you more than you'll ever realize." She swallowed, the weight of emotion sitting thick in her chest.

"You're going to get her smile," Abby continued softly. "And her curiosity, and her little stubborn streak. But I hope you get her heart most of all. I'll do everything I can to protect it. Both of yours." She stayed quiet for a long beat after that. Then she smiled faintly to herself, brushing her thumb gently along my skin. "I already love you."

And just then-like she'd heard-there was a little flutter beneath her hand. A tiny movement. Barely more than a nudge. Abby's eyes welled unexpectedly. She pressed a kiss to the spot where she'd felt it, then another. "Okay," she whispered, her voice catching slightly. "Okay. I'll stay right here."

And she did.

She stayed curled there in the quiet dark, one arm wrapped protectively around my waist, one hand over her daughter, breathing in the soft rhythm of home.

I stirred slowly, the kind of gentle, reluctant waking that came from a deep and dreamless sleep. For a few moments, I didn't open my eyes -just felt the comforting weight of the blankets, the faint tickle of breath against her skin, and the warmth of someone close.

Then I registered it: the shape of Abby, curled into my side. Her head was resting low, right over my belly, one arm loosely draped around my hips, the other hand cradling the curve of the bump with aching tenderness.

My chest ached in that full, golden way it always did when I looked at Abby and loved her so much I thought my heart might bruise from it. I brought a hand to Abby's hair, brushing my fingers softly through it.

Abby stirred but didn't lift her head. "Hey," she murmured, voice sleep-rough. "Did I wake you?"

"No," I whispered, my voice thick with affection. "You stayed like this all night?"

Abby hummed. "She kicked. After I talked to her."

My eyes burned unexpectedly. "She did?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure she likes me more already."

That earned a quiet, small laugh from me. "God, of course she does. She's got good taste."

Abby tilted her head just enough to look up at me. Her eyes were soft, heavy with love and sleepless wonder.

"What did you say to her?" I asked, my fingers still carding gently through Abby's hair.

Abby hesitated, just for a second. "That I love her. That I love you. And I'm gonna do everything I can to be good at this. To be what she needs."

My lips trembled as I leaned down, pressing a kiss to Abby's forehead. "You already are," I whispered. "She's going to be so lucky."

"I already am," Abby whispered back.

She rested her head again, listening quietly, adoringly, to the gentle rhythm beneath her. I wiped at my eyes, then let myself be still, my palm pressed over Abby's as we both held onto the tiny life between us.

And in that quiet moment, wrapped in the soft weight of each other and the miracle growing within, I knew—there wasn't anything more sacred than this.

── .✦

We were curled up in bed, late morning sunlight filtering through the curtains. I laid sprawled across Abby's chest, tracing lazy shapes along her collarbone while Abby's fingers idly skimmed through my hair. The apartment was quiet, peaceful — a rare moment where time didn't feel like it was rushing forward.

"I have a question," I murmured.

Abby hummed, eyes half-lidded. "Mm?"

"It's theoretical," I added, my voice soft but tinged with mischief.

"Okay..." Abby cracked one eye open. "What kind of trap am l about to walk into?"

I propped my chin on Abby's chest and looked up at her with mock seriousness. "If there was a complication during labor - like, something dramatic, high-stakes, Grey's Anatomy level — and the doctors said you could only save me or the baby... who would you choose?"

Abby blinked. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"I hate this question."

"It's important."

"It's emotionally manipulative," Abby said flatly, and I burst into a laugh, burying my face against her.

"I'm just curious!" I giggled. "Like... where do I rank now? Am I still number one?"

Abby groaned and ran a hand down her face, trying to suppress a smile. "You're ridiculous."

"But?" I pressed, eyes dancing.

Abby looked at me for a long moment, then reached up, cradling the side of my face with a gentleness that never failed to make me feel like I was glowing from the inside side out.

"I would save you," Abby said quietly. "Always you."

My teasing smile faded into something softer, my eyes searching Abby's. "Really?"

Abby nodded. "We made that life together, but you're the one who’s bringing her into this world. There's no her without you. And I could never... I'd never choose a life where I lost you."

I swallowed, my throat tight as I crack a small smile. "I think you’d be able to handle the whole single mom thing, though."

"Don't even joke about that. I wouldn't want to," Abby said, kissing my forehead. "I want the version of our life where we're all together. You, me, and the baby you've already started talking to when you think I'm asleep."

I smiled, eyes a little glassy now. "You hear that?"

"Every word."

"Okay, well," I sniffled, laughing as I blinked my tears away, "I'd save you, too."

"Emotionally manipulative," Abby teased.

"Shut up. I love you."

"I love you more."

── .✦

Later that week, it hit me differently.

I stood in front of the mirror, towel wrapped around me after a shower, just staring. My body didn't feel like mine anymore - my breasts ached, my stomach heavy and stretching more every day.

There were little purple lines beginning to spider near my hips, my back hurt constantly, and I didn't even recognize the way I moved.

I blinked, then blinked again, but the tears came anyway.

I didn't even hear Abby come into the room until her arms slipped around mhwaist from behind, the towel giving way a little as Abby pulled me close.

"You okay?" Abby's voice was quiet, her chin resting on my shoulder.

I nodded, then shook my head. "I don't know."

I kept staring at myself, hating how small I sounded. "I feel so... uncomfortable in my skin. I don't know if I can do this. What if something goes wrong? What if labor's too much? What if I can't handle it?"

Abby turned me gently so we were face to face. "Hey," she said, brushing a strand of damp hair behind my ear. "You don't have to have it all figured out. You just have to take it one day at a time. I'll be there for every single one of them."

My voice dropped to a whisper. "What if you change your mind?"

Abby blinked, pain flickering across her face. "Babe..."

"I mean it. What if I break down or panic or lose it and it scares you away?"

Abby pulled me into a full hug then, holding me tightly, like she could keep the fear from leaking out of my chest if she just held on hard enough.

"You're allowed to be scared," Abby murmured into my hair. "This is the bravest thing l've ever seen anyone do. But I'm not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever. You're it for me."

I clung to her then, burying my face into her shoulder and letting the tears come.

Eventually, Abby pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. "You're still you. Your body's doing something incredible - but I see you. You're still beautiful. You're still mine. Even when you feel like a stranger to yourself, I promise, I'll always recognize you."

I sniffled, smiled through the tears. "Even when I'm puffy and hormonal and covered in stretch marks?"

Abby grinned. "Especially then."

── .✦

I had barely made it to the couch most days before Abby was already there, gently guiding me down, her big hands cupping my elbows like I was something delicate and precious. I didn't even get a chance to protest-Abby was already lifting my feet into her lap, her thumbs pressing into the aching arches like she'd been waiting all day for the chance to do it.

"You don't have to do that every time," I murmured, even as I melted into the cushions, already sighing at the pressure.

"I want to," Abby said, soft and certain, gaze fixed on me like she was studying me. "You've been on your feet all day. Let me take care of you."

I watched her for a moment, cheeks warm, heart fluttering with something deep and tender.

Abby's calloused hands worked with care, mapping every tired muscle with instinct. When she looked up and caught my gaze, her lips curled into a soft smile. "You're glowing, by the way."

"Oh god," I groaned, covering my face. "If one more person says that-"

Abby chuckled and leaned forward, brushing my hands aside and kissing my cheek. "I don't mean it in a corny way. You just look... happy. And beautiful."

She paused, one hand drifting to my belly, fingers splaying over the soft swell. “Both of you do.”

I blinked at her, heart catching in my throat as Abby leaned down and pressed a kiss to my belly too, lips lingering for a second before she looked up, eyes filled with a quiet kind of awe. "You're incredible," she said quietly. "I don't know how I got so lucky."

I reached for her hand, threading our fingers together. "You're the one who makes me feel safe. Like I can actually do this."

Abby gave my hand a squeeze, then started massaging my calves next, careful and slow, like I was the most important thing in the world. And maybe, in that moment, I was.

── .✦

The third trimester settled in like fog.

Everything felt heavier — the air, the quiet in the apartment, my limbs as I shuffled from room to room. Abby had started sleeping with one hand splayed protectively over my stomach at night, like a reflex. She didn't even wake up for it anymore. It was just... automatic. And I loved her for that.

We had spent the past few weeks nesting - quietly building a little life inside our home for someone we hadn't met yet but already loved.

The crib sat near the window in our bedroom, sunlight pooling across the pale green sheets every morning. A mobile with little felt moons and stars gently swayed from the ceiling fan. Miso had immediately claimed the changing table as her new perch.

I sat on the edge of our bed one afternoon, pulling a tiny onesie from the drawer and laying it flat on my lap. It was hard to believe someone small enough to fit in that could make me feel this full, this stretched and tired and overwhelmed.

"I washed all the blankets," Abby said from the doorway. "Repacked the go bag. It's by the door now. Snacks, phone chargers, extra socks for you."

I smiled softly, holding up the onesie. "I can't believe this is going to be ours."

Abby crossed the room, crouching in front of me with one hand on my thigh. "She's already ours."

── .✦

It was still dark out when my hand curled around Abby's wrist, my breathing already uneven.

I stirred awake with a low, aching pressure in my belly. Something about it felt different. Heavier. Lower. Then came the sharp tug - unmistakable.

"Abs," I whispered, my voice low but urgent. "Abby."

Abby blinked awake instantly, reaching for me without hesitation. "What is it?"

I looked down at my hands, then met Abby's eyes. "I think it's time."

Abby was upright in a second, the bleariness dropping from her face like a mask. She was dressed and steady within minutes, helping me into the car with practiced hands—one arm around my back, the other clutching the hospital bag.

I held onto her hand like a lifeline. "I'm scared."

"You're okay. We've got this.”

The ride was quiet but thick with tension, squeezing Abby's hand between contractions, my eyes closed, my lips pressed tight. Abby drove one-handed, her thumb stroking over my knuckles the entire time.

By the time we got to the hospital, I was fully in it-sweating, trembling, my breath hitching with every contraction. Abby didn't leave my side. Not once. She held my hand through every wave of pain, her other arm wrapped around me when the tremors got worse. She whispered soft things against my temple-"You're doing so good," "I've got you," "You're almost there."

The hospital room was dim and quiet, softened by the hush of early morning and the low beep of a heart monitor. My hands gripped the sides of the bed, my knuckles pale as another contraction rolled through me like a wave. Sweat clung to my hairline, and my face twisted with effort — not just from the pain, but from the sheer intensity of it all. Abby was at my side, one hand wrapped around mine, the other brushing damp hair away from my forehead.

At one point I buried her face in Abby's shoulder, my voice tight with fear. "What if I can't do it?"

Abby didn't hesitate. "You are doing it. You're the strongest person I know. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. You're doing so good," she whispered, voice low and steady, even though her own heart was galloping behind her ribs. "You've got this, babe. Just breathe. I'm right here."

I let out a shaky exhale and gave a tearful laugh. "You better not let go."

"Never," Abby said instantly.

I looked at her, eyes glassy with exhaustion and pain, and something in Abby's heart cracked wide open. She cradled my face and kissed my forehead, then my lips, long and gentle. "You're not alone. You've got me, okay?"

Time moved in strange, disjointed pieces - minutes stretched, then snapped. The pain came and went, each surge stronger than the last.

Abby didn't flinch. She squeezed my hand and leaned in, her voice a grounding force. "You're so close. You're almost there."

Nurses moved in and out of the room like ghosts, adjusting machines and checking vitals. A doctor appeared at some point, calm and collected.

And then came the words that made everything still. "It's time to push."

I nodded, terrified and ready all at once, squeezing Abby's hand so tight my knuckles turned white, but Abby didn't let go. She held on like a lifeline, her forehead pressed against mine, whispering words of encouragement through gritted teeth like she could shoulder the pain with me.

It was raw and exhausting — primal in a way I had never imagined. I felt like I was cracking open, like everything I had ever been was shifting to make space for someone else. I cried out. Cursed. Squeezed Abby's hand hard enough to bruise.

And Abby - steady, unshakable Abby — stayed right there, her voice trembling but never breaking. "One more push, baby," she whispered. "Just one more."

And then, just like that, the room shifted. A rush of motion, cries, and then—

A baby's first sharp cry split the air.

My head dropped back against the pillow, tears streaking my cheeks, my whole body trembling, dazed and blinking through tears. The doctor held up a tiny, pink-skinned girl, slick and squirming and perfect.

"She's here," Abby breathed, her voice catching in her throat.

Our daughter.

They cleaned her quickly, wrapped her in a soft hospital blanket, and placed her gently in my arms. I looked down at the tiny face nestled against my chest and I started to cry. Not from fear this time, but from the overwhelming, unbearable love. "She's so tiny."

Abby stood frozen for a second, eyes wide and glassy. "She's perfect," Abby whispered, wiping her eyes. She leaned over, resting her hand gently on our daughter's back. "You did it. Babe... you did it."

I looked up at her, eyes shining. "We did it."

Abby smiled through the tears and kissed me, long and quiet and full of adoration. She pulled back just enough to press her lips to the baby's head too, her voice catching in her throat. "Hi, little one. Welcome home."

The room had calmed into a hush, the rush of nurses and movement giving way to soft beeping monitors and dim, golden light seeping through the drawn blinds. I had drifted into a light sleep, exhausted but peaceful, one arm protectively cradling our daughter on my chest.

Abby hadn't taken her eyes off us since.

She was sitting beside the bed, one hand curled around my forearm, her thumb slowly brushing along the inside of my wrist. Her other hand reached out, feather-light, to run along the baby's back. Tiny fingers flexed against my hospital gown, the faintest sigh slipping from the baby's lips as she nestled closer. Abby smiled so softly it barely looked like a smile at all— more like awe made visible.

"Do you wanna hold her?" I asked softly, voice hoarse from tears.

Abby blinked, like the question hadn't even occurred to her. "Can I?"

“Of course you can, she’s yours.” I gave a gentle, sleepy nod and slowly adjusted, guiding the baby into her waiting arms, so small she barely seemed real in Abby's hands. She settled so easily there-like she knew her mother already. Abby looked down at her daughter, her expression stunned, undone. She held her like she was the most fragile thing in the world—one hand cupped beneath her head, the other across her back, steady and strong. The baby blinked up at her with bleary, unfocused eyes, making tiny mouthing motions as if learning the shape of her. She looked down at her daughter, "Hi," she whispered. "Hi, baby girl." She swayed slightly, cradling her gently, as if the world had just shifted on its axis and found its new center in her arms.

“Look at these fingers." Abby murmured to me without looking away.

I smiled tiredly, eyes glassy. "She's got your nose."

Abby let out a quiet laugh. "Poor thing."

"Don't say that," I whispered, reaching out to tuck some of Abby's hair behind her ear. "You're beautiful. She's lucky."

Abby kissed the baby's forehead, then held her close to her chest, feeling that impossibly small heartbeat against her own. Her voice lowered to a hush. "Hi, baby. It’s Mama." She swallowed, clearing the catch in her throat. "You're so small... I can't believe you're real."

The baby squirmed faintly in her arms, then went still again. Abby rocked slowly, instinctively, and the movement soothed them both. "You're gonna be so loved," she whispered, mostly to herself.

I watched them through heavy-lidded eyes, my heart aching with how full it was. I’d never seen Abby like this before-so unguarded, so gentle it felt sacred. I saw the way Abby looked down at our daughter like she was the entire world. And maybe, for Abby, she was.

Abby leaned over and kissed my temple, “You're amazing," she whispered.

I watched them with awe — my tired heart so full it felt like it might burst. We stayed that way for a long time — the three of us, tangled in warmth, completely changed and yet exactly who we had always been.

── .✦

if anyone’s read this far i’d love the feedback, this is my first time writing a fic! 🥲

this is not my typical post so if you don’t wanna hear complaints just scroll please. these are just my initial thoughts of tlou s2 ep2.

tlou hbo is a fucking mess. neil and craig have lost the fucking plot.

the mischaracterization of abby is insane.

-abby going on a fucking rehearsed monologue is so out of character. abby is a woman of few words. holy fucking exposition dump. what happened to show not tell?

-having abby call joel handsome AGAIN, to his face this time. what does that fucking have to do with anything? she would not be saying that about the man who killed her father and dozens of other people she cared about. let alone stroke his cheek??

-making show abby seem like more of a smug, sadistic villain when in the game we see her being conflicted during the act, realizing hurting joel isn’t satisfying her like she thought it would.

-saying abby’s body doesn’t matter in the show and then making the actress who’s half the size of abby be even stronger than abby is in the game? beating joel to death with her bare hands and breaking golf clubs in half. there’s zero reason they couldn’t give us buff female representation if they were gonna make her do that in the show. it’s actually ridiclous.

-telling mel if she doesn’t knock dina out she’ll “smash her in the fucking head” is not something abby would have said, she’s not mean just for the sake of it. her focus was on joel, not tommy or ellie being there whatsoever. she didn’t give a fuck about them and never ordered her friends to do anything. they handled it in the background themselves.

-no ellie and dina weed den scene???

-no abby waking up and taking a walk with owen scene, are mel and owen even together in the show? is she even pregnant? who fucking knows

-manny kicking ellie??

-oh and then a horde basically destroyed jackson. yay!

Growing tired of the toxic/abusive Abby headcanons

──

I truly don't think Abby has it in her. Not in any timeline, not in any version of herself.

Abby is strong, yes — physically intimidating even- but her strength is protective, never oppressive. She's hyper aware of the power she carries in her body and in her presence, and she's especially careful with the people she loves.

In fact, Abby's worst fear might be becoming a person who could hurt someone she loves. If she even thought she'd made you feel unsafe — emotionally or physically — it would wreck her. She'd spiral into shame, shut down, go quiet for days. She's the type to overcorrect into gentleness because she never wants her strength to feel like a weapon.

She might snap at someone if she's deeply overwhelmed or panicked, especially in a moment of fear or high emotion. But even then, it's reactive — never controlling, never cruel. And she always circles back to take accountability.

What Abby might do instead:

Withdraw. When she's upset, she shuts down. Goes quiet, distant. Not to punish— but because she doesn't know how to process it without accidentally hurting someone. This could feel like rejection if you didn't understand it, but it's self-protective, not abusive.

Internalize. She won't talk about what's wrong, even when she's hurting. She takes on too much, blames herself for things she can't control, and sometimes tries to "handle" things alone instead of leaning on others. This could cause tension — but again, it comes from love, not malice.

More than anything, Abby turns her intensity inward. She's her own harshest critic, especially if she thinks she's failed in her role, it devastates her.

In a relationship with her, built on deep emotional trust and so much care — there's no room for abuse. Disagreements? Of course. Miscommunications? Sometimes. But anything even resembling abuse would be the antithesis of who Abby is.

── .✦

let’s unfuck the narrative please. ༝༚༝༚

❦ abigail anderson; beauty, brains AND brawn

chess, lit fic novels, classical music. she’s such a lowkey nerd, it’s adorable. a beautiful brainiac with an intense workout schedule- what’s not to love?

“i hate abby” do not come to my town. do not come.

abby fic- becoming a parent with you

. ݁₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ . ݁₊ ⊹

soft!abby / wholesome!abby / mommy!abby | modern au

this will be pt1 of a short series so bear with me! ᡣ𐭩 pt2 is here

─────────────────────────

The apartment is dim, the only light coming from my desk lamp left on low. We were lying on my twin bed, facing each other under a shared blanket that barely fits two. Abby's arm is tucked under my pillow, close enough that I can feel the heat of her skin across the space between us, though neither has reached out yet.

It's quiet-one of those heavy, still silences that doesn't feel awkward. Just full. I’ve been watching Abby's eyes shift softly between me and the ceiling. She's been thinking too much. She always does, when it's this late.

I shift slightly, resting my cheek on her hand, my voice barely more than a breath. "Did you ever want kids?"

Abby blinks. Her brow tightens just slightly— enough for me to worry I’ve overstepped.

But Abby doesn't deflect. She just lets the quiet stretch out longer, like she's really thinking about it.

"I don't know," Abby finally says, voice low and flat in the way it gets when she's feeling something but doesn't want to admit it yet. "I never really let myself think about it." Her eyes shift to meet mine. "It never felt like something I could picture."

I nod, slow. "I don't think I did either," I say. "Still don't, most days. I just... wondered if that's something you ever saw for yourself. Or not."

Abby's mouth twitches at the corner-almost a smile, almost a wince. "I don't think I ever saw anything for myself," she admits, eyes softening. "Not until recently."

She doesn't say it. But I hear it in the pause. In the way Abby's gaze flickers to my lips, then back up to my eyes.

There's a beat of stillness, heavy with something unsaid. My heart thumps, and my hand shifts between us, resting near Abby's wrist. Not touching. Just close enough.

Abby turns toward me a little more. Her voice is softer now. "If I ever did want that... anything close to that... it'd have to be with someone like you."

I swallow around the lump in my throat and give a small nod. My fingers graze Abby's wrist, lingering just enough. "Okay," I whisper, barely audible. "That's good to know."

We don't say anything else. We don't have to.

Abby shifts an inch closer, enough for our foreheads to rest together, and closes her eyes. It's not a declaration. It's just a beginning.

── .✦·········────

The visit had gone well — better than either of us expected, really.

Our friends from college, a couple who had always felt a little older than the rest of the group, had just had their first baby a few months ago.

I squealed the second I saw the tiny thing wrapped in a patterned swaddle, and Abby, who normally looked like she could carry a fridge without breaking a sweat, held the infant with surprisingly practiced gentleness.

Abby had gone a little quiet during the visit, but not in a bad way. Just... watching. Observing. Taking it all in. I had watched her watching — the way she cradled the baby without hesitation, the way she grinned when the baby grabbed her finger in those impossibly small hands, the way she had instinctively swayed when standing, like she'd done it a hundred times before.

On the walk home, my hand slipped into Abby's. It was cold outside, but Abby's palms, as always, ran warm. "She really liked you," I said, nudging her shoulder. "You're a natural."

Abby gave a small shrug, cheeks a little pink from the cold - or maybe something else.

𓂃₊

Back at the apartment, we kicked off our shoes and flopped onto the couch, Miso curling between us in a warm little loaf. For a while, it was just quiet — the kind of silence we didn't need to fill — until I broke it, my voice tentative.

"Did it... feel weird to you?" I asked. "Being there?"

Abby shifted slightly. "Not weird. Just... different. Familiar in a way that kind of caught me off guard."

I nodded, running my fingers gently over Miso's back. "I always thought I wouldn't want that," I said. "I think part of me still feels scared of the idea. Of not being ready. Of messing something up. But when you were holding her, and you smiled like that..." My voice trailed off. "I don't know. It made me think about it. Like, really think about it."

Abby leaned her head back against the couch cushion, gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I used to imagine it, sometimes. Just in passing. What it'd be like, if l ever got to have a family. But it always felt distant — something l'd be good at, sure, but not something l'd actually want. I didn’t see it for myself." She turned to face me. "But… then you showed up. And now we have a cat who thinks she owns the world, and I wake up every day wanting to take care of you. So yeah... I think I could want that. With you. You make me want things I didn't think I'd ever want." She exhaled, with the smallest smile.

My chest fluttered - not just from the words, but the way she said them. Carefully. Earnestly.

"I don't need it to be right now. I don't even know how we'd do it. But I realized something. I don't want a kid — I want your kid. I want to build something that's part of you. I want to see you holding them, and think, 'That's my whole world in one room!" She swallowed. "It's terrifying. But it feels right. You feel right."

I didn't say anything for a long moment. My book slid closed in my lap. "You really mean that?" I asked softly. "You're not just saying it?" I blinked at her, my eyes a little shiny now.

Abby nodded, leaning forward, brushing her fingers over my knee. "I mean it."

A small, wobbly breath left my lungs, like something inside me had been waiting a long time to hear those words. I scooted closer, curling into Abby's side, one hand resting over her heart. "I didn't think I wanted it either," I whispered. "But with you... I think l've been wanting it for a while now. I just didn't want to want it, because it felt impossible. And because I didn't want to want it with anyone else but you."

I smiled, and after a moment, leaned in and kissed her softly. Miso meowed indignantly between us, and we both laughed, breaking the tension. Abby tugged me close again, wrapping me up in the warmth she always carried like it belonged to both of us.

"Not now. Not soon. But... someday." I whispered into her shoulder.

"Someday sounds perfect," Abby murmured, kissing the top of my head, her arm wrapped around me tightly. "We've got time. We'll figure it out."

"Yeah," I breathed, my face tucked against Abby's shoulder. "We always do."

We sat like that for awhile - just holding each other, letting the idea settle between us. No pressure. No timelines. Just the beginning of a shared future, quiet and full of possibilities. It wasn't a plan yet. It wasn't concrete. But for the first time, we let ourselves imagine it- together.

── .✦·········────

It started one night in the kitchen — not with a serious conversation, not with any grand declaration. Barefoot, sweatpants, standing at the counter flipping through a magazine.

Miso was perched on the windowsill, tail flicking, watching something only she could see. Abby stood at the stove, cooking dinner, sleeves rolled up and brow furrowed in concentration.

"You ever think about how we'd actually do it?" I asked casually, still reading. "If we ever had a kid, I mean."

Abby didn't look away from the pan. "Like logistically?"

"Yeah."

A pause. The sound of sizzling onions. Then Abby turned the burner down and finally looked over, a brow raised. "Is this hypothetical curiosity, or are you saying we should start looking into it?"

I shrugged, cheeks pink. "Maybe a little of both."

Abby set the spatula down and leaned back against the counter beside me. "Alright," she said slowly, wiping her hands on a towel. “Let’s say it’s not hypothetical.”

I looked up at her with wide eyes, so much gentleness held in the question I hadn't fully asked yet. "I want to know our options," I said. "If or when we get there."

Abby nodded. "Okay. So we research. See what feels right."

We spent the next week here and there reading articles and bookmarking sites, curled up on the couch in the evenings with one laptop balanced between us and Miso tucked between our knees. Some of it was confusing- charts and acronyms, costs and success rates- but some of it felt surprisingly grounding. Like planning a life, piece by piece.

But there were quieter, sweeter moments too. Abby's hand resting on my thigh as we read. Me gently brushing Abby’s hair behind her ear. The soft wonder in our eyes when we talked about what a child might be like.

We didn't make any decisions right away. It wasn't that kind of conversation. It was just the beginning of a path being cleared- slowly, thoughtfully. Something we could return to again and again, shaping it over time.

Later that night, as we were getting ready for bed, I stood by the sink, brushing my teeth. Abby came up behind me, arms sliding around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder.

"You'd be a really good mom," Abby said softly, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

My eyes flicked to her reflection, surprised at first — then softening into something deep, something fond. I turned slightly to rest my forehead against Abby's. "You too."

Abby smiled, that shy, earnest one I loved. "Guess we'll figure it out together."

"Yeah," I whispered. "We will."

── .✦·········────── .✦·········────

pt2 is now here :)

my favorite girl ever

an analysis on how abby growing up without a mom shaped who she is and her perception of femininity:

─────────────────────────

Growing up without a mother meant her understanding of femininity, softness, and nurture came from absence. Without a maternal influence, she didn't have a guiding figure for emotional softness, or a role model for how to navigate vulnerability, especially in relationships. There was no one to show her how to be girly, no mother-daughter traditions, no one to teach her about motherhood. She probably doesn't even know her mother's favorite color or the sound of her laugh.

I don’t think it was something she resented, but it left an emptiness that Abby didn't quite know how to fill. She didn't have the maternal warmth or lessons that could help shape her understanding of her femininity or intimacy. Instead, her father's presence was both comforting and limiting, keeping her grounded but also confining her to a role she took on with no real guidance beyond her own instincts. Jerry did his best, but he wasn't necessarily equipped to teach her how to be delicate or to guide her through a nuanced understanding of herself as a woman.

Her dad was a gentle man, but also a bit carefree, often embarking on spontaneous adventures, leaving Abby to pick up the pieces and keep things running smoothly. She had to be responsible, mature beyond her years, and quickly became someone her father could rely on in ways that were far more profound than the typical parent-child dynamic. Abby had to grow into a caretaker role at a young age, though it came naturally to her, given that she was so deeply tied to her father's wellbeing. She still carried the weight of managing the practicalities of life in a way he didn't always feel compelled to. Because it was just the two of them, Abby's dad became her entire world - her role model, her compass, her constant. She inherited his pragmatism, his quiet humor, his hands-on way of showing love. But being raised by a single father meant Abby had to figure out her emotional world on her own. He was present, and loving, but not always expressive.

✮ This shaped how Abby expresses love: quietly, through action. Through showing up. Through fixing things, carrying the heavy load, remembering how you take your tea. Not because it was taught— but because it's how she learned to care.

Her relationship with femininity is self-defined. Without a maternal influence, Abby had to define her identity as a woman on her own terms. She doesn't perform femininity in conventional ways — and never felt pressured to. There was no one telling her to wear dresses or play with dolls, so she gravitated toward what felt good in her body. Sports. Climbing trees. Strength training.

Now, she finds beauty in the unexpected. She's not traditionally "girly," but she notices the details. She admires curves, softness, the kind of woman who owns her space — not because Abby feels lacking, but because she values what she didn't grow up around. It also makes her protective — of people who move through the world vulnerably, who offer gentleness without armor. She has a quiet reverence for that, like it's sacred. It made her pay close attention to the women around her. It's why she has so much respect for quiet strength, for softness that's chosen and not expected. She notices the small ways women hold space for each other — in friendship, in tenderness, in care — and sometimes finds herself wondering: Would my mom have done that? Would she have held my face in her hands when I cried?

Abby had to figure out a lot on her own, and she learned to keep most of her struggles to herself, fearing that her vulnerability might be too much for others to handle. There are parts of Abby she struggles to articulate because she never had the words growing up. It's why she turns to writing sometimes, and gets quiet when conversations shift too emotional too fast. Her grief isn't loud— it's woven into the fabric of who she is.

And yet, with the right person, she'd slowly find ways to let someone in. To speak about the silence. To share that old photograph. To admit, one night under the stars, "I don't know much about her... but I think you would've liked her. And I think she would've liked you, too."

In a partner, Abby would find someone who could teach her things her father couldn't, someone to balance out her tendencies to be over responsible and always holding things together. Offering Abby a softer, more emotionally open way to be, showing her that it was okay to sometimes not have all the answers, to let go of the burden of always being the one in control. A way for Abby to experience and understand the tenderness she had missed out on from her mother, forcing Abby to confront aspects of herself she had always kept at arm's length. Abby could begin to see herself differently, not just as the strong, reliable one, but as someone worthy of emotional care and tenderness, too once she allows herself to trust someone enough to soften.

wholesome / soft!abby learning how to do things simply because she loves you. (modern au) ✿

━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━━

It was late, just past midnight and the apartment had gone still. You had gone to bed an hour ago, after gently insisting Abby didn't need to stay up finishing the laundry.

But Abby had stayed up anyway.

Not because of laundry.

Because earlier that evening, while brushing your hair out after a shower, you had said offhandedly,

"I've always wanted to learn how to do a proper French braid, but I can never get the hand placement right."

You hadn't meant it as a request. Just one of those things people say when they're sleepy and relaxed, idly untangling their hair in the glow of lamplight.

But it had stuck in Abby's chest in that quiet, persistent way things did when they mattered.

And now she was sitting on the living room rug, her laptop open in front of her, a tutorial video paused on a smiling woman holding a mannequin head.

Abby's fingers were wrapped awkwardly around a sad-looking practice braid made from yarn she'd pulled out of an old craft box. Her brows were knit together in deep focus.

"Under, over... no-under again? Shit."

She rewound the video, watching the woman's hands again. Her own hands were big, too clumsy, and this yarn was too slippery, but she was determined. You deserved something soft.

Something delicate. Something that said, I listen. I care. I want to do this for you.

Eventually, after the third or fourth video and countless redos, she got the rhythm. Her fingers started to move with more confidence, more grace.

It still wasn't perfect, but it looked like something.

Like effort. Like love.

She stared down at the wonky braid, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

A shadow appeared in the hallway- you, sleepy and wrapped in a blanket, blinking at the light.

"Abs? What are you doing?"

Abby froze. "I-nothing. Go back to bed."

You pad closer, crouching beside her and squinting at the yarn.

"..Is that a braid?"

Abby rubbed the back of her neck, sheepish. "I was... practicing. You said you never learned, so l thought-maybe I could. So I can do it for you."

You stared at her for a beat too long, eyes glassy with the kind of affection that makes your chest ache.

Then you leaned forward and kissed her-soft, sleepy, so full of warmth it almost hurt.

"You're ridiculous," you murmured against Abby's lips.

𓂃₊ ⊹

Later that same week, you walked into the living room to find Abby half-inside the laundry closet, surrounded by the scattered innards of the dryer.

"Should I be worried?" you asked, setting your keys down.

Abby's voice echoed from inside the machine.

"Only mildly. It was making that squeaky noise again. I watched like, five repair videos. I think it's just the belt."

You squint at her. "You hate mechanical stuff."

"Yeah, well. You said you hate calling repair guys even more." Abby slid out, grease smudged across her cheek. "Figured I'd try."

You crossed your arms, trying not to smile. "I’m starting to think you can fix anything."

Later that night, the dryer spun without a sound, just the hum of warm air and fresh laundry.

There were no grand declarations. No elaborate gestures.

Just glue, orbit wires, a silenced squeaky dryer, and the quiet, steady rhythm of loving someone by showing up - over and over again.

Real world jobs I think Abby could have:

═════════════════ .𖥔 ݁ ˖

- Trauma Medicine / Paramedic. Fast-paced, high-stakes, and very hands-on. She's calm under pressure, physically strong, and already has knowledge and training. The intense, high stakes nature of emergency response would match her protective nature and ability to stay composed. Quiet competence, hands steady even when the world is shaking. She’s the friend who instinctively moves into action when someone gets hurt. She'd be incredible in a crisis: calm, efficient, and laser focused. But she might burn out if she never gave herself time to rest.

- Kinesiology / Physical Therapy / Athletic Trainer. She's strong, knows her anatomy, and likely has experience with sports related injuries. It also taps into her caretaking side, helping others rebuild strength and mobility is deeply rewarding for someone who thrives on quiet service. She works out five days a week, knows the body well, and takes pride in that. I can see her offering quiet encouragement and firm guidance. She'd be the kind of trainer who doesn't yell- just gives a firm nod and says "you've got this" in that quiet, grounding way of hers, and people would believe her.

- Firefighter (this one’s my favorite, clearly). It's physical, high stakes, community-focused, and demands a kind of calm in chaos resilience that Abby naturally embodies. She'd thrive in the structure and physical intensity of the job, while quietly being someone her entire unit relies on. She's a protector by nature. Abby doesn't just want to fix problems- she wants to prevent harm. She'd be the one charging into danger without hesitation, not for glory, but because she couldn't live with herself if she didn't. She's built for physical endurance. The training, the heavy gear, the demands- she'd meet them all head on. And her strength would be a source of pride, but also usefulness. She's not muscular for vanity; she wants to be capable. Even though she's quiet, she builds strong bonds with people over time. In a firehouse, she'd earn everyone's respect through consistency and loyalty, and be the one everyone counts on. She needs structure with meaning, a job with routine, clear goals, and tangible impact would give her direction and purpose. Abby probably lives with a constant hum of anxiety under the surface, fear of loss, fear of failure. Firefighting gives her an outlet: a place where fear fuels action, not avoidance. And the image of her coming home exhausted, soot-smudged, muscles aching, and still taking the time to help you wash the dishes or read with you on the couch? Swoon

- Bonus: Veterinary Medicine. She loves animals, has medical training, and is incredibly nurturing under that tough exterior. Helping creatures who can't speak for themselves could feel purposeful for her. She could also be an animal rehabilitation specialist, or even work in wildlife rescue.

── .✦

Abby feels like someone who wouldn't just be capable physically but would also have a deep sense of purpose under the surface. What do you guys think?

my personal abby headcanons ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

soft!abby, wholesome!abby, character analysis 𑁤

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

⟢ Her favorite color is pretty obviously green, but not just any shade. It would be that deep, lush forest green. The kind that looks almost velvety when the light hits it right. A muted, natural tone, reminiscent of forest foliage or moss after it rains, or the way pine trees look at dusk. Earthy, grounded, alive. It fits her: strong and calm, but also quietly vibrant. It's the color of resilience and growth, things she's learned to nurture in herself. Maybe it reminds her of early morning hikes alone, where the world is still and her mind finally quiets. Or of those summer days when she'd sit outside with a book, before her dad dragged her along on another adventure. It’s nostalgic and rooted in something meaningful.

⟢ Her love language is acts of service, she loves taking care of her partner. She won't say "I love you" outright, and grand romantic gestures aren't her style, but if she cares about you, you'll know by the things she does. She'll fix the door that's been sticking in your apartment without saying a word, leave your favorite snack where you'll find it after a long day, or show up unasked when she knows you're hurting. Her affection is practical, grounded. Rooted in effort and presence rather than sentimentality. She's the type to remember small details you thought she forgot and act on them in meaningful, quiet ways. If she really trusts you, she'll share a part of herself she usually keeps hidden- an old story, a vulnerable thought, softness in her voice. Abby's the kind of person who'll notice you're out of shampoo and restock it without saying a word. She expresses love through actions: cleaning your glasses, packing your lunch, warming up the car on cold mornings. She doesn't make a big deal out of it-it's just who she is.

⟢ I think she would appreciate/prefer curvier women. She’s not afraid of a fuller figure. That preference makes perfect sense for Abby, her physical strength paired with emotional gentleness, and her attraction to contrast and depth. There's something very grounded and emotionally moving about the idea that Abby, with her strong, capable presence and quiet nature, would be drawn to someone with a softer, curvier frame. It adds to that "protector" dynamic she subtly embodies, in a way that balances her. A kind of mutual softening. She would probably admire her partner’s body in the same way she admires a good novel — quiet admiration. Noticing how your body curves when you stretch, the softness in your arms when they're wrapped around her, the strength in your thighs, how soft your stomach is when they're lying in bed. There's something about the combination of a curvier build and emotional openness that would both ground and unravel Abby, like it gives her permission to relax, to be vulnerable, to feel. And maybe she has this quiet pride about it, too. Abby strikes me as someone who finds beauty in the realness of people. Lived-in bodies, strength in softness, comfort in closeness. She loves that your body feels like warmth, like home - and she would never want you to feel anything less than wanted in it.

⟢ Motherhood was never something Abby imagined. Not in the traditional sense. Pregnancy, baby showers, the domesticity of it all—it never felt like her. But caring? Protecting? That's in her bones. She'd be the first to kneel down and fix a kid's scraped knee or teach them how to throw a punch. She doesn't talk about the future often, doesn't dare picture it too vividly-but sometimes, when the world feels quiet, she wonders if she could build something safe. Something like home. Abby never really pictured herself as a mom-not because she doesn't care, but because she never saw a version of it that looked like her. Growing up, “motherhood" felt tied to things she couldn't relate to. Domestic softness, conventional femininity, the assumption that women were supposed to want it. And the idea of pregnancy? That's a hard no. The physical vulnerability, the loss of control-it's not something she wants for her body. But that doesn't mean she's closed off to caregiving. She already lives it in quiet ways. She makes sure her friends get home safe. She bandages cuts without thinking. She checks in when someone's been too quiet, making sure that they eat enough. She's protective, even if she doesn't call it that. “I can barely take care of myself." But if pressed, she'd admit she's not against the idea of raising someone, just unsure if that life fits her. She'd worry she wouldn't be enough. Or worse, that she'd mess them up. She's great with kids but insists she isn't, she’ll deny it every time. Children gravitate toward her calm, steady energy, and she has a soft spot for them (especially the shy ones).

⟢ Abby would naturally switch between dominant and submissive roles depending on the moment. Intimacy isn't about dominance in the traditional sense-it's about trust, safety, and connection. Abby might appear more dominant because of her physicality and presence, but emotionally, she's surprisingly tender and receptive. Sometimes Abby will lead-grounded, steady, protective-and other times, she'll melt under her partner’s touch, especially when initiated with quiet intention. It's fluid, balanced, intuitive.

⟢ She likes to leave love letters and sweet little notes. Words aren't her first language, not when it comes to vulnerability, but when she writes them down, they come out softer, more honest. Writing gives her the space to say what she means without the pressure of getting it perfect on the spot. She can think it through, let the emotions settle, then put them into something real and lasting. It's not constant, Abby won’t shower you with them, but when they come, they feel earned, like a piece of her heart is being offered in this quiet, precious way. She probably tucks them into books or leaves them around your room. A crumpled napkin in your backpack with a half-written poem. A sticky note that says "Drink some water. I mean it." followed by a doodle of a cat face. A slip of paper tucked into your notebook that says "You looked pretty when you laughed today. I didn't know where to put that, so here it is."

⟢ Abby knows the library shelves by memory. The spine worn classics, the quiet fiction no one checks out anymore. She has a dog eared notebook tucked into her backpack where she keeps a running list of titles she wants to find next. Independent bookstores are her soft spot-she lingers in them like they're sanctuaries, trailing her fingers along book spines like they might whisper something to her. She reads like it's the only way she knows how to breathe.

⟢ If you asked her sexuality, she'd shrug. "I like who I like." That's it. No big declarations, no need for clarity. She's comfortable in her skin, comfortable not being boxed in. She's had relationships with men and women, but women are the ones who linger in her memory. The softness, the strength, the complexity. She doesn't overthink it. She just follows what feels right.

⟢ She would gladly read to her partner until they fall asleep. She has a low, steady voice that makes even the most complex writing sound gentle. She'll read aloud while her partner lays curled up against her side, half-listening, half-dozing. Sometimes it's poetry, sometimes it's a dense classic she's re-reading. She never comments when you doze off mid-sentence, she just marks the page and keeps going.

⟢ Abby has no shame when it comes to food. You blink, and half your sandwich is gone. She'll look at you mid-bite and ask, "You were done, right?" She doesn't waste anything, doesn't get weird about sharing and will eat off your plate if you let her. In fact, sharing food is her version of casual intimacy. She doesn't say "I like you" outright, but she'll finish your fries like it's a form of trust. She's the type to finish everyone else's scraps like some human trash can. Can't finish your food? Fork it over. She's not picky and takes all the extra protein she can get. It's a leftover habit from growing up around tight resources-and now, it's just her way.

⟢ I envision abby as being one of those people who's always naturally warm, human furnace vibes, great for snuggling. She’s the kind of person you instinctively lean into on cold mornings, Your hands like icicles until they’re pressed against Abby's back or sliding cold toes under her leg. Abby would groan dramatically, pretending to protest. "You're trying to kill me" — but secretly loves it. She'll complain about it every time, but she always adjusts to make room, letting you burrow into her side like it's the most natural thing in the world. She gets hot easily at night- despite this, somehow she still ends up hogging the blanket every time (canon, see post boat scene). She sleeps sprawled out and somehow tangled in all the bedding. You would wake up practically clinging to the edge of the sheet while Abby's burritoed in the rest of it, looking entirely unbothered and warm as hell. I would tease her about it every time. "You're such a thief." Abby, eyes still closed, grumbling, "No l'm not." "You're literally wrapped in three layers." "Coincidence."

⟢ She gives the best hugs. Not the polite kind. The real kind-the ones that feel like you're being held together. Strong arms, slow breath, maybe even a hand that cups the back of your head if you're really upset. She doesn't hug often, but when she does, it's wholehearted. No half measures. People don't forget them.

⟢ Her and Lev take care of stray cats on Catalina Island in their free time. She's got a soft spot for the ones who don't trust easily. The scarred-up tom that won't come close, the tiny one that hides behind the dumpsters. She leaves food out, builds little shelters when it gets cold, takes the injured ones to the infirmary when no one's looking. The other fireflies joke she and lev have a secret army of alley cats. She pretends to be annoyed, but they’ve named every single one.

⟢ Her dad used to braid her hair when she was younger, now she does it for practicality but also because it reminds her of him. The braid started as a habit. Tight and utilitarian, keeps her hair out of her face when she's working out or running drills. But on some days, the ritual of it feels heavier. She remembers his hands, clumsy but gentle, how he used to say, "Hold still, kiddo, I'm almost done." She doesn't talk about him much, but the braid says everything. It's grief and comfort, muscle memory and love.

⟢ Just for funsies, I think her birthday is in January and she has a: - Capricorn Sun: Abby's grounded, serious, and resilient core. She's hardworking, responsible, and reliable, she probably feels safest when she's doing something useful or taking care of someone else. She values loyalty deeply and is slow to trust but steadfast once she does. Her practicality and stoicism come from here. - Aries Moon: Her inner world is impulsive, intense, and fiercely emotional. She likely feels things very strongly but doesn't always have the tools to express it, leading to her occasional emotional shutdowns or sudden reactions (like anger when scared). This is where her brave, protective nature shines, she'd throw herself into danger without a second thought for someone she loves. It also contributes to her dry, blunt humor. - Cancer Venus: Soft, nurturing, tender. She shows love by taking care of you. Making sure you're fed, walking you home, giving you her jacket in the cold. But she's cautious and slow to open up, protective of her heart. Once in love, she's affectionate in small, meaningful ways. She craves emotional safety and might feel overwhelmed by intense vulnerability, but she's deeply loyal and incredibly gentle with the person she loves.

⟢ She’s terrible at taking compliments, always brushing them off with a scoff or a change of subject, like kindness directed at her is some kind of mistake. She never sees herself the way others do, she’s her own harshest critic, quick to downplay her strengths and dwell on her perceived flaws. But beneath the guarded exterior and the self doubt, there’s a quiet strength and depth to her that few ever get to see. She's also terrible at asking for help. She'll power through illness or injury until someone forces her to rest. When they scold her for not speaking up sooner, Abby just shrugs like, "It wasn't that bad."

⟢ There’s a wall around her, one she built over years of disappointment and betrayal. Getting close to her isn’t just about persistence. It’s about proving, time and time again, that you’re not like the rest. She watches everything, quietly, measuring your every word and action, waiting for the catch. But if you make it past the defenses and show her you’re genuine, patient, and unshakably loyal? She’ll fold you into her world like you’ve always belonged there. And once you’re in, she’s fiercely protective. She’d risk everything for you without a second thought, even if she never says it out loud.

jackson abby photomodes

i’m gonna die if i don’t get to kiss her

more jackson abby photomodes

jackson abby photomodes

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

stargazing with abby °*•.

i’m convinced abby has a telescope stashed in her room somewhere that she brings up to the roof of the stadium once in awhile. she’s been intrigued by astronomy ever since she found a book on it in the library. she can point out a bunch of constellations and the bigger stars, and her dad probably taught her how to navigate using them. she doesn’t get to do it all that often, but it takes her mind off things and soothes her when she wakes up in the middle of the night from her nightmares. she’d love to share this activity with someone special and point out all the elements of the night sky for them, babbling away like a huge nerd ᡣ𐭩

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

bonus song because this one always reminds me of her. “your freckles lead the way, i trace your constellations”ᡣ𐭩

soft!abby supremacy! she’s the sweetest girl ever

don’t talk to me when tlou part 2 comes to pc tomorrow i’m gonna be busy admiring abby, taking 47302028 photos and speedrunning through ellie’s seattle days to get back to my WIFE

─═✧✧═─ 𝕒𝕓𝕓𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕓𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕 ─═✧✧═─

i love my soft!abby smmm 🥹

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy,moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious,gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever she could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.

(i know the strap game is other worldly)

abby anderson and abby coded characters