Her Muscles, Her Fingers, And The VEINS. Abby, What A Woman You Are

manny setting you and abby up on a blind date, even though you’re “just friends” 𓂃⊹ ࣪ ˖

──────

“You owe me,” Manny said, tossing a towel at Abby as she finished a set.

“For what?” She chuckled, catching it midair. She was trying to drown him out and finish her workout, but he was making it damn near impossible.

“That patrol I covered for you last week? Come on. One drink. One dinner. I set you up with someone cool. Trust me.” Manny grinned, leaning up against the barbell rack.

“I hate when you say that,” she muttered, wiping her face, rolling her eyes as she glared back up at him.

Manny clutched a hand over his heart. “She’s smart, funny, not annoying. You’ll actually like her.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He held up his hands. “Just… be at the mess hall tonight. Eighteen hundred. I promise you’ll be glad you went.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s gonna suck. I don’t wanna waste my time.”

“Come on, hermana. If it’s awful, I owe you a week of patrol coverage.” Manny replied, unfazed as he reached out to shake Abby’s shoulders.

Abby sighed, pressing the towel against the back of her neck, trying not to smile. “Manny. You say that like your word means anything. If it’s awful, I’ll lock you in the supply closet myself.”

“You’ll thank me later,” he said with a wink, finally walking away and leaving Abby to finish her routine.

── .✦

I sat on the edge of my bed, unlacing my boots, when a knock hit the door. I opened it to find Manny already leaning on the doorframe with a ridiculous grin.

“No,” I said immediately.

“Oh yes. You’re going out tonight.”

I squinted at him, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of ‘out’?”

“Blind date,” he said. “Before you say no—they’re solid. Bit serious, but big heart. Strong as hell.” He shrugged. “I figured that’d be your type.”

I hesitated, wary. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch. Just dinner in the mess at eighteen hundred. You need to get out more.” He smiled, poking me in the ribs.

“Is this some kind of prank or something…?” I groaned, rubbing my forehead.

“Do I look like a man who plays pranks?”

“Yes, actually you do. Because you are.” I respond smugly, pushing him out of the doorway.

He snorted, turning away. “Just go. Please.”

── .✦

The mess hall space within the stadium had once been a cafeteria, now dressed up with mismatched linens and strings of warm lights that someone (Manny) had hung with care. It wasn’t fancy, but he tried. Like everything else we’d built here.

I sat at the table first, my knee bouncing restlessly with barely contained anxiety. I hadn’t asked for this. Manny had cornered me this morning, and then again during rounds, spun something about “someone thoughtful, serious, into books,” and I’d caved out of equal parts curiosity and peer pressure.

Abby walked in two minutes late, her hair swept back into a quick braid, and a clean shirt on. I did a double take, standing up from the table. She immediately stopped in her tracks when she saw me. We both stood there for a second. Confused. Suspicious.

“…Hey,” I said slowly, stepping closer, a bit cautious.

“Hey,” Abby echoed, her brow furrowing.

“Wait. Are you here for…?” I looked around the room slowly.

“No way.” Abby let out a low laugh, running a hand down her face. “Manny?”

“Yeah. Manny said I had a date.”

We stared at each other for a moment, then both broke out into a fit of soft laughter, something easy and fond settling between us.

“Oh my God,” Abby mumbled under her breath, shaking her head. “That bastard.” We both laughed.

“So we’re each other’s blind date… cool.” I sighed, thinking about heading back to my dorm.

A moment passed between us. Abby rubbed the back of her neck. “You wanna just stay? Make it dinner anyway?”

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “We’re already here. Might as well enjoy it.”

We found a quieter table near the back, away from the louder patrol squads trading stories and jabbing each other over canned chili. The mess hall wasn’t exactly candlelit, but under the dim overheads and faded posters on the wall, the space felt a little more intimate than usual.

“Guess we’re already past the awkward first impressions.” I muttered, gesturing to the chair across from me.

“Guess so,” Abby said, sitting down. “He’s a real piece of work.”

I smiled, a little soft, a little teasing. “I would’ve said yes if you asked me yourself, y’know.”

Abby’s ears turned a little pink. “Maybe I will next time.”

“Next time…” I mumbled to myself, fingers wrapped around my mug. “So, this isn’t a date.”

“Definitely not,” Abby agreed, a little too quickly.

“Just… two friends being tricked by a mutual idiot.”

“Exactly.”

We both smiled, but something hung in the air. Quieter than laughter, a little heavier than coincidence.

“Well, if this was a date, it wouldn’t be the worst.” I said softly.

Abby looked up. “Yeah?”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

Abby grinned. “Then maybe I’ll pay next time. Stadium rations and all.”

Dinner was simple. Lentils, rehydrated steak, and overcooked carrots. Whatever passed as a meal these days. Abby glanced down at her plate. “Luxury...”

“Don’t be a snob,” I teased, poking at my own food with a fork. “It’s got… protein?” I shrug.

“And seasoning that tastes like the floor.” Abby mumbled, her lips tightening.

I laughed softly, and Abby looked up at the sound, catching the way my eyes crinkled slightly when I smiled. The awkwardness melted fast. We already knew each other’s tells, each other’s quiet humor. We ate while talking about patrol rotations, about the book I had picked up from the trading post, about how one of the younger recruits had nearly shot their own foot.

“You clean up nice, by the way,” I added, trying to be casual but sincere.

Abby glanced down at her plain black t-shirt and jeans. “This is… me trying.”

“It works.” I answered warmly, taking a bite of my carrots.

Abby watched me for a second longer than she meant to. “You don’t look too terrible either.”

I raised a brow, amused. “Wow, what a charmer.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t usually do the whole date thing.” She responded, her voice going a bit quiet.

“Neither do I,” I said, voice softer now, a bit more honest. “But this doesn’t feel… weird. Not with you.”

Abby was quiet for a minute, her jaw working like she was chewing on a thought. “Yeah. I was kind of relieved when I saw it was you.”

“Same,” I responded, leaning forward and nudging her boot lightly under the table. “Way better than some sweaty patrol guy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Abby huffed a laugh, finally relaxing into the conversation. “He played us. Got you to go, got me to go, and left us here like it’s some romcom setup.”

“Joke’s on him,” I said, softly. “You’re not bad company.”

There was a brief pause, not awkward, but full. Warm. I tilted my head slightly. “Have you ever… thought about it?”

Abby blinked. “Thought about what?”

“Me and you,” I mumbled softly, picking at my food. “Not seriously or anything, of course. It’s silly.”

Abby’s throat bobbed with a quiet swallow. “Maybe. Once or twice.”

I looked down at my plate, smiling into it. Neither of us said anything for a long moment, just the clatter of trays and distant conversation around us filling the space.

Then I said, teasing again, “If I’d known it was you, I might’ve actually brushed my hair.”

Abby gave me a playful glance. “That’s how it always looks.”

“Shut up,” I said, laughing again.

Abby grinned. “You look nice. Always do.”

My cheeks flushed at her compliment, and I tried to hide my smile behind my fork.

The “date” label faded, until it didn’t. The air shifted after the shared cookie we agreed to split “because it’d be a waste.” Abby handed me the bigger half without thinking. I paused, looking at the cookie, then at Abby. “You didn’t even fight me on it.”

Abby shrugged. “You like the soft center.”

There was a moment of silence. My brows softened just slightly. “You remember that?”

“I remember a lot about you,” Abby said, quiet now, then took a sip from her tea as if to cover it.

I looked down at the cookie, then broke off a piece and passed it to Abby. “Split the soft center, then.”

Our fingers brushed. Abby’s jaw flexed slightly, a muscle twitching.

“This still isn’t a date,” I murmured, my eyes flickering up to hers.

“Nope,” Abby said, eyes on her hand.

── .✦

We slipped out of the mess hall and into the open walkway, the stadium quiet in the way it only ever was after curfew, when most had gone to their bunks and the air was left to echo through the old corridors. The moonlight slanted through the upper windows, casting soft pools of light that guided our way. Abby walked a little slower than usual. The air between us felt different. The denial a little thinner. Glances a little longer.

“You didn’t have to walk me back,” I said, hands in my pockets, voice gentle.

Abby shrugged one shoulder. “Figured I should, since I’m such a great date and all.”

I smiled faintly. “Oh, so it was a date?”

Abby smirked but didn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

We reached the hallway that led to my room. I paused outside my door, looking up at Abby. Her gaze softened a little in the low light. “I had a good time,” I said quietly.

Abby nodded. “Me too.”

For a second, it felt like neither of us knew whether to linger or say goodnight. My hand hovered over the door handle, but I didn’t turn it yet. Abby glanced down, eyes flicking briefly to my lips, then back up.

I gave a soft, teasing smile. “Goodnight, Abby.”

Abby’s voice was lower than usual when she replied. “’Night.”

But she didn’t go right away. She leaned in, barely brushing her shoulder against mine.

“Meet me in the greenhouse tomorrow afternoon?” She asked.

I nodded, just once, eyes soft. Abby’s smile returned, quiet and sure. I slipped into my room, closing the door with a quiet click.

Abby stood there for a few seconds longer than she meant to, hand curling and uncurling at her side. Then she turned and walked away.

Inside my room, I leaned against the back of the door and let out a slow breath. My heart was still thudding. Not hard, just steady, like it was trying to tell me something. I crossed the room to my bed and sat on the edge, absently untying my boots. The bracelet on my wrist— a rough one I’d braided weeks ago, caught the light. I tugged it off and held it loosely in my hands, thinking.

Outside, Abby’s boots echoed softly as she walked. She wasn’t headed straight to her room, not yet. She took a detour, climbing the narrow stairs that led to the rooftop, where the wind hit harder, cleaner. She braced her forearms on the railing and looked out over the dim lights below.

She thought about the way you had smiled tonight, less guarded, more present. She thought about the warmth of your laugh, the way their boots had bumped under the table and neither of them had pulled away. She thought about what you had asked — if she’d ever thought about them. Abby stared out into the dark, muttering to herself. “More than once.”

── .✦

The greenhouse was tucked away on the far end of the stadium, lit by golden strips of late afternoon sun through weathered glass. The scent of damp earth lingered, the soft buzz of insects in the corners barely noticeable over the creak of the old door as I stepped inside.

Abby was already there, crouched near a planter box, inspecting a cluster of overgrown tomatoes. She looked up when I entered, face unreadable at first, then softening in that way I had started to recognize as being just for me.

“You found it,” Abby said, straightening.

I smiled and closed the door behind me. “You’re not as hard to find as you think you are.”

Abby gave a small chuckle and leaned back against the wooden frame of the planter, arms folded. I came to stand beside her, letting the silence settle for a moment. Out here, away from everything, it was easier to breathe. “Didn’t know you liked plants,” I said.

“Yeah, my dad used to have a greenhouse,” Abby replied, glancing at me. “It’s quiet. No one comes out here much.”

I nodded. “Except when they want to disappear.” We stood there for a minute. Then another. And when Abby tilted her head to look at me, something shifted.

“About last night…” Abby started, voice a little rough around the edges.

I shook my head gently. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, I…” Abby paused. “I liked it. More than I thought I would.”

My heart thudded, hard. I took a step closer, close enough that our arms brushed. “You mean the steak or the part where we almost had a date?”

Abby exhaled a laugh through her nose. “Both.”

We turned to face each other more fully now, my gaze lingering on Abby’s mouth, then flicking up to meet her eyes. “I think,” I said slowly, “we might be bad at pretending we’re just friends.”

Abby’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I think you might be right.”

Neither of us moved, but the air between us felt electric. Then, carefully, almost like testing gravity, I reached out and laced my pinky through Abby’s. Not a full handhold. Just a small touch. Abby looked down at our joined fingers, then back at me, and gave a single, subtle nod.

“Okay,” Abby said, her voice softer than I had ever heard it.

“Okay,” I echoed, my thumb brushing lightly over the back of Abby’s hand.

── .✦

We left the greenhouse as the sun dipped behind the far edge of the stadium, casting long shadows and staining the clouds with streaks of orange and violet. The walk back wasn’t long, but we stretched it out without saying so. Steps slow, close, unhurried.

“You’re quiet,” I said eventually, my tone light, coaxing.

“I’m just… thinking,” Abby replied. “Trying not to mess this up.”

I looked over at her. “There’s nothing to mess up yet.”

Abby glanced back, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “Yet?”

I grinned. “I mean, unless you’re planning on vanishing into the barracks and avoiding me all week.”

“No,” Abby said quickly, too quickly. She scratched the back of her neck. “I’m not. I liked being with you today.”

My expression softened. “Me too.”

We reached the hallway that split off toward the living quarters, quiet except for the hum of generators and the occasional far off clang. Abby slowed near my door, lingering as if uncertain whether to say goodnight or something else.

I leaned against the wall beside it, looking up at her. “You’re really not gonna kiss me yet?”

Abby blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I… didn’t want to rush you.”

“That’s considerate,” I said, voice low and playful. “But next time, don’t overthink it so hard.”

Abby stepped a little closer, close enough that I could smell the faintest trace of pine soap and sweat on her collar. Her voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “Next time?”

I reached out and brushed a speck of dirt off her sleeve. “Mhm. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a second, it looked like Abby might lean in. Her gaze lingered, jaw tightening just slightly. But instead, she gave a quiet breath of a laugh and pulled back, eyes warm. “Goodnight.”

I smiled, pushing the door open behind me. “Goodnight, Abby.”

The door clicked softly shut, and I stood still for a heartbeat. Then two. Then three.

The quiet hum of the hallway just outside my door buzzed in my ears, my pulse louder than it should’ve been. I stared at the handle, lips parted, heart thudding.

To hell with it.

I yanked the door back open and jogged barefoot into the corridor, scanning until I saw Abby’s back, just a few paces down, slow moving, like maybe she wasn’t quite ready to leave either.

“Abby,” I called softly.

She turned.

She didn’t have time to say anything before I was in front of her, reaching up, fingers curling into the collar of her jacket, eyes searching hers for half a second. Just enough time for hesitation to flicker. Then none at all. I leaned up and kissed her.

It wasn’t polished, but it was warm and certain. The kind of kiss that carried the quiet weight of something that had been building for a long time. Abby froze just for a second, startled, then softened beneath it. Her hands hovered at my waist, then settled there, careful, steady.

We didn’t pull apart quickly. It was slow, a soft press, a breath, then another. I stayed close enough that my forehead nearly rested against Abby’s. “I didn’t want to overthink it either,” I murmured.

Abby looked at me like the world had shifted a little. Like maybe everything would taste different tomorrow. “You didn’t,” she said quietly. “You got it just right.”

I smiled, slow and sheepish. “So… goodnight again?”

Abby nodded, brushing a loose curl from my cheek. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

This time, I didn’t turn away immediately. I lingered a second more, memorizing the feel of Abby’s hands still warm on my waist, before slipping back toward my door.

And this time, Abby didn’t take another step until she heard the door shut again.

Her freckles. Her nose bump. Her muscles.

18+ smut.

Abby sexting is honestly the sweetest and simultaneously hottest thing to ever exist.

Because at first, she's so bad at initiating it. We're talking comically bad. This girl paces her apartment typing and deleting messages left and right. She's always been better at writing things down but for some reason, learning how to excite you over the phone feels intimidating. But once she trusts you, once she feels truly comfortable, it goes from painfully awkward to fucking devastating in a flash and there's no going back.

They start out slow. Shy. Just this side of flirtatious.

She might send you a selfie in front of a filthy ass mirror, phone angled low, her abs still tight and glistening with sweat from intense core work. One arm casually flexed like she's not deliberately showing off the vascularity in her forearm.

I did hip thrusts thinking about you.

You know that vein down my bicep you like? I made it pop for you today. Wanna see?

You looked really hot in my shirt last night. Just saying.

And somehow, over the course of a few brave conversations between you, this girl becomes a dedicated professional at ruining any chance in hell you have of focusing.

You're at the grocery store, the farmers market, the library... she is thoroughly enjoying making your entire body flush hot. Because at the end of the day, she adores her women with her whole body and soul. She wants to be the one who makes you feel alive.

She wants to remind you how much you mean to her.

How much she needs you.

You'd make such pretty noises if I dragged you into the shower right now.

You ever hear your own voice right before you come? It's the hottest fucking sound I've ever heard.

My hand's between my legs and it's not enough. Not when I know how good your mouth feels. Call me when you're alone, yeah?

But what you're not ready for, are the voicemails she drops on you like an audible aphrodisiac. Once she sees the effect her words have on you through text, she's obsessed with the thought of you laying cozily in the dark, one hand over your mouth, the other clutching your phone, just listening.

Maybe I shouldn't be doing this, but… I can't stop thinking about you. I'm in bed and I can still feel your gorgeous thighs on my shoulders. The way you sound when you're riding me. The way you taste. I swear to god, I'm losing my mind.

You're mine, you know that?

Even when we're apart, you're still mine.

Call me back.

God, her growth arc is so good.

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! 🤍

Her hands. Her veins. Her eyes.

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

Guys idk how to say this but stop hating Owen sm 😭 he’s literally one of the most sympathetic and level headed characters in the game. Like just bc you like Abby (or Mel?) doesn’t mean you can’t try to understand him. If it wasn’t for him, the rest of the SLC wanted to kill Ellie and Tommy, he’s the only one that spoke up to save them. He’s gone through similar traumatic experiences as Abby but chose a different path. He’s Abby’s foil line Dina is to Ellie. He tries to support Abby and understand her but she’s ultimately too caught up in her revenge goal that their relationship crumbles. they have a strong relationship too and their method of joking with eachother is deprecating and teasing eachother, and getting mad on her behalf doesn’t make much sense either. They have their own backstory and way of affection that Abby isn’t even mad about, she giggles and smiles at all of Owen’s jokes. Abby clearly cares about him throughout the game even writing that letter to him. Just writing him off and dumbing him down to Abby’s trash male love interest never sits right with me because he has a purpose in the story and he’s a great and layered character.

yeah so the thing is that no one is hating on kaitlyn as a person or as an actress. i hope she does show abby justice.

but the point is that it’s not abby.

neil admitted he wanted to work with kaitlyn regardless so changed the role to accommodate her. that’s not fair. he vehemently defended why he gave abby that physique when the game first launched, and her body alone is so important to who she is as a person, it’s quite literally what her character is built on.

there are plenty of talented actresses who are a few inches taller and not naturally petite that could have fit the role better. they don’t even have to be entirely as muscular as abby but to have zero time in the gym is insane. also saying there aren’t really buff women who are talented is kinda misogynistic but i digress.

neil changed abby’s character to be more digestible to the general public, and conform to hollywood’s beauty standards. that’s the root of the issue. he’s satisfying the incels who have complained for the past 5 years straight, calling her every name in the book for years because they don’t like her body type and they think she looks like a man. strong women are severely underrepresented and her backstory of turning herself into a human weapon was detrimental to her and symbolic. it’s erasure.

as a tlou fan, (SOME of) it’s fan base is genuinely insufferable.

i’ve seen men and women complain and complain about bella ramsey and kaitlyn dever, with no actually valid argument.

now look, does bella ramsey look like ellie? no, not really.

does bella ramsey portray ellie with literally no flaws whatsoever? YES.

it’s okay for you to want someone else to be ellie, it’s okay if you don’t like bella as ellie.

but there’s a difference between that, and being just blatantly disrespectful.

i’ve seen people say bella looks like they have down syndrome, that she’s ugly, and overall people just being disgusting and hateful towards them for absolutely no reason.

that is NOT criticism, that doesn’t have anything to do with her performance as ellie or the show.

that is PURELY you being disrespectful.

and there’s no justification or reason for that kind of behavior.

now onto kaitlyn.

is she buff? no. does she look like abby? no, not really.

will she play abby perfectly just like bella as ellie? i have no idea.

but here’s the thing, there’s not a lot of buff, tall, and intimidating women who can act.

especially ones that conveniently look like abby.

did yall really expect them to cast people with PERFECT looks to the character AND the flawless abilities to play said character? do yall know how rare that is?

so the point is, you can dislike bella as ellie, you can dislike kaitlyn as abby (since NO ONE is FORCING YOU to watch the show btw) as long as you remain respectful to the actresses.

and the tlou show is literally one of the only good game adaptations to live action EVER but yall still wanna complain.

and as a final side note, most of the men trying to shame bella ramsey’s appearance are just mad they don’t have another version of ellie to sexualize🤷

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