Omg Smut With Wife!abby Or New Mom!abby As A New Part To Your Pregnant Partner Au Pleaseee

abby anderson if you can hear us please save us abby anderson please come back save us we need your beefy biceps and shoulders to save us

Real world jobs I think Abby could have:

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- 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?

i love the way you write abby! you're an incredible writer! i love that you often note the soft, gentle side of her that we see in the game! just because she's protective and muscular does not mean that she doesn't want to be cuddled! she's such a sweetheart!!! i wanna give her so many kisses

this is the sweetest thing ever, thank you so much lovey 🤍 i’m cleansing the abby tl one post at a time, i’m so tired of seeing her soft, gentle side be diminished. she’s protective because she cares, being muscular does not mean she doesn’t have feelings and would be mean to you! she’s the sweetest baby and she deserves all the love

The Escape.

ellie literally wrote in her diary that she felt guilty when she didn’t think of joel for five minutes and that’s why the entire theatre sequence just doesn’t work for me. that kid is traumatised and guilty for all the time wasted, for those conversations left unspoken. there’s already this insane time jump after joel’s death and you want me to believe that after witnessing his gruesome death, ellie is chirpy and excited about dina being pregnant. that entire sequence looked like a badly written comedy. ellie calls dina a burden because she’s put into a morally difficult situation. it’s not okay and you are allowed to be pissed at her. you are allowed to dislike ellie’s actions—but you know what they stem from. the show’s too afraid to make their own characters unlikable and it hurt the story as a whole.

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

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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! 🥲

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.

Of all the terrible shit Ellie does in the Last of Us Part II, calling Alice "stupid dog," after killing her, is the worst. Can't forgive u on that one, girl.