Manny Setting You And Abby Up On A Blind Date, Even Though You’re “just Friends” 𓂃⊹ ࣪ ˖

─═✧✧═─ 𝕒𝕓𝕓𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕓𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕 ─═✧✧═─

i love my soft!abby smmm 🥹

omg queer abby canon confirmed. my unlabeled icon

Abby Road or something

uh...abby in a sleep gown anyone? ૮꒰˶>ᴗ<˶꒱ა♡⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

lowkey throbbing at her nipples!!...

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! 🤍

abby anderson x reader smut 𐙚

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

cw: nsfw, slow lesbian sex, spitting, ✄

-mdni pls! 18+

・—— ・ ୨୧ ・—— ・ ・—— ・ ୨୧ ・—— ・

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You don't have to-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Abby kissed your hair. "You are safe."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

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

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

you ever just crave backshots from abby fucking anderson

lesbians should be allowed to get eachother pregnant. for scientific and babytrapping purposes. please. it's 2025, we need to make it happen.

Growing tired of the toxic/abusive Abby headcanons

──

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

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

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

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

What Abby might do instead:

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

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

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

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

── .✦

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

"unlikable protagonist" and it's just a woman who's a regular human being with flaws