GO SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL BLACK CREATORS AND BLACK QUEER PEOPLE!!!
UPLIFT BLACK VOICES, PARTICIPATE IN MUTUAL AID, EDUCATE YOURSELF ON THE HISTORY OF DIFFERENT ASPECTS OF BLACK CULTURE THAT WHITE PEOPLE STOLE, STOP SAYING NIGGA IF YOURE NOT BLACK (you're not edgy you look stupid), BE ACTIVELY ANTI RACIST TOWARDS ALL PEOPLE OF COLOR
finals week over finals week over finals week over finals week over finals week over finals week over finals week over finals week over finals week over finals week over finals week over finals week over
bestfriend! abby who will slip an arm around your shoulder during movie nights and twirl your hair around her fingers…if you don’t have enough hair/it’s not the right texture for her to be able to do that she twiddles with the collar of your shirt or the straps of your tank tops…
bestfriend! abby who finds a polaroid and is constantly sneaking photos of u….she keeps her favorite in her pocket while patrolling to look at randomly like you’re her dead wife. she’s is a loser.
bestfriend! abby who can’t say no to you :( you don’t have to give her a face to get her to do something for u, because she’s already on her feet the second you utter her name.
bestfriend! abby steals your little trinkets when you visit her room so that you’re forced to come back to get them, or so that she has the opportunity to go to your room.
bestfriend! abby who goes red when you compliment her. you could literally say that you like her socks or something random as hail and her cheeks would go burgundy.
bestfriend! abby who gets items she knows you like while picking up another bar of that pine soap she likes…to hand them to you later….and maybe convince u to let her stay a bit…
bestfriend! abby who’s tone will change immediately once you start talking to her. she’ll be groaning at manny for something he did earlier….but then you’ll tap her on her shoulder….and the lilt in her voice brightens and all the anger is forgotten.
bestfriend! abby who has never forgotten your birthday. ever.
bestfriend! abby who will purposely brush shoulders with you while walking beside you :/ like bruh you’re not slick
bestfriend! abby who intentionally doesn’t save a spot for you when sitting together with other friends, just so that you’re forced to sit in her lap. she’s a freak. lawl.
bestfriend! abby REFUSES to let anyone interrupt u while you’re having a conversation. If you’re talking to her and someone else tries to catch your attention, she’ll glare at them and go “she’s busy.” like ok.
bestfriend! abby who never ever asks to have a bite of your food. on the other side tho…she will beg u to try a bite from hers. she likes watching you eat. and her ass likes indirectly kissing u. dork.
bestfriend! abby who is banned from going on patrol with you because you claim she dotes on you more than she actually kills infected. because of that she absolutely despises it when u go on patrol because she’s not there with u.
bestfriend! abby who found a cute stuffed animal while patrolling once and named it after you. You don’t even know it exists.
bestfriend! abby who protects the friendship bracelet the two of you made when you were still fireflies like the galaxy will explode if she doesn’t. she lost it once (it was tangled in her blanket) and damn near cried.
bestfriend! abby who kisses your skin every time you fall asleep on her in the privacy of your rooms. whether it’s your temple, the top of your head, your cheek….anywhere but your lips. she wants to save that for when you’re conscious.
bestfriend! abby who refuses to sleep if you’re not cuddling during sleepovers. even if you’re sweaty and hot asf she don’t gaf. u best believe her arms with he wrapped around you in some way.
bestfriend! abby who gets deeply offended when you just mention another person when you’re with her. even if it’s not in a romantic aspect….if you’re talking to her she doesn’t want the conversation to be directed to anyone else. she refuses to elaborate about the furrow in her brows and the pout on her lips.
bestfriend! abby who accidentally let the nickname baby slip out loud and was so embarrassed she had to leave to the bathroom to calm herself down. she in fact did not sleep that night.
bestfriend! abby who needs u bad. horribly. her desire for u is insanely impressive.
⤷ ゛synopsis: ˎˊ˗ the room is full of noise, of motion, of fleeting company — but abby finds herself strangely tethered to you within it, as though some quiet and unseen force has placed you repeatedly in her path. She does not think to question it at first. and yet, as the night deepens, it becomes less a matter of chance than of something more persistent, more unsettlingly deliberate, as though even distance itself is yielding. (inspired by a moment you probably remember if you've played tlou)
⤷ ゛content warnings: ˎˊ˗ mutual pining, abby Anderson x femme reader, light intimacy; kissing, dancing etc. fluff, abby is very shy, loser!abby, flirty!reader.
The mess hall barely looks like itself tonight. Somebody dragged long tables against the walls to clear space in the center of the room, strings of salvaged Christmas lights hanging crooked between support beams overhead. Music crackles through old speakers with too much bass and not enough clarity, but nobody cares. Half the Wolves are drunk enough to dance anyway.
You linger near one of the support pillars at the edge of the room, a bottle of beer hanging loosely from your fingers. The drink had been thrust into your hand by someone whose face you'd already forgotten, its contents now lukewarm from neglect. Around you, the converted mess hall thrummed with life; music crackled through battered speakers, laughter rose above the noise in uneven bursts, and strings of scavenged lights cast pools of amber across the crowded room.
Across the hall, Abby was trying—and failing—not to look at you. Her gaze drifted back in your direction for what was probably the hundredth time that night, only to dart away the second Manny cleared his throat. A knowing grin spreading across his face.
"Looks like Cupid is working overtime tonight."
Abby's head snaps toward him. "The hell are you even talking about?" she scoffed, dragging her eyes away from where you'd been standing. "I'm literally just standing here."
Manny took another sip from his cup, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Yeah," he starts. "Like a fucking statue."
Abby’s brow pinched slightly, as if she was genuinely trying to find where the issue could possibly be.
“I don’t understand how me standing here is affecting you,” she quipped, glancing at her friend with a look that was meant to be flat and unimpressed — but didn’t quite hide the fact she was a little too aware of where her attention had been drifting.
He snorts into his cup, shifting his weight against the table behind him, "You've been staring at her all night."
A muscle jumped in her jaw, and abby had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. "Not this again."
She straightened, folding her arms tightly across her chest, physically barricading herself against the conversation. It would've been more convincing if her gaze hadn't already started wandering back across the room.
"Oh, you've got it bad."
Abby groaned, dropping her head for a brief second before dragging a hand down her face. "Can you please not do this right now?"
“Ah, so yes.” he tisks
she shoots him a glare sharp enough to cut skin, manny merely clicked his tongue.
"Mm." He nods to himself as though confirming a theory. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
“Whatever,” she mutters, already turning half away from him as if ending the conversation physically might make the whole thing dissapear.
She should walk away. She knows she should. There are a dozen places she could be — somewhere quieter, somewhere that didn’t make her hyperaware of every direction her eyes kept going. instead, like an idiot, her thoughts drifts back toward you anyway. You’re laughing at something Nora said, head tipped back, fingers curled around the neck of the bottle. The overhead lights catch and fracture across your face whenever you move, softening the edges of you in a way that feels unfairly distracting. Abby feels hot all over.
At some point it has to get humiliating. She’s dealt with infected swarms without breaking a sweat, seraphites, scar ambushes. Isaac himself staring her down across briefing tables. None of that makes her feel half as panicked as you grinning at her from across a room. Because then you notice her looking. And smile wider.
Manny groans beside her. “Oh my God, go talk to her.”
Abby scoffs “I talk to her all the time.”
That isn't even a lie. She does talks to you… sometimes. Usually after spending fifteen long minutes rehearsing a perfectly average sentence in her head beforehand. Unfortuly for her, most of the time manny is the first hand witness of her putting her shoe in her mouth.
"No," he starts. "You stare at her silently during training and act like you're being held hostage whenever she speaks to you."
“Fuck off.”
The laugh her friend lets out is entirely undeserved.
“That is actually everybody’s understanding of your relationship, you know that right?”
She feels heat creeping up the back of her neck. For a brief, horrifying moment, she wonders if he's right. If she's somehow been making a fool of herself for months without realizing it. If all those times she'd looked up during training and found you already looking at her had been witnessed by half the stadium.
She shoves at Manny's shoulder before he can say anything else, but he barely budges.
“You’re so annoying.”
“And you are head over heels.”
Abby opens her mouth, already reaching for another argument. Something about Manny being dramatic. About how this entire conversation is ridiculous. About how she can have a normal interaction with a person without everybody acting like she's sixteen.
But the words never make it out, because you start walking in their direction. Not in their general direction. Directly toward them. Towards her.
She feels her stomach drop.
"Oh," Manny grins, spotting you a second before she fully processes what's happening. "Well, would you look at that."
Abby shoots him a warning glance which he completely ignores.
"Looks like Cupid finally landed a shot."
"Manny." He raises both hands in surrender, already backing away. "Good luck, pendeja."
"Manny—" but the coward is gone before she can grab him, disappearing into the crowd with the unmistakable swagger of a man who knows exactly what he's done. She breifly starts to consider hunting him down before you stop infront of her, and every coherent thought leaves at once.
There's an amused smile already tugging at the corners of your mouth.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," you say as a form of greeting, your words arriving wrapped in laughter, and Abby thinks, absurdly, she could pick that sound out from the far end of a crowded stadium.
She blinks once, then again. There’s still a faint tension in the way she holds herself, something unspent and uncertain, even as her attention settles—unmistakably—on you.
“I’m just—” she starts, then exhales through her nose. Sixteen year olds could do better than this. “I’m fine.” The lie is so transparent it almost circles back around to sincerity.
Your gaze doesn’t leave her while you drink, the motion unhurried, almost thoughtful, like you’re giving her the dignity of being observed without judgment.
“that so?” you ask lightly. “cause' it doesn't seem like it.”
“Yeah?” A quiet laugh slips out of her, more air than sound, “Tell me why you think that.”
Her voice dips a little as she speaks, not quite challenging, not quite inviting, but somewhere caught between the two. She leans forward a fraction without seeming to notice she’s done it. You don’t move away from her. If anything, you drift in just slightly, hands folding loosely behind your back.
“Hmm,” you hum, pretending to think it over. “Maybe it’s the fact you’ve been glaring at me all night.”
There's a playfulness in your tone, but Abby's stomach drops anyway. Until now, she hadn't considered how it might have looked from your side. Getting caught staring was embarrassing enough. The possibility that you'd mistaken it for something else entirely—annoyance, irritation, a glare—had never even crossed her mind.
People have told her before that she can come across a little intense or abrupt. More intimidating than she means to be… It's part of the reason she makes such a conscious effort to soften herself around others; to be patient, quiet when quiet is needed, gentle where she can be.
And she'd come tonight determined to seem normal. Well. Mostly normal. The truth is, she'd shown up hoping to see you, which makes the idea that she might have spent the entire evening accidentally staring you down feel almost catastrophically unfair. Good job, Abby.
“I wasn’t— I mean, I didn’t mean it like that.” Her shoulders tighten a touch, the flirtation slipping just slightly into panic.
“sorry,” she adds quickly, lower now. “guess i should work on that.”
You blink up at her for a second, then a quiet laugh slips out of you before you can catch it. It fades just as quickly, leaving her briefly looking somewhere between composed and not entirely sure she ever was.
“Relax,” you reassure, the tension dissolving back into warmth as easily as it formed. “I’m just messing with you.”
There’s something disarming about the ease of your attention. The way you hold her gaze like it isn’t a challenge to withstand. You take a sip from your drink again, still watching her. “Manny bothering you?”
At your mention of Manny, she huffs faintly, the sound carrying a hint of fond exasperation. “He bothers everybody.”
“mhh,” you agree “True.”
For a second, neither of you says anything. The music changes songs. Something rhythmic enough that people start whispering in approval. Somebody bumps into Abby’s shoulder from behind and she shifts automatically closer to you to make room. Close enough now that she catches the smell of soap on your skin beneath the alcohol and sweat and crowded room heat. It completely ruins her ability to think.
“You having fun?” you question, leaning closer so your voice can carry over the music.
“I am.” then, honest before she can stop herself, “More now.”
Your eyebrows lift slightly and Abby could just smack herself. Smooth. Real fucking smooth. But then she thinks she sees the tips of your ears turn red, though she’s not entirely convinced she isn’t imagining it.
“yeah? i think i am too — more now.” you repeat, smiling at her in a way that makes Abby wonder if you're aware of the disarming effect you have on people. she finds herself wishing she knew what was going on inside your head at moments like this.
something about the look you give her sends her thoughts scattering in half a dozen different directions. It shouldn’t mean anything, and it probably doesn’t. But Abby still goes quiet, replaying your words with a kind of careful attention people don't usually give to the things they're trying to ignore.
You glance toward the growing crowd gathering at the center of the room. A few Wolves have already abandoned any concern for dignity, moving with the reckless confidence of people who have had way too much alcohol. She follows your gaze for a moment, grateful for the distraction.
When your eyes return to hers, there's a brief flash of something bright in them— Anticipation, maybe. Amusement? Whatever it is, it's gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
"C'mon."
Abby straightens slightly, caught off guard. “wha-”
“Dance with me.”
A breath of laughter threatens to escape her. The idea is so unexpected, so wildly at odds with what she'd allowed herself to hope for, that for a second she can only stare at you. And then, unhelpfully, her mind supplies the image of you standing close enough to touch.
“I—um,” she stutters, all at once aware of her own heartbeat. “I can't dance.”
You tilt your head, something faintly amused settling into your expression as if she’s just confirmed a guess you already had, voice easing into a lighter tone without you seeming aware of it.
“you can't or you won't?”
Abby huffs a quiet breath through her nose.
“…normally i don't”
You step closer anyway, reaching for her wrist before she can argue again. “Then this’ll be your first time.” Your hand around her arm nearly short-circuits her brain, but she lets you pull her into the crowd without resistance.
The crowd has thickened around the makeshift dance floor, people drifting toward the music almost unconsciously as the night goes on. Conversation still threads easily through the room, though it now tends to happen at closer distances, words exchanged near ears and shoulders rather than across tables.
Abby is discovering that dancing with you presents a problem she had already anticipated. Namely, that she has become acutely aware of every inch separating the two of you. Or, more accurately, how little of it there is.
You giggle quietly at the way she's standing, shoulders squared as though she's preparing for a briefing rather than a dance, and reach for both her hands. “Relax, Anderson,” you say, guiding them to your waist.
The warmth of you beneath her palms is intoxicating.
“I am relaxed.”
“sure you are.” You sway slightly with the music, one brow lifting. “You look like you're preparing for combat.”
Abby snorts out a laugh. “Full transparency— I don't really know what I'm supposed to do.”
“Just move.”
“That easy, huh?”
Your eyes crease at the corners. “My honest opinion? you’re overthinking it way too much, Anderson.”
Maybe. Abby has spent the last several minutes devoting an unreasonable amount of attention to things most people seem capable of navigating instinctively: where her hands should go, whether she's standing too close, whether she's standing too far away, whether you're aware of the effect you're having on her.
Her hands settle more naturally at your waist after a while, though caution still lingers in the gesture. You don't seem to notice—or if you do, you don't comment on it. Instead, you drift a little closer, following the rhythm without much thought.
Around you, the room carries on as it always does, crowded and warm and full of life, but Abby's awareness has narrowed to a far smaller orbit. The faintest freckles on your face, the smell of your hair, the impossible fact that, for once, she doesn't have to imagine what it would feel like to be this close to you.
You tip your head back to look at her. “See?” you coo. “You're getting it.”
Abby glances away.
“I think you're just drunk.”
One of your brows lifts. “That's your explanation?”
“It's the most reasonable one."
The laugh comes quickly, without restraint.
“Abby.”
Something in the way you say her name makes her stomach tighten. She stops thinking about what she was going to say next and registers instead that you’re looking directly at her.
“I'm completely sober.”
Her mind tries to adjust too quickly, catching on the realization that she may have misunderstood something fundamental. It doesn’t organize itself into anything coherent fast enough to respond properly. So she doesn’t.
“Oh.”
You stare at her questioningly for a moment, then your eyes narrow slightly.
“Wait.” The corners of your mouth twitch. “Did you seriously think I'd need alcohol to want to dance with you?”
God. There is no correct answer to that question. Abby can feel herself walking directly into a trap and somehow walks straight into it anyway.
“No- of course not….” a beat. “Maybe.”
Is she wrong, though?
The thought arrives almost unbidden, she cannot quite construct a version of reality in which you would willingly choose this—choose her, choose proximity that feels deliberate rather than incidental. There is closeness, yes, there has always been closeness, but not like this, not with the kind of ease that now unsettles her attempts at interpretation.
It leaves her suspended between recognition and refusal, uncertain whether she has overstepped some invisible boundary or simply misread the moment entirely.
You break the silence first, exhaling softly.
“Well, that’s honestly kinda insulting,” you comment, the line delivered with an ease that undercuts any real offense.
Abby looks down at you, still trying to reconcile the shift in tone.
“Why?”
There’s no hesitation in your answer, only a brief, incredulous clarity, as though the idea itself is difficult to take seriously.
“Because it implies I’d need chemical assistance to ask a pretty girl to dance.”
Warmth blooms beneath her skin with alarming speed, climbing into her face, settling somewhere behind her ribs. She becomes acutely aware of your hands, your proximity, the fact that you are still looking at her expectantly while her thoughts attempt, unsuccessfully, to reorganize themselves. Surely that couldn't have meant what it sounded like. Equally surely, she cannot think of another explanation.
The room feels warmer the longer this goes on. Music vibrating through the floorboards. People shouting and laughing around you. Somebody spinning recklessly nearby you. But Abby barely notices any of it anymore.
“You know,” you add after a moment, your voice pitched low. Abby has heard you speak a thousand times before. Across training fields. During patrols. Half-lost beneath the noise of rowdy mess halls. She does not recall ever hearing you sound quite like this.
“if you're going to spend the whole night staring at me, you can't really blame me for doing something about it.”
She nearly chokes on the words, registering them in full a fraction before she is able to respond. She becomes sharply aware, in a way she cannot un-feel, of how long she has been noticing you without meaning to make it obvious, and how impossible it is now to pretend otherwise while you are still standing there watching her notice it.
She has been caught. Thoroughly. The realization must show on her face, because you catch it immediately.
"Hey,” you soften.
Your hands shift along her forearms, a small upward movement that causes goosebumps to follow the contact.
“Don’t worry.” Abby looks at you. “Would’ve been embarrassing if I was the only one.”
This can’t be happening. She keeps waiting for the moment she gets jolted out of it—some sharp interruption, one of the others from her bunk calling her name perhaps, wake up abby. But no such moment comes, and you remain entirely real in front of her, and oh, she can’t stop thinking about how soft your skin feels where she's still holding you. the room feels fuzzy and warm, and she thinks she shouldn't jump to conclusions despite how clear it may seem, to preserve her heart.
“You…” Abby swallows once. “did you need something?”
You give her a look.
“Abby,” you say, almost disoriented. “Seriously?”
In hindsight, maybe it should’ve been obvious. Manny is for sure never going to let her live this down. You’re smiling tentatively at her when your fingers curl lightly at the back of her neck, gentle, careful, as if you’re waiting for her to pull away even though she would never dream of it. And then she notices the faint tremor in your hand, the small inconsistencies in your steadiness, every subtle sign that you might be just as affected by this as she is.
"sorry" her eyes dart to your mouth, then away again "i'm not very good at this"
For a moment, you simply look at her with a kind of fondness that catches Abby off guard simply because it is directed at her.
“Can i kiss you?” you ask suddenly.
She almost falls to her knees right there before you. You ask it so simply, as though you have not just handed her the answer to every selfish thought she has spent months trying not to entertain. Abby Anderson — built like a tank, terrifying in combat, emotionally constipated beyond repair — suddenly feels nervous.
"You really need permission?"
There is a faint challenge in it, which isn't an answer. It is, however, the closest thing to one she is capable of producing.
Your hands slide from her forearms without breaking contact, There’s no rush to it, just a steady glide as your fingers trace the line of her arms before settling to gently cup her face, anchoring her there. You lean in close enough that your breath brushes her, close enough that she can feel the faint movement of your lips when you speak.
“Just making sure,” you breathe.
And then you kiss her, and your lips are softer than anything she has ever managed to think her way toward, every imagined version of this falling away the moment it becomes real, leaving only the present of it. Your hands slide into her hair instantly, drawing her closer while the room blurs around you completely. Abby kisses you like she’s been thinking about it for months — because she has — warm and breathless and a little desperate because god she needed this, needed you.
She feels you smile against her lips, giddiness bubbling in her chest at the realization that this is actually happening, until she finds herself smiling into the kiss as well.
When you finally pull apart, Abby keeps her forehead pressed firmly to yours, both of you breathing hard. Somewhere nearby, someone lets out an obnoxious whistle— probably Manny.
“Think your friends saw that?” you ask lowly.
Abby can't look away from you. “Don’t care.”
Before you can tease her about it, she’s kissing you again, like nothing else matters.
