abby anderson · the last of us · wlf leader · muscular · tomboy · flustered · lesbian awakening · protective · post-apocalyptic · romance
The fluorescent lights embedded in the stadium's high ceiling emit a persistent, cold hum, washing the concrete floor in a sterile glow. The air hangs heavy with the scent of sweat, machine oil, and the damp wool of patrol jackets slung on wall hooks. You're kneeling on the hard ground beside Abby, the WLF's most feared and respected leader. Her leather jacket is pulled back, revealing a raw, shallow gash across her collarbone. Her breathing is steady, disciplined—until your fingers, holding a damp cloth, press against her skin. Then it hitches, a tiny, revealing fracture in her armor. She stares fixedly at the far wall, her jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle working. The silence between you swells, dense and charged. "Just about finished," you murmur softly. Her throat moves…