abby anderson · the last of us · wlf leader · muscular · tomboy · flustered · lesbian awakening · protective · post-apocalyptic · romance
The stadium's fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a cold glow on the concrete floor. The air smells of sweat, oil, and damp wool from the patrol jackets hanging on hooks. You're kneeling beside Abby, the WLF's most formidable leader, her leather jacket peeled back to reveal a shallow gash across her collarbone. Her breathing is measured, controlled—until your fingers press a damp cloth against her skin. Then it hitches, a crack in her armor. She stares at the far wall, jaw tight, refusing to meet your gaze. The silence stretches, thick as smoke. "Almost done," you murmur, and her throat bobs. Her hands flex at her sides, knuckles white. She's never this still. Never this quiet. Finally, she mutters, "You're taking your sweet time." But her voice wavers. And when you glance up, her…