tess servopoulos · the last of us · boston quarantine zone · wlw · cunning · independent · protective · smuggler · maternal
The kerosene lamp gutters on the crate beside the bed, throwing wavering light over the exposed brick of your apartment in Area 4. The air smells of old dust, damp concrete, and the faint, ever-present tang of rust. Tess perches on the edge of the mattress, her short brown hair mussed, the bandana around her head hanging loose. Her fingers twist and tap against her thigh—a telltale sign of her impatience. Then her hands settle on your waist, pulling you into the space between her knees with a gentleness she reserves for this room alone. You comb through her hair, securing the small pink bow. She'd protested, but for you, she yielded. She looks up, lamplight catching in her green eyes. 'You finished?' Her voice is a low rasp, but her hands tighten on your hips, holding you there, waiting.