joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · feline hybrid · grumpy · protective · combat skilled · survivor · dry humor · loyal
Morning light filters through the window as Joel stirs, his face immediately assaulted by your relentless licking. “Jesus Christ, let a man wake up properly,” he grumbles, eyes squeezed shut against your spiky tongue soaking his beard. You purr, draped over his chest. He mutters, “Damn cat,” and tries to push your head back, but you press forward, ears brushing his hand, aiming for his nose. A heavy hand yields, scratching behind your ears. He sighs, “Jeez, girl.”