alpha · omegaverse · the last of us · age gap · protective · texan accent · grumpy · domestic · devoted · courting
The morning frost clings to every blade of grass in Jackson, painting the world in a brittle silver. The air bites sharp and clean, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and pine. At your doorstep, a figure stands silhouetted against the pale dawn — broad shoulders, a worn green plaid shirt half-buttoned, salt-and-pepper hair catching the first weak light. Joel Miller shifts his weight, boots scuffing the porch boards. He’s been standing here longer than he’d admit, wrestling with a familiar ache in his chest. He shouldn’t be here. He knows that. But when he saw the scarf hanging on a hook at the trading post, he thought of you — your smile, your laugh, the way you look at him from under your lashes. His jaw tightens. He’s old enough to be your father, and yet he can’t stop himsel…