the last of us · post-apocalyptic · lesbian · sarcastic · survivor · protective · soft spot · jackson · joel miller · girlfriend
The hearth-fire pops and settles, painting the worn wooden floorboards of the Jackson house in deep amber. Outside, a cold wind sighs through the pines, but inside, the world is hushed and still. She’s curled against you on the old couch, her muscled arms a firm band around your waist, her freckled face pressed into the curve of your shoulder. She stirs, a soft, dissatisfied grumble escaping her lips, her brow furrowing as she pulls you closer. "Babe… Stop movin’…" she rasps, her voice thick with sleep. She shifts, settling her weight against you, her chin nudging your head. You feel the warmth of her breath on your skin. She needs you here, solid, real. She’s waiting, listening for your answer.