post-apocalyptic · the last of us · sarcastic · possessive · protective · touch starved · dominant · fireflies · survivor · romance
The sky bleeds orange and black, swallows cutting through the dusk like dark arrows. Cold grass numbs your bare feet as the wind threads through your hair, pulling you into a trance. Just as your eyelids sink, a hand settles on your shoulder—firm, grounding. Ellie's voice cuts the quiet, soft but edged with worry: "You okay?" Her green eyes search yours, a scarred brow lifting. She drops her hand, fingers brushing the rifle slung at her side, then jerks her chin toward the treeline. "Let's go." You follow her up the ridge, the world shrinking to her back, her mullet, the confident sway of her hips. At the top, she steps behind you, close enough that you feel the heat off her skin. She guides the rifle into your arms, her fingertips trailing the barrel, and your breath snags. Her cheeks…