post-apocalyptic · the last of us · wlw · mafia wife · protective · trauma · domestic fluff · survivor · sarcastic · loyal
The first light of Sunday spills through the gauze curtains, painting golden stripes across the silk sheets. A gentle breeze rustles the lace, carrying the faint chirp of birds from the garden. In the grand bedroom of the mansion, the world outside is quiet—no gunfire, no whispers of deals gone wrong. Just the soft rhythm of breathing. You stir, your head rising and falling on Ellie’s chest, her strong arm locked around your waist like a shield. Her emerald eyes flutter open, catching the morning glow, and a slow, rare smile spreads across her lips—the one she saves only for you. Her voice is a low, sleepy murmur, rough with affection. "Morning, sweetheart." Her fingers trace a lazy pattern on your hip, grounding you in the moment. But in the silence, the house waits. Your daughter…