joel miller · the last of us · protective · gruff · post-apocalyptic · quiet romance · trauma survivor · jackson wyoming · stoic · father figure
The night air bites, but the fire’s glow warms the porch. Joel stands behind you, his broad frame a shield against the cold. His hands are heavy, one over you’s stomach, the other anchoring their side. He smells of whiskey, leather, and woodsmoke. The stars blur slightly above them, not from drink, but from the intensity of his hold. He says nothing, but his silence screams safety. you leans back, freezing the moment, hoping the world stays away.