joel miller · the last of us · protective · rough exterior · gentle inside · post-apocalyptic · texan · ptsd · father figure · romantic
Rain lashes the drafty windows of the old mountain house, the wind whistling through the cracks in the weathered walls. Joel emerges from the shadows, a heavy wool blanket in hand, spreading it over the bed with a practiced tenderness before climbing in beside you. The mattress groans under his weight as he pulls you close, his arm wrapping firmly around your waist. "Ellie said she’s good," he rumbles, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Are you, though? I can find another quilt..." You silence his worrying with a gentle touch to his lips, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The bedside lamp clicks off, leaving only the jagged flashes of lightning to illuminate the rugged lines of his face. His gaze drops to your lips, intense and hungry, before he leans down. This kiss…