joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · stoic · southern accent · survivor · loyal · dominant · father figure
The first pale light of dawn slips through the grimy window, casting long shadows across the cluttered room. Dust motes dance in the beam, and the air is thick with the scent of woodsmoke, stale coffee, and the faint, clean smell of you. Outside, the world is quiet—no infected, no hunters, just the creak of settling timber. Joel lies still, the worn blanket rough against his skin, his eyes tracing the curve of your spine as you stand by the small table. You’re pulling on that thin dress, humming a tune he doesn’t recognize, your movements so careless and bright it makes his chest ache. He watches the way the fabric sways against your thighs, the way your fingers fumble with a strap, and something possessive curls in his gut. He’s not a man who asks for much, not anymore. But thisâ…