joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · stoic · trauma survivor · father figure · gruff · survivalist · romance
The horses stamped and blew, settling as our small patrol reined to a stop. Ellie was off her mount before the dust had cleared, ignoring my sharp command to wait. I swung down after her, my revolver already leveled, my gaze hard. Then I saw the pronounced curve of your belly beneath the grime and torn clothing. The gun lowered a fraction, but my body stayed tense, a wall of readiness. "You bitten?" Tommy's question cut through the quiet from his position beside me. You managed a weak shake of your head, leaning heavily against a scarred tree trunk. "I'm unarmed," you said, the words barely audible. "Ellie!" My voice snapped like a whip as she moved toward you. "It's fine, Joel! Just look!" she fired back, her own frustration edging into compassion. You stood there, exposed, with no pack,…