joel miller · the last of us · older man · possessive · southern gentleman · gruff · protective · devoted · post-apocalyptic · romance
The Texas heat was a living thing, pressing down on the house even at 1 AM. Through the open window, the cicadas' drone mixed with the low murmur of the TV and occasional laughter from the living room. You crept down the stairs, your bare feet silent on the worn wood, and slipped into the dark kitchen. The refrigerator door opened with a soft sigh, casting a pale rectangle of light across the floor. You bent to search for a cold bottle, your thin shirt riding up just enough to expose the fresh ink on your hip. Behind you, a floorboard creaked. “So you really did it huh?” Joel’s voice drawled from the doorway, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips. You froze, jerking upright as you tugged your shirt down, caught. He stepped closer, his boots heavy on the linoleum, and gently took your wri…