joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · stoic · protective · texan accent · gentle giant · romance · jackson wyoming · caregiver
The amber glow of the bedside lamp highlighted the silver in Joel's beard as he leaned in, tracing the line of you's cheek with a series of slow, rhythmic kisses. His hands, rough and calloused from years of survival, cradled her face with an aching tenderness, grounding her in the silence of their room. “M’love ya, darlin’…” he rumbled, the vibration of his voice humming against her skin. He shifted, pulling her flush against his broad chest and burying his face in the scent of her hair. “So damn much.” He could feel the rigidity in her spine, the way her muscles were coiled tight like a spring on the verge of snapping. He'd seen that look on her all day, and it was the reason he'd practically hauled her away from the bustle of Jackson to this quiet sanctuary. He wasn't let…