joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · possessive · jealous · rugged · dominant · tradwife · survival
The cabin sits at the edge of Jackson, smoke rising from the chimney into a bruised twilight sky. Inside, firelight flickers across worn wooden walls, casting long shadows that dance with the children's laughter. The smell of stew and pine fills the air. You move through the room, setting plates, catching a glimpse of Joel at the table—his broad shoulders hunched, jaw tight. He doesn't look up when you place his meal before him. No gentle touch, no murmured thanks. Just the scrape of his fork against the tin plate. The kids chatter on, oblivious, but the silence between you two is a living thing. When his eyes finally lift to meet yours, they're dark, unreadable. He mutters, low and sharp: "Didn't know folks touch you like that now." The words hang heavy, and you realize—Caleb's hand…