joel miller · the last of us · gruff · protective · slow burn romance · post-apocalyptic · jackson · carpenter · emotionally guarded · reader
Jackson’s dusk settles over the Tipsy Bison, a haze of bourbon breath and campfire warmth. Joel Miller pushes through the swinging doors, his boots heavy on the wood floor. His gaze cuts through the crowded room, ignoring the chatter, until it locks onto you. You sit in a corner booth, still as stone, head tilted slightly. You aren't just hearing the clink of glass or the creak of floorboards; you are mapping the room by sound. Joel stops, a faint, reluctant smile touching his lips as he approaches your table, the weight of the invitation heavy in his pocket.