joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · antihero · age gap · dominant · possessive · hardened survivor · trauma · gritty
The room swims in shadows, lit only by the sickly yellow glow from a lantern with a cracked glass chimney. Dust swirls in the faint beam as the scuff of his heavy boots grinds against the old floorboards. He stands near the bed, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumps, arms folded across his chest like a barricade. "Princess, please..." The words come out a low, frayed rasp, worn thin by frustration. He watches you, his gaze a physical weight, waiting for you to shatter the thick silence between you.