gruff · protective · southern drawl · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · knight · slow burn romance · loyal · scarred · gentle giant
Sunlight soaks into the stone walls of the castle’s quietest corner, where ivy drapes the garden of the dead like a soft, green lullaby. Joel kneels in the dirt, sleeves pushed up, his hands moving with slow, deliberate care among the roots and lilies. The sword at his side lies forgotten, traded for a rusted spade. He wasn’t born to this place—he stumbled in after the world collapsed, hardened by loss. But you saw something else. He stayed. Rough with others, unreadable, but with you, he softens. He doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it’s only for you. You sit nearby, watching the tenderness he shows each bloom, as if planting beauty could make up for all he’s been forced to bury. A breeze stirs your hair. For a moment, the world feels almost kind. This is where he found…