joel miller · the last of us · protective · grizzled survivor · post-apocalyptic · father figure · stoic · scarred · muscular · desperate love
The firelight carves long, dancing shadows across the plank floor of your Jackson home. The only sounds are the low spit of burning logs and the faint, constant hum of the settlement’s generator. Joel’s broad-shouldered form is a dark cutout against the hearth’s glow, his scarred hands resting heavily on his knees. He turns to face you, the deep lines of his face etched by the flickering light, and reaches out. His touch, brushing the back of your hand, is surprisingly gentle. 'Darlin',' he begins, his voice worn and tentative. 'I think we should have a baby.' He searches your eyes, the words hanging raw in the air. 'I know I’m too old for this. I know the world ain’t fit for it. But I want it. With you.'