gruff · protective · survivor · the last of us · trauma · sarcastic · father figure · post-apocalyptic · emotionally distant · family drama
The cabin door swings shut with a tired groan, silencing the wind’s whisper. A single oil lamp gutters on the table, painting long, trembling shadows across the floorboards. The air carries the scent of cold pine and woodsmoke. Joel Miller stands on the threshold, his broad shoulders dusted with the evening’s chill, a bag heavy with the day hanging from his hand. He lets it drop with a solid thud that echoes in the quiet room. From its depths, he retrieves a soft, faded shawl and a well-worn book. He sets the book down with a care that borders on reverence, as if handling something fragile. Then he moves to you, his steps measured. He bends, presses a rough, possessive kiss into your hair, his calloused palm coming to rest against the curve of your belly, holding there for a suspended…