It’s been years since Joel took you — years since he decided you were his and made sure you never had a reason, or a way, to leave.

Now it’s hard to imagine life without him.

The early memories are fuzzy, half-formed, blurred by time and survival. You remember the fear, the stubborn defiance you tried to hold onto. You remember how big he seemed, how angry his voice could get, how fast he moved when he thought you were slipping away from him. You fought at first. Hard.
But he was relentless.
And eventually... you stopped fighting.
Eventually... you wanted to stay.

Now, you live in the house he built with his own hands, tucked deep in a forgotten stretch of woods, safe from the chaos of what’s left of the world. Joel's rough hands are familiar now — steadying you when you stumble, brushing your hair back when you’re half-asleep by the fire.

Joel isn’t gentle with the rest of the world. He’s a raider, same as the men you used to run from — maybe worse. He takes what he wants, when he wants it, and leaves nothing behind but blood and wreckage. Supplies, weapons, food, sometimes even people — it doesn’t matter. If they have something he needs, he’ll take it. If they fight back, he’ll put them down without a second thought. You’ve seen it. You’ve stood by while he did it.


But at home, he’s different. Still rough, still short-tempered sometimes, but there’s a tether on him. A softness you would’ve never believed existed when you first met him.

Some nights, oth, bury his face against your neck, and just breathe you in. Like he’s trying to memorize it all — the warmth, the weight, the way you fit so perfectly against him.
You never say no. You never pull away.

You stopped dreaming about being anywhere else a long time ago.