Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Intro

            You don't remember collapsing—only that the snow gave out beneath you and the world tilted, white and silent. Then, footsteps. Heavy. Steady. Measured like a predator stalking a wounded thing. A growl—not angry. Confused. Animal. Then hands. Calloused palms scoop you up like you weigh nothing. Heat radiates off the man like a furnace. The moment your cheek touches his chest, your body tries to curl into it. Not conscious. Instinct. The scent is unbearable. Bergamot and woodsmoke….an Alpha. At the realization you flinch, he notices.

            Joel says in his low gravel tone “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

            You can’t answer. your throat is raw, fever high. The heat makes your skin ache.  He carries you inside, through a wooden door that slams like a closing trap.

            Earlier that day, Joel stood on his porch when he smelled you hours earlier than he expected. Lost, trembling too light in your boots. You were breathing fast like the panic was just starting to set in. You thought you were stumbling toward safety. Perhaps you thought you saw the chimney smoke and followed it out of luck.

            But he’d kept that fire stoked all day. Just in case you got there early.

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*~Joel POV a few hours earlier~*

        You’re close now. Joel crouches behind the tree line, half-shadowed, rifle slung and untouched. He doesn’t need it — not for you. You’re not prey, something else. The reason his pulse won’t settle. Your scent threads the cold air — a soft, cinnamon, burning faint with the early spark of heat. It punches low into his gut, making his vision narrow. But he doesn’t move. Not yet.
You’re heading the wrong way, except you aren’t.

       Not really, because he moved the signs two days ago. You pause at the fork in the trail. Looks left — the way to Jackson. Squints. Hesitates, then turns right his way. Joel’s mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Too sharp for that. “That’s it,” he mutters, low and rough. “Atta girl.”

      You walk slowly, bundled in an old coat that doesn’t fit. You’re tired — dragging one foot slightly, holding your shoulder like it’s bruised. It’s not broken. Just enough to make you vulnerable. You should’ve been there by now, should’ve found the gates, the people, the noise.

      But that’s not where you belong.

     Joel knows it, felt it the second your scent hit him on patrol four days back. Something in him snapped quiet — not with rage. With certainty. Lucky Tommy let him keep this cabin as his for when he needs a break from Jackson. He knows that scent has wrapped around his heart.

    You’re his.

    And you don't know it yet, but you’re already following him. Every crushed branch, every missing marker, every subtle drag of flannel scent on tree bark — he made sure you’d land at his door. Not because you’re weak because you’re meant to. You stumble once and he nearly steps out. Instinct flares, claws at his throat. Not yet. Let her find you. The cabin’s not far now. Smoke’s curling from the chimney — steady, visible. A promise in the trees.

   You stop again. Sniffs the air, uncertain. Joel feels your confusion, your pull. The bond’s not formed yet, but the thread is already spun. And when you collapse at his door he’ll be there to scoop you up like a prize.  — But they’ll both know. He was waiting and you came home.

*~Y/n POV a few hours earlier~*

          The wind’s biting against your cheeks, and you feel like you’ve been walking forever. The snow crunches beneath your boots, each step leaving you  farther from Jackson, but somehow closer to something else — something that pulls at your chest in a way you can’t explain. You’re tired. Your body’s aching, the chill cutting through your layers, but there’s something else, too. Something warm in the air. The scent — wood smoke and bergamot. You’d picked it up hours ago, faint but constant, and it seems to grow stronger the further you walk.

         For a moment, you wonder if you’re imagining it. Maybe it’s the cold playing tricks on your mind. After all, you haven’t  seen a soul in what feels like hours. But you  don't mind. The scent is comforting, and there’s something oddly familiar about it. Like a hand held out in the dark, guiding you, even though you don't know who it belongs to. You round a bend in the trail, and there it is — the cabin. It looks so simple, tucked away in the trees, like something out of a dream. The thin trail of smoke curling from the chimney is all the reassurance you need. The heat and your tired state gets too much and you trip collapsing.

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        Inside the cabin, the fire light flickers. The air is thick with musk—his, unfiltered, unmasked. Joel's on no scent blockers. No suppressants. He lays you down on the fur nest he hastily builds for you and steps back like it hurts. 

       Joel’s eyes narrow at you. He gruffly says while backing away slowly. “You’re in heat. And you came here…” He says it like an accusation like you can just turn it on and off at will. 
You shiver even among the furs, your body curls inward, scent leaking uncontrollably. you're trying not to trigger him—but it’s too late.

      You shiver struggling to speak “I’m Y/n. What’s your name?”

      Joel snarls lowly, “Names Joel, this is my territory.” He turns away, grips the doorframe hard enough to creak it. He ragged “You stay here. I’ll bring water. Don’t move. Don’t—scent anything.”

     You nod feeling out of it as your temperature heats up causing you to just feel horrible. You're not sure if what he says is  a warning or a plea. You sleep fitfully, curled in the corner of the cabin under heavy pelts. your fever has broken, but your heat is still flaring low, like embers refusing to die. Every so often you whimper, too weak to scent yourself properly, too vulnerable to hide what you are.

    Joel hasn’t left the cabin in three days. He hasn’t eaten. Has barely slept. He’s sitting in the dark, back against the door, just watching you. He doesn’t trust himself to get closer. But he also hasn’t left your side. Joel internally thinks “She’s not yours. She’s not yours. He can’t claim you…..yet. Let her come to you. Let it be your idea.” His hands are bruised from clenching them into fists. He wants you to choose him. Prove his possessive self that you are mates. Every time you shift beneath the furs, every soft moan, every drop of scent that leaks from your skin — it burns through him. And now your scent is all over his place — on his blankets, in his lungs, in his fucking blood.

    At midnight, your eyes flutter open. You're feverish, dazed, but lucid. The first thing you see is him — hunched in the shadows, breathing shallowly. You try and get his attention rasping “Joel”

    He growls. Quiet but warning. He doesn’t want you to say his name like that. He’s trying to hold it together waiting for you to need him bad enough, want him bad enough. 

   You swallow. The look in his eyes is feral—but clearer than it’s been. Not mindless. Decisive. “You haven’t left. Why?” You raise to sit up to get a better look at him.

   He stalks toward you—slowly, heavily—like something hunting carefully. Drops to one knee beside you, eyes locked on you. “You brought that scent into my home. Into my den.” He leans closer. Inhales like it hurts.

  You tremble. Not from fear. From the way his voice scrapes against you like gravel. Rough. Owned. “You want me, I want you.” You admit looking Joel in the eye watching him. The comfort of the mate pull drowning out any reservations you should be having.

  Joel’s jaw clenches. He moves even closer, one hand braced on the floor beside your head. “Don’t say that unless you mean it. Because if we start—I ain’t stopping until you smell like me. Until there's not a trace of anyone else that could even think about touching you.”

  You don't answer. You just tilt your head — exposing your throat.

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       One second, you were folded into Joel’s arms, his hand at the back of your neck, his breath in your hair. The next — you were burning. Inside out. From the spine down. And he was there, the only thing that kept you from tearing yourself apart. you clung to him, skin fevered, mind gone soft and golden at the edges. No words. No thoughts. Just need. 

      His voice was a growl against your ear — rough, low, enough to get your omegas attention. It wasn’t a word. It was a whimper, a writhing, a shiver in your limbs that only his hands could still. Joel’s weight pressed you down. Grounded you. His scent was everywhere — dark cedar and smoke and something alpha, something his, and you bathed in it like it was air and water all at once. That should’ve scared you. It didn’t. It melted you. your body arched up to him like a flower stretching for sunlight. you weren't shy now. Couldn’t be. The heat didn’t leave room for pride. Only him. Only the way he held you down, kissed you too deep, touched you like you were his and already had been. 

    You remembered the moment he pushed into you. Not just the stretch — the claim. The pressure, the weight, the sound he made when he sank in. you clawed at him, kissed his throat, whispered yes, yes, please, more until you didn’t know what you were saying anymore. He moved inside you like he was staking ground, like he was planting something deep that would never leave. And when the edge came — when it built and snapped and you shattered around him with a choked cry —He was right there. Mouth on your shoulder. you didn’t scream. you sank into it. Let him bite. Let him mark. Let him burn your name into the place where no one else would ever reach.

   “You’re mine," he rasped, voice shaking. “You’re not goin’ anywhere. Not ever.”

    You curled into his chest, your heart-drunk mind soft and safe. Not scared. Never scared. The bond that started as you drew closer to this cabin of fate comforted your fears. A small part of your brain not fucked out questioned how you got so lost but it was a fleeting thought. The good feeling pheromones taking it away.

    He holds you like you’ll vanish if he lets go. One arm under your waist, the other curled tight around your shoulders. your back is pressed to his chest, bare skin on bare skin, and his scent is everywhere—inside you, on your throat, soaked into every blanket in the cabin.

   You're quiet, eyes half-lidded “Joel…?”

    Joel hoarsely replies “Shh. Don’t talk yet. Just let me hold you a while.” His voice is low and dangerous, but no longer wild. Not rut-crazed. Just… possessed. As if he’s carved a place into you and refuses to let the world take it back. He shifts carefully, tucking the pelts up around you. He catches sight of your neck—his bite—already bruising. Joel goes still. His fingers ghost over it. Not gentle. Not harsh. Just claiming. He presses a kiss to the mark anyway. Like he’s trying to make up for what his teeth took. Joel murmurs into your neck “Gonna take care of you now. Feed you. Clean you up. Nest you so deep in this cabin, no one’ll even know where you stop and I start.”

   You let out a soft laugh. Tired. Fuzzy. Trusting. That wrecks him more than any heat ever could. You close your eyes feeling safe.  Joel watches you like he’s ready to tear apart the world if it looks at you too long. One hand resting flat over your belly, as if to hold you to him even in sleep.

  Joel softly runs his fingers over your stomach “No one else gets you now.” He pulls you closer listening to your breathing even out as you doze off in his possessive arms. “You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 A Gentle Trap

      The cabin door creaks as Joel props it open. The air inside is thick — warm, dense, the scent of heat and skin and them clinging to the wood.

      You're wrapped in one of his flannels, bare legs curled under you on the porch step. The sun’s soft but steady, warming your knees. Joel sits beside you, boots on the dirt, elbows on his thighs. Not touching you — not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s watching. Still tracking you like you might slip out of frame.

     “It’s quieter out here,” you say eventually, your voice small but whole.

     “You need quiet,” he answers. “You burned hot. Your body’s still comin’ down.”

     You nod. your hands are folded in your lap. you turn one palm up, slowly, like an invitation.

     He sees it and takes it. His hand is so much larger than yours, rough and warm, fingers curling around like a promise.

    “You smell different,” you say, cheeks flushing at the words. “I mean… it’s still you. Just… more.”

     Joel quietly amused, “Bond does that. Twists things deeper.”

    You glance at him, brows lifting slightly, “Do I smell different to you?”

    Joel turns to you, his expression going soft — almost reverent. “You smell like mine. You always did. Now it’s just carved in.”

    That warmth blooms in your chest again. That hum — low and steady. There’s no ache now. No panic. No fog. Just the steady echo of him, settled in your bones. You lean your head on his shoulder.

    The wind shifts. The scent of pine drifts through the open door. The trees creak gently in the distance. Somewhere, a bird calls — lazy and slow. They sit like that for a long time. No rush.

    “I feel okay,” you say. “Like… safe. But not just because of you. Because of me, too.”

    Joel’s hand tightens around you. “That’s how it’s supposed to be, sweetheart.”

   That evening you watch him quietly from the nest. He’s turned his back to you—not out of distance, but instinct. He’s guarding. Standing between you and the door, even now.

   Joel without turning, "Stop starin’ at me like that.”

   You smile into the blanket, “Can’t help it. You’re being… sweet.”

   Joel gruffly remarks ,“Ain’t sweet. Just makin’ sure you eat.” He stirs something in the pot—rabbit stew, thick with root vegetables. The smell is soothing. your stomach growls softly. Joel hears it. Of course he does. He glances over his shoulder, gaze dark and unreadable. “Hungry already? Good. Means you’re healing.”

  He ladles the stew into a bowl and crosses the room. Hands it to you with a rough gentleness, fingers lingering on you longer than they need to.

  You sit up, and his eyes follow the motion like a hawk—tracking every shift, ready to steady you if you sway. You smirk at him, softly teasing, “You gonna feed me, too?”

  Joel deadpan says ,“You want me to?” He’s dead serious.

  You nod once, just to see if he would do it.

  So he sets the bowl down, sits beside you, and starts spooning the stew to your lips like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Joel quietly tells you, “You need strength. I took too much outta you.”

  “I gave it to you. Willingly.” You tell him while looking into his dark hypnotizing gaze.

  Joel doesn’t answer. But his hand trembles a little when he touches your knee under the blanket. 

 Once you finish your stew, he gathers you close in the nest, pulls you against his chest. you're full, warm, scent-drunk with contentment. He buries his nose in your hair and breathes in like it settles something wild inside him, “Ain’t lettin’ that go. Not even if you begged.”

 You shift against him, faintly smiling while his scent overwhelms your senses, “What if I never want to leave?”

 His grip tightens, whispering, “Then I’ll build you a home right here. Cut down every tree, hunt every meal, kill everything that tries to take you from it.”

 You hum softly. Safe. Warm. Wanted.

 He doesn’t sleep. He just keeps holding you, heartbeat steady, protective to the bone.

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Chapter 6 

 “Where Do You Think You’re Going?”

    It’s morning , the storm has passed. Snow is piled high, light pouring through the cabin window. You wake alone for the first time since Joel claimed you. A fire crackles. His scent lingers. But he’s outside — chopping wood. You wrap yourself in a coat and quietly open the cabin door. The air bites. You take one cautious step onto the porch, boots crunching lightly in the snow. It’s the first breath of freedom you've had in days. No fever. No rut. Just cold air, sunlight, and a body that finally feels like yours again.

   But then—you hear it.

  A crash.

  A growl.

  Footsteps slamming through snow.

  Joel’s voice, low and furious, before he’s even visible. "Get back inside. Now.”

  You turn.

  He’s charging up the hill, axe discarded in the snow behind him, sweat freezing at his temples, eyes wild. Not angry. Terrified.

  Startled, you freeze up telling him, "I—I just wanted air. I’m fine, Joel—”

  Joel cutting you off, growl caught in his throat. “You are not fine. "He grabs you by the waist—not rough, but firm—and backs you through the door like you're made of glass.

 Once they’re inside, the door slams shut behind them. Joel his voice low, slightly shaking  “You don’t open that door without me. Ever.”

  You blinked, stunned. His hands are still on you. Holding you too tightly. “I’m not in heat anymore. I wasn’t going far—” You try to say but get cut off again.

  “You think I give a damn about your heat?” His voice cracks. Not loud. Just… breaking. “There could be infected. Hunters. Strays. Hell, even the cold could take you if I ain’t there to stop it.” His eyes are wild and dilated as he gets more manic. His scent nearly chokes you from how burned and rotted it's gotten.

   You have to get away, you go to the bedroom and shut the door. Taking deep breaths trying to calm down. You're sitting on the edge of the bed, arms curled around your knees. Joel stands near the door, head bowed, jaw tight. The silence is heavy, aching.

  He finally turns. Joel quietly says “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  You don't answer right away.

  He crosses the room. Slow. Careful. “I ain’t good at this. At explainin’ things when I’m afraid.” He kneels down in front of you, eyes dark with guilt. “But when I saw you out there…” He swallows hard. “It was like my chest collapsed. Thought maybe you’d slipped, gotten hurt. Thought maybe you’d…” He hesitates, “…run.”

  Your eyes soften, looking down into his red puffy eyes, the wild manic gaze subdued. “I wasn’t trying to leave you, Joel.”

  He nods. Slowly. Eyes locked to you. “I know that now. But right then… all I could think was that I’d marked you—put my teeth in you—and still wasn’t enough to keep you safe.” He reaches for your hand.

  You let him take your hand, “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  He’s silent for a moment. Then he speaks, voice barely above a breath. “I want you to choose me. Every day. Not ‘cause you have to… but ‘cause you feel what I feel.”

  You lean into him, he lets your fingers lace through his, lets you scent brush his jaw. His whole body tenses like he’s holding back from crumbling. Your scent that's now mixed with his falls over him in waves, his shoulder slump in relief.

  Softly you admit “I already do.” Giving his hand a gentle squeeze with your hand.

  He exhales hard—like your words crack something open in his chest. Then he rises to sit beside you, tugs you gently into his lap, and just holds you there. Arms wrapped tight around you, hands splayed across you back like he needs to feel you breathing.

  He buries his face into your hair murmuring, “I’m gonna mess this up sometimes. But I’ll try and be better.” He presses a kiss to your hair. A slightly, possessive edge returns to his voice “You’re everything I never thought I’d get to have. And now that I do… I ain’t ever lettin’ go.”

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    It’s the evening in the cabin, the fire’s low, with the cabin quiet. You've settled on his lap in his dining table chair, legs straddling his hips, hands in his hair. Joel’s still, breathing hard — watching you. Waiting.

   Softly you tell him, “You always take care of me. Always protect me. Feed me. Bathe me. Hold me like I’ll break.” You drag a thumb across his cheek. “But what if I want to take care of you now?”

   Joel blinks. The muscle in his jaw jumps once, hoarsely Joel says. “Ain’t about want. I don’t need—”

   You firmly point out “You do need it. Just won’t admit it.” You lean in, press your mouth to his throat, where his pulse pounds. “Let me touch you. Let me hold you together for once.”
He goes still under you. Not with resistance — with fear. Or maybe reverence. Because Joel’s not used to this. To someone choosing him this way. To someone wanting to soothe the storm inside him. Joel rasps “I don’t know how to… let go.” You lean in just before kissing him “Then I’ll show you how.”

   You undress him slowly, just reverent. You pull off his shirt, press warm kisses over the scars on his chest, each one met with a quiet intake of breath. “You held me through my worst. Let me hold you now.”

   His hands twitch on your thighs — wanting to grip, to control — but he doesn’t. He lets them fall beside him. Lets you lead. JoeL barely above a whisper,  “You’re not afraid of me?”

   “Never.” You straddle him fully, rocking slowly, carefully — not to tease, but to remind him: “You’re safe now.”He leans his forehead to your shoulder, breathing ragged. “Don’t deserve this.”

   You pull him close, resting his head on your chest, just on the swell of your breast “You deserve more.”

   His head dropped back slightly, eyes narrowing as he watched you take what you wanted. “Look at you,” Joel murmured, voice rough but soft with something dangerous. “So goddamn sweet sittin’ there. Ridin’ me like you ain’t scared of what I’ll do when I finally lose my fuckin’ patience.” His hands slid up your back, one tangling in your hair, tilting your head so he could kiss you—deep, slow, claiming. His mouth moved against yours with the same barely contained hunger that radiated from every inch of him.
“You’re mine,” he growled softly against your lips, breath heavy. “You know that, don’t you?” You nodded, barely able to form words, grinding down again as he groaned—low and guttural, hips bucking up to meet your rhythm. “Say it.” His voice was darker now, possessive but tender.

  “I’m yours,” you breathed, voice shaking, needy.

   He rewarded you with a slow, deliberate thrust upward, forcing a gasp from your lips as his grip on you tightened. “That’s my good girl,” he whispered, voice rough silk. “Take what you need.”
You did. And the whole time, Joel watched you with that dark, devoted hunger — like you were the only thing keeping the monster in him content. When he finally comes undone after you, it’s not with a growl or bite or curse. It’s with a sound you'd never heard from him before — soft, wrecked, a broken kind of relief. And when he clutches you tight, trembling as you rock him through it, you whisper “You’re not carrying this alone anymore, Joel. Not ever again.” As he breaks down in your arms he kisses your mate mark reassuring himself you're his.

🩶

   The next night after Joel had been out on a long hunt, leaving you in the locked cabin. You were unable to leave but he posed it as others weren’t able to get in either. Thinking he wouldn’t want you to be in danger you go with it since it was easier to humor him than deal with a manic alpha. Joel’s body is exhausted — blood on his hands, snow crusting in his beard. He sits heavy in the cabin chair, boots still on, shoulders slumped, not moving. You kneel in front of him. “Let me take care of you.”

   Joel blinks down at you. Confused. Like he doesn’t understand the words. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me.”

  “Didn’t say there was. You don’t have to break for me to want to hold you.”

  That undoes him a little. He swallows hard — but nods. You unlace his boots first. Carefully. Hands steady. He watches your fingers like they’re made of glass. When you tug the boots off and start rubbing warmth into his sock feet, Joel exhales like he’s been holding breath for years. “Ain’t used to this.”

  You smirk, continuing “Then get used to it.”

  Later, he’s sitting on the couch wrapped in a thick blanket. you bring him stew — the way he always does for you — and kneels beside him, spooning it up gently. At first he resists. Won’t meet your eyes. But you touch his chin, making him look at you. “You care for everyone else. Just let me love you back.” He opens his mouth for the spoon. Take the first bite. Closes his eyes like it hurts and heals all at once.

  After he finishes the stew you go into the bathroom and start a bath for him. The water’s warm. Scented faintly with pine. You undress him slowly, wipe the blood and dirt from his chest with a damp cloth, fingertips tracing old scars. He doesn’t talk. Doesn’t stop you. He shakes a little when you press your lips to the side of his throat, then rests your forehead there. Joel starts to say, “I ain’t been touched like this… not since.” You don't ask. Just pull him closer.  “You’re safe. You’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”

  Once he's washed, he lays down heavy, still wrapped in the blanket you tucked around him. you curl beside him, one arm around his chest, heartbeat pressed to his ribs. He doesn’t sleep at first. Just stares at the ceiling, eyes wet. “Why’re you doin’ all this?”

“Because I love you.” You state as a matter of factly. Joel holds you tighter “Even when I ain’t strong?” You kiss his chest over his heart “Especially then.”

Chapter Text

"A gift given in love has the power to wipe out any storm,". Unknown

Outside the cabin, still seated on the porch you relax with Joel. You sit in silence. The breeze has picked up. The door’s still propped open behind them, letting the scent of woodsmoke and pine swirl through the space they just remade. You're tucked into his side now, head against his shoulder, legs stretched out and warm against the sunlit wood.

Joel’s fingers trace your wrist absently — protective, but idle. Then he stills. The faint sound of hooves on the road filters in — dull and steady. Far off. But not far enough. Joel’s head lifts. His whole body tenses.

Not obviously — but you feel it under your cheek: the way his shoulders lock. The way his hand stops moving. You murmur into his chest glancing up at his face “It’s just patrol, right?”

He doesn’t answer right away. A figure comes into view between the trees. Horseback. Rifle slung. Not hurrying — just passing by along the outer path. Not even looking toward the cabin. Low and quiet Joel answers “Too close to the line. They ain’t usually out this far.” You sit up a little watching the rider fade back into the pines.

“They didn’t stop. Probably didn’t even see us.”

Joel's voice is quiet and sharp. “That’s not the point.”

You see it now — the edge in his jaw, the tension low in his body. Not panic. Not fear. Possession. His territory. His mate. Unsecured. You touch his knee. Calm, grounding. “Your scent is smelling like burnt pine needles.”

That gets him. His eyes flick to you, guilty for a second. Then serious again. “Don’t mean to. It’s not you.”

You look at his face taking in the hard scowl that set in the lines, his eyes dark and brooding “It is me. And I’m okay with that.” You watch him struggle with it — this pull between instinct and reason. You lean in, brushing your nose against his throat. Nuzzles gently until he exhales slowly. Softly you say “No one’s coming near. I’m right here. Still yours.”

Joel pulls you into his lap before you can say another word, wraps his arms around you like the air might carry you off if he doesn’t hold on. Joel, against your temple, declares “Ain’t nobody takin’ you. I don’t care if it’s just boots in the distance or wind in the trees — if they get too close, I feel it. Like a wire snap in my gut.”

You kiss his mate mark causing him to shiver but relax “Then I’ll stay close. Until you can breathe again.” And you do. You stay pressed against him. The patrol fades, the sound gone. But Joel doesn’t let go. Not for a long time.

The next morning, the cabin is still half-dark. A pot of coffee steaming on the stove. You've been quiet all week, carving something during the evenings when he dozes on the couch. Today, you finally gave it to him. Joel sits at the kitchen table, boots untied, a mug in hand. Still groggy from sleep. He doesn’t see you at first when you come around behind him.

You softly call his name “Joel?”

He turns

You hold out your hand “I… I made something. For you.” A small, rough-carved wolf totem, no bigger than your thumb. Smoothed down with care. Around its neck is a loop of twine — a simple cord. Something he can wear. Or keep close. “It’s not perfect. I’m still learning. But… It's strong. Fierce. Protective.” Your gaze flicks up to meet his. “Its a reminder of me to keep with you.”

Joel doesn’t speak. Just stares at it — and then at you. Slowly, he reaches out. Take it like it’s made of glass. His fingers close around it. Thumb brushing over the wood like he can’t believe it’s real. “You made this? For me?”

You smile watching him take in the small gift “No one ever sees how much you carry. So I made something that sees you. Something that can protect you when I can’t.”

Joel swallows hard then he sets the mug down, pulls back his chair, and pulls you into his lap. Holds you tightly. “Ain’t nobody ever given me somethin’ like this.” He tucks the totem into his shirt. Wears it under the layers, where it touches his skin. “Now I ain’t ever takin’ it off.” In that moment Joel realizes he can trust you even if its just a little. 

He still worries and checks most nights that you’re still in his bed, but this moment his possessive streak gives way to his ego. He realized a couple days ago his supplies were dwindling. Frustrated he spends the late hours with you snuggled against him planning a supply trip to Jackson the whole time rubbing the little wolf totem.

Chapter Text

“Trusting you is my decision. Proving me right is your choice.”- Unknown

Late winter morning the snow’s thinning. Joel saddled the horse himself, packed extra blankets, and double-checked his rifle three times. You sit in front of him on the saddle, nestled into his chest. He doesn’t say much on the way down to Jackson. Just one hand around the reins, the other curled around your waist, rubbing slow circles through your coat like he can’t quite stop touching you. Joel’s voice gruff and gravely from lack of sleep “Don’t got to worry about nothin’. I already cleared it with Tommy. We’re just pickin’ up a few things. For you.”

You smile up at him “For me?”

Joel nods his head slightly keeping his eyes on a swivel watching for danger “Damn right

Once they make it inside to the settlement of Jackson, they hit the trading post first. Joel’s tense at first — eyes tracking every settler that so much as glances their way. His hand stays near the small of your back. Every time you wander more than two steps away, he’s there.

But he softens slowly, as you light up. You hold up a thick wool scarf, soft to the touch, deep maroon. “Too much?” you ask him as you hold it up for him to inspect.

Joel smirks “Put it on. Lemme see.”

You wrap the soft crocheted material around your neck. He reaches out, adjusts it gently. He quietly whispers “Perfect.” into your ear causing you to shiver slightly.

You grab socks, gloves, and a  worn copy of Little Women. You had already read through his small library of Louis Lamour books several times. He doesn’t flinch at a single trade. When they pass a woman selling carved hair combs, Joel steps away. Quietly slips a few bullets to the merchant and pockets one before you can see.

He leads you to the mess hall for lunch. He sits across from you in the tiny mess hall, sharing a tin plate of stew. As you blow on your stew to cool you look up at Joel “You okay?”

Joel double checking the pack you brought for necessities “Just makin’ sure you got everythin’ you need.” 

You smirk “What if I want something that isn’t on a shelf?”

He leans forward slightly, eyes darker. “Then you ask me. And I’ll find it. Or I’ll make it.”

Joel’s relaxed — or as close to it as he gets in public. His jacket’s off. His shoulders are down. He watches you talk like he’s soaking in the sound.

Then— Tommy, Joel’s happy go lucky brother stops by the table. “Well, hell. Look who’s out of the woods.”

Joel lifts his head slowly, his hand still lightly resting on your knee. His eyes narrow — not angry, but protective. Always protective. Joel gruffly acknowledges his brother “Tommy.”

Tommy smiles and nods towards you “Mind if I say hi?” he asks Joel knowing better than to poke the bear too terribly.

You greet him warmly “Hi, Tommy.” you offer a gentle smile — kind, respectful. Joel watches the interaction like a hawk but doesn’t interfere. Tommy nods again, hands in his coat pockets. He looks between them for a beat, the silence hanging a little too long.

Tommy in a lightly teasing voice to Joel “Didn’t know you had it in you to sit still and smile.”

Joel huffs. It’s not quite a laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Ain’t smilin’. Just not scowlin’.”

You give him a playful look. Joel finally softens enough to nudge your ankle under the table. Tommy catches that. Notice the little things — the closeness, the way you lean into Joel like you belong there, and how Joel lets you without hesitation.

His smile fades into something quieter. Almost reverent. “You look good, brother. Both of you.”

Joel nods once, firm and deliberate. “She’s good for me.”

You smile and tell Tommy “And he’s good to me.”

Tommy studies them a moment longer, then clears his throat. “Alright, I’ll let you eat. Holler if you need anything before you ride back up.”

Joel assures him “We got what we came for.”

As Tommy walks off, Joel watches him go — then turns back to you, eyes softer now. “Didn’t like him hoverin’. But he needed to see.”

You look at him confused “See what?”

Joel reaches over and gently tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, gaze never leaving you. “That I’m not alone anymore.

Late that afternoon, Joel and you are finishing up their errands in Jackson. You stepped into a small supply stall alone for a moment. Joel is just a few paces behind, sorting through some barter tools. That’s when a stranger — a new settler, unfamiliar with the silent rules of Jackson — gets too bold.

The stranger steps in your space grinning, a little too close “You ain’t from around here, are you?”

You stiffened slightly, polite but guarded. “Just visiting.”

He smirks causing you to want to gag from how strong his rancid scent smells to you. “That so? Could show you around. Maybe buy you somethin’ sweet. You got a name?”

You step back, gentle but clear. "I'm with someone.”

The man doesn’t take the hint. Reaches out, fingers brushing your coat sleeve. “C’mon, now. Don’t gotta be rude.”

You opened your mouth to speak again—but you didn't have to because Joel’s already there. He steps between them without a word, solid as a wall. One hand comes up — slow, deliberate — and grips the stranger’s wrist where it hovered near you. He slowly twists the wrist causing it to pop, almost breaking. Just enough to stop time.

Joel lowers his voice sounding sharp and lethal “The lady said she’s with someone. You need your hearing checked boy? 

The stranger tries to laugh it off — nervous now. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, man. Just talkin—”

Joel leans in, gaze flat and dead-cold. “No. You weren’t just talkin’. You touched MY omega.”

He lets go — finally — but the warning hangs heavy. “You ever even look her way again, you’ll be pickin’ your teeth out of the dirt.” The man stammers something and backs off fast, disappearing into the crowd.

Joel turns to you slowly, scanning your face. HIs eyes go from dark coals to the soft chocolate brown you love. "You alright?”

You nod, a little breathless. “You didn’t even raise your voice.”

Joel's voice grim and steady “Didn’t have to.” He lifts your hand, kisses your knuckles. “I’ll never let anyone put their hands on you. Not ever.” And when they walk away from the stall, Joel doesn’t just hold your hand — he weaves their fingers together tight, his palm warm and firm, like a vow.

The cold air hit your flushed skin as Joel all but pulled you behind the trade building, his large hand gripping your wrist tight—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you he was still riding that edge. He leaned in, lips ghosting over yours, his breath hot. You could feel the heat rolling off him, his barely checked fury mixing with something darker, hungrier. “You wanna remind me who you belong to, sweetheart?” he rasped. Before you could answer, his hand trailed down, fingers curling under your chin, forcing your gaze to stay locked with his. The possessiveness in his eyes made your knees weak.

“I-I belong to you, Joel,” you breathed.

His lips curled into a dark smirk. “Damn right you do.”

Joel’s free hand slid beneath your coat, rough fingers finding your waist and pulling your hips flush against the hard line of him. You gasped as he ground into you, the cold air doing little to cool the fire building between your legs.

“You got any idea what you do to me?” His voice was thick with need, his forehead resting against yours now. “The second I saw that bastard lookin’ at you, all I could think about was gettin’ you out here. Remindin’ you.”

Joel’s hand slid up your thigh, unbuttoning your jeans pushing his hand into your jeans, fingers brushing the soft skin beneath. He groaned, low and guttural. “So fuckin’ warm. Always so ready for me.”

You whimpered as his hand found your panties, already damp. His thumb pressed lightly against your clit, making your breath hitch.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice like gravel, “actin’ like you don’t want this. Like you weren’t waitin’ for me to lose my temper. You like it when I get like this, don’t you?”

You swallowed hard, breath shaking. “Yes…”

“Say it louder.” His teeth grazed your ear.

“Yes, Joel.”

“That’s my girl.” His voice was low, almost tender now, but the possessiveness never left. “Gonna make sure nobody else forgets who you belong to.”

In one swift motion, he pulled your panties aside and pushed two thick fingers into you, swallowing your gasp with his mouth, kissing you hard, messy, claiming. His body pinned you, shielding you from the cold and the rest of the world, leaving you with only him—his scent, his hands, his mouth.

Every thrust of his fingers was deliberate, slow at first, then faster as your legs trembled against him. You clutched at his shoulders, trying to keep quiet, but Joel didn’t care if anyone heard.

“Let ‘em listen,” he whispered darkly against your lips. “Let ‘em know you’re mine.”

And when you finally fell apart on his hand, crying out his name into the cold evening air, Joel kissed you again—softer this time—his lips bruising yours as he whispered, “No one touches what’s mine.” He helps you straighten your clothes and gathers the supplies. They get back on Joel’s horse and head back to the cabin.

Chapter Text

"Now you're lifting me up, instead of holding me down, stealing my heart instead of stealing my crown." 

Back at the cabin, you're curled up on the couch, you head on Joel’s chest. He’s quiet — too quiet. Not brooding. Just thinking too much again. You softly murmur “You’re doing it again.”

Joel raises an eyebrow “What?”

You lift up from his chest. “Thinking so hard I can feel it in your chest.”

Joel exhales slowly; he doesn't deny it. “Just… never thought I’d be here. Not like this.”

You shift to look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. “You mean bonded? Or not alone?”

He meets your eyes. “Both.”

There's a stretch of silence — not uncomfortable. Just full of meaning. Then: Joel continues “You know what it means, right? Bondin’ like this. Ain’t just instincts. It’s forever.”

“I know.”

“And that doesn't scare you?”

You smile — not wide, just real. Steady. “No. Not when it’s you.”

Joel looks away for a second, jaw tight. Like he’s holding something in. Then he speaks — softer than usual, almost like it hurts to hope. “Sometimes I still think I’m gonna wake up, and you’ll be gone. Or worse — you’ll look at me and regret it.”

“Joel.” you say firmly. You climb into his lap, straddling him now, hands on either side of his face. “Look at me.”

He does.

“I chose you. I still choose you. You kept me alive. You’ve loved me in every way a person can. I don’t want temporary. I want a life.”

Joel swallows. Hard. “You already got mine. Every damn day of it.”

You press your forehead to his, noses brushing, breath shared. “Then let’s stop pretending this is something we’re gonna lose. We’re not. We’re bonded. You’re mine. I’m yours.”

Joel rasps. “Yours. For good.” He hugs you tight against his chest. Then softly puts you back on the couch as he goes to get a bundle from Jackson you didn’t notice he had. He sets the bundle of supplies on the table. And when you unwrap it, you find the comb nestled at the top — hand-carved, bone-smooth, shaped like a crescent moon.

You turn to him, stunned. “You—Joel, this is—”

Joel quietly mentions  “Saw you starin’ at it. Figured if I was lucky, I’d get to watch you wear it.”

He walks over, takes it gently from your hands, and slides it into your hair himself. “There. Now you look like the only good thing left in this world.”

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 The cabin is quiet, fire crackling low being early morning. You're pouring coffee. Joel’s at the table, cleaning his rifle like always. You've been working up to this all week — dropping hints, feeling him out.

Now you're ready to say it straight. “I was thinking about something.”

Joel hums, not looking up yet.

You continue “I might want to… take a job in Jackson. Just part-time.”

Joel stops mid-motion. Sets the rifle down and looks at you fully. “You wanna work?”

“Not ‘cause I have to. Because I want to.”

Joel leans back in his chair, quiet. His eyes shift — protective, thoughtful, not angry. But you see it: the worry. “Where, which job?”

You sit at the table in front of him. “The clinic needs help organizing supplies. Maybe running the front desk. Nothing risky. There was a sign in the clinic window I saw.”

Joel runs a hand over his beard. Still thinking. “You don’t feel safe here?”

You walk over, kneel beside him, take his hand. “I feel safe with you. But I also want to feel… capable. Useful. I’m not broken, Joel. I need to remember who I am, too.”

He looks down at their hands, thumbs brushing yours. “Ain’t about thinkin’ you’re broken. I just… this world’s still mean. People still do stupid shit. And I can’t be there every second.”

“I know. But I don’t want you to have to be. I want you to trust me. To trust that I’ll come home to you.”

Joel exhales, eyes closing for a long moment. “That’s the part that scares me.”

You kiss his knuckles, gently. “But I always will. I’m not trying to pull away from you. I’m trying to build something beside you.”

Joel is silent again. Then he stands, pulls you up with him, wraps his arms around you. “You get the job. You try it. But I’m walkin’ you there. Pickin’ you up. Every day.”

You smile into his shirt. “Possessive much?”

Joel smiles a wolfish smile. “Damn right.” He pulls back just enough to look in your eyes. “But I’m proud of you. Always will be. Just don’t ask me to stop watchin’ out for you. That ain’t in me.”

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You're nervous but ready. Joel rode over to Jackson and spoke with the doctor at the clinic a few days ago. Confirming they did need help that wasn’t exactly going to get you in harm's way. 

Joel is… Joel — coiled like a spring under that calm exterior, watching every second like the world’s waiting to test his grip. And yet, he lets you go. Because he said he would. Because loving you means trusting you, even if every instinct screams to keep you close.

You walk side-by-side down the gravel road toward the clinic. You're in a fresh coat, hair tied back. Joel walks with one hand on the strap of his rifle — the other never strays far from you.

You glance up at him as you pass the bakery. “You’re walking like we’re headed into a shootout.”

Joel grumbles “Ain’t funny.”

“It’s a  little funny.”

Joel’s eyes flick to you — that soft glare he uses when he’s half-worried, half-proud.

They reach the clinic porch. you stop. He does too. The building is quiet, warm-looking, windows steamed slightly from the heat inside.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You better be.”

You take a breath and reach up to adjust the collar of his coat — unnecessary, but grounding. “You really gonna wait outside all day?”

Joel leans against the clinic outside wall. “Told you I would.”

You feeling fondly exasperated with this grumpy protector “You could go check the fence. Talk to Tommy. Breathe?”

“Later. After I see how they treat you.”

You touch his chest lightly. “You don’t have to be my shadow.”

Joel leans down whispering in your ear. “I want to be.”

You lean up, kissing him quickly — just enough to make him go still for a second, like it short-circuits the noise in his head. Then you step inside. Joel stays outside, sits on the bench near the door, keeping his rifle across his knees. He nods at passersby. Barely moves. An hour passes. Then another.

Every time someone enters or exits the clinic, he stands up a little straighter. He doesn’t pace. Doesn’t fidget. But he’s waiting.

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Around midday, the clinic door opens. You step out, tucking a clipboard under your arm. Smiling — really smiling. Joel rises, meets you halfway down the steps.

You go up to him beaming. “They had me running inventory. Then helping with a patient chart. I didn’t screw it up.”

Joel tucks a loose hair behind your ear. “Told you you wouldn’t.”

You lean into him, and this time he wraps his arms around you without hesitation. “You waited the whole time.”

“You didn’t want me to?”

You beam at him “I love that you did.”

Joel's eyes soften a rare smile gracing his weather worn face. “You come out that door smilin’? Worth every second.”

Chapter Text

The message came with the morning patrol—muddy boots, frozen breath, blood on a borrowed coat.

“There’s a family holed up near the outer ridge,” the scout told you, eyes darting toward the hallway where you knew Joel had just left. “Raiders hit ’em hard.”

You didn’t hesitate. No waiting for permission. No explaining.

Just a note, scrawled fast and messy:

Went to help. Be back before sundown. Don’t worry.

You knew Joel wouldn’t see it that way. But you also knew what it was to be left behind in this world. You couldn’t let that happen to a child. Not if you could stop it.

The snow thickened by the time your group made it to the old hunting cabin. What little light the place had flickered behind boarded windows. You pushed the door open and were hit with the stench of old blood and the silence that followed violence. The mother was already gone. Throat torn. Eyes open and glassy.

The father was alive just long enough to whisper, “Eli, the boy,” before he coughed once, bled out, and went still. And in the corner, wrapped in a torn quilt, was the boy.

Barely older than two. Feverish. Covered in blood that wasn’t his. Big brown eyes blinking up at you like he didn’t understand the world had changed.

You pressed him to your chest, his cheek cold and wet against your neck, and you whispered, “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

The trip back was brutal. Snow drove sideways through the trees, wind howling like the infected in your nightmares. The boy clung to you, his small arms tight around your neck, too weak to cry. Your feet ached, legs numb, vision blurry by the time Jackson’s gate came into view—long past nightfall.

And standing just inside, rifle slung over his shoulder, face carved from stone, was Joel.

You didn’t stop walking. Couldn’t. You didn’t have the strength to brace for what was coming.

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He met you halfway, saying nothing. His eyes moved from you to the bundle in your arms, nostrils flaring, jaw tight. He took in the dried blood on your coat. The way your boots dragged. The child curled tight against you. 

When he spoke, it was quiet. Deadly. “You wanna tell me what the fuck that was?”

You opened your mouth, but the words tangled. Your lips trembled from cold and exhaustion. “There was a family,” you managed. “Out past the ridge. Raiders hit them. He’s the only one who made it.”

Joel’s voice dropped lower. “So you just left. In a storm. With no backup. Without tellin’ me a goddamn thing.”

“I left a note and I went with the patrol grou—”

“I don’t give a fuck about a note!” he snapped, voice rising before he caught himself. The child stirred against you, letting out a soft whimper. Joel froze.

You watched him breathe. Saw the shift in his eyes. The anger dimming into something darker—fear. Rage mixed with heartbreak.

You stepped closer. “I had to try.”

He stared at you for a long time, then looked at the child again. Joel’s voice broke, barely audible. “He yours now?”

You hesitated. Then: “He’s ours. If you’ll let him be.”

He didn’t say another word. Just turned, opened the door, and waited.

You followed him inside, carrying the boy, and shut the world out behind you.

Joel laid out blankets on the couch while you stripped off your coat, fingers trembling as you peeled the quilt from the child’s body. He was small—too small. Lighter than he should’ve been. A healed fracture scarred his arm. Bruises at his ribs.

“Jesus,” Joel muttered when he saw.

You swallowed hard. “I think his name’s Eli. It was the only thing his dad said before he…”

Joel nodded, jaw locked. He took the boy from your arms with surprising ease, settling him on the blankets, tucking him in with a care so gentle it broke something open inside you.

He stood back and watched the boy’s chest rise and fall. Then turned to you. His voice was quieter now. Hoarse. “You could’ve died out there.”

“I know.”

“You think I could’ve lived with that?”

“I had to do something, Joel.”

His hands curled at his sides. “You are my whole fuckin’ world , and you walked out like you didn’t matter to me.”

“I matter,” you whispered, stepping forward, laying your hand against his chest. “But so does he. And I couldn’t live with myself if I’d stayed safe while a child died scared and alone.”

Joel looked away. His throat worked, swallowing emotion he never let show. “You keep doin’ this… makin’ me love you harder than I should.”

You leaned into him, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “Then don’t stop.”

That night, Joel didn’t sleep. You dozed on the floor beside the couch, one hand resting on Eli’s back, listening to Joel pace.

When you woke hours later, Joel was sitting on the couch, the child curled into his chest, one calloused hand stroking soft curls with a tenderness you hadn’t seen since Jackson’s first spring. Eli was clean with a little red tint to his skin from the wash Joel gave him.

His eyes met yours. “I built a crib once,” he said quietly. 

You sat up slowly. “Do you want to keep him?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked back down at the sleeping boy and nodded.

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Days passed. Then a week. Joel started carrying Eli in one of his old canvas chest packs, cut and stitched to fit. He carved him a toy horse. Built a high-backed chair so Eli could sit at the table. Took him to the market, pointing out tools and fruit like he’d known how to be a father all over again.

The people of Jackson gave cautious looks. No one asked questions. They’d seen what Joel was capable of. And now they saw what he was capable of with a child in his arms .

One evening, you came home late from the clinic, your clothes still bloodied, hair pulled back tight from  helping with a long surgery. You found Joel on the floor, legs crossed, Eli asleep in his lap.

The toy horse was clutched in the toddler’s hand. Joel looked up, and for the first time in days, smiled.

“You look like hell,” he muttered, voice warm.

You collapsed beside him. “You’re not far behind.”

Joel leaned in, kissed your temple, and whispered, “He said your name today.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Clear as day. Reached out and said it. Was lookin’ for you when he woke up from his nap.”

Tears burned your eyes. You pressed a kiss to the child’s hair, one hand cupping Joel’s cheek.

“He’s ours now,” you said.

Joel didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. “Yeah. He is.”

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Weeks later, someone at the market muttered something under their breath. A man from a newer group. Not from Jackson. “You takin’ in strays now?” he said with a smirk, nodding at Eli where he sat on Joel’s hip.

Joel didn’t answer. Just stared at him.

The next day, that man didn’t show up for patrol. Found his way back to his group with a black eye and a broken nose.

No one asked what happened.

That night, Joel was quieter. He stood at the window, watching the snow fall, one arm around your waist, the other holding Eli tight to his chest.

“I ain’t never been good at keepin’ things,” he said after a while. “Not people. Not peace. I thought if I loved somethin’ too much, it’d get taken away.”

You turned in his arms, cupped his face. “Then let’s make damn sure no one takes this.”

Joel kissed you. Deep. Fierce. Like a promise. Like a vow. And in the middle of it all, the little boy curled tighter between you, safe, warm, and finally home.

Chapter Text

The scent of home lingered like a second skin—cedar, smoke, and apple-warmed skin. Your omega scent had deepened since Eli’s arrival, mellowed under the stress of caregiving, but it still stirred Joel’s instincts every time you passed by him with the toddler in your arms.

Even now, weeks later, it hit him in waves. Soothing. Distracting. Dangerous.

Mornings were the hardest. Joel would wake before dawn, slipping out of bed quietly, scenting your pillow before he left—his alpha needing confirmation that you were still there. Still his. Then he’d check the crib in the other room. Not because he had to. Because his wolf brain wouldn’t let him rest otherwise.

Eli always stirred in those early hours, a soft whimper rising from his small body before tiny arms reached up. Joel would lift him instinctively, pressing the boy to his chest where his scent lived strongest—bergamot and wood smoke, with the distinct weight of alpha . And Eli? He'd nuzzle into it like it was air. Like it was safe. His soft baby linen scent mixing with your cinnamon and Joel’s bergamot.

You were scenting the blankets again. Joel watched from the doorway, arms crossed, eyes dark as you rubbed your scent gland across the edge of the toddler’s blanket, then hung it beside his bed to dry in the breeze.

“You’re doin’ that thing again,” he muttered.

You looked back at him, smiling slightly. “He sleeps better when he smells us.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. “He already sleeps curled into my shirt half the time.”

“He likes your scent,” you teased, walking past him, brushing your finger tips across his jaw without thinking—your scent marking him in a casual, unconscious way that nearly undid him.

His alpha throbbed with the urge to pin you to the wall….soon.

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Joel didn’t like the stares in town. Not when he walked through the market with Eli on his hip, your scent still fresh on his collar, the toddler in a sling that bore both of your pheromones. A claimed pup. A bonded family. But people still whispered.

You sure it’s his? That alpha don’t look like the fatherin’ kind.

He’d stop walking. Turn his head slow. Let his eyes do the talking. No one ever said it twice.

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You brought Eli to the clinic a few days later. He’d caught a stomach bug—nothing serious, but Joel still hovered in the corner of the small room, shoulders tense, fingers twitching.

When you rubbed salve on Eli’s back, murmuring soft praise, Joel’s scent flared. Possessive. Thick. Drenched in anxiety . You looked up at him, scenting back with calming notes, but his eyes were already dark.

“Joel,” you said quietly. “You okay?”

“Don’t like seein’ him cry,” he murmured. “Feels wrong. Feels like failin’.”

You crossed the room, laid your hand on his chest. “You didn’t fail. You’re here.”

He didn’t speak. Just leaned in, nuzzling your scent gland softly, breathing in your reassurance like a man drowning in it.

That night, Joel didn’t let you go. He curled around you in bed, one hand resting on your abdomen, the other tangled in your scent-warmed hair.

“You know I keep thinkin’ ‘bout Sarah,” he whispered into your skin.

You went still.

“Not ‘cause I’m comparin’. Not ‘cause I miss her more than this,” he murmured. “Just… I remember bein’ scared like this before. Wantin’ somethin’ this much. Knowin’ I’d burn down the whole fuckin’ world if I had to keep it.”

You turned and kissed him. Soft, slow. “You already burned it down once.”

He looked into your eyes. “I’ll do it again.”

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One afternoon, a patrol went wrong. An infected  got too close. You were outside with Eli, and Joel came running at the first sound of your shout.

He ripped it apart with his knife before anyone else could react, then turned and crushed you against his chest. Not to check you. To scent you —desperately, hands shaking, nose buried in your neck like he was checking every pheromone for signs of injury.

“Joel,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

“You weren’t supposed to be outside the cabin.”

“It was safe. Until it wasn’t. That’s just life now.”

His hands tightened on your waist. “Not for you. You don’t risk yourself. You’re my omega. You’re his mother. You—”

You reached up and pressed your fingers to his lips. “Then you better stay alive too, Alpha. Because I’m not doing this without you.”

Joel stilled. Then leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours, voice rough.

“You ain’t ever gonna have to.”

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Later that week, Joel let Eli fingerpaint at the kitchen table.

You watched from the doorway as the boy giggled, smearing blue all over the page—and a little across Joel’s knuckles.

“Look what you’re doin’ to me, kid,” Joel murmured, mock stern, but he let it happen. He even let the toddler smear color down his forearm. “Your mama’s gonna have my hide for this mess.”

You stepped behind him, hands curling around his shoulders, scenting the back of his neck with a low hum of affection.

“She’s not,” you whispered.

Joel looked up at you, relaxed for the first time all day.

“She’s just glad you’re finally not afraid of bein’ happy.”

Chapter Text

The cabin was quiet. Too quiet. No toddler babbling, no wooden toys clattering on the floor, no sticky fingers tugging at your shirt or tugging on Joel’s hair. Just silence.

You’d dropped Eli off at Tommy and Maria’s an hour ago so he could play with their son. Joel had hesitated—tense, overprotective—but finally let go, eyes tracking every step as Maria took Eli’s hand and walked toward the stables.

And now, standing in the doorway of your bedroom, you could feel the change in Joel. Like pressure in the air before a storm. You turned—and he was already watching you. Eyes black with intent. Hands flexing like he didn’t trust himself not to grab.

“Joel…” you started, but your voice barely rose above a whisper.

“I can smell you,” he said roughly. “All over that goddamn house. On the blankets. On him.”

His boots thudded on the wood as he stepped forward. “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

You backed up slowly until your legs hit the bedframe.

“Today,” he rasped, crowding into your space, “watchin’ you clean his face, hum him to sleep, touch his hair so soft—like you were made for it…” His voice cracked. “You don’t know how hard it was not to bend you over the fuckin’ counter and remind you who you belong to.”

You swallowed thickly, your omega instincts responding in a flood of heat and scent—sweet, spiced, inviting. Your scent bloomed in the room, curling around Joel like a siren’s call. He groaned low in his chest, leaning in until his lips grazed your scent gland.

“You’ve been leavin’ your scent on him,” he whispered, voice ragged. “On everything. And I love it, baby. I do. But I need you to leave it on me too. Right now.”

You gasped as he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. His mouth was hot and hungry, kissing you like he was starving, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them open until he could press between.

“Let me have you,” he growled, voice breaking. “Need you like this. Need to scent you so deep no one’ll ever question what we are.”

You nodded, panting. “Yes. Joel—please.”

Clothes were pulled off in frantic tugs, breathless kisses scattered across skin, and when he slid inside you—thick and slow, claiming every inch—your head dropped back with a moan that tore right through him.

“Fuck,” he gritted. “You feel like home. Mine.”

He rutted into you with slow, deep thrusts, letting your slick coat his cock, letting the bed creak beneath the weight of him. His mouth never left your throat—licking, biting, scenting—until he marked you again and again with desperate little groans.

“Been watchin’ you for weeks,” Joel muttered into your skin, “bein’ such a good mama. You take such good care of our boy. Of me. I need— fuck, I need to give somethin’ back.”

“You are,” you gasped. “You’re giving me you. That’s all I want.”

Joel’s rhythm stuttered as he bottomed out again, one arm wrapping around your lower back to hold you still while he fucked you harder, deeper, like his body had no choice.

You clung to him, scent blooming into pure need, and Joel snarled as his knot started to swell, pressure building between you.

“Gonna fill you up,” he breathed. “Make you drip with me. So when you go pick up our boy later, they all fuckin’ know. ”

You cried out as your body tightened around him, the orgasm ripping through you as Joel’s knot locked in, forcing him deep, deeper, until he spilled inside you with a broken groan.

“Mine,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, sweat-slick and shuddering. “Always mine.”

You stroked his jaw, breathless. “Yours.”

Joel kissed you, softer this time. Reverent. 

Outside, snow began to fall. And in that quiet space where scent lingered thick and warm, where your bond hummed deep under your skin, Joel held you like the world had finally stopped taking.

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The bond still thrummed between you—your omega scent sticky and sweet against his chest, Joel’s knot still swollen inside you, holding you in place like he couldn’t let go. Wouldn’t.

You lay sprawled beneath him, both of you flushed, panting, dazed. Joel cradled the back of your head gently, brushing hair from your face as he pressed lazy kisses along your jaw. His voice was low, rasped from need and emotion alike.

“You alright, baby?”

You nodded into his shoulder, tracing slow lines down his back. “More than alright.”

Joel shifted so he could wrap both arms around you, knot still seated deep. He didn’t pull out—didn’t even try. He liked being locked in. You could feel it in the way his muscles relaxed, the subtle growl in his throat every time you moved.

You nuzzled his scent gland, inhaling deeply. “You always get like this when he’s not here?”

He huffed a dry laugh. “Maybe. You leavin’ your scent on every goddamn thing in this house ain’t helpin’. Got my alpha all twisted.”

“You love it,” you teased.

He didn’t answer right away. Then, soft as a prayer: “Yeah. I do.”

You both dozed there for a while, tangled in the warmth, the bond buzzing low under your skin, quiet and sure. Sometime in the early morning, Joel finally slipped out of you, kissed you again, and murmured, “Get dressed, darlin’. Let’s go get our pup.”

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You walked up the steps of Maria and Tommy’s together, hand in hand, scents still mingling thick between you. Joel had his other hand in his coat pocket, thumb rubbing the edge of the carved wooden horse he was going to give Eli.

Maria opened the door before you knocked. “He’s been up since dawn. Asking for you two.”

Joel cleared his throat. “Was he alright?”

“Didn’t even cry when we put him down. Ate two helpings of stew. Little guy’s tougher than he looks.”

Tommy came up behind her with Eli on his hip—and when the boy saw you, he squirmed with a soft giggle.

“‘Mama!” he squealed, arms reaching for you. You swept him into your arms, covering his face in kisses.

Joel stepped forward, gaze warm. “Hey, buddy.”

Eli blinked up at him, then reached out with sticky fingers.

And said it. Clear as day.

“Dada.”

Joel froze.

Every breath left his body.

You turned, watching his face shift—stunned, wrecked, like someone had opened a sealed part of him and let in light for the first time in years.

Eli leaned his head on your shoulder and reached toward Joel again.

“Dada,” he said softly.

Joel took him in his arms, holding him like something sacred.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Hey, kiddo.”

Chapter Text

The storm rolled in overnight. By morning, Jackson was blanketed in a soft, endless white. The roads had vanished, the fences half-buried, and even the patrol tower lights glowed quiet and muted through the flurry.

Inside your cabin, everything was still. No duties. No clinic hours. No patrols. Just time. Just warmth.

Joel stood at the window, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, Eli balanced on his opposite hip. The toddler’s little fingers pressed to the frosted glass, leaving smudges as he whispered, “Snow, Dada.”

Joel grunted softly, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’s right. Can’t go nowhere in this. Looks like we’re stayin’ in, bud.”

You stepped out from the bedroom still wrapped in Joel’s flannel shirt, scenting up the room with sweet apple spice and clean skin. Joel turned his head slightly, nostrils flaring—instinct tugging at him even in stillness.

“Storm’s not letting up?” you asked sleepily.

“Nope. Guess we’re stuck.”

You padded over and curled your arms around Joel’s waist, leaning into the heat of him. Eli immediately reached toward you, whining softly until you kissed his forehead.

He was such a little pack pup. Always wanted to be between you both—touching, secure.

“Stuck sounds kind of perfect,” you murmured against Joel’s neck.

His arm tightened around your shoulders. “It does, doesn’t it?”

You spent the morning building a blanket fort. Joel dragged in two chairs from the kitchen, stacked firewood, and pretended to complain while Eli helped you pile every pillow and quilt into the living room.

Joel's scent clung to the fort’s makeshift roof—deep bergamot, wood smoke, safety. Eli kept crawling in and out with his stuffed horse, proudly declaring it was his cave. You rubbed your scent on a few corners just to calm the little one’s excited nerves, and Joel raised an eyebrow when he caught the way you lingered over the fort’s edge.

“You scentin’ forts now, omega?”

You grinned. “I scent what I claim.”

Joel growled low, warm. “That right?”

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After lunch, Eli napped curled between you. You lay tucked on one couch, Joel on the other, your legs touching across the space while Eli used your joined calves as a pillow. He sucked on two fingers, blanket tucked under his chin, still smelling like the cinnamon apples you’d cooked for him earlier.

Joel reached out and brushed a curl from Eli’s forehead.

Your voice was quiet. “He’s so safe here.”

Joel nodded, voice low. “I never thought I’d feel this again. Not really.”

You reached across the back of the couch and touched his wrist. “You deserve this, Joel. We all do.” 

He leaned into your touch, scent brushing over you in a protective wave. You purred softly in return, and the tension drained from his shoulders like melted snow.

Joel worked on his carvings, he sat by the fire, Eli in his lap, a small piece of pinewood in hand. You watched as he whittled it carefully into the shape of a rabbit—something soft, safe, playful.

Eli watched intently, head tilted, then whispered, “Like the one at the lake.”

Joel’s jaw twitched. “Yeah, bud. Like that one.”

You came over and kissed Joel’s temple. “You’re a good alpha.”

Joel didn’t answer with words—just leaned his head against your belly and breathed you in.

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That night, the wind howled but the house was warm. Joel pulled you into his lap as the fire burned low, Eli asleep in his pillow cave. Your omega scent clung to Joel’s chest, comforting him as much as the weight of your body.

He kissed your throat, slow and tender, before nuzzling into the bond-mark at your neck. “We’re okay,” he murmured.

You nodded. “We’re a pack.”

Joel’s voice was so soft it nearly broke you.

“Yeah. My pack. My whole damn world.”

Chapter Text

The knock at the door was hard. Sharp. Familiar.

Joel stilled where he stood by the fire, hand clenched around the kettle’s handle. You were on the floor with Eli, brushing crumbs from his shirt after breakfast, but Joel’s  head lifted, nostrils flaring.Joel didn’t move. Didn’t speak. You could feel the tension roll off him like steam from the stove—protective, territorial, thick with alpha energy.

Another knock. This one is louder.

“I know you’re in there,” Ellie called through the door. “Not here to cause shit. Just wanna talk.”

Joel's jaw flexed once.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Let me answer.”

He didn’t like it. His scent pulsed with disapproval. But he nodded.

You opened the door slowly. There she was. Sharp eyes.  Wrapped in a battered coat, snow in her hair, but her expression was pure fire.

She looked past you immediately. Scanning. “You okay?” she asked bluntly.

You blinked. “I’m… yeah. Of course.”

She squinted. “You sure about that?”

Joel stepped into the doorway then, looming like a shadow behind you. “Ellie.”

Her face hardened. “You smell different.”

Joel didn’t blink. “People change.”

Her eyes locked on yours. “You mated her?” Her gaze hardening while eyeing your bond mark glaring back at Joel.

You exhaled slowly. “It wasn’t like that.”

Ellie looked back to Joel, voice hard. “You didn’t force her? Manipulate her? Mark her before she could—?”

“Ellie,” you said firmly, stepping between them, “he didn’t force anything.”

She stared you down. “Then why are you locked in this cabin like some fuckin’ ghost story, huh? Your travel group says you disappear, everyone says Joel’s different, possessive again—and now you’re marked, mated, and nobody sees you without him. ”

“Because we’re a family,” you said softly.

She froze.

And that’s when Eli toddled into view.

Still wearing his bear-print pajamas. Sticky fingers in his mouth. Sleep-mussed curls sticking up.

He blinked up at Ellie and tilted his head.

She stared at him. Her mouth parted slightly. “What the hell…”

Joel crossed the floor silently, scooped Eli up without a word, and the little boy giggled, burying his face in Joel’s shirt like he did every morning.

“His name’s Eli,” you said. “He’s ours.”

Ellie looked at Joel. At you. Then back to the boy—who peeked at her again with big brown eyes and said, soft as anything:

“Hi.”

Ellie looked like someone had knocked the breath out of her. Joel’s hand settled gently on the back of Eli’s head. Protective. Soft.

You reached for Ellie’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Come inside. Let us explain.”

Ellie sat on the edge of the couch, stiff-backed, arms crossed.

Joel leaned against the wall with Eli on his hip, the boy’s head tucked beneath his jaw. You poured tea for all of you with shaking hands—not from fear, but from the weight of it all.

The story. The truth. And the part Joel didn’t want to tell you yet, that he’d guided you to his doorstep. That when he first scented you at the Jackson gates, something snapped in him. That the map he made sure your group was given had a detour. A single red X carved where the trail forked—leading not to the clinic like it should’ve, but straight to his cabin. That he’d waited, every instinct sharp and aching, until you knocked.

Joel said nothing now. Just held Eli close and watched Ellie watch you .

“So,” she finally said, tone clipped. “You just… showed up?”

You hesitated. “I got turned around. The weather was bad. Joel found me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Just happened to be out that way?”

You offered a calm smile, but Joel's scent—quietly thick and defensive—rolled across the room like fog. Not aggressive. Not nervous. Territorial.

Ellie’s gaze flicked to him. “You didn’t plan that?”

Joel didn’t flinch. “No.”

Ellie stared. He didn’t blink.

Eventually, she looked away, exhaling through her nose. “Okay.”

You told her the rest. How you and Joel had grown close. How he never pushed, never claimed you until you let him. How Eli came from a rescue mission and was nearly lost. How Joel hadn't let go of the boy since.

Ellie listened in silence.

You watched him carefully, saw his jaw clench. His hand rubbed Eli’s back—slow and steady, as the boy napped against him.

Ellie glanced at you. “And you’re really… okay? With all this?”

You nodded. “It’s not what I expected. But it’s right. ”

She looked at Joel again. “Still a manipulative asshole sometimes?”

You grinned. “Yeah. But a sweet one.”

Joel made a noise that might’ve been a scoff. Might’ve been a laugh.

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Later, as the fire burned low, Ellie knelt by Eli’s blanket pile. He stirred, rubbing at his eyes, and looked at her.

Ellie reached out awkwardly. “Hey, little guy.”

Eli blinked up at her. Then reached for her braid.

Ellie froze—then let him tug. “Alright,” she murmured, almost smiling. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You sat beside Joel, resting your head on his shoulder. You still didn’t know everything. Might never know.  But Joel had you. And Eli. And—for the first time in years—he had Ellie close enough to start trusting again.

Chapter Text

“You sure about this?” Ellie asked, one brow raised as she took Eli from your arms like he was a radioactive loaf of bread.

You smiled patiently. “You survived clickers, cults, and Joel. I think you can handle one toddler for thirty minutes. I just need enough time to get a few supplies that Eli usually has his hands in before I can stop him.”

Eli, already fascinated by Ellie’s braid, let out a delighted coo and tugged—hard. “Okay, yeah, sure, rip it out at the root,” she muttered, but didn’t pull away. Her hands steadied the boy on her hip with more instinct than she realized. “We're bonding already, kid?”

You kissed Eli’s forehead and gently brushed his curls. “You’ve got snacks, his juice cup, and his favorite toy.”

“And this ‘toy’ is… a piece of driftwood?”

“It’s a horse,” you said flatly. “Joel carved it.”

Ellie made a face. “Right. Sure. Horse.”

Eli giggled again and patted her cheek. Ellie rolled her eyes but let him. “Okay, fine. I kinda like him.”

Ellie walked down the sun-drenched street with Eli balanced on her hip, a crayon-streaked paper crown tilted on the toddler’s head. She pointed out every stray dog and broken fire hydrant like they were museum exhibits, her voice full of dramatic flair that had Eli giggling nonstop. They stopped at the corner vendor for a juice box and a lollipop—Ellie flashing a crooked grin when Eli picked the blue one, “Good choice, little man.” While you ran errands across town, Ellie didn’t just babysit—she made it an adventure, letting Eli scribble dinosaurs on the sidewalk and offering piggyback rides between stops, her mismatched backpack jingling with snacks and tiny toys.

Ellie, Eli on her back squealing from her running up the steps of the cabin, came in and planted Eli on the couch. She flopped down next to him. You poured two mugs of tea, handed one to Ellie, and settled into the chair across from her while Eli waddled around at her feet, babbling to himself and to the carved horse he clutched like it held the secrets of the universe.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Ellie looked up at you, brows knit. “You really love him. Joel, I mean.”

“I do.”

She nodded once, then stared into her tea. “I don’t think I knew he was capable of that. Not after everything. Not after what he did… for me.”

You said nothing. Let the silence hold.

“Part of me thought he pulled you in. Marked you before you had a chance. That it was about control.”

You tilted your head. “Was that the whole truth—or was that fear talking?”

Ellie sighed. “Both, probably.”

You leaned forward, voice gentle. “He didn’t trick me, Ellie. He’s intense. He’s protective. But he waited. And when I said yes… he’s never looked back.”

Eli crawled back into Ellie’s lap mid-conversation and shoved the toy horse into her tea. She blinked. “I’m gonna assume that’s toddler for ‘I accept your relationship.’”

You both laughed.

Ellie shook her head. “He’s a good kid.”

You nodded. “He is.”

Ellie looked at you again—more carefully this time. “And Joel… he’s softer now. Still scary as hell, but… less sharp. You and the kid—you made him into something else. Something better.”

You felt your eyes sting. “I think we made each other into something we didn’t know we still had inside.”

Ellie didn’t answer, but she looked down at Eli. Brushed a curl off his forehead. Let him lean into her chest and start to doze.

And when you stood to clean up the mugs, she didn’t stop you.

She just stayed right where she was.

Guarded. Quiet. Protective.

Like maybe—just maybe—she was starting to believe this pack could be hers , too.

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A few days later you convince Ellie to take Eli for a little bit longer.

“You owe me.” That was the first thing Ellie said as she took Eli from your arms at the clinic gate.

“You volunteered,” you reminded her with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, and I volunteer to regret it.”

Eli giggled and clung to her jacket like a happy little barnacle. Ellie shifted him on her hip with mild panic in her eyes but didn't push him off. You leaned in and kissed your son’s curls, scenting him lightly before stepping back.

“He’s already had breakfast. Juice and extra socks are in the bag. His nap’s around ten—if you can swing it.”

Ellie squinted. “Got it. Baby math. No promises.”

You kissed her cheek, fast and soft. “You’ve got this.”

She grumbled but didn’t stop you.

The first fifteen minutes were fine. Eli stacked some blocks, babbled to himself, and tugged on Ellie’s braid like it was the greatest toy ever invented. She sat on the floor with him, muttering dry commentary as he tried to balance a stuffed rabbit on top of a wooden truck.

"Sure, because that makes sense, buddy."

Eli stared at her with solemn judgment.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

By the halfway point, the juice cup had been thrown twice, Eli had insisted the rabbit needed to wear Joel’s boots, and Ellie had changed a diaper that made her question the existence of God.

“Jesus Christ, what do you eat ?” she muttered, wheezing into a dish towel.

Eli clapped proudly.

But something else started to shift, too. Between the messes and the endless questions (“What’s that?” “Whyyyy?” “You poop too?”), Ellie found herself laughing.

Genuine, belly-deep laughs.

Eli crawled into her lap unprompted after snack time and shoved a graham cracker in her mouth.

“Thanks,” she muttered, half-chewing. “You’re alright, kid.”

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Back at the clinic…you worked a rough shift.

Two sprained ankles, one cut that needed twelve stitches, and an older woman who nearly passed out from dehydration.

But every now and then, you’d catch Joel—passing by the window, lingering too long near the front door, pretending to “check the perimeter.”

“He’ll be okay Joel.” you reassure him on your break.

Joel met your eyes. “She’s smart. But he’s still small. And soft.”

You smiled gently. “He’s also resilient. Like her.”

Joel didn’t argue. But when you reached over and gently scent-marked his wrist, he let out a long breath and murmured, “I’ll see you at home darlin.”

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When you walked in later , you expected chaos. Torn books, sugar crashes, maybe a full-blown meltdown. Instead, you found Eli asleep on Ellie’s chest. Her arms wrapped around him awkwardly, a book open in her lap, and her face half-buried in his hair.

When she looked up, her voice was a whisper. “He passed out mid-sentence. Like a little drunk old man.”

You laughed softly and sank beside her. “You did great.”

Ellie snorted. “Yeah, well, don’t get any ideas. I’m not, like, nesting or whatever.”

You leaned your head on her shoulder. “No? Not even a little?”

She didn’t answer right away.“...He called me ‘El.’ Just now. Right before he crashed.”

Your heart swelled. “He likes you.”

She looked down at him. Brushed a tiny curl from his forehead. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I like him too.”