#Pony Pasture
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southernboycure · 6 months ago
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mackeyturner · 1 year ago
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More to come (soon)
I’m dismayed to see I didn’t post in 2023. I’m reading a terrific book called Our Wild Calling by Richard Louv – that’s the inspiration (indirectly) for this. I got a couple pictures I really enjoyed last time I was at Pony Pasture (2/25/2024). Here’s one: That – if you’re unaware, or even if you are aware – is a Barred Owl. Its mate was only about ten feet to the right in this scene but the…
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 2 years ago
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MDZS Equineswap AU part 1: Bro we are horses. It’s okay to cry around me, we are best friends. Bro we are kissing.
[girl side of the swap]
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track2hack · 1 year ago
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26.10.2023
You got any games on ur phone?? 🤓
Ziggy leaves for his new home today! 🤩
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thevices · 9 months ago
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my partner is giving me shit because I refuse to replace my phone until it’s bricked. i mean i know it’s like 10 years old but I just feel like these things SHOULD LAST
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gummi-stims · 8 months ago
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🐎💚🥕Pony Pasture🥕💚🐎
From peachyslime on tiktok!
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terribleeq · 1 year ago
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Pudge and Zala have finally been relocated!!
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e77y · 1 year ago
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Me today bc I’m gonna say hi to the horses
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gallopinggold · 2 years ago
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Got my outdoor pavilion cleaned up over the weekend, so I had the clean space to be able to do my morning yoga outside with the sunrise for once! Bear could not figure out what I was doing outside so early, especially since I made her wait until after to feed her her breakfast
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fogaminghub · 2 months ago
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✨🌷 Are you excited for the New Bloom Festival in Infinity Nikki? Dive into the quest "Listening to Echoes of the Past" with our detailed walkthrough! 
Find Du Yubai, gather Pony Curls, and experience an unforgettable performance with amazing rewards like Shiny Bubbles and Diamonds! Remember, this quest ends on February 25, 2025, so don’t miss out! 
📸🌟 Check out the full guide now!
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rabbithaver · 3 months ago
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I GOT TO HOLD PIXIE
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southernboycure · 10 months ago
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PSA: If you’re gonna toke in the wild, please pick your shit up if you break it.
This isn’t how we’re supposed to be treating our surroundings. Get it together, RVA.
6.22.24
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thesporkidentity · 3 months ago
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look, if i catch sight of a mutual's unfortunately popular post in the wild dragging their flailing body behind it, i am obligated to smack that pony's ass and send them for another round of the pasture. i'm sorry, it's nothing personal, but it's in my contract
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junojoel · 11 days ago
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Dancing is a Dangerous Game
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Joel Miller x Reader, 9.4k
Summary: You need to escape the city, Joel needs help on his ranch. Despite the differences in your lifestyles, cowboy Joel teaches you the ways of the land.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, unprotected piv, creampie, THEN oral (f!receiving), outdoor sex, joel is a widower, sorry i accidentally made it really sad, joel is also soft for reader, and a romantic
this is the product of me playing stardew valley and reading the pumpkin spice cafe. enjoy :)
The city had a way of hollowing a person out.
You realised it the morning you woke up with your cheek pressed against your desk, a half-finished cover letter stuck to your forearm, and the acidic tang of stale coffee burning your throat. Four years of late-night study sessions, unpaid internships, and networking events had earned you a shiny degree and absolutely no idea what to do with it.
The job offers were there if you wanted them. Cubicle farms with fluorescent lighting and managers who'd call you "honey" in meetings. Apartment leases with paper-thin walls and neighbours who played bass-heavy music at 3am. A life measured in subway delays and happy hours that weren't happy at all.
So when you found the ad for Miller Ranch buried in the classifieds—Help needed. Room and board. Quiet place for quiet souls—you didn't overthink it. You packed your duffel, left a vague note for your roommate, and pointed your car west until the skyscrapers melted into golden fields.
⭑・゚゚・*:༅。.。༅:*゚:*:✼✿  ✿✼:*゚:༅。.。༅:*・゚゚・⭑
The ranch wasn't what you expected.
You'd imagined something from a postcard—red barns, cheerful horses, maybe a friendly dog trotting up to greet you. Instead, you found a sprawling property that looked like it had been wrestled from the earth itself. The main house was all rough-hewn logs and a sagging porch, the wood weathered silver by decades of sun. A few outbuildings dotted the land, their roofs patched with rusted tin. And beyond it all, endless stretches of pasture fading into shadowy pines.
You were still sitting in your car, gripping the steering wheel, when the screen door creaked open.
He moved like the land did. Slow, deliberate, utterly unconcerned with anyone else's pace. Broad shoulders filled the doorway, his faded flannel rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and scars. His beard was more grey than brown, his hair just long enough to curl at the nape of his neck. But it was his eyes that caught you: dark, assessing, the kind of eyes that had seen too much to be impressed easily.
He studied you with dark eyes that missed nothing. Your clean sneakers, your manicured nails, the way you squinted against the sunlight like you'd never truly seen it before.
"You lost?" His voice was rougher than you expected, like gravel under tires.
You lifted your chin. "Are you Joel Miller?"
"You the one who called about workin' here?" His voice was gravel wrapped in velvet, the kind of sound that settled low in your stomach.
You swallowed. "Yeah. I, uh—I emailed last week."
He didn't smile. Just nodded once and stepped aside. "Better come in, then."
You learned fast that Joel Miller didn't waste words.
He showed you the ropes in silence—how to check the fence lines for breaks, how to tell if a horse was favouring a leg, which tools to use when a storm knocked a branch through the chicken coop roof. His hands were always moving, always working, rough fingers handling everything with a care that surprised you.
"You ever done any of this before?" he asked on your third day, watching you struggle to coil a rope properly.
You wiped sweat from your brow. "Does petting a pony at a county fair count?"
A huff. Not quite a laugh, but close. "Guess we're startin' from scratch, then."
He didn't baby you, though. When you spilled a bucket of grain, he made you sweep it up. When you misread the clouds and left the hay bales uncovered before a downpour, you spent the next afternoon hauling soggy bundles to the compost. But he never yelled. Never made you feel stupid. Just showed you, again and again, until your hands stopped shaking and your muscles stopped burning.
⭑・゚゚・*:༅。.。༅:*゚:*:✼✿  ✿✼:*゚:༅。.。༅:*・゚゚・⭑
You found him in the kitchen at 2 AM, the old percolator hissing on the stove.
"Couldn't sleep?" you asked, lingering in the doorway.
He didn't turn around. "Old habit. Used to take night shifts checkin' the herds."
You padded closer, the wooden floor cool under your bare feet. The kitchen smelled like coffee and cinnamon—he'd been baking earlier, you realized. There was still flour dusting the counter.
"Mind if I join you?"
A pause. Then he reached into the cabinet for a second mug.
You sat at the scarred oak table while he poured, the steam curling between you. Outside, the wind whispered through the pines.
"City girl like you," he said suddenly, sliding the coffee toward you. "What made you come out here?"
You wrapped your hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into your skin. "Needed to remember what quiet sounded like."
"Why'd you really come out here, darlin'?"
The endearment slipped out so naturally you almost missed it.
You watched the horizon lighten from black to deep blue. "I think... I needed to prove I could."
His knuckles brushed yours as he reached for the bottle. Neither of you moved away.
For the first time, Joel looked at you—really looked at you. And you saw something flicker in his gaze, something warm and understanding.
⭑・゚゚・*:༅。.。༅:*゚:*:✼✿  ✿✼:*゚:༅。.。༅:*・゚゚・⭑
The sky turned the colour of a fresh bruise an hour before the twister touched down.
You were repairing the chicken coop roof when the wind kicked up, sending your hammer tumbling into the dirt. The air felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.
Joel's shout carried across the yard. "Get to the cellar! Now!"
You'd never seen him run before. He moved like a man possessed, boots pounding the hard-packed earth as he closed the distance between you. His arm hooked around your waist just as the first hailstone struck your shoulder, a marble-sized bullet of ice that left your skin throbbing.
The storm cellar doors groaned in protest as Joel wrenched them open. Damp, cool air rushed up to meet you as he practically carried you down the stairs.
Darkness.
Then the single bulb flickered to life, revealing shelves of canned goods, emergency supplies, and, oddly, a stack of well-loved paperbacks.
"You okay?" Joel's hands were suddenly everywhere, tilting your chin up to check your pupils, running down your arms to inspect for injuries, his touch clinical yet somehow intimate.
"I'm fine," you breathed, though your heart was trying to escape your chest. "Just... just scared."
The admission hung between you as the storm raged overhead. The bulb flickered again, then died completely, plunging you into blackness.
Joel's voice came from closer than you expected. "Ain't nothin' in this world can hurt you while I'm here."
You reached out blindly, your fingers finding the rough denim of his shirt. His breath hitched as you fisted the fabric.
Somewhere above, the world was ending. Here in the dark, something was beginning.
⭑・゚゚・*:༅。.。༅:*゚:*:✼✿  ✿✼:*゚:༅。.。༅:*・゚゚・⭑
The cellar doors groaned as Joel shouldered them open, releasing you both into a world transformed. Dawn painted the ravaged landscape in pale gold, revealing the storm's cruel artistry. A century-old oak now lay uprooted across the north pasture, its massive roots clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. Fence posts had been plucked from the earth and scattered like straws, barbed wire curling in dangerous spirals across the mud. The chicken coop roof had taken flight, landing thirty yards away in a splintered heap.
Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound more weary than angry. He rotated his left shoulder unconsciously—the old injury from a mustang bucking him off always acted up before rain.
"Gonna need to—"
"Check the livestock first," you finished.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. Two months ago you'd asked if cattle could swim during a flash flood. Now you knew ranch priorities.
The work was brutal. By noon, your shirt clung to your back with a mixture of sweat and residual storm humidity. Joel moved with relentless efficiency, his forearms corded with muscle as he wrestled fence posts back into alignment. You watched the way his wedding band caught the sunlight when he wiped his brow, the silver chain glinting against his sun-darkened skin.
At the third post, your blisters burst.
You didn't make a sound, but Joel's head snapped up like he'd heard something. His eyes dropped to your hands, where blood seeped through the leather work gloves.
"Goddammit." He was in front of you in three strides, peeling the ruined gloves off with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed the raw flesh of your palm, and you hissed involuntarily.
Joel's mouth tightened. "Should've said something."
"You would've told me to toughen up."
"Would've told you to take a damn break." He rummaged in his saddlebag for the medical kit he always carried. The antiseptic stung, but his hands were steady as he wrapped your palms in gauze. "Stubborn city girl."
The way he said it sounded almost like praise.
⭑・゚゚・*:༅。.。༅:*゚:*:✼✿  ✿✼:*゚:༅。.。༅:*・゚゚・⭑
The next week passed in a haze of exhaustion and unexpected discoveries.
You learned that:
A properly sharpened axe sings through wood with a sound like a breath being released
Joel's coffee preferences involved exactly two sugar cubes (never spoonfuls)
Your body could ache in places you didn't know existed
Each evening, Joel would appear at your elbow with some new remedy; a salve made from beeswax and lavender for your sunburn, a stretch to ease the knot between your shoulder blades, a cold beer pressed into your hand with a quiet "You earned it."
Tonight, you found him at the workbench, repairing a bridle by lantern light. The golden glow softened the lines of his face, catching the silver strands in his beard. He didn't look up as you approached, but his shoulders relaxed slightly when you set a fresh cup of coffee beside him—two sugars.
"Thanks." His voice was rough from disuse.
You leaned against the bench, close enough to smell leather and the faint cedar scent of his soap. "Show me?"
Joel's hands stilled. For a heartbeat, you thought he'd refuse. Then he shifted, making space for you at his side.
"Watch close," he murmured, his shoulder pressing against yours as he demonstrated the intricate stitch. His fingers moved with practiced ease, the needle flashing in the lamplight. "This part's gotta be tight enough to hold, loose enough to flex."
You tried to focus on the technique, but his proximity made concentration impossible. The heat radiating from his body, the way his breath stirred your hair when he leaned in to correct your grip—
The needle slipped.
"Shit." A bead of blood welled on your thumb.
Joel reacted before you could, catching your wrist. His calloused thumb brushed the droplet away, his mouth set in a hard line. "Ain't paying you to bleed on my tack."
But he didn't let go.
The lantern flickered, casting long shadows across the barn wall—two silhouettes frozen in the amber light, fingers intertwined.
⭑・゚゚・*:༅。.。༅:*゚:*:✼✿  ✿✼:*゚:༅。.。༅:*・゚゚・⭑
Betty the nanny goat had taken a disliking to you from day one.
Today, she'd decided to escalate hostilities.
"You're gonna want to—" Joel's warning came too late as you bent to refill the water trough.
Betty's horns connected with your backside with the precision of a missile strike. The world tilted violently as you face-planted into the mud, the entire herd erupting in gleeful bleats that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
Strong hands hauled you upright before you could drown in three inches of water. Joel's chest vibrated against your back—the bastard was laughing.
"Told you she don't like people looming over her," he said, voice thick with barely-contained amusement.
You wiped mud from your cheek, glaring. "You could've warned me sooner."
"Where's the fun in that?" The words slipped out before he could stop them, his eyes widening slightly at his own audacity.
Something warm unfurled in your chest. This was new—Joel teasing, letting his guard down. You retaliated by flicking a glob of mud at his shirt.
His jaw dropped. "Did you just—"
The second mudball hit him square in the chest.
For one terrifying second, Joel looked genuinely pissed. Then his eyes darkened with something far more dangerous. "Oh, you're gonna regret that, city girl."
What followed was a mud battle worthy of any childhood memory, complete with strategic retreats behind hay bales and Betty the goat serving as an unwitting double agent. By the time you both collapsed against the fence, breathless and filthy, Joel's laughter rang out clear and unguarded—a sound you'd only heard in fragments before.
The setting sun painted him in gold, his smile lines crinkling in a way that made your chest ache. Mud streaked his cheek, his shirt clung to his torso, and his eyes—
His eyes held yours with an intensity that stole your breath.
The moment stretched, thrumming with something unspoken. Then a cold rivulet of mud slid down your neck, breaking the spell.
Joel cleared his throat, suddenly business-like. "Better clean up before supper." But his fingers lingered on your elbow as he helped you up, his touch lingering just a heartbeat too long.
⭑・゚゚・*:༅。.。༅:*゚:*:✼✿  ✿✼:*゚:༅。.。༅:*・゚゚・⭑
The generator sputtered its last breath during the season's first real cold snap.
You found Joel in the living room, already building a fire with the economical movements of someone who'd done this a thousand times before. The flickering light caught the silver in his stubble, the strong line of his nose, the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders as he worked.
"Got extra blankets in the cedar chest," he said without turning.
You hesitated in the doorway, suddenly hyperaware of the flannel you wore—his flannel, the soft blue one that had been hanging in the hall until you'd "borrowed" it three days ago. The one that smelled faintly of his soap and the woodsmoke that always clung to his clothes.
Joel turned then, freezing when his eyes landed on you. His gaze darkened as it travelled from your bare feet to the oversized cuffs swallowing your hands to the way the fabric draped off one shoulder.
Neither of you moved.
The grandfather clock ticked loudly in the silence, each second stretching taut between you. Somewhere in the house, a pipe groaned. Outside, the wind howled through the pines.
Joel's throat worked as he swallowed hard. "You—"
A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. The moment shattered.
"Should check the livestock," he finished roughly, grabbing his coat with unnecessary force. The door clicked shut behind him with deliberate finality.
You sank onto the couch, pressing your face into the flannel's collar. His scent surrounded you, warm and familiar and utterly intoxicating. Outside, the temperature dropped steadily, but your skin burned as if touched by sunlight.
⭑・゚゚・*:༅。.。༅:*゚:*:✼✿  ✿✼:*゚:༅。.。༅:*・゚゚・⭑
The invitation arrived on a Thursday, creased and coffee-stained, delivered by old man Henderson when he came to pick up his repaired plough.
"Annual Harvest Social," the flyer read in looping script. "Music, supper, and dancing at the Grange Hall. All welcome."
You were elbows-deep in soapy dishwater when Joel tossed it onto the counter with a grunt. "Town nonsense," he muttered, but his eyes flicked to your reaction.
You wiped your hands carefully, studying the faded print. "We going?"
The silence stretched so long you thought he hadn't heard. Then:
"You wanna go?" His voice was carefully neutral, but you noticed the way his thumb worried at a callus on his palm.
The image flashed unbidden—Joel in a clean shirt, his large hands warm at your waist, moving to music under paper lanterns. Your throat went dry.
"Could be fun," you managed.
Joel studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a single nod. "I'll dig out my good boots."
The night of the dance, you stood frozen before the hallway mirror, suddenly unsure. The dress—a thrifted floral sundress—felt foreign after months of denim and flannel.
A knock rattled the doorframe.
"Ready or not, we're gonna be—" Joel's voice died abruptly as you turned.
He stood transfixed in the doorway, his good white shirt half-buttoned over a clean undershirt, his usual scuffed boots replaced by polished ones. His gaze travelled down your bare legs with the weight of a physical touch before snapping back to your face.
Something dark flickered in his eyes. "You... uh." He cleared his throat. "We're gonna be late."
The truck ride into town was silent except for the staticky country station and the sound of Joel's fingers tightening rhythmically on the steering wheel.
The Grange Hall glowed like a lantern against the prairie night, alive with fiddle music and laughter. You felt every eye on you as Joel guided you through the crowd with a hand at the small of your back—his touch burning through the thin fabric of your dress.
"Miller!" A grizzled rancher clapped Joel on the shoulder. "Ain't seen you at one of these in—" His gaze landed on you. "Well I'll be."
Joel's fingers flexed against your spine. "This is—"
"His ranch hand," you supplied, watching the older man's eyebrows climb.
The music shifted then—a slow waltz, all aching strings and longing. Joel stiffened beside you.
Across the room, women whispered behind their hands. You caught snippets—"...that Miller..." "...never brought anyone since..." "...still wears Tess's..."
Joel's jaw clenched. "We should—"
"Dance with me." The words left your lips before you could stop them.
His eyes went wide. "I ain't much for—"
"Please."
Something in your voice broke his resolve. With a shaky exhale, Joel took your hand and led you onto the floor. His right arm slid around your waist, his left hand cradling yours like something precious.
"You're supposed to—"
"Just follow me," he murmured into your hair.
And God help you, you did.
Joel moved with surprising grace for a man who claimed to hate dancing, his body swaying in time to the music. The heat of him surrounded you—the cedar and leather scent of his cologne, the scratch of his collar against your cheek, the way his breath hitched when your hips brushed.
The song ended too soon. Joel made to pull away, but you clung to his hand.
"One more?" you whispered.
In answer, he drew you closer, his lips brushing your temple as the next song began.
⭑・゚゚・*:༅。.。༅:*゚:*:✼✿  ✿✼:*゚:༅。.。༅:*・゚゚・⭑
The truck cab was thick with unspoken words as Joel navigated the dark ranch roads. Moonlight painted his profile in silver, catching the tension in his jaw.
"You okay?" you ventured.
His grip on the wheel tightened. "Tess loved those dances."
The name hung between you like a ghost. You'd never asked about the wedding band he still wore, about the locked bedroom door at the ranch, about the way he sometimes stared at the horizon like he was waiting for someone.
The truck rolled to a stop outside the darkened house. Joel didn't cut the engine.
"I should tell you about her," he said hoarsely.
You reached across the seat, covering his hand with yours. "Only if you want to."
His fingers turned, intertwining with yours. For a long moment, you sat there in the quiet, two sets of breath fogging the windshield.
Then Joel killed the engine.
You sat in the stillness, your hand wrapped around his, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. The only sound was the soft rustling of the wind through the trees, the hum of the distant creek, and the distant calls of coyotes. For a second, you both just... sat. Neither of you moving, neither of you speaking. The weight of the unspoken words between you felt like an uncharted territory neither of you were willing to navigate just yet.
Joel’s thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, a subconscious comfort more than anything else. His gaze shifted to the darkened ranch house ahead, his eyes narrowing as though the past was pressing in, refusing to let go.
“Tess was…” He started, then paused. The words seemed to choke him for a second. “She was my world, y'know? Before…” He swallowed hard, and you could see his jaw tighten as he forced the rest of it out. “Before she died.”
Your breath caught, the weight of the sudden revelation hanging thick between you. You could feel him pull away into himself as soon as the words left his mouth. He wasn’t looking at you anymore—his eyes were trained somewhere in the distance, focusing on nothing in particular.
“She was the love of my life," Joel continued, his voice low, raw. "We had a house, a future... hell, we had plans. Then…” He trailed off, his hand tightening briefly around the steering wheel, like he was holding onto something for dear life. “She got sick. Fast. One minute, she was fine. The next, she was gone. Just like that."
You stayed quiet, your heart thumping painfully in your chest. You didn’t know what to say, how to ease the weight of that kind of loss. The kind of grief that ran so deep it felt like it might swallow him whole. Joel had always been a man of few words, but this? This was raw.
“The doctors said there was nothing they could do. That it was too late. I kept telling myself I should’ve known... that I should’ve noticed sooner, that maybe I could’ve done something. But I didn’t. And now…” His voice cracked, but he quickly cleared his throat, regaining his composure, even as his hands trembled on the wheel. “Now, it’s just me. And sometimes I wonder if that’s all I’ll ever be. Just a guy who lost everything.”
You swallowed hard, heart aching for him. The grief, the loss—it was so much more than you’d ever imagined.
His gaze flicked to you, but only for a moment, before he looked away again, his expression unreadable. There was a tension in his posture, a stiffness that told you he was holding himself back from saying more. From letting it all spill out.
“I don’t talk about her much," he muttered, his voice hoarse, like the words had been locked away for far too long. "Tess… she was everything to me. I don’t know how to move on from that. I don’t know if I ever will.”
You reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing against his hand, and for a moment, he didn’t pull away. He just let you hold on to him, his rough fingers curling against yours as if you were grounding him, pulling him back from the edge of a memory that threatened to pull him under.
“I’m not asking you to forget her,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand, your voice steady. “You don’t have to. But you don’t have to carry it all by yourself, either.”
Joel’s breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw the rawness of the man behind the rancher—the weight he’d been shouldering for so long, and the part of him that was still fragile, even if he didn’t show it. His eyes softened, though there was still that quiet wariness in his gaze. He hadn’t let go of the past, not entirely, and maybe he never would.
But maybe, just maybe, he could let a little of it slip away.
“You remind me of her,” he whispered, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. “The way you... the way you care. Even when I don't deserve it.”
Your chest tightened, and you leaned in, your hand still holding his. "I'm here, Joel," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "And I'm not going anywhere."
For a long moment, there was nothing but the quiet hum of the truck’s engine and the distant sound of wind rustling through the trees. Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke. It was as if the world had paused, just for that instant, to let the weight of the moment settle.
Eventually, Joel shifted, breaking the silence with a deep breath. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow exhale. “Guess it’s getting late,” he said, trying to regain his usual composure, but his voice was still rough, thick with something unspoken. “We should get inside.”
You both climbed out of the truck, and Joel led the way into the house, his hand brushing against yours once more as you followed him inside. The warmth of the fire hit you immediately, the familiar scent of woodsmoke mingling with the faint smell of coffee and cinnamon.
Joel stopped by the fire, his shoulders hunched slightly as he stared into the flames. You stood beside him, not speaking, just being there. A quiet presence, a steady hand in the darkness.
After a long while, Joel spoke again, his voice low. “You remind me of the way things used to be. Before…” He let the sentence trail off, like he didn’t want to finish it.
You didn’t press him. Instead, you simply nodded, letting him find his own pace.
For a while, neither of you said anything, but there was something in the silence now. Something warm. Something that felt like the beginning of something new, something fragile but real.
Eventually, Joel turned toward you, his eyes dark but not empty. His fingers brushed your cheek, lingering just a moment before he pulled back, like he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to touch you like that.
"Thanks," he muttered, his voice rough. "For listening."
And for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller didn’t feel quite so alone.
The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room as the shadows danced across the wooden walls. The night was quiet, but it wasn’t heavy. It felt more like a kind of peace settling in around the two of you. Neither of you spoke for a while, as if the silence had become its own conversation.
Joel stood by the fire, staring into the flames, his posture a little less rigid than it had been before. His hand rested on the mantle, his fingers curling around it like a lifeline, but the tension in his body had softened. He looked different somehow, less burdened. Maybe it was the weight of his grief being shared, maybe it was just the comfort of your presence, but something in him had shifted.
You stayed quiet, sitting on the couch, your eyes watching him, the soft sound of his breathing filling the space between you. You didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with words—it felt like a space where both of you could just be.
But eventually, Joel shifted, breaking the stillness with a quiet sigh. He ran a hand through his hair again, like he was trying to work through something in his mind.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, y’know?” he said, his voice low, almost like he was speaking to himself more than to you. “I’ve been running on autopilot for so damn long... Just trying to make it through the day. But lately... everything feels harder.”
You could hear the weight of exhaustion in his voice, the kind that had settled deep in his bones over the years. He wasn’t just tired from the work—he was tired of the constant struggle, of carrying everything on his own.
You stood up slowly, walking over to him. Without saying a word, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm. It was an almost imperceptible gesture, but it was enough. He stiffened for a second, but then his shoulders relaxed, and he glanced at you, his eyes softening.
“I don’t know how to fix everything for you, Joel,” you said quietly. “I can’t take away the pain, or bring back what you lost... But I’m here. And you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”
He looked at you for a long moment, like he was seeing you in a different light—maybe not just as someone to lean on, but as someone who was offering him something he hadn’t realised he needed. A way out of the solitude he’d built around himself.
You reached up then, gently cupping his face with your hands. His stubble scraped lightly against your skin, and his breath hitched for a second, but you didn’t pull away. You simply held him there, your eyes locked with his, letting the words settle between you.
“Maybe we don’t have to figure everything out right now,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the storm you could sense in him. “Maybe we can just... take it one step at a time.”
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire and the soft rhythm of your breathing. And then, almost imperceptibly, Joel leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly, like he was allowing himself to feel something—anything—that wasn’t the weight of the past.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though the words were both a confession and a plea. “I don’t know how to make it right.”
You smiled gently, your thumbs brushing the roughness of his skin, your heart aching for him. “You don’t have to make it perfect, Joel. You don’t have to fix everything. Just... be here. With me.”
The tension in his body slowly ebbed away, and for the first time in a long while, Joel allowed himself to lean into you. To let someone else carry a small piece of the burden. The moment was fleeting but meaningful, a quiet understanding passing between you both.
“I’m not promising anything, but…” Joel trailed off, his gaze softer now, something more vulnerable creeping into his eyes. “Maybe I’ll start trying. For once.”
You nodded, your heart full of quiet hope, and took a small step closer to him. “One step at a time.”
Joel didn’t answer, but his hand reached for yours, his grip gentle but firm. He didn’t let go when your fingers intertwined. It was a small gesture, but it meant something bigger than words could convey.
The fire crackled again, casting more dancing shadows on the walls, but it felt like the start of something new. Something fragile but real. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you were alone either.
⭑・゚゚・*:༅。.。༅:*゚:*:✼✿  ✿✼:*゚:༅。.。༅:*・゚゚・⭑
You woke early, as usual, the first light of dawn peeking through the curtains. You could hear Joel already moving around downstairs, the familiar sound of boots on the wooden floor, the creak of the old chair at the kitchen table. You stretched and pulled yourself out of bed, the chill of the room pushing you into motion. It was another busy day ahead—feeding the animals, checking the fences, mending what needed mending—but you found yourself looking forward to it more than you had before.
You made your way downstairs, the aroma of brewing coffee filling the air before you even reached the bottom step. Joel was standing at the stove, his back to you, flipping pancakes in a skillet with an ease that came from years of practice. The warm, golden light of the morning spilled through the windows, making the kitchen glow.
"You’re up early," you said, leaning against the doorframe, your voice soft but teasing.
Joel glanced over his shoulder at you, offering a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Not much for sleepin’ in." He turned back to the skillet, flipping the pancake with a practiced flick of his wrist. "Figured I’d get a head start today."
You crossed to the counter, grabbing the mug Joel had already set out for you. "I could get used to this," you said, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. "You know, waking up to pancakes and coffee."
He let out a low chuckle, his eyes catching yours for just a second. "Don't get too comfortable. I’m not much of a cook. You might end up makin' these yourself sooner or later."
You laughed softly, your fingers curling around the warm mug. "I think I could manage."
There was an ease in the way the two of you moved around each other now. Where once you’d felt like a stranger in a new world, now it felt... natural. Even the hard work didn’t seem quite so overwhelming anymore. You knew the land better, understood its rhythms, the way it demanded respect without asking for much in return. And Joel—well, Joel was becoming something you hadn’t anticipated. He was still the man of few words, the one who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but there was a gentleness in him now. A trust.
You sat down at the table, watching him finish cooking, the way his large hands moved so gracefully despite their size. There was a quiet confidence in him now that made your chest tighten, and it wasn’t just because of his strength. It was because, for the first time in a long while, he seemed like he was allowing himself to be here—really here—with you.
"After breakfast," Joel said, setting the last pancake on the stack, "we need to check the horses. Haven’t seen 'em this morning."
You nodded, taking a sip of your coffee. "Got it. I’ll grab the gear."
The work felt familiar now, but there was something different about it. It wasn’t just about chores anymore—it was a way to connect, to feel part of something larger than yourself. You and Joel worked together, side by side, fixing fences, checking the cattle, and tending to the land. It was a steady rhythm, one that was comforting in its predictability.
By midday, you’d found your stride. You’d mended a tear in the barn roof, helped Joel move hay bales, and checked the water troughs. And when the sky turned to gold with the setting sun, you both found yourselves leaning against the fence, the last light of the day painting everything in warm hues.
Joel’s hand brushed against yours as he shifted, and for a moment, you felt like the world had quieted completely—just the two of you, standing in the vastness of the land you had come to love, connected in a way that felt timeless.
"You know," he said, breaking the silence, "I never thought I'd be this comfortable with someone around. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had people work with me before, but it’s different with you."
You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. There was something in his gaze now—something deeper. "I think I’m finally getting used to the quiet, too," you admitted. "And to you. I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Joel."
Joel’s lips twitched, a small, rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Guess I’m just a stubborn old cowboy," he said with a hint of humor, though there was something more sincere in the way he said it, like he was offering a piece of himself you hadn’t seen before.
You shifted closer, the space between you shrinking. "I don’t mind stubborn," you replied softly. "It’s... kind of endearing."
Joel's smile softened, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The evening air was still and cool, the sound of the crickets chirping blending with the distant lowing of the cattle. The world was small here, simple. But somehow, it felt full.
When you reached up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face, your hand grazed Joel’s arm. He stiffened just slightly, and for a heartbeat, you both seemed to hesitate. Then, almost without thinking, you reached out again, this time more deliberately, and placed your hand on his forearm, your fingers lingering.
Joel’s gaze flickered down to where your hand rested, and then back to your face. There was an unspoken understanding between you now—no more games, no more hesitations.
"Don’t go getting any ideas," Joel said, though there was no real bite to his words. "You might end up stickin' around for good."
A light laugh bubbled up from you, and you squeezed his arm. "I’m already stickin' around," you said, your voice more certain.
⭑・゚゚・*:༅。.。༅:*゚:*:✼✿  ✿✼:*゚:༅。.。༅:*・゚゚・⭑
The sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, casting an orange glow over the horizon as you and Joel made your way back from the creek. The day had been long, but there was a certain satisfaction in it—a quiet contentment that settled in your chest. Now, as the evening light bathed everything in gold, the two of you walked in silence back toward the house. The barn loomed behind you, and the fields stretched out endlessly before you, a peaceful canvas of green and brown.
You were both tired, but there was an energy between you that felt new, something that tugged at the edges of your thoughts. It was the way your heart seemed to race just a little faster every time Joel’s presence shifted around you. The way your breath caught in your throat when you glanced at him from the corner of your eye.
Joel stopped walking a few paces ahead of you, his boots kicking up the dirt, and turned toward you, his face softening in the fading light. The warmth of the day was still lingering in the air, and the world around you seemed to hush, waiting.
“You’ve been here for a while now,” Joel said, his voice low, like he was considering each word carefully. “I’ve seen you adjust. You’ve done more than just fit in. You’ve... become part of this place.”
You met his gaze, your heartbeat quickening at the seriousness in his eyes. "I never thought I’d find a place like this," you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper, as though sharing a secret. "And I never thought I’d meet someone like you."
Joel stepped closer, his boots scraping softly against the dirt. His presence felt different now—closer, more intense. He stood just a few feet away, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The distance between you seemed to shrink with each passing second, the silence heavy with unspoken words.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Joel said, his voice softer now, like he was letting down a barrier. “About how much you’ve changed things around here. Not just for the ranch, but... for me.”
Joel’s eyes flicked to your lips for the briefest moment before returning to your eyes. And in that instant, the world seemed to still, the sounds of the ranch fading into nothing.
With a slight movement, Joel reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. It was a soft, almost tentative gesture, but there was a strength to it, an undeniable certainty in the way his thumb brushed across your skin.
Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the warmth of his touch spread through you, igniting something that had been slowly building since you arrived.
Before you could think, before the moment could slip away, you leaned in.
Joel’s hand slid around to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, the world around you melting away. His lips were warm and insistent, and the gentle pressure of his kiss sent a thrill rushing through you. For a moment, it was just the two of you—the world and all its distractions faded into the background.
When you finally pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed, you rested your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. There was a quiet understanding between you now, something new, something that had shifted in the space between the two of you.
Joel’s voice was barely more than a whisper as he spoke. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”
You smiled, your chest full, heart racing. “I think I’ve wanted you to.”
He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “You’re not what I expected, you know that?”
You laughed softly, the sound light and genuine, before stepping back just slightly, your fingers brushing his. “Neither are you.”
You were up earlier than usual, moving through the kitchen in a daze of thoughts, your mind still racing from the kiss. The silence of the ranch was comforting, almost like a cocoon, wrapping you up in the stillness of everything around you.
Joel hadn’t said much when you parted ways the night before, but the look in his eyes—intense, yet soft—had told you everything. It was clear that neither of you had expected the shift that had come so naturally, but now, there was no denying it. Whatever had just begun, it wasn’t something you could walk away from.
You heard the soft sound of boots on the porch, the familiar rhythm of Joel’s steps as he made his way toward the house. You turned around just as he entered, the sight of him bringing an unexpected rush of warmth to your chest.
He smiled, a little shy, a little unsure—like he was still figuring out where to stand in all of this. You both were.
“Mornin’,” he greeted softly, his deep voice carrying a quiet sincerity.
“Morning,” you replied, offering him a smile that felt more like home than anything else.
By the time breakfast was ready, the kitchen was filled with the scent of eggs and bacon, the soft clinking of plates as you set the table.
“Want to head out to the fields later?” Joel asked, his voice casual but with a hint of anticipation.
You nodded, your stomach fluttering with excitement. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Joel smiled, that familiar warmth returning to his expression.
⭑・゚゚・*:༅。.。༅:*゚:*:✼✿  ✿✼:*゚:༅。.。༅:*・゚゚・⭑
The sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the fields as you and Joel made your way out into the vast expanse of the ranch. The air had warmed up since the early morning, and there was a gentle breeze rustling through the grass, carrying with it the sweet scent of wildflowers.
As you walked beside him, your thoughts drifted back to the peaceful breakfast you’d shared. The conversation had been easy, flowing naturally between you, but there had been something comforting in the silence, too.
When you reached the edge of the field, you stopped, your eyes falling on a patch of grass where Joel had already laid out a blanket. There, in the middle of the field, with nothing but the sounds of nature around you, he had set up a picnic. The scene was simple, but there was something about it that felt intimate, like a secret just for the two of you.
The two of you ate in comfortable silence, the easy rhythm of sharing a meal together only adding to the sense of peace that seemed to settle over you both. After a few moments, Joel reached for the book beside him, holding it out to you with a slight grin.
“I thought you might like this one,” he said, his voice quiet. “It’s one of my favorites. I’ll read it to you, if you’d like.”
You took the book from his hands, glancing at the cover—The Secret Garden. Your heart warmed at the thought of him wanting to share something so personal. It felt like an invitation to step into his world, to see the things he held close.
“I’d like that,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his.
Joel settled back against the blanket, the sun casting a golden glow over him, and you curled up beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. The moment felt so simple, but in its simplicity, it was perfect. The world outside this small bubble you had created seemed to fade away as he began to read aloud, his voice deep and steady, the words flowing smoothly into the air.
As he read, you let yourself relax, the sound of his voice weaving a sense of comfort around you. There was something incredibly romantic about the way he read, each word filled with a quiet intensity, like he was sharing a piece of himself with you in each sentence. The book’s story was a good one, the characters coming to life with Joel’s voice, but it wasn’t just the story that held your attention—it was the feeling of being here with him, in this moment, with nothing else to do but listen and be present.
You could hear the occasional breeze stirring the trees, the distant call of a bird, but everything else seemed to fade into the background as you found yourself wrapped up in both the story and in him.
Eventually, Joel turned a page, pausing for a moment as he glanced at you. “You comfortable?” he asked, his voice low, almost like a whisper.
You nodded, lifting your head slightly to look up at him. “I’m perfect,” you said, and it was true. There was no place you’d rather be than here, beside him, feeling the warmth of the day and the gentleness of his presence.
Joel gave you a soft smile, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he returned to the book. He continued reading, his voice almost a soothing hum against the backdrop of the quiet ranch. Every now and then, you’d glance up at him, watching the way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way he spoke with such focus and care. It was moments like this—quiet, intimate, with no rush—that made everything feel so right.
As the story unfolded, you both became more absorbed in the tale, but time seemed to stretch, becoming less important. The whole world could have passed by, and you wouldn’t have noticed. It was just the two of you, sharing a peaceful day in the fields, wrapped up in a story and in each other.
When Joel finished the chapter, he closed the book and placed it beside him, his hand gently resting on the blanket. He looked over at you, his expression soft.
“Did you like it?” he asked, his voice a little hushed.
You smiled, a soft warmth spreading through you. “I did. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
He nodded, his lips curving up at the corners. “You’re welcome.”
There was a moment of quiet, a small but meaningful silence that held everything you both hadn’t yet said, but didn’t need to. You shifted slightly, turning to face him more fully, your gaze catching his. You could feel the subtle change in the air between you, the quiet understanding that had been building all morning, now palpable.
Slowly, as if it had always been meant to happen, you leaned in, closing the space between you. Joel’s hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin, and then, without any more words needed, your lips met. The kiss was slow and tender, the kind that lingered in your soul long after it ended.
When you pulled away, you stayed close, your foreheads resting together, both of you breathing in the same quiet rhythm.
“I think I could get used to this,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
Joel smiled, his eyes soft with affection as he gazed at you. “Yeah. Me too.”
"You’ve... you’ve got a way of making everything feel a little different," Joel said, his voice catching slightly as he looked into your eyes. The silence that followed was thick, the weight of his words settling between you like a promise, an unspoken acknowledgment of something growing deeper between you both.
You could feel your heart beating a little faster. The way he was looking at you now was unlike anything you’d seen before. His gaze was hungry, but not in the way it had been before—this was more. More raw, more real.
You didn’t say anything in response. Instead, you let the tension build, your breath shallow as you reached for him, cupping his jaw gently in your hand. His breath hitched as your thumb traced the line of his jaw, and you couldn’t help but lean in just a little, your lips barely brushing against his.
Joel’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and when he opened them again, the storm that had always been present was even clearer now. You could see the restraint in the way his body was coiled, like a man holding back the tide.
“Don’t hold back,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to say more.
Joel didn’t need any more encouragement. His lips crashed against yours, hot and urgent, a mixture of relief and longing as if he were finally giving in to something he’d held at bay for far too long. The kiss was fierce, as though he were trying to make up for all the time spent keeping his distance.
Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging him closer as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him with a strength that made your breath hitch. The heat between you two grew, making the air around you seem almost too thick to breathe. You could feel the solid weight of him against you, the way his chest pressed into yours with each kiss, the way his hands wandered across your back, memorising every curve of you.
His lips left yours only long enough for him to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. "God, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me," Joel murmured, his voice rougher than usual, the words a low growl.
You laughed breathlessly, your hands still resting on his chest. "I think I’m starting to get the idea."
The blanket beneath you was rough against your bare thighs, the late afternoon sun warming your skin as Joel hovered over you, his body casting a shadow that made the gold in his eyes burn even brighter. His lips had just left yours, swollen and wet from the way he’d kissed you—deep, consuming, like he was trying to memorise the taste of you.
"You’re sure about this?" he asked, voice rough, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was already fighting the urge to take more.
In answer, you arched up against him, your chest brushing his, and Joel let out a low groan, his forehead dropping to yours.
"Christ," he muttered, his breath hot against your lips. "Out here like this—anyone could—"
You cut him off with a roll of your hips, grinding against the hard length of him, and Joel cursed, his restraint snapping.
His hands were everywhere at once—one tangling in your hair, the other sliding up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress higher until his calloused fingers met bare skin. You gasped as he traced the edge of your underwear, his touch teasing, maddening.
"Joel—"
"Tell me what you want," he growled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear before dragging down your neck, teeth scraping lightly.
You whimpered, your fingers clutching at his shirt. "You. Just you."
That was all it took.
His hand slid beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers finding you already wet, already aching for him. He groaned against your throat as he stroked you, slow at first, then firmer when your hips jerked against his touch.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he rasped, watching the way your body responded to him. "Look at you."
You could feel the tension coiling tighter, your breath coming in short gasps as his fingers worked you with a precision that had your toes curling. But just as you were teetering on the edge, Joel pulled back, leaving you empty, desperate.
Your protest was cut off when his mouth crashed back onto yours, his kiss filthy, his tongue sliding against yours as he guided your hand to his belt.
"Wanna feel you," he muttered against your lips, his voice wrecked. "All of you."
You didn’t hesitate. Your fingers fumbled with the buckle, then the button of his jeans, and when you finally freed him, Joel hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking into your touch.
He was thick, hot in your hand, and when you stroked him, his entire body tensed, his grip on your thigh tightening almost to the point of pain.
"Fuck—" His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breath ragged. "Gonna ruin me."
You smiled, squeezing lightly, and Joel growled, his patience gone.
In one swift motion, he yanked your underwear aside and pushed into you, filling you so completely that you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders.
Joel stilled, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. "Okay?" he gritted out, his voice strained.
Joel's breath was fire against your neck, his body trembling with restraint as he waited for your answer.
"More than okay," you gasped, arching into him, needing him deeper.
That was all the permission he needed.
Joel moved with a roughness that stole your breath—deep, relentless strokes that had you seeing stars. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he drove into you again and again.
"Look at me," he growled, his voice raw.
You forced your eyes open, meeting his dark, hungry gaze. Sweat glistened on his brow, his jaw clenched tight with pleasure. The sight of him—undone, wrecked, yours—sent a fresh wave of heat spiraling through you.
"Joel—"
"Know what you do to me?" he rasped, his thrusts turning slower, deeper, dragging against every sensitive inch inside you. "Fuckin' ruin me."
You clenched around him, and his control snapped.
With a groan, Joel flipped you onto your back, pinning your wrists above your head as he surged into you, his rhythm turning desperate. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your moans as pleasure coiled tighter, hotter—until you shattered, crying out his name.
Joel followed with a broken groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, his forehead dropping to yours.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the heat of his body pressed against yours. Then Joel exhaled, rough and unsteady, his thumb brushing your cheek.
"Christ," he muttered, voice wrecked.
You grinned, still trembling beneath him. "That a complaint?"
Joel huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. "Ain't even close."
His touch gentled as he traced the curve of your waist, your hip, the inside of your thigh—checking, silently, for any discomfort. When he found none, his hand returned to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your kiss-swollen bottom lip.
"You good?" The question was gruff, but his eyes—dark and liquid in the low light—held an intensity that made your stomach flip.
You caught his wrist, pressing a kiss to his palm. "Better than good."
Joel’s throat worked. He leaned in, kissing you slow and deep, nothing like the frantic heat of before. This was something else—a claiming, a promise, a thank you that didn’t need words.
When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. His nose brushed yours, his breath warm on your skin. "Gonna take care of you," he murmured, already moving to slide down your body.
You caught his shoulder. "Joel—"
"Shhh." A kiss to your sternum. "Let me."
His mouth was hot as it traced the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his beard scraping deliciously. You gasped when his tongue laved over you, slow and thorough, his hands spreading you wide.
"Joel—"
His grip tightened. "Told you," he growled against your skin. "Gonna take my time."
And he did.
By the time he was done, you were boneless and breathless, your fingers tangled in his hair as he crawled back up your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your ribs, the flutter of your pulse.
"Still good?" he asked, his voice rough with satisfaction.
You could only nod, your limbs heavy with pleasure.
Joel smirked, that rare, real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Then he gathered you against him, tucking your head under his chin, his heartbeat steady against your cheek.
"Rest," he murmured, his hand stroking down your spine. "I got you."
And for the first time in your life, you believed it.
As you drifted, Joel reached for the spare blanket, draping it over you both. His fingers traced idle patterns on your shoulder—circles, spirals, the occasional brush of his knuckles—as if memorising you by touch.
Joel’s lips brushed your forehead. "Stay?"
Not a command. A question.
You curled closer, your leg hooking over his. "Try and make me leave."
His chest rumbled with quiet laughter, his arms tightening around you. "Wouldn’t dare."
And in the quiet that followed, wrapped in the heat of him, you realised—
You were home.
2K notes · View notes
laurasimonsdaughter · 11 months ago
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“The first thing you need to know,” the stable master announced loudly to the gaggle of school children trailing behind her, “is that these are not unicorns.”
Eleven-year-olds tended to be loud. Their silent scepticism was deafening.
“You cannot keep unicorns in captivity,” she continued. “These are all crossbreeds, mostly with specific breeds of horses.”
There was a small murmur of curiosity and a gangly arm shot up into the air.
“Yes?”
“Only mostly horses?”
It was always fun when some of them paid close attention. “Only mostly horses. I only deal with European breeds, and they tend to cross well with horses. See this here is a cross between a grey Thoroughbred and an English Unicorn. They’re large, and reasonably docile.” They also had that champagne sheen most showy folk preferred. “For people who come here looking for a steed, this is their best bet. Although I've only ever seen it done by people who personally broke them as yearlings.”
By now she definitely had the whole class’s full attention.
“But this French Licorne cross is actually half fallow deer.” She gestured to the pasture beyond the fence. “Look at them. Slight build, slender legs, built for speed and agility. They need a lot of space but they are beautiful to look at, and they’re relatively easy to tame for the pure of heart.” There was still something distinctly deer-like about them and they were all so beautifully cream coloured that they almost took on a silver hue.
“What’s those hairy ones?” a voice piped up.
“That’s a Unicorno/Shetland mix, from central Italy. Traditionally they tend to be crossed with Monterufolino, but they are hard to come by and make their coats even darker.” Unicorni were naturally built more like ponies, some with considerably shorter horns, and their coats were often a much darker gold, or even brown. They were less flighty than the French breeds though, even if they showed blatant favouritism towards certain caretakers. They would even pull a carriage if properly motivated.
“Do you have any bigger ones?”
The stable master turned around. “What was that?”
One of the boys was standing behind her with a determined look on his face. “Do you have any like that but bigger. With the beards and the furry hooves.”
“Feathering,” she corrected automatically and the boy nodded eagerly. She frowned. “What exactly do you mean?”
“There’s really big unicorns,” he pressed. “With wild manes and tails and split hooves like the French ones but hair like those ones!”
“Buddy,” she laughed, “what you’re describing there is a Scottish unicorn and let me tell you, they cannot even be crossbred into domestication.”
The little face fell.
“Any offspring of an Aon-adharcach will be as wild as they are no one can capture them with their horn still intact, not on your life. You go near one of them with a halter and it will skewer you.”
She smiled at the boy, who still looked rather taken aback, despite this proof of his favourites superiority.
“Tell you what. If you want to see something unhinged and imposing, I’ll take you to see the Eenhoorn/Friesian cross we’ve just got in from the Netherlands.”
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almostempty · 4 months ago
Text
right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part one
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wc: 12.5k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART TWO HERE
summary: rebuilding your life, chasing cans, and hitchin’ a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel
to my pedrostories secret santa recipient @katiexpunk: this was a challenge for ya gurl to be srs (and it’s not a tentacle gangbang, i lied in ur asks babe i’m srry) i hope i hit the mark on a handful of the prompts though, i had high hopes that i could really challenge myself and deliver some breeding kink cowboy but i fear it’s more of a creampie kink—i hope that still hits, i have horse knowledge, but only rodeo adjacent experience so if any rodeo queens find glaring mistakes pls forgive me — but happy holidays bb, i really hope you enjoy-- EDIT: I MADE IT TOO GIRTHY (or something?? sorry!!) and had to split it into two parts, the second part will be up and linked as asap as possible, and i'll add the full text to ao3 so it'll be in one spot
tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, guilty yearnful joel, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin’ that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta–mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am 
thanks: to @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, ideas, etc.
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The sun beats down on the gravel driveway as you pull your truck toward the old house. It looks almost the same as it did the summers you spent here as a kid when it was your grandparents–the peeling white paint on the porch railing, and the barn standing sturdy, but weathered further down the driveway. The fields stretched on as you rolled down the driveway, dotted with occasional wildflowers and critters dashing into the denser brush. 
The air blows warm through the window, same as you remember, but the weight of the memories feels different now. The summers used to feel endless here, the fields seemed endless, as did the sky. It all used to feel so liberating. It’s not an endless summer now. Everything looks smaller and more weathered. 
Except for the shiny white PVC fences on the other side of the driveway and the modern-looking house and barn built on the same soil you used to spend hours patrolling with your pony, Clover. She’d search for the best bits of grass as you laid across her back coming up with stories—some days you were an old-timey cowgirl traveling west or Clover was a wild horse you were training or you were on a quest to a magical kingdom together. 
But now it’s a new home for whoever bought up the parceled land your dad sold to cover the updates on the house when he inherited it. Someone with enough money for a fancy barn and shiny truck. You pull to a stop and hop out of the cab, still scanning the neighbor's property, making your first impression. 
Your dad emerges from the barn, wiping his hands on a faded rag. He gives you a smile and a nod. “About time you showed up,” he calls, his voice warm and teasing. “Thought maybe you had changed your mind.” 
You shake your head softly, rolling your eyes. “Nope. Nothing worth staying in that city for.” 
The gravel crunches under your boots as you round the bed to grab one of your boxes. All your belongings fit into a few boxes. At least, everything that mattered to you, everything that was still you. “Where do you want this?” You wonder how you’re going to manage living in the same house with your dad now that you’re an adult. 
“Just set it inside,” he said, gesturing to the house. “We’ll get you sorted after we have something to eat.” 
As you followed him toward the house, the outline of the neighbor's property loomed large. The barn caught your eye. It was close. A pair of horses stood in the near pasture, swishing their tails in the afternoon heat. The contrast was stark. Where your dad’s place still carried the scrapes and scuffs of decades–theirs looked new and polished. Smug even. Can a house be smug? 
“The neighbors are closer than I thought.” You cross the porch, the nostalgic screen door squeaking as your dad ushers you inside. 
“Don’t mind it. We look out for each other.” He points to the room you stayed in as a kid. “He damn near built the place by himself, and helped me with the new roof on this place.” 
You shoot him a sharp look. “You said you were gonna hire roofers instead of climbing around up there at your age.” He shrugs you off. Always stubborn. Convinced he can do it better and cheaper. Despite the toll on his body. 
“Paid him to help,” he argues, “wasn’t up there by myself. You don’t gotta worry about me like that.” 
You set your box down at the end of the twin-size bed, the room falling quiet for a moment. Your dad stays planted in the doorway, but his brows pinch and lips purse briefly before he lets out a breath. You scan the room, gaze landing on the floorboards, waiting. 
Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, he says, “You hungry?” 
You grin at that, letting out a shaky breath. Your father’s daughter, neither of you likes to dig into your feelings. He taught you to show love through actions, like keeping you fed, taking on hard labor jobs without a complaint, or changing your windshield wipers before the rainy season starts and you’re cursing yours out. 
“Yeah,” you say, brushing past the knot in your chest. “Starving.” 
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The rumble of a diesel engine jolts you awake the next morning, the deep growly sound reverberating through the walls like thunder on an otherwise quiet morning. You groaned, stretching and blinking blearily at the pale light filtering in through the old curtains. It was barely dawn yet, which explains the dull headache you’ve got. 
Sleep had been restless. Tangled thoughts, ruminating on what you’d left behind. A failed engagement, the job you hated, the mix of excuses you had rehearsed for why you’d come back. You’d hoped coming here would ease the ache, but just when you were finally falling back asleep—the truck from hell pulled up to the house. 
The engine is already cut off, but now you can hear voices on the porch. Your dad’s, low and steady, just a hum, and another unfamiliar drawl. Whoever it is, they’re carrying on like the rest of the world wasn’t still trying to wake up. 
You drag yourself out of bed, wearing your soft sleep shorts and a thin shirt. The worn fabric clings to your body in places it shouldn’t, but you’re not thinking about being presentable, you aren’t really thinking at all yet. You drag your feet crossing to the kitchen to pour yourself coffee, for a brief moment you miss the coffee shop you used to stop at on the way to your old job, but the familiar roast your dad’s been loyal to has its charm. Like the free coffee at an AA meeting. It’s there and you need something to keep you going. 
You push past the squeaky screen door, stepping out onto the porch. Your dad sits on the worn bench, coffee in hand. Next to him, leaning casually against the railing is a man you don’t recognize. His black Stetson gives him a classic cowboy silhouette, the morning sun catches on the sharp cut of his jaw and the scruff on his cheeks. His plaid shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, his jeans are worn and dusty in a way that speaks to more than just appearances. 
He straightens when he sees you, pulling his hat off with one hand in a fluid, effortless motion. “Mornin’,” he says, voice low and rich. “You must be the daughter. Joel Miller.” 
You take a sip of your coffee. “Morning,” you mutter, voice still thick from sleep. “You always roll up this early, or is today special?” 
Your dad shoots a look at you, but Joel just chuckles softly. 
“Guessin’ you’re not a morning person?”
Your eyes are narrow, defensive. “I’m just fine in the mornings,” you say in a clipped tone that doesn’t support your statement. “Just not when I’m woken up by a jet engine at the asscrack of dawn.” The chill in the brisk morning air causes you to shiver for a moment somehow making you look more irritated. 
Joel glances at your dad with a faint smirk before tipping his hat to you. “Noted.” 
Your dad laughs. “Should’ve heard her when she was ten,” he says leaning back. “Wouldn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Still doesn’t take shit from anyone I guess.” 
“I’m right here,” you mutter, glaring at him.
“Just sayin’,” your dad replies, raising his mug in mock surrender. He turns back to Joel and they resume their conversation about fence posts or something equally riveting. You let your eyes roam as you wake up, drinking the rest of your coffee, tuning in and out of their conversation about their plans for the day. 
The easy camaraderie between the two of them was clear. Like a friendship forged through shared labor and quiet mornings. They flow between their plans for work and that subtle gossiping that men do–convinced it isn’t really gossip–as they share updates about other folks in town and a few of the local businesses. 
“What about you?” Joel asks, turning to you and pulling you out of the fog. “You’re back for a while then?”  
It’s an innocent question, but it grates at you anyway. You stiffen. “Yeah, just taking some time,” you say vaguely. 
Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push for a real answer. You can feel the weight of his curiosity in the air between you. He looks to your dad, who doesn’t elaborate, letting something unspoken pass between them. 
“Well,” Joel drawls, “good timing. Lot of work to do this time of year. If you’re up for it.” 
The comment makes you pull a face. “I’m familiar with hard work,” you reply, your voice sharper than intended. 
Joel’s lips quirk again, into something like a smirk this time. “I’m sure you are,” he says with the faintest edge of a challenge. 
He takes a long swig from his stainless steel travel mug, trying to fix his eyes on the horizon. But damn, if it isn’t a challenge to see you standing there, looking every bit like you’d just rolled out of bed. In a shirt too damn thin for a morning like this, leaving too little to the imagination. 
He knew he shouldn’t be noticing something like that, shouldn’t look at you like that–especially not while you’re standing next to your dad. Hell, he shouldn’t want to look at all, but his eyes betray him. Darting for just a moment to your soft curves and the evidence of the chill in the air–the impression of your stiff nipples protruding in the soft fabric. 
Christ. He swallows hard, landing his eyes back on the scowl you wear on your face. You’re his friend's daughter. It just ain’t right. Sweet young thing like you. He battles the devil on his shoulder that reminds him you aren’t a kid. You’re a woman. A grown woman with your own life and clearly your share of grit, if the sharpness in your voice was anything to go by. 
He shifts on his feet, forcing his attention back to your dad who was still chuckling softly at something. Joel didn’t catch the joke, head too full of thoughts about you–or how to not think about you. He could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, unsettling him in front of your dad. 
You and him made loose plans for the day while Joel’s mind continued to wander. He shouldn’t have asked about why you were back. Your answer was vague, brushing him off like it was a privilege he hadn’t earned. For some reason that lodged it in his head further. He wanted to know more, even if he shouldn’t. 
Your dad stood up, stretching and declaring that all of you have work to do. You take that as your cue to head back inside, leaving the screen door swinging behind you. Joel lets out a low breath, shaking his head as he turns back to your dad. 
“She’s a spitfire,” Joel comments, keeping his tone neutral.  
“She is,” your dad agrees, adjusting his hat. “Good to have her back.”  
Joel huffs a small laugh, “S’pose we could use a strong woman around here. Keep us in line.” 
“No doubt she will,” your dad says, clapping him on the shoulder. The whole exchange stuck with Joel though. Something under that edge of yours, something unpolished that has him curious in a way he isn’t used to. He shakes his head knowing it isn’t his place to go digging. 
Your dad starts down the front steps. “Let’s get moving, then.” Joel moves mechanically, boots falling in line with your dad’s, but his mind is half on you—in that t-shirt, with that scowl on your face, and that faraway look that he’d like to unravel. 
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You were used to hard work but your muscles weren’t exactly dialed in for the functional conditioning. It was humbling as you found yourself aching and exhausted by the end of the night. However, the fatigue did make it easier to fall asleep once your head hit the pillow instead of spiraling on about your failures until the birds started chirping. 
The next few days gave you a jump start into the rural routine. In bed early, up before the sun. Hot showers before dinner to wash away the layer of sweat and sweet-smelling dust from the pine shavings and hay. You found yourself looking forward to the strong coffee and the cool morning air before you started with your day. 
Your dad, and Joel, learned quickly to let you wake up rather than ask questions as they caught up on their plans before heading out together or splitting up. You didn’t mind listening, but you could feel Joel’s eyes lingering on you now and then. It made your spine straighten, determined to hide the sore muscles in your shoulders from him. If he was waiting to hear a complaint from you it was never gonna come. 
Despite getting more rest and having an endless list of labor to keep you moving–you often found yourself working solo and in silence during the day. A silence that your mind was more than happy to fill. You rehashed memories and dissected those little moments from your relationship with your ex-fiance that you wish you had seen more clearly at the time. 
You’re deep in one of those memories, mindlessly stacking bales of hay onto the trailer for a delivery your dad is making tomorrow when Joel enters the other end of the barn. He leans against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you work. The warm scent of hay fills the air, grounding and everpresent in his life. 
It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a common chore he’d do without thinking twice. But watching you was a whole different story. Your shirt was damp with sweat as you leaned into the work like you’d done it your whole life. You climb up a stack of bales and toss down some from the top of the next row, unaware of his presence. 
He is mesmerized by you. The sharp look on your face like you were mulling over an argument, the fluid movements as you worked, and the determination radiating off of you as you worked at an urgent pace. 
His gaze drifts lower as you climb down and bend to heave another bale onto the flatbed trailer. The muscles in his jaw tense as he lingers on the curve of your back as you bend to grab another. The way your legs shift as you work. The outline of your body in that shirt, the soft grunt you let out as you hoist another bale had him thinking indecent thoughts before he could stop himself. 
Joel drags his hand over his face, fingers brushing his scruffy jaw. Heat burning within him that has nothing to do with the Texas sun transforms into irritation. He was considering copping out and disappearing before you even noticed him when he was outed by the damn barn cats. 
The orange cat comes sprinting towards him, but it’s the black and white one meow-yelling at him down the aisle that catches your attention. A dull thud echoes through the barn as you drop another bale and watch as Joel squats down to give the cats the attention they demand. You watch, catching your breath. He’s gentle with them, murmuring something you can’t hear before he stands and strolls toward you. 
“Afternoon,” he greets you in his deep baritone voice. Joel grabs the two-string bale of hay in front of you and drops it on the trailer with ease, grabbing another before you can interject. 
“I can handle it.” You huff as you resume your task. 
“Never said you couldn’t,” he replies smoothly, setting another down. “Thought it’d go faster with two sets of hands.” 
“I wasn’t in a hurry.” You eye him warily for a moment before slipping into a coordinated dance like it was natural. Tossing the rest that needed to be loaded up into the aisle for him to grab. You work in silence, just the sounds of hay shifting and boots scuffing against the barn floor. 
You break the silence first. “Dad says you and your brother hit the rodeo circuit in the summer. That true?” 
Joel huffs a soft laugh. “True.”
“You compete?”
“Team roping,” he says, his voice warming slightly. “Me and Tommy hit most of the circuits within a day's drive from here. Keeps us outta trouble.”
You roll your eyes. “Hard to picture you in trouble, cowboy.”
Joel’s smirk returned, faint but there. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” He matches your playful tone. 
His words linger as you work, stirring something you don’t quite know what to do with. Your mind drifts to the idea of rodeoing, the adrenaline of it, the discipline it demands. You forgot how much you missed it, how much you gave up chasing a life that didn’t pan out the way you hoped. 
Joel shifts beside you, the faint scrape of his boots pulling you back to the present. You glance at him, catching the way his shirt clung slightly to his back, the easy strength in the way he moves.
For a moment, the quiet feels comfortable. Easy. The steady rhythm fills the space. But eventually, Joel speaks again. 
“Your dad said you used to spend summers out here,” he says, in a low and easy tone. 
“Yeah,” you say, a little out of breath from the exertion. “When I was a kid.”
Joel brushes some loose hay off of his shirt. “Guessin’ it’s different now.” 
“Everything’s different now,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. 
His brow furrows slightly. “What brought you back?” 
You hesitate, not looking him in the eye. You’re searching for an answer in the dust particles caught in a beam of sunlight. “Just needed time to…rebuild.” It’s still vague. 
“You runnin’ from something?” 
You tense at that, before covering it in sarcasm. “I’m not an outlaw,” you jest, earning you a small smile. He doesn’t press further, but you feel his eyes on you, steady, and patient like he’s waiting in case you offer more. 
“It’s not as simple as people make it sound,” you say finally, the words slipping out before can stop them. “Starting over, that is.” You sit on a bale and pull your work gloves off, running the back of your hand over your forehead smearing sweat and dust in a most unsatisfying way. 
“No, it ain’t,” he adds quietly. 
Something in his tone makes your chest tighten, but you ignore the sensation. “What about you? How’d you end up here?” 
“Had to start over myself, I reckon,” he muses, dusting off his hands before sitting down next to you. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expected. He doesn’t look at you, instead, he watches the cats play with a piece of baling twine. “This place made it easier—focusing on getting the house built and getting the business running. Your dad helped too.” 
That catches you off guard. “My dad?” 
Joel nods, finally meeting your eyes. “Just seemed to understand, I guess.” 
You stare at him. You’re disarmed by the softness in his tone. Like there’s more beneath the surface if you ask for it. 
Joel feels the air thicken. He takes in the way your sweat-damp shirt clings to you, and the heavy rise and fall of your chest. For a split second, an image flashes in his mind—your chest heaving for a very different reason, your skin flushed and shining. His throat tightens, and he looks away quickly, cursing himself for letting his thoughts slip. 
The cats weave between your legs, easing the silence. But the air between you still feels charged. Your thighs are nearly touching. The proximity feels overwhelming for some reason and you're suddenly caught up in the details of his profile as he stares down at the floor. The lines at the corner of his eye, his nose, his lips.
He clears his throat and slaps a palm on his thigh. “Well,” he starts, standing up rather abruptly. “Just came by to check-in. See how you’re settling in.” 
“What?” You frown. You miss the grimace that flashes on his face, your eyes drawn to the cats darting away from the two of you. “How I’m settling in?” 
“Yeah, you know…” he gestures vaguely around the barn and your brows furrow and your eyes sharpen at him. Irritation flickers behind your eyes. 
“I told you I’m not afraid of hard work,” you snap, jumping to your feet in front of him. 
“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles, like you’re misunderstanding him. 
“Did my dad send you to ‘check in’ on me? Or did you want to see if I could keep up?” 
“It ain’t like that.” He says lowly. 
“Right.” You cut, crossing your arms. You’re over this rollercoaster of a conversation. Your eyes catch on the deep crease between his brows and the glint in his dark eyes. Something flares in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s indignation or something else entirely. “Then what is it?”
His jaw tightens, gaze locked with yours. Something unspoken flickers in his expression. But instead of answering, he straightens, stepping back. “Doesn’t matter,” he says curtly. 
Your stomach twists at the coolness of his tone, the connection you just felt snapping like a wire. 
“This was a mistake,” Joel mutters to himself. 
“What was?” you asked, your voice deadly quiet. 
Joel only shakes his head before striding toward the far door. His boots echo on the floor and the cats follow after him like shadows, their tails swishing as they dart out into the sun. Joel pauses in the doorway, glancing back with a look you don’t understand. 
“Don’t work too hard now.” His voice carries easily before he stalks off.
Your thoughts have you spinning. “The fuck is his problem?” you wonder out loud, sharp in the warm air. In the space he left. 
But deep down, you can feel the edge of something else. Something more than frustration, curling low and unwelcome in your chest. The weight of his gaze was still lingering, and try as you might, you can’t ignore the way his presence had pressed into every corner of the barn, or the faint scent of leather and bourbon that still hangs in the air. 
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Your routine locks into place, and the days begin to pass in a blur. Joel stops by for coffee and acts like the conversation you had in the barn never happened. The stoic, gruff cowboy thing works just fine with you.
Except for the moments you catch him staring at you like he’s trying to find an answer to something he never asked.
If you’re honest, though, despite your hostility, you seem to catch yourself studying him with the same frequency and intensity. You’re loath to admit you catch yourself hung up on his obnoxiously broad shoulders, his arms sculpted from the physically demanding work, and that gravelly morning voice he has before he finishes his coffee.
Aside from whatever Joel’s problem with you is, everything else seems to be falling into place. You catch up on your dad’s list of projects. You pick up a part-time job at the feed store in town, keeping yourself too busy to have idle time and too tired to dwell on the past or the future. You get to know folks in the town while you work at the register.
The town seems smaller than it was when you were a kid, but there’s also a charm in the simplicity that you find comfort in. The regulars keep you up to date on the town gossip, and you’re laughing loudly with your boss, Linda, one day over a joke she’d never admit to teaching you when your neighbor struts up to you with a list in hand for a bulk feed order.
You’re cordial to him and the man at his side who gives you a flirty wink that has you raising your eyebrows in disbelief for a moment before you put it together. “You must be Tommy?”
He grins brightly and offers his hand. “And you must be the neighbor?” You give him your name and a polite smile. Your eyes flick to Joel, taking in his neutral expression. His hands rest in his pockets, but his posture is loose, his broad shoulders back in a way that draws your eye before you can stop yourself.
As you enter the details of their order into the prehistoric computer, Linda chats both of the men up, asking them about their horses and when their next rodeo is.
You give Joel his total and take his payment, trying not to roll your eyes when he doesn’t make eye contact with you. You’re ready for the interaction with him to be over when Linda puts you on the spot.
“This one’s been talking about looking for a project horse of her own.” She nods her head toward you. “You boys have any leads for her?”
You can feel your face heating up as they both look at you. It’s not like it was a secret, but you weren’t planning on making Joel privy to your plans. You still haven’t forgotten the way he said this was a mistake after having one conversation with you. Or the way he is always looking at you. Like you don’t belong here or something.
“I’ll do you one better,” Tommy says. “We’ve got a couple of colts just getting started under saddle. They could use the miles, and they’re real sweet-tempered if you wanna come by during the week.”
“Thanks, Tommy.” You give him a genuine smile. “I’m actually going to take a look at one that’s got potential this weekend. Marilyn from the post office said her cousin’s got a six-year-old quarter horse she’d sell for a steal.”
Joel lets out a dismissive laugh under his breath. “You mean that Hancock gelding? The blue roan?”
“Yeah.” You confirm, slowly growing more confused by the reactions on all of their faces. “Why?”
Linda’s mouth is hanging open like you said the devil was gonna sell you his horse. Tommy gives you a modest smile like you’ve told him two plus two equals eight, but he’s too polite to correct you. Joel’s expression remains unreadable, but the crease between his brows deepens.
“Am I missing something?” you ask, hoping for an explanation. You do not like feeling like you’re being played for a fool. 
“She’d sell that horse for a dime and a handshake,” Linda says. “Her cousin broke her jaw getting bucked off that horse. That’s why he’s been out to pasture ever since.”
You’re quiet for a beat before the familiar challenge and determination wrap around your heart. “Can’t hurt to look,” you say with a shrug.
“Hancocks are notoriously stubborn and broncy,” Joel adds, his tone low and edged with warning.
“They’re also incredibly smart, loyal, and full of try if you earn their trust and ask ‘em the right way,” you shoot back, meeting his eyes for just a moment too long. Why does it always feel like he thinks you’re out of your element? Does he think you’re incompetent? It only strengthens your desire to prove him wrong.
Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line, but his gaze doesn’t waver, and it stirs something uncomfortable low in your chest.
“So I’ve heard,” Tommy cuts the tension simmering between you and Joel. “Offer still stands if he doesn’t work out.”
“Thanks.” You pointedly direct your appreciation to Tommy, not looking back at Joel. “We’ll give you a call when the order’s in.”
They take that as their signal to move along. You think that would be the end of the drama for the day, but Linda’s got one more tidbit in store after the door closes behind the two men.
“God, those two are so hot it’s unbearable,” she sighs. It catches you off guard, and you blink at her. “Too bad they’re cowboy Casanovas.”
“What?” You give her a scrupulous look, shifting on your feet as she leans against the counter.
“Oh, yeah,” Linda says with a knowing smirk. “Every buckle bunny in a three-county radius knows those two. I hear they have a sign-up sheet at the trailer.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head, but the image comes unbidden—Joel, shirtless and panting, sweat glistening on his chest, his jeans slung low on his hips, every muscle taut as he leans over some woman. His gravelly drawl slides through your mind like warm honey as he murmurs something low and dirty, but you can’t make out the words. Your thought derails violently, and you scowl at yourself, heat rushing up your neck, but Linda’s still talking. 
“I’d stand in line for either of ‘em if I were single,” she adds with a shrug.
The image morphs into smug Joel tipping his hat, a self-satisfied grin on his face as some random woman climbs out of his bed. Your throat tightens unexpectedly, and you shove the thought away, scowling at the knot of irritation it leaves behind.
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The trailer rocks faintly as you haul it slowly down the driveway toward the barn. Blue shifts inside, and the loud thud of him pawing at the floor, anxious to get out of the small space, echoes loudly in the driveway as you ease to a stop. You cut the engine and hop out of the cab, you can hear your dad’s boots on the porch steps before he’s striding toward you. “You actually brought him home, huh?” 
“You knew I would.” You grin. Your dad unlatches the trailer door and you slip past the divider to untie your new gelding and back him out of the trailer. Blue’s ears flick rapidly and he snorts like a dragon, wary of his unfamiliar surroundings, but you steady him with a calm voice and wait for him to drop his head before coaxing him backward. 
His hooves hit the solid ground and he blows out a sharp breath, shaking his neck to de-stress. “He’s gonna be perfect,” you say, running a hand along his neck. “Just needs someone who knows what they’re doing.” 
Your dad gives you a look that says he knows he couldn’t change your mind if he tried. His gaze flicks over Blue’s body, taking in his confirmation and conditioning, the scar on his back leg, the brand on his flank, and the stocky ranch horse build. “Linda said he’s got a bad reputation.” 
“Linda says a lot of things,” you shoot back, leading Blue toward the barn. “He was misunderstood. Had a rough start, that’s all. That girl who got bucked off never shoulda had him to begin with—not after he’d been out to pasture for so long. She was scared, and he felt it.” 
Your dad hums, the kind of sound that tells you he’s skeptical but not enough to argue. “Well, he’s in good hands now.” 
“And we both know I like a challenge,” you say with a steady voice, edged with something sharper. 
The sound of boots on gravel draws your attention and you glance back to see Joel strolling over from the direction of his property. His hat tipped low as his dark eyes flick between you and Blue. 
“Afternoon,” he calls, steady and smooth. 
Your dad turns and gives him a nod. “Joel.” 
“That the Hancock gelding?” 
“Yeah,” you reply shortly, adjusting Blue’s halter. 
Joel steps closer, his expression unreadable as he studies the gelding. Blue swishes his tail before shifting his weight, resting one back leg like he’s already starting to relax. Joel walks a circle around Blue, before pausing next to your dad. “Well-built,” he comments. “Is he sound?” 
You can barely hold back your eye-roll. “I had Barb meet me at the farm for a pre-purchase exam. Passed with flying colors.” You swallow down your irritation. Once again Joel thinks you’re a fool? That you’d go off and pick up a horse without a vet inspection?
Before you give Joel a piece of your mind you take a steadying breath, grounding yourself and whispering into Blue’s ear. “He might doubt both of us but he’ll be eating his fuckin’ words real quick once you and I get started.” With that, you turn away and lead Blue to the barn. 
Joel watches the two of you walk off, resting his hand on his hip. “She got a death wish or somethin’?” he grumbles.
Your dad crosses his arms, both men still watching the barn door where the two of you disappeared. “She’s tougher than she looks. And she’s got more patience than the two of us combined—for animals that is. Lord knows she’ll let us have it just for looking at her sideways.” 
Joel grunts, ignoring the heat crawling up his neck at the thought of you telling him off. “Hope you’re right.” 
“It’ll be good for her to have her own project. Haven’t seen that light in her eyes since she got here. S’about time she started moving on.” Your dad’s words eat at Joel. He still wants to know what you’re trying to rebuild from, but he doesn’t ask. Letting the silence stretch before your dad continues. 
“Plus, she’s got the right touch for it,” your dad drawls, tone laced with pride. “Always drawn to the ones that seem a little rough around the edges.” 
Joel doesn’t respond right away. His eyes narrow on the horizon, but his gaze flicks back to where you walked off, the sway of your hips lingering longer than it should. The deeply twisted interpretation of your dad’s words messing with his mind. 
In the barn, Blue seems less concerned about getting the lay of the land now that there’s food in front of him. He munches greedily, tearing hay out of the net tied in the stall. You’re buzzing with a mix of emotions, already imagining the next steps for the two of you. 
Your thoughts fall back on Joel and your dad, their low voices carrying faintly in the warm air. You can picture Joel still standing there, one hand on his hip, eyes fixed on you, that infuriatingly unreadable look expression he always has. 
Your chest tightens, heat rising in your cheeks as you lean against the stall door. You hate how Joel looks at you like that. Like he’s waiting for you to fuck up. To prove him right. Like he’s already decided you’re in over your head. 
“He doesn’t know me,” you mutter under your breath, “doesn’t know you,” you tell Blue, “doesn’t know shit.” 
Blue snorts softly, and you take that as his agreement, a smile tugging at your lips. 
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Days blur into a steady rhythm—early mornings with Blue, afternoons at the feed store, and long evenings under the arena lights. Each ride sharpens your connection with him, his turns growing tighter, his strides more confident. Progress comes in small, steady victories, each one lighting a spark of hope in your chest.
One afternoon, when the sun hangs low in the sky, painting the fields with warm hues of orange and gold. From his spot near the fence of his own property, Joel leans one arm against the top rail, his black felt Stetson shading his eyes. Across the way, you’re working with Blue in the makeshift round pen. 
Joel can tell from the way you hold yourself that you’re tired. Your shoulders seem stiff and your jaw tense. But you don’t stop. Your voice carries in the breeze, warm and steady as you encourage Blue to make another pass. 
The horse resists, throwing his head and stomping at the ground, but you don’t flinch. You give him the space to settle before asking again. Joel’s lips twitch, with a hint of a smile. You’ve got grit. 
He can’t shake the feeling that you’re working off more than just the horse’s rough edges. You move with purpose and focus, but with a weight that doesn’t seem entirely about Blue. 
From where Joel stands, he can’t make out every detail, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from lingering. You draw his attention with a pull that he can’t resist.
Against his better judgment. He traces the line of your spine as you step forward, the way your hips shift when you pivot. He knows better than to look, knows it’s wrong, but he can’t stop himself. 
Blue gives in, his steps evening out as he settles into a steady rhythm circling you. Joel watches as you slow him to a halt. The tension in your posture releases and you reach out with ease and satisfaction to stroke Blue’s neck. 
That invisible pull between you draws your eyes to where Joel is standing. Your face hardens when you catch him observing your training session. He gives you a nod before pushing off the rail and heading into the barn. 
He catches glimpses of you working together in the mornings and evenings. He tries to stop himself from watching, but it’s useless. He catches himself inadvertently timing out his schedule to be able to keep an eye on you. Tells himself he wants to be sure someone’s keeping an eye on you in case something goes wrong. Or that he’s curious about your progress. 
He can admit he admires your perseverance and the skill you have. He would never admit the way he finds himself waking up hard and aching thinking about you and what it’d feel like to have your hips rocking on his lap instead of a saddle, your tits bouncing in his face, and your sweet blissed out smile. And when trudges up the steps of your porch in the mornings to see if your dad needs anything from town—he prays neither of you can see the remnants of his sins in his eyes. 
He can’t stop himself from trying to talk to you, though. One morning he asks straight up, “How’s the project horse coming along?” He tries to sound casual, averting his eyes as he sips his coffee. 
Your smile flickers, equal parts excitement and hesitation flashing across your face. “Good,” you say after a beat, sitting on the wooden bench. “He learns quick, got good stamina and drive.” 
Joel hums, tilting his head slightly. “He give you any trouble?” 
Your jaw tenses, though you try to hide it. “Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply, tightly. 
Joel nods. “Good,” he says simply, but he still looks at you, like there’s something else weighing on his mind. 
Your dad clears his throat, breaking the tension. “She’s got him started on the pattern already.” 
“You gonna run barrels?” Joel asks, curiosity sneaking into his eyes. 
“That’s the plan.” 
Joel hums, taking a long pause. “You wanna run him in a real arena? Bring him over to get some practice in with the right kind of footing and see what he’s really got for a motor?” 
Your eyes narrow and your shoulders tighten, straining with disbelief. A real arena? It’s like nothing you do is ever good enough for him. “We’re getting along just fine as is, thanks.” The words are dripping with venom as you slip back into the house letting the screendoor slam shut behind you. 
Joel’s brows furrow. “Didn’t mean no harm, by it,” he says to your dad. “My mistake,” he adds gruffly. 
Your dad looks a bit miffed at the sharpness of your rejection but gives Joel a shrug back. “She’s always gotta do it her own way.” 
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The conversation with Joel sticks in your mind. You’re still chewing it over that evening as you run Blue through some drills, working on his lead changes and corners. When you finally bring him down to walk to cool down you hear the sound of hooves hitting the dirt across the field. Sharp and rhythmic. You walk Blue along the fence line. Pausing when you catch sight of Joel and Tommy in their outdoor arena. 
Their horses move like extensions of their bodies. You loosen the reins, letting Blue’s head sway with every step as you stay transfixed on the two men. Tommy’s bay gelding moves with a quick, snappy stride. His hindquarters tucked under him as he spins on a dime at Tommy’s commend. You can feel the thrill and see Tommy’s grin from where you sit. It’s infectious. You roll your eyes as he tosses his rope catching the dummy steer in a single fluid motion. 
You make another lap before you let yourself study Joel. 
He’s riding his big red mare, her muscles rippling in the sun as she powers forward at a lope. Joel’s hand is steady on the reins, his posture relaxed but exact. Every movement he makes is calculated, and deliberate, yet to an untrained eye seems completely natural and fluid. Like he and his horse were born to do it. He barely shifts to ask the mare to pivot. Her body arcs beautifully, bending around his leg as they make a sharp turn toward the roping dummy. 
You’ve seen good riders before, but there’s something different about the way works. He doesn’t just ride—he leads. Every muscle he moves is a quiet conversation between him and his horse. It’s seamless and controlled. And damn if it isn’t mesmerizing. 
He leans forward slightly, and your mouth goes dry watching his arm flexing as he tosses the rope with precision. His red mare halts instantly, kicking up dirt around her hooves. Joel adjusts his hat with a smooth motion, you can see the focus on his face. Serious and competitive.
You swallow hard as you change directions, still walking on a loose rein very aware that Blue’s sweat is long dried by now. You feel warmth burning in your core that has nothing to do with your tired muscles. He looks good out there. Too good. The kind of good that makes you think about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. Your eyes drift, taking in the way his jeans hug his thighs, the line of his back as he shifts in the saddle. You imagine his hands, thick, precise fingers. Something coils hot and tight within you. You shake your head at yourself. You are not having those thoughts about Joel Miller who thinks you don’t know your ass from your elbow. You swing your leg over the back of the saddle dropping to your feet. Loosening your cinch and still trying to shake your thoughts out of your mind when you hear Tommy hollering at you. 
“Watch and learn, neighbor!” Tommy calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. 
You glance up, cheeks burning as Tommy tips his hat your way with his charismatic grin. Joel follows his gaze, dark eyes locking on you for a moment. Tommy gives you a demonstration of his prowess with the rope–as if you hadn’t been watching–but, Joel says nothing before turning his mare and heading in the opposite direction. 
His cool look sends a shiver down your spine. 
You walk back to the barn, and the sound of their horses fades behind you, but that image of Joel sears into your mind. His commanding and maddeningly attractive exhibition just stoked a fire you’re desperate to ignore. 
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You have the same stubborn streak as your father and you’d be damned if you’re gonna cave and ask Joel to use his facility. You find a summer barrel series in a nearby town with low entry fees.
You start hauling Blue out to get some experience. At first, his runs are clumsy, but as you get your miles in, his turns get tighter, his confidence grows, and your times get quicker. And you quickly feel like the two of you are ready to enter your first rodeo.
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The air smells like dirt and livestock, as you unload your horse and tie him to the side of your trailer. There’s a hum from the generators, buzzing conversations, and the occasional whinny of a horse or thud as one paws at the dirt.
You had made a point not to ask if Joel and Tommy would be attending, but you catch his familiar shoulders tapering to his slim waist, with one boot on the lowest rung of the fence a few yards ahead when you head toward the warmup pen before your division gets called. He isn’t even facing your direction but you instinctively square your shoulders and raise your chin. You wonder if he’s just here to see if you’re going to fail. Or maybe he’s just watching to earn some other woman’s favor. 
Something ugly simmers in your blood and your chest feels tight. You attribute it to irritation, refusing to acknowledge any alternate reasons. You’re going to prove him wrong. 
You’re still staring at him when he turns to say something to the man standing next to him. You grit your teeth. Superstitious–as every cowboy is–his usual salt and pepper scruff is neatly trimmed, he’s got on a pair of deep blue Wranglers–nicer than you figure he owned, and a crisp long-sleeve pearl snap. Dressed to earn Lady Luck’s favor. 
The devil on your shoulder whispers a thought in Linda’s teasing voice. He doesn’t need to do all that to get lucky. You take a deep breath and peel yourself away from the sight. You’re here to focus on Blue, not your asshole neighbor and his conquests.
Despite trying to let go of your issues with Joel, a scowl stays plastered on your face throughout your warmup. Blue picks up on your distraction and he’s a little hot, as you head him toward the alleyway when it’s time for your run. Against your will, your eyes search for Joel. A wash of heat floods your veins when you find him already watching you. He mouths good luck at you and you can only manage a curt smile before you’re pushing Blue to a lope, making one tight circle before you cross the start. The sound of his hooves pounding into the dirt matches the blood pounding in your ears. The burst of adrenaline is instant. The run isn’t perfect. He breaks his stride around the second barrel and you lose time nudging him back into rhythm, but you finish the pattern without knocking anything over. The announcer calls your time as you slow to a trot, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. It’s such a blur you don’t think to look for Joel. You don’t think about him at all until you’re untacking Blue at your trailer, brushing sweat marks from his coat when movement near another horse trailer catches your eye.
Joel stands close to a woman with long, shiny dark hair. She flashes a wide smile, leaning toward him and resting a hand lightly on his arm. The sight makes you grimace. You shove down the feeling. “None of our business,” you mutter to Blue as you keep brushing. But, your eyes flick back despite yourself. She tilts her head, laughing at something he says, or doesn’t say, you can’t tell. He stands stiffly, hands in his pockets. You can’t see his face from your angle.
The woman reaches to touch him again, and you feel a headache brewing in the back of your skull. Joel glances away from her, landing in your direction for the shortest moment, before his weight shifts and he takes a small step back. You scowl again, tossing your brush back into the tack room shelf with more force than necessary making Blue toss his head. Your heart thuds louder than it should and you run a hand over Blue’s cheek, murmuring softly to calm both him and yourself. When you glance back, the woman is still talking, but Joel’s looking at you again. His dark eyes are sharp under the brim of his hat. He nods, barely noticeable, before turning away from the woman entirely. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to take another deep breath before loading Blue back into the trailer to head out. You weren’t sticking around to watch any of the other events. Especially not the team roping. 
You smile when you pull onto the highway. You count the day as a success and feel ready to enter a bigger rodeo. The idea makes you glow. Finally feeling like you’re getting back to your true self. You feel like a new woman compared to the version of you that showed packed up her truck desperate to put miles between your ex-fiance and your corporate nightmare.
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“It’s not that bad,” you argue, crossing your arms as your dad leans against the truck with a skeptical look. “The hell it’s not,” he replies, gesturing toward the trailer. “That’s floor is one step away from dropping your horse onto the damn highway.” You sigh, dragging a hand over your face. “I know,” you grumble lowly, disappointment sinking in your stomach. “I was just hoping you’d see something I didn’t.” “Sorry kid,” your dad says. “S’fine. I’ll figure something out. Or just eat the entry fees I paid.” “Or,” he says pointedly, “you could ask Joel.” You glare at him, fire burning in your chest. “I don’t need his charity.” “Ain’t charity,” he interrupts your sour attitude with a gruff tone. “He’s practically family. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your goals.” The words stick, heavy and uncomfortable. You’ve got half a mind to keep arguing. Joel might be your dad’s best friend, but he’s nothing like family to you. But before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re dragging yourself up the steps of Joel’s front porch. 
You realize as your boot hits the last step that you’ve never been to his place. He always offers to have you and your dad over for a whiskey or for a fire out back, but you always brush him off. You see why your dad takes him up on it though.
It’s beautifully made with stunning wooden chairs and a bench for seating on the porch. You’d consider complimenting him on his craftsmanship if you weren’t already dreading what you’re about to say. Joel opens the door, his hat already in hand like he’d been expecting you. “Somethin’ wrong?” “Yeah,” you admit, trying not to hesitate. “Uh, trailer’s shot,” you point your thumb in the direction of your dad’s place. “Was wondering if you’d have room in your trailer to haul Blue with your horses.” 
The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. The gleam in his eye makes you want to say never mind. You brace for a smart-ass remark. “‘Course,” he replies. You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. “Of course?” 
He leans back into the house to grab something, then he’s handing you his keys. “Load your tack up tonight, and get your bags in the living quarters.” “No need,” you shake your head, leaving him holding the keys between you. “I’ve got the truck. And a tent.” 
Joel leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. You pointedly avoid how his sleeves strain around his biceps. “You’re ridin’ with us. Not riskin’ that truck dyin’ on the highway.” You glare, lips pressed into a thin line. Of course, you’ve got a trailer with a busted floor and a truck with more miles than you’d like to admit on it—while Joel has a shiny truck from this decade and a horse trailer with a tack room and living quarters. Probably has AC and everything.
You catch the glint in his eye, realizing you’re the one asking for a favor and you steel yourself, reminding yourself to bite your tongue.
“Fine,” you grit out, holding your hand out for the keys.
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The truck hums beneath you, the steady vibration doing nothing to ease the thick tension in the cab. Tommy’s passed out in the back seat, his hat tipped low over his face, leaving you alone with Joel and the steady drone of the country ballad playing through the speakers.
“You always listen to this?” you ask, breaking the silence as you reach toward the radio.
Joel glances at you, one hand resting casually on the wheel. “Somethin’ wrong with it?”
“Didn’t know you were a ‘sad songs for sad cowboys’ kind of guy,” you mutter, flicking through stations before he can answer.
Joel doesn’t stop you, but when you pause on something irritatingly upbeat, his hand moves toward the knob just as yours does.
Your fingers brush his, and the contact jolts through you like a live wire.
You pull back instinctively, your breath catching as your heart slams against your ribs. Joel pauses for half a second before retreating, his knuckles tightening faintly on the wheel.
The silence that follows is suffocating.
Joel stares ahead, his jaw clenching as his thoughts spiral. He knew telling you to ride with him was playing with fire. But he can’t stay away from the heat. You glance out the window, pretending the spark you felt wasn’t real. It’s just Joel, always better than you, always an ass. The charged silence stretches on though, every shift of his hand on the wheel drawing your attention. Every shallow breath reminds you of his proximity. 
“This’ll do,” you say tightly. Joel huffs softly, but says nothing, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead. Neither of you speaks again for the rest of the drive, but the weight of the accidental touch remains, thick and suffocating. The rodeo grounds are already alive with motion by the time you’re parked and unloading the horses. The evening sun casts an amber glow over the circus of trucks, tents, and trailers. You help get the portable fence set up and the horses settled before the three of you head off to check in at the visitor's tent and get your meal tickets. 
The smell of barbecue wafts through the air and you get in line to fill your plate. Folks chat eagerly. Tommy strikes up an easy conversation with a group of riders near the picnic tables.
You watch as some folks head back to their campsites, hesitating on whether you want to do the same or find a table. Joel passes you and sits at a nearby table and before you can debate any longer a voice interrupts your thoughts. “Long travel day?” the wiry cowboy drawls, tipping his hat and gesturing to the bench next to him. “Take a seat.” 
You give him a quizzical look, but you’re hungry enough to take the opportunity to sit and eat. 
“Name’s Cody.” He introduces himself while you eat. He tells you he’s a bull rider. Asks if you’re runnin’ barrels tomorrow. He’s chatty with a smooth and easy voice and a playful look on his youthful face. You answer his questions, politely, suddenly keenly aware of Joel’s gaze boring into the back of your head. It makes your spine prickle with something you can’t name. The heat of his stare burns into you, fierce and unwavering, making every laugh at Cody’s jokes feel like defiance. Cody continues on and you find it easy to listen to his stories, but you can’t help feeling compelled to glance over your shoulder betraying the distraction you’re trying to ignore. Cody points out some of the other riders he knows and invites you to come hang out at their campsite and have a drink. You’re still searching for the right words when you catch sight of Joel walking swiftly past your table. He mutters something to Tommy–who seems to be proving Linda’s rumors true with a woman wrapped around his arm and batting her lashes at him–and stalks off. Your stomach twists as you watch him go, irritation flaring hot and fast. “The fuck is his problem?” you mutter under your breath, turning back to your plate. Cody shrugs, clearly oblivious. “Who knows? Anyway—” But you’ve already tuned him out, your eyes following the path Joel struts down before he disappears.
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You joined Cody and his friend for one drink, hoping it would ease your nerves. He had a kind group, a little rough around the edges, but tough as nails like you’d expect bull riders to be. They kept your mind distracted with their wild stories, but you decided to head back to the trailer before anyone got drunk and stupid. The walk back to the trailer feels longer than it should, every step weighed down by something stirring within you, something that has you on edge. You check on the horses before pulling the door open and climbing into the living quarters. The cool night air hasn’t soothed the heat that’s been simmering within you since dinner—or since that moment in the truck if you’re honest. You toe off your boots before looking up to see Joel, leaning against the wall, his jaw set tight, and his eyes sharp as they snap to yours.
“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, realizing it’s just the two of you in the small space. “Reckon he’ll be out til the sun's up,” Joel says in a quiet, low tone. “Alright,” you nod. Another point goes to Linda for that one, you figure. Joel’s jaw remains set in that infuriatingly unreadable way that seems to be his signature look. The dim light in the trailer casts sharp shadows across his face that darken his gaze. “You enjoy yourself? With your new friend?” he asks, his voice raw, edged with something you can’t place. You stop short, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?” He steps closer, reaching past you to hang his hat on the hook by the door. “Took your time gettin’ back.” He says, his eyes flick over you, dark and assessing.
You’re acutely aware of the scent of the campfire on your shirt and beer on your lips. It swirls with his leather and bourbon musk like they were designed to enhance each other. His words sink in, cutting and daring. “What’s your point?” “Did you fuck him?” The bluntness of it knocks the breath out of you. Your mouth falls open. Shock and fury battling for control as you glare at him. “What did you just say to me?” “You heard me, sweetheart,” Joel says, his voice calm but razor-sharp. “Just wondering if that cowboy got what he was after.” It takes everything in you not to slap him across the face. “What the fuck,” you hiss, stepping closer, your fists clenched at your sides, “makes you think you’ve got the right to ask me that, Joel?” 
He shrugs his shoulders, but his expression remains cold. “Lookin’ out for you. Your dad’d kill me if I didn’t.” You laugh bitterly. “Bullshit.” His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. Silence fanning the flames within you. “You aren’t my dad,” you snap, voice trembling with rage. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t fuck.” Joel’s eyes narrow, his shoulders stiffening as he steps even closer. “That’s not what I—” “Save it,” you cut him off, word sharp as a whip. “I don’t know why you think I’m so weak or clueless all the time. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m some kid you’ve gotta babysit.” 
Joel’s expression hardens, his dark eyes flash with something that looks like hurt beneath his anger. “That’s what you think I see?” his words come out like a dangerous growl. “That’s how you’ve acted toward me since day one,” you fire back, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “If you don’t respect me, Joel, just stay out of my business.” His chest rises and falls sharply, his breath warm against your skin as the air between you thickens. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he grits, voice tight with frustration. “Explain it to me then,” you challenge. Shaking with the force of everything you’ve been holding back. “Or stay away from me if I’m such a thorn in your side.” He works his jaw, and for a moment you’re glued to the corded muscle in his neck and the exposed golden brown skin of his chest. He glares at you, making no move to back off. His voice drops sinfully low and quiet. “You really wanna know?” “Yeah,” you breathe, heart pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage. “I do.” His hand moves fast, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he accuses in a rough and uneven voice. You blink. “What?” “You heard me,” he rumbles, dark eyes locked on yours. “From the first day, you showed up here, lookin’ at me like you had somethin’ to prove.” Anger burns in your veins. “How does that make me your problem?” His grip tightens, his body presses closer. “You ain’t my problem,” he mutters. Guilt twists into his words, “Shouldn’t even be lookin’ at you like this. S’wrong.” He swallows thickly, only sharpening the edge in his voice. “But I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, and it’s pissin’ me off.” His confession hits you like a brick over the head. The trailer is silent, but the sound of the blood rushing in your ears, and your ragged exhale seems deafening. 
“Then stop,” you challenge, voice trembling with defiance. “If it’s so wrong, just leave me alone.” Joel’s eyes darken, his other hand settles on your hip, fingers digging into you. “Can’t,” he says,  voice so thick with frustration, it sounds like it hurts. “Don’t think I want to.” 
Silence stretches and time feels thick and warped. Your ragged breaths fill the space. His eyes search for a reason to stop, but he finds none. 
You don’t get a chance to reply before he drops your wrist to wrap a large hand around your jaw, pulling you into a feverish kiss. Nothing gentle about it. It’s raw and desperate, equal parts frustration and hunger. Your fingers curl into his shirt as if you could pull him any closer as your teeth scrape over his bottom lip, in a sharp, biting challenge that makes him groan low in his throat. He angles your face so he can kiss you deeper, harder, until your knees feel like they might give out. Your mind goes blank, flashing white with anger and need. All you can process is the hot slip of his tongue against yours and the sharp bristle of his facial hair against your tender lips. Your back hits the cool metal wall of the trailer before you realize your feet had even moved. Joel’s hips press into yours, pinning you against his body–solid and unrelenting. His lips trail down your jaw to your neck, the edge of his teeth scraping at your skin. The rasp of his stubble sends sparks to your core, and you dig your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. Pulling him toward you, needing him in a way that verges on painful. He lifts his mouth, breathing hotly against your damp neck. “This what you want?” he says, his tone matching the burning desperation coursing through you. “You want me to fuck it outta you? Til you can’t keep runnin’ your mouth at me?” “Shut up,” you snap, but the way your body arches into him betrays the hostility in your voice and the subtle stretch makes you keenly aware of how wet and needy you are already. He makes a low, guttural noise in his throat that makes your cunt throb. His hand slides down to grip your thigh, hitching it around his waist as he grinds into you. The hard ridge of his cock pressing into you makes you gasp. The sound you make sends heat ripping through him like wildfire. We can’t, he thinks, but the words die on his tongue. The thought of how wrong this is flashes in his mind, but it’s drowned out by the way you’re looking at him. The way your nails dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, your breath hot and shaky against his cheek. He can’t think. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Not when you’re so soft and warm and furious beneath him. He’s helpless. His hand slips under your shirt, rough fingers brushing over soft skin, leaving a searing trail that grounds you as your mind spins. He pushes your shirt up, baring you to the dim light of the trailer. Time slips back into the warped, syrupy dimension as you absorb the unbidden lust and awe in his eyes. You’re the one exposed, but you feel like you’re seeing something just as naked in his face. Time catches up and you pull your shirt the rest of the way over your head, committing to sin wordlessly. You shiver at the sudden contrast between the heat radiating off of his body and the cool air hitting your flesh. “Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back as his mouth closes over your nipple like a wet furnace. His teeth graze the sensitive skin causing you to spew breathy curses over the top of his head. They only spur him on. He sucks hard enough that you tug him off you by his hair, but he only switches to your breast, delivering the same delicious punishment as his fingers roll and pinch at the wet, puffy, flesh he abandons. 
It’s like he can predict your needs before your mind can, biting down harshly enough to pull you away from the angry, hissing thoughts and keep you desperate to stay lost in the physical sensations. He palms the full weight of your tits, gliding his thumbs over both, slick and shining with his saliva. He presses them together before releasing them. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, taken by the way they bounce more perfectly than he could’ve imagined. It’s wrong to have you topless and panting beneath him, but his name falls so sweetly from your lips that it doesn’t matter. The heavy-lidded look you have makes him feel confirmed. When you moan lowly as the pain melts into pleasure when he kneads your soft, slippery skin, his cock aches and weeps for you. He needs more. He needs everything. Needs to wreck you, to see you so fucked out the only thing you can say is his name. 
It’s an exquisite brand of torture. 
You hate how good this feels, how badly you want him to keep going. To show you every move he knows. To break you down with his hands and mouth. You should push him away, tell him to fuck off. But your body doesn’t want that. You don’t want that. You roll your hips against his, begging wordlessly for more, as you tug at his hair hard enough to pull a throaty groan from deep within him. The sound he makes nearly has you short-circuiting, but he doesn’t give you the respite to fall apart. His hands are everywhere, frenzied like he’s losing control. Hasn’t he already lost it? You wonder distantly. Slowly, you realize he’s littering dirty little threats and filthy promises into your warm flesh. You hate the way his words make you shiver, how much you crave every pledge he makes. “You’re gonna feel me for days, sweetheart,” he husks hotly, just behind your ear. It’s a commitment you unwittingly pray he keeps. Some part buried deep within you blooms at the idea of feeling every memory of his touch as you go about your day tomorrow. “Get to it then,” you snap, hands reaching for his belt with urgency. Joel doesn’t need any more encouragement. His hand slips between your legs, teasing you through the soaked fabric of your underwear, and the sound you make at the pressure—the breathless, needy, whimper—makes him forget how to breathe. All he knows is that he needs to hear it again while he fucks into your soft, warm cunt. 
He wrenches your jeans open and works them down your thighs as you tear at his shirt buttons. He’s barely able to let you go long enough to pull his shirt off; watching you kick your pants off the rest of the way makes him nearly trip over himself. 
The air between your naked chests is sticky and warm. He dips his hand beneath the hem of your underwear, fingertips gliding over the soft hair on your mound making his eyes roll back. 
The edges of your vision blurs when he prods two big fingers between your slick lips, but you’re glued to the way his dark eyes are nearly black now. He looks every bit possessed by a beast, and fuck if you aren’t driven by the sick desire to make him snap. 
“You like having me touch you like this, don’t you?” His voice drips with need underscored by the slick sounds coming from between your legs. 
“No.” You rasp, as you grind your clit against his palm. He pumps two fingers inside of you, curling them just right to make you moan. 
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he drawls, thick like honey. You grip the muscle flexing in his arm to steady yourself. His concentration and competence makes your walls flutter around his fingers. 
“You’re gonna come for me, right here.” He declares. 
You shake your head. “I’m not—fuck—I won’t.” 
“You will,” he interrupts. Dark and calm. His pace quickens, fingers focused on the spot inside you that makes you a mindless wreck. His thumb draws circles around your clit. 
“Can feel how close you are.” Your hips rock and your muscles all pull taut. “If you’d quit fuckin’ fighting me.” He somehow crowds even closer to you. You feel like you’re about to snap when he pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling empty and ragged. “But you’re too fuckin’ stubborn, ain’t you?” 
“Joel,” you whine, angry and devastated. “I hate you.” 
You grip the back of his neck with one hand, and both of you watch as he finally takes himself out of his jeans. 
The view makes you salivate. 
Everything about Joel is rugged and masculine. The muscles carved into his arms and chest. The trail of dark hair leading down his stomach that thickens around his base. The deep flushed color of his thick cock. The ragged inhale he makes when he presses the blunt tip against the drenched fabric that clings to your swollen folds. 
“Say it,” he growls, rubbing along your barely clothed seam. 
“I hate you,” you whisper unconvincingly, digging your nails into the back of his neck and arching off of the wall. 
“Tell me you want it.” You can’t tell if it’s a demand or a plea. This strain in his voice and the muscles tensing across his broad frame make you tremble.
“I don’t.” You lie. You snake one hand down your body, peeling your ruined panties to the side so he can slot his tip at your dripping entrance. You tilt forward, impatiently, stretching around him just enough to override your filter. 
“Oh, fuck,” you start. Unable to stop the stream of whispered curses from rolling off your tongue. 
“Yeah,” Joel rasps, inching deeper inside of your tight, warm walls. He feeds himself into you slowly, the overwhelming fullness as you adjust makes your thighs shake. He pulls out and you whine, unable to say a word before he’s moving, dipping you onto the thin trailer mattress and slipping your underwear down your legs. 
“Gonna fuck you full,” he mutters. You spread your legs, making room for him to settle above you. He draws his cock back through your lips, coating himself in your arousal before driving into you with a powerful stroke. 
Your lips part, sucking in air as he sets a pace. He fills you deeper than you’ve ever felt, relentlessly making room for himself as he saws in and out of you. It’s powerful and primal, but refined by his athleticism. Fluid rolling hips and his strong core make you see stars as he fucks into you.
“That’s right,” he rasps above you, and you realize he’s responding to you. 
“So good,” you’re murmuring, “so full.” 
“Taking it like you were made for it,” he says to himself. The intensity of your tight, warm pussy coaxing him deeper makes him spill his thoughts. Unfiltered. 
He sets a pace, slow and deliberate at first, each stroke filling you completely before pulling back, leaving you desperate for more. The friction is maddening, plunging his length into your sensitive walls as he pins you beneath his hard body.   
“You feel that?” His breath is hot against your neck. “Feel how deep I am? How I’m splittin’ you open?”  
You nod frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders as you whimper his name.  
Joel’s control falters at the sound of it, his hips snapping harder, faster, as his desperation takes over. “Thought about this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Fuckin’ hell, I’ve thought about this too damn much. But you’re better than I ever imagined.”  
His confession sends a jolt through you, but you’re too far gone to process it, your body tightening around him as pleasure builds again, sharper and hotter than before.  
“Joel, please.”  
“Fuck,” he chokes the word out, his pace faltering for a split second before he slams into you harder, deeper. “Say that again.”  
“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking as your release breaks through you, leaving you gasping and cursing.  
Joel’s hips snap erratically, pinning you into the mattress with a tight grip, as he buries his cock as deep as he can inside of you. 
“Gonna fill you up,” he mutters, his voice ragged. “Every drop, sweetheart.” Make you mine, he barely keeps the last thought in his head. 
“Yes, yes, yes.” You chant as your body jolts with each collision with his. 
“Fuck,” Joel mutters, cock driving deeper and swelling at your words. “That’s it. Take it all, sweetheart.”  
Your release hits again, your body trembling violently. Or maybe it never stopped—he only drew it out of you in waves. 
Joel curses low, his hips slamming into yours one last time before you feel him pulsing inside of you, hot and thick. 
When he pulls back, his eyes linger on the mess between your thighs. “Look at that,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent. His wide hands slide up the back of your thighs, bending your knees to your chest so he can watch the mix of your releases glistening and dripping from you. 
He takes one hand and drags it through the mess, pushing it back up inside of you. You squirm, sensitive to the touch, but fixated on whatever is burning behind his eyes. 
You wait for him to say something characteristically Joel.
To dismiss you as naive, to rub it in that he broke you down. That he had you crying his name. That you shouldn’t have done that. 
But it never comes.
You’re convinced he was trying to put you in your place. To give you another reminder that he thinks you’re useless and clueless. You’re too wrapped up in the thoughts to speak or move. 
He doesn’t say anything at all which nearly makes it worse.
Instead, he pins you under a heavy arm, holding you against him until you both doze off. Succumbing to exhaustion.
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-> PART TWO
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dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🤠🤎
tagging the usual babes in case you want some cowboy!joel for christmas too:
@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar
@swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @magneticecstasy
@indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist
@94namkooksworld
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