#sprawling ranch

[expectopatronope]

Midcentury Patio - Patio

An illustration of a sizable mid-century modern brick patio in a backyard with a fire pit and a roof extension

[pendaly]

Brick Pavers - Midcentury Patio Large brick patio in the backyard from the 1960s with a fire pit and a roof extension

[hcneymooners]

⋆ beg until i'm in.

ambessa x wife!reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: you and ambessa are estranged wives, but are you really estranged if she refuses to divorce you, and every time you see each other, you can't help but fall into bed?

cw: light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, getting back together, top ambessa medarda, dom/sub, dom ambessa medarda, she has soft spot for you, pleasure dom ambessaaaaa, just for you though, strapping, rough sex, rough body play, hair-pulling, name-calling, pet names, lesbian sex, dildos, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation, she is strapping you down, you will not be walking, cock worship, blow jobs, the strap is the cock in question no men i swear to god, mommy kink, praise kink, mating press, age difference, older woman/younger woman, marriage, she does not play about you, realizing this might have slight primal play, orgasm edging, begging, spanking, impact play notes: i am a FREAK about this woman. also i wrote this for @sheloveschai because she has been bringing me joy through their work and i want to do the same.

“she thinks i’m a monster.”

the words hung in the air, dense as the afternoon heat, heavy as ambessa’s head in your lap. how you’d ended up here—her armor gone, her weight so familiar—felt like one of those moments you’d look back on, trying to pin down the thread that led you here. you couldn’t.

your lives were separate. estranged wives, that’s what you told yourself. she wouldn’t divorce you, and you weren’t exactly rushing to draw up the papers. but estrangement was such a tidy, convenient word like the absence between you both was clean and intentional. it wasn’t. she blurred the edges every time she showed up unannounced, stepping into the space she left behind like it still belonged to her. and maybe it did.

she came today, her arrival marked by the low hum of her car pulling up the dirt road. the ranch was still, caught in that honeyed pause between afternoon and evening. the house she’d bought for you sat perched on its patch of green, neat but unpretentious—a porch for watching storms, white siding that seemed to glow in the late sun. the kind of place that felt like it had existed long before you arrived, waiting for someone to live in it properly. around it, the land stretched wide, unbroken except for the fences hemming in the garden you’d built with your own hands.

you were out there, barefoot and stubborn, locked in a battle with the soil. a carrot clung to the earth like it had something to prove, your hair slipping from its tie as you yanked at it, dirt smudged across your face from an earlier showdown with a deer that had dared to challenge your lettuce. the dress you wore—white, soft, and loose—shifted around you like a second skin, its ruffled straps falling to kiss your shoulders. it was stained at the hem, caught on brambles, but it moved with you, romantic in its simplicity, something that could’ve been borrowed from another life.

ambessa watched from the car. you didn’t notice her at first, too busy flailing after some audacious bit of wildlife, but she noticed you. her eyes followed the sway of your dress, the way the sun painted gold onto your skin, how your body moved with a kind of rawness that had always undone her. she waited because ambessa always waited. but there was a tension to it, like watching something she didn’t want to admit she needed.

hours later, she was here, sprawled in your lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. her hand rested against the fabric of your dress, her breathing slow but uneven. you stroked her hair without thinking, staring out at the horizon. the horses were grazing, lazy against the emerald sprawl. the ranch, her gift, felt heavier than it had in a while.

“at one point in time,” you said finally, the words tasting of truth, “every daughter views her mother as her monster.”

her hand stilled. you could feel her thoughts shifting, coiling like a tide just out of reach. she didn’t say anything, but the silence was loud, charged. you didn’t press her.

“you were always so hard on yourself,” you continued, your voice quiet but steady. “you can be… strong, stubborn, cruel. i’ve felt it. i know it. so much of your decision-making is absolute like the world is this black-and-white chessboard you’re determined to win on. there’s no room for anyone else in that kind of thinking. it can be stifling. but—” you hesitated, fingers idly brushing the hem of your dress as you tried to hold her gaze.

“love is always the basis when it comes to the people you care about: mel, kino—”

“you,” she interjected softly, her voice barely audible but so certain it almost startled you.

you hummed in agreement, the corners of your mouth tugging into an easy smile.

“me,” you admitted, your chest tightening at the confession. you sighed, the sound carrying years of ache. “your problem is that you don’t believe we can love you back. not really. you think we can’t be safe with you. so you send us away, like that’s protecting us. you decide things for us—these big, sweeping decisions—and suddenly we’re standing outside looking in, strangers in our own lives with you.”

you paused, thinking of her daughter. “mel’s a teenager. she’s going to buck against you because that’s what teenagers do. you have to let her. you can’t control everything, ambessa. we don’t learn any other way.”

ambessa watched you, her face unreadable but her eyes dark and intent. her voice was indescribably tender when she spoke.

“you’re such a wonderful stepmother.”

the word made you scoff. you pushed her—gently but firmly—off your lap and rose to your feet. she let you, though her eyes lingered on you. she could never let go entirely.

“don’t let her hear you say that,” you muttered, shaking your head.

mel had not taken your marriage to her mother well. and really, who could blame her? you were more than half ambessa’s age. you’d once been mel’s peer at university, brushing shoulders in the same circles without a clue that your lives would one day intertwine like this. to make matters worse, mel hadn’t even learned of the relationship from her mother or you. no, she’d found out by walking in on the two of you in a position that still made your cheeks burn to think about.

what followed was relentless: the icy distance, the sharp words, the careful avoidance. love, for you, had always been hard, but this was a different kind of difficulty. you’d tried to explain yourself to mel, fumbling for words that didn’t sound hollow. you told her you loved her mother simply because you did. it wasn’t about their wealth or their influence. you’d come from nothing—a small town with a crumbling church, miles of barren land, and a quiet resignation to a life of struggle. you were used to living hard and mean, to fending for yourself.

but ambessa… she had swept into your life with the force of a storm. she needled at you, chipped away at your shell until you were belly-up and tender, soft between her teeth. you were an easy kill in her hunt, and she was ruthless, selfish, and she could be so fucking mean. but none of that mattered.

you loved her with the kind of blind devotion that defied reason, and you couldn’t imagine doing anything else. being her wife was your greatest pride, and tending to her was your guiltiest pleasure.

mel couldn’t understand that, and the rift between you grew wider with each passing day. then came the public’s growing animosity toward the medarda family, the rising tensions, and ambessa made one of her absolute decisions. the separation blindsided you. you’d cried so hard you blacked out in the hall, and when you woke, you left without looking back. you thought mel wouldn’t care.

which is why you were shocked when ambessa brought you mel’s request for your perspective.

you turned toward the stove, busying yourself with the rhythm of dinner prep. it was easier to focus on the small, manageable things—chopping vegetables, lighting the flame—than to meet her gaze.

“she doesn’t hate you, [name],” ambessa said suddenly, her voice calm but insistent.

you froze, the knife hovering mid-air before you carefully set it down and turned on the stove.

“you staying for dinner?” you asked carefully.

you heard her shift behind you, felt the warmth of her body as she closed the space between you. her arms circled your waist, firm but gentle, and you shivered, instinctively leaning into her. god knows you were never the strongest soldier. she pressed a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering just long enough to make you melt.

“i admit,” she murmured, her voice low and quiet, “i had other motives for coming here.”

“bessa,” you began.

ambessa held you tighter, her lips brushing against your temple, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down your spine. her silence stretched just long enough for you to grow uneasy, but then she spoke, her voice low and thick with emotion.

“they’ve been asking for you,” she said, her hands smoothing over your waist.

you stiffened slightly, unsure if you’d heard her correctly.

“who?”

“mel. kino.” she pressed another kiss to your temple, then let her forehead rest against the side of your head. “they’ve been pleading with me to bring you back. they won’t admit it outright—god forbid they ever say they were wrong—”

you shot her a look.

“—but they’ve missed you. and they hate the way i’ve been without you. they say i’m different when you’re there.”

your breath hitched, your chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

“they don’t even like me,” you murmured, your voice cracking.

“that’s not true.” ambessa’s tone softened, her grip on you tightening like she was afraid you might slip away. “they’re too proud to say it, but they’ve developed a soft spot for you despite everything. they miss you as much as i do.”

you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of her expression—open, raw, and devastatingly honest. by instinct, you lifted a hand and cradled her face. you hated it when she was sad.

“oh, bessa.”

“i’ve realized,” she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “that i am nothing without you. i thought i was protecting you by letting you go, but i was wrong. i’m tired, my love. tired of waking up alone. tired of pretending i don’t need you. i do. god, i do.”

you felt a weight lift from the depths of your body. you’d waited so long to hear this—to feel wanted, needed, like you weren’t just a fleeting chapter in her life. tears welled up, and before you could stop them, they spilled over, hot and fat.

ambessa turned you in her arms, her hands coming up to cup your face as you began to cry in earnest.

“oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing away your tears. “don’t cry. please don’t cry.”

“i don’t want to do this anymore,” you choked out between sobs, clutching at her arms like she was the only thing keeping you upright. you pressed down on the thick cords of muscle, pleading with the strength of your grip. “i don’t want the house or any of this shit. i’m so tired of taking care of myself, ambessa. i just want to come home.”

her expression crumpled, and for a moment, you saw a vulnerability in her that she rarely let show.

“i’m sorry,” she said, her voice tight. “i’m so sorry, my love. i never should have let you go. i’ll make it right—i swear to you. i’ll spoil you, take care of you, and keep you forever. you’re mine, [name], and i’ll never let you forget it again.”

you sobbed harder, your face burying into her chest as her arms enveloped you completely.

“i know, baby. you did so well. i’m so proud of you,” she murmured.

she continued to whisper soft reassurances, mantras of “sweetheart,” “my sweet girl,” and “my sweet baby,” until the tears slowed and your breathing evened out. you shuddered against her, refusing to remove yourself from where you were pressed tightly against her chest. she shifted, and you jolted—fingers splaying desperately across her body.

“shh. i’m just making us more comfortable,” she told you.

the two of you moved, a single weeping entity across the floor of the kitchen into the living room. ambessa settled you on the couch, continuing to trace a hand across the landscape of your back.

“come back with me,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your hair. “let me take care of you. let me love you the way you deserve, hmm?”

you nodded against her, your hands clutching at the fabric of her shirt like a lifeline.

“that's all i want. i never stopped loving you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“i know,” she said, tilting your face up to hers.

the kiss she gave you was desperate and all-consuming, a culmination of every time you had woken and found yourself alone. her hands roamed over your hips and your waist, pulling you closer as if the space between you was unbearable. you gasped into her mouth, and she deepened the kiss.

“i’ve missed you,” she murmured against your lips, her voice low, rough with hunger. “did you miss me?”

you shivered, your body instinctively pressing into hers.

“yes. yes, i did. i swear, bessa,” you insisted, your voice trembling.

“shh, my love,” she said, her lips trailing down your jaw to your neck to soothe you. “i believe you. a sweet girl like you wouldn’t lie to me.”

with a groan, she lifted you, guiding you toward the bedroom, her hands never straying from your body, her kisses growing more frantic. when your back hit the bed, she hovered over you, her gaze dark, possessive. a hand came down to cup your cunt, firm and promising.

“yes or no?” she asked.

she only asked out of respect. ambessa had long ago perfected the art of taking what she wanted. you found you didn’t mind. it was easier this way, surrendering to her because she knew your body—your needs—better than you ever could. in her hands, the pressure of choice vanished. you trusted her to always know what was best.

suddenly, you were reminded of when she proposed. you felt the same now as you had then—wide-eyed, carnivorous. gently, you pulled her closer, brushing your lips against hers. the room smelled of apple blossoms and her intoxicating scent.

“yes,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

satisfied, she lowered her mouth back to your neck. at that moment, you could have mistaken her for a vampire—hunting for your pulse, for that line of forever-promised blood.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

“ambessa.”

“hmm?” she answered, her hand tightening where it reigned on the nape of your neck.

she had you face down with your ass up, her other hand holding you at the small of your back as she thrust into you. you let out a high moan as she began to move faster, her cock moving deeper as you bore down on her.

“you feel so fucking good, sweetheart. so tight and sweet for me. it’s almost as if you haven’t been touched in a long while.”

“bessa—” you choked out, and she let out a laugh.

“oh, baby. i know that’s not true.” bending forward to brace herself on the bed, she began to pump into you. “you were always so hungry for it, so eager. i know you’ve probably stuffed yourself every single night since i’ve been gone.”

you whimpered, drool beginning to spill from your lips.

“but it didn’t feel like this, did it?”

“no,” you answered, squealing as ambessa brought a hand down on your ass. “no, baby. i can’t take care of myself like you do.”

“no,” she agreed. “you can’t. you just get so stupid when you’re fucked. you have no chance of doing this alone. not well, at least.”

“bessa, please,” you mewled.

with a bored sigh, she tightened her grip around your band of hair and yanked your head back, pounding into you with predatorial precision. you moaned as she began to focus on your g-spot, pulling your head back roughly to further increase her control.

“shit, bessa. fuuuuuck.”

“yeah?”

all thoughts were being fucked out of your head. you managed to get a hand on your clit, rubbing furiously to add stimulation.

“uh, uh, uh. oh, fuck. holy shit. ambessa, fuck. please, baby. please don’t stop.”

for a moment, she paused, and you remembered how cruel she could be. tenderly, she turned you over on your back and slid back in, placing your hands on the back of your thighs so that you were holding yourself open. with a grunt, she sunk deep until her hips were once again clapping against your ass.

a strong hand came down, fingers hooking into your mouth and tugging till she could see your teeth. you felt like an animal.

“stop fucking talking,” she told you, and you nodded, spit slicking all over your mouth and her fingers. “good girl.”

the praise settled on you, and you moaned weakly. her next thrust hit you like a line of coke. she was pressing into you, working for something. you weren’t sure what, but you could feel the way she was aiming to break you in.

“come on,” she murmured, retracting her fingers to grope roughly at your tits. “say it.”

your brow furrowed, and she came to a slow, gradual stop. sliding out, ambessa crawled onto the bed and placed a hand on your chest. you watched her, eyes large and glittering with tears. her breasts hung heavy over you, ripe and full with age. you wanted to suck and bite her nipples till she was shaking on the bridge of your nose, pussy-deep into your throat.

carefully, she slipped the holster from her hips and removed the girthy dildo from where it sat, slick with your heat and arousal.

“maybe this will jog your memory,” she said, and you didn’t have a moment to think before her cock was in your mouth.

you choked loudly, but she paid you no mind. with a few circular motions of her wrist, she made you deepthroat every inch, her eyes darkening as you audibly gagged and sucked on it. you ran your tongue over the artificial veins, getting it as wet as possible.

you were tasting yourself, strawberry sweet with a hint of bitterness and slight musk. you could feel your cunt pulsing, fluttering as ambessa’s eyes grew darker. she prohibited you from letting your legs down, and your thighs were burning, sweat garnishing your skin with a light sheen.

you felt so exposed, so debased like this: holding yourself wide and open while gagging like a well-trained whore on the toy.

“remember now?” she asked, and you breathed hard through your nose.

you were trying, bless you, to remember, and she dropped a kiss on your cunt for the effort.

“look at this pussy, sweetheart. fuck, baby.” ambessa lifted from where she’d been dragging her free hand through your folds. her fingers were soaked. “you’re rinsing me.”

something about her tone jogged your memory, and suddenly, you knew what she wanted to hear. in your excitement, you whined, and she met your gaze. she considered you and then removed her cock from your mouth.

“mommy,” you breathed, and she smiled, her face warm and rivaling the sun.

“that’s it,” she said, pride drenching the words. “good job, sweet girl. you deserve a reward.”

you beamed and wiggled your pussy in silent demand. ambessa laughed at your eagerness, bending to kiss you. her lips trailed lower till she was mouthing over the sopping mound of your count. around and around, her tongue wet, her teeth softly grazing your clit. you snapped upward, letting go of your legs and clutching at her braids instead.

“goddamnit, ambessa! fuck!”

she continued to eat you out, shaking her head and sucking loudly. still, she found time to pinch the inside of your thigh in reprimand.

“that’s not my name, sweet girl. i won’t tell you again.”

“fuck. fuck, i’m sorry. i’m sorry, mommy. just—please.” your voice cleaved in the middle. “please, i need to cum. i want to cum so bad for you, mommy. let me. please just let me—”

with a wet pop, ambessa broke away from your swollen pussy and looked at you. you breathed heavily, eyes caught on the way she gazed at you from between your legs.

“nothing is stopping you, my love. do what pleases you.”

she lowered down again and spat right into your cunt. you let your head fall back.

“i told you,” she said. “i plan to spoil you. this will only be your first.”

and with that, she suctioned her mouth around your rosy pussy and sucked, pointing her tongue and slipping inside of you. you came with a high wail, legs clamping around her head as you bowed over her. you felt light-headed, slit open, and destroyed.

and true to her nature, ambessa never stopped.

© hcneymooners.

[junojoel]

Dancing is a Dangerous Game

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

[pedroscowgirl]

The Ranch Next Door

Joel miller x fem!reader x Negan smith | MAIN MASTERLIST

Warnings! smut!! minors DNI! Age gap (I imagine them 50s and reader is in college (20s-30s)), oral m & f!receiving, 3some, p in v (wrap it up), creampie, nipple play, fingering, squirting, gagging, cum tasting (? idk), overstimulation, passing out, size kink, lmk if i forgot something wc: 6.5k Summary: Coming home from college for the break suddenly was intresting when you meet your dad's hot new neighbours

A/n: Okay I actually have soooooo much uni work to do but I needed to get this out of my system before i forgot what i was gonna write :). And I actually need these two to act in something tgt pleaseee. Anyways i hope you guys enjoyed this so def lemme know what you think!

The sun was setting over the rolling hills of the countryside, casting a golden hue over the sprawling farmland. You hadn’t been home in months, and the familiar scent of hay and earth filled your lungs as you stepped out of your car. Your dad’s farmhouse stood in the distance, its porch light flickering like a beacon. You stretched your arms, feeling the stiffness from the long drive melt away. College life had kept you busy, but there was something about coming home that always grounded you.

As you grabbed your bags from the trunk, you noticed movement in the neighboring field. Two figures on horseback were riding along the fence line, their silhouettes sharp against the fading light. You squinted, trying to make out who they were. Your dad had mentioned new neighbors moving in, but you hadn’t expected them to look like that.

One of the men tipped his hat in your direction, and your stomach did a little flip. You quickly looked away, pretending to fumble with your bags. When you glanced back, they were closer, their horses trotting toward you. Your heart raced as you realized just how big they were—both in stature and presence. 

“Well, well, what do we got here?” The first man’s voice was deep, smooth, and laced with a teasing edge. He dismounted his horse with ease, his boots hitting the ground with a solid thud. His dark hair was peppered with gray, and his hazel eyes locked onto yours. He wore a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms. You swallowed hard.

“Joel,” he introduced himself, tipping his hat again. “You must be the college kid your dad’s been braggin’ about.” You nodded, suddenly feeling very small under his gaze. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m, uh, just visiting over the break.”

The second man swung down from his horse, his movements fluid and confident. He looked tougher than Joel, with a smirk that could only be described as dangerous. His leather jacket and black hat gave him a roguish charm, and his eyes–dark and calculating–seemed to see right through you. “Name’s Negan,” he said, his voice dripping with charm. “And let me tell you, darlin’, you’re a sight for sore eyes. We don’t get too many pretty faces around here.” You felt your cheeks flush, and you quickly looked down at your shoes. “Nice to meet you both,” you mumbled, suddenly very aware of how out of place you felt in your city clothes.

Joel chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Don’t let Negan scare you off. He’s all bark, no bite.” Negan feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. “Now, Joel, that’s just hurtful. I’m a gentleman through and through.” He turned his attention back to you, his smirk widening. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?” You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. The tension between the three of you was palpable, and you couldn’t tell if it was intimidation or something else entirely that had your heart racing.

Joel stepped closer, his eyes softening just a fraction. “You need help with those bags?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, I’ve got it. Thanks, though.” Negan leaned against the fence, crossing his arms over his chest. “You sure? We’re just a couple of friendly neighbors, always willin’ to lend a hand.” “Or two,” Joel added, his lips quirking into a half-smile.

You laughed nervously, gripping the straps of your bags tighter. “I’m good, really. But thanks.”

They exchanged a look, one that you couldn’t quite decipher, before Joel nodded. “Alright then. You know where to find us if you need anything.” Negan tipped his hat, his smirk never wavering. “And I do mean anything, darlin’.”

You watched as they mounted their horses and rode off, their laughter carrying on the wind. As soon as they were out of sight, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Your dad’s voice calling your name snapped you out of your daze, and you hurried toward the house, your mind still reeling from the encounter.

—---------------

The next morning, you decided to explore the farm, hoping to clear your head. The air was crisp, and the sound of birds chirping filled the silence. You wandered toward the old barn, where your dad kept his tools and equipment. As you approached, you heard voices—deep, familiar voices. 

“You think she’ll come around?” Negan’s voice carried a playful tone. “Dunno,” Joel replied. “She seemed pretty skittish.” You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. Were they talking about you? Before you could retreat, Negan’s voice called out.

“Well, well, look who decided to join us.” You turned to see Joel and Negan leaning against the barn, their eyes fixed on you. Joel had a cigarette dangling from his lips, while Negan twirled a piece of straw between his fingers. They looked like they’d stepped right out of a Western movie, and you felt like the damsel in distress. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said, taking a step back.Joel shook his head. “You’re not interruptin’. We were just talkin’ about you, actually.”Your eyes widened. “Oh?”

Negan pushed off the barn and sauntered toward you, his smirk firmly in place. “Yeah, darlin’. We were wonderin’ if you’d let us show you around. You know, give you the grand tour.” You glanced between them, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. “I, uh, I don’t want to be any trouble.” Joel stepped forward, his voice softer this time. “It’s no trouble. We’d like to get to know you better.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. There was something in his tone-something that made your stomach flutter. Negan, on the other hand, was all charm and mischief, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” Negan asked, his voice low and teasing. “You up for a little adventure?”You hesitated, but something about the way they were looking at you—like you were the only person in the world—made you nod. “Okay. Just… don’t let me fall off a horse or anything.”

Negan laughed, a rich, hearty sound that made your cheeks heat up. “Don’t worry, darlin’. We’ll take real good care of you.”Joel’s hand brushed against yours as he took one of your bags, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. “C’mon,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Let’s get started.”As they led you toward the stables, you couldn’t help but feel like you were stepping into something much bigger than yourself. The tension between the three of you was undeniable, and you had a feeling this weekend was going to be anything but ordinary.

—-

Joel and Negan had taken you riding across the fields, their easy banter and playful teasing making you feel both exhilarated and flustered. By the time you returned to your dad’s farmhouse, the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. You were still buzzing from the adventure, your cheeks flushed and your heart light.

As you stepped inside, your dad looked up from his newspaper, raising an eyebrow. “Where’ve you been all day?” he asked, his tone casual but curious.“I, uh, met the neighbors,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Joel and Negan. They showed me around.”Your dad’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Those two, huh? They’re quite the characters. Good men, though. Hard workers.” He paused, then added, “Why don’t you invite them over for dinner tomorrow? Be neighborly.” Your stomach did a little flip at the thought of spending more time with them, but you nodded. “Sure, I’ll ask them.”

—--------------------------------------

The next day, you found yourself standing in front of your closet, agonizing over what to wear. You finally settled on a pair of denim shorts and a black tank top, the lace of your bra just barely peeking out at the edges. It was casual but flirty, and you couldn’t help but wonder what Joel and Negan would think.

The doorbell rang just as you were finishing up in the kitchen, and you called out to your dad, “I’ll get it!” You opened the door to find Joel standing there, looking every bit the rugged cowboy in his plaid shirt and jeans. His hair was slightly damp, as if he’d just showered, and he held a bottle of wine in one hand. His eyes softened as they landed on you, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Hi there, sweetheart,” he said, his voice warm and smooth. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek, his stubble brushing against your skin. You felt your face heat up instantly, and you hoped he didn’t notice how your breath hitched.“Hi, Joel,” you managed to say, stepping aside to let him in. “Negan’s not with you?”

“He’ll be here in a bit,” Joel replied, handing you the bottle of wine. “Had somethin’ to take care of first.”

You led him into the living room, where your dad greeted him with a firm handshake. The two of them fell into easy conversation, and you busied yourself in the kitchen, trying to calm your racing heart. Joel’s presence was overwhelming in the best way, and you couldn’t help but steal glances at him as he chatted with your dad.  Five minutes later, the doorbell rang again. This time, when you opened the door, Negan stood there, his signature smirk already in place. 

He was dressed in his usual leather jacket and jeans, a six-pack of beer in one hand. His dark eyes swept over you in a way that made your knees weak. “Well, well, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice dripping with charm. “You look… damn good.” His gaze lingered on the lace of your bra peeking out from your tank top, and you felt your cheeks burn. Before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed your cheek, his lips lingering just a fraction longer than Joel’s had. The scent of leather and cologne filled your senses, and you had to grip the doorframe to steady yourself.

“Negan,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Come on in.”

He stepped inside, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thanks, sweetheart. Brought some beer for the occasion.”

You blushed furiously, unable to form a coherent response. Negan chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you, and followed you into the living room. He greeted your dad with a hearty handshake and a joke, and soon the three of them were laughing like old friends.

As you set the table, you couldn’t help but feel the tension in the air. Joel’s quiet intensity and Negan’s bold charm created a dynamic that was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. Every time Joel’s eyes met yours, you felt a jolt of electricity, and every time Negan flashed you that devilish grin, your stomach did somersaults.

Dinner was a lively affair, filled with stories and laughter. Joel was surprisingly sweet, offering to help you clear the table and refill your glass of wine. Negan, on the other hand, was relentless in his teasing, his comments always toeing the line between flirty and inappropriate—though he kept it toned down around your dad. At one point, you caught Joel’s eye as you licked your fork in a slow, deliberate motion, your lips curling into a subtle smirk. His gaze darkened, and he shifted in his seat, clearly affected. Negan, sitting across from you, noticed the exchange and raised an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading across his face. Your dad, engrossed in a story about the farm, didn’t notice a thing.

After dinner, Negan leaned back in his chair and stretched. “Mind if I use your bathroom?” he asked your dad.“Upstairs, first door on the left,” your dad replied, gesturing toward the staircase. Negan nodded and headed upstairs, his boots thudding against the wooden steps. As he reached the landing, he noticed a slightly open drawer in your room. Curiosity got the better of him, and he peeked inside. His eyes landed on a pair of cute pink lace panties with a delicate ribbon on the front. He bit his lip, his mind racing with thoughts he knew he shouldn’t be having.

“Did you find it?” your dad shouted from downstairs, snapping Negan out of his reverie.

“Yeah, got it!” Negan called back, quickly closing the drawer—though not all the way—and making his way to the bathroom. He took a deep breath, trying to shake the image of those panties from his mind, but it was no use. When he returned downstairs, he avoided your gaze, though you noticed the faint flush on his cheeks. Joel, ever observant, raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

After Joel and Negan left, you went upstairs to your room and noticed the drawer slightly ajar, the pink panties peeking out. A slow smile spread across your face as you realized what had happened. You chuckled to yourself, feeling a mix of embarrassment and satisfaction.“Those cowboys,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. “What am I going to do with them?”

—----------------------------------------------

The next morning, the sun was already high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the farm. You woke up to the sound of your dad groaning in the living room. He was sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes, looking every bit the picture of a man who’d had one too many beers the night before. 

“Dad?” you called out, trying not to laugh. “You okay?” He groaned again, waving a hand in your direction. “Joel called. Said he’d come over to help me with the fence on the south side of the property. But I… I don’t think I’m gonna make it, kiddo.”

You bit back a laugh, walking over to him. “You’re hungover, aren’t you?”

He peeked at you from under his arm, his face pale but amused. “Maybe. Just a little. That Negan and his damn beer… I swear, that man could drink a horse under the table.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s okay, Dad. I’ll help Joel. You just rest.” He sighed in relief, giving you a grateful smile. “You’re a lifesaver, sweetheart. Tell Joel I’ll owe him one.”

You nodded, heading back to your room to get ready.

You decided to wear a white tank top that hugged your figure just right, the neckline dipping just enough to show a hint of cleavage. Your jean shorts were a little shorter than usual, riding high on your thighs, and you paired them with your red cowboy boots. You glanced in the mirror, running a hand through your hair, and smiled. You looked good, and you knew it.

—---------------------------

When you stepped outside, the heat of the day hit you like a wall. You spotted Joel in the distance, bent over the hood of his truck, his muscles straining as he worked on something under the hood. His plaid shirt was tied around his waist, leaving him in a plain white short sleeve top that clung to his broad shoulders and strong arms. You felt your stomach flutter as you approached him.

“Hey, Joel!” you called out, waving as you got closer.

He straightened up, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His blue eyes landed on you, and a slow, easy smile spread across his face. “Well, hey there, sweetheart. What’re you doin’ out here?”You shrugged, trying to act casual despite the way your heart was racing. “Dad’s a little… under the weather. Said he owed you one for bailing on the fence.”

Joel chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “That old man ain’t washed up against a little hangover, huh? But that’s alright. I’ll take good care of ya, darlin’.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the way he said “darlin’” in that thick Texan drawl of his. You stood there for a moment, watching as he went back to working on his truck. His hands were rough and calloused, but they moved with a precision that was almost mesmerizing. You couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles flexed under his shirt, the fabric clinging to his chest and stomach.

—----------------------

The next two hours were a blur of chores. Joel had you helping him with everything from fixing the fence to hauling hay bales. He was patient with you, showing you how to do things the right way, but there was always that undercurrent of tension between you. Every time his hand brushed against yours, or his eyes lingered on you a little too long, you felt your breath catch.

Finally, Joel gestured to his truck. “Alright, darlin’. Last chore of the day. Gonna need you to help me wash this ol’ girl.” You nodded, grabbing a bucket and filling it with water from the hose. Joel did the same, and for a moment, the two of you worked in silence, scrubbing the truck down. But then, out of nowhere, Joel splashed a handful of water at you, hitting you square in the chest.

You gasped, the cold water soaking through your tank top. “Joel!” you squealed, glaring at him. He laughed, a deep, hearty sound that made your stomach flip. “What? Just tryin’ to cool you off, sweetheart.”You narrowed your eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

Before he could react, you scooped up a handful of water and threw it at him, hitting him right in the chest. His shirt clung to his body, and you couldn’t help but stare at the way it revealed the outline of his muscles. He had that perfect dad bod—strong and solid, with just the right amount of softness. You bit your lip, crossing your legs as you felt a heat pool in your stomach.

Joel noticed the way you were looking at him, and his smile turned into something darker, more intense. He ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face, and took a step closer to you. “Eyes up here darlin’,” he said, his voice low and rough.

You didn’t have time to respond before his arm was around your waist, pulling you against him. His other hand cupped your face, and then his lips were on yours, hot and demanding. Your hands flew to his neck, tangling in the damp hair at the nape of his neck as you deepened the kiss. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced—raw, passionate, and completely overwhelming.

Joel’s hands moved down your body, one gripping your waist while the other slid under your ass, lifting you effortlessly onto the hood of his truck. You gasped into his mouth as he kissed you again, his lips moving to your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. Your head fell back, a moan escaping your lips as his hands roamed over your body.

His fingers found the button of your jeans, and before you could even think to stop him, he had them undone, sliding them down just enough to reveal the cute pink lace panties you were wearing—the same ones Negan had seen the day before. Joel let out a low groan, his eyes dark with desire. “Fuck, darlin’. You’re so damn cute.”You blushed, but before you could say anything, his hand was sliding your panties to the side, his thick fingers finding your wet folds. You moaned, your hips bucking against his hand as he slid a finger inside you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but cry out, your hands gripping his shoulders for support.

Joel kissed you again, his lips swallowing your moans as he worked you with his fingers. But then, just as quickly as it had started, he pulled away, cursing under his breath. He slid your shorts back up, his hands trembling slightly, and took a step back. “Joel?” you asked, your voice shaky and confused.He ran a hand over his face, his breathing heavy. “I… I gotta go,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I shouldn’t have…” He trailed off, shaking his head before turning and walking away, leaving you sitting on the hood of his truck, your heart racing and your body aching for more.

—------------------------------------------------

You continued washing Joel’s truck and were so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Negan approach until his voice broke the silence.

“Hi there, gorgeous,” he said, that signature smirk playing on his lips. You turned to see him leaning against the fence, his dark eyes fixed on you. He looked as effortlessly handsome as ever, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder and his jeans hugging his legs just right.

“Hey, Negan,” you replied, trying to sound casual despite the way your heart skipped a beat.

He tilted his head, studying you. “Everything alright? You look a little… sad.”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a smile. “No, I’m fine. Just… thinking.” Negan raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, his gaze dropped slightly, and you realized your tank top had ridden up, revealing the white bow of your cute lace panties peeking out above your shorts. His eyes lingered for a moment, and you felt your cheeks flush as he raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Where’s Joel?” he asked, his voice casual but his eyes still fixed on you.

“Dunno,” you replied, tugging your tank top down self-consciously. “Somewhere inside, I think.”Negan nodded, his smirk never wavering. “Thanks, darlin’.” He stepped closer, and before you could react, he slapped your ass playfully, his hand lingering to give it a soft rub. You gasped, your eyes widening as he leaned in to kiss your ear, his breath warm against your skin.“I know you’re wearing those cute panties, babygirl,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. “Don’t be naughty, or I’ll snitch to your dad.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already walking away, laughing to himself as he headed toward the house. You stood there, your heart racing and your body tingling from his touch. He had a way of leaving you flustered and wanting more, and this time was no exception.

—--------------

Negan stepped inside the house, calling out for Joel. “Joel? You in here, old man?” Joel appeared at the top of the stairs, his expression unreadable. “What do you want, Negan?”

Negan grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “Didn’t know that pretty little thing was visiting you. Her dad’s hungover or something?” Joel chuckled, though there was a tension in his shoulders. “Yeah, something like that.”

Negan’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the way Joel avoided his gaze. “Something happen?” he asked, his tone casual but probing. Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck, man… I screwed up.” Negan’s eyebrows shot up. “You fuck her?” Joel shook his head slightly, his voice low. “I, uh… kissed her. And… put one finger in her.” Negan’s eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. “Fuck, Joel. How’d her pussy feel?”

Joel rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Man, she’s the daughter of our neighbor. And like, twenty years younger than us.” Negan laughed, a deep, hearty sound. “Hell yeah, so her pussy’s even tighter. Fuck, I’d do anything to hit that.”

Joel chuckled, though there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “Go ahead. I think she’s really craving some old man dick right now.”

Negan feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. “Who you callin’ old?” He paused, his smirk returning. “You think she’d wanna take two old dicks? Think she could handle that?”

Joel’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like he was considering it. The thought of it made his blood run hot, and he cleared his throat, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “Negan… I don’t know, man.” Negan stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive tone. “Fuck, Joel, she’s dressed like a slut. She’s wearing those fucking panties for a reason. Didn’t she love it when your one finger got inside her? Imagine how she’d go crazy for your dick, huh?”

Joel’s hand rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing. He knew it was wrong, but the thought of having you—of sharing you with Negan—was too tempting to ignore. Finally, he nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Fine. Let’s take her upstairs.”

Negan’s grin widened, and he clapped Joel on the shoulder. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

—--------------------

Negan walked back outside, where you were still standing by the truck, trying to calm your racing heart. He approached you with that same confident swagger, his eyes gleaming with mischief. 

“Hi there, cutie,” he said, his voice smooth as honey. He lowered himself to whisper in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You still wet? ‘Cause your daddies got a surprise for you.”Before you could register what was happening, he scooped you up in his arms, carrying you bridal-style toward the house. You gasped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he laughed, the sound rich and deep.

“Negan, what are you—?” you started, but he cut you off with a wink.“Just relax, babygirl. You’re gonna love this.”He carried you inside, where Joel was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of hesitation—but it was quickly replaced by something darker, something that made your stomach flip. “Upstairs,” Joel said, his voice low and commanding.Negan didn’t need to be told twice. He carried you up the stairs, his grip firm but gentle, and you felt your heart pounding in your chest. 

—---------------------

Joel led the way, his broad shoulders filling the hallway as he guided Negan to his bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting shadows across the king-sized bed. Negan laid you down gently on the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, your heart racing as you took in the sight of the two men standing at the foot of the bed. Joel’s arms were crossed over his chest, his piercing eyes dark with desire. Negan stood beside him, one hand rubbing his beard as he stared at you with a hunger that made your stomach flip.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Negan said, his voice low and rough. “You’re so damn sexy.”

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, but you didn’t look away. The way they were looking at you—like you were the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen—made you feel powerful and vulnerable all at once.

“Take off your top,” Negan ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the hem of your tank top, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. You were left in nothing but your bra, the lace barely containing your breasts. Joel’s eyes darkened as he stepped closer, his gaze raking over your exposed skin.

He reached out, his calloused fingers gently tilting your chin up so you were looking into his eyes. Without a word, he leaned down and captured your lips in a searing kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, and you melted into him, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. As he deepened the kiss, his lips trailed down to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin and making you gasp and your bra strap fell down your shoulder.

Joel’s hands moved to the back of your bra, his fingers deftly unhooking the clasp and letting the fabric fall away. He lowered the cup, exposing your perked nipple to the cool air. “How cute,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. He moved slightly so Negan could see, and you locked eyes with the man, your heart pounding in your chest.Negan bit his lip, his eyes dark with desire. “Fuck, Joel, she’s perfect.”

Before you could respond, Joel’s mouth was on your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before he sucked it into his mouth. You moaned, your back arching off the bed as pleasure shot through you. Joel bit down gently, the sharp sting making you cry out.

Meanwhile, Negan was busy pulling off your shorts, his hands sliding down your thighs as he revealed your lace panties. “Fuck, I can see how wet you are, darlin’,” he said, his voice rough with need. “Joel, look at this.”

Joel hummed against your nipple, his hands moving to your other breast as he continued to tease you. Negan hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly, agonizingly so. You whined, your hips lifting off the bed in an attempt to speed him up.“Oh, is someone impatient?” Negan teased, his smirk widening as he looked down at you. “Be patient, doll. I’ll fuck you soon enough.”

His words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Finally, your panties were off, and Negan’s fingers were on you, rubbing slow circles over your clit. You whimpered, your hips bucking against his hand as he added two fingers inside you without warning. “Fuck!” you gasped, your nails digging into the sheets.

“Heard you already took one finger today,” Negan said, his voice dripping with amusement. “So I know you can handle more, babygirl.” You moaned, the realization that Joel and Negan had been talking about you—about this—making you even hotter. Joel’s mouth moved to your other nipple, sucking and biting as Negan’s fingers worked you open. The dual sensations were overwhelming, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, she’s so wet, Joel,” Negan said, his voice strained.“Fuck I know,” Joel replied, his lips leaving your breast to capture yours in another deep kiss. When he pulled away, he looked down at you with a wicked grin. “Negan, why don’t you let her suck your dick while I eat her sweet pussy?”

Negan’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “Now THAT’S what I’m talking about.” You barely had time to process what was happening before Joel was spreading your legs, his mouth descending on your pussy with a hunger that made your toes curl. Negan, meanwhile, unbuckled his pants, freeing his cock and positioning himself at your lips.“Open up, babygirl,” he said, and almost melted at the sight of you.

You obeyed, your mouth widening as Negan slid the tip of his cock past your lips. You licked at the precum, moaning around him as Joel’s tongue delved into your pussy. It felt so good. Joel’s tongue flicking over your clit while Negan’s cock hit the back of your throat made you feel hazy.

Negan gripped your hair, his hips moving slowly as he fucked your mouth. “Fuck, you’re so good at this,” he groaned, his eyes locked on yours. Joel added a finger, then another, curling them inside you as he sucked on your clit. The combination of his fingers and tongue had you writhing on the bed, your moans muffled by Negan’s cock. You tried to focus on sucking Negan's dick but the pleasure of Joel's tongue inside you made it very difficult. 

“Focus on your own pleasure, babygirl I don’t wanna cum yet,” Negan said, pulling out of your mouth to give you a moment to breathe. “Let Joel take care of you.” You fell back against the mattress, your chest heaving as Joel continued to work you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes met yours between your thighs, and the intensity in his gaze made your stomach clench. You could feel the pressure building, your orgasm just out of reach.

And then it hit you—hard. You screamed as you squirted on Joel's face, your body convulsing as he rode out your orgasm with his fingers and tongue. Negan watched, his cock in his hand as he stroked himself, his eyes dark with desire.“Holy shit!” Negan yelled, his voice filled with awe. “That was fucking hot.” You collapsed back onto the bed, your body trembling as Joel finally pulled away, a satisfied smirk on his lips. 

“Fuck, Joel, I wanna feel that sweet pussy around my cock,” Negan said, switching places with Joel. Joel looked at you with soft, sweet eyes, his hand gently rubbing over your cheek before cupping your chin. “You alright, darlin’?” he asked. You nodded, biting your lip as you looked up at him with teary eyes.

“Fuck, you’re so cute, baby. Do you think your jaw can handle sucking my dick right now?” he asked. You nodded again, and he chuckled. “Words, please,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Yes, Daddy, I wanna suck your dick,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. His hands moved to unbuckle his belt, and he smirked. “Alright, anything for you baby.”

Negan, now standing by your legs with his pants off, laughed. “Daddy, huh? That’s new.” He stripped off his shirt, revealing his toned body adorned with sexy tattoos. He grabbed your thighs, positioning himself at your entrance. You gulped nervously, noticing how big he was.

“Don’t worry, doll. It’ll fit,” Negan reassured you with a smirk. He looked into your eyes as he slowly entered you, drawing a moan from your lips. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as he filled you.“Fuck, look at you, stretching for me so good. God, you feel amazing around my cock,” he groaned. You whimpered, still adjusting to his size, and hesitated to take Joel into your mouth.

As negan began moving faster, and the initial sting faded, it was replaced by a hot, pleasurable fullness. Finally, you turned your head toward Joel, who was already anticipating your next move. You propped yourself up on your elbows and took him into your mouth. His precum tasted sweeter than Negan’s, though they were roughly the same size.

You teased the tip of Joel’s cock with your tongue, and he groaned. “Fuck, darlin’, don’t tease me,” he said, his voice strained. You glanced up at him through your lashes, smiling around his length. 

When suddenly, Negan thrust HARD into you, and Joel gripped the back of your head, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. You gagged, drool escaping your lips as Joel held you in place.“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Joel moaned. Negan laughed, his voice rough. “Her pussy clenched so hard just then. Fuck.”The reality of the situation hit you—you were here, with two older, incredibly sexy men. It felt surreal, like a dream. Joel snapped you out of your thoughts when he spoke up.

“Negan, can I feel her pussy for a second?” Joel asked. Negan nodded, pulling out of you with a wet sound that made you gasp. Joel withdrew from your mouth and moved to your front, entering you without warning. You cried out, the sudden fullness overwhelming.

“Holyyy shit,” Joel said, looking over at Negan, who laughed. “I know, right? It’s like a virgin pussy, but we both know she ain’t. Am i right you fucking slut?” Negan said, his tone teasing. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss that quickly turned into a full-on makeout session. Joel continued thrusting into you, his head falling back as he lost himself in the sensation.

Your orgasm was building, but Joel suddenly pulled out. “I wanna cum in her mouth,” he said to Negan, who nodded. “I get to breed her?” Negan asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Yeah, go ahead. I wanna see her swallow my seed like the good girl she is,” Joel replied. He positioned himself at your mouth again and entered it. You could taste yourself on him just as Negan reentered you. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, angling himself to hit your G-spot with every thrust. “Fuck Negan” you moaned.

“Call me Daddy,” Negan demanded, his voice rough. “Daddy,” you moaned, your voice breaking as he pinched your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through you.“Good girl,” he praised, his pace relentless and softly rubbing your clit now.

Your mind was spinning, overstimulated but craving more. You felt your orgasm approaching again, and Joel was close too. He gripped your head tighter, moving you faster on his cock until tears streamed down your cheeks.

With a groan, Joel came, his head falling back as he spilled into your mouth. You swallowed every drop, licking his tip clean as he pulled away. “Fuck, that’s so hot,” Joel said, tucking himself back into his pants. He sat down in a rocking chair, watching as Negan continued to fuck you. Negan’s thrusts grew harder, and you finally came, your body trembling as you squirted around his cock. He groaned, filling you with his release.

“Fuck, I hope you’re on birth control, babygirl, ‘cause that’s a big load,” he said, his voice ragged. You moaned at the feeling of his warmth inside you, but suddenly, your vision blurred. Your eyes rolled back, and everything went black as you collapsed.

—----

After a few minutes, you slowly stirred awake, your head resting comfortably on Joel's pillow. As your vision cleared, you noticed both men standing nearby, their eyes fixed on you with a mix of concern and amusement. Joel sat on the edge of the bed, his hand gently brushing through your hair in a soothing motion. Negan, leaning against the wall, smirked down at you, his arms crossed over his chest.

"W-What happened?" you asked, your voice soft and slightly disoriented as you tried to piece together the last moments before everything went dark.Negan chuckled, his deep voice filling the room. "You passed out, sweetheart. Couldn't handle my cock after all, huh? You squirted like crazy,damn, it was something else." His words were laced with pride, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes that made your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

You instinctively looked away, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Negan noticed your discomfort and quickly moved to sit beside you on the bed. His large hand rested on your thigh, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tried to reassure you. "Hey, shh, it's okay, baby. Don't be embarrassed. We loved every second of it. You were incredible," he said, his tone softer now, almost tender.

Joel, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. His voice was calm and steady, a stark contrast to Negan's playful demeanor. "I'll go tell your dad you're taking a nap. I'll say you did a good job with helping me and got tired." He gave you a small, reassuring smile and a wink before standing up and heading toward the door.

Taglist: @misguidedasgardian @highinmiamiii @aretha170

alltime: @emmaaas-posts

[himbodruid]

Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals 😘

Midnight Warmth

What happens when Sylus brings you to one of his remote countryside homes for a long weekend?

An expansion on the Midnight Warmth Secret Times

Sylus x Reader

Soft Sylus -:- he loses control -:- you get no sleep

Intended for readers 18+. MINORS DNI

Fic Master List

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The week had been a long and hard one, full of ups and downs. Disappointment was high near the end when your team had failed to gather intel on illegal protocore operations, the lead having been bogus from the start.

You were just glad for four glorious days off of work, days you would get to spend with Sylus. The moment he learned you had a long weekend, he planned to whisk you away to one of the ranch houses he owned out in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by nothing but fields and forests, you were excited to watch the frosty April sunrises with the horses grazing in the fields.

The moment you arrived at the house, though, exhaustion pulled at your bones. The drive had been longer than you expected, and the fact you had to navigate the winding country roads on your own didn’t help. Sylus told you he wouldn’t be there until later in the night, to make yourself comfortable and choose whichever room you wanted. He’d planned on making the drive with you, but something came up last minute that needed to be taken care of.

You hauled your bags in and plopped them right onto the floor of the first room you found. The decor was quite similar to Sylus’s base, but you didn’t really have time to take it in before you were sprawled across the bed and nodding off.

You awoke sometime later, then the sun had set, to Sylus gently brushing hair out of your face with the back of his knuckles. You smiled and stretched, allowing him to pull you up and into a hug. His riding leathers were still cool from the evening breeze, and you rubbed your face on the buttery leather surface

“Sorry I’m late, love,” he said. You didn’t even know how long you’d been asleep, but you were glad to be wrapped in his warm embrace all the same.

“It’s okay, you’re here now,” you say, sleep still evident in your voice. “I’ve missed you.”

His lips met the crown of your hair before he released you. He walked over and gathered your luggage, teasing you about how much you’d brought for a simple four day getaway. You defended yourself by claiming you had to be prepared for everything.

“Well, are you prepared to share a room with me, or did you mean to take this one?”

You could feel your face flush and you took a closer look at the room. A wall lined with everything music should have been your first clue, or even the beautiful console record player that was set up on an adjacent wall. That explained why the bedding held a faint hint of Sylus’s spicy scent and why you were lulled to sleep so quickly.

“Honestly, I just crashed in the first room I found. I can take a different room, it’s not a problem!”

You made to move towards your bags, but you were blocked by Sylus holding them away from you. Looking up at him, you quirked a brow in confusion. You made a grab at them again, only for him to take a step back.

“Oh, no, love. You chose this room and now it’s yours. It’s also your decision on if you want me to stay or if you want me elsewhere.”

This playfully mischievous side of Sylus had become more prominent the last couple of months, but his words still made you pause. At the base, you had your own rooms just a few doors down from Sylus, and any other dwelling he owned it was the same story. You’d snuck into his rooms more times than you could count, but…

“Could you…stay?” You asked timidly. You’d never fully shared a single space with him, and the bed was large enough to fit a horse between the two of you if really necessary. Sylus smiled that crooked half-smirk of his and gathered up your things once again. You plopped onto the bench at the foot of the bed, watching as he swiftly unpacked your luggage and put them away in the closet and dresser. It was such a domestic task that all you could do was watch dumbly as the universe’s most wanted criminal just…neatly folded or hung your clothes. Existential was too mild of a word for what you were feeling right then.

When he was done, he removed his jacket and also made sure to hang that in the large closet by the door. You didn’t realize you’d let your eyes trail down his broad back to his leather-clad ass until he turned around and chuckled. Your face flamed, and you quickly looked away.

“Come, Kitten, the cook should have something prepared for us by now.”

You were grateful that he didn’t tease you for getting caught staring. You couldn’t help it, though. His clothes were tailored to fit his athletic frame to perfection, almost like they were just painted on. The black shirt he wore was stretched taut across his shoulders and clung to him straight down to his narrow waist and hips. And those damnable leather pants that looked like they barely contained him with the zippered panels on each side of his- you shook yourself, forcing your eyes away from his ass again. His chuckle let you know that he was very well aware you were checking him out, but he chose not to comment.

Something must be wrong with you. Sure, he was an attractive man, but you’d never been so caught up in him to openly stare at him like that before. You were usually much more reserved, so you decided to blame it on the atmosphere and the idea of being relatively alone with him for the whole weekend. Or maybe you were just touch-starved and horny, not that you would ever admit to it.

Dinner held a vast array of food you loved, and you were suspicious that he called ahead to make sure everything was prepared to your exact liking. You chose not to press the matter, instead dancing happily at each delicious bite.

Dinner ended with Sylus teasing you about how you managed to stay so small while eating so much. You flexed your meager biceps at him, spouting some nonsense about being a hunter keeping you fit. It wasn’t fully a lie, but a lot of the job was desk work along with field work.

After dinner, Sylus took you on a quick tour of the main house, explaining that the property was actually a housing complex of people he employed to keep it running. A large barn also rested on the property, housing the finest horseflesh Sylus could find. His prized stallion, an Akhal-Teke, also resided there. You listened to his gravelly voice with rapt attention, adding things to your mental list of all the things you wanted to do.

Even through the excitement, you found yourself dozing off when you sat to watch a movie with Sylus in front of a crackling fire. He lounged on the chaise section of the sofa and your head rested in his lap. He bundled you in the soft throw blanket that lay across the back of the sofa. His large hand rested on your shoulder, letting his fingers play in your hair, and the feeling of safety was so immense that you had no qualms about napping.

The movie reached some sort of crescendo that startled you awake. You stretched, playing it off as though it hadn’t scared you. Turning your gaze upward, you saw Sylus watching you instead of the film. He sat with his arm resting on the sofa arm, cheek palmed, and a painfully tender expression on his face while he played with your hair.

“What?” He said with a smile, swirling a strand of your hair around a finger on his free hand. “You’re still awake?”

“Whaddya mean ‘still’? I was asleep but now it’s too loud,” you grumbled.

“You’re the one who asked me to put on a movie to help you fall asleep. And now you’re complaining it’s too loud?” He said with a chuckle, gently tugging that strand of hair. “You’re fussy, Kitten.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile and sat up, snuggling closer to him until the both of you were stretched on the chaise. His arm came around your shoulder and you rested your head against his chest. You listened to the steady thrum of his heart, an unnamed emotion swelling in your chest. You were really here, with him.

“Do you really like this place?” He murmured against your hair as he placed a gentle kiss there.

“Mhm, I’m so excited that I can’t sleep.” He chuckled at your statement, seeing as you had napped twice since arriving.

“You're spoiled rotten, that's for sure.”

“Only because you spoil me,” you say, scrunching your nose. You fall into companionable silence, still having no clue what was happening in the movie. It appeared to be some sort of vampire romance flick, but you couldn’t focus with the way his fingers drifted across your skin.

“Stay here a few more days,” he murmured, suddenly. “Extend your vacation. After all, it’s just you and me.”

You thought about it some, on the verge of agreeing. After all, you never took time off, and you had a hefty cache of vacation hours built up. You would have to call Captain Jenna and request more time, but that was a problem for tomorrow.

“We’ll see. But I already know what I wanna do tomorrow!”

“Tell me,” he said softly.

“You’re really gonna trust me with the planning?”

He chuckled, “I'll see what you’re planning first, and then decide whether I'll come.”

You shifted, turning so that you could face him a little more fully. The action put you in a position that may as well have you laying on him, and you could feel a blush slowly creep across your face. Sylus seemed unphased, though, watching you with half-lidded eyes.

“How about…picking strawberries?” You threw out the idea without much thought to the frost that still greeted the mornings.

“Sure, why not,” he said with a smile. “There’s a farm nearby.”

“You’ll have to teach me horseback riding, of course.” You were conscious of his face getting closer to yours, his hands chastely exploring you.

“Okay. We have a racetrack in the back,” he said. Something in his voice made you want to shiver. His tone dropped and his usual rasp was more noticeable. “What else?”

You mindlessly rattled off other things you wanted to do. You’d made a whole list before even leaving for the country, and admittedly it was…a lot.

Sylus chuckled and mirrored your thoughts. “That’s a lot.”

“I just…want to spend time with you. As much as I can.”

“Your words are coated in honey,” he rumbled. “But if you’re tired and complain halfway through…”

He rolled you halfway underneath him, so that you were now laid down on the chaise and he laid on his side beside you, propped up on an elbow with his head resting in his palm. He leaned in, caressing your cheek. “I wont accept that.”

You knew your face was flaming. You couldn’t help skirting your gaze from his eyes to those perfect cupid’s bow lips that hovered entirely too close. Huffing out a heated breath, you dragged the blanket over your head in embarrassment.

“Don’t hide under the blanket, Kitten.” He tugged at the blanket, and you let him pull it away from your face. “I remember everything you said.”

“I’m not hiding,” you said. Your voice was too bright and awkward, making the lie obvious. You cleared your throat before adding, “I’m going to sleep.”

“But your eyes are still open.” He flashed that devilish half-smirk that you loved. “Can you fall asleep while looking at my face?”

“Hmm. Maybe if you sleep with me.” The words escaped you before you could think about their meaning, and you were glad he seemingly chose to ignore it.

“Did you forget what time it is, hm? For me, the day has just begun.” He heaved a sigh, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Since you can’t fall asleep, I'll tell you a story.”

“A story?” You raised a brow and smiled. You rolled to lay on your side, giving him your full undivided attention. The crackling of the fire added to the ambiance of your shared intimacy, and you wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

“It took place in this…old castle. Tuck yourself in, close your eyes,” he began. You pulled the blanket up and draped it over the both of you, and then you obediently closed your eyes. The lilting rumble of his voice would be enough to lull you to sleep any other time, but the air crackling between you felt too charged.

“Once upon a time, this castle was shrouded in a heavy fog. Every year, there would be a day when the fog disappeared. Only then can one truly see the castle.”

“Hmm, and how did you hear of this castle?” You opened your eyes, needing to see him as he told the story.

“An old man who used to live nearby told me about it,” he chuckled.

“Is this a true story?”

He quirked a brow at your absurdity, gifting you with another warm smile. “How am I supposed to know if the story’s real or make-believe?

“Anyway, a girl found herself lost in the woods. She was lucky to stumble upon the castle when the fog was gone. She knocked on the door.”

“And did a prince answer the door?” You could feel yourself getting lost in him and needed to ground yourself.

“I’m afraid not. Sorry,” he said. “The castle was empty, so the girl decided to live there. Then, one day, as she was getting ready to sleep, the fireplace suddenly roared to life.”

His sentence was punctuated by a shift in the fireplace and a series of crackling sparks being released. The sudden sound startled you and you gripped his hand.

“Why are you holding my hand so tightly,” he chuckled. “Relax. It’s not scary.”

You moved closer to him anyway and he chuckled.

“How is this not an excuse to cuddle me,” he teased.

“So what if it is,” you grumble in reply. “Just continue the story.”

“The girl took a deep breath, turned around and saw- Yes, the window was open.”

You scrunched up your nose at the unexpected turn. He grinned and played with your hair while watching the expressions play on your fact with rapt interest.

“You seem to be disappointed. I told you it wasn’t scary, what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, maybe she’d see a vampire. Perfect for an old creepy castle surrounded by fog.” He was leaning into you and you were acutely aware of the heat his body radiated. You swallowed but found your throat dry.

“Hm, I guess that makes sense,” he murmured, bringing a strand of your hair to his nose. “The movie we were watching did the same thing. The girl had walked into a vampire’s castle. Hmmh, come to think of it…the vampire’s castle and this castle look similar.”

He pulled away slightly, his eyes darting around your face as you looked at him. “What are you thinking about?”

“You kinda look like a vampire,” you say with a mischievous smile.

“How so?” His hands roamed over you again, and it took effort to concentrate on his question.

“Well, you have pale skin and red eyes. And you seem to be…very active at night,” you murmur as you allow your hand to flatten against his neck. He moved his chin up a little, letting you explore him.

“I do sound like one when you put it that way. What else?”

You poked his cheek. “You also like to bully people.”

“Bully people? How does a vampire bully someone, exactly?” He leaned over you again, imposing and crowding your space. His lips hovered so close to yours in a silent threat, only proving your point.

“Like this?” He asked. His lips descended, and you leaned up to receive him, but his face diverted at the last second. Instead, he buried his face against your neck.

“Let me…sniff your neck.”

You let your head fall back and your hand that rested on his neck slid to the back of his head. Your gasp rose to mingle with the sounds of the fire.

“Mmmh,” he moaned. “Your scent…I want it.”

He pushed you back into the chaise, rolling on top of you. You became aware of every inch of him that touched you. His knee wedged between your thighs, and it took far more effort than you cared to admit to not rub yourself on him. Your arms wrapped around broad shoulders and your hands met at the back of his head to touch his feather soft silvery strands.

“I’ll just…nibble this,” he murmured against your neck before his tongue found your pulse. Teeth scraped against your skin and you couldn’t contain the gasp that escaped. You tilted your chin to give him better access. But then he pulled away.

“Is that it?” He asked, lowering his lips to capture yours for a moment. His thigh pressed more firmly into the apex of yours, and you couldn’t help but to suck your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Don’t bite your lip,” he growled. “Look me in the eye, answer me.”

You couldn’t answer him, you were far too focused on keeping your body still instead of squirming against him. His eyes left yours, searching out where he’d bitten you, looking to see if a mark rose there. A self-satisfied grin on his face told you there was one.

“Was I too rough? Is this what they call bullying?”

“You did it on purpose,” you complained half-heartedly.

“You’re the one who said I looked like a vampire,” he chuckled. “And in the movie, the girl got marked right…here.”

His finger brushed against the opposite side of your neck, tapping your thundering pulse with those damnably elegant fingers of his. Your breaths came in short bursts, his simple touches igniting your body. You thought you could feel his body reacting to yours, the length of him stiffening against your hip as he teased you.

“I want to leave a mark, too,” he murmured against your neck. And then he latched on, his mouth working at your skin in a way you knew would leave a hickey that would be visible for weeks. Your fingers tangled in his hair, the sensations of him sucking on your neck sending tremors through you. He pulled back and observed the purpling mark.

“Mmh. It’s still not enough,” he growled. He dipped his head again, using that hot mouth to create more marks on your neck and collarbone with satisfied growls. Your gasps and moans rose to mingle with his sounds. His hands roamed your torso, sneakily lifting your shirt until your breasts were bared to him.

“Why did you close your eyes? You’re finally going to bed?” He kissed the top swell of your breasts. “You don’t want to listen to my story anymore?”

Words wouldn’t come to you as he tugged down your bra so that he could swirl his tongue around your nipple.

“But, Kitten. I haven’t even gotten to the ending. The girl and the vampire were snuggled against each other.” He moved to tease your other breast. “It was a tranquil, midwinter day. Sitting in front of the fireplace…”

You gasped and arched into him when his teeth scraped against your nipple. Your every nerve was on fire and you wanted to push him away and pull him close at the same time. He crowded your every sense and you couldn’t get enough of him.

“Hold me,” he murmured, “but not too hard. Save your strength for later.”

His mouth traveled further down, completely contradicting his command. He left a trail of biting kisses, pausing every so often to leave a mark.

“I t-though you wanted to help me sleep by telling the story,” you said, mind overwhelmed by the sensations he was eliciting.

“Yeah…but now I regret it. You’re not sleepy at all.” His gaze flicked back up to yours and his hand slipped beneath the hem of your shorts, into your underwear and you sucked in a breath when his fingers slid through your slick folds. “I need to try something else.”

In one swift motion, he had your shorts and underwear stripped from you and you laid bare beneath him save for your sweater and bra. He perched your legs on his shoulders, settling his face between your legs when he looked up at you with a predatory gaze.

“We won't wake up in time to…pick…strawberries in the morning.” His tongue found your clit and you gasped. He worked at you, licking, sucking, biting until you couldn’t hold back the sounds of your pleasure any longer. When it felt like you were about to fall over the edge, he stopped with a dark chuckle.

“The strawberries aren’t ripe…yet,” he said. He lifted himself from you, and your sound of protest died on your lips when you realized it was so that he could strip his own clothes from his body. He fell over you once more, his lips crashing against yours in a punishing kiss.

“I still have to ‘show’ you the rest of the story. You’ll get everything you could ever ask for. Just. Be. Patient.”

Sylus slipped his hips between your thighs once more, and you could feel the length of him resting hot and heavy against your pelvis. His mouth crashed into yours, coaxing you open so that his tongue could tangle with yours. His satisfied growl rumbled in his chest and you could feel it reverberate against you. Your knees came up to bracket his torso and you rolled your hips so that his cock slid against your folds.

You gave a self-satisfied chuckle when he moaned at the feel of you slick and ready for him. He silenced your mirth by positioning the tip at your entrance. Slow, so slow, he pushed into you. Pulled out, pushed back in. A pattern that left you brainless and trembling until he was finally sunk into you to the hilt.

“Fuck, Kitten, you feel so damn good,” he moaned against your neck. Your reply was drowned by a moan of your own when he pulled out only slightly and then slammed back into place. His cock dragged so deliciously against your walls, you could feel your climax building before he’d even done much.

He maintained that torturously slow pace, working you into a mess with his tongue and his hips. With every slow removal of his cock, he ground himself into you when pushed back in. You clenched around him automatically, as if your body didn’t want to let him leave your body.

“S-Sylus,” you whimpered into his mouth. He growled in response, his hips jerking forward.

“Again,” he said. At your sound of confusion, he added, “say my name again, Kitten.”

“Sylus,” you moaned against his neck. The sound of your desperation seemed to goad him on and he slammed into you.

“Again,” he commanded. He was getting rough, but your heart thundered with the excitement of him losing control.

“Sylus!” You cried, clinging to him as he plundered you.

“Fuck,” he grunted, his pace picking up until the lewd sounds of your bodies joining rose with the crescendo of your moans. Your nails dug into his back as the last remnants of his control snapped and he relentlessly pounded into you. His hand gripped the back of the couch, the other one biting into your hip to give him leverage.

“Sylus,” you breathed, caressing his cheek with one hand and grasping his bicep with the other. He tilted his face into your touch, moaning explicitly against your palm with his eyes clenched shut. He was lost to the sensations of your body, to the sounds you made squirming beneath him, down to the scent of your love-making mixing with woodsmoke.

You hooked your ankles together at the back of his hips and a final clench of your walls around him was enough to throw him violently over the edge. He came with a guttural moan, a shout echoing into the room before he buried his face into your neck while he kept plunging into you with involuntary jerking movements. The twitching pulse of his cock flooding you with his cum brought you to the precipice with him. Your moans joined his as you clung desperately to him, your body milking him for every last drop.

He collapsed atop you, kissing and nuzzling every inch of skin that he could reach. His lips found yours in a tender kiss before he rested his forehead against yours. His eyes bounced between yours, an emotion you could only describe as love in his crimson gaze.

“Are you sleepy now?” He questioned with a cheeky grin. A grin you wiped off his face by clenching your walls on him. His cock twitched in anticipation inside you.

“Not in the least bit,” you replied, dragging his face back to yours.

As the night progressed, the two of you eventually made it to his bed, where you proceeded to explore each other further. You definitely did not get any sleep until the sun peeked over the distant mountains.

There was no way you’d be able to wake up in time to pick strawberries, even if they were in season.

[giuseppe-yuki]

come over, baby!

rancher!oscar piastri x city girl!reader

w.c.: 4.3k

warnings: curse words, heavy allusions to sex, a little bit of ooc!oscar

summary: oscar sneaks you onto his family's ranch. it doesn't go as smoothly as he planned.

a/n: merry christmas to those who celebrate! :) i know i haven't uploaded a real fic in a hot sec so i decided to whip this up real quick!

picture credits from pinterest :)

your trusty mini cooper gives a sharp beep as it locks behind you. its taillights flashes bright, causing the branches of the surrounding eucalyptus trees to cast a looming shadow over you and the dusty road. once the lights dim into nothing, you glance around the dark dirt driveway that was apparently the entrance to your boyfriend’s family’s ranch, according to the text from him on your phone.

you let out a sigh- you could have easily been snuggled up in your bed in your college dorm, facetiming him on your phone, but no- he decided that you should become a top secret spy and drive two hours to his conveniently “close” family ranch at 9pm on a tuesday evening and sneak into his bedroom on the first floor because he felt clingy and wanted to see you “in-person.” 

it honestly only took a few “no one will knowwww!” and a sprinkle of “come on, baby, pleaseeeeee i want to see youuu!” until you found yourself tiptoeing down the pitch black driveway towards the looming two story family ranch house that was seemingly where your boyfriend was located for fall break. anything for love, you suppose.

you squint your eyes at your phone’s bright screen depicting a lengthy message depicting exactly where to “break in” under the contact name “osc 💕” . park underneath the line of trees outside the metal gates- check. sneak through the broken fence three posts next to the main gates- check. walk down the dirt road towards the main house- currently doing so. 

the ranch house is stunningly pretty, with a big patio that housed a few well-worn rocking chairs, a spattering of wildflowers all around, and a big oak tree with a tire swing framing the whole thing. if you weren’t currently on a mission to break into the house itself to see your boyfriend, you would have stayed to admire for awhile.

you locate the window that your boyfriend mentioned further down in the text- the second one on the left side of the house without a window screen (he broke it playing cricket when he was 12, he said). bingo. it honestly wasn’t that hard to find, considering it was only one with the lights on on the first floor. 

sliding your phone, the only light source that you had, into your pocket, you curve your fingers underneath the window pane and slowly slide it up, making sure to make zero noise. 

the first thing you see when you maneuver yourself all sneakily through the window of the quaint little ranch house’s first-floor bedroom is decidedly not your boyfriend, with his swoopy brown-gold hair and polite-cat smile. instead, a pretty young woman with brown shoulder length hair, cowboy boots, and a silver belt in one hand stops and gapes at you on her way to exit the room. 

shit. 

“w-w-who are you?” she asks shakily, shuffling around the bed in the middle of the room and extending the silver belt in front of her like a weapon. she gives the air a few experimental slashes as if telling you- back off, i have a weapon.

you start to rethink your decisions. this was oscar’s house…right?

scrambling out of your awkward position sprawled halfway the window, you scoot nervously away from the rather dangerous-looking belt before speaking. 

“er, hi,” you say in the most non-threatening tone you can muster up after breaking and entering what you assume is this random lady’s house at an inappropriate time of night. 

she doesn’t even give you a chance to explain that this was all a misunderstanding before she yanks the door next to her open and gets ready to, most likely, call the police on you. 

however, before she is able to bolt out the door, a familiar boy steps into view in the doorway. 

oscar.

he takes a second to take in the situation- you standing awkwardly like that meme of robert pattinson in the kitchen, and the woman holding out the silver belt towards you in a menacing way- before he jumps into action. 

“okay…hattie- i can explain,” he exclaims to the woman, slamming the door closed behind him. oscar runs up between you and the still-stunned hattie, which you assume is his sister. 

“do not tell mom, but it’s just my girlfriend, okay?” he pleads. then, looking at the belt in hattie’s hand, he wrinkles his brow. “-and is that my belt?”

hattie hides the belt behind her. 

“um…no?”

with a single eyebrow raise from oscar, hattie sighs exasperatedly. 

“fine, yes, it is. i came into your room to get it for my outfit tomorrow when i caught your-” she peers around oscar,  “‘girlfriend’ literally breaking into our house!” 

“okay, pause!” your boyfriend says, scooting over to the left a little bit to block hattie’s view of you next to the wide-open window. “first of all, why would you take my belt without asking? second of all, she is not breaking into the house if i invited her in first, and third, again, please don’t tell mum.” 

hattie stares at her brother for a second, then peers over his shoulder to look at you, before crossing her arms. “al-right. i won’t tell- only if you do my night duty stuff for the ranch and i get to keep the belt.” 

your boyfriend doesn’t even hesitate before spitting a quick “okay, fine” before shoving his sister out of the room. 

“fuck. you. i. am. never. doing. that. again!” you whisper-shout at oscar, repeatedly smacking him with the hoodie you stripped off moments ago. screw his puppy-dog eyes and his oddly cute bunny-rabbit smile- you were never trusting him again. 

he laughs between the soft smacks from your college-logoed hoodie and pulls you towards him on the bed, effectively halting your attacks.  

“come on, baby!” he drawls, wrapping his arms around you. “it’s fine!”

your hoodie is abandoned on the side as he slides you towards him. your head automatically slots into the crook of his neck like it was made to be there, and you practically melt into his warm body, effectively dissolving the bigger part of your embarrassment and anger away. 

even when you purposefully cross your arms and face away from him after the hug, oscar knows he has already won the way from the fact that you still crawl underneath his blankets with him like you both always did in your dorm back at college. 

he prods you with a finger when you both are snuggled half-way in the blankets and you know that you can’t turn around to face him or else he’s going to press kisses to your face and then your “i’m a bit pissed” facade will surely be broken. you stay back-towards him, but then, he pulls out the ultimate weaponized piece of knowledge that he knows: your ticklish spots. oscar jams his fingers into your side, giggling, and pokes you until you have no choice to squirm back towards him. 

the way you wriggle around the bed ends up with you slotted underneath him. oscar gazes down at you, head tilted. you blink back at him slowly, watching how his brown eyes follow your tongue as you lick your chapped lips.

“you know,” he whispers in that lilting australian accent of his, “this is more what i was thinking we could do when i told you to sneak over into my room.”

“yeah?” you say, teasingly. “well, i’ll be glad to recreate whatever you are thinking of.”

a shy grin spreads across his face, and he sits up to strip his old faded sleeping shirt off his body. 

you just about salivate, seeing the sight of what you have seen what seems to be hundreds of times- his slightly muscular chest dotted with a constellation of stars that you loved to trace- either during a soft night curled on your dorm room bed, or when you lay, spent, on his chest after a lust-filled night.

before you can stop yourself, you reach out on instinct to trace your fingernail down his torso.

just a millisecond before your finger makes contact with his skin, footsteps sound outside his shut door, and the doorknob rattles, resulting in both of you to snap your heads towards the sound.

with some unbelievable reaction time that should probably get him a seat in formula 1, oscar shoves you underneath his stupid blue bedspread, and throws a couple comforters over your covered body- just in case.

are. you. joking. 

you were never trusting oscar again. what the hell were you gonna say to his parents if they found you underneath his blankets? there’s no way in hell they were gonna be easily persuaded like his sister was with a simple belt. what were you going to say? 

oh, i’m sorry mrs. piastri, for  breaking into your son’s bedroom at 9pm on a tuesday night because your son was feeling a bit frisky. 

absolutely not. you would rather die. 

instead, you settle for freezing as still as you can underneath the pitch-black insides of oscar’s pile of blankets and wait for what just be your impending doom.

the door squeaks as it opens, and you hear the scuffling of house shoes, then a pause. 

the person entering the room speaks first. 

“oscar.” a pause. “who were you talking to? and what- what are you doing with your shirt off? why are you kind of sweaty?”

you clock it as a female parental-type voice, which confirms your suspicions that- fuck- it’s probably his mother. 

your boyfriend shuffles nervously above you.

“mum, what?? talking? i wasn’t talking to anyone- i was talking to myself! also, you can’t just, like, break into my bedroom!” he exclaims a little too quickly. “you have to, like, knock! that’s an invasion of privacy!”

“wow, okay, calm down, oscar!” the woman’s voice shoots back. “why are you so defensive? i just heard voices, and i thought- maybe someone had broke in?” 

another pause.

“were you having some…” she trails off. “some- special alone time? a bit of oscar’s happy time?”

oscar’s mother’s insinuations hit both you and your boyfriend at the same time, and you can’t help but clap your hand over your mouth to muffle the laugh that was bubbling up in your throat.

your boyfriend lightly kicks you underneath the covers, which you could directly translate to shut up right now.

“special alone..?!” oscar stutters out, outraged. “no, mum, i was not having some special alone time! please! mum, i’m fine!”

“alright, alright,” his mother remarks, defeatedly. 

the scuffling sound heads towards the door, but stills before you can hear the door open. 

“by the way, your sister said that you were going to do her nighttime chores for her. i don’t know what kind of silly deal you guys struck up, but i expect it to be done by tomorrow, okay?” she adds.

“okay, okay, i got it, mum,” oscar replies hastily. 

“okey-dokey. goodnight, oscar!” his mother says brightly, before you hear the tell-tale sound of the door squeaking shut.

after oscar makes sure the door is completely closed and his mother’s footsteps have disappeared from his bedroom, he yanks his blankets off of you. 

the cool air flows over you, and you take a breath of fresh air. even if you only spent three minutes, tops, inside the stuffy blankets, it really felt like forever. you are sure your clothes are all rumpled from being squished underneath all that weight. 

“sorry, sorry, sorry,” your boyfriend repeats, grasping you and pecking a kiss to your cheek each time. “that was not part of the plan.”

“mhm,” you mutter back. you didn’t mind, honestly, you were just glad mrs. piastri didn’t notice the suspiciously college-girl shaped lump on her son’s bed. 

when oscar pulls off of you, he flashes you a devious grin. 

“you wanna..?” 

he uses his head to gesture towards the bed.

under normal circumstances, you would have thrown oscar to the bed and done multiple inappropriate things to him, but alas, 1) his mom coming in kind of killed the mood, 2) how could you, when his poor sister was likely, like, down the hall? and most importantly, 3) oscar had promised to do his sister’s chores, and you weren’t about to get mama piastri angry the next morning.

“oscar…” you say, trailing off. “don’t you have to do your, you know, chores?”

the gleam of mischievousness in your boyfriend’s eyes immediately falls flat, and his lips turn into a slight frown. 

letting out a rather exaggerated sigh, he slumps forward for a second before slinking towards the door. 

“leave my own mother to cockblock me…” he mutters, throwing on a black hoodie and green cap. 

you are about to let out a giggle, and pull him back on the bed for looking so cute being forlorn, but then, you realize, no, you have to be the voice of reason. 

“come on, oscar, i may be a city girl, but it can’t be that bad, right? i’ll be here all night!”

you are met with your boyfriend’s classic blank stare. 

“o-okay…what if…i went with you?” you suggest, reveling in the way that his gaze lights up.

“sneak out of the window, and meet me at the front of the house in 5,” he remarks, giving you a soft smile. 

what you expect to see at the front of the house is oscar with a shovel or whatever ranchers use to do their nightly chores, but instead, oscar waves at you from inside an entire fucking glowing atv. it has two seats, and entire mini flatbed trunk area, and to top it off, a covered clear canopy over the entire thing. and you thought the usual ranchers’ method of transportation was a freaking horse?? oscar’s family must have really modernized. 

you whisper a quick what-the-fuck before launching yourself into the atv next to your boyfriend. he flashes his usual bunny-rabbit smile at you, before fiddling with a few knobs on the front of the control panel. to your surprise, an entire heating unit starts blasting warm air towards you out of absolutely nowhere. 

huh??? when did atvs have heaters?? 

you don’t even have chance to formulate your thoughts before oscar starts revving the atv like he’s a freaking formula car driver and takes off into the darkness. 

even if you knew close to zero about being a rancher, you trail behind oscar to make sure he doesn’t half-ass his chores. the first task is checking the lights, which doesn’t seem too hard. 

your boyfriend basically speedruns around the barn that you arrive at, flicking at seemingly random places to turn on floodlights that surround the area. 

“for ‘safety’ reasons,” he had said when you asked. 

you take the time to do a 360 around the barn, noting the goats that glance at you curiously from their fenced off area outside in the chill night air. 

when oscar finishes sprinting around, he grasps your hand and leads you back towards the atv. 

“alright, back to my room!” he gasps breathlessly, as he starts the atv back up. 

your mind drifts to the poor goats outside. 

“er, oscar- are the goats supposed to be outside? i would think they deserve to be inside the barn, warm and toasty, no?”

your boyfriend freezes, hand halfway to the wheel. it’s obvious the cogs in his mind are turning. you blink at him once, before he groans and twists the key into the ‘off’ position for the atv. 

typically, you knew your boyfriend as someone who was really hard to irritate, but god, this was really doing a number on him.

oscar bolts toward the gated area that you saw earlier, and easily jumps the fence into the goat’s area. you can’t help but watch in wonder as he herds all the stubborn animals towards the barn’s entrance. most of the goats bleat at him once in annoyance before charging into the warmth of indoors, but you see a few stragglers still in the outdoor pen. a giggle bubbles up in your throat as you see a goat purposefully wedge itself between the fence and the water trough- just enough so oscar couldn’t reach him easily- leading to your boyfriend exclaim in frustration. 

it was funny- if you saw the shy, introverted oscar that was typically shown to others at the college that you both went to together, you were sure that they would have never guessed he was the type to get pissy, curse at goats, and shake his fist at the sky like an old grampa in the dark of night. 

while he was busy with the stubborn goat, you take the chance to climb over metal rungs of the fence and venture into the barn. it was quite cozy looking, with a thin layer of straw-like bedding covering the floor, round bales of hay lining the walls, and, of course, bunches of goats milling around. sitting on an overturned bucket, you watch as the cute goats settle down for the night, bleating happily. 

all of the sudden, a baby goat, (a kid, you find out they are called, later) runs up to you and nibbles at your sleeve. it’s quite adorable, the way it shoves its head under your hand, urging you to pet it. you comply, of course. 

it kind of reminds you of the way oscar often shoves his head under your hands during a long night study session. when he was almost at his breaking point, too tired to shove any more vocab words and formulas into his head, he would lie on you and beg for you to thread your hands into his hair and massage his head. oscar would probably go mental if he saw you give the baby goat treatment that was typically reserved for him.

speaking of the devil, the second your hand lands on the baby goat’s head, oscar storms in with the stubborn goat from earlier squished to his chest. half of your boyfriend’s pant leg is soaking wet, and judging from the way his eyes are drawn to the spot where your hand was softly petting the goat’s head, he was not too happy. 

“are you…okay, osc?” you ask, already knowing the answer. 

after gently letting the offending goat back towards its mates, oscar stands like the standing man emoji in front of you.

“i would like to go.” he responds, face completely deadpan. 

although the goats were pretty cute, you would pick oscar every time. lightly scooching away from the baby goat, you stand up and brush off the pieces of straw and dirt that it knocked into your lap. the goat, probably slightly peeved at the fact that you were leaving, decides to do a gravity defying (?) leap at the shelf behind you, which contained a small square block of hay. 

much to your amazement, the goat jumps off your bucket, and lands nicely on the shelf a good meter above you. 

“don’t you fucking dare,” oscar warns behind you, apparently already guessing the goat’s next step. he runs towards underneath the shelf and pushes you behind him, all the while keeping a eye on the goat as it steps closer and closer to the bale of hay.

it bleats, and pushes the hay with its nose.

the block explodes in midair, completely covering oscar.

for the second time in the day night, you fight to cover your laugh. the poor hay-covered oscar was just about trembling in anger. you hurriedly drag him towards the exit, all the while thanking the gods that what you thought was a darling little goat didn’t just squish your boyfriend.

“come on, baby,” you comfort, parroting the words he had said to you earlier in the night back to him. “it’s fine.”

he huffs, twisting the key of the atv, allowing the heater to effectively blast half of the hay on him straight into your face.

“oh my god, baby, are you okay?” oscar says, eyes wide. he quickly turns the heater down and brushes a few strands of hay off of your head. 

you pretend that you didn’t just feel a strand of hay go down your throat. 

“y-yeah, no problem,” you cough out. “we can just um, head back if that’s what you’d like.”

“right,” he affirms, voice going back to monotone. 

the atv rumbles quietly as he navigates back to the house.

trying to lighten up the mood and fill the awkward silence in the small space of the vehicle, oscar attempts to crack the world’s worst joke using his lust-craved brain. 

“after all that fiasco, i think i deserve the world’s best hea-”

before he can finish (hehe get it?), you cut him off, pointing outside to a potentially dangerous situation for his ranch’s chickens. 

“oscar,” you say pointedly, “i don’t want to burst your bubble, but was bringing the chickens in one of your sister’s chores? ‘cause they’re currently flapping around in an outdoor area, and i’m afraid there’s like foxes or something that are going to eat them.”

your boyfriend slams on the brake pedal, and peeks over your shoulder, confirming the worst news in his head right now- there was yet another job to be done. 

he just about flies out the vehicle, and before you know it, he has wedged himself into the chicken coop. if there is an award for the fastest time to shove like, 15 chickens inside the line of nesting boxes, he would definitely win first. it’s kind of an insane sight.  you even hear a few “get the fuck in,” which is decidedly out of character for oscar to ever say.

every chicken actually makes it indoors, and oscar doesn’t hesitate to slam the chicken coop door shut with a loud bang.

you wish you can say the actual ride back to the house isn’t tense, but then, you’d be lying. by the time oscar pulls up to the side of the house where the only window still has its lights on is the second one without a window screen, you can feel each breath that he takes thrumming its way into your core. 

he barely has a chance to shut off the atv before you cast a sly glance towards him. 

“do you wanna-” 

the way his brown eyes glaze over in want does all the answering for you.

all you know is that after spending an undisclosed amount of time inside of the atv fogging up the plastic cover of the vehicle, you both stumbled back through oscar’s stupid little window on the left side of the house, where you continued your little escapade within the confines of his bedroom. 

the first thing you realize when you wake up is oscar’s bare skin underneath yours. you’re tucked underneath his arm, and one of your legs is entwined with his. 

you shift in his arms, tilt your head, and use a little bit of force to launch yourself upwards to press a kiss on his cheek from your position wedged next to him. 

oscar mutters a “mmm,” with his eyes closed, but you can tell from the many times of waking up next to him that he’s obviously awake. 

poking his bare stomach with a finger, you giggle. 

“i know you’re awake, oscar.”

“nuh-uh,” he shoots back, eyes still closed, grasping your offending finger with his hand and holding your arm away from him.

you untuck your other hand from under the blanket, and move to boop his stomach again. 

however, before you are able to, the footsteps come to the door and the doorknob jiggles.

oh. my. fucking. god. not this again.

oscar, like the night before, strategically shoves you under his blankets roughly. 

this time, you wedge yourself in a way where you can see the doorway through a crack in the blankets before the door swings open.

a nice-looking woman with straight brown short hair and a white sweatshirt with big block letters that spell out, “y u k i” walks in. his mom, you suppose. behind her stands the girl you saw the day before, hattie, who has her hand clasped over her mouth, trying to stop her giggles from escaping. 

oscar’s mom speaks first, clasping her hands together. 

“good morning, oscar!” she exclaims, placing her hands on her hips. “did you want some breakfast?”

“er,” your boyfriend says, staying very still. 

then, you see oscar’s mom approaching you. 

she neatly pulls off the part of the blanket covering your head, effectively blinding you from the bright light from the window, while also turning you into the surface of the sun from the way your cheeks heat up from embarrassment of being exposed literally out of nowhere. 

“and maybe your girlfriend would like some breakfast too instead of being shoved underneath your dirty blankets?” 

when oscar doesn’t answer, his mother shakes her head and sighs. “wow, oscar, i thought i taught you better than treating guests this way.”

you wrap oscar’s blankets around you, thanking god that his mother had not decided to yank all the blankets off your entire body.

hattie decides this is the moment that she cannot hold her laugh anymore and flees the doorway. you can still hear her little giggles in the hallway.

your boyfriend stutters out angrily, “b-but hattie promised-”

“no, don’t ‘hattie’ me. she didn’t out you.” his mother states calmly. “i was a teen too, once. do you really think i wouldn’t see the footsteps in the mud? your giggling at 3am? the quite honestly- nasty- handprints on the fogged up atv plastic? also, the quite obvious lump that was on your bed-” 

she shakes her head, wagging a finger at her son.

turning to you, however, she brightens up significantly. “anyways, i don’t blame you a smidgen for oscar’s actions, darling. call me nicole. now, how would you like your toast and eggs?”

a/n: bonus points if you can recognize what movie + scene i referenced when mama piastri walks for the first time 🤭

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 ( 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧 .)

         ⊹ ࣪ ˖ your family sends you to spend the summer at your uncle’s ranch to disconnect before you start college. the last thing you anticipate is to fall in love with one of the cattle wranglers, a quiet yet vibrant farmhand named megan 'the kid' skiendiel.

         ˎˊ˗  🌾  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  🔓୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: cowboy! megan skiendiel x f!reader

          ➴ genre + wc: 9k, modern cowboy!au, city girl falls for country girl, megan is soooo bf in this, slow burn, explores themes of grief, friends to lovers, slice of life, small town vibes, fluff, heavy angst.

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: 𝗢𝗦𝗧: golden hour - kacey mustgraves. ♫ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜: featherstone - the paper kites. ♩ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜: feathered indians - tyler childers. ♫ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜𝗜: frances - role model. ♩ 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗦: harvest moon (spotify version) - lord huron. ♫

         ┈─★ a/n: i wanted to try something different and idk where i got the cowboy inspo from, but it was a blast to write. i strongly recommend listening to the music inspo as it helped me get into the small town folksy mood. hope you guys enjoy!

  cw:// farm life = mentions of animals getting injured but nothing graphic and no deaths i promise!! implied underaged drinking, some suggestiveness.

three months on the family ranch, and then you never have to hear about it again as you whisk away to college. your grandpa had never believed in the importance of education, and this was his requirement before he agreed to pay for your tuition to the very impressive university you had managed to get into. you’re annoyed that instead of partying it up with your friends, you’re spending the summer in the middle of nowhere, montana, on a ranch in the side of a mountain where the nearest town is 1 hour away and barely even has a walmart. 

“you’ve grown since we last saw you,” your uncle beams, stepping out of the beat up pickup truck to pick you up from the airport. it’s a 6 hour drive from the airport to the ranch, and you feel yourself tune him out immediately as you count down the days to your freedom.

you lull in and out of sleep on the car ride there, your uncle switching between chatting your ear off and stretches of silence. 

“there’s wifi, and cable, but it’s shit when the storms roll over so don’t get your hopes up. oh, and the water’s cold sometimes, you just gotta kick the heater downstairs. if that don’t do it, meg’s got quite the head for fixing up the old pipes, just give her a yell,” he tells you at the end of the painfully long car drive, finally seeing the farmhouse come into view. 

you can’t deny the rustic charm of the old ranch house, a fully wooden two-story lodge with sprawling tall windows and a cozy porch wrapped around the front. a forest of pine trees surrounds the area, and past the line of trees, you can see the sprawling plains as far as your eyes can follow, knowing that’s where your family’s business lies in the pastures, a centuries old heritage of cattle ranching.

“the farmhands sleep downstairs, but you’ll be upstairs in the old guest room. you shouldn’t be bothered by them unless you run into each other getting some midnight snack,” your uncle tells you, hauling your luggage inside.

you thank him for his help and lug your suitcase upstairs, feeling the creak of the wood floors beneath your feet. 

quickly, someone passes by you on the stairs, grabbing the handle of your suitcase and swinging it up and over their shoulder in one easy motion. you gasp in surprise— your uncle isn’t that old, but the suitcase is still pretty heavy, and–

“that’s the kid for you,” your uncle interrupts your thoughts. “somehow always one step ahead ready to help.”

“don’t mention it,” the girl says simply, nodding her head at you with an awkward smile. she lugs the suitcase up the rest of the steps and leaves it by your door.

just as quickly as she came in, she’s gone, a flash of ruddy hair through the front door.

-

you try to connect to the wifi, and your uncle is clueless with the password. old pete is no good, which leaves your aunt and megan. your aunt doesn’t even try before offering up megan, who takes your phone and types in the password quickly and unceremoniously.

“thank you,” you tell her.

“don’t mention it,” she nods, and you wonder if the girl has literally any other vocabulary at her disposal.

the first few days are the hardest, getting used to the noises and the creaks and living with so many other people that are up at all hours of the night, tending to the ranch. you never realized how much goes into keeping it running so smoothly.

your uncle sings praises of his team one morning over breakfast, after megan managed to fix the fridge and save everyone a trip into the city to lug a new one.

“a cowboy’s gotta be tough as nails and strong as steel, and megan’s worth her weight in gold,” your uncle tells you, waving a fork in your face.

“not a cowboy,” megan says back simply, eyes fixed down on her meal. her tone implies they’ve had this conversation before.

“what are you then?” you ask. you like hearing something out of her mouth other than a dismissal or silence with a blank stare,

“he hired me as a wrangler.” she explains, nodding over at your uncle. 

“needed a new cattle wrangler after ole pete had his first stroke,” your aunt chimes in.

megan nods, picking at her scrambled eggs. “i somehow ended up becoming fence repairman, dog trainer, outdoor plumber–”

“all comes together to be one helluva cowboy,” your uncle jumps in. megan shoots him another look– respectfully in disagreement. you like how she toes that line. 

“so if you’re not a cowboy, then what are you, just a girl who likes to get dirty?” you question

“something like that,” she says, and you see her finally crack a smile. she excuses herself, washes off her plate, and grabs a faded denim jacket by the door, slipping into the brisk morning air.

she’s still smiling when you see her head to the stables. you consider it a win.

-

you try spending time in different spots on the property, but the sprawling acres and lack of navigational skills make it extremely intimidating. you follow the sound of running water and find yourself at a small river, ending in a pond. you settle on the grass by the edge of the water, trying to read the book.

you hear the whoosh of something falling into the water, and realize you aren’t alone.

the farmhand is across from you, back turned, skipping stones into the pond. you watch her next throw skip four, five, six times across the surface of the water before sinking in.

“hey,” you greet, making yourself known.

she turns with wide eyes, clearly not aware she had company. “sorry, am i bothering you?”

“no, stay,” you wave for her to continue. “you were here first.”

you two sit in silence, you reading, her skipping stones, until she breaks the silence first.

“you ever swam in a creek?” 

“no. have you?”

“i grew up on an island,” she shares, kicking a rock away with the toe of her boot. “water all round me.”

“so you can swim?”

“you can’t?” she laughs back.

she rolls her jeans up to her ankles and takes off her boots and socks before she wades a few steps in, leaning over to rinse her face in the running water as well. you can’t stop staring.

“so what now?” you ask, feeling stupid as soon as the words leave her mouth.

“i can tell you’re not used to just taking it slow,” she tells you, and you laugh at the realization that she’s right. “we just sun bathe and listen for brucey.”

bruce, the huge white shepherd that looks more like a polar bear than a dog. you look around and realize he’s nowhere to be found.

“he’s around, sniffing for anything that shouldn’t be here,” she reassures you, as if she can sense your confusion. 

she notices the book you’re holding, and points.

“will you read it to me?” she asks shyly, squinting as the sun hits her eyes.

“you like old classics?”

“your voice is nice. it might convince me.”

you give her a quick look over, and begin to read off the page. she stays across from you, but lays to fold her hands on her lap, kicking her feet up against a rock.

the two of you lay like that, you reading to her, until the sun goes down, and you walk to the lodge together as the sun sets. you check it off in your head. another day done with.

-

you fill your time with reading, studying, and after the pond day, seeking out megan.

you find her up against one of the posts, playing a beat up ukelele in front of a handful of the cattle.

“your guitar shrunk, cowboy,” you joke, pointing to the instrument.

“it helps me when i get homesick,” she smiles, before motioning to the cattle that have gathered near her. “i think the girls like it.”

“looks goofy,” you laugh, taking out your phone to capture the moment. “island girl playing her ukelele for the cows.”

she notices you take the photo, and motions out to the wooded area. “gets prettier when the lightning bugs come out.”

“i bet.”

you don’t ask if it’s okay, but you pull your book out from your back pocket and settle by her feet, sitting on the bottom most post. you get halfway through your book, and she starts to mumble-hum, the cows approaching even closer. 

some of them kneel to take a rest at your guys’ feet, just close enough for you to reach. megan keeps playing, keeps singing, and the birds almost seem to echo her. maybe this is what people mean when they talk about slowing down. you read at her feet as she makes beautiful music until the sun goes down, and you let her drive you back home on the ATV.

-

“i think tilla-girl’s smarter, but meg’s got a soft spot for the old one,” your uncle tells you, pointing out the window as he talks about the farm dogs. you watch as megan is playing her ukelele on the porch, laying with her head propped up on bruce’s stomach, the two seeming more than content with life just with the other’s presence. “nobody else her age works on this damn side of the mountain so she’s gone crazy and started talkin’ to the dog.”

you smile. 

“i’m glad she’s got you, at least,” your uncle adds. “i think you’ll make mighty fine friends.”

you peer out the window and catch megan’s gaze as she looks back at you. she looks away, and you swear you see her cheeks flush. you smile.

“i think so too.”

-

summertimes in the mountain means hot days and freezing nights. something you have to learn when you’re off with megan fixing up one of the old fence posts on the west side of the property and feel a chill as the sun starts to drop.

“it gets cold as fuck out here,” you comment, feeling your teeth chatter.

“i like it.” she replies simply, eyes fixed on twisting the wire up to tighten the fence.  “it was hot year round where i grew up.”

“you keep talking about an island,” you note. “hawaii? how did you end up here?”

“i was running from something. not sure what. kept taking seasonal jobs until i found one that i really liked, here on the ranch.”

“and you stayed?” you question.

“i think i’m made for small towns. not much to do, but not much to worry about.” she purses her lips. “it’s simple.”

“you’re a long way from home.”

“so are you, city girl.” the beat up denim jacket falls off her shoulders with a quick shrug, and in an instant, she’s draping it over your shoulders. the warm wool lining instantly stops your shivering body. 

before you can protest, she’s offering a hand out to you from on top of the horse. you can fight the jacket, or you can fight her helping you up, but you’re not quick enough to fight her on both.

you take her hand, calloused yet soft, and let yourself get hoisted up. 

you ride in silence– well, partial silence, as megan’s hums fill the air, and let yourself breathe a little deeper.

you’ll say it’s the mountain air you’re trying to take in. you’ll say nothing of how you’re taking in the clean scent of pine and campfire smoke radiating off megan’s jacket.

-

“what do you do for fun?” you ask, handing her a screwdriver as she slides back underneath the lifted truck. you hear her grunt, metal clanging, before she stretches her hand back out and motions to the rag. you hand it to her quickly.

“when i’m done working, i'll climb trees, ride on the trail, swim in the creek.” she lists them off casually, sliding back out and wiping her hands on her jeans to get the engine oil off her fingers. “get drunk and piss off your uncle. talk to the girls.”

the girls. you love knowing this is her nickname for the cattle.

“how often do you go to the town? i’m getting bored,” you tell her.

“maybe twice a week? an hour drive isn’t something to take lightly,” she tells you, almost sternly. she glances over at you, and you see her demeanor change. “i’ll take you once this damn engine is running back up.”

“what do you do there?”

“buy some beers, dance a little, maybe shoot pool. i’ll go to the rodeo if it’s in town. maybe get dinner at the diner if i’m feeling extra special.”

she slips back underneath the truck and tinkers about. you feel yourself grow curious.

“no dates?”

the noises stop, and there’s a brief pause, but she’s back to clanging in no time and slides back out, handing you the keys and motioning for you to get into the driver’s seat.

“not interested,” she wrinkles her nose. “too busy. crank the engine for me, would you?”

“too busy drinking and talking to the dog?” you tease, doing as she says. the truck’s engine sputters and then roars to life, and megan grins proudly at the feat. 

“see, now you’re gettin’ it,” she grins, before leaning over to wipe a glob of grease directly across your cheek. 

you scream and try your best to rub it off with your shirt sleeve, only smearing it further and now making a mess of your sleeve. megan doubles over in laugher, and you kick the car out of park and into drive, threatening loudly to run her down where she stands.

both your laugher combines into a melody that sings over the chirps of the birds. you’ll realize soon enough that the sound quickly becomes one of megan’s favorites. 

-

“hey city girl,” she greets offering you a high five. 

you’re suspicious. a month with megan is enough to know that the whole quiet thing is just a front. 

you eye her, but tolerate the hi-five. her other hand comes up quickly to wrap around your arm, and she takes two giant leaps back as if to get a running head start.

a giant, fat junebug clings to your wrist. you let out a scream and try to shake it off of you.

“megan, i’m going to kill you.”

she shrieks laughing, picking the bug back up from the ground and chasing behind you with it. you’ll fight her off with a stick if you have to. bruce and tilla start barking, clearly just riled up by all your antics, and you two get lost in your own little world until the sun falls.

-

“i hate country music,” you groan, exhausted yet again by your uncle’s insistence on playing the best of blake shelton throughout the house.

“me too,” megan wrinkles her nose.

“really?”

she nods, flashing her phone at you, connected to her headset. you see the album cover of a john mayer song. 

“more of a bluegrass girl myself,” she says, setting up the table for lunch.

“oh, those are basically the same thing,” you roll your eyes, assembling the silverware.

“‘bout as different as boot cut vs skinny jeans,” she teases.

“that’s not a half bad comparison,” you compliment her. “you’ve actually got something up in that brain of yours besides horseshoes and cow patties.”

“now you just sound like a stereotype,” she laughs, making a grossed out face.

“okay,” you balk. “sorry i don’t know shit about the modern cowboy archetype or whatever.”

she laughs and takes a beat, before helping you set up the plates for your aunt to start serving. “i’m going to the rodeo today. you can sit with me if you want to come.”

“the rodeo? what am i, eight?” you laugh.

“eight, eighteen, same difference. it’s your call city girl,” she sing-songs.  “i’m taking the truck at 5 on the dot. rodeo starts at 7 and i’m not gonna be late.”

she disappears after lunch, and you keep an eye on your watch. against your initial judgement, 4:55 you’re in the passenger’s seat, and megan pops into the drivers seat at 4:59 on the dot.

“hey city girl,” she beams, clearly pleased to see you.

“hi cowgirl,” you tease back, and the two of you chat mindlessly for the hour-long drive into town.

she buys you a beer as soon as you guys get into the arena, and you have a feeling this is the entirety of the town’s population. you’ve seen more people at a college football game, and yet the energy makes you feel so, so comfortable. megan leads you down to your seats and you’re mesmerized by the barrel racing, the hog chases, the lamb wrangling, all of it.

(or maybe, you’re mesmerized by how big megan is smiling, watching it all like a kid with bright eyes.)

there’s something mumbled over the speaker, and she hands you her drink to hold. “stay right here. i’m gonna be right back.”

you nod, figuring she means the bathroom.

only to feel your heart pound when you hear the announcement of “time to hold on for your life, amateurs!” pounds over the system. oh god.

they introduce the bull, a stocky red they simply call “crusher,” and then you see the lineup of denim-toting townies that are lined up behind the pen. one by one, they get announced, they try to hold on, and they get kicked off in seconds, the roar of the screaming crowd deafening you as you stand up to get a better view.

in the cow shute, mounting the titanic beast, is a ginger-haired girl that looks a little too comfortable tucking her cowboy hat snugly onto her head. the announcer bellows from above you.

“ladies and gentlemen, the returning record holder, the tough as nails, megan ‘the kid’ skiendiel!”

“no way,” you breathe quietly, grabbing onto the railings to get a better look.

the shute opens, and “crusher” comes flying out, megan tossing an arm behind her to maintain her balance. he kicks and buckles in a desperate attempt to get her off, but megan stays steady, rocking into each kick and leaning into the bucks to avoid the whiplash.

you gasp in awe as she makes it longer and longer, eventually tapping out when he yanks sideways and sends her swinging into a nearby barrel. the derby clowns run out to redirect her, and megan makes sure to snatch her hat up from the dirt before leaping back up over the fencing. 

you sprint over to her side of the fence, adrenaline pounding.

“d’ya see me?” she beams as soon as she spots you approaching, climbing back over to the rafters. she’s breathing heavily, and the smile on her face breaks briefly as she stretches out her back. “damn, that hurt.”

“why would you do that?” you all but shriek, in complete disbelief. she looks around and points out the neighbors, the grocery store clerks, the police officers, all the familiar faces you’ve gotten used to, all cheering her on.

“not much else to do for fun around here,” she laughs, and you laugh with her, wondering what else megan hides beneath her surface.

-

two days after the rodeo is the first time she smokes around you, and you realize this girl might just have a death wish over her head.

“hasn’t anyone told you those are bad for you?” you wrinkle your nose, watching her take out another malboro from the brightly colored pack that she tucks back into her front shirt pocket.

“plenty of times,” she chuckles, kicking her feet up as you two hang out on the roof of the lodge, just outside your window. 

you give her a disgusted face and kick at her boot.

“quit them,” you say.

she holds the unlit cigarette between her teeth, eyeing you cautiously. your eyes hold each other’s gaze for much longer than either of you would admit. and then, in one simple motion, she takes the un-lit cigarette and flicks it between her fingers, sending it diving down off the roof.

“as you wish.”

“you’re gonna go get that, no littering,” you warn her, narrowing your eyes at her.

“of course i am,” she smiles, tipping her hat down in front of her eyes, and you start reading the next chapter of your book out loud.

-

you’re caught off guard at the next dinner time when you see megan folding up a few miscellaneous supplies and tucking them inside a duffel bag. you peek outside the window and see one of the horses saddled up, another bag already hanging off his back.

“why are you packing?” you question. you haven’t seen this before in your time on the ranch yet.

“bruce and tilla keep coming back the past few days looking like they fought something. i think something’s getting to the calves.” megan’s serious, but doesn’t sound anxious. she sounds calm, focused, like she knows what comes next.

“so…?” you ask. “that means…?”

“just gonna go spend a night in the fields, with the girls,” she tells you. “keep an eye out overnight.”

you feel your stomach sink at the thought of her outside overnight.

“no way megan. whatever’s getting the cows could get you,” you say worriedly.

“i’ve got two giant dogs and a flare. i’ll be okay,” she reassures you, a smile on her face. 

“you can’t go by yourself.” you shake your head, not understanding how your uncle could ever let her do something like this. “that’s so dangerous.”

“i’ve done it a million times before, and your aunt and uncle and ole’ petey have to stay to watch literally everything else,” she laughs. “i’ll be okay, y/n. it’s a quick ride back.”

“at least take an ATV.”

megan shakes her head. “the motor spooks the girls. horses keep them calm.”

you can’t shake the fear that grips you.

“let me come with you,” you blurt.

“you hate the fields,” megan laughs.

“show me what’s so good about them,” you push. 

she looks like she’s about to shut you down again, but you reach to grab her arm before she can deny you. you give her a pleading look, and she eyes you up and down. she’s silent, contemplating.

“you won’t get your own tent,” she finally warns.

“that’s fine.” you feel your heart settle, even slightly, but you’re still in shock at the whole ordeal. “he really lets you do this by yourself?”

“you say it like he’s my dad.”

“does he?” you press.

“y/n, he pays me for this kind of stuff. that’s the whole point of being a farmhand or a wrangler or a cowboy, or whatever. it’s what i’m good at,” megan laughs. “go pack a bag. i’ll go get you your own horse.”

-

admittedly, the trek to the fields was extremely easy when all you have to do is just sit and hold onto a horse without falling off. the dogs follow at your footsteps, and megan has your horse led by hers, so it’s almost like taking an uber into the middle of the woods and emerging on the side of a mountain at sunset. she checks a few things on her phone, before leading your little troop onto a grassy hill overseeing the nearby herd.

you dismount, and she ties up the horses and moves to unpack the supplies first.

“no campfire?” you ask, looking out at the sunset and knowing the temperatures will drop soon. you’re grateful she insisted you take one of her spare coats.

“not yet,” she tells you. “we have to pick a spot with less grass. summertime means fire hazards.”

she’s so careful about the fields. you admire it, how she cares about maintaining the balance. you can see why your uncle trusts her so much. everything is in good hands when megan, steadfast, hardworking megan, is around.

you watch as she expertly sets up the small tent, the rocks to contain the fire, and scans around for a handful of fallen twigs. she sharpens her knife against the denim of her worn blue jeans and offers it to you along with a perfectly shiny apple. you take it, and enjoy the silence of the birds, the crickets, your crunches, and the flick of her firestarter catching flame to the tinder. you enjoy the silence together, letting the sun fall and disappear into another evening.

the full moon against the flickering campfire is nothing short of beautiful. she pulls her phone out of her pocket and plays her old john mayer playlist: melancholy, bluesy, and so, so peaceful against the hum of the crickets and owls behind you both. she cracks open a beer, and the two of you share it as the fire only roars bigger and louder.

megan’s swaying her head along to a song, and before you can stop yourself, you’re standing up and reaching for her hand. you pull her up, and you dance there together, spinning beneath the moonlight and the stars. stars never sparkle quite this bright where you’re from.

(or maybe, they just don’t sparkle this bright without megan’s beautiful dark eyes to twinkle into.)

you’re holding hands, still swaying, but keeping a respectable amount of space between the two of you. you feel brave, and snake your arms to wrap around her neck. she gives you a look, but accepts the gesture, holding her beer can to the side while her free hand stays respectfully around your upper back.

“what are you going to do after this?” you ask, looking into her eyes as you continue to sway to the faint music.

“maybe do one more night, just to be sure,” she hums.

“i meant when you’re done with the ranch.”

“oh.” her voice rustles. “i don’t know, actually. i love the ranch.”

“could anything get you to leave?” you ask, a curious prod into something more.

megan’s eyes meet yours, and they’re widening with something unfamiliar as they search your face. her hand stretches out, fingers taking up the space in the small of your back, and you feel her ever so gently pull you closer.

“maybe,” she says, a quiet contemplation, but she doesn’t elaborate.

“hm,” you muse simply.

“could anything get you to stay?” she asks quietly. her hands, ever calm, ever strong, are shaky now, reaching for you in the dim moonlight.

“maybe,” you answer simply, reaching back for her, and it’s enough for megan to take over for the rest.

-

her hands are still shaky seeking you out in the dark of the tent, but you find it so, so beautiful how your movements are illuminated by the moon and the campfire. she’s laid you down against the sleeping bag, her kisses wanting and eager against your neck. you guide her hands towards the buttons of your shirt, then reach for the buckle of her belt eagerly.

she breaks from her kisses against your neck to let out a strained sigh into your ear, hovering above you. her fingers hesitate to undo your button.

“i don’t, um, i don’t do this often,” she breathes, looking down as you’ve undone her belt buckle and reach for her zipper.

“that’s okay,” you reassure her, stopping your movements, reaching instead to cup her face in your hand. you smile, realizing you’re staring at more than you could have ever dreamed of wanting. “just means you’ll remember me more.”

she smiles, eyes scanning over you, before she musters up the confidence to start undoing your buttons with one hand much too easily, slipping past them and reaching now for the zipper on your own jeans. you feel your body shudder with anticipation as she presses a tender kiss into the crease of your jaw.

“i’ll have a hard time ever forgetting you, y/n,” she hums into your neck, before your clothes are long forgotten, and lose yourselves into the song of the crickets and the roaring fire.

-

maybe you’re starting to like this small town.

you build a routine. 

the two of you ride into town on friday mornings, your feet kicked up on the dash of the old pickup truck as she sings along to songs on the radio and you can’t stop admiring her beautiful face as she does so. her voice is soft, angelic, and the way she holds the steering wheel with one hand so she can interlace your fingers with the other makes your heart thud.

she buys you a lollipop at the corner store and you savor the crisp mountain air mixing with the sweet artificial cherry in your nose. she strolls behind you through the aisles of the gas station, a case of beers over her shoulder and a bag of sunflower seeds in her free hand. you look back and her eyes are always fixed on you, a smile each time you look at her. you wonder if you’ll ever need anything else.

you run your errands together and she never lets you touch a single door, never lets you lift a finger, never lets your hands get dirty picking up another bag of feed or a treat for bruce.

the sunshine beats down on your face, and she’s placing her hat on your head. you’re pretty sure you remember something about this being an old cowboy courting ritual, but you lose the question somewhere in the back of your mind each time megan slips and calls you “pretty girl” instead of “city girl.”

darla at the corner store eyes the two of you questioningly. she scans the beers, the candy, the snacks, and instinctively reaches for a pack of malboros. megan shakes her head, motioning for the old woman to put them back.

“since when’d you quit the smokes?” the woman questions, arching a faded brow.

“since god sent me a better reason than just old folks not likin’ the smell,” megan quips back quickly, grinning as she forks over an exact change in cash and pivots to pull you along.

you feel your heart thud in your chest and you follow her into the truck. you start to think you might just follow her anywhere if she asked.

-

“early risers now, the two of you! i barely hear y/n come down the stairs any more,” your uncle beams gleefully.

you and megan share a knowing glance as she fries up another egg for you. it’s been probably a week since you’ve stopped sleeping in your own bed, and started sleeping in hers. you don’t think it makes a difference to correct him, so you don’t. 

(you wonder if it’s too obvious that you’re wearing her flannel and she’s wearing your t shirt, but your uncle is too clueless to notice anyways.)

when he’s not looking, you press a kiss into the back of megan’s neck as she focuses over the stove. she shoots you a look, her beautiful brown eyes taking you in, and hands you a plate. 

the two of you take your food outside and eat side by side on the porch, and thoughts of “forever” foolishly fill your head. you don’t push them away.

-

“bullseye,” she grins, shooting another tin can off the fence with her bb gun.

“nice shot, john wayne,” you tease, your legs swinging from your spot sitting on the truck as you look up from your journal.

megan puts down the bb gun and pretends to take an arrow out of an imaginary quiver, and motions as if she’s shooting the arrow at you.

“did i stick you?” she asks, motioning to her pretend bow.

“your aim’s off,” you tease, squinting at her. “little more to the left.”

she tries again, exaggerating her movements this time, and you laugh.

“i didn’t take you as the hunting type,” you tell her.

“cupid let me borrow a few,” she says, jumping up to stand on the tire of the truck and reach up to kiss you.

“oh, yeah?” you hum against her lips.

“mhm.”

“you’d love video games,” you smile, wrapping your arms around her shoulders as she looks up at you. “they’d rot your brain.”

“not much up there left to rot,” she jokes. “i’m like a walking miracle.”

“all those cigarettes and beers,” you tease.

“not even. d’you forget what i do for a living? i’ve been kicked in the head, trampled, all the good stuff.”

“and yet you survived it all.”

“i must have known something good was coming,” she says simply, taking your hand in hers and kissing your knuckles.

your chest aches, and you realize you might’ve lied. her aim was dead on, from the first stupid cupid’s bow.

-

your birthday marks halfway through the summertime, splitting july right down the middle. 

it’s small, just the few of you on the ranch, a cake baked by a neighbor and fireworks.

megan, sweet, silly megan, has had one too many beers, and you love the way her little whisker dimples deepen with every exaggerated laugh you two share. 

tilla barks like a madman, bruce simply asleep under the table as the hours sink into the night, the bullfrogs from the neighboring creek adding to the cricket’s cacophony for the soundtrack to your evening. 

everyone else goes to bed, leaving just you and the ginger to celebrate under the glow of the porchlight.

“make a wish,” she tells you, holding up the candle to your face.

“done,” you grin, blowing it out away from her. 

“good. now come here, pretty girl,” she coos, pulling you to come drop into her lap as she sits in the rocking chair. you laugh and wrap your arms around her neck. “so fuckin’ pretty, how was i ever supposed to say no to you?”

“you weren’t,” you beam, batting your lashes up at her playfully as her hands roam across the soft skin of your thighs. you had worn your nicest dress for the occasion, and megan was struggling to keep her hands to herself. you loved the feeling, her strong hands, calloused from the hard labor she was never afraid of doing, yet soft enough to leave you with goosebumps after every touch.

“was that the plan this whole time?” she questions, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, up to your jaw, and whispering soothingly into your ear. “just s’posed to come and shake up my whole life?”

“can’t believe i didn’t know someone like you existed,” you breathe, taking her in.

“walking dirt magnet?” she arches a brow playfully.

“kind, strong, steadfast.” you tell her, admiring every feature on her face: those full lips, the dimpled cheeks, the creases by her smiling eyes, the round button nose.  “you make the world feel like a safe place.”

“i’d take care of you forever, if you let me,” she assures you. “happy birthday, pretty girl.”

(you won’t admit that it feels like a confession, and your birthday wish has practically come true. a promise of the future with this girl.)

you feel a warmth in your chest as you whisk her away to your bedroom for the rest of the night. you both ignore what this means for the time you’ve got left.

-

“so you’ve done wyoming, idaho, now montana.” you list the states on your fingers. “where to next?”

you’re skipping stones at the pond, megan’s tongue poking out of her mouth as she works to try and snatch up a frog from the riverbed.

“wherever i can hide,” she says simply.

“what are you running from?” you ask, and it’s the first time you’ve ever approached the topic. you hesitate, but knowing megan has never been unkind about redirecting you, you simply suggest the goofiest things you can think of. “toxic ex? debt collectors coming for your kidney? embarrassing viral video?”

she stops, standing up straight, and wipes at her forehead with the back of her wrist. you can tell she’s debating something within her. her eyes don’t come up to meet you, but her body seems to hunch in resignation.

“dead mom,” she says simply.

“oh.” you feel your heart lurch. “megan.”

“that’s the first time i’ve said it out loud,” she admits, rinsing her hands off in the running water before taking her hat off to run her hand through her hair. she starts towards the truck, and you follow.

“i’m so sorry,” you tell her, and you wish there was a manual for what to say to people in times like this.

“it was two years ago. i just upped and left. my dad has been trying to get into contact with me about my inheritance, but i just don’t want to think about any of it.” her confession feels like it connects a million pieces, answers a thousand questions you have had of her, but all you want to do is comfort her as you see the toll it takes on her to loop you in. “sorry i don’t talk about it. hurts too much.”

“megan,” you tell her softly, your heart aching.

“no, you don’t have to be all sad. it’s perfect that i’m telling you. i feel ready.” she nods good-naturedly, hopping into the bed of the truck where the blanket is spread out. she drops with a thud and gets comfortable, before smiling up at you. “god she would have loved you, like fuckin’ crazy.”

“i bet i would have loved her too,” you tell her back gently, following to come sit next to her in the truck bed. you pause, reaching out to play with her fingertips, looking out at how she has her long legs splayed out straight in front of her. you come up with an audacious suggestion, one you won’t deny has been on your mind. “you should come to school with me.”

“no way,” she immediately recoils, wrinkling her nose. “i’m not a bookie. plus i’m way too old to be starting college right now.”

“you are absolutely not too old,” you balk. “plenty of people take a gap year or two. you’re so good and you know so much– about agriculture, about electricity, about the environment. i’ll have my grandad pay for your tuition or whatever. my family loves you, they’d be happy to. then maybe you can buy the ranch or something, and we can–”

“it’s not the money,” she shakes her head. she bites down at her fingernail– a bad habit she picked up since quitting smoking. “sorry y/n, i just i don’t want to stop.”

you can hear her implication. stopping means thinking, and thinking about anything else would hurt. you wish you could take her pain away from her.

“i won’t push you,” you tell her gently, pulling her finger away from her mouth and kissing it instead. “but i think you’d be amazing.”

“i don’t want this to end,” she says after a beat, and you can read it in her eyes.

“don’t think about that right now,” you murmur to her, reaching for her cheek to turn and capture her lips with yours. 

-

t minus one week until you leave. neither of you mention it.

you feel her stir and get out of bed much too early one morning, before the sun is even across the horizon in the window. you hear a faint whine, the creak of the wood as megan steps about, the shuffle of her boots slipping on over her feet. she steps outside the door, and you hear her return a few moments later, moving faster, footsteps louder. “baby,” you mumble groggily, reaching out to her. “come back to bed, please.”

“it’s bruce,” megan says, her voice gravelly, and her tone is enough to wake you fully and get you to sit up in the bed. her face is stony, eyebrows knitting together. “something real ugly got to him.”

you blink a few times to get your bearings, checking your phone to see that it’s barely past 1 am. you nod, getting up and reaching for her denim jacket to throw over your hoodie. “okay, let’s take him to the vet.”

“it um, doesn’t work like that,” she sniffs, and you can see her eyes watering. “vet lives two towns away, only comes into our town for clinic stuff on thursdays. y/n, he looks bad. i don’t feel good about it.”

“tomorrow— today is thursday. so we stay with him, then.” your heart aches for bruce, but even more so for megan, facing the reality of losing her best friend. you see the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, and you can’t imagine what this is bringing up for her. you nod self-assuredly, the plan coming to you as you speak it, reaching for her hand. “we’ll take turns, meg. we’ll apply pressure, keep him warm, keep talking to him. we’ll leave at 5 and be there an hour early before the clinic even opens. it’s going to be okay.”

her eyes finally come up to meet yours, and she nods. 

you two work in shifts to do exactly that, tend to the old dog. he does admittedly look worse for wear, but you take turns speaking to him calmly and keeping him wrapped in the warmest clean blankets you can find. the first hour passes, and you reassure megan that she’s better off resting than she is trying to push through the whole night, considering she’ll have to be the one to drive them an hour to get to town.

“i did a quick scope out of the nearest pasture. this crazy old bastard killed a fuckin’ wolf and didn’t let him get to any of the girls,” megan says proudly, before letting herself drift off. you kiss her forehead and then lay a kiss onto bruce’s head, beginning to recite the lyrics to whatever stupid song you can think of, just to keep the air from going quiet.

it’s almost morning, and megan wakes refreshed and ready. you’re in awe of how she’s able to lift the massive dog into the backseat of the truck with little strain. she calls out something to your aunt and uncle before getting in the drivers seat, the early morning fog illuminated by the headlights as the truck roars to life. she reassures you that you’re okay to fall asleep, and she drapes a blanket over your lap. 

your eyes are closed for at least 3 songs, and you feel yourself about to drift asleep, before you hear megan’s tone change, and hear her whisper quietly to the dog.

“i know dude, i know. she’s a good one,” she sighs, reaching into the back seat to pet his head. “stick around a little longer so you can sniff out if she’s gonna break my heart or not, would ya?”

megan reaches for your hand, still assuming you’re asleep, and holds it for the whole hour long drive into town. 

the vet, sensing the panic in megan’s voice as she carries this ginormous dog towards him in her own two arms, offers to see bruce as soon as you guys get there, a half an hour before the clinic is supposed to open.

you fall asleep with your head on megan’s shoulder as you wait through his surgery, and she doesn’t wake you.

“he’s lucky to have you two,” the vet tells you two hours later, smiling as he hands you the leash to a wobbly but stable white dog. “most owners start to freak out and end up fighting when things get hard.”

“she’s a good one,” you say quickly, motioning to megan, and she says nothing as she kneels down to hug the groggy old creature. 

she then reaches up to grip your face in both hands, pressing a searing kiss to your lips, expressing every bit of gratitude she can muster. 

you wrap your arms around her waist and kiss her, and kiss her and kiss her, while the town still sleeps. you wonder if there’s a way to live in this moment for the rest of your life. 

-

the night before you leave, your uncle throws you a small send-off dinner. you and megan hold hands under the table the entire time.

she takes you to the pond, through the fields on a horseback ride, back and around what feels like the whole property as you savor the last day you have together.

whether it’s adrenaline or nerves, sleep can’t find you that night. megan is holding you, and you’re trying desperately to memorize the curves of her body and the feeling of her hands over you.

“meg,” you whisper quietly, and you feel her bare chest rise and fall against the skin of your back.

“hm?” she pulls you in tighter, clearly not struggling with sleep like you are.

you let out a quiet sigh, bringing her hand up to your lips to kiss her calloused fingertips.

“i think i fell in love with you,” you whisper, half-confession, half-stating the obvious.

megan merely grunts in her sleep, wrapping her arms tighter around you.

“go back to sleep, pretty girl,” she mumbles, pressing a kiss into your shoulder.

“whatever, cowboy,” you roll your eyes, trying to pull away from her grip, but it’s no use. she’s much too strong, and as it turns out, more awake than you thought.

“i’ll write you letters, while you’re gone. and you’ll write back to me,” she hums into your neck, and you feel your heart swell with how soft and sweet her voice is as she whispers these sweet nothings. her fingertips brush along your hips, along your spine, tracing the expanse of your skin as if she knows it’s just for her. “i’ll tell bruce and tilla all about what you’re getting up to, while you’re off being brilliant.”

“yeah?” you smile, turning back to try and get a look at her sweet, beautiful face.

she presses her cheek into yours, planting a kiss against your jaw. “i’ll start smoking again though. so you gotta come back soon.”

“smoking’s so bad for you,” you tell her back weakly, her warm embrace drifting you back into your slumber.

“so is being without my pretty girl,” she quips back easily, pulling you in closer. she presses another kiss behind your ear. “i love you too. come back soon.”

-

the two of you wake up at the crack of dawn to make the most of the morning before noon, when your uncle is supposed to start the journey to take you back home.

megan steals the truck to drive around the property and helps you wish goodbye to all the animals and trees you had so impossibly fallen in love with, just as easily as you had fallen in love with megan. 

she picks you flowers and pine needles to press in between the pages of your favorite book and she mentions something about a scrapbook you two should start together. you sneak a quickie in the back of the truck and laugh when your teeth clank together from how eager you both are to get your hands on each other. 

the last half hour before you head back home. you see something in megan’s eyes as she’s driving you guys back from the edge of the property to the lodge, her jaw going hard as you ramble about how the semester is going to look for you.

“we have five weeks for winter break, so i can spend that here, or you can come spend it with me in the city,” you tell her, going through the schedule on your phone. “i only have like three days for thanksgiving, so that might not be worth it unless if you come out first, but spring break i’ve got a whole week off, so i can leave the thursday before and be here by friday so we get the full week together. then, another summer. i think we can do it.”

you expect your cowboy to say something back, probably some dumb joke, or maybe even just a hum of approval, but you’re left waiting. megan says nothing, which she hasn’t done since you two first met.

“hello, earth to cowboy?” you tease, waving a hand in front of her face as she pulls the truck into the garage.

she puts it in park, and turns to face you, grabbing your hand out of the air and gently pulling it down. your heart sinks when she doesn’t hold onto it. 

she lets out a shaky breath, looking over you once more, before her eyes harden and her gaze drops to something off in the distance.

“don’t come back.” 

you feel a punch to the gut– megan’s voice is cold, too detached. this isn’t the warm farmer girl you’re in love with, this isn’t your megan.

“what?” you blink, wondering if it’s just a joke that landed wrong. you reach for her hand. “don’t say that.”

you feel your heart shatter as she pushes your hand away, shaking her head. she won’t bring herself to look at you.

“stay focused, get good grades, get a cool job,” she tells you, turning now to face the steering wheel instead of facing you. “don’t throw your life away thinking about me, trying to squeeze me in. you’re so special, y/n.”

“i wouldn’t be distracted. we can make it work, long distance isn’t that hard,” you push, feeling the hot tears threaten to spill from the corners of your eyes. 

“i loved you, while you were here,” she breathes quietly, a deep sigh leaving her chest. 

you shake your head, your body trembling from the unexpected pivot in her demeanor. it feels like a bad dream. 

“what the fuck, megan?” you barely manage.

“it’s be better that you go.” she wrinkles her nose. she sounds confused by her own words, and you keep pushing in the hopes that she’ll take it all back and apologize in no time.

“you don’t care?” you question, feeling the first drops of your tears come down your cheeks. “that’s it?”

“i care enough to not hold you back.” she pushes back, jaw hardening. “i was never going to be permanent to you. i’m just happy i could say you were mine.”

“no, you meant everything to me, megan,” you argue, reaching to cup her hand in both of yours. you reach over to grab her hand, not giving her the option to pull away this time. “don’t you think we stood a chance?”

“a small one, maybe.” she smiles sadly. “just not this time.”

you shake your head and let go of her hand, trying to wrack your brain for how to fix this. 

“okay, forget school, sorry i suggested it and freaked you out. you could move to a bigger city, and start bull riding professionally, you’re so good at it–”

“y/n,” she cuts you off firmly, but her voice has the slightest tremble to it. “that’s not what i want for my life. and it’s not what i want for yours. go share that light with the world.”

“is this because it hurts?” you question, finally leaning back, your back pressing against the passenger side door as you try to put space in between the two of you. it feels like a stranger has hijacked her body and now, you’re suffocated being around her. “your whole thing, where something bad happens and you run away from it. is this like that? it hurts to keep saying goodbye for a little bit?”

“maybe,” she shrugs weakly, her brows furrowing. you see something like anger take over her features– a first. “what, are you analyzing me now?”

“no, but i feel like a fucking idiot,” you bite back. you reach up to try and wipe the tears from your eyes before they drop, feeling pathetic as she simply watches you. “why the fuck did you let me fall in love with you if you knew you weren’t going to be able to handle saying goodbye?”

“i didn’t know,” she says softly, and you want to scream.

“yes you did,” you push back, pointing a finger accusingly in her direction. “you did you know that, you knew it was just the summer.”

“no,” she says gently, and you feel yourself go wobbly at how easy it is for her calm voice to soften you. “i didn’t know, about the falling in love. i couldn’t have ever predicted that.”

there’s a thud in the back of the truck, and you spot your uncle and old pete working together to swing your suitcase into the back of the pickup bed. you wipe quickly at your eyes to erase any evidence of this, wishing it was as easy to undo the knot in your stomach.

“y’all girls will be in touch, i’m sure of it,” your uncle says, seeing your proximity, much too chipper and not possibly able to read any further into the situation. “no need to cry that much over it, i swear!”

“we won’t be in touch,” you say sharply, and megan grabs her hat off the dashboard and pulls it onto her head, the brim covering her eyes.

“fine by me,” she bites back, before her tone softens in the slightest. she unlocks the car door, and you can both feel it. it’s the real goodbye.

she turns to step out of the door, before looking once over her shoulder. the hat obscures half her face, and you can barely bring yourself to look at her, but you can hear her voice, so gentle despite all the damage she’s just done. 

“i really did love you,” she adds.

“bullshit,” you spit, and you feel the tears coming on again. your heart feels like it’s being ripped from the crevices of your chest. “fuck you, megan.”

you see her jaw harden, and you turn away, unable to look any more without the risk of breaking into sobs. the door swings open, you hear the shuffle of two pairs of boots, and your uncle is quickly taking up the drivers seat. the engine roars back up to life, rumbling through your chest.

“cheer up, y/n,” he chirps. “the kid ain’t goin’ nowhere. you’ll see her soon enough.”

you stare up at the ceiling of the stupid truck and try to blink back the onslaught of continued sobs that threaten to break out of you. your uncle pulls the truck out of the garage, and you feel sick to your stomach as you guys start to move out of the driveway. 

on the porch, your aunt and old pete wave goodbye to you with beaming grins. tilla lays peacefully at their feet.

behind them, the rusty-haired wrangler, holding bruce by the collar as he barks incessantly, trying to pull away from her to chase after the truck. the hat obscures her face, but you see her look up and wipe at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. 

you burst into tears as the ranch starts to fade out of view in the rear view mirror. you cry everything out, and your uncle doesn’t try to chat you up the whole way there, letting you instead fall asleep to the hum of old country classics on the radio.

you hate the way you miss megan’s voice already. you swear off country music for the rest of your life.

-

you still feel the void in your stomach even when you’re finally back home. you wonder what it’ll take to stop dreaming of ginger hair and the smell of pine trees.

“how was your summer? i feel like we barely heard from you,” sophia asks eagerly, the two of you heading up to your dorm on move-in day. “how was your family’s ranch?”

“please do share, how was that?” lara grins, eager to get the details. “do anything fun over there? i’ve never been to a farm.”

you blink back the tears threatening to spill over and hope they don’t notice.

well, i was super bored until met this girl, and she was so perfect, and she’s a cowboy who rides horses and loves her dog and quit smoking just for me, and she rides bulls and fixes anything that breaks and plays me songs, and of course i fell in love with her, and it’s ironic ‘cause she’s supposed to be able to fix anything on that ranch and yet i got my heart broken into a million tiny pieces…

“i’m glad it’s over,” you shake your head, realizing that your summer has to be nothing but a memory for it to start to fade. “never going back to that hell-hole again.”

you get to the dorm, sophia lights a candle and heads into the shower, and you take all the pressed flowers hidden in the pages of your book and let them get eaten up by the flame, one by one. 

you get to the last page of your book, wanting to make sure you didn’t miss a pine needle by accident, and find that megan had scribbled something at the very bottom, after the print of the story says “THE END,” dated the day after your birthday.

fell in love with you reading this book to me. can’t wait for you to read it to me again. love you, pretty girl. – your cowboy

you rip the page out of the book and let it get lost to the flame. with it, you let every thought you’ve ever had of megan skeindiel— every secret she told you, every touch you shared, every picture of a perfect, peaceful future together— sink to the bottom of your heart, and bury it in gravel.

[theonottsbxtch]

DONT WANNA BE SAVED | MV1

an: mafia!max i DO want to be saved, please do not mix me up with the main character she's just a bit silly. also single dad!max hmu, yeah? i hope you're aware of how much googling i had to do this for request because i know NOTHING about dressage.

wc: 6.2k

The rhythmic crunch of gravel under the tyres was the only sound that cut through the quiet tension in the air. Max Verstappen drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, his sharp jaw clenched. He wasn’t used to venturing into parts of town that didn’t know his name, but for his little girl, he’d do anything—even if it meant swallowing his pride and knocking on the door of a horse trainer who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

The GPS barked at him, announcing the final turn. Max squinted through the windscreen at the small, unassuming ranch sprawled out in the middle of nowhere. The place looked sturdy but unpolished, a far cry from the grand estates he usually associated with trainers who were supposedly “the best.” He cut the engine and stepped out, the crisp bite of the afternoon wind tugging at the tailored lapels of his suit.

The barn doors creaked open, and she emerged.

She was nothing like he expected. For someone with a reputation of being the finest dressage instructor on this side of the country, she didn’t look the part. Her hair was loosely tied back, strands falling into her face as she adjusted the cuff of her sleeve. Her boots were scuffed, her hands calloused, and there was a streak of dirt smeared across her cheek. Yet, the confidence in the way she moved was unmistakable—deliberate, purposeful, like she could size him up in a heartbeat and decide exactly how much of her time he deserved.

Max straightened as she approached, his usual commanding air faltering under her cool, appraising gaze. “Mr Verstappen?” she asked, voice calm and low, though there was a slight arch to her brow as she clocked his expensive suit against the rustic backdrop.

“That’s right,” he replied, recovering quickly. “I called about my daughter, Stella.”

“I remember.” Her tone was unreadable as she wiped her hands on her jeans and extended one to him. He hesitated a second too long before shaking it. Firm grip. No nonsense.

“She’s serious about competing,” Max continued, trying to soften the edge in his voice. “I’ve been told you’re the best, and I don’t settle for less when it comes to her.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, almost like a smile, but not quite. “Dressage isn’t about settling or not settling,” she said. “It’s about discipline, patience, and trust. None of which can be bought.”

Max’s jaw ticked at the subtle dig, but he didn’t rise to it. He was here for Stella, not to flex his ego. “You’ll have all the resources you need,” he said instead. “Money isn’t an issue.”

Her eyes flicked to him, sharp as a blade. “Good. Because if your daughter’s going to train with me, I’m going to need more than that.” She turned abruptly, gesturing for him to follow her towards the barn. “I’ll meet Stella, and we’ll go from there. But just so we’re clear—I don’t babysit, and I don’t do miracles.”

Max trailed behind her, a slow smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. She was bold, he’d give her that. Most people were too afraid to speak to him like that. Maybe she really was the best.

His shoes crunched against the gravel as he followed her into the barn. The earthy scent of hay and leather mingled with the faint sweetness of horses, instantly grounding the space. Inside, sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting golden streaks across the straw-scattered floor. A bay mare in one of the stables tossed her head, her ears twitching at the sound of their footsteps.

She leaned against the edge of the stall, absently running her fingers along the edge of the wood. “How old is Stella?” she asked, her voice carrying the clipped efficiency of someone who didn’t waste time on niceties.

“Nine,” Max said, stepping closer. “She’s ridden before, but it’s always been a hobby. Now, she’s ready to take it seriously.”

“Is she?” she asked, glancing at him.

Max frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, is she ready? Or are you?” She crossed her arms, leaning her weight casually against the stable door.

His nostrils flared, but he bit back his instinctive retort. People didn’t question him—not in his world. But this was different. For Stella, he’d let his temper take a back seat. “Stella’s the one who asked. She’s determined, and I support her in whatever she wants.”

For the first time, her expression softened, just slightly. “Good. A lot of parents want this more than the kids. It shows in the way they push them, and that pressure never works. Horses aren’t machines. They pick up on that tension, and it ruins the trust.”

He nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure he liked being lectured. “Trust, discipline, patience,” he said, his voice taking on a dry edge. “I got it.”

Her lips twitched again, and this time he was certain it was a smile, however faint. “You don’t strike me as the patient type.”

Max chuckled, low and sharp. “You’d be surprised. I know when to wait. I also know when to act.”

Something flickered in her gaze at that, but she didn’t let it linger. Instead, she straightened and pushed open the stable door, letting the mare step out. The horse was sleek and graceful, her muscles shifting smoothly under her polished coat.

“This is Luna,” she said, patting the mare’s neck. “She’s my best. If Stella wants to learn, she’ll start with her.”

“Stella doesn’t have her own horse yet,” Max admitted, studying the animal.

“Good. That makes it easier. Luna’s a good judge of character. If Stella’s nervous, Luna will know. And if Luna doesn’t trust her...” She shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid.

Max raised an eyebrow. “What happens then?”

“She doesn’t ride,” she said simply.

He appreciated her bluntness, even if it grated at him. She wasn’t someone he could charm or intimidate, and oddly, that made him more intrigued.

As if sensing his thoughts, she brushed past him, leading Luna to a bridle rack. “Bring Stella by tomorrow. I’ll see what we’re working with.”

“And what about you?” Max asked, his voice dropping slightly, almost testing.

She turned, brow furrowing. “What about me?”

“You seem to have high expectations,” he said. “If Stella’s the one being judged, does that mean you’ve already made up your mind about me?”

Her gaze lingered on him, steady and unflinching. “You’re not the one I’m here to teach, Mr Verstappen. But if you’re asking...” She paused, her lips curving into the faintest smirk. “I’ve met plenty of men like you. You don’t scare me.”

Max tilted his head, his mouth pulling into a slow, deliberate grin. “Plenty of men like me? Somehow, I doubt that.”

The month following his first meeting with her passed in a blur of early mornings, long afternoons, and the kind of quiet determination that Max had to admit impressed him. Stella had taken to the training better than he could have hoped, and her instructor—well, she’d more than lived up to her reputation.

She was tough but fair, demanding excellence without suffocating his daughter’s enthusiasm. Max had watched every session from the sidelines, arms crossed, keeping a respectful distance but always observing. And more than once, he found his attention drifting—not to Stella, but to her instructor.

There was something about her. A kind of grit that didn’t falter, even when she was teaching patience to a headstrong nine-year-old. Her quiet confidence didn’t demand attention; it commanded it. Max had seen plenty of people fake authority, but she wore it like second skin.

He liked that.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was to see her a month later, in a completely different world.

The pounding bass hit him first, reverberating through his chest as he pushed through the crowd. The club was dimly lit, alive with movement—people dancing, drinks clinking, laughter rising over the music. It wasn’t his usual scene, but a meeting had brought him here, one of those backroom negotiations that needed the anonymity of chaos.

He’d wrapped up the deal without trouble, but as he made his way back to the main floor, something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.

There she was, behind the bar.

Her hair was down, loose waves brushing her shoulders, and she wasn’t in scuffed boots or faded jeans anymore. Instead, she wore a fitted black top and a skater skirt, a thin chain glinting at her neck under the neon lights. She moved with an easy rhythm, pouring drinks and flashing quick smiles to the patrons leaning against the bar.

For a moment, Max thought he’d imagined it. But then she turned slightly, catching his profile out of the corner of her eye, and froze.

Her eyes widened for just a second—barely noticeable—but enough for him to catch it. She recovered quickly, though, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow as if to say, What are you doing here?

Max didn’t answer her unspoken question. Instead, he made his way to the bar, sliding between two drunken men slouched over their cocktails. He rested his elbows on the polished surface, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

“Mr Verstappen,” she said finally, leaning forward slightly. Her voice was calm, but there was a flicker of something else in her expression—annoyance, maybe, or surprise. “Didn’t think this was your kind of place.”

“It’s not,” he admitted, letting his eyes roam the bottles behind her before settling back on her face. “But it seems I’m full of surprises tonight.”

She snorted softly, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. She placed it in front of him, her smirk sharp. “You look like you need this more than a whiskey.”

Max chuckled, low and rough. “Not here for a drink. Just curious.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Didn’t peg you for the nightlife type.”

“Didn’t think you were paying that much attention,” she shot back, wiping her hands on a bar towel.

“More than you realise,” Max murmured. He wasn’t sure if she caught the softness in his tone over the thumping music, but her eyes narrowed slightly, her posture stiffening.

“I could say the same about you,” she replied, shifting her weight. “What’s the boss of half the city doing in a place like this?”

“Business,” he said simply, straightening. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

She leaned closer, resting her hands on the bar. “You’re full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”

“Just one.” His voice dipped, his gaze unwavering. “Why are you here?”

She rolled her eyes, breaking the tension with a dry laugh. “It’s called having bills to pay, Verstappen. Not all of us have cash to burn. This keeps the lights on when teaching doesn’t.”

Max didn’t miss the edge to her words, and he wondered, not for the first time, just how much she kept buried beneath that sharp exterior. She didn’t need saving—that much was obvious—but the thought of her working this job, with the late hours and the leering patrons, stirred something primal in him.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“Long enough,” she said, shrugging. “And I’m good at it. Don’t look so shocked.”

“I’m not shocked.” He paused, letting the moment hang between them. “But I’m not exactly thrilled, either.”

Her expression hardened slightly, and she straightened, putting more distance between them. “Don’t start with that ‘I know what’s best’ routine. I get enough of that already.”

Max raised his hands, palms out in mock surrender. “No routine. Just... noticing things.”

“Noticed enough, then?” she asked, turning away to serve another customer.

For the first time in a long time, Max found himself on uneven ground. He wasn’t sure if he was impressed, frustrated, or just intrigued. But one thing was certain: she had a way of staying in his head, and it was starting to feel less like an annoyance and more like an inevitability.

As she moved down the bar, he lingered, watching her work. No, she didn’t need saving. But the urge to shield her from this world, to pull her away from the late nights and the reckless strangers, was already starting to claw its way to the surface.

And Max Verstappen wasn’t the kind of man to ignore an instinct like that.

For weeks after the encounter at the club, Max couldn’t shake the image of her behind the bar. It wasn’t just the stark contrast to her usual self—confident, commanding, utterly at home in the arena—but the way it gnawed at something deep inside him.

She didn’t belong in that place, surrounded by cheap cologne and drunken hands reaching for more than drinks. The thought of her dealing with that night after night twisted in his gut like a blade.

It wasn’t just about Stella anymore. He’d grown to respect her over the past month—the way she pushed his daughter without breaking her spirit, the way she handled herself with a quiet strength that most people in his world didn’t have.

That respect, though, was starting to blur into something more. And Max wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He finally brought it up on a crisp Friday morning, just after Stella’s session. The three of them stood by the paddock, Luna grazing lazily a few feet away. Stella was laughing at something, her cheeks flushed from the chill and the effort she’d put into the lesson. Max felt a swell of pride watching her, but his gaze kept drifting back to her instructor.

When Stella wandered off to grab a snack from the car, he seized the moment.

“You’ve been doing good work with her,” he began, his voice low and steady.

She gave him a side glance, adjusting the bridle she was holding. “Thanks.”

“You know,” he continued, his tone carefully casual, “I’ve been thinking about your rate.”

Her hands froze for a split second before she turned to face him fully. “My rate?”

He nodded. “You’re worth more than what I’m paying you. A lot more. I’d like to fix that.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring immediately. “Fix it, huh?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’re not charging enough for the kind of work you do. I’m doubling it.”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “And what’s this really about, Max? Feeling generous all of a sudden?”

“It’s not generosity,” he said, his jaw tightening. “It’s fairness.”

Her laugh was sharp, almost bitter. “Fairness. Right. Is that what you call pity now?”

His brows shot up. “Pity? You think I pity you?”

“What else am I supposed to think? You see me working a second job and suddenly decide to play knight in shining armour?” She shook her head, a hard edge to her voice. “Keep your money, Verstappen. I don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not charity!” His voice rose slightly, and she blinked at the rare flash of frustration. He took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Is it a sin,” he said, his voice quieter now, “that I want to make sure you’ve got a roof over your head?”

She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighed and leaned against the paddock fence. “You’ve got a hell of a way of showing it,” she muttered.

“What do you want from me?” Max asked, spreading his hands. “You work yourself to the bone here, and then you go to that—” He stopped himself, his voice tight. “That place. And you think I’m just supposed to ignore it? Pretend I don’t care?”

Her lips quirked into a smirk, though there was little humour in it. “Careful, Max. You’re starting to sound like a softie.”

He barked a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re raising a nine-year-old daughter on your own. And her closest friends are her unofficial uncles in the mafia.”

Her brows shot up, and for a moment, her lips twitched like she was fighting the urge to laugh. “That right?”

“That’s right,” he said, his tone lighter now, but his eyes still serious. “And maybe I don’t want to see someone else I—” He stopped, catching himself before he said too much. “Someone I respect running herself ragged.”

She studied him, her gaze softer now, but still guarded. “Max, I’m fine. Really. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, and I don’t need anyone swooping in to do it for me.”

“I know you don’t need it,” he said quietly. “But maybe I need to do it anyway.”

The honesty in his voice left her momentarily speechless. She glanced away, focusing on the horizon. “You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“Maybe,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But I don’t give up easily. Ask Stella.”

“Trust me, I’ve noticed,” she said, shaking her head. “Fine. If you’re so desperate to throw your money around, I’ll let you pay me more. But only because you’ll keep bugging me if I don’t.”

“That’s probably true,” he said with a shrug.

“But,” she added, pointing a finger at him, “if you start thinking this means I owe you something, I will kick you off this property.”

Max grinned, the tension between them easing slightly. “Noted.”

For now, it was enough. But as she walked away, her shoulders straight and her head held high, Max couldn’t help but think that his concern for her was starting to go beyond what he could justify as simple admiration.

And that thought both thrilled and terrified him.

He wasn’t sure when exactly it started happening—the subtle shift from guarded respect to something warmer, more playful. At first, he’d chalked it up to her stubborn streak. She never missed an opportunity to challenge him, whether it was a pointed remark about his suit and tie being out of place at the barn or her light jabs at his overprotective tendencies.

But as the weeks went on, those jabs started to feel less like walls and more like invitations.

It began innocently enough. One morning, Max showed up to Stella’s session with two coffees in hand—one black, the way he liked it, and one sweet and milky, based on an educated guess.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to her as she adjusted a saddle.

She glanced at the cup and then back at him, one eyebrow raised. “What’s this?”

“Coffee,” he replied dryly.

Her lips twitched. “I can see that. What I mean is, why are you giving it to me?”

“Because it’s cold, and I’m not completely heartless,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She took the cup, sniffed it cautiously, then sipped. Her eyes lit up for a brief second before narrowing. “Let me guess—someone else made this choice for you, didn’t they? No way you guessed right on your own.”

He grinned. “You caught me. Stella might have mentioned you have a sweet tooth.”

“Mm-hmm.” She set the cup on a nearby ledge, her expression neutral. “Thanks, Verstappen. I’ll try not to read too much into it.”

“You do that,” he said, but his smirk lingered for the rest of the morning.

It was then a Wednesday afternoon, and Max had just arrived at the barn when he caught her pulling a boot from a deep puddle of mud.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he said, leaning against the fence with his arms crossed.

She shot him a look, her nose scrunching. “Don’t start. This is your daughter’s fault, by the way. She decided Luna needed a little adventure off the trail.”

“She’s nine,” Max said, his tone mock-defensive. “You can’t hold her responsible for everything.”

She stomped her now-filthy boot back into place and gave him a pointed once-over. “No, but I can hold you responsible. You’re the one who raised her.”

Max laughed, loud and genuine, and it startled her for a second. She recovered quickly, shaking her head as she brushed past him. “You’re lucky I like Stella.”

“Lucky, huh?” he called after her. “I’ll take that as a win.”

The following week Max was standing at the edge of the paddock, watching Stella trot a clean figure-eight, when he felt her step up beside him.

“She’s getting better,” she said, her voice low and even.

“She’s got a good teacher,” Max replied, not looking away from the horse and rider.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her roll her eyes. “Flattery doesn’t work on me, Verstappen.”

“Wasn’t trying to flatter,” he said, turning to face her fully. “Just stating facts.”

She squinted at him, clearly suspicious. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“Maybe,” he said, his smirk returning. “Or maybe it’s just that you’re finally starting to warm up to me.”

She snorted. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” But her lips curved into a reluctant smile, and Max couldn’t help but feel like he’d scored a small victory.

By the fourth week, the playful banter had become a regular part of their routine. It was after Stella’s lesson, with the late afternoon sun casting golden light over the barn, that Max finally decided to push the boundary just a little further.

“So,” he said casually, leaning against the fence as she packed away the gear. “What do you do for fun? When you’re not working two jobs and pretending you don’t like my coffee.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Why do you care?”

“Call it curiosity,” he said, shrugging. “Or maybe I’m trying to figure out if you’re even capable of fun.”

She laughed, tossing a saddle pad into the tack room. “I’m plenty capable, thank you very much. I just don’t have a lot of time for it.”

“That’s a shame,” Max said, his voice dropping slightly. “Maybe you should make time.”

She paused, turning to face him fully. Her expression was wary, but there was a flicker of something else—something that made his pulse quicken. “And what would I do with all this hypothetical free time?”

“Well,” he said, stepping closer, his tone careful but deliberate, “you could start by letting me buy you dinner.”

Her eyes widened, just a fraction, before she masked her surprise with a smirk. “Dinner, huh? Is this another one of your attempts to ‘make sure I’ve got a roof over my head’?”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “No. This is me asking you to spend time with me. No strings, no pity money. Just dinner.”

She hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the bridle she’d been holding. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his voice softening. “Unless, of course, you’re too scared.”

That did it. Her chin lifted, and her smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “Scared? Of you? Not likely.”

“Good,” Max said, his own smile widening. “How about Friday night?”

She tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Alright, Verstappen. You’ve got yourself a deal. But don’t think this means I’m going easy on Stella.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his chest lighter than it had been in weeks.

As she turned to finish her work, Max couldn’t help but feel like he’d just won the most important negotiation of his life.

Leading up to that Friday night, Max had been on edge all day, and he didn’t know why.

Everything had been going smoothly—Stella’s training, his business, even his tentative plans for dinner. But there was a gnawing unease in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t shake. He’d checked his phone more times than he cared to admit, waiting for a text from her confirming their meeting, but the screen stayed stubbornly blank.

By the time the sun started setting, his patience ran out. Max grabbed his keys and headed for his car, his gut screaming at him to go now.

When he pulled up outside her small cottage, the sight of her truck with its tailgate open and half-packed belongings hit him like a punch to the chest.

He stepped out of the car, his brows furrowing as he called out, “What’s going on?”

She looked up sharply, startled. For a split second, he saw something in her eyes—panic, maybe, or guilt—but she masked it quickly, busying herself with stuffing a duffel bag into the truck bed.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice tight. “Just... handling some stuff.”

Max crossed the distance between them in a few long strides, his tone sharp. “Don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

“I’m not lying,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “It’s none of your business, Max.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” he shot back, grabbing the edge of the truck bed. “We had plans tonight, and now I find you packing up your life like you’re running from something. Talk to me.”

She let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. “Look, it’s complicated, alright? I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“You might not,” Max said, his voice lowering, “but I’m not leaving until you give me one.”

For a moment, she stood there, glaring at him like she was debating whether to push him away or tell him to mind his own business. But then something in her resolve cracked.

“Fine,” she muttered. “You want to know? I screwed up when I was younger. Got mixed up with the wrong people—the Tifosi. And now they’ve decided it’s payback time.”

The name hit Max like a freight train. The Tifosi were no joke. Ruthless, calculating, and vindictive, they didn’t let debts slide, no matter how old.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice tight with a mixture of anger and concern.

“Because it’s not your problem,” she said, her tone sharp. “I don’t need you swooping in to play hero, Max. I’ve handled worse.”

“That’s not the point!” His voice rose, frustration bleeding into his words. “You should’ve told me. I could’ve—”

“Could’ve what?” she snapped, her eyes flashing. “Fixed it? Made it all go away? Newsflash, Verstappen: not everything is yours to control. I don’t need to be saved!”

Max’s jaw clenched as her words sank in. He took a step back, his hands gripping the edge of the truck bed so tightly his knuckles turned white. Then, without a word, he grabbed the duffel bag she’d just loaded and yanked it back out.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, her voice rising.

“You’re not running,” he said firmly, throwing the bag into the back of his car. “You’re coming with me.”

“The hell I am!” She stepped forward, trying to grab the bag, but Max blocked her, his voice like steel.

“Yes, you are. My daughter needs an instructor, and I’m not letting her down because of some silly little debt.”

Her mouth fell open in disbelief, anger flashing across her face. “Silly little debt? Are you out of your mind? You know who they are!”

“I do,” Max said, his tone calm but unyielding. “And I know how to deal with them.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I understand plenty,” he cut her off, stepping closer. “You think you’re the only one who’s had the Tifosi breathing down their neck? You think I don’t know what it’s like to owe them?”

Her eyes widened, her anger faltering for the first time.

“I’ve dealt with them before,” Max continued, his voice softer now but no less determined. “And I’m still standing. You don’t have to do this alone.”

She stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to process his words. Finally, she shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” he said, his gaze locking onto hers, “I don’t let people I care about get crushed by this life. And whether you like it or not, I care about you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Then she turned away, her shoulders tense. “Max, this is a mistake. You don’t need to get involved.”

“It’s not a mistake,” he said firmly. “And you’re coming with me, whether you like it or not. End of discussion.”

Before she could argue, he grabbed the rest of her bags, loading them into his car with a finality that left no room for debate.

She stood there, torn between fury and something she didn’t want to name, as Max closed the trunk and opened the passenger door.

“Get in,” he said, his voice steady but not unkind.

For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then, with a resigned sigh, she walked toward the car and slid into the passenger seat.

As Max got behind the wheel, he glanced at her, his expression softening just enough to show her he meant what he’d said.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmured.

She didn’t respond, but the way her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly told him she’d heard him loud and clear.

The ride back to Max’s estate was silent, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel under the tires. She sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the road ahead.

Max glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to say something, to fill the tense quiet with words that might reassure her, but he knew better. She wasn’t the type to be soothed by platitudes, and besides, she’d made it clear she didn’t want his help.

Too bad, he thought grimly. She was getting it whether she wanted it or not.

When they pulled into his driveway, the sprawling estate loomed in the moonlight, its imposing structure a sharp contrast to her modest cottage. Max stepped out of the car and rounded to the trunk without a word, hauling her bags out with practiced ease.

“Where’s the rest?” he asked as she stepped out of the car.

“The rest of what?” she said, her tone clipped.

“Your horses.”

She blinked, taken aback. “They’re still at the barn. I wasn’t planning on leaving them.”

Max pulled his phone from his pocket, already dialling. “They’ll be here by morning.”

“Wait—what?” she sputtered, her voice rising. “You can’t just—”

“Watch me,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He spoke briefly into the phone, his words curt and to the point. When he hung up, he turned back to her, his expression calm but firm. “They’ll be transported safely. You’ll have stalls for them here.”

She stared at him, her frustration clear. “You don’t get to make decisions for me, Max.”

He shrugged, hefting one of her bags onto his shoulder. “I just did.”

The house was quiet as they entered, the kind of silence that spoke of thick walls and careful security. Max led her through the spacious halls, his steps sure and unhurried despite the tension in the air.

He stopped at a door on the second floor and pushed it open, revealing a neatly furnished room with warm, neutral tones.

“This is yours,” he said, setting her bags down near the bed.

She glanced around, taking in the plush rug, the antique dresser, and the large window overlooking the grounds. “It’s... nice,” she admitted reluctantly.

“It’ll do,” he said with a faint smirk.

He gestured for her to follow him down the hall, stopping at another door. This time, he knocked lightly before opening it.

Stella’s room was a whirlwind of bright colours and cheerful chaos. Posters of horses adorned the walls, and the bed was covered in a tangle of blankets and stuffed animals.

Stella looked up from where she was brushing her hair, her face lighting up when she saw her instructor. “You’re here!” she exclaimed, bounding over. “Are you having a sleepover?!”

She laughed softly, some of the tension easing from her posture. “Something like that, kiddo.”

“This is so cool!” Stella said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Wait till I tell Uncle Oz—oh, can Uncle Ozzy meet you in the morning? She’ll be so happy!”

Max chuckled, ruffling Stella’s hair. “Alright, alright. You can tell Oscar in the morning. Let her rest she’s just got here. And if anything happens, you call Uncle Lan. Got it?”

Stella nodded solemnly, her big eyes darting between her father and her instructor. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Just for a bit,” Max said, his voice gentle.

She pouted but didn’t argue, which made Max’s heart twist a little. He glanced at her instructor, who was watching the exchange with a quiet intensity.

When they stepped back into the hallway, she turned to him, arms crossed. “Where are you going?”

“Business,” he said simply, heading toward the stairs.

She followed him, her tone sharp. “You mean the Tifosi.”

Max paused, turning to face her. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held an edge of steel. “I said I’d handle it.”

Her jaw tightened. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” he said firmly. “They made it my business the second they came after you.”

She stared at him, her emotions warring between gratitude and frustration. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Max’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’ve been told.”

And with that, he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the grand staircase as she stood there, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and something she couldn’t quite name.

The clock read just past midnight as Max pulled into the driveway, the quiet rumble of his car breaking the stillness of the night. The meeting with the Tifosi had gone as expected—tense, with more threats than he cared to count—but he’d made his position clear. They wouldn’t touch her. Not if they wanted to keep breathing.

He stepped inside the house, letting out a breath as the familiar warmth of home washed over him. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he moved through the quiet halls. When he reached the living room, the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

There they were: his daughter curled up on the sofa, her small frame nestled against the armrest, and next to her, her instructor. The TV flickered softly, showing clips of a younger, brighter version of the woman beside his daughter.

He stood there for a moment, watching as the faint strains of applause and commentary played from the screen. The sight of her expertly guiding a horse through intricate dressage routines stirred something in him. But it was the way she slept now, her head tilted back, her features softened in the glow of the TV, that made his chest ache.

Max stepped closer, careful not to wake them. Stella’s head rested against the woman’s arm, her little hand clutching a stuffed horse. Max smiled faintly, his heart swelling as he reached down to scoop his daughter up.

Stella stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open for a moment before closing again. “Daddy?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Shh,” Max whispered, kissing her temple. “Just putting you to bed, sweetheart.”

She sighed contentedly, already slipping back into sleep as he carried her upstairs. After tucking her in, he noticed her water bottle was empty and picked it up to fill it in the kitchen.

When Max made his way to the kitchen, he found Lando leaning against the counter, tidying up a canister of cocoa powder.

“Lando?” Max said, his brow furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

Lando turned, his usual smirk firmly in place. “Emergency call.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Emergency?”

“Your kid called me in a panic because you’re apparently out of hot chocolate powder. Thought the world was ending.” Lando chuckled, placing the canister in its rightful spot. “I brought some over, but they knocked out before I could even make it.”

Max let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Thanks. I owe you.”

Lando waved a hand dismissively. “No big deal. I live for the drama. Besides, it’s Stella. She’s got me wrapped around her finger.”

Max smiled, grateful for his friend’s unwavering presence. “Get home. You’ve done enough.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando said, grabbing his coat. “Good luck with her, though.” He gestured vaguely toward the living room with a knowing look before heading out.

Filling up the water bottle and putting it back in its place Max returned to the living room, finding her still sound asleep on the sofa. The TV had switched to a dim, idle screen, and her breathing was soft and even.

He crouched down beside her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. For someone so fierce and guarded, she looked almost fragile like this. Vulnerable.

Without a second thought, he slipped his arms under her, lifting her gently. She stirred, her head naturally finding its place against his chest.

“Max?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

“It’s me,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

She shifted slightly, nuzzling closer into him. “Thank you,” she whispered, barely audible.

His heart twisted at the simple words, and he tightened his hold on her instinctively.

“Always,” he said softly, carrying her upstairs.

When he reached his room, he laid her down carefully on the bed, pulling the blankets over her. She murmured something incoherent, her lips curving into a faint smile.

Max stood there for a moment, watching her as she drifted back into deep sleep. The weight of the night’s events pressed on him, but so did the warmth of knowing she was safe, here in his home, with his family.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like he wasn’t just protecting someone—it felt like he was building something

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday

[lady-djarin]

the ranch manager

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

warnings/tags: age gap (legal - 20s/50s), joel wearing a cowboy hat needs its own warning, kinda yellowstone drama vibes, tipsy? sex (joel, not reader)-everyone consenting here!, outdoor sex, piv sex, fingering, edging, mdni 18+

word count: 3.1k

a/n: fun fact- my dad owns a ranch in wyoming so i do have some first hand knowledge lol (except for the sexy ranch manager thing) but my recent visit inspired this as they were gathering cows while i was there. i hope you enjoy!

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

This stupid city was going to drive you nuts. Chicago was everything you wanted when you moved there. The big city was so much better than the extreme quiet of Jackson, Wyoming where your family owned and operated a ranch. You grew up in the small city your whole life, finally wanting some freedom in college but after your 3rd year there it was starting to feel cramped. There is no privacy in the city, everyone stacked on top of each other, too many people, too little space. You needed out, just for a while.

So you found yourself back home, at the ranch. The sprawling space on the property made you feel more at peace than you ever felt in the city. It was your second day back home when you met some of the new staff working for your dad. Tess was kind of like a supervisor for the younger guys who did the day to day work. Tommy and his wife Maria were kind of doing a little of everything; ordering, organizing and even some cowboying.

Then you met Joel, the ranch manager. He was broad and imposing in the best way possible. The salt and pepper beard framed his plush lips that rarely curled into a slight but striking smile. His hooked nose looked like it would brush all the right places and you longed to run your fingers through his dark waves. While he looked to be in about his late 40’s or early 50’s, he was built and honestly sexy as hell.

You knew you needed him.

Because of his initial grumpy demeanor he did intimidate you at first but his soft brown eyes gave away his true nature. Over the few days you were back in town you had been around Joel a lot more, you ended up helping out with small projects on the farm. You were cleaning out some of the horse stalls when you heard him.

Joel was carrying bags of feed into the tack room as he barked orders at one of the workers. Both hands were full as he passed by the stall you were in and you knew the door he was heading to was closed. You knew this was your chance to be with him alone. You knew the moment you met Joel you wanted him, despite the fact that he worked with your dad and he was almost as old as him too. You rushed over to grab the door handle before he reached it, holding it open for him.

“Oh thanks darlin’,” god and his voice. It was deep and rough and it slid down your spine like honey. His southern drawl was rich and it made him all the more alluring.

“No problem, need any help?”

”Actually could ya’ help me get the bags into the bin?” He handed you a box cutter, signaling for you to cut open the bags so he could refill the bin. As you finished your task, Joel came over to take the box cutter back.

God he looked good, he always looked good. You could smell his cologne as he came closer and suddenly it felt like the temperature rose 10 degrees.

Little did you know Joel was eyeing you the whole time, watching the way your legs looked in the jeans that were practically skin tight. The way your hair was messed out of your loose braid, falling around your face in a halo, always drawing his eye.

“Thanks for the help, sugar,” his drawl made your panties wet.

“Sugar?” you licked your lips, unable to look away from his.

He looked sort of panicked for a moment, like he thought he overstepped. You loved it. He saw that you loved it. He must have decided it’s too much of a risk as he stepped away from you and stuttered a response before pocketing his knife.

“Uh… thanks for your help darlin’,” he mumbled as he backed away and out of the tack room and he kind of tripped on his own feet. You felt a little guilty liking the way you made him nervous but it was such a rush. To reduce this larger and older man to a mumbling mess was a huge ego boost.

You followed him out, closing the distance until you were just a few feet away. You saw his eyes widen as he watched you come closer and you felt that surge of satisfaction hit your stomach again.

“Of course, anything you need Joel. Anything.” You tried to sound as seductive as possible and it must have worked as the tips of his ears turned a dusty pink.

“Th-thanks darlin’… I— uh I’ll let you know if… if I need anything else,” his voice broke as he tripped again and tried to put distance between you two. Even though it was obvious he was trying to politely decline you, he was still tempted. His gaze fell to your lips, then your chest and further down until it bounced back to your eyes.

When it looked like he was about to pass out you finally relented.

“Ok Joel, see ya!” You sounded chipper and giddy as you skipped away from him and he finally let out a breath he was holding in.

He needed to control himself but he had a feeling that was going to be difficult with you around.

~

The next time you saw Joel was the big day on the ranch. It was the day the cows were rounded up and tested for pregnancy. By 7am the vet was already set up and the ranch hands along with Tommy and Maria were gathering cows into the corals. You ventured outside to find your dad and Joel standing at the fence watching the crew work.

“Hey kid, how’d you sleep?” Your dad looked tired himself but Joel on the other hand, he seemed nervous.

“Pretty good, I forgot how quiet it is here at night. In Chicago it’s always loud.”

You looked over at Joel who was on the other side of your dad and he looked like he was ready to jump in with the restless cows just to get away from this conversation.

“Why aren’t you out there Joel? Don’t they need you?” You tried to sound innocent but by the look in his eye, he knew you were trying to see how much you could push him.

Your dad laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Oh the old man here hurt his back so he has to sit out.”

“Two old men… how do you two get anything done?”

Your dad looked at you with a fake hurt expression. “Woah… I’m not the one with a hurt back!”

“Ok dad but you’re also not the one out there on a horse so…”

Joel now patted your dad on the back. “She’s got’cha there buddy.”

Your dad stood between you both and swiveled his head back and forth. “You guys suck…” He conveniently found someone who needed his attention and left you alone with Joel. You both stood at the fence and watched the organized chaos as the ranch hands and vet work on each cow.

“So how long y’here for?” Joel's voice seemed a little nervous.

“Well… I’m not sure. The longer I’m here the less I want to go back.” You turned to find him already looking over at you. “It’s just so… peaceful here.”

“I hear ya’,” he adjusted the cowboy hat sitting on his head. “Well except on preg-test day.” Just to prove his point, a cow screeched and tried to run from the herd right towards the two of you. Just as it reached the fence Joel grabbed both of your shoulders and pulled you away, right into his chest. You stumbled a bit but he held you until you were able to keep yourself upright. You look up to find the fence completely caved in, if Joel hadn’t grabbed you, you would have been bleeding on the floor by now.

“Tha—thanks Joel.” Your voice made you sound way more shaken up than you intended. “Jesus, damn cows.”

“They really do hate this vet stuff. Let’s go inside, I need another coffee.”

The two of you went into the ranch office, starting another pot of coffee knowing the cowboys would want more later. When the mugs were full of steaming caffeine, you sat down at the table waiting for Joel to join you.

“You ok, cowboy?” You looked at him up and down, his nervous demeanor evident in his stance.

He flashed that crooked smile as he sat next to you and removed his hat, placing it on the table upside down. You each sipped your coffee and you thought to yourself how kind of sweet it was that this big bad-ass rancher was reduced to an anxious mess by your hand.

The silence was too much to bear and needing a reprieve you picked up his hat and tried it on. It was way too big for your head as it was fitted to him, so it slipped down your forehead. Before you got a chance to adjust it, Joel tipped the brim up above your eyebrows. When he did, your eyes met and for once he was the one making your heart skip a beat. His deep amber eyes were locked on yours and his enticing lips framed by that gray-speckled beard were making you short of breath. All either of you could do was stare at each other, unable to break the spell. Suddenly you realized he was still holding onto the hat brim, then he slid his fingers down along your cheek as a sigh escaped your lips.

“Y’know darlin’… fuck, this is wrong,” he was breathless, like the air was stolen from his lungs.

“What… what’s wrong, Joel?” You were baiting him, making him say the words.

“It’s wrong how much… how much I wanna kiss you.”

Fuck, he was making you weak.

“Why don’t you?”

That suddenly shook him out of his trance, moving away and settling back into his chair, he looked more angry now, maybe in himself.

“I can’t… we can’t. It ain’t right.”

“Why?” You tried not to sound upset so as to scare him away.

“‘Cus, I’m too old and your dad would murder us both,” he looked wrecked. His pupils were saucers and his breath was quick. He looked out the office windows like he was looking for your dad, expecting him to be watching through the glass.

“If you want to talk more… I’ll be down at the lake tonight. midnight.”

And with that you walked off, a saunter in your steps and his hat on your head.

~

The lake on the property wasn’t large but it was somewhere you often felt peace. It’s a good way out from the house so it’s always quiet, the only noise now was the quiet hum of bugs.

You wore a light sleeping dress and robe over it and of course Joel’s hat. It was still pretty warm at night so you were more than comfortable. As you laid out on the blanket in the grass, you thought to yourself that if Joel doesn’t show, you know your answer. You checked your phone for the time; ‘12:07pm’ flashed across the screen. Maybe that was your answer.

“Darlin’?”

Your heart skipped. He came.

You turn to find Joel breaking through the trees, his broad shoulders stretching a dark sweatshirt and hips hugged by those damn jeans.

“Wow, I really thought you wouldn’t come.”

He now looked surprised. “Well someone took my favorite hat.”

“That’s all you came for? The hat?” You faced him as he came and sat down next to you, very close to you.

“Maybe not all I came for…,” he gave you that dazzling smile that’s so rare for him.

You did notice something different, he’s more relaxed, more fluid in his movements.

“Joel, are you drunk?”

He had a kind of spacey look on his face and a twinkle in his eye that shone when he laughed. “Well darlin’, I had one…a few. I was a lil’ nervous…” He looked a little ashamed at his admission.

“That’s ok. Got any more on you?” To your surprise he pulled out a half empty flask from his pants pocket. He opened it for you and took a sip then handed it to you, his eyes drawn to how your lips wrapped around it and whiskey escaped the sides. “Thanks cowboy. What’s got you so nervous, huh?”

He looked at you bashfully as he took another sip before clearing his throat. “Well don’t y’think it’s a little odd for an old man like me to entertain a young pretty thing like you?”

You were so close to him you could smell the soap he must have used mixed with a smell that’s uniquely him. He smells woodsy and manly and inviting and mixed with the feeling of having him so close led you to be bold. He froze as your lips connected, the split second before you melted into each other was one of pure bliss. His lips were softer than you expected and his tongue even softer, both working to take you apart at the seams.

You pulled apart, catching your breath and taking each other in now.

”You— you think I’m… pretty?” Your voice was horse and laced with desire.

Joel’s laugh was fuller now, a deep rumbling thing that made you shiver. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” While he was definitely bubblier than usual, he was deadly serious about this. His deep brown eyes were all the comfort you required and they conveyed his truth; you were everything he could ever want. “I have to ask you darlin’, are you sure you want this? Y‘not just doing this to stick it to your dad or nothin’?”

You smiled at his genuine concern, a sweet gesture from a man who doesn’t want to harm you.

“Joel, ever since I’ve met you, I couldn't get you out of my mind.”

His twinkly eyes widened a bit as a shaken breath escaped his lips. Before he had a chance to respond, you were on him. You straddled his thick thighs and clasped your hands in his dark curls, drawing his mouth to you. The two of you moved together in sync, like you were made for each other. The sparks flying higher as you ground in his lap, trying to create any friction to soothe the ache settled low in your belly.

Joel’s callused hands skimmed your skin, the roughness a stark contrast to your nightgown sliding across your body. He is all man and it was making your cunt throb, you knew you needed him inside you.

“J-Joel, please,” it came out more as a whine.

“Just hol’on darlin’,” he shuffled you around so you were draped on the blanket in the grass and he hovered above you. His nimble fingers pushed under your nightgown, hooked around the thin fabric of your panties and pulled them off your legs. His eyes never left your skin as more was exposed to him, his chest expanding with a deep inhale.

“What did I do to deserve this?” He was mostly speaking to himself, like he was not sure you were even really beneath him.

“P-please I…,” your pleas were cut off by him prying your legs open and sliding two fingers through your gathered wetness. “Oh God…”

To say this man blew your mind would be the understatement of the century. His fingers moved in a way that drew out the deepest pleasure and moans that rival a professional. Thank goodness that no one was around and you could make as much noise as you wanted. He worked his fingers into you with passion and brought you close to the edge.

“I’m c-close. You’re gonna make me cum,” you were delirious with lust. Just as you were about to fall off the edge he pulled away. The noise that left you surprised both of you, sounding more like an animal than human.

He was just as eager as you, unzipping and lowering his pants until he was free. You caught a glimpse of him and knew he was not only enjoying the way you writhed on his fingers, he was preparing you.

“I wanna feel you cum on me, got it darlin’?”

He stroked himself a few times with your arousal, slicking himself as he notched the tip at your entrance. A groan escaped both of you as he slid inside, the stretch of him was almost too much until it dissolved into the most blinding pleasure you’ve ever experienced. You fit together better than any puzzle or lock and key. You were already so close to the edge before but now he was hitting a place inside you that no one else ever had. The coil was winding tighter with every push of his hips, his lips devouring you from your neck to the tips of your breasts. Every move he made felt like heaven and he felt like your god.

“J-Joel… I’m-I’m gonna— gonna cum,” every word was cut off by a moan.

Suddenly he sat up straight, keeping up his movements as he brought his hand down to where you’re joined and circled your clit. The sharp movements shot pleasure through every limb, making you writhe in his lap.

“Cum for me baby… I wanna feel you squeeze my cock darlin’,” his voice was rough like gravel, rumbling through his chest into yours.

That was it.

The command was all you needed to push you over the edge. Your back arched as the tidal wave of pleasure overtook you and your legs locked around his hips.

“Oh fuck… yes. That’s my good girl,” he fucked you through it. His fingers and hips kept up their movements until he fell apart. He stilled inside of you as a deep moan broke free before pushing his spend deeper inside you. You could still feel him pulsing inside of you as you both came down from your highs.

As you lay beside him and looked up at the stars, the sounds of the night surrounding you, Joel wrapped you in his large arms. You talked and kissed and cuddled all night, only breaking apart once the sun started to rise.

He walked you back to your house before heading off to his own, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Am I finally allowed to have my hat back?”

You took the Stetson off your head and placed it back onto his. You looked down to see your panties sticking out of his jeans pocket.

“Well how’s that fair when you get to keep something of mine?”

“No one said it’s fair, darlin’. You can have something of mine next time.”

Next time. Your stomach warmed at the idea. Maybe you’d have to stay here a lot longer than expected.

[joelmillerisapunk]

Howdy Honey I. can't get you off my mind

series masterlist masterlist

wordcount: 6,709

summary: After a tumultuous fall from your horse that leaves you with a fractured wrist and bruised ribs, you find solace in the strong arms and gentle care of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand whose rugged exterior hides a tender heart.

warnings: mentions of falling, fracture, eventual smut, slowburn, age-gap, some fluff, two stubborn people falling in love, angst, from both your and Joel's pov

notes: First of all thank you to all of you for supporting the masterlist, I am absolutely blown away! I appreciate the heck out of you all so very much! <3 <3 Second thank you sm to @joelslegalwhre for screaming with me about all of this ily. Third I wrote this after my own experiences falling off a horse and being carried by a hot cowboy at work. K I'm gonna go panic, love you all bye. gif is by @tomshiddles divider by @saradika-graphics

The sun is high and unforgiving, casting a golden hue over the sprawling acres of your family's ranch—a place where the West still feels wild and untamed. The ranch, nestled in a valley surrounded by rugged mountains, is a patchwork of green pastures, dotted with grazing cattle and horses. The main house, a sturdy two-story structure with a wraparound porch, stands proudly at the heart of the property, its whitewashed walls and red roof are like a beacon for the lost amidst the vast expanse of land. You can always find your way back home.

To the east lies the stables, a long, low building with enough room to house two dozen horses comfortably. Its wooden walls have weathered to a soft gray, and the scent of hay and horse is always present in the air. Just beyond the stables is the equipment barn, filled with tractors, balers, and all manner of tools necessary for maintaining the ranch. The sound of metal clanging against metal often echoes from within as ranch hands tend to repairs or prepare for the day's work. A little further out is the chicken coop, bustling with activity as hens peck at the ground and roosters crow their morning greetings.

On the southern end of the ranch, a series of fenced-in training pens are set up for breaking in new horses or for practicing roping skills. It's here that you often find the newly hired ranch hand, Joel Miller, expertly mending a section of split-rail fence or guiding a young colt through its paces with patience and skill honed over decades. 

You've grown up with the scent of hay and the sound of hooves on dirt, a life that's as much a part of you as the blood in your veins. Recently, your parents brought on a few new ranch hands, a decision driven not only by their advancing years and a growing wanderlust but also, you suspect, by a desire to ensure you're well looked after in their absence. It didn't seem to matter how many times you'd promised that you and [name] the very first and only other person hired to help around, could take care of the ranch -  they never let go of the fact you weren't five anymore. 

Today you find yourself working a little less hard because of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand that looks like he stepped straight out of a Western movie. You watch him from afar as you make your way to take your horse out, his muscles straining against his plaid shirt as he repairs a section of fencing. He moves with an easy grace despite his age and broad build. His salt-and-pepper hair peeks out from under his worn cowboy hat, and you can't help but feel a pull towards him, something beyond the usual respect for a seasoned hand.

The ranch is alive with activity as you prepare Daisy for her daily run. The horses in the nearby pasture lift their heads at your approach, their ears pricked with curiosity. Daisy nickers softly, her tail swishing in anticipation as you lead her out of her stall and toward the open pasture. As you trot along one of the well-worn trails, you pass by landmarks that tell stories of your family's history; there's an old rusted tractor from your grandfather's time, now half-buried in wildflowers; a grove where you used to play hide-and-seek with your siblings; and further on, an ancient stone marker placed by settlers who once claimed this land as their own. Each sight brings back memories that are as much a part of you as they are a part of this place. 

But today, these familiar sights are merely blurs in your peripheral vision as Daisy gallops across the landscape. The wind whips through your hair, and you feel a rush of adrenaline as the horse's muscles move powerfully beneath you. It's in these moments that you feel most at peace, in harmony with the natural world around you.

Suddenly, a sharp cry from Daisy breaks the rhythm of her gait. You pull sharply on the reins as a jackrabbit darts out from the underbrush, its sudden appearance startling her. In an instant, your peaceful ride turns to chaos. Daisy rears up, her eyes wide with fear, and you're thrown from the saddle, the world a blur of blue sky and golden earth. The impact is jarring, knocking the breath from your lungs as you hit the ground hard. Pain radiates from your side and arm. As you lie there, struggling to catch your breath, Daisy gallops away towards the safety of the stables, leaving you alone in a cloud of dust.

The sun beats down mercilessly upon you as waves of pain wash over your body. You try to move but find that even breathing is a challenge. You try to push yourself up, but a wave of nausea forces you back down. It's then that you hear the pounding of hooves approaching fast and boots hitting the ground. 

"Easy there, easy," a familiar voice drawls as strong hands gently roll you onto your back. Joel's face swims into view, his brow furrowed with concern. "Looks like ya had a bit of a tumble, darlin'. Can you tell me where it hurts?" His voice is deep and soothing, cutting through the haze of pain. You manage to point to your side, wincing as he carefully probes the area. "Just bruised, I reckon," he says after a moment, his touch is surprisingly gentle for such calloused hands. "Your arm too. We should get ya back to the house. Might have t'see the doctor."

Over my dead body, you think to yourself.

With surprising ease, Joel scoops you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You can't help but notice the warmth radiating from his body. It's an intimacy that makes your breath hitch in your throat—a sensation that has nothing to do with your injuries.

"Gave me quite the scare there darlin," Joel remarks as he carries you towards his waiting horse. His tone is light but there's an undercurrent of something else—affection? worry? "What were you thinkin’ taking Daisy out alone after that storm last night? These trails can be treacherous."

You want to argue that you're capable and don't need help, that it was just a routine ride and something spooked Daisy but arguing takes energy—energy that's currently in short supply thanks to the pain radiating from your side and shooting through your arm. Instead you murmur a weak apology. "Didn't think it’d be a problem."

Joel chuckles softly. "Well, I reckon that's part of the adventure, ain't it? Never quite knowing what the day's gonna bring." He adjusts his hold on you slightly, his grip firm yet careful. "But next time, maybe wait for someone to come with you. Safety in numbers and all that."

As he settles you onto his horse, he keeps a steady hand on your back, “you okay darlin?” He asks, making sure you're secure before you nod and he swings up behind you as gently as he can. The closeness is overwhelming; his body is a solid wall of heat at your back, and you can feel the muscles in his thighs as they grip the horse's flanks. It's a strange mix of vulnerability and safety, being so close to this man who just (weeks/days?) ago was a little more than a stranger.

The ride back to the ranch is a blur of sensations—the rhythmic sway of the horse beneath you, the scent of leather and sweat mingling with Joel's unique aroma of woodsmoke and something undeniably masculine. You find yourself leaning into him without thinking, seeking comfort in his strength.

"Almost there," Joel reassures you as the house comes into view. His breath is warm against your ear, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. "We'll get some ice on those bruises and take a look at you."

Once at the ranch house, he carries you inside and sets you down gently on the living room couch crouching beside you to remove your boots. His fingers brush against your skin accidentally as he works them off one by one—a touch that sends sparks racing along your nerves despite yourself and despite any rational thought about how much older he is than you. You quickly blink them away.

"Ice pack," he commands firmly but kindly before disappearing into the kitchen. You hear the clinking of ice being scooped from the freezer. 

As Joel returns from the kitchen, the air in the room shifts subtly. He kneels beside you on the couch, his movements deliberate and gentle. "This might be a bit cold at first," he warns, his voice carrying a hint of gruffness that hadn't been there before.

You nod, bracing yourself for the shock of cold. But when he lifts the hem of your shirt to expose your bruised side, the brush of his fingers against the sensitive skin of your stomach sends an unexpected wave of heat coursing through you. It's a clinical touch, meant only to aid in your recovery, but the proximity of his hands to the curves of your body is not lost on you.

He places the makeshift ice pack against your side, the cold seeping your body. You can't help the sharp intake of breath as the icy chill envelops the tender area. Joel's eyes flick to yours, concern etched across his features.

"Sorry, darlin'," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "I know it's uncomfortable, but it'll help with the swelling."

You give him a small, reassuring smile, trying to convey that you understand—that you appreciate his attentiveness. As he holds the ice pack in place, his other hand comes to rest on your hip, a steady presence that seems to anchor you amidst the discomfort.

The room is silent save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock and the occasional crackle of ice as it begins to melt against your skin. You can feel the heat of Joel's palm through the fabric of your jeans, and you find yourself acutely aware of every point of contact between you.

After a few minutes, he slowly lifts the ice pack away, his eyes scanning your side with a practiced eye. "How does it feel now?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate within you.

"A bit better," you admit, the pain having dulled to a manageable ache.

He nods, his attention still focused on your injury. With a gentle touch that belies his rugged exterior, he traces the edge of the bruise with his fingers, his touch feather-light yet firm. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for his next move.

"You're gonna be sore for a few days," he says. "But I think you'll live."

As he withdraws his hand, you feel an odd sense of loss, as if the warmth of his touch had become a lifeline in the midst of your pain. You watch as he rises to his feet, his tall frame casting a shadow over you.

"Thank you, Joel," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words feel inadequate, but they're all you have to offer in this moment.

The corners of Joel's mouth twitch into a small smile, and he gives a nod, turning back towards the kitchen 

While he's gone, you take the opportunity to study him from afar as he walks through the open room to the kitchen. There's an air of quiet strength about him, a sense of resilience. You find yourself wondering about his past—where he came from, what brought him here to your family's ranch. But those questions will have to wait for another time; right now, just talking and moving is enough of a challenge without adding an interrogation into the mix.

Joel returns with a glass of water and some painkillers. "Here," he says gently, helping you sit up enough to swallow the pills before lying back down against the cushions with a wince at the sharp pain in your side again.

“Rest up now," Joel instructs. “I'll take care of things around here for the rest of the day. You just focus on healin.”

You drift in and out of sleep on the couch and everytime you drift out you see Joel lingering around keeping watch over you like some kind old west guardian angel dressed in denim. 

As the day wanes and the shadows grow long across the hardwood floors, you stir from your uneasy slumber. The pain in your side is a dull roar now, thanks to the medication Joel provided. You blink slowly, your eyes adjusting to the dim light of the living room. The ranch is quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old house settling and the distant sound of Joel's voice as he talks to one of the horses in the stable.

Your heart flutters at the thought of him—his rugged features, his gentle touch, and those eyes that seem to see right through you. It's a dangerous path your thoughts are taking, but you can't help it. There's something about Joel that draws you in, despite the years between you.

The front door opens with a soft squeak, and Joel steps inside, his boots leaving a trail of dust on the floorboards. He looks weary but satisfied, his shirt damp with sweat from a hard day's work. His gaze finds you instantly, and a warm smile spreads across his face.

"You're awake," he observes needlessly as he approaches. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," you admit with a small grimace as you try to sit up straighter on the couch. "But better than before." You didn't want to admit how bad your arm was actually killing you.

Joel nods in approval before disappearing into the kitchen again—a man of few words but many actions. He returns a bit later with a steaming mug in hand and offers it to you carefully so as not to spill any on your lap. 

"Chamomile tea," he explains gruffly when he sees your questioning look at what seems like an unusual choice for someone like him, someone who seems more accustomed to strong black coffee than herbal infusions. "It'll help with any lingering pain and help ya sleep." 

You take a tentative sip; making sure to grab the cup with your good hand it's sweetened just how you like it—a small detail that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly because it means he's been paying attention even when he didn’t have to be.  The warmth seeps into your hands as much as into your insides making everything feel less daunting all at once despite your injuries.

The evening settles in, casting a cozy glow over the living room. The ranch is quiet, the animals bedded down for the night, and the chores all done. Joel lingers, his presence a comforting constant in the otherwise empty house. He settles into the armchair across from you, the lines of his face softened by the dim light.

"You should eat somethin’," he suggests, already rising from his chair. "I'll fix ya up a plate."

Before you can protest, he's back in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and the smell of food wafting through the air. You can't help but smile at his insistence. It's been a long time since anyone has taken care of you like this.

Joel returns with a tray balanced in one hand—a simple meal of soup and a sandwich, cut into manageable pieces. He sets it down on the coffee table, pulling it closer to you. "Eat up," he urges, his tone gentle but firm. "You need to keep your strength up."

As you eat, he watches you, his gaze never straying far. It's an odd sensation, being the focus of such intense attention, but you find yourself not minding it. There's a sense of security in his watchfulness, a feeling that you're not alone in this big house.

When you've finished eating, Joel takes the tray away, leaving you to sip your tea in peace. The painkillers are starting to wear off, and as you move to adjust your position on the couch, a sharp, stabbing pain shoots through your arm, causing you to yelp in surprise and discomfort.

Joel, who has been quietly cleaning up the remnants of dinner in the kitchen, is at your side in an instant. "What is it?" he asks, his voice laced with concern. "Did you move wrong?"

"It's my arm," you admit through gritted teeth, cradling the injured limb with your other hand. "I think I might have aggravated it."

With a nod, Joel gently takes your arm in his hands, his touch firm yet gentle. He probes the area with practiced ease, watching your face for any signs of pain. When he reaches a particular spot, you can't help but flinch, a hiss escaping your lips. “Shh, I know. Easy, easy," he soothes you like a wounded animal, before releasing your arm. His brow is furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't like the look of this. Could be broken, or at least badly sprained. We need to get you to a doctor first thing in the mornin’."

"I'm sure it's fine, Joel," you argue weakly, not wanting to cause a fuss. "It's probably just a bad bruise. I'll be okay after a good night's sleep."

But Joel is having none of it. "No, it ain't fine," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You could be doin’ more damage by not getting it checked out. I'll drive you to the clinic myself in the morning. This ain’t up for debate."

You know that look on his face—it's the same one he wears when he's dealing with a stubborn horse or a difficult piece of machinery. There's no point in trying to dissuade him when he's made up his mind. And truthfully, the idea of having a professional assess your injuries is somewhat of a relief.

"Alright," you relent with a sigh, the fight draining out of you. "I'll go to the doctor in the morning."

Joel's expression softens, and he gives your good shoulder a gentle squeeze. "That's the smart choice, darlin'. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

As he moves away to finish tidying up the kitchen, you find yourself watching him, a mix of gratitude and something deeper swirling within you. Despite the pain and the uncertainty of your injuries, you can't help but feel a sense of safety and comfort with Joel around. You're taken from your thoughts when Joel comes back into the living room. "I should be gettin’ home," Joel says after a while, his voice low and reluctant. "But I'll be back first thing to check on you."

You nod, trying to hide your disappointment. The house feels too big, too empty to be without him in it. "I'll be okay, Joel," you assure him, trying not to worry him, though the words taste like a stale cigarette on your tongue. "Thank you for everything."

He gives you a long, searching look before nodding slowly. "Alright then," he says, rising from his chair. "You remember what I said about not pushin’ yourself too hard?"

"Yes," you reply with a small smile. "Rest and recovery."

"That's right," he affirms, pulling on his jacket. "And don't hesitate to call me if you need anything—no matter the time."

You watch as he heads for the door, his silhouette framed by the night outside. Just before he steps out into the darkness, he turns back to you, his eyes reflecting the soft light of the living room. "Goodnight darlin," he says, his voice carrying a hint of something unspoken.

"Goodnight, Joel," you whisper back, the words hanging in the air long after he's gone.

The house is silent once more, save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. You finish your tea and carefully set the mug aside, the warmth of it still lingering on your lips. With a sigh, you settle back against the cushions, the pain in your side a dull reminder of the day's events.

As the night deepens, you find yourself reaching for your phone, your fingers typing out a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Hey. Just wanted to say thank you again for today. I'm okay, just wanted to say thanks. Hope you got home safe.

What you really meant was, “please come back I'm fucking scared being alone.”

You hit send before you can change your mind, the message disappearing into the ether. Minutes tick by with no response, and you chide yourself for expecting otherwise. Joel is probably already asleep, or at least on his way to getting some much-needed rest after the day he's had. But just as you're about to set your phone aside and try to get some sleep yourself, it vibrates in your hand, startling you. A notification lights up the screen—a new message from Joel.

Of course. That's what I'm here for. Got home just fine. How are the ribs? Any better with the meds?

You can't help but smile at the concern in his words, the gruff affection that seems to come so naturally to him. You reply, telling him about the tea and the meal, about how much better you feel with him looking out for you.

His response is quick, as if he's been waiting by his phone for your message. 

Glad to hear it. And remember, there's no rush to get back in the saddle if you're not feeling up to it. Everything will still be here when you're ready. Your health is the priority now. If there's anything I can do for you, just holler. I've got your chores covered. Take care of yourself and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything or just want to talk about what happened.

You read his words over and over, each one a balm to the lingering ache in your side—and to the unexpected emptiness in your heart. With a contented sigh, you finally set your phone aside and close your eyes, the sound of the ranch at night lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, you're awakened by the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. You rub the sleep from your eyes and glance at the clock—it's early, barely past dawn. With some effort, you manage to sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the couch, wincing at the stiffness in your muscles.

The front door opens, and Joel steps inside, his hands full of a large wicker basket. "Brought you some things," he announces, setting the basket down on the coffee table. Inside, you find an assortment of items—fresh fruit, a few paperback novels, a soft, hand-knitted blanket, and a small potted plant. "I figured you could use some company," he says, gesturing to the plant. "And the books are from my daughter's collection. She loves a good western—thought you might enjoy them."

The revelation that Joel has a daughter is something that catches you off guard, a piece of him that he kept carefully tucked away, a piece you want to know more about. 

You're touched by the thoughtfulness of his gifts, each one carefully chosen to bring you comfort during your recovery. "Joel, this is... it's too much," you protest half-heartedly, even as you reach out to run your fingers over the soft wool of the blanket.

"Nonsense, darlin’," he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

The way he calls you darlin’ brings heat to your cheeks, and you quickly look away, busying yourself with arranging the items in the basket. When you finally gather the courage to meet his gaze again, you find him watching you with a soft smile on his face and you assume he's forgotten about the doctor until he speaks up.

“Alright let's go.” Joel's stands up and holds a hand out to you. 

You look up at him and chuckle “It's fine Joel. It barely even hurts.”

The argument is brief but intense, with you stubbornly insisting that a trip to the clinic is unnecessary despite the pain in your arm. Joel, however, is just as adamant, his concern for your well-being overriding any protests you might have.

"I ain't gonna stand by and watch you suffer when there's somethin’ that can be done about it," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

You cross your arms defiantly, wincing as the movement sends a jolt of pain through your injured wrist. "And what's the hard way?" you challenge him, though there's a hint of amusement in your voice.

Without warning, Joel strides toward you, scooping you up into his arms before you can react. You let out a startled yelp as he hoists you over his shoulder with surprising ease, his strong hands holding you securely in place.

"Hey! Put me down!" You pound on his back with your good hand, your cheeks hot with embarrassment and indignation. But beneath the surface, there's an undeniable thrill at being so close to him—at feeling the muscles in his shoulders and back move beneath his shirt as he carries you effortlessly toward the front door.

"As soon as we get to the truck," he replies calmly, unfazed by your struggles. "We're going to see Dr. Simmons whether you like it or not."

You continue to squirm and protest as he carries you across the yard to where his truck is parked. The other ranch hands look on with barely concealed grins but wisely choose to keep their comments to themselves. They know better than to get between Joel Miller and something he's set his mind to.

With a gentleness that belies his gruff exterior, Joel sets you down on the passenger seat of the truck and buckles your seatbelt for you before closing the door and heading around to the driver's side. 

Joel.

He grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he navigates the familiar dirt roads that lead away from the ranch. He can see you out of the corner of his eye, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the passing landscape. A vision of stubborn beauty, your jaw set in a way that makes his heart do things it hadn't done in years. He can feel the tension radiating off you—a mix of pain and frustration at being manhandled against your will. He can't blame you for being upset. If someone had picked him up and carried him off like a sack of feed, he'd be mad too. But when he saw you lying there in the dirt, hurt and vulnerable, something inside him shifted. It awakened a protective instinct that he thought had died along with Sarah.

Damn it, Joel, he chides himself. She's young enough to be your daughter. But the thought feels hollow, a weak defense against the pull he feels toward you. You’re strong, fiercely independent, and yet, there’s a vulnerability to you that calls to something deep within him, the need to care for someone - for you. He glances over at you again, taking in the delicate curve of your jaw, and the way your hair falls in waves around your shoulders, taking in the way the morning light plays across your features. You’re a sight to behold, all fire and spirit wrapped up in a package that is far too tempting for his peace of mind. Every time he looks at you, all logic seems to fly out the window. There's an undeniable connection between you, a spark that ignites whenever you're near each other. It's terrifying and exhilarating, you make him feel young again. 

He risks another glance in your direction, and his heart skips a beat when he finds you watching him with those big doe eyes of yours. Joel swallows hard, forcing himself to look away before his thoughts can wander any further down that dangerous path. He needs to focus on getting through this day without letting his guard down completely.

The clinic is just up ahead now, its whitewashed walls gleaming in the early morning sun. He pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine, turning to face you with a stern expression that belies the turmoil he feels inside.

"Ready?" he asks, though it's clear from his tone that it's more of a statement than a question. He's not going to let you talk your way out of this one—not when your health is at stake.

You nod reluctantly, your gaze fixed on the clinic entrance. You're nervous; he can see it in the way your fingers worry at the hem of your shirt, in the slight tremble of your chin. He wants to reach out and wrap you in his arms, to offer some semblance of comfort, but he holds back. It wouldn't be appropriate—not here, not now. Instead, he climbs out of the truck and comes around to open your door for you, offering a hand to help you down onto solid ground.

The interior of the clinic is cool and sterile-smelling—a stark contrast to the fresh air and open spaces of the ranch. Joel checks you in at the reception desk while you sink into one of the waiting room chairs, wincing as even that small movement sends a twinge of pain through your side and arm.  Joel takes a seat beside you in the waiting room, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. He can feel the tension emanating from you, a coiled spring ready to leap to action at the slightest provocation. He knows that look—it's the same one he's seen on injured animals over the years, a mix of fear and defiance. It tugs at something deep within him, a primal urge to protect those he cares about most.

He wants to say something to ease your discomfort, but words seem inadequate in the face of your pain. Instead, he reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering just above your knee before he gives in to the impulse and rests it there gently—a silent promise that he's not going anywhere.

You startle at his touch, your gaze flicking to his face in surprise. But as you meet his eyes, you see nothing but sincerity and concern reflected back at you. Slowly, deliberately, you place your own hand over his.

The waiting room is filled with the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of magazines being flipped through by other patients. Joel's thumb traces idle patterns on your leg as you sit there together in silence.

"Joel," you say finally, breaking the silence that has settled between you. Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the ambient noise like a knife. "I want to thank you - for everything."

He shakes his head dismissively, though there's a warmth in his eyes that wasn't there before. "No need for thanks," he replies gruffly. "I did what anyone else woulda done."

"No," you insist firmly, turning in your seat so that you're facing him fully now—ignoring the twinge of pain it elicits from your injuries. "Joel," you say again, your voice steady despite the pain you're clearly in. "I mean it. You've been... you've done so much for me. More than I could have asked for."

He opens his mouth to respond, to downplay his role in your care, but the words die on his lips as the nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. She calls out your name, scanning the room until her eyes land on the two of you.

Reluctantly, Joel withdraws his hand from your knee, the connection between you severed as you rise to follow the nurse. He stands as well, intending to accompany you, but the nurse shakes her head. "Just the patient for now, please," she says with a polite but firm smile.

You shoot him a reassuring look over your shoulder as you follow the nurse down the hallway, leaving Joel alone with his thoughts. He sinks back into his chair, his hands clasped tightly between his knees again as he waits for you to return.

The minutes tick by slowly, each second stretching into an eternity. Joel's mind races with worry and concern. He knows the ranch like the back of his hand, can handle any crisis that comes his way—but this is different. This is about you, and the thought of you in pain, of you being afraid, is more than he can bear.

He can't shake the image of you lying in the dust after being thrown from Daisy, the fear in your eyes when you realized you couldn't get up on your own. It had been years since he'd felt that kind of raw terror, the kind that gripped your heart and squeezed until you couldn't breathe. But in that moment, with you hurt and helpless, it all came flooding back. Joel had always prided himself on his strength, both physical and emotional. He'd had to be strong after Sarah passed, but with you, he felt something shift inside him—a crack in the armor he'd spent years building up around his heart. He cared about you, more than he should. It was a truth he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried. You were young, vibrant, full of potential and promise. And he, well, he was just an old cowboy with more yesterdays than tomorrows. But when he looked at you, when he saw the fire in your eyes, he felt alive in a way he hadn't in years.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears your name called again. He looks up to see the nurse beckoning him forward with a gentle smile.

"You can come back now," she says, her voice soft and reassuring. "She's asking for you."

Joel's heart skips a beat at her words. He rises quickly, his boots thudding against the linoleum floor as he follows the nurse through the maze of hallways to the examination room where you're waiting. His mind races with possibilities—none of them good. 

Why would they need me if everything was fine? Had something happened while you were back there? Was the injury worse than they initially thought?

The door to the examination room creaks open, and Joel steps inside, his eyes immediately going to you. You're sitting on the edge of the examination table, your face pale but composed. The relief that washes over him at seeing you unharmed is palpable; it leaves him momentarily lightheaded as he crosses the room to your side.

"What's goin on?" he asks urgently, his gaze flicking between you and the doctor who is standing nearby with a clipboard in hand. "Is everything alright?"

Dr. Simmons gives him a reassuring nod before turning his attention back to you. "I was just explaining to your friend here that it looks like she's got some bruised ribs and a fracture in her wrist," he says matter-of-factly as he jots something down on his clipboard. "We'll need to keep an eye on those ribs—make sure there's no internal bleeding or complications—but I think she'll be just fine with some rest and proper care.We gave her some pain medication before the x-ray. It may make her tired so she will need to be watched. No driving, etc. And she will need to come back in three weeks from now to get an updated x-ray of her wrist."

Joel lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, relief flooding through him like a tidal wave crashing against jagged rocks. He reaches out instinctively, taking your good hand in his own as he listens intently while Dr. Simmons goes over your care instructions.

Once the doctor finishes his instructions and hands over the prescription, Joel helps you down from the examination table, his hand at the small of your back providing a steady, reassuring presence. "Let's get your meds and then getcha home," he says softly, guiding you out of the clinic and back to his truck.

The drive to the pharmacy is quiet, the air between you thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Joel keeps stealing glances at you, noting the way you're cradling your injured wrist against your chest, the way your breath hitches ever so slightly when the truck hits a bump in the road. He wants to say something, to offer some words of comfort, but he's never been good with this sort of thing. He's a man of action, not words.

At the pharmacy, Joel takes charge, handling the paperwork and payment while you sit quietly on a nearby bench. He can see the exhaustion etched into your features, the way your eyelids are starting to droop. He knows you're running on fumes, and the pain medication will likely knock you out soon.

He heads back to the ranch, the truck's engine humming softly beneath the weight of the silence that stretches between you. You're fading fast, the medication they gave you at the doctor taking its toll. He can see you struggling to keep your eyes open, your body swaying slightly with each turn of the vehicle.

Once he reaches the ranch house, he parks as close to the front door as possible and hurries around to your side of the truck. You're already half-asleep by the time he opens your door, your eyelids fluttering as you fight to stay awake. "Easy now," Joel murmurs, unbuckling your seatbelt and scooping you into his arms with a tenderness that surprises even himself. You let out a soft sigh as he carries you into the house, your head lolling against his chest. The trust you place in him is both humbling and terrifying and the sweet little noises coming from your mouth don't make any of this easier. 

He settles you onto the couch, propping pillows behind your back to keep you comfortable. You smile sleepily up at you, a smile that sends a jolt straight to his heart and many other places. "Stay with me?" You ask quietly. 

How could he possibly say no?

Joel nods, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, “‘course darlin, just gonna make you somethin to eat real quick.” Joel heads into the kitchen to prepare something for you to eat. An Eggo waffle seems like a safe bet—simple and comforting in its familiarity. He pops one into the toaster and waits impatiently for it to brown, his thoughts consumed by the woman lying on the couch.

Joel returns to the living room, the scent of warm waffles wafting through the air. He sets the plate down on the coffee table, along with a glass of water and the bottle of pain medication the pharmacist had given him. "Here you go, darlin'," he says softly, offering you a small smile. "Eat up, and then we'll get you settled in with a movie or somethin."

You nod, managing a weak smile in return as you reach for the waffle with your good hand. The simple act of eating seems to revive you somewhat, though Joel can tell you're still in a considerable amount of pain. He watches as you take a tentative bite, followed by a sip of water to wash it down.

"Thank you," you murmur between bites, your eyes meeting his in a silent exchange of gratitude and concern.

Joel nods, his throat tightening unexpectedly at the sincerity in your voice. "Anything for you," he replies gruffly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. He quickly clears his throat and changes the subject. "What do ya feel like watchin’? There's some old western tapes layin around or we could find somethin else.”

“Hmmm” You think about it for a moment before responding with a slight shrug of your shoulders—a movement that causes you to wince slightly, “I'm not picky. Whatever you want cowboy.” 

If only I could tell ya what I want darlin’

Taglist: @mermaidgirl30 @maried01

[pinkthxt]

･°❀⋆The Ghost and the Southern Peachೃ࿔*:

Cowboy!Simon Riley & The sweet peach

A/N ⋆˙⟡ tw? Threat of violence . Maybe will add another part to this.

The heat was suffocating.

It clung to Simon Riley’s skin like a second layer, thick and punishing. The midday sun hung high in a sky so bright it was almost white, the horizon wavering under the relentless heat. The air was dry, tasting of dust and sun-scorched earth, and the wind, if it even existed, was a mere breath that stirred nothing but the scent of baked grass and distant cattle.

Simon lay sprawled in the middle of a vast field, his body aching as if he had been thrown from the heavens and left to rot beneath the merciless sun. The land stretched out in every direction—endless, empty, and raw. Sparse mesquite trees twisted their gnarled branches toward the sky, and patches of prickly pear cacti lay scattered along the cracked earth. To the west, he could make out a barbed-wire fence running alongside a dirt road, its weathered wooden posts leaning from years of enduring the brutal South Texas climate.

He pushed himself onto his elbows, blinking against the brightness. His head throbbed, his mind sluggish and thick with confusion.

Who am I?

The thought flashed through his mind like lightning, sharp and jarring. Then, almost instinctively, the answer followed.

Simon Riley.

That much he knew. That much he was sure of.

But everything else?

A void.

There was nothing before this moment—no recollection of how he had gotten here, no memory of where he had been before waking up in the dirt. He knew things, though. He knew the way his hands felt clenching into fists, the familiar weight of a gun that wasn’t on him now. He knew tactics, how to read people, how to survive.

But none of that answered the question gnawing at the back of his mind: Where the hell am I?

The sudden sound of hooves striking gravel shattered the stillness.

Simon’s body tensed, instincts flaring to life before his mind could even process the movement. His eyes snapped to the source just as a horse galloped past, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake.

The rider was a woman, her posture steady, movements fluid and effortless. She rode like she had been born in the saddle, as if the land itself had carved her from sun and grit and wind. Her horse, a powerful chestnut with a black mane, moved like an extension of her—strong, controlled, obedient, but not broken.

Simon had seen skilled riders before, cavalrymen trained for war, men who commanded horses with discipline and force. But this was different.

This was natural.

She pulled back on the reins with a practiced ease, the horse slowing into a measured trot before coming to a stop a few yards away. Dust swirled around her, catching in the late afternoon light like golden embers.

She tipped her hat back slightly, revealing a sharp, calculating gaze beneath the brim. She didn’t speak right away.

Instead, she studied him.

Simon recognized that look. He had given it before. She was assessing him, cataloging every inch of him, looking for threats, for weapons, for any indication of what kind of man he was. Her gaze lingered on his clothes—dark, tactical, too heavy for this kind of heat. His boots were coated in dirt, but not the red dust of this region. His gloves, fingerless and worn, bore signs of combat rather than ranch work. The skull-printed balaclava pushed down around his neck was another anomaly—one that made her fingers twitch toward her hip, where he suspected a revolver or a knife sat waiting.

“You look lost, stranger” she finally said, her voice smooth, wrapped in a slow Southern drawl.

Simon stayed silent for a moment, his mind scrambling for answers that weren’t there.

“I reckon I am,” he admitted. His voice was rough, raw from disuse.

The woman’s lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn’t buying it.

“You from around here?” she asked, though the answer was clear.

“No.”

She raised a brow, shifting slightly in the saddle. The horse beneath her flicked its ears, sensing her unease. “Where are you from, then? Don’t sound Texan, not even American”

Simon clenched his jaw. The words stuck in his throat. He could recall training, the feel of a weapon in his hands, the snap of orders being given—but nothing before that. No origin, no home.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and he hated how weak it sounded.

That set off warning bells in her head. He could see it in the way she straightened, how her grip on the reins tightened just a fraction.

“You don’t know?” she echoed, suspicion creeping into her tone.

Simon watched as she looked him over again, her sharp gaze flicking between his clothing, his stance, the tension in his shoulders. A man with no memory showing up in the middle of nowhere? It wasn’t a good look. And out here, in the deep south of Texas, strangers weren’t always welcomed with open arms.

“You got a name?” she asked, her voice a little harder now.

“Simon.”

She let the name settle between them, rolling it over in her mind, tasting it like she was testing for poison.

A gust of wind stirred the dust along the dirt road, whistling softly against the wire fence. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of a windmill creaked in the breeze.

Finally, she exhaled, tilting her head toward the road behind her.

“Well, Simon, I don’t know who you are or how you got here, but I do know better than to trust a man who just shows up outta nowhere.”

Fair enough.

Simon had spent years reading people, and she was an open book despite her guarded demeanor. She didn’t trust him—hell, she probably thought he was a drifter, a troublemaker, maybe even a criminal. But there was something else in her gaze. Not fear. Something closer to… curiosity.

She clicked her tongue, her horse shifting restlessly beneath her.

“Town’s about four miles down that road,” she said, tipping her cream hat towards the dirt road. “You can start walkin’ and you’ll make it there before sundown”

Simon arched a brow. “You’re not offering me a ride?”

She smirked, the expression slow and knowing. “Not a chance, stranger.”

And with that, she turned the horse around, setting off at a steady pace toward town.

Simon let out a slow breath before pushing himself to his feet, rolling his stiff shoulders. The town—Ruidoso, Texas—sat low on the horizon, a scattering of wooden storefronts, barns, and ranch houses, surrounded by endless miles of land.

Dust kicked up beneath his boots as he started walking.

She hadn’t trusted him.

He didn’t blame her.

But something told him she hadn’t seen the last of him yet.

masterlist ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

[ceilidho]

prompt: reader is a large animal vet making a house call to a certain ex-SAS member's ranch.

-

It’s the first time you’ve been called out to this ranch. 

You’ve been to some others in the surrounding area—just last week you stopped by a ranch just half an hour away—but never this one. It’s far out of the way, almost tough to find—you miss the turnoff twice, each time forced to turn back around and squint to find the poorly marked dirt road leading to the ranch. Your shoulders only unclench when the ranch house finally crests over the horizon and you spot the horses milling around in the fenced-off enclosure. 

They must have had an in-house vet prior to calling you out. None of your colleagues remember ever visiting and the ranch is big enough to necessitate one. It sprawls across the landscape, acres upon acres. The kind of ranch that deals in thoroughbreds, horses that go on to graded stakes races. In the pen already, you can pick out Thoroughbreds and American Warmblood, the distinctive spotting of an Appaloosa, even a couple Hanoverians. 

There are men working around the ranch outside of the main enclosure that you park just a dozen or so yards away from, but something about the man standing by his lonesome with the horses makes you pause. 

A head taller than the rest, and built like a redwood. Bandana affixed around the lower half of his face, almost bandit-like. You shake those thoughts out of your head. You’re not here to pass judgement on people; you’re here for the horses. Whatever scars mar his face are hardly your concern (still, rugged, you think, a bit breathless even sitting in the front seat of your truck). 

When he turns in your direction, eyes locked on your truck and then locked on you when you pop into the back to grab your bag, your back straightens. Imperceptibly, yet still. Compelled to measure up somehow, to whatever standard he expects.

He strikes you as the man in charge. “Mister Riley?” you call out, shielding your eyes from the sun. 

He beckons you over with a gloved hand. Even from the distance, he leaves you unsure of yourself, quick to stumble when his stare starts to burn. 

“Doc,” Riley greets you when you’re close enough, and you fight back a shiver. His voice rumbles like thunder, like hooves pounding into the freshly tamped earth, into the dirt. 

“You called about a pregnant mare,” you remind him. 

The bag in front of your legs puts a bit of distance between the two of you, a needed buffer. Up close, he towers like sequoia, in fact, sleeves rolled up past his forearms, old tattoos on his left arm faded like beaten leather. He holds out a hand though, forcing you to take a step forward out of politeness and shake it. Your lips tighten at the touch of his skin. It’s weathered too, coarse palms and fingertips; there’s dirt caked around his nail beds, the kind that never comes out, the world’s indelible mark on the skin. 

He stares at you for a moment without speaking. There’s no helping the way you squirm under his gaze.

“The horse,” you remind him, cheeks hot.

“She’s in the stables; I’ll bring ya to her.”

You struggle to keep up with him, bag bumping against your leg as you haul ass after him. Big as he is, he moves quickly, fast on his feet—used to quick beasts, you know, probably used to anticipating their movements, always one step ahead. Your last shred of decency keeps you from staring at his ass the entire walk to the stables. 

Her coat is a rich coal colour, mane sun-bleached. Inky eyes peer back at you when Riley lets you into her stall. It’s cooler inside somehow, out of the inescapable glare of the sun; the sweat on the back of your neck stays wet under Riley’s eyes though, nervous rather than weather-born. 

She’s gorgeous though, the mare. Pretty as can be. Heavily pregnant too, you can see. Obviously well taken care of too, still decently muscled like she’s still been taken for walks and rides during her pregnancy. 

“She’s too far along now to ride,” he tells you when you remark on that, his voice carrying in the confined space. He doesn’t raise his voice, but it makes you perk up again, at attention, head whipping over your shoulder to look at him. 

“I can tell. A little over two months ‘till she delivers,” you say with a nod, looking down at the chart you have on her. “I can come back for her last deworming before she foals, if you want.”

He grunts, doesn’t answer. You take it as an affirmative. 

It doesn’t take you long to run through her check-up. A docile girl, you coo when she lets you touch her without any sign of aggression, sweet-tempered thing. It’s second nature after all, at this point in your life. 

Still, you find yourself watching Riley out of the corner of your eye, careful under his watchful gaze. Not that you usually aren’t, but still. Your movements feel intentional, precise. 

When he walks you out, you get a bit bolder in the sunlight. Freer to pester him with questions. 

“Did your last vet retire or something?” you ask, fishing for information. It’s probably none of your business, but you find yourself curious anyway. There are a few different vet practices operating in the area, so it’s always helpful to know who’s going to your competitors. 

He shakes his head. “Friend of mine went to school for this—been with me as long as I’ve had the ranch. He got hitched a couple weeks ago though.”

“Moving away?” you guess.

“Opening up a practice,” he corrects, making you frown. That’s worse, at least for you. “On his honeymoon this month though, so he gave me your name.”

“My boss’ name, you mean.”

“That’s right,” he says, and you realize that he’s walked you all the way to your car, half-pinning you to the door of your truck. Just close enough that a new layer of sweat breaks out on the back of your neck. You have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. “Don’t know if I caught yours, little filly.”

Now that makes you stutter over your name, confidence finally failing you. When he hums like he’s caught your name in his head now, mapped it to you with his sharp eyes, you feel yourself swallow reflexively. 

“Not like you’ll need it for long,” you tease, trying to gain back some semblance of control. “Just until your friend gets back and sets up his practice, at least.”

“Not sure about that. Might find some use for you yet,” Riley says, close enough now that you can tell he smells of hay and silage, peppery when you breathe in too heavily. 

And you breathe too heavily. Hard not to when he crowds you up against the truck, hand laying flat on the roof, boxing you in. You wonder if any of the ranch hands are looking over at the two of you, curious. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, head empty. Mouth dry enough now that it hurts a bit to swallow. 

His brown eyes glint in the sun. Honey gold under the light. “I can think of a few reasons to keep you around.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Have you ever seen a castle made of logs? That's what this 2015 log cabin home is- a rustic log castle in Hakalau, HI. It's also a ranch with 4bds, 6ba, 8,543 sq ft, $22m. So, how did they combine both? Take a look and see.

It begins with gates to the property.

Wow, look at the size of the trees they used. They've got a fireplace that kind of looks like lava rock and a big trunk for a mantle.

I can't get over the size of the trees. It looks like they used the bottom of huge trees to prop up the cross beams.

Here's another, smaller, fireplace in the open concept family room.

They have a gothic style dining table set plus gothic doors in the dining room. So, in this room, there's a smaller fireplace, and stone walls, rather than logs.

I wish they would've shown more of the kitchen. I would imagine that the vintage looking stove is just for looks.

The everyday dining area opens directly out to the deck.

This is the owner's vision of a log castle turret. Note the gothic windows.

Here we have arrived at the top.

There's also a walk above the main living area. Look at that tree- it's hanging in the air with the actual roots, like a medallion or something. This is so interesting.

The primary bedroom looks like it has part of the turret wall and a small fireplace.

This bedroom suite has its own terrace and bath.

A child's room with a hobbit bed and sliders to the terrace.

The bath is pretty standard for a log cabin, but it has a nice counter and brass sinks.

A deck goes all around the house.

The upper terraces have great views.

The home features a double garage with rooms above, and a porte cochere.

There's a lovely waterfall on the property.

It's a huge piece of land- 792.04 acres. It's like having your own town to settle.

The forested parts are accessible by 4WD or horse and the new owner can make trails and build more cabins.

There's an extensive orchard that can also be expanded for more crops to be sold at the market.

There's a caretaker's cottage that counts as a 2nd residence. (This sprawling house is a cottage?) It even has a separate entrance on another road.

Look at the neighbors- A local rancher runs approximately 40 cows through multiple paddocks.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/29-596-Chin-Chuck-Rd-Hakalau-HI-96710/138311923_zpid/

[schlobba]

⋆.ೃ࿔* :･ lasso.ᐟ ft. erwin smith

( 🗒️: love erwin smsmsm )

⋆.ೃ࿔*𐔌 synopsis゛ remorsefully, your fiancé makes up for trying your patience. reassuring you he has no intention of dodging the responsibility of marriage, in fact, he wants to practice consummation as many times as you allow.

⋆.ೃ࿔*𐔌 ♯: fem!readr; most lowercase intended; breedingg ofc; mating press; oral (f); country life; domestic/homestead; engaged; pet names: diamond, sugar ‎ ‎ ‎ ⓘ wrd count: 3.2k

ꉂ`⟡···· “y’know my dress might needa be a little bigger by then, right?” “’course, diamond… how else are we gonna fit that behind?”

➜ darby, montana

( 1898 ) 12:02 pm

fall sent whipping breezes throughout the acres of land erwin had so lovingly tended, the head of his horse emerging first from the thick tree ridge. your nape greeted him in place of that sweet as syrup smile he’d grown accustomed to. a ways down the hill divided by a dirt path, carving knife warm with your sweat cutting into an apple, nectar running down your wrists while taking pieces for yourself.

the herd stayed closely knitted, expecting ewes grazing peacefully under the territorial eye of your unruly ram byström who also spared glances at the hound dog. with such dense clouds above, the shifting trees surrounding your little washboard and seating provide an unneeded shade, branches supporting a sprawling line of linen above your head.

a wooden table shaved of any splinters supported your elbows, brown eyes taken with how autumn sweeped this ranch not even days after your engagement. tutting your lips in intellection, there wouldn’t possibly be any time to plan a ceremony with erwin making preparations for winter. it was as if snow already coated the ground, seeing as you’d all but noticed hooves heartily beating against gravel.

the rusted whine of the gated entrance finally caught your attention. schulz obediently follows the statuesque blonde, yankee blue eyes digesting you. from that shirred cotton embroidered in floral design to your bare feet — he would turn his trouser pockets inside out all over again.

“one of these days you’re gonna step on something,” he shouts all proper in passing while guiding the chestnut stallion to an open pasture. always speaking chaste yet possessing the unique ability to understand your nonsense.

“not with all these leaves,” one leg over the bench already – you sat the knife aside, “we needs a rake ‘fore snowfall.” you insisted. adjusting the hem of one’s gown, pulling it above your buxom and rushing over.

carefully shutting the enclosure he turned to your nosey expression, “I’ll pick it up with my sheers.” he assured. the man’s lips couldn’t help but curl as you were now inches away from him. though his affections were promptly rejected, “what?” erwin asked.

“ya’ talks about your sheers more than anything,” eyes rolling you ignored that knit forming in his thick brows.

“come on now…” the blonde’s voice faltered in the skin of your neck, pulling away just to see if anything changed.

“spring or summer then?” you scrutinized all but those things that tempted you to drop it like his cupid’s bow.

“elaborate.” his brows fell with an air of unamusement.

even upspoken he knew you were serious. your persiflage continued, “well d’you think white would look good on me in july heat?”

“I think it’s timeless on you.” he gushed against your cheek and settled for the corners of your mouth since you kept moving.

“well then - I just wants to know why you’re so nervous.” your forearms interrupted his rough, calloused hands sliding down your waist. in that moment you glared through him, truly trusting he’d answer accordingly.

“it’s been two months.” erwin stated. “I don’t wanna rush it, diamond.”

the fleeting gaze you unknowingly gave sent aches to his chest, his adam’s apple bobbing before you parted your lips, “why not? are you not excited?”

“please.” eyes cutting to the tip of your nose and pillowy lips, he scoffed. “I want to make sure everything is right before we start a family.”

you giddily flashed your crooked teeth. “who said anything about that?”

“we’re getting married,” he knocked his forehead against yours like a bull. “you’re having my babies.” grin across his face toward the end, finally planting a kiss more becoming than the last few.

analogous to a whirling current of wind gathering you up, erwin’s hands now firmly hoisted your weight in a candid fashion. a brief glimpse of concern lit in his pendulous eyes when your breath hitched in response to such suddenness, subsequently washing over as soon as your hand began blithely unbuttoning his blouse.

your lover’s snug embrace radiated a warmth, twirling with your nerves. for the first time during this lazy october afternoon you’re finally looking like you’ve lifted a finger throughout, erwin hungrily watching these beads of anticipation fall below your collarbone.

“do you wanna start practicing?” he fondly asked, words steady despite his haste. effortlessly carrying you toward the porch of his ancestral farmhouse, authentic leather boots sounding off creaks in the steps he feverly trekked.

“what’d you call it before?” you played with the strands of hair laid thick across his chest, ahead of sitting up in his arms to kiss along his jaw as he jangled the doorknob.

“extracurriculars—” a sharp air left his nose, earning your laughter. the blonde’s support altered to where his palms now held your behind, your legs wrapped around his waist tightly as to stick along for where he’d take you.

the house smelled of sweet spices and vegetables, thoroughly flavoring the meat you had been slow cooking for hours in hopes of a tender finish. its scent wafted through the foyer and pleasantly met erwin’s nostrils, surprisingly arousing him even more.

“christ, how’d I get so lucky...” he deeply spoke into your mouth amidst the hissing breaths and smothered noises you both let out without discipline. the tent in his pants growing larger under the white gold buckle of his cowboy belt, poking at your heat needily.

the blonde didn’t care for sheets or hide blankets, he marched straight into the dining room like one of them soldiers.

“what?” you broke the sloppy kisses to watch the hallway staircase grow distant, eventually out of sight once he passed the kitchen countertops. “y’wanna eat first?”

“mhm.” erwin answered. prompting his placement of you directly on the table yet to be set, hiking your frills up above your thighs. cotton panties gated with a bow, that of which haloed over a stain of longing just for him. a finger of his pressed against your wetness absent of novelty, exploring your folds and watching as they ate up the fabric, cloth roughing up against your more sensitive flesh.

the man had since kneeled, practically breathing into such supple skin whilst pressuring more against your clothed cunt with his thumb. he often caught himself wolfing down the spit collecting in his mouth, salivating at the thought of you on his tongue. it wouldn’t be the first time he considered himself at your mercy.

“yous gone let me take ‘em off all by myself?” you queried, looking down at him with an expectant stare. your fiancé’s gaze was more occupied by your other set of lips then, but he eventually adhered and reached his hands up your spread thighs.

he slid your pretty underwear down the skin of your legs, a hand helping you wriggle the rest of the way. your body tensed when he kissed one of your feet which were damn near filthy from chasing chickens, but erwin was just as ribalding. he simply won’t admit the times his languish left him cumming to only the scent of your worn panties. as if he really needed to, his expression outwardly famished at the sight of you dripping onto the polished oak, smooching up your inner thigh whilst holding a vehement glare.

a gratuitous groan rattles from your depths, enduring the waves of pleasure ensuing as his tongue greedily laps at your juices. those rigid palms of his subconsciously found themselves hooking your thighs over his broad shoulders, allowing himself to suckle at your intimacy more aggressively. your precious hums and squeezing legs encourage the blonde, his pronounced nose bumping up against your shorthairs, jaw slacked so his tongue could properly punch in and out of your twitching cunt.

erwin’s cock had been weeping between his legs, jumping at the sound of his spit bubbling against the bud of your cunnie. you didn’t think his tongue could reach any further but he soon required deeper conversation with such a talkative pussy, forcing you backward onto the sanded tabletop. his hairy forearms wrapped around your legs to urge them apart, fingers creating little indents in your thighs while his face buried itself snug between those soaking folds. the blonde loudly smacked and sucked like a bitch to a bone, licking stripes up and down your cunt interchangeably with tongue fucking you, bottom lip firmly pressed under your slit.

“that feel good?” he slobbered. your yelps and drawn out vowels were complimented by his attentive croons. he empathized with how starved your hole was for his girth, feeling it tighten around his saliva coated muscle in prayer for something shaped just like him to guzzle down.

amidst reply your chin bunched up under the downward look you gave him, reaching lower to spread yourself wider. “go up—“ you insisted breathlessly, heaving in and out while a ball of yarn unraveled inside your tummy.

spoiling you similarly to a debutante made it so erwin rarely put his needs first during sex. only when you began bucking into his face after around twenty minutes of nonstop devouring did he become the slightest impatient. still he chose to satisfy himself with your climax on his taste buds, ensuring his girl’s cunt drooled ahead of pounding it senseless. but even in this pussy-whipped daze the blonde’s cock kept him mindful. the man would never be devoid of any purpose, not when your plump pussy’s sitting all gorgeous, practically begging for his attention.

this time you didn’t have to yank his head of angel hair to shoo him in light of your overstimulation. he’d already stood on the soles of his boots, breathing through his mouth like an exasperated idiot, deftly undoing his belt to release some of the tension.

“diamond,” erwin murmured under his breath only to realize he’s called on you, “mnh, don’t eye me like that.” knitting his wild brows did he whisper. your lover boy could barely stroke his cock he was so close, and your repeatedly renewed expression of excitement at his length was incredibly rousing. “can I…?” words laced with perversion did he query, gently pushing his fat cockhead against your gushy cunt, a groan leaving him as his eyes ate away at your beautiful body.

your meek smile melted him with embarrassment, “hmph, I gots to say it?” you asked, lips forming to wince while you elevated up onto your elbows in search of a better listen.

“no, s’just—“ erwin’s voice rasped out, only when he discarded anything from his waist down and began climbing up onto the table did your face morph with curiosity. “let me lift your legs a bit.” he kindly requested, breath now clashing with yours.

your movement lasted little without his assistance, softly guiding you back to fold your legs. he was now looming over you with an ounce of uncertainty, analyzing the scrunch of your nose and wrinkle ridden strain. words of concern were promptly exchanged, initiating an adjustment beneath his large stature. now that the burning in your hamstring subsided, you had more room to experience this relatively new position, his pelvis hovering a ways above yours — sheer length of his manhood all but making up for the distance.

he grinded his stiffness in a specific motion, teasing himself with your slick while securely grasping the skin under your knees. your moans goaded him to pass the surface, heightening once a few inches actually did. in this state erwin felt he could thrust deeper than ever, sweat running down his hefty ballsack in temptation. all your devoted fiancé could think about was jerking his dick against the hugging walls beyond your entrance, desperate to fill up his barn cat of a woman.

after a few moments of torturously paced action, erwin finally honed how hard he’d let his shaft slap against the plush skin of your ass. grinding his forehead into yours while rhythmically thrusting into you, drinking up your adorable faces if he wasn’t occupied with blinking in that very second. his voice had periodically joined that of your own each time you gripped particularly tight, sucking him in a spoiled fashion each time he reared back. the plap plap plap of his dick made your brain rattle ’round, eyes half lidded and mouth wide with moans like a brothel girl. when words were coherent they implored he continued, begging like the submissive wife everyone expects of you.

the table rammed back and forth on its four legs, parallel to erwin’s ploughs that became harsher each time his cock plunged inside your saturated mess. you couldn’t recall exactly how your dress turned into a flimsy skirt around your waist, folded a dozen for erwin’s gawking. but it was his regards that centered you — his constant presence no matter how primitively he may have fucked into you. the blonde didn’t relent in his shower of love across your exposed skin, passionately kissing over your shut eyes and such when you’re much too engrossed to return said kisses. even minding his off white teeth against your breasts, pampering you delicately akin to a hand sculpted china doll. such precise movements yet the furniture beneath you still moved with exuberance, and you still frothed around him in melded bouts of ecstasy.

“feels nice, don’t it?” erwin exhaled, experiencing himself flex inside you sensitively. the heat of the kitchen spilling into the room, droplets on one’s skin illuminated by a warm rustic lighting. he wondered what you thought of him, pinning you down like that of a roman trying to win a brawl.

“god almighty…” your voice eased out between hiccups of enjoyment, “don’t stop!” you need not ask but he’d developed some liking for the nagging - the reassurance.

“gone have to wed in spring then,” the blonde happily reaffirmed his position with blue collar arms, “seeing as you’ll be a mama by tonight.” he lovingly said before weighing into you more, damn near flattening your thighs onto the table just to allow more room for his shaft to grind against your swollen bundle of nerves.

your reply was written roughly, forcing your tongue past his supple lips and somehow pulling him in closer, imagining your hands cradling his head like this under sunlight stained by fancy colored glass. neither of you let up for air — breathing between this salivating exchange in an animalistic intensity, daydreaming of one another, comfortably naive.

“you’re squeezing me so tight.” he spoke into your loose lips, watching you break away with pitiful squeals once his dick began repeatedly bullying a certain spot near your cervix. erwin relished in your expression, all gobsmacked like an innocent southern belle, only to be broken in by some rugged stud. those beady brown eyes grew wide, and he could only buck at the thought of you cumming around his girth. “what’s that sugar? can’t take no more?” he nibbled at your chin.

“mphhm—“ you hum and swore all at once, subtly nodding while a pressure built up just below the surface of your abdomen, brows knitting almost painfully.

your fiancé struck hard opposed to fast now, letting his pelvis slam against yours with every coo and comment. “y’ain’t bailing on me now, are you? not when y’got me all worked up…” he muttered, his lovely blue eyes sitting drunk on a determined expression. “…not when I got so much to give you, hm?”

it was erwin’s actions that were more demanding compared to his words, usually. but the tone he’s giving you more than beckons you let him hammer you til’ the next harvest moon. his breath hit against your face in wild pants like some dog in heat, and you more than obliged with your digits digging into his shoulders. nose brushing against yours, he continued rutting inside your squelching cunt until your voice was giving out, grasping behind your knees tighter than ever before just to keep his soon-to-be wife still for his thick ropes of cum.

“m’not, mmm’not,” you slurred incoherently. “y’just gonna get me knocked uuuup!” how cute it was to watch your lip quiver with restraint. erwin wondered if you measured your affect on him. certainly not — not when you walk around here asking to be barefoot and pregnant.

sounding like a babbling fool, your trembling legs fought the urge to lock around his defined back, toes curling so hard a knuckle or two may have popped. the blonde’s baritone voice encouraged you almost frantically, pacing his breaths in hopes you would follow said motions, thoroughly guiding your unruly reactions beneath him. all while pumping back and forth, ruts getting sloppy and short as to keep any semblance of your alluring warmth and maintain the perfect environment for his seed.

his ears perked to your groans of relief, listening as you came undone around him with an expression only he got to see. ‘twas a matter of time before your cunt made way for his gluttonously dense amounts of cum, weakly throbbing with each tense of his balls against your gaping hole, pussy lips impressively parted by his sheer mass alone. erwin intrinsically held you under the grip of his large farm-hands, placidly shuttering in response to the tranquil lull your body provided. he was no longer overladen with energy as you more than sucked every bit of it out of him, all your love could do was slowly flutter his lashes back open, witnessing your edible expression stare back into his own unexplainable countenance.

“did y’mean it?” you ask, voice labored with exhaustion and knees still surrounding your pretty lil’ head.

his grapple became lazy and slick with mixing sweat, “huh?” erwin grew perplexed at such a persistent thing like you. though accompanied by how persuasive you are, he learned to love it years ago. pet name on his tongue, he inwardly hushed himself and filled the silence with a considerate gaze.

“‘bout me being a mama ‘n stuff.” you tried to avert your eyes but not only was he still brooding over you, he followed the turn of your head so he never left your field of view, all to kiss you once more.

“a million times over—” erwin muffled into the plump skin of your cheek, marking you from your forehead to your chin with good loving. “you know that.”

“and the wedding?” another familiar question soaked with insecurity left your nectar flavored lips, those of which erwin often had to ignore just to hear you clear.

“hmph…” he freed your legs at last, sitting up but not slipping out just yet. “may. when the sun lasts longer and you won’t need sleeves.” erwin said thoughtfully. the blonde’s sentence narrated the image he envisioned, his wife amidst fields of green dawning victorian lace and warm silver.

“y’know my dress might needa be a little bigger by then, right?” you said cautiously. a hand of yours grazed your belly, heavy with implication and overall fatigue.

“’course, diamond…” you could hear his toothy smile before cutting your eyes to him, both his palms now encapsulating the waist they fit so perfectly around. “how else are we gonna fit that behind?”

ᯓᡣ𐭩

[skycowboys]

In the SC universe are the sky cowboys actually called "cowboys", and do many of them herd actual cows?

Hi there!

Great question! The "sky cowboys" are referred to as "pilots" in-universe and are set apart by their traditional blue scarves. Pilots can be good guys or bandits, and while pilots hold many different jobs in the SC world, nymbak drives are the equivalent to long cattle drives:

"Actual" cowboys do exist, as do literal cattle, but how they're handled is a bit different primarily due to the chasms. In the SC world the chasms prevent the massive, sprawling ranches and long cattle drives that we normally associate cowboys with.

Instead, ranchers and farmers usually own smaller parcels of land and a "cowpoke" is the term for a ranch hand who moves the herd of cows around as necessary. Though with less land and smaller herds, "drives" are far smaller in scope and are more akin to a working ranch's immediate paddocks and local pastures. The smaller land areas and chasms separating herds also perpetuates more distinct breeds with specialty cuts of meat or methods of cheese making.

Overall, the vibe of the cowboy -- the self-made man (or woman) who drifts as he pleases to pick up jobs, has a strong moral compass, and works hard to live off the land, or who has a homestead in a wilderness frontier and all of the grit and tenacity that goes with that -- is distilled into the pilots. Cowpokes can have those qualities of course, but the classic western cowboy flavor is something I primarily assigned to pilots.

I love rambling over the countryside on horseback, but I often long to cross the next ridge or to see over the treeline ahead of me, especially if I don't know what's on the other side. To me, flight - to just be able to pick yourself up off the ground and fly over the ridge - is the ultimate expression of the kind of freedom cowboys are associated with.

~ Larn