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paigeandbands · 2 months ago

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𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭

Masterlist | Joel miller x F!reader | 18+ | 4.5k wc

Summary: A one-sided crush was all it was. At least that’s what you told yourself to feel a little better about the fact that your orgasms always ended with his name.

Tags: f!masturbation, joel is grumpy as always, fingering, pinv intercourse, unprotected pinv, couch sex, tinge of voyeurism, mention of body hair, Joel struggling with reader being younger than him, unspecified age gap, instances of ambiguous consent

𐙚 resurrected due to my the carnal need for Joel, after clint blessed out lives. also this took fucking weeks with my flimsy ass drive to write, fingers crossed i don't dip again!

"...What if it had gone well? Would he be driving her home in his truck? Walk her to her doorstep, try to be a gentleman, give her a kiss goodbye. Or would he have gone in? Walk her backwards with a desperate kiss, fuck her nice and slow deep into her bed?"

It’d been nearly three hours since the power went out for the entirety of your neighborhood. The house was essentially a humid tomb by 2pm. Sweat accumulating in the worst places, like the back of your fucking knees. When did people start sweating there? At this point, you’ve stopped caring. You’d succumbed to stripping down to a cami top and boxers an hour ago–sprawled onto the ground like some civil war widow in front of your patio doors.

You were halfway through fantasizing freezing to death in a 7-Eleven beer fridge when three loud knocks had you begrudgingly lift your head to look at the front door. Whoever it was could wait till next week, you were not getting up. Well, that was until the lock clicked and your door creaked open.

“Don’t shoot,” Joel called out. “Brought somethin’.”

“If I did have a gun, shoot me with it instead.”

He grunts in response, signalling that he’d already been over your dramatics, even when he’d quite literally just arrived. There’s the thunk of something heavy being set down on the floor. You tilt your head off the ground just enough to see Joel setting a large grey box next to the backup generator he’d dragged in.

A portable AC unit. A real one, not the janky oscillating fan you whipped out of your dad’s attic.

Joel had a penchant for showing up at the slightest signal of your distress. As if you’d shone out a bat-signal that summoned him. Without asking or waiting for a call, he’d just show up with his tools. Last month, he’d fixed your garbage disposal. And the month before that? The creaky porch step he insisted you’d probably trip over and fall three steps to your ‘death’. It bordered on suspicion how quickly he finds out whenever you’re in trouble, but you were starting to think he just knew.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, curiosity getting the better of you as you squint at Joel. He's still fussing over the plug. Utterly oblivious to how you were staring holes into him. He looked...clean. There’s a fitted grey henley under a flannel that looked like it’d been worn less than twice—which said a lot considering he explicitly wore the ones that had holes and limestone chalkdust on them. Even the grey collars were left unbuttoned, enough to see the slope of his collarbone and speckled skin. And his curls, usually unruly, were brushed back. Neat. Intentional.

"You look good," you blurt without really meaning to, your voice slightly thick from the relentless heat. Your words hang awkwardly in the air. Joel stills for just a second before he goes back to wrestling with the cord.

"That so." he echoes skeptically, a slight twitch at the corner of his lips at your praise. "What, I usually look like shit?"

"Yes. Obviously." He doesn’t bother looking up, knowing you probably looked damned smug at your quip. “So? Why are you trying all of a sudden?”

Joel clears his throat, wanting nothing more than to avoid answering entirely. “…Had to.”

Your interest flares immediately and you sit up. Pulse picking up a little faster. “Hell does that mean?”

What came in return was a deep sigh, as if he were about to admit to some crime rather than reveal something as trivial as his afternoon plans. “Tommy set me up on one of those damn blind dates.”

Something twists sharply in your gut. A strange and unwelcome ache that spread in you like venom. "Seriously?” You manage to sputter out your next few words with barely contained disbelief. Joel. Joel fucking Miller. A man that shot down gorgeous hedge-fund-botoxed bitches for a living, and even you on occasion when you dared to flirt after just having moved back into your dad’s place. “You? On a date?”

Joel gives another hum, a non answer that was…answer enough. You frown lightly, forcing a casualness into your voice you didn’t feel in the slightest. "And?"

"And what?"

"How was it?" you press. Unable to mask the edge in your tone.

He wipes his palms on his jeans, visibly uncomfortable. "Wasn't much of anythin’. She spent half the time talkin' about how I should care more bout’ aging. Takin’ pro-robotic sup-lee-ments n’ whatnot."

“You mean probiotic.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

You snort, masking your amusement with an ill-timed cough. Ignoring just how relieved his miserable little recap made you feel. "Joel, she sounds delightful. Please tell me you're seeing her again."

He ignores your jab, focused on fixing up the conditioning unit. But you’re still staring, unable to stomp away at the vivid images of Joel at whatever bar Tommy fancied them to go to. Flashing that reluctant lop-sided smile he wasn’t aware of how much it made women swoon. Or maybe he was aware. What if it had gone well? Would he be driving her home in his truck? Walk her to her doorstep, try to be a gentleman, give her a kiss goodbye–or would he have gone in? Walk her backwards with a desperate kiss, fuck her nice and slow deep into her bed?

You flop down onto the cooled floors with a thud, staring at the ceiling again, swallowing hard around the strange tightness in your throat–he'd clearly made an effort. How for someone else tonight, Joel tried. And in the next few dates, the chances of him taking one of those old floozies home grew more likely. It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it had.

Joel flicks the switch on the AC, effectively sending you out of your spiral. You hear the machine hum to life, a gentle whisk of cool air brushes against your skin–instantly giving you pure relief. He glances back at you, and his mouth goes dry. He eyes the way you subtly roll your shoulders against the ground, rubbing the back of your neck in the barely there top of yours. It made his mind go to places he didn’t want to admit. "....Better?"

"Yeah," you softly exhale, eyes fluttering shut, "much better."

Joel nods, taking your approval as his cue. He gathers himself and starts coiling the leftover cords. Your chest squeezes with panic then when you see pack up from your peripheral. “Joel?”

He makes a noise. It could mean what, or what now. It’s hard to tell. You forge ahead anyway. “My shower isn't giving me cold water anymore.” When he looked over, it was an instinct to vomit more bullshit out. “Like, it starts scalding hot and just…stays that way.”

Joel considers calling you out on your excuse. Your shower all of a sudden not working? With the way you were fumbling about for something to say, it tugged the strings at his heart. You wanted him to stay. It dipped into territories he locked the vaults to, but he’d humor you. For now. The heel of his boot knocks against the AC unit. “‘ve already hooked this up for ya.”

“Uh huh.”

“An’ last week I changed out that socket of yers that damn near lit the wall on fire.”

“Correct.”

“...Replaced the hinges on yer doors.”

“Also true.”

Joel pushes himself up to stand up with a grunt. Leveling you with a look that could very well wither a plant. “You little shit. Do I look like Bob the fuckin’ Builder to you?” His hands falls to his hips and you swore you could see the gears turning. Like he’d been calculating how many more times you’d try to get away with this before he finally starts saying no to you for once.

You tilt your head. “C’mon.” Voice dropping to a lilt, meeting his gaze dead on, pairing it with a sad sheepish smile. It was your final card to play—you realised the effectiveness of it after the door-hinge-replacement saga that this particular ruse worked. What was it? Triangle Method? Whatever Vanity Fair said, really. “You want me to boil alive in there?”

He exhales long and loud, rubbing the bridge of his nose like you were a migraine that wouldn’t go away.

“Fine.”

You sat on the edge of the tub with your palms gripped around the porcelain, watching him work. It’s strangely comforting, the sound of metal against tile. His occasional grunts, and the way he keeps his curses low but audible enough to let you know he wasn’t all that pleased about doing this.

“Christ. Goddamn oven in here.”

In fairness, the bathroom was damp. All the steam from your shower earlier before the power went out somehow sunk into the grout. But seeing Joel now, his flannel discarded on the towel rack, with the sleeves of his henley rolled up his forearms–sweat glistening at the nape of his neck, some locks perfectly dried in a little loopy c.

Yeah. You’d deal with the heat.

He starts fiddling with the knob, taking it apart in a practiced rhythm that makes it obvious this wasn’t his first rodeo.

“Before you say anything, yes, I tried turning it all the way to the cold side. And yes, I let it run. Even kicked the knob to make sure it really didn’t work.” Of course, you knew it didn’t work. Your dad told you that before he’d left for his vacation with his new wife—calling the plumber was long overdue on your list.

Joel huffs. Not a laugh, not quite. “Don’t think yer s’posed to be kickin’—...” He doesn’t get to the end of that futile sentence. Because why the hell wouldn’t you? He crouches down by the faucet, before settling back on his heels to decide just how deep of a problem this was going to be for him. “M’gonna hafta pull this thing off.”

You nod along, staring at the shower tap with a faux-worried look as if it was going to inconvenience you more than him. “She’s all yours.”

Joel starts work on it without further complaint, which was when you could usually tell when something was broken broken. You watch him dig around in his tool roll of his, prying at the panel behind the knobs. Something rattles loose, and falls into the tub with a loud metallic clang.

You jolted. “...Should I be concerned that things are falling off?”

“It’s not fallin’ off. I took it off.” He doesn’t look at you, “it was already halfway rotted through.” Another minute goes by and with a deep sigh, Joel backs up slowly with his palms on his thighs.

“Well?”

He wipes off the sweat accumulating on his forehead with the back of his hand. “Valve’s shot. Rusted out. Yer lucky yer gettin’ any water at all, let alone hot.”

You lift your eyebrows, toeing at the edge of your bath mat. “So…you’re saying I should be grateful for my sad lukewarm and/or scalding drizzle?”

“M'sayin’ you should start savin’ up for a real plumber if you keep breakin’ shit like this.”

“Or, I could just keep calling you.”

Joel shoots you the nastiest side eye paired with a slow head turn. Ah yes. The look of a man who’d regretted every decision that led him to this exact point in his life. He grabs a rag from the counter, wiping off the rust stains on his hands.

“I gotta run to the store,” he mutters, to himself mostly. “Pick up a new stem and a couple washers. Maybe a new handle too if they’ve got a set that’ll fit.”

“Sounds like a whole lot of plumbing words I don’t understand.”

Joel reaches for his keys in his flannel pocket, glancing over where you perched all nice and polite on your bathtub. He looks away before the feelings bloom in his gut. “An’ that’s exactly why I ain’t leavin’ you t’do it without me.” You watch him head down the hallway, the distant jingle of his keys echoing back as your front door creaks open.

“Get me some peach rings while you’re out!”

“Not yer fuckin’ errand boy,” came his reply, not as convincing as he thought it was.

You slumped onto the couch shortly afterwards. Arms limp, hanging off the edge. The back of your thighs peel off the vinyl cushion with a soft, wet pull. You groan into the crook of your elbow, regretting the movement. The AC whiiirs faintly in the corner, wheezing out mildly cooled air.

The living room still smelled like Joel. It wasn’t his cologne, or his soap. It’d just been…Joel. A warmth, the scent of clean laundry, sun dried and soft. Old Spice mixed in with the aftershave he used. All in all, it was a you-wanted-to-bury-your-face-in-his-shirt-and-stay-there sort of scent. It was annoying. And distracting. And very much not helping your body cool down.

The silence that followed his departure was thick. Dangerous.

You exhale roughly through your nose, flipping onto your back. Your top rode up with your movement, sticking to your ribs. An easy blame to all of this would probably be the heat, frustration, or the gnawing restlessness between your thighs that grew potent. But that would be dishonest.

Because it wasn’t just the heat. It was him.

The way he’d crouched by the tub, how his shirt tugged taut across his shoulders. The sound of his voice, low and steady, talking about broken valves. And how the veins on his forearms became prominent when he twisted the wrench. You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, curling your fingers around it. Kiss the pretty curves of his lips when he said he’d be back. Words he uttered that hinted underlying care and attentiveness. And it was all for you.

God, you were pathetic.

If your estimations were right, it’d be what? 5? 6 Miles? Joel wasn’t going to be back for at least half an hour. You mindlessly lifted your hips to inch closer to one of the cushions. Just needed to see if it helped at all. It’d be quick. If anyone knew better on how to get you off, it’d obviously be you.

You slink out of your shorts, toeing the fabric off your ankles before fully committing & grabbing the cushion. Shifting over to your side, you aligned yourself to trap the softness between your thighs. A sigh of relief leaves your lips when you notched the seam of your cunt onto the cotton piping. Angling it just right.

“..Fuck..”

The fabric eventually gives you just enough stimulation and your hips grind against the seams. It felt good. How it brushes just right against your clit. It was short lived. The sensation quickly fades after your hair gets caught behind your shoulders. You attempt to reposition yourself, combing it away from you. The heat wasn’t helping in the slightest, so you closed your eyes. Focusing. Your palm slides beneath your camisole, brushing over your nipples enough for them to stiffen.

Joel would’ve taken his time, you thought.

Your brows furrowed in concentration, two fingers dragging the wetness of your folds down before you ease a finger into your pussy, the softness sucking them in.

It’d be way bigger to have his fingers in you.

Swallowing the dryness of your throat, you slip another in. Nudge upward and deeper into your walls in a slow, rhythmic motion.

He’d stretch you out. Nice and slow. Probably would love how your hips would jump when he swipes against your clit. And he’d keep going, exactly the way you liked if he knew whatever he was doing was getting you to cum on his fingers alone.

A breathless moan slips when you increase the intensity of your motion with your hips moving in tandem. The illusion would be enough. Thinking about riding him was enough. Your rolled your shoulders back, the knots in them easing when the fantasy had your cunt fluttering & squelching in pure pleasure. Ankles arched against the vinyl as your thumb circles around your clit, the cushion falling to the ground with an unceremonious thud.

“...O-h.. Joel.”

“Mhm.”

You huffed out in confusion when a foreign sound breaks your peace. Turning your head towards your kitchen, your heart sinks.

Joel, with his arms folded against his chest—casually leaned up against your countertop. Behind him, the backdoor that opened directly into your kitchen left ajar.

You sat up straighter, blood pounding in your ears as you attempted to make sense of it all. You couldn’t get a read of his expression. It wasn’t disgust, that’s for sure. You managed to somehow squeeze your thighs together on instinct. “W...when did you….”

“'Bout ten minutes ago,” he says with a seemingly composed tone.

“...You...didn’t say anything...”

Joel shrugs, “didn’t wanna interrupt.”

You don’t know where to look. At him? Away? “I didn’t think you were—I..I thought you left.”

“I did.” His eyes flicker over your face, lingering on the heat blooming in your cheeks. “Came back. Forgot t’get the measurements.” Then, his voice drops, a thumb swiping over his lips. “Door was open.”

Which was just another way of saying—you didn’t even lock it. I could’ve been anyone.

“Joel…I just—”

He doesn’t let you finish, the wood creaking underneath his weight. “That work f’you, hon?” Your brows knit in confusion when he approaches you. You’d attempted to scoot back into the couch. Not that you had anywhere else to go. Joel’s shadow quickly looms over you entirely, his palm resting on the vinyl rest next to your head. “What?” Your voice comes out breathless, too quick. His scent practically warms you further, inciting the dull ache between your thighs that border on unbearable.

“Fuckin’ yerself on that.” He nudges his head to the abandoned cushion on the ground. You could barely dignify him with an answer, and you hear him take a tone you’d never heard from him before. Like he’d been angry. You shudder from the graze of his fingers when he lifts the loose strap of your cami from your arm, back up to your shoulders. “Asked you a question.” He’s close enough and you can see the muscles that tick in the right side of his jaw.

“What I do in my own house—”

There you’d gone, giving him an answer he didn’t want to hear. The couch dips in his weight, and he settles down next to you. Your cunt clenches around nothing at the jump. “Don’t give me that.” He harbours a pained expression. Gaze tearing away from the sight of your slick smeared around your thighs. “Moanin’ pretty goddamn fuckin’ loud earlier, my name at that.”

You bite down on your lips hard enough for the skin to break. Fighting against the embarrassment and hot flush that took over. Joel, on the other hand, drags a hand down his jaw, elbows resting on his knees. As though battling with his own sanity. The latter ends up taking precedence.

“What yer gonna do now. Is put this shit back on.” He grabs your shorts that were left abandoned, tossing it back onto your thighs. “N’ we’re gonna move on.”

“We clear on that?”

“....No.”

He turns to look at you over his shoulders. Expression incredulous.

“No?”

“You heard me.” You don’t give Joel time to react when your palm presses against his chest, pushing him flat back onto the couch. Your breath catches in your throat when the looming suspicions prove to be right. The unmistakable bulge in his jeans.

“I’m done with you playing the fucking saint. Done with wanting you and getting jack shit from you, even when this is how you feel!” You gestured pointedly at his erection, though you’d awkwardly balled it up into a fist, retracting it when you realised how stupid you looked doing that.

The rise in your voice seems to catch him off guard. The way his brows twitch slightly, he’s offended that you dared pin this on him. As if he was the one making things complicated. You force yourself upright, gathering whatever shred of dignity you had left.

Because despite the urge to crawl back into your skin, you knew it wasn’t one sided. You’d seen it, in the way his gaze always lingered too long. And how he’d always come back to you. He just kept showing up for you, over and over, offering pieces of himself without ever letting you in.

“Go fuck the next withered old cunt for all I care.” You drag the cotton of your tank top down to shield your bits and pieces. Hell if you were gonna put on your shorts in front of him. Turning heel, you do your best to get the hell out of there as quick as you could’ve.

Joel lets you get a couple steps away before you feel his arm hook around your waist to lift you, fairly easily, positioning the both of you onto the couch. Leveraging your shock and lack of defense to hike your thigh over his hips. Your shoulder finds the back of the armrest, and you look up at him in confusion. He looks down briefly where your wetness dampened his jeans. You could feel how he was throbbing even through the thick denim. It was clear, he wasn’t hiding it anymore.

“You mean that?”

“What? That you should fuck a withered old cunt?”

He sighs deeply. “You wantin’ me, you-fuckin’-donut’.” He corrects with a tinge of annoyance.

“I’ve never hidden it.” You snapped defensively, squirming in his hold. The heat of him permeated into you. His palm spreads around the span of your hip, thumb smearing the slick around your thighs. As if he was considering.

“I know.” A pause. “Just ain’t feel right.”

“Because I’m younger.” Your voice is steadier.

And he affirms. “‘Cause you’re young. Big fuckin’ difference.”

You thought about pushing him off, doing what he told you to. At least that way you could recover this ‘friendship’ between you two. But you don’t do that. Your hands wrap around Joel’s wrists instead and you lock your gaze with his. Guiding his palm against your pussy, nudging two of his fingers in. He curls his fingers in you instinctually. A shaky moan from you cuts through the silence between you two and Joel fucking breaks.

He groans, head slumped down to look at your glistening cunt, where his palm lay flat against the soft, cropped hair of your pubis, sticky with your arousal. He pulls his fingers out only briefly to tease your outer folds, smearing the sticky fluids down to the puckered hole beneath. “So fuckin’ soaked.”

Joel lets out a strained exhale before lifting his head, his expression bordering on desperate. He thrusts his fingers into you, moving it in a come hither motion into your warm, snug walls. Leaning in to place a chaste kiss onto your lips, stifling your mewls. Over, and over until the both of you groan into each other's mouths.

He pulls out of your cunt, leaving you clenching around nothing. You hear the clank of his belt and zipper as he deepens the kiss, distracting you from the heavy warmth that bobs against your abdomen. “Gone for barely ten fucking minutes. And you up n’ do this shit.”

Joel tuts at your attempt to feel around for his cock. You let out a grumble at that, looking down anyway and immediately regret it. Joel was big. You’ve seen big before, but not nearly as thick and…frankly–pretty as his. The tip slightly curved, milky pearlescent droplets streaked down the vein that travelled to the base. Joel senses your apprehension and nudges your face back up with his knuckles.“Easy. Don’t go scarin’ yerself.”

He hikes you up with ease, the length of his cock wedged between your puffy folds. Rocking his hips against you, coating his cock with your slick. Gently, he kneads around your tits to ease your anxieties. “We don’t hafta do anythin’. Promise.”

You bit the insides of your cheeks, shaking your head almost immediately. Your hand holding over his assuredly as he rikes your top above your chest. Squeezing, rolling the softness in his palms. And god did it feel good with how rough his fingers felt on your skin.

His thumb swipes around your nipples, admiring the sight. “Tried to be the bigger person. I did.” He begins. Angling the tip of his cock into your entrance, soaked from your slick. You whine shakily, pussy fluttering, needing more.

“Told myself…you were outta bounds.”

He sighs, “yet you fuckin’ push…and test me.”

“You aren’t all that inno—“ His palm slips to hold your jaw up firmly, and with calculated shift, he bottoms out in you fully. “—nhhhnnt!” Your thighs instantly tenses around his hips, nails digging into his shoulder. You claw around his back, pulling him closer. Your whines grow louder against his neck, the dull ache from the stretch blurring into pleasure with his slow, deep grinds.

Joel steadies himself on the armrest of the couch, doesn't waste any time before his hips snap into you with a steadied pace. Fucking his thick cock in and out of your pussy. The intensity of his gaze intimated you. Deep brown eyes admiring just how well you were taking him. He needed to see the exact look on your face when you’d finally broken your strong willed self.

Broken and melted into him.

“Jo—el!”

He presses his body weight into you, thrusting you into the couch. Grunting into your ears with every snap of his hips. “Fuck…fuck…pussy’s fuckin’—” And he lets out a rough exhale, he was close. So goddamn close. “—chokin’ my cock…” You couldn’t manage anything more than garbled noises. Uhn-uhn-uhns muffled against his shoulders.

Joel brushes the sweaty strands of your hair away from your cheeks, peppering desperate kisses up your neck and jaw. He lowers his head to suckle around your nipples, fucking you slow and deep when the familiar feeling of his balls growing taut crept up. In a desperate attempt to buy himself some time, he squeezes around the base of his cock, painfully, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours.

You weren’t sure if you’d come either, the feeling felt foreign—your mind practically a puddle with the noises you weren’t even certain you were making. Joel leans down to slot his lips with yours, moaning lowly into it as his pace turned frenzied. The stifling weight of his body on yours tips you over the edge, your thighs quivering when the near white flashes draws out a choked moan out of you. Joel follows closely after, managing to pull his cock out in a moment of clarity, painting your tits with ropes of milky white.

He slumps next to you, forehead pressed against the side of your head. The kisses he presses by your jaw and cheeks drag you back to reality.

“Joel?”

“Mm.”

“Think the AC’s busted.”

The both of you look towards the temporary unit that he’d fixed up earlier, the machine sputtering and eventually whirring to imminent death.

“…Fuckin’ hell.”

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paigeandbands · 3 months ago

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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.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

The ranch wasn't what you expected.

You'd imagined something from a postcard—red barns, cheerful horses, maybe a friendly dog trotting up to greet you. Instead, you found a sprawling property that looked like it had been wrestled from the earth itself. The main house was all rough-hewn logs and a sagging porch, the wood weathered silver by decades of sun. A few outbuildings dotted the land, their roofs patched with rusted tin. And beyond it all, endless stretches of pasture fading into shadowy pines.

You were still sitting in your car, gripping the steering wheel, when the screen door creaked open.

He moved like the land did. Slow, deliberate, utterly unconcerned with anyone else's pace. Broad shoulders filled the doorway, his faded flannel rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and scars. His beard was more grey than brown, his hair just long enough to curl at the nape of his neck. But it was his eyes that caught you: dark, assessing, the kind of eyes that had seen too much to be impressed easily.

He studied you with dark eyes that missed nothing. Your clean sneakers, your manicured nails, the way you squinted against the sunlight like you'd never truly seen it before.

"You lost?" His voice was rougher than you expected, like gravel under tires.

You lifted your chin. "Are you Joel Miller?"

"You the one who called about workin' here?" His voice was gravel wrapped in velvet, the kind of sound that settled low in your stomach.

You swallowed. "Yeah. I, uh—I emailed last week."

He didn't smile. Just nodded once and stepped aside. "Better come in, then."

You learned fast that Joel Miller didn't waste words.

He showed you the ropes in silence—how to check the fence lines for breaks, how to tell if a horse was favouring a leg, which tools to use when a storm knocked a branch through the chicken coop roof. His hands were always moving, always working, rough fingers handling everything with a care that surprised you.

"You ever done any of this before?" he asked on your third day, watching you struggle to coil a rope properly.

You wiped sweat from your brow. "Does petting a pony at a county fair count?"

A huff. Not quite a laugh, but close. "Guess we're startin' from scratch, then."

He didn't baby you, though. When you spilled a bucket of grain, he made you sweep it up. When you misread the clouds and left the hay bales uncovered before a downpour, you spent the next afternoon hauling soggy bundles to the compost. But he never yelled. Never made you feel stupid. Just showed you, again and again, until your hands stopped shaking and your muscles stopped burning.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

You found him in the kitchen at 2 AM, the old percolator hissing on the stove.

"Couldn't sleep?" you asked, lingering in the doorway.

He didn't turn around. "Old habit. Used to take night shifts checkin' the herds."

You padded closer, the wooden floor cool under your bare feet. The kitchen smelled like coffee and cinnamon—he'd been baking earlier, you realized. There was still flour dusting the counter.

"Mind if I join you?"

A pause. Then he reached into the cabinet for a second mug.

You sat at the scarred oak table while he poured, the steam curling between you. Outside, the wind whispered through the pines.

"City girl like you," he said suddenly, sliding the coffee toward you. "What made you come out here?"

You wrapped your hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into your skin. "Needed to remember what quiet sounded like."

"Why'd you really come out here, darlin'?"

The endearment slipped out so naturally you almost missed it.

You watched the horizon lighten from black to deep blue. "I think... I needed to prove I could."

His knuckles brushed yours as he reached for the bottle. Neither of you moved away.

For the first time, Joel looked at you—really looked at you. And you saw something flicker in his gaze, something warm and understanding.

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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.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

The sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the fields as you and Joel made your way out into the vast expanse of the ranch. The air had warmed up since the early morning, and there was a gentle breeze rustling through the grass, carrying with it the sweet scent of wildflowers.

As you walked beside him, your thoughts drifted back to the peaceful breakfast you’d shared. The conversation had been easy, flowing naturally between you, but there had been something comforting in the silence, too.

When you reached the edge of the field, you stopped, your eyes falling on a patch of grass where Joel had already laid out a blanket. There, in the middle of the field, with nothing but the sounds of nature around you, he had set up a picnic. The scene was simple, but there was something about it that felt intimate, like a secret just for the two of you.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, the easy rhythm of sharing a meal together only adding to the sense of peace that seemed to settle over you both. After a few moments, Joel reached for the book beside him, holding it out to you with a slight grin.

“I thought you might like this one,” he said, his voice quiet. “It’s one of my favorites. I’ll read it to you, if you’d like.”

You took the book from his hands, glancing at the cover—The Secret Garden. Your heart warmed at the thought of him wanting to share something so personal. It felt like an invitation to step into his world, to see the things he held close.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

Joel settled back against the blanket, the sun casting a golden glow over him, and you curled up beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. The moment felt so simple, but in its simplicity, it was perfect. The world outside this small bubble you had created seemed to fade away as he began to read aloud, his voice deep and steady, the words flowing smoothly into the air.

As he read, you let yourself relax, the sound of his voice weaving a sense of comfort around you. There was something incredibly romantic about the way he read, each word filled with a quiet intensity, like he was sharing a piece of himself with you in each sentence. The book’s story was a good one, the characters coming to life with Joel’s voice, but it wasn’t just the story that held your attention—it was the feeling of being here with him, in this moment, with nothing else to do but listen and be present.

You could hear the occasional breeze stirring the trees, the distant call of a bird, but everything else seemed to fade into the background as you found yourself wrapped up in both the story and in him.

Eventually, Joel turned a page, pausing for a moment as he glanced at you. “You comfortable?” he asked, his voice low, almost like a whisper.

You nodded, lifting your head slightly to look up at him. “I’m perfect,” you said, and it was true. There was no place you’d rather be than here, beside him, feeling the warmth of the day and the gentleness of his presence.

Joel gave you a soft smile, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he returned to the book. He continued reading, his voice almost a soothing hum against the backdrop of the quiet ranch. Every now and then, you’d glance up at him, watching the way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way he spoke with such focus and care. It was moments like this—quiet, intimate, with no rush—that made everything feel so right.

As the story unfolded, you both became more absorbed in the tale, but time seemed to stretch, becoming less important. The whole world could have passed by, and you wouldn’t have noticed. It was just the two of you, sharing a peaceful day in the fields, wrapped up in a story and in each other.

When Joel finished the chapter, he closed the book and placed it beside him, his hand gently resting on the blanket. He looked over at you, his expression soft.

“Did you like it?” he asked, his voice a little hushed.

You smiled, a soft warmth spreading through you. “I did. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

He nodded, his lips curving up at the corners. “You’re welcome.”

There was a moment of quiet, a small but meaningful silence that held everything you both hadn’t yet said, but didn’t need to. You shifted slightly, turning to face him more fully, your gaze catching his. You could feel the subtle change in the air between you, the quiet understanding that had been building all morning, now palpable.

Slowly, as if it had always been meant to happen, you leaned in, closing the space between you. Joel’s hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin, and then, without any more words needed, your lips met. The kiss was slow and tender, the kind that lingered in your soul long after it ended.

When you pulled away, you stayed close, your foreheads resting together, both of you breathing in the same quiet rhythm.

“I think I could get used to this,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel smiled, his eyes soft with affection as he gazed at you. “Yeah. Me too.”

"You’ve... you’ve got a way of making everything feel a little different," Joel said, his voice catching slightly as he looked into your eyes. The silence that followed was thick, the weight of his words settling between you like a promise, an unspoken acknowledgment of something growing deeper between you both.

You could feel your heart beating a little faster. The way he was looking at you now was unlike anything you’d seen before. His gaze was hungry, but not in the way it had been before—this was more. More raw, more real.

You didn’t say anything in response. Instead, you let the tension build, your breath shallow as you reached for him, cupping his jaw gently in your hand. His breath hitched as your thumb traced the line of his jaw, and you couldn’t help but lean in just a little, your lips barely brushing against his.

Joel’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and when he opened them again, the storm that had always been present was even clearer now. You could see the restraint in the way his body was coiled, like a man holding back the tide.

“Don’t hold back,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to say more.

Joel didn’t need any more encouragement. His lips crashed against yours, hot and urgent, a mixture of relief and longing as if he were finally giving in to something he’d held at bay for far too long. The kiss was fierce, as though he were trying to make up for all the time spent keeping his distance.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging him closer as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him with a strength that made your breath hitch. The heat between you two grew, making the air around you seem almost too thick to breathe. You could feel the solid weight of him against you, the way his chest pressed into yours with each kiss, the way his hands wandered across your back, memorising every curve of you.

His lips left yours only long enough for him to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. "God, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me," Joel murmured, his voice rougher than usual, the words a low growl.

You laughed breathlessly, your hands still resting on his chest. "I think I’m starting to get the idea."

The blanket beneath you was rough against your bare thighs, the late afternoon sun warming your skin as Joel hovered over you, his body casting a shadow that made the gold in his eyes burn even brighter. His lips had just left yours, swollen and wet from the way he’d kissed you—deep, consuming, like he was trying to memorise the taste of you.

"You’re sure about this?" he asked, voice rough, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was already fighting the urge to take more.

In answer, you arched up against him, your chest brushing his, and Joel let out a low groan, his forehead dropping to yours.

"Christ," he muttered, his breath hot against your lips. "Out here like this—anyone could—"

You cut him off with a roll of your hips, grinding against the hard length of him, and Joel cursed, his restraint snapping.

His hands were everywhere at once—one tangling in your hair, the other sliding up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress higher until his calloused fingers met bare skin. You gasped as he traced the edge of your underwear, his touch teasing, maddening.

"Joel—"

"Tell me what you want," he growled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear before dragging down your neck, teeth scraping lightly.

You whimpered, your fingers clutching at his shirt. "You. Just you."

That was all it took.

His hand slid beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers finding you already wet, already aching for him. He groaned against your throat as he stroked you, slow at first, then firmer when your hips jerked against his touch.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he rasped, watching the way your body responded to him. "Look at you."

You could feel the tension coiling tighter, your breath coming in short gasps as his fingers worked you with a precision that had your toes curling. But just as you were teetering on the edge, Joel pulled back, leaving you empty, desperate.

Your protest was cut off when his mouth crashed back onto yours, his kiss filthy, his tongue sliding against yours as he guided your hand to his belt.

"Wanna feel you," he muttered against your lips, his voice wrecked. "All of you."

You didn’t hesitate. Your fingers fumbled with the buckle, then the button of his jeans, and when you finally freed him, Joel hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking into your touch.

He was thick, hot in your hand, and when you stroked him, his entire body tensed, his grip on your thigh tightening almost to the point of pain.

"Fuck—" His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breath ragged. "Gonna ruin me."

You smiled, squeezing lightly, and Joel growled, his patience gone.

In one swift motion, he yanked your underwear aside and pushed into you, filling you so completely that you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Joel stilled, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. "Okay?" he gritted out, his voice strained.

Joel's breath was fire against your neck, his body trembling with restraint as he waited for your answer.

"More than okay," you gasped, arching into him, needing him deeper.

That was all the permission he needed.

Joel moved with a roughness that stole your breath—deep, relentless strokes that had you seeing stars. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he drove into you again and again.

"Look at me," he growled, his voice raw.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his dark, hungry gaze. Sweat glistened on his brow, his jaw clenched tight with pleasure. The sight of him—undone, wrecked, yours—sent a fresh wave of heat spiraling through you.

"Joel—"

"Know what you do to me?" he rasped, his thrusts turning slower, deeper, dragging against every sensitive inch inside you. "Fuckin' ruin me."

You clenched around him, and his control snapped.

With a groan, Joel flipped you onto your back, pinning your wrists above your head as he surged into you, his rhythm turning desperate. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your moans as pleasure coiled tighter, hotter—until you shattered, crying out his name.

Joel followed with a broken groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, his forehead dropping to yours.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the heat of his body pressed against yours. Then Joel exhaled, rough and unsteady, his thumb brushing your cheek.

"Christ," he muttered, voice wrecked.

You grinned, still trembling beneath him. "That a complaint?"

Joel huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. "Ain't even close."

His touch gentled as he traced the curve of your waist, your hip, the inside of your thigh—checking, silently, for any discomfort. When he found none, his hand returned to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your kiss-swollen bottom lip.

"You good?" The question was gruff, but his eyes—dark and liquid in the low light—held an intensity that made your stomach flip.

You caught his wrist, pressing a kiss to his palm. "Better than good."

Joel’s throat worked. He leaned in, kissing you slow and deep, nothing like the frantic heat of before. This was something else—a claiming, a promise, a thank you that didn’t need words.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. His nose brushed yours, his breath warm on your skin. "Gonna take care of you," he murmured, already moving to slide down your body.

You caught his shoulder. "Joel—"

"Shhh." A kiss to your sternum. "Let me."

His mouth was hot as it traced the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his beard scraping deliciously. You gasped when his tongue laved over you, slow and thorough, his hands spreading you wide.

"Joel—"

His grip tightened. "Told you," he growled against your skin. "Gonna take my time."

And he did.

By the time he was done, you were boneless and breathless, your fingers tangled in his hair as he crawled back up your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your ribs, the flutter of your pulse.

"Still good?" he asked, his voice rough with satisfaction.

You could only nod, your limbs heavy with pleasure.

Joel smirked, that rare, real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Then he gathered you against him, tucking your head under his chin, his heartbeat steady against your cheek.

"Rest," he murmured, his hand stroking down your spine. "I got you."

And for the first time in your life, you believed it.

As you drifted, Joel reached for the spare blanket, draping it over you both. His fingers traced idle patterns on your shoulder—circles, spirals, the occasional brush of his knuckles—as if memorising you by touch.

Joel’s lips brushed your forehead. "Stay?"

Not a command. A question.

You curled closer, your leg hooking over his. "Try and make me leave."

His chest rumbled with quiet laughter, his arms tightening around you. "Wouldn’t dare."

And in the quiet that followed, wrapped in the heat of him, you realised—

You were home.

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