#modern pitcher

[arfaouihome]

Arfaoui Home's- Beautifully Crafted Dining Collection

Explore Arfaoui Home's timeless dining collection—crafted for classic sophistication and refined style, elevating every meal with enduring elegance.

[freakyjohnnysawyer]

Y’all fw these?

[hn-undercover-9503]

having normal feelings about this cover page

[box-dwelling]

With all love in the world to fic writers, and this isn't a set criticism just a trend, being a British person and seeing what colloquialism people have Wyll use will absolutely take me out of a fic at points. Like this is difficult and I'm not gonna hold it against any writer who does this but I very much do notice it. I don't even have advice because so much of it is a weird feel thing of the type of age of the people who use certain slang.

Wyll talks with pretty archaic British slang. It's not too ancient. It's still like stuff you might hear an older guy say, but it gives a certain feel to him speech of it being kinda old fashioned.

But sometimes people either don't get this or, honestly more common in what I see because most of the fics I read are from people who do understand him, people who, fairly because they aren't from here so wouldn't know, use slang that feels a little too modern and it just reads like Astarion just called someone bro.

But I don't know how to explain that lad singular is a word he does use in canon and makes sense, but lads plural feels so fundamentally wrong.

[toyastales]

A sun filled sitting area

[arthistoryanimalia]

#Caturday:

Ditmar-Urbach for Erphila, Czechoslovakia

Handled Cat Pitcher, c.1930s

glazed and hand painted ceramic, 7.75 x 7.75 x 4.25 in.

[waitingjackal]

Vintage midcentury modern Alamo pottery geometric blue pitcher

[estatesalefinds]

Portland, OR

[shadowlinktheshadow]

@vio-starzz

insane throwback to this

four swords modern high school au

except it still it starts off with just Link being one guy. then he gets hit by a magical isekai truck, but instead of being sent to a differernt world, he splits into four. shenanigans ensue

also, they are all on the baseball team.

[blooniverse]

Farmhouse Bathroom Los Angeles

Bathroom with gray floor, furniture-like cabinets, white walls, marble counters, and white countertops in a mid-sized farmhouse with 3/4-size white and marble ceramic tile.

[the-shedevil-writes]

King of Possibilities (Tyler Owens x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Tyler Owens was your best friend once, until he left for college and broke the promise to keep in touch. By the time he tried, your world had already fallen apart, and you weren’t interested in picking up the pieces with him. Years later, fate strands him on your porch with a busted truck and nowhere else to go. WORD COUNT: 5.9k WARNINGS: Childhood friends. Enemies to lovers. Angst (but it gets happy I swear). Emotional hurt/comfort. Confessions. Arguments. Kissing. NOTES: You should give King of Possibilities by Goldie Boutilier a listen :3 MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

Tyler Owens had his hands tied. He walked onto the all-too-familiar porch with his hands in his pockets and his tail between his legs. It looked exactly the same as it did all those years ago. The white wooden panels and the porch swing that creaked in the dry wind. The rickety door swung open, and there stood his old friend’s mother. Wrinkles and graying hair had appeared on the woman who treated him like a son growing up, and they suited her perfectly.

“Ms. Shirley, you’re glowing.” He said with that low country accent and charming smirk.

She laughed and slapped her hand against his shoulder. “Tyler. It’s been too long… My, you’ve gotten so big. Come on, now. It’s hotter than a two-dollar pistol out here.”

He chuckled and walked in. Thank god for Southern hospitality. His truck had broken down while passing through his old hometown, and he had nowhere to stay. With his parents having moved to Oklahoma City thanks to his streaming income, he forced himself to buck up and make the phone call. Money was running too tight to book a motel room like everybody else, but he’d never admit that. 

Stepping inside, he looked around. The decorations were slightly more modern than they used to be. There were fewer crosses and religious memorabilia than he remembered, and he was sure that the death of her father contributed to that. He had grown so much that the space now felt cramped. It used to look so big to him as a kid. 

“Does Y/n know I’m here?” He asked, looking down at the older woman.

She nodded her head, but didn’t say anything. Quickly busying herself with pouring him a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge, she let out a quick “Mmmhm.”

He let out a stressed chuckle and shook his head. “I take it she’s not too happy.”

Shirley looked at him with pursed lips and wide eyes. “Well…”

Y/n rode her grey Appaloosa mare, Checkers, down the fields. She told herself that she was making herself useful, making the rounds of the ranch. Scolding the chickens when they’d attempt to peck at the fence and counting cows, making sure none had somehow made it onto the main street. But deep down, she knew she was just distracting herself. All the main chores were already done by this point. There was something… someone who weighed heavily on her mind. She tried to keep her thoughts locked away. But they were like a box of bees, and her mom had just shaken the hell out of it.

When her mother told her that Tyler Owens was staying for a few days until his truck was fixed, she ran to her room and slammed the door like she was that heartbroken teenager again. 

She and Tyler were inseparable growing up, and only became closer in high school. She’d go to every one of his rodeos, and he’d stop by and help her out with the ranch. Though ‘help out’ was a strong presumption, they spent most of it running around and laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe. Every summer, they were glued at the hip. 

So when Tyler told her he was going to college, she didn’t worry. She figured they’d still remain close. Technology was getting better and better. They could text, call, and Skype. Though even then, she was a little teary-eyed, waving him goodbye from her truck as he stood on the steps of the university. It didn’t hit too harshly at first, because she was just so damn proud of him…

But then the texts and calls started getting fewer and fewer. He never had time to Skype. Yet she’d see what he’d post on Facebook and see all the photos of him partying. Riding mechanical bulls instead of real ones. Arms around girls who came and went. She stopped reaching out altogether.

After her father died, Tyler became scorched earth to her. She locked herself up and focused her efforts on the ranch and barrel racing at the rodeos when she could. And when Tyler made a name for himself as the famed ‘Tornado Wrangler, ’ whatever that meant, she blocked all his accounts. 

She spread out some feed for the chickens from horseback and steered herself back towards the stable. 

That’s when she saw him walking down the back porch and towards her.

Tyler Owens in a white shirt, jeans, and a cowboy hat. She hated it. She hated how bulky he had gotten and the facial hair that was groomed on him. She hated how he strode over with a newfound confidence. She hated how he looked good.

“As I live and breathe, someone came crawling back,” Y/n said, looking down at him from her high horse. She did enjoy the fact that she was above him from Checkers’ back.

He didn’t say anything, just looked up at her and took off his hat in almost respect. In almost servitude. 

“The Tornado Wrangler finally made time in his packed schedule for little old me.” She said snarkily, “Oh, no. He just needed a favor.”

“You look good, Y/n.” 

Rolling her eyes and pretending that it didn’t affect her so much was difficult, but she managed. 

“Mama won’t let me make you sleep in the hen house, so you’re sleeping on the couch.” She simply said before turning her horse and riding her into the stable. If it were back then, they could’ve easily shared a bed. Now she’d rather sleep in the hen house herself than share a bed with Tyler Owens.

Once she got under the roof, she climbed down and held onto the lead to guide Checkers into the empty stall. She gently rubbed up and down her muzzle. Checkers was one of the few horses that wasn’t so sensitive to touch, and instead sought it out. It was therapeutic for her. That’s why she never competed with Checkers. She was too special.

Calming down, she didn’t notice Tyler walking in and looking around.

“You renovated the stables.” He exclaimed, startling her.

She turned around with a glare. “Well, without you here to distract me, I started barrel racing. Needed to upgrade.” She looked around at her own handiwork, “So I added the Dutch doors that lead to the pasture and installed the fans. Insulated the roof and walls. Added the ridge vents.”

His brows raised. “You did all this?” 

“Hard to believe?” She asked, not even looking at him. 

He tentatively followed her as she walked down the stable, checking on each horse. He shook his head. “You never… You never did that sorta thing in high school.”

“Well, that was before Daddy died and before you left.” She said bluntly. Her anger bit into every word. 

The silence that followed could kill. It could strangle Tyler Owens till he was nothing but a slab of stone in a graveyard.

“Well… Your mom wanted me to tell you that supper’s gonna be ready soon. And to shower before you sit down at the table.” 

Her brows were furrowed as she looked at the horse in front of her, avoiding eye contact with him. “Got it. You can go now.”

With a small defeated huff, he turned around and walked back toward the house. It was then that the heartbreak she had been walling up began to make itself known. She wiped her teary eyes and pretended it was just sweat, just in case Tyler looked back. 

After her long, cold shower, she walked out into the kitchen in an oversized T-shirt and gym shorts. The old shirt was a rusty orange with a margarita design and the lyrics to Jimmy Buffett’s ‘Margaritaville.’ On the back in big bold letters was ‘It’s 5’o o'clock somewhere’.  She didn’t even remember where she had gotten it. 

Yet for some reason, when Tyler saw her from the kitchen table, he smiled knowingly. “I remember that shirt.”

“What about it?” She asked, sitting down across from him, slumped. Why’d their dining table have to be so small? She looked over at her mom, who was putting on oven mitts to grab the slow cooker.

“Play nice, Y/n.” She warned.

Tyler smirked at the interaction. “Used to be mine. Remember?”

She shook her head stubbornly as her mom put the pot roast on a little rubber mat between her and Tyler. She immediately started fixing her plate. Again, not sparing him a passing glance.

“Nope.” 

He tilted his head with a look of disbelief and looked over at Shirley and back before going. “We got rained on. We were in town getting seed, and your shirt was white, so I gave you that one to cover yourself up. Walked back shirtless and with chicken feed dripping down my back.”

The memory unfolded before her, and she did remember it now. Freshman year of high school. They didn’t let Tyler into the gas station to grab smokes for his dad. No shirt. No shoes. No service. But he refused to take the shirt back.

She sat silent for a moment as her mom sat down next to her. All the food was placed before them, and even though she had worked up an appetite being outside all day, she suddenly didn’t feel hungry.

“I remember that now.” She admitted softly before grabbing a roll of corn. 

“Seems like you don’t wanna remember a lot.” He quirked back, scooping some mashed potatoes onto his plate. Her mom had cooked as if twenty people were coming instead of just Tyler. But between the two of them, they both could eat like dogs.

She squinted her eyes at him. “Only thing I remember is you promising we’ll keep in touch.”

Her mother sighed, “Ya’ll. Let’s keep this civil. Looking at you, Y/n.” 

She scoffed with wide eyes. “Mama, am I wrong?” She hated the way she sounded. Tyler being there had aged her back ten years. Even her voice raised in pitch like she was eighteen years old again. 

Shirley just shook her head, refusing to comment. After a few more shoveled bites, Y/n got up from the table and cleared her plate quickly. It wasn’t polite. She almost always asked to be excused, but her mother didn’t scold her for that tonight. She clattered the plate into the sink and stormed off. 

Tyler looked at Shirley with an ashamed look on his face. The fact that he had hurt her had lingered deep in him for years. He hadn’t meant to. He had been a stupid kid, and found himself swept up in the new adventure of college and making new friends who weren’t the same four people in town. By the time he had thought about reaching out, she had stopped all communication. 

“I’m sorry about her, but you gotta understand-” Shirley started.

He shook his head. “No, no… Frankly, I deserve it.” He looked back over at the hallway she stormed down to her bedroom. “She’s still the same spitfire she was back then. Even more so.”

Shirley sighed, “That’s why she’s gonna end up without a husband and forty horses.” 

Tyler laughed. “Don’t say that. She’s gonna be just fine. I don’t think there’s a man in town who wouldn’t fall head over heels for her.”

“Until she comes at them with her… fiery personality.” Shirley explained, “We all tried. Tried setting her up on dates and with the other boys in town. But after Ben died, she just chewed them all up and spit them out. Focused on those goddamn horses instead.” 

He sat soaking it in. The fact that he wasn’t there when her father passed haunted him. It was during his finals week, and they hadn’t been talking for a while by that point. Sure, he had sent a card, but he was also sure it ended up in the trash. 

Shirley saw the solemn look on his face. She reached out and put her hand over his. “Lemme show you something.”

Y/n rolled around in bed. Usually, she’d knock out as soon as she hit the pillow. But the muffled chatter and laughter from the living room got louder and louder. Tyler’s stupid, gruff laugh rang out with her mother's, and it was driving her up the wall. 

With a huff, she walked out with her arms crossed and slowly walked over to the living room. Even though she was pissed… she really couldn’t be angry. It was barely nine. So instead, she crept forward, letting curiosity get the better of her. 

On the couch sat Tyler and her mom, and a sense of confusion washed over her. She looked and saw a leather-bound album on her mom’s lap. She’d never seen that before. 

“Remember that rodeo? You were so upset, but Y/n insisted that ice cream would make you feel better, so she practically dragged the two of us to Sparky’s Parlor ten minutes before closing.” Her mom retold, and as she peered over the couch, she saw the lost picture of her and Tyler eating a banana split. She was mid-laughter as Tyler was mid-bite.

She had thrown that picture out long ago. Actually, as she looked at the album pages, she had thrown out all of those photographs so long ago. They used to hang up around her room, or were in a little folder under her desk. Back when she used to spend all her allowance on point-and-shoot cameras. Her mom had taken a few of them, but it didn’t matter. They were all supposed to be gone.

“Where’d you get those?” Her voice came out small.

Tyler and her mom looked back, surprised by her presence.

“I held onto them. You spent so much money on all those rolls of film, we couldn’t let it go to waste.” Her mom said a little nervous.

But she wasn’t angry. A surprising sense of gratitude fell over her. The memories she had tried so hard to forget were still preserved. 

She leaned over onto the couch and placed her head between the two of them. Looking down at the album, she pointed to one of herself wearing a birthday hat, standing awkwardly in front of a frosted cake. Tyler had a grin on his face as he yelled something at her- it was him very enthusiastically singing Happy Birthday. 

“Got some use out of all that yelling, huh?” She directed the comment at Tyler.

He chuckled and looked over at her. Their faces were close… But then again, so was her mom’s. “Turns out audiences outside of you like it.”

She shook her head before standing back up. “Put it away, Ma. I look awful in them.” She stated before walking away. 

And before she closed the door, she could hear Tyler say, “We’re getting somewhere.”

Seeing Tyler in her kitchen the next morning felt strange. For one, he was up at the crack of dawn, just like she always did. She didn’t let her mom touch an ounce of the farmwork, so that meant waking up early to do the hard jobs before the heat set in.

Secondly, it sent her flashes to her favorite summers, where he was over practically every day. A sense of déjà vu coursed through her.

“Mornin’” Tyler stated holding up a coffee mug as he leaned against the counter like he owned the damn place.

“Morning.” She reluctantly grumbled, opening the cabinet to grab a mug herself, but was interrupted by Tyler sliding over an already steaming cup towards her. She took it. “Thanks.”

The early morning silence was peaceful with the sound of the birds waking up outside. But now there was this tense awkwardness between them, and it was pissing her off.

“Need any help with the chores?” Tyler asked, crossing his arms.

“Been doing them on my own for the past seven years, so no.” She said.

He sighed and took a sip. “You know that the two of us can finish this ranch in half a day. Could do it back then, could probably do it faster now.” 

He was right, and she knew it. The day would be done in half the time with somebody else. And especially if that somebody was already well-versed, and probably (most definitely) stronger than her. 

She gave him a tense smile. “Well, if you’d like to shovel and scrape the shit out of all the pens-”

“Got it.” He interrupted, and when she was caught off guard, he let out a laugh. “You know that doesn’t bug me. You gotta try harder than that.”

“If you’d like to clean out all the troughs, go right ahead.” She said with a challenging brow. Cleaning out the troughs meant dealing with the great mystery slime of animal saliva and chewed-up food. Sometimes there’d be a dead bird or drowned rat in there on the bad days. 

“I’ll do it.” He said.

“Cleaning out all the fly and mouse traps.”

“Consider it done.”

For a moment, she had forgotten everything, and she was simply going back and forth with her best friend. But she didn’t let that nostalgia transfer into a smile on her face. She kept her face cold as stone.

She looked him up and down.

“Good. You’ve got your list for today, then.” She walked out the back porch door.

Tyler was in the middle of changing out a huge fly trap by the stable when he saw her. Y/n rode on an Appaloosa horse that he didn’t recognize. The job was Tyler’s least favorite. He’d rather shovel shit than deal with the heebie jeebies of taking out a wax card of dead flies and mosquito’s. That’s not even to mention the mouse traps. But he was also well aware that it was her least favorite, too. Or at least it had to be. She always squealed at the sight of any bug back then… But it seems she was forced to face it head-on after him.

Being able to watch her was a perk, at least. She looked downright gorgeous on that horse. Her hat shadowed her, and her hair blew back as she strided the horse down towards the chicken coop. She had changed a lot since he had last seen her. He’d see the photos on her mom’s social media, but nothing beat seeing her in real life. Her face calm as she wiped sweat off her brow and took off her flannel, tying it around her waist. This was when she was most beautiful, and he wished that she didn’t look so angry around him.

She threw some feed over the fence, and he could vaguely hear her talking to the chickens as if they were people. It had always made him laugh growing up, and as he let out a soft chuckle, he realized it still did today. 

After she finished feeding the chickens, she turned the horse to head in another direction, but saw Tyler. They both froze for a moment, just staring. There was this obvious feeling of missing each other between them, and he wanted to resolve it so badly. It felt like an itch he couldn’t scratch. A problem he knew that once it was resolved, would fix everything. 

He waved, and she took it as a sign to come over. As the horse trotted closer, he got a fluttering feeling in his chest. It was like he’d been noticed by a celebrity. Which was ironic considering that he was somewhat one himself.

Her horse skidded to a halt next to him.

“Having fun, Owens?” She asked with a tight fake smile.

He looked up at her for just a second before hanging his head with a laugh. “So much so, actually.”

She rolled her eyes. “When’s that truck gonna be fixed?”

“Two days from now, why?” 

An evil smirk lifted her face, and he groaned a little. He’d be doing this collection of the worst possible chores for the next few days, and he knew it. 

She shrugged and continued riding on. 

Y/n was having too much fun. She got to do all of her favorite parts of ranching while he did all the dirty work. Of course, a part of her felt guilty for making him do that. She wasn’t completely evil, and watching him shovel shit didn’t make her feel as satisfied as she’d hoped it would. But she did hope that it’d at the very least teach him a lesson. Give him a taste of what her life looked and felt like for so many years.

They’d completed everything by mid-afternoon, which was way earlier than she was used to. Usually, she’d walk in just in time to shower for supper at sunset. It was the perfect weather too, with grey skies and rolling clouds that blocked the sun. Tyler would always get so excited about ANY possibility of a storm growing up. So subconsciously, she enjoyed these days too.

She was walking down past the sheep pen and down towards the house when she saw Tyler doing the same thing.

“UH UH, Owens. You’re not walking in my mama’s house trailing in every disgusting substance known to man.” She called after him.

He slowly turned and put his hands on his hips. “Is that not what you do every day?”

A smirk lit up her face again. “I hose off.” And it was true. She’d hose off her hands and her boots before drying them off and walking back in. But she had a better idea for Tyler.

“Really? Show me.” He said, unconvinced. He clearly didn’t believe that she did, and was just using it to get the chance to blast him with water. Which… yes and no.

She gestured for him to come follow her to the side of the house. They walked up to a little tiled-off area with the hose. Towels were already set up on the stool for the following days. There were a few boots that sat left to dry.

Tyler gave a little groan mixed with a laugh. But he just watched as she got the hose and turned on the spout. A gentle stream of water poured through the nozzle. 

“It’s just a little water, Tyler.” She said, but a hint of trouble melted over her tone. 

He ran his hands down his face and then threw them up. “Okay. Okay.” He sauntered over and reached for the hose, but she pulled it just out of his reach. His brows raised. “Sweetheart, I can hose myself off like a big boy.”

She couldn’t help but widen her eyes in surprise. Jesus Christ. When did Tyler develop a habit of calling people sweetheart? Suddenly, she was wishing he called her that more. 

Pulling herself together, she scrunched her brows at him. “I don’t want you wasting water.” It was a flimsy excuse, but they both knew what she wanted to do. 

He sighed, knowing she was too stubborn to give it up, and walked towards the tile. His face automatically flinched as he put his hands behind his back.

“STOP ACTING LIKE I’M GONNA SHOOT YOU DOWN.” She couldn’t resist the pure laugh that came out of her. “You’re like a god damn baby.” 

“Just do it alread-”

She predictably changed the nozzle to a spray of pressure and shot the water all over him. Cackling as she ran the water up and down him. 

“Are you-”

She moved the hose back up to his face, shutting him up. By the time she was done, his flannel and tank top were sticking to his body like wax paper. And his medium wash jeans had become a dark navy blue. She turned the hose off, afraid she had gone a little too far, until he started laughing and running his hand down his face. 

He scooped water out from the bridge of his nose. And while he was momentarily blind, she took the second to watch how his shirt had become see-through. Her breath hitched at the sight of his muscles. They both had grown up, and he wasn’t the scrawny boy she used to know. Sure, back in the rodeo days, he had strong biceps and shoulders, but he was so lean. Now he was just… pure muscle. 

Tyler suddenly started walking towards her. “Get over here.” He said gruffly with a smile.

She squealed and tried to run away while using the hose to fend him off, but it weighed her down. “NO! NO! TYLER!”

He managed to wrap his arms around her waist and pick her up, grabbing the hose from her hands and dousing her. 

“There ya go. Now we’re both clean.” He said through their shared laughter. 

They didn’t even notice Shirley watching the commotion from the side window, shaking her head with a nostalgic smile on her face. She turned back in and returned to cook for supper. 

She looked up at him as he turned off the hose. They were both completely drenched, their clothes slightly see-through. And Tyler let his arms linger around her waist. Her breath audibly hitched as he looked down at her with those sea green eyes. But after a moment that felt too long, she got her bearings and escaped his grasp. She grabbed one of the towels off the stool and threw it at him. 

“I’m showering first.” She said firmly, but her attitude didn’t feel as strong as before. It was like her defenses were slowly being chipped away. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Tyler said, using the towel to dry his hair. 

That night, Y/n found herself in her room, having snuck the album her mom had made. She went through the pages, and it felt like someone had broken through her chest and gripped her heart. It hurt. Even though he was in the next room over. It hurt like he was still gone. 

She flipped through way too many pictures of Tyler. Him on the walk to school with her. Him with one of her chickens on his shoulder. Him riding her old horse. He was so young in all of them, with a baby face, barely able to grow any facial hair. There wasn’t a single photo where he wasn’t grinning ear to ear. 

Those weren’t too bad. The ones that hurt were the ones her mom or somebody else had taken of her and Tyler. Proms and homecomings. They had their separate dates or went as friends, but still always needed a picture together. Birthdays. Trips to the lake. Graduation.

She looked at the last one in the album. It was a picture of her and Tyler on the steps of his University. The last time she had ever properly seen him before this whole incident. Their arms were wrapped around each other. Her eyes were teary, and for the first time, he wasn’t wearing a grin. He had a sad, no-teeth smile on his face as he had his arm around her shoulder.

A tear drop fell onto the plastic sheet of the photos. She didn’t even realize that she had been crying and sniffling like a baby. Stifling a sob, she got up and walked out of her bedroom. 

Knowing Tyler was asleep on the couch, she walked briskly past, trying not to wake him. Her hand covered her mouth as she stumbled through the dark to get out through the back porch.

By the time she had shut the sliding door and run towards the stable, she didn’t notice Tyler sitting up, having been awake the whole time.

It was just what she needed to ground herself. Sitting on the floor of the stable stall with Checkers, who lay half asleep, but eager for the random midnight pets. She scratched behind her ears and down her muzzle. Running her fingers through her mane, she was able to finally let out a shaky breath. 

The night was quiet and still. Nothing but the hum of the fans and the whirring of the cicadas in the distance. She gently let the back of her head hit the wall.

“Y/n?” A voice called. Shit.

Checkers got up, startled with a whinny. She quickly got up with her and gently put her hands on her muzzle, grounding her again. “Hey hey hey. Shhhhh. Shhhh.” She hushed, calming the horse down. 

She didn’t look over at Tyler, standing outside the stall in pajama pants and a grey T-shirt. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to spook her.” He said, coming closer and leaning on the stall door. He put his forearms on the top and rested his chin on them, watching her. “I don’t recognize this one.”

She swallowed and wiped her swollen eyes with her forearm. “Checkers.” Her voice came out weaker than she had hoped. She just wanted to pretend like everything was normal. “This is Checkers.”

Tyler reached out, and Checkers instantly came over and nodded her head towards his hand. “People lover. I see why you ride this one a lot.” He gently patted the horse's head.

She stayed silent and just watched as he gave the horse some love. 

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” He asked, not looking at her, like she was a scared animal that he needed to gain the trust of.

She coughed. “Nothing. There’s nothing.” She said as she walked out the stall door and down towards another one. The white horse in that one didn’t get up, and instead lay sleeping. It was a common misconception that horses always slept standing up. Only sometimes. And this horse wasn’t as loving as Checkers was.

“You’re in the stable in the middle of the night crying…” He pointed out, and she sniffled, just proving his point. 

He pried away from Checkers and meandered towards her at the next stall. Looking down at her, he went to reach out and brush some of her wild hair out of her face, but she turned the other way, dodging him. 

“Come on. Y/n, please.”

Her face crumpled up, and her eyes naturally watered to a point where they overflowed. “I hate you. I hate you so much.” Her voice cracked, “You left me. You-you promised we would stay in touch, and you couldn’t-you didn’t even do it when he died.” 

His face softened to another level she had never seen before. With big eyes and a soft frown on his face. “I know. I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry, it’s not even funny.”

Everything was pouring out of her heart and reaching her face to spill out of her mouth. “I had no one! Dad’s dead, you’re AWOL, mom’s in a catatonic state, and I had a whole ranch to somehow take care of while grieving the one person that came before YOU.” She didn’t mean to yell, but it just naturally came out that way. “You threw me away like I was nothing.” 

She didn’t miss the tears in Tyler’s eyes now. He sniffed and pinched his nose to get rid of them. 

“You’re not nothing. If I could go back in time, I’d do anything to stop myself from doing that to you. It haunts me. Every day.”

“THEN WHY HAVEN’T YOU REACHED OUT?” She pushed his chest. “HUH? You’re too busy with your whole internet fame? And your groupies and buckle bunnies?” She hated that term. She’d always scold Tyler for using it growing up, yet here she was using it. 

Even though she was shoving him and yelling, Tyler didn’t move towards her. He didn’t raise his voice. “Because I knew it was too late. I knew that nothing I did would ever make up for leaving you on your own like that. And while I’m here, I sure am trying. But no matter how many troughs I clean or traps I change, I know it won’t make a dent towards the debt I owe you.”

She hiccuped and put her hand to her chest. Her inhales were sharp, and she looked up at the roof, as if the tears could just go back in her eyes. All the hurt that she had been suppressing had spilled out right in front of her. It was terrifying. There was a silence as she thought about what to say. So Tyler took the chance.

“I don’t want you to ever forgive me for that, okay?” Tyler said, stepping towards her now, and he sighed as she finally didn’t move away. 

In the smallest voice possible, like it was a secret she wasn’t supposed to say, she said, “I missed you so much.” 

He wrapped his arms around her, and she didn’t fight it. Though she didn’t move at first. After a minute, she brought her arms up and wrapped them around his trunk of a torso. 

Tyler sniffled, tearing up, “I missed you, too.” He murmured into her hair. 

Two days later, a rusty pick-up truck drove up and parked on the street beside the house. Tyler and Y/n walked out onto the front porch so slowly, like they were stalling for time. She took in the sight of the pick-up with all the weather gadgets and add-ons to it. 

“Wow… Looks like… a hot mess.” She said honestly, which made him laugh. 

The last two days were spent working on the farm, and it was like no time had passed. She was still trapping Tyler in milking stations, and he was still trying to sneak hay into her hair any chance he could. Doing the chores together instead of separately made the tasks go by even faster, so that they could spend the rest of the day eating her mom’s cooking and talking on the porch swing as the fireflies whizzed by. 

A tan man from the driver's seat of the pick-up truck rolled down the window, “LET’S GO, TYLER! COME ON! GOT SOME CELLS IN THE EAST AND NEW ROCKETS!” His shrill voice called out.

“One second, Boone,” Tyler yelled back with less intensity. He raised a finger to him and turned back to her.

“Sounds exciting.” She said, looking up at him.

He paused just to soak in her face for a moment.  “Yeah, well… we’re just going a town over.” There was silence, and he reached out to grab her hand. He squeezed it, and she took in a deep breath. “I’ll be back right after, okay?” 

A terrible feeling in her gut returned. The fear that he wouldn’t be back, and that she’d be left in the dust again. And he read her very obvious face with a small nervous smile. 

He took his alabaster cowboy hat off his head and placed it on hers. “Take care of this for me. I’ll be back for it.” 

It surprised her. She knew he wore that hat all the time. It was practically embedded in his branding for his channels. So the fact that it was now resting on her head gave her a sense of confidence again. 

He went to step off the porch, but she gripped his hand before he could take it away. Pulling him towards her, she stood on her toes to connect her mouth with his. Surprised, but very happy, Tyler immediately kissed her back and wrapped his arms around her waist. He brought one hand to tilt her hat up and make space for him before returning it to her waist. She hugged him tightly, and he pulled her into his chest, making her back arch into a backwards C. With a small chuckle, she pulled away. 

“For good luck.” She shrugged. 

“Oh, I’ll be back for more of that, too.” He said, leaning in again. 

[sprintingowl]

Deadball

Deadball Second Edition is a platinum bestseller on DrivethruRPG. This means it's in the top 2% of all products on the site. Its back cover has an endorsement from Sports Illustrated Kids.

It's also not an rpg I'd heard about until I discovered all of these facts one after another.

I was raised in a profoundly anti-sports household. My father would say stuff like "sports is for people who can't think" and "there's no point in exercising, everything in your body goes away eventually." So I didn't learn really any of the rules of the more popular American sports until I was in my mid twenties, and I've been to two ballgames in my life. I appreciate the enthusiasm that people have for sports, but it's in the same way that I appreciate anyone talking about their specific fandom.

One of the things that struck me reading Deadball was its sense of reverence for the sport. Its language isn't flowery. It's plain and technical and smart. But its love for baseball radiates off of the pages. Not like a blind adoration. But like when a dog sits with you on the porch.

For folks familiar with indie rpgs, there's a tone throughout the book that feels OSR. Deadball doesn't claim to be a precise simulation or a baseball wargame or anything like that---instead it lays out a bunch of rules and then encourages you to treat them like a recipe, adjusting to your taste. And it does this *while* being a detailed simulation that skirts the line of wargaming, which is an extremely OSR thing to do.

For folks not familiar with baseball, Deadball starts off assuming you know nothing and it explains the core rules of the sport before trying to pin dice and mechanics onto anything. It also explains baseball notation (which I was not able to decipher) and it uses this notation to track a play-by-play report of each game. Following this is an example of play and---in a move I think more rpgs should steal from---it has you play out a few rounds of this example of play. Again, this is all before it's really had a section explaining its rules.

In terms of characters and stats, Deadball is a detailed game. You can play modern or early 1900s baseball, and players can be of any gender on the same team, so there's a sort of alt history flavor to the whole experience, but there's also an intricate dice roll for every at bat and a full list of complex baseball feats that any character can have alongside their normal baseball stats. Plus there's a full table for oddities (things not normally covered by the rules of baseball, such as a raccoon straying onto the field and attacking a pitcher,) and a whole fatigue system for pitchers that contributes a strong sense of momentum to the game.

Deadball is also as much about franchises as it is about individual games, and you can also scout players, trade players, track injuries, track aging, appoint managers of different temperaments, rest pitchers in between games, etc.

For fans of specific athletes, Deadball includes rules for creating players, for playing in different eras, for adapting historical greats into one massively achronological superteam, and for playing through two different campaigns---one in a 2020s that wasn't and one in the 1910s.

There's also thankfully a simplified single roll you can use to abstract an entire game, allowing you to speed through seasons and potentially take a franchise far into the future. Finances and concession sales and things like that aren't tracked, but Deadball has already had a few expansions and a second edition, so this might be its next frontier.

Overall, my takeaway from Deadball is that it's a heck of a game. It's a remarkably detailed single or multiplayer simulation that I think might work really well for play-by-post (you could get a few friends to form a league and have a whole discord about it,) and it could certainly be used to generate some Blaseball if you start tweaking the rules as you play and never stop.

It's also an interesting read from a purely rpg design perspective. Deadball recognizes that its rules have the potential to be a little overbearing and so it puts in lots of little checks against that. It also keeps its more complex systems from sprawling out of control by trying to pack as much information as possible into a single dice roll.

For someone like me who has zero background in baseball, I don't think I'd properly play Deadball unless I had a bunch of friends who were into it and I could ride along with that enthusiasm. However as a designer I like the book a lot, and I'm putting it on my shelf of rpgs that have been formative for me, alongside Into The Odd, Monsterhearts, Mausritter, and Transit.

[targaryenfelikayt]

before. |Boys from horror|

characters: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Art the clown. wc: 2, 758 summary: what happened a couple of hours before you were kidnapped. tags/warnings: suspense, slow burn, road trip, hurt/comfort, weird romance. note: my magical ladies, you can read this part separately, but I recommend dedicating time to Bo and Vincent to develop these men a little better🍓

Bo Sinclair.

Night had fallen thick over the abandoned town. No passing cars broke the silence, no obnoxious commercials or drunken laughter, only crickets and the wind chasing dust through the streets. A creak echoed from the guest room: the girl had woken up, stifled by the heat. Bo had warned them earlier, when setting up the sleeping arrangements, that the windows didn’t have mosquito screens. Still, it was better than spending the night cramming into a car. An ordinary SUV wasn’t built for three people to rest in.

She carefully rose from the bed, stepping around her friend and then the guy, nearly stumbling in an attempt not to step on anyone’s arm or leg. With a quiet sigh, she slipped out and gently closed the door behind her.

Downstairs, the lights were still on. A radio station played a week’s worth of state-wide news in the background. Under the lull of crime reports, she wandered off to find a pitcher of water.

“You can’t sleep?”

The voice came from the terrace.

Bo Sinclair had been there the whole time, quietly watching her movements, a glass of chilled lemonade in hand. Watching the droplets slide down his large hand, she swallowed involuntarily.

“I could have slept just fine, if it weren’t for the heat.”

“Told you,” he said, getting up from the bench and stepping into the kitchen. “I don’t take guests often. Go ahead and sit, I’ll get everything.”

She let out a quiet laugh and dropped into the offered chair. Outside it was much cooler.

“Knew it’d come in handy,” he said, draping a blanket over her shoulders before sitting down across from her.

“That’s very courteous of you. Thank you. I must’ve said that word a dozen times already, but really, Bo, if it weren’t for your help, I don’t know what we would’ve done.”

Hiding a crooked smirk behind his glass, Bo simply waved her off, what kind of man would he be if he left people in a situation like that?

And the lemonade was good. There was something spicy in the taste, something elusive that made you want more.

And the night… so dark… and the sky… so full of stars…

“You can sleep,” came his velvet voice, cutting through the haze. “I’ll keep watch over your dreams.”

With a single motion, Bo crossed the terrace and lifted her into his arms.

And she remembered what the grown-ups always said: Never take anything from strangers’ hands.

Even if they’re terribly charming.

Vincent Sinclair.

If anything could go wrong, it would, Murphy’s Law in full effect. The local bus that had been making runs for years? Broke down. The replacement? Out of state on a private charter. No friends going that way. No friends of friends either. And there are no other transport options on the horizon. Only one couple with an old pickup truck seemed resigned to making the trip by themselves and kindly offered to take the girl along.

“Rough day?” the older man asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

Modern youth lived under constant stress yet seemed completely unprepared for sudden changes. Understandable. These kinds of surprises left no energy for anything else.

“The week has been rough,” she replied with a smile, resting her hands on the sides of her white sundress. “I thought maybe bad luck wouldn’t follow me into the next town.”

Flashing lights of a road barrier and a detour sign appeared up ahead.

“Looks like it’s not done with you yet,” the woman said with an optimistic smile, right before the first pothole stole it away.

“Or maybe it’ll be a couple hours of bad luck,” her husband replied dryly.

The girl accepted her fate. There was nothing more she could do. At least she had decent company, it was best not to ask for too much or tempt fortune to take it away.

The first half of the trip passed under a soundtrack of old country songs and hopeful chatter. The second half, however, was marked by a worsening road and an increasing urge to cry.

The driver muttered something about needing gas, just as a rusted “Welcome” sign peeked out from behind wild vegetation.

“Didn’t think this town still existed. We’ll stop in, fuel up, see what’s what.”

“Is that really necessary?” his wife asked, frowning. This would mean another delay.

“We’re running on fumes. And if we hit a traffic jam? No, sorry, this old man isn’t risking it when we’ve got a chance to fill up.”

The girl glanced out the window. No signs of civilization, only sparse woods flashing past. She would’ve kept daydreaming, lost in her own thoughts, if not for the woman’s sudden comment:

“Sweetheart, you look just like an actress I used to love, back in my day. In that dress, I mean.”

Lester Sinclair.

Hitting a wild boar early in the morning on a deserted road? Sounds like a challenge and the girl accepts it. The impact rattles her vision, and the screech of brakes still echoes in her ears. Staggering, she got out of the car, surprised she didn’t end up in a ditch. The animal lies on its back, its side punctured and bleeding, but still alive.

What if she takes it to a vet? No, the nearest town is who knows how far, there’s no time.

Maybe she could give it first aid? Damn, it’s a wild animal, injured and disoriented. That makes it dangerous.

She runs through every option in her head, but none involves putting the poor boar down. She just can’t bring herself to slit its throat, even if it ends its suffering.

Suddenly, a truck appears ahead, flashing its high beams. She waves it down, and soon a man steps out.

“What happened, missy? Not watching the road?” the redneck greets her with a grin, ignoring the situation in front of him.

“Very funny. Can you do anything?”

He glances between his dog, the girl, and the boar before replying:

“Well, nothing much to do but butcher the pig and move on.”

She groans and leans against the bumper, unwilling to accept it. Lester tries to console her, saying it’s just his job, nothing unusual, it was an accident. Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a person.

“You know what you need right now?”

“A shot of moonshine?” she replies with a smirk, sliding back into her car.

“No,” he scratches his head, “well, maybe that too. But I meant dog therapy. Rub her belly while I take care of this.”

Without asking, he shoves his four-legged friend into her car and gets to work. The dog snuggles against her hands, climbing into her lap. At least someone’s having a good day.

The redneck taps on the window. When she rolls it down, a shaggy face greets her.

“You’re good to go, ma’am. Though your headlight’s busted. I’d drive to the nearest town just in case. If you turn right in a couple miles, you’ll hit Ambrose.”

“God, I don’t even know how to thank you.”

She offers him a ten, but he refuses outright. So, she discreetly slips the bill into the dog’s collar and opens the door for her, giving her a heartfelt squeeze goodbye.

“Oh, and one more thing” he leans down to the open window, “tell Bo, the guy who owns the workshop, I’ll be there in an hour or so. Tell him to wait up.”

“Uh, sure.”

It’s not like she could say no to a small favor. All she had to do was deliver a message, and Ambrose was already on her way.

Jason Voorhees.

Yes, she admits the place was eerily quiet, even for somewhere infamous for its terrifying, unexplainable events. Yes, some psycho in a mask had nearly caught her last time, though for some reason, he let her go. And yes, coming back here alone was a stupid, reckless decision, she had a hundred "yes" raced through her mind as her feet carried her toward the lake.

There were always dark tales about it. They said a boy drowned there many years ago, and his mother, unable to cope with her grief or perhaps through something more powerful, created an immortal being. That’s what the old folks used to say, though over time the story turned into a legend. She’d even told it around a campfire herself during her first visit. But coming face to face with a man in a hockey mask had wiped the smile right off her face.

Later, of course, she calmed down and told herself it could’ve been a copycat. There were plenty of idiots like that these days, and places like Crystal Lake attracted them like bees to honey.

So why was she here again?

Even though she didn’t fully know. She wanted to believe she’d find the answer here, but where to start and what exactly she was even looking for remained unclear. The forest called to her, its smells drawing her off the dirt road and deeper inside.

Jason had already noticed the girl returning to his domain. He’d let her go once, not that it mattered much. No one ever came back here after surviving. That was rare. Voorhees didn’t usually miss, and the old reliable machete helped make sure of that.

“Hey!” the girl cupped her hands around her mouth, “Anyone here?”

A minute passed. Then another. Nothing. Not a twig snapped under a heavy footstep.

“Right. Who were you expecting, Jason Voorhees?” she muttered under her breath.

But the man heard her. A small, involuntary smile twisted the lips behind his mask. She was closer to the truth than she knew.

Michael Myers.

Halloween was the kind of day when kids and adults alike could dress up, have fun, and play a different role. Though the girl didn’t share the general excitement or her friend’s enthusiasm, she still agreed to spend the holiday together. Her parents never let her collect much candy as a child, so now she indulged her need for that festive spirit as an adult.

Her friend was running embarrassingly late, despite setting the meeting time herself. The girl decided to call her. A couple of rings later, she heard loud curses and an echo, meaning the call was on the speaker in the car.

“Sorry, I’m on my way. I didn’t realize the city would go full-on insane tonight, literally.”

“What, drunk teens throwing themselves in front of your car?”

A soft laugh came from the other end, followed by a more serious, “No.”

“I just wasn’t ready for the overwhelming number of costumes. Maniacs, murderers, every kind of unsocialized citizen our beautiful country has to offer. By the way, what are you wearing?”

She was about to mention her fairy costume but stopped herself. That would ruin the surprise she’d worked so hard on those wings alone were a struggle! They even itched at her shoulder blades, right where they attached to her dress. Her mom had suggested magnets, but no, wire seemed like a better choice, it didn’t stick out when she moved.

“You’ll see me before all those ‘citizens’ do.”

“Ooh,” her friend teased, “intriguing. I’ve seen like five Michael Myers already, and they all look like knockoffs from some cheap Chinese website.”

“Even that deserves some praise.”

Suddenly, loud screeching brakes came through the phone, followed by fresh swearing, this time not aimed at her.

“Hey, you still there? Speaking of the devil, someone just wandered into the road, like he thought he was invisible. And you know what? He didn’t even flinch at my yelling. Just stared at me with those dead eyes.”

“Well, you did say people weren’t trying very hard. Sounds like this imitator’s really committed to the role.”

The girls laughed it off. No way there were some weirdos going to ruin the holiday. Not on All Hallows’ Eve.

Thomas Hewitt.

Oh, lovely Texas! Everyone had said the air was different here, and they were right. The air truly was different, tinged with dust, and completely devoid of moisture, but it was worth it. The girl drove mile after mile, estimating how much longer the road stretched ahead. Her back had gone numb a couple of hours ago, and her legs had cramped more than once. She might’ve kept going if she hadn’t noticed how strangely the car’s engine was acting. Of course, the heat was taking its toll on a vehicle meant for city driving. With no distilled water or any kind of coolant in the trunk, the only sensible option was to turn into the nearest roadside store.

She spotted a run-down but stereotypically Texan gas station. Leaving her car under a flimsy awning held up more by faith than structure, she stepped inside. The only other person was an elderly woman, who didn’t seem to be handling the midday heat too well. Distracted by the bell over the door, the woman dropped the sack of grain she’d been carrying.

“Sorry, let me help you,” the girl said quickly, stepping behind the counter to lift the heavy burlap bag onto her back.

“Oh, darling, you don’t have to…”

“It’s alright, just show me where it goes.”

The old woman pointed toward a trailer near a broken-down gas pump. A few other sacks were already there, so the girl made quick work of it and wiped the sweat from her brow.

“I feel bad making a customer carry my grain,” the woman said.

“Better me than you,” the girl waved it off. “I actually came to get some water for my engine.”

The old woman smiled and walked to a shelf stocked with automotive supplies. It was a wonder any of it was still within its expiration date, judging by the surroundings, customers were rare here.

“Not afraid to leave your car unattended?” the woman called from behind the counter as she rang up the purchase.

“Nope.” The girl pulled aside her shirt, revealing a pistol holstered at her hip. “I’m no good with moving targets, but I shoot clays regularly. If anything does come up, I won’t miss.”

Something flickered in the woman’s eyes, and her already sweet smile turned even more syrupy.

“Oh, honey, you'd be just perfect for my son. The ideal daughter-in-law.”

The girl smiled politely as she took the jug. Old age sure had its quirks.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Take care.”

“Be safe, sweetheart.”

As she started up the engine again, she noticed the woman watching her from the window. No, she wasn’t ready for marriage, let alone getting stuck in a place like this.

Art the Clown.

The art of pantomime required not just discipline but a keen eye for detail, so fine it could vanish in the blink of an eye. That clown putting on a whole show inside the diner looked oddly familiar. Yes, she’d seen him before, maybe last Halloween, passing a party shop filled with holiday decor. Dozens of those places popped up all over the city before the holiday. And who’s to say it was even him?

Her attention drifted to her coffee mug as she stirred in the sugar. Without looking up, she reached for the creamer, only to touch something soft. A white glove.

The clown was sitting right in front of her, beaming with the most charming and frankly, most unsettling smile. He held out both hands, lifting them alternately, as if weighing options.

“You want me to choose?” she asked uncertainly.

He nodded enthusiastically.

A man at the next table chimed in, amused, “Looks like we’ve got a magic trick that needs an assistant.”

There were plenty of attractive women around, each with equally attractive company, but what could she do? The sooner she picked, the sooner she could get back to watching instead of participating.

She looked at both fists once more and pointed to the left.

“Yes, I’m sure. Open it.”

But the hand was empty. The clown didn’t seem disappointed though, he leaned forward and, with a swift movement, pulled a flower from behind her ear.

“Thanks,” she said, managing a more awkward smile as she accepted the gift.

Meanwhile, he flipped over the napkin holder to reveal a stash of single-serve creamers. His gloved hands applauded her performance, and others in dinner joined in. With one last grin, he handed her a small note, then vanished out the door in the blink of an eye.

“Art always loves his assistants.”

[sundays-sims]

M Y R I A D . (early access, patreon)

Hi all!

First of all, I am super sorry for the extreme delay in posting this month' set. I have had an insane month, it felt like everything that could have happened to slow me down, did, in fact, happen. I hope it's ok with everyone & thank you so much for understanding. ♥

The next month's publication will also be delayed due to the fact that I have been working on this myriad set until late last night and I haven't made any progress for next month's content. Again, thank you for your patience on this. You can expect the publication at the end of August instead of beginning of the month. Rest assured that I haven't cancelled any content, or anything like that, it will only be posted later during the month.

Now, about this month' set! It is a bit unusual as I normally go for pieces that are all part of the same "room type" but I decided to go for a bunch of mini sets ideas. I have been thinking about doing something like this for a while; more random objects that still go together. I kept my organic modern design aesthetic, so expect neutral tones & natural materials, but I also added some bright blues, greens & yellows for the mini lemonade set. The myriad set contains 15 new meshes in total, from seating to surfaces, along with a bunch of cute clutter.

↓ details & download link under the cut ↓

D O W N L O A D  L I N K : [X] (patreon, early access)

S E T   D E T A I L S :

brass & marble side table – 10 swatches

caffettiera – 3 swatches

candle – 4 swatches

ceramic plate – 12 swatches

coffee cup & spoon – 7 swatches

coffee table – 3 swatches

croissant & plate – 7 swatches

dining chair – 5 swatches

dining table – 10 swatches

lemon water glass – 1 swatch

lemon water pitcher – 1 swatch

lemonade pitcher – 15 swatches

lemons – 1 swatch

marble console – 9 swatches

rattan chair – 4 swatches

** myriad will be released (free) on August 21st**

→ terms of use / TOU ← / / → instagram ←

[baronessvonglitter]

My favorite things I've read this month! Please be mindful of the tags before you read 💚 Show the authors some love by reblogging and commenting 🌟I love all of you and your creativity so much!!

dividers by @enchanthings-a 👑

Frankie Morales

Bon Appetit by @everybodylovedcontractors ~ Francisco "Catfish" "Frankie" Morales and F!reader

Heaven Can Wait by @theewokingdead ~ Francisco “Catfish” Morales x f!Reader

Neighborhood Watch by @joelalorian ~ neighbor!frankie x f!reader

Sizzlin' by @sunshinehaze1 ~ Frankie x f!reader

Strawberry Shortcake by @604to647 ~ Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Max Phillips

The Prettiest by @almostfoxglove ~ Max P x f!Reader (further chapters found on AO3)

Tim Rockford

confessions by @wildemaven ~ tim x f!reader

The Rockford Portfolio by @604to647 ~ Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Pero Tovar

Ambrosia by @sawymredfox ~ Pero x fem! able-bodied reader

Memories made, memories lost by @avastrasposts ~ Mercenary!Pero x female reader

Dave York

Affliction by @lavenderursa ~ Dave York x DIA Op!Reader

Hotel Ties by @honestly-shite ~ Dave x f!reader

Keystrokes by @mothandpidgeon ~ dave york x hacker!f!reader

Sedated by @luxurychristmaspudding ~ dave x f!contract killer!reader

Still by @sizzlingcloudmentality ~ Dave x f!reader

Under False Pretenses - Ch. 11 Ch. 12 Ch. 13 ~ Stepdad!Dave x f!reader

Joel Miller

game changer by @kedsandtubesocks ~ MLB pitcher!Joel Miller x F!Reader

game changer - timeout by @kedsandtubesocks ~ MLB pitcher!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Hungry-Man Ch. 1 by @slimybeth69

I want to smell like you by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Father in law!Joel x f!reader

Like a Boy Does by @magpiepills ~ Tess Servopoulos x f! Reader x Joel Miller

Like a Stuffed Whore by @pedge-page ~ Joel Miller x StuffedAnimal!Reader x unnamed stepdaughter

Mine by @secretelephanttattoo ~ Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

The one that got away by @stylesispunk ~ outbreak!joel x f!reader

The Other Woman by @evolnoomym ~ Joel Miller x F!OC Moon

The Prophecy by @schnarfer ~ Knights & Kings AU Joel Miller x f!reader

this is me trying by @majestyeverlasting ~ joel miller x female reader

Wherever You Go by @myownwholewildworld ~ outbreak!joel x f!reader

Javier Peña

Booty Call by @cxrsed-angel ~ Javier x Fem! Reader

The Condom by @toxicanonymity ~ Javi P x f!reader x Steve Murphy

Forehead Kiss by @greenwitchfromthewoods

Javi's Playground by @mermaidgirl30 ~ Javier Peña x fem! reader

Jealousy, Jealousy by @javierpena-inatacvest Javier x f!reader

Love me like a loaded gun by @joelmillerisapunk ~ fuckbuddy!Javier x f!reader

Marrying Javi by @milla-frenchy

Playgirl by @milla-frenchy ~ Javier x fem reader

Rotten luck by @milla-frenchy ~ Javier Peña x fem reader

Marcus Acacius

first fruit since winter by @cuppajoel ~ modern!acacius x reader

run by @almostempty ~ marcus acacius x f!reader

When in Ancient Rome by @cuppajoel ~ modern-day! Marcus Acacius x fem!reader

Clint

Hold My Hand by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Clint x f!reader

sweet surrender by @joelmillerisapunk ~ Clint x f!reader

Din Djarin

Healing Pains by @liltangerineart ~ din djarin x bounty hunter!femreader

The Only Time We Have by @nerdieforpedro ~ Din Djarin x Poe Dameron

Marcus Moreno

A Hero's Blessing by @joelalorian ~ marcus moreno x f!reader

Nobody's Gonna Know by @604to647 ~ Marcus Moreno x gn!reader

Multi

To Catch a Thief by @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist ~ Featuring one Detective Tim Rockford and a certain thief

Self Recs

the best part of waking up... ~ any Pedro character x f!reader

Keep On Loving You ~ Frankie Morales x f!reader

Strawberry Swirl ~ Joel Miller x fem!reader

Just a Ride ~ dbf!Dave York x f!Reader

[kedsandtubesocks]

game changer

MLB pitcher!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: back from your first semester of grad school your parents lovingly drag you out to celebrate with an old family friend - but what unfolds there (and after) cracks you wide open

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, no outbreak/modern AU & Joel has both his daughters, dad’s friend!Joel, unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but is a drinking aged adult & Joel is in his early 50’s), light use of gendered language, yearning & flirting, some light angst, brief alcohol consumption, masturbation (f), smutty thoughts, heavy makeout, spicy themes, allusions to smut (p in v), Joel’s dirty talk, one use of “good girl,” one light ass smack, reserved but soft!Joel, start of secret relationship, lots of baseball talk

word count: 9.1k (I’m sorry)

a/n: i know, i know another non-typical AU for Joel but I blame my sports girlie heart & baseball season so here we are lol big thank you to @swiftispunk for always putting up with my sports ramblings LMAO im so sorry Han ily, special thanks to @burntheedges @undercoverpena @tightjeansjavi @msjarvis because this truly wouldn’t be here without y’all - you don’t know how much you babes mean to me & I can’t thank y’all enough…now to you, if you’re reading this too I also can’t thank you enough ♡

You barely have any solid memories of Joel Miller, even if he was your dad’s oldest friend. And if you were being honest, you remember his brother Tommy more who smiled so warmly and seemed to radiate warmth.

Now you stand before Joel Miller’s face on the side of the Globe Life field along with the rest of the Texas Rangers professional baseball team.

It’s a cool evening in Arlington. Everyone seems to bask in the weather that feels perfect for a night of baseball.

Home from your first grad school semester, you didn’t think you’d be going to a game. But your parents explained how good the tickets were, and that even if you didn’t care about the game, you could just enjoy the stadium. So with the promise of free food and a nice night out, you were sold.

Now you’re here.

“Yesterday Joel said to head to the side entrance, that’s where we can check in.” Your dad eagerly explains and stunned you simply follow along like a confused duckling.

The sea of jerseys sweeps you into a sports wave until you’re deposited in a new space. Your jaw almost drops.

The VIP suites sit at the very side edge of the field, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen.

The seats are incredible. Everything feels deluxe but comfortable. Someone calls out to your mom, and soon enough the rest of the Miller family approaches.

Tommy’s married now and his wife Maria is lovely, so is their baby. Joel’s daughters, Sarah and Ellie, are older. Time sucker punches you in the gut seeing how much time has passed, but you warmly greet everyone. You realize how long it really has been since you saw any of them.

You greet everyone warmly and appreciate all their surprised welcome seeing you back.

“Joel’s glad y’all were finally able to make it. Been talking about it since yesterday.” Tommy explains.

“Yeah us too! Just worked out that we all could come out and enjoy this with someone back home now.” You mom teases, but it’s warm.

Even though you were cities away, the new workload just kept you so busy.

You’re grateful to be here too. Even though your mind still swirls trying to grasp all of this.

You knew your dad’s friend made it big as a professional baseball player. Joel and his family left Austin to move to Arlington after he signed for the Rangers. So you rarely saw them. But with your mom’s job recently relocating here, your dad talked non stop about maybe seeing more of the games. It never really clicked that your family knew a professional sports athlete. Plus you never cared too much for sports to even look more into it.

Now as the game starts with a wild explosive and electric opening, you feel like you’ve slipped into another reality.

Then Joel’s entrance arrives, and your heart jumps out of your chest. The stadium erupts in a wild frenzy. The music for his arrival is western themed, grand and epic.

“All of this is because the league calls him Cowboy Miller.” Your dad explains.

The nickname was given to him not just because of his very southern twang, but Joel’s cold demeanor on the mound along with his wild style of pitching. All this led to him being deemed a Cowboy.

You understand why.

A serious air of power radiates from Joel while he approaches the mound.

Wearing a jersey with the number two on it, he’s older, more distinguished than the last time you remember him. Grays pepper his beard and the shadow of his baseball cap highlights the wrinkles flowing across his face.

He’s handsome, utterly gorgeous. His shoulders look broad, pure striking mountains, in his white jersey.

It’s like your mind finally registers and settles into the reality he’s a man, a full grown and incredible man.

And he really is incredible.

Even though he’s older for a pitcher, he still possesses dazzling talent. You even clap loudly when he strikes one of the batters out.

Your eyes never leave him. Joel sternly staring down the batter is terrifying. His legs look strong as he whips the ball fast to the home plate. Your eyes can’t help but flicker to his ass when he walks back to the dugout.

He’s gorgeous.

But cold reality crashes into you when your dad brightly yells. Joel is your dad’s friend, and that thought sours the bubbling feelings in your chest.

So you try focusing on the game, which actually turns out to be rather fun. The vibe of the stadium, along with the atmosphere of the game itself, is easy to melt into.

At one point someone gets a hit off Joel and he has to run to cover first. He’s surprisingly fast. Seeing him catch the ball, get the out, is so impressive and hot as fuck.

After that the Rangers switch pitchers.

As he leaves the mound, the stadium cheers at Joel’s exit. Very politely he nods, raising his hand in a quick goodbye to everyone. Then he scans the crowd.

It’s admirable seeing how he instantly finds where his family is. Joel’s roughed face melts soft with a small crooked grin hearing the applause they give him. He even spots your dad proudly cheering.

Joel’s eyes then lock with yours. Still walking towards the dugout, his face stays on you while his focus narrows in a cloudy confusion like he’s trying to recognize you.

Then his eyes go wide as realization sinks in.

You weakly grin back. It’s all you can do before Joel is fully gone from your line sight. Your heart thumps erratically within its cage.

The Rangers unfortunately lose by three. Once the game ends, you decide to swing by the merch store.

“Guess the game made you a fan huh?” You mom perks up noticing you eyeing the jerseys.

You shrug easily with an eased grin.

After this the Rangers have a five game stretch at home.

You only know because after the game you check for all things about the team, about Joel. You haven’t brought yourself to look at any videos of Joel yet. But you did discover from the team's instagram that he has one too.

Early the next morning, still lounging in bed, you scroll through Joel’s instagram page. It seems very professional, like it’s run by a social media manager primarily using it to promote Joel without being too personal.

You’re not paying attention, still a bit too focused on your phone, when a knock comes at the door.

Your face scrunches up confused. Then terror sucker punches you when you see who’s at the door.

No way.

Opening the door Joel stares at you, but this time wearing striking thick black rimmed glasses. They make him incredibly distinguished. Instead of seeming like a professional baseball player you’re reminded of a studious professor. And without a baseball cap on, you’re given sight of his soft glorious curls and the light gray streaks dancing among them.

He’s knockout beautiful.

Of course, you’re still in your mismatched lounge clothes and barely look like you’ve left bed.

He says your name, greeting you with a curt nod. You swiftly greet him with an awkward hello.

“Are you going for like a Clark Kent thing?” You blurt before you can stop yourself.

Joel’s face scrunches up as he sighs.

“Gotta take a break from my contacts s’all.” He admits with a grumpy reply.

But it’s his thick twang, the familiar southern accent - that sweeps you breathless.

“How do they even let you pitch?” You lightly tease, and

Joel rolls his eyes.

“Good to see ya too.” He rumbles, finally greeting you.

Now realizing he’s still standing in your doorway, you let him in.

Joel explains how he wanted to come by, visit your folks, catch up, and thank them for getting to stop by.

You’re the one early thanking him.

“The tickets were incredible. And you did amazing the other night.” You add sincerely.

“Oh, yeah thanks. Glad we won.” Joel nods.

“So they let you just roam around?” You ask slightly stunned still seeing him here in your family kitchen.

Joel scoffs. “Ain’t gotta be at the stadium till later.”

“So, was uh…surprised to see ya at the game.” His tone now reeks of trying to just make small talk.

Weakly you grin back explaining it was a nice change from your days on campus.

“So…back from school, huh.” That awkward thick small talk tone of his gets worse especially as he asks how’s it going and what you’re doing.

For being a talented professional pitcher, right now he simply seems like just some guy…

Just your dad’s pal.

The thought brings a strange acidic taste in your mouth.

You explain school is going good and how you’re here just visiting until the next semester starts up again.

Politely he asks what you’re going to school for. You tell him about your program, explaining all the classes you’re taking and even about the undergrad classes you help TA for.

Joel nods, quiet. You wonder if this sounds boring to a man who professionally plays baseball everyday.

“You’re damn smart.” He then whistles low, and his compliment jumpstarts your heart.

“Haven’t read a book since… shit can’t even remember when.” Joel muses.

“What? They don’t have you take baseball quizzes for pitching?” You joke, but it falls flat. Joel just gives you a dull look.

However his lips twitch faintly, like he’s fighting a grin, and it makes you grin.

“Though, I’ve heard you could maybe work on your slider pitch.” You add.

From the clips you’ve seen and the comments you’ve read, that's the one thing others have commented on, along with how unbearably handsome he is. ESPN even named him one of sports top most eligible bachelors.

“Oh?” Joel’s eyebrows rise up fast. Crossing his hands over his chest, Joel turns towards you more.

“Suddenly you’re a sports analyst now, huh?” The way his voice perks up confidently, matching your edge of playfulness, causes something to get stuck in your throat.

“Y’gonna start telling me how to pitch too? Just like your old man used to.” Joel adds still with that same tone and even chuckles.

But his words slice through you. Swallowing hard, you steel yourself tight.

Thankfully the sound of the front door unlocking arrives. Your parents are home.

“You’re fantastic, Joel. Glad I got to see it live.” You tell him earnestly looking him straight in the eye, as if to stare him down and remind him unwavering you’re a grown adult. Even if you’re in lounge shorts and holey t-shirt, you try holding your head high with as much grace as you can.

With that you head to tell your parents Joel is here then quietly slip back to your room.

Eventually your mom knocks on your door and pops her head in.

“There’s another game tonight. Wanna go?” She offers.

You decline, explaining you want to rest and catch up with a few shows you’ve been neglecting. Thankfully neither of your parents pressure you to join them.

With the house to yourself, you now search for as many videos of Joel you can.

Even slowly starting to understand baseball at a base level, you realize Joel ‘Cowboy’ Miller really is spectacular. You hear about his time playing for The University of Texas and how adored he is by his alma mater.

Then heat crawls up your chest when you see clips of him drenched in sweat, heavily breathing, or even licking his lingers to help with the ball grip.

You quickly turn the videos off before you get yourself worked up.

This has to be just a simple infatuated infestation. You simply need to try to shake it off.

The last home game the Rangers play the Minnesota Twins and Joel isn’t pitching. You again decide to sit this game out. You just have to detox yourself of Joel Miller.

Until you’re invited to a dinner cookout at his home. You thought about maybe playing sick, but with how hungry you are, you see this just as an opportunity to get a nice meal.

Your dad casually mentions Joel’s house has a pool, a nice bonus. He just forgot to mention how huge the Miller house would be.

Though gorgeously grand, it’s still surprisingly cozy. In the backyard you spot Joel at the grill and it makes your head spin. The weathered old burnt orange Texas longhorn shirt he wears looks cozy and casual, sits on him beautifully highlighting his shoulders.

You slip into the pool hoping it will cool you off. But your eyes always find Joel who now laughs with your dad.

Joel’s eyes suddenly flicker to yours, catching you staring red handed. Immediately you sink back into the water.

There’s more people here than expected and you feel a bit out of place. After drying off, you decide to head inside for a drink.

The soft Texas evening illuminates the home in a gentle glow. The music from outside floats in a soft hum making the room feel like it’s underwater.

Ellie told you the house was free for you to roam and from the quick tour she gave, you caught a glimpse of something you want to see more.

So letting yourself maybe take another peek, you walk back to the small alcove carved in the wall. It’s honestly a rather quiet achievement exhibition compared to other grand trophy rooms you’ve imagined.

There are honestly more pictures of Sarah and Ellie, along with Tommy and the rest of the Miller clan, decorating the main hallway of the house. All of it suits Joel.

His UT longhorn jersey is framed on the wall. There are a few awards clustered together, a couple of magazine covers where he looks so dashing in his uniform.

But what makes your heart float are the framed drawings of Joel with a baseball on the mound that range from adorable scribbles to a rather good pencil sketch. These had to be Ellie and Sarah’s work.

“If you’re thinkin’ about stealin’ somethin’ maybe go for the jersey. I can always get another one.”

Joel’s drawl trickles out, and you almost jump out of your skin. Turning to the side he walks to where you are. You hate how exposed you feel just being caught in his gaze and also obviously browsing in his home.

“Nah, I was hoping for a World Series ring to steal and sell but.” You shrug playful, knowing now he’s gone to the Series but never won.

Joel makes a low hissing sound like he’s injured.

“Damn, y’hit low.” He chuckles low.

You grin triumphantly.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get a ring someday.” You say simply.

“Sound sure about that.” He replies.

“Cause it’s true.” You nod. “You’re pretty great.”

Even with your limited knowledge of baseball, it’s easy to see how great he is. Joel is incredibly talented, a shining star stitched in accomplishment. Yet you can tell hasn’t let it go to his head. He’s anchored by his loved ones, and it’s admirable. You even tell him that.

“I…thanks.” He stumbles for a moment, deep dark eyes a bit cloudy as he searches your face with his voice thick and rumbled.

“What game has been your favorite?” You suddenly ask, wanting to know more about him.

His eyebrows furrow and his deep eyes glaze over a bit distant, creating a face of thought that looks adorable.

Then he nods with a soft grin remembering.

“One of the first games the girls gotta go to.” He paints a picture of seeing his daughters, sitting with their uncle Tommy, wearing too large adorable Texas Rangers jerseys.

“One of the best games I ever played.” He adds gently.

He really is a rare beauty of a man with a gilded heart of gold.

“And you? Your folks talk about ya nonstop. Tell me about grad school. And none of that simple ‘it’s good’ crap.” The quick playful mimic he does of your voice makes you laugh warm and bright.

So you tell him about your favorite moments from lecture and the fondness you have for simply embracing subjects you love so much.

Joel stares fully focused on you. You swear his eyes twinkle like stars might be sowed right in his deep earth depths.

He opens his mouth, eager to continue the conversation. Until the kitchen comes alive with more people entering inside. The bubble breaks, but electricity still brews under your skin.

The next day the Rangers have a game at Globe Life Field you go.

Even if Joel isn’t pitching, you want to experience this world he loves so much. You’re however surprised to find Joel is starting.

Your dad explains how one of the pitchers planned for today had to rest. So Joel will simply be the opener before the rest of the bullpen steps in.

Your heart doesn’t rage wildly as it did like seeing him the first time. Now you feel almost drawn to Joel. You focus on his stance on the mound, so disciplined and almost hauntingly serious.

The Arizona Diamondbacks batter hits the ball solid. It flies straight at Joel, and fear sinks its fangs into you.

Until with fast reflexes Cowboy Miller catches the ball eased. You and the stadium erupt wild.

The Rangers win one to four. On the high of the game, you head to the jerseys again in the shop.

“You should get one!” Your mom urges.

Your fingers itch, almost begging you to grab the jersey that says Miller on it. But something continues to hold you back.

On the drive back home, you now see all the great reaction clips and memes of the game. There's a particular one of Joel catching the ball that includes a great western music overlay, like he’s a hero in an old cowboy movie.

Feeling brave, you send the reel to his Instagram profile. You even add underneath the message “now you just gotta work on that slider pitch.”

You send it. Think, hell at worst the poor social media manager will see it and not even give it the time or day. He must get so many messages anyway.

When you get home, you see the message has been read.

But also, a new profile has followed you.

JM_8712

The profile also sent you a message.

JM_8712: ain’t nothing wrong with my slider

No way.

This can’t be who you think it is. You message back saying this possibly can’t be the real Joel Miller because he doesn’t seem like the type to even know how to send a gif.

JM_8712: think ur so funny huh

The account sends a simple gif of someone rolling their eyes.

Then another message flies in.

JM_8712: ur dad get those damn nachos he kept bitchin about with Tommy?

It feels like one of Joel’s changeup pitches knocks you out.

Because it’s really him messaging you. When you even go to double check the blank profile just to make sure, it barely follows more than twenty people and you spot Ellie and Sarah’s accounts among those profiles.

Warmth unfolds from your chest, dangerous and electric. This is Joel’s personal private account.

Unknowingly this all kicks off something you never thought would have ever started. You and Joel start talking.

The messages flow between you and him, back and forth, at first just talking about the games. Then, when the Rangers leave to travel, the messaging increases.

Joel sends you pictures of the places he travels, the food he eats, the vacant stadiums he gets to enjoy.

You devour it all with a greedy eagerness. However it dawns on you that you’re sliding down a slope too slippery to stop.

For the rest of the summer you earnestly check your messages on the app.

One evening, on a stormy delayed game against the Dodgers, your messages don’t send through. The weather is getting worse in Los Angeles.

“They’re gonna reschedule the game. Storm’s not letting up.” Your dad comments glumly.

You just hope Joel is alright.

Instagram finally alerts you of a message and your heart jumps.

Joel.

JM_8712: sorry connections shit

Then he simply sends you his phone number.

You wonder if you’re seeing things.

Trying to keep calm you text the number a simple message asking if he’s alright.

When your text alert chimes, it rattles your brain.

Yeah im good thanks

Then another message follows. It’s a photo from the locker, bags packed like he’s ready to leave.

Looks like room service for tonight

It’s Joel. You’re texting Joel right now.

It feels like a step deeper into a current you never want to leave.

Texting seems to shift the energy between you and him, a transmutation you never could have imagined.

You text Joel good morning and he tells you good night. You and him bond over a love of music. He’s got incredible taste while also complimenting yours. You stay up late on game days when pitched and now feel your throat dry up knowing you’re getting to know the man on the mound.

The desire brewing more for Joel mixes with the summer heat and melts the days away. Soon enough summer dwindles away, and your new semester approaches.

The drive back to your apartment is a good couple of hours. Funny enough Joel is also traveling today for a game. Stopping for gas midway, your phone goes off.

You think at first it must be one of your parents.

But instead it’s Joel.

You scramble to answer.

“Hey,” his voice sounds incredibly richer and deep on the phone.

“Y’doin’ alright?” Joel asks hesitant.

That catches you off guard.

“Oh yeah, just finished putting in gas actually. Why, what’s up?” You relax more into the conversation now curious to why he called asking that.

Joel sighs.

“Sorry I just…your last text uh, it just got me worried.”

Now you’re really curious about what you texted him. It had been half an incomplete response you sent. Even from your side it seemed abrupted and strange.

Sighing, you apologize that you didn’t even realize you had done that. In the rush of wanting to get out on the road you must have just sent the text.

But it suddenly hits you. Joel called because he was worried. That thought rips into you with a ferocious rawness.

“Okay yeah,” Joel says a bit clumsily. “I’ll…let you go.”

“No, it’s okay.” You quickly reassure him. “How’s the traveling going?”

“Good, just finished rewatching one of the inflight movies.”

“Please tell me it was Field of Dreams.” You tease him with the iconic baseball film as you head back on the road. Just now with Joel on the phone.

On speaker, Joel scoffs echoing in your car all around you. You realize this might be a bad decision trying to stay focused driving while also talking to him.

“Funny.” His thick drawl is dry but so softly teasing just below the surface.

“Was some new movie Sarah told me to watch but…fell asleep.” Joel admits low.

Thinking of him asleep on the plane clutches at something warm and deep in you.

Yes you can admit how badly you want Joel, how you picture what his calloused fingers would feel like on you, in you. But you also are finding yourself aching for more now…

Like falling asleep beside him while watching a movie, or sharing a meal with him and teasing him over his dry sense of humor.

It’s dangerous falling deeper like this.

Especially now in a blink you realize you’ve been talking to Joel this entire drive to your apartment.

“Shit sorry.” He realizes it when he sees the time. “Y’should’ve told me to fuck off. Don’t gotta waste your time talkin’ to some old ass like me.”

He rarely comments on his age, and his words sink hard into your gut.

“Trust me… I’m glad I get to talk to you.” You truthfully tell him.

“You’re the one who probably has better things to do than talk to me.” You add slightly dejected. The words even sting your lips.

“Like watching Field of Dreams.” You quickly add some light humor trying to dispel your heartache leaking in.

Joel snorts.

“Definitely would rather chat with you than watch that.” Joel mutters, but his world electrifies your skin.

“I’m flattered knowing I can beat Kevin Costner.” You joke. When he snorts amused, warmth fills you to the brim.

Someone in the distance calls out to Joel, and you know your time with him is limited. It’s confirmed when he sighs.

“Gonna be landing soon. Ya make it to your place okay?” He asks.

“I did, thank you. And thanks for keeping me company on the drive.” You smile to yourself.

“Don’t mention it. Uh, glad you made it back safe.” Joel replies and his words make you melt.

You say his name quick.

“Can you just… Text me when you make it to the hotel?” Just to know he’s safe. It’s simple, but it feels as if the words weigh a ton.

A moment passes.

“Yeah, will do.” Joel agrees.

He doesn’t text you. Instead Joel calls you when he gets to the hotel.

“Saw a full on fuckin’ fight at the airport when we landed.” Joel rambles immediately, and you learn how much of a secret gossip he is. While Joel breaks down all the details of what he saw, you realize he wanted to tell you about this.

A light burst in your chest because you want to tell Joel everything too.

And when your next semester starts, you tell him all you can.

The texting stays but evolves into more frequent phone calls. Joel listens to you with a gruff saint’s patience. He faintly picks up the names of your professors, even the name of your roommate. At one point he even stays on the phone with you when you cook dinner.

Joel calls during the stretch of waiting at the airports, a few times after games. Sometimes he rants about his teammates, sighs about his frustrations when they lose or when he ends up not doing well on the mound.

While every inch in your body still hums for Joel, it’s steady now - like you’re slowly accepting these emotions fully into your bloodstream and part of your existence.

You adore Joel, maybe more than you want to admit.

During a rare night out with your friends from class, feeling nice in your favorite outfit, courage courses through you. After posting a few photos from your night out, you also post a rather nice selfie.

You pray Joel sees it. Then you get a bit tipsy, and it takes all your willpower not to text Joel.

But the alcohol burns in you. Once you’re back at your apartment, in the safety of your room, you pull up your favorite video.

It’s a spring training video the Rangers made of the team preparing for the upcoming season. The video ranged from showing the guys on the field practicing, to them in the weight room.

There’s a nice small segment just on Cowboy Joel Miller. Specifically he’s training with a few weights and when you first saw it, your throat got so dry.

Joel is drenched in sweat. The simple worn navy blue shirt sticks to his body, highlighting the tone of his arms and width of his shoulders. Curls wet with sweat stick to his forehead. His concentrated face is sinful.

But not as hot as the sounds he makes.

The grunts, the soft growls, the exhales he gives lifting the weights… they drench your thoughts with images of him fucking.

You’ve never done this before, never gotten off on his videos. You never wanted to fall this far.

But it’s so hard when your body feels molten, so wet hearing with his groans directly in your ears. Your fingers trail down to relieve the throbbing wet ache between your legs.

Imagining Joel’s sweaty gorgeous body pressed against yours, picturing his thicker fingers in you, getting to taste him on your tongue - you come incredibly fast.

The next morning a text and a somber guilt wait for you.

Joel of course had messaged you.

Looks like you had fun last night

So he did see your pictures. A blistering heat crawls in your throat.

But reality sinks in fast. You got off to Joel. You don’t want to feel guilty. You reason there’s probably others who have maybe done it. But it does quietly eat at you.

So much that you don’t even reply to Joel for the whole day trying to sort your mind out. He’s the one that eventually calls you.

“Y’go out on a date or somethin’?” Joel asks about the night out, and your mind sputters to a halt.

“Oh uh, no. Just went out with some friends in class.”

“Oh.” He replies quick. “Well, looked like fun.”

You agree and thank him.

“But yeah, no dates for me.” You weakly laugh.

“Yeah? Any reason why?” Joel presses.

Because you’re partially head over heels for him, but you can’t admit that yet.

“No one’s asked me recently that’s all.” You reply simply. You’ve done the dating apps, had the headache mess of ghosting and awkward dates.

Joel snorts. “Pretty thing like you? Hard to imagine.”

His words, like a change up ball that drops wildly in the air, disorient you.

“Trust me, it’s real.” You dryly reply.

“And you? You must be seeing some famous celebrity in secret huh?” You teasingly ask.

You’ve seen the ESPN clips of the beautiful reporters flirting with him, cooing at how handsome he is. He probably could snag a supermodel or other famous person.

Joel barks a hollow laugh of a thing.

“No, none of that.” He answers.

“Ain’t not time for that or…mainly…haven’t found anyone who’s got the patience for me.”

Your heart sinks.

“Wait, what do you mean?” You quietly press.

He sighs.

“M’ older, a single dad. My schedule ain’t perfect. And those that have tried to uh… pursue something haven’t always had the best intentions.”

His voice trails off somber. You wonder how many just wanted him for his money or fame.

A grim cloud seems to settle above you.

“You’re a great guy Joel, an incredible one.” You earnestly tell him. “Those who can’t see it don’t deserve you.”

“And I have to say it but…you’re a real catch.” You go for the obvious baseball pun.

Joel’s chuckle is a beautiful low gruff treasure.

“That was bad.” You can almost picture him shaking his head. “But thanks…same uh, same goes for you. You’re smart, gorgeous. Someone will come around to see you’re worth it.”

You’re drowning in his words. They feel too much.

He ends up having to quickly end the call with his manager calling, and you’re thankful for it. Because this blooming rawness in you feels like it’s getting too much, yet not enough.

Joel’s compliments are sincere. But many feelings tangle you up. It hurts, like you’re stuck in a rose bush trying to get comfortable within the thorns.

Then, the universe decides to pull you away from Joel.

Classes kick up and the workload piles on. You’re exhausted. It even gets harder to reply to Joel as swiftly as you did. You even miss a few of his phone calls and don’t even call him back.

The days blur together.

Then, one morning you find a text waiting for you.

hope you’re alright

You want to cradle that message.

When you call Joel, it’s like not a day has passed between you and him. Your heart soars hearing his voice again.

“So uh…” Joel begins cautiously, and you’ve never heard him this nervous almost. “We’ll be heading your way into town soon.”

That’s right.

Caught up in the semester you completely forgot the team would be playing the Astros soon. Excitement immediately rises in you.

“Hope ya can come out and see us. And if ya do, let me know.” Joel suggests and you swear his voice sounds shy.

The minute the conversation ends, you try checking for tickets. But they’re a pretty penny. You jokingly circle the top section, the highest nosebleeds, and text him saying he needs to try and find you from here.

He texts back immediately.

Don’t worry about the tickets. Just head to will call and let them know you’re with me. Got it covered

That might be one of the hottest things you’ve ever read.

Game day can’t approach any faster. Your parents even mention the upcoming game when you call to check up.

“You should try to go!” Your dad urges, eager.

A part of you has wondered if Joel mentioned you to your dad. You’ve kept quiet, not saying a thing about whatever this is with Joel, and you now think so did Joel.

You take a small comfort in that.

When game day does arrive, you head to Minute Maid Park alone. Your closest friend and classmate couldn’t make it, and neither could your roommate. But for some reason, you’re slightly okay with being here by yourself.

At the ticket window, you nervously say that you’re here for Joel. Like if nothing they verify your name, and with an ease slide tickets your way.

Not just any tickets, but seats right by the Rangers dugout.

Still stunned, but now slightly lost, you can’t help but feel stranded in the stadium.

“You okay, sweetie?” A lovely voice comes and when you turn, you find a sweet older motherly woman. She wears a Texas Rangers jersey and another younger woman stands besides her in the same jersey. They both stare at you concerned.

“You lost?” The younger woman asks sympathetically.

It must be that obvious. The motherly older woman politely asks to check your tickets to point you in the right direction. She perks up.

“Aw look at that! You’re sitting close to us! Come on, we’ll show ya around!” She beams warmly.

“Wait, are you sure?” You ask worried.

“Oh of course,” the younger woman reassures you with a smile. “The stadium is so huge and besides, us Rangers fans gotta stick together.”

She then winks, noticing the Rangers shirt you bought and wore for the game.

You find out Malinda, the older woman, is the mother of the first baseman. And the other lady, Casey, is his wife.

Kindly, this sweet family adopts you, guiding you towards the section literally right besides the dugout on the other side of the net.

You’re stunned in shock yet again.

Even though your tickets are a few rows away from the two sweet ladies, they reassure you you’ll be fine sitting with them.

It’s beautiful and comforting.

“So, who are you here for?” Casey asks with a friendly gossip like whisper. “These seats are for friends and family, and I haven’t seen you around before.”

But then she quickly reassures you don’t have to explain if you don't want to.

You with a weak laugh you’re here to see Joel, adding that he’s a family friend. Her eyes go wide.

“Oh wow! And he warmed up today too so he might pitch!” She says excitedly.

Joel had texted you before the line up was confirmed that he would be warming up.

Don’t know if I’m gonna get put in but just in case

Even if he didn’t, you told him you just wanted to be there to support him.

With the Rangers being the visiting team, they bat first. You want to root for the guys to get a hit and get on base, but you also already selfishly want to see Joel.

Three outs come and the Rangers switch to take the field. No sign of Joel.

In fact he doesn’t show up until the fifth inning, and it happens so casually. Joel simply walks out from the dugout and takes your breath away.

The team wears their cobalt blue jerseys and the color flatters Joel marvelously.

It feels like seeing him for the first time all over again but through a deeper lens you can’t explain.

You clap and cheer with pride when he manages to strike out the first batter. Then the second.

Two strikeouts back to back.

Joel told you back in his younger days he struck out seven hitters in a row. Now for him to get two, much less strike out the third batter, is something to applaud and admire. And the Rangers fans here, including yourself, cheer loud when the team heads back for the next inning.

“Cowboy Miller in his golden age.” Someone off to the side whistles appreciatively.

You don’t fight the syrupy fondness swallowing you whole.

“It’s rare that a more…seasoned pitcher like Joel still is relied on,” your new friend Casey explains. “But it’s hard to see why not. Everyone’s been saying like he’s almost found a new groove and still has so much power.”

He’s a force you’re terribly in awe of.

Seeing the whip of how strong his body still pitches the ball with a dizzying speed, how handsome he looks under the baseball cap, you want to savor this as much as you can.

Joel manages to get two more strikes out in the second inning. Then by the seventh they get a hit off him but thankfully, no runs come in. Cowboy Miller ends the inning striking out the final batter. You, and the other Rangers fans present, erupt wild.

He did amazing.

Laser focused, locked in on the game, he doesn’t search the crowd or even glance up and you understand. The game gets intense when the Astros manage to hit a home run in the eight. In the end the Rangers win because of an error.

But it’s still a sweet victory.

You relish and warmly celebrate it with your co cheerleaders for the game that made you feel so welcomed with them. You’re about to head up and leave, start looking for an Uber ride home, when Malinda calls to you.

“Sweetie? Aren’t ya gonna wait with us and greet the guys!?” She asks with warm curious sweetness.

You can’t say no.

The commotion sweeps you into a neon coated excitement. There’s a special area sectioned off, almost in a backstage-like section that connects to the entry way for the visiting teams. You’re surprised at how many others wait here.

The team slowly trickles out of the locker room and into the hallway. You’re hilariously reminded of a class being let out.

Then the world then melts away when Joel walks out. Focused on his phone you almost want to call out to him, but your voice gets caught in your throat.

Putting his phone away Joel finally glances up and spots you.

Even with his baseball cap on, you see his eyes widen for a fraction. Your body reacts on its own moving towards him. But he also walks fiercely towards you.

The world blurs away for a moment and then without even thinking, you’re embracing him.

It happens so naturally you don’t even realize what you did until you blink and it’s like you’ve been thrown into cold water.

Panicking, you’re about to pull away until Joel’s arms slowly wrap around you.

“Good to see ya too.” He says low gruff but you’re taken out by the knees grateful your body doesn’t give out.

He smells of sweat, of the dirt on the field, and something sharply Joel, and it’s wonderful.

Quickly you draw yourself away to proudly tell him how amazing he did. Joel waves you off with a gruff noise as his eyes refuse to meet you, almost bashful.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him this close, been in the same space as him. And it feels so different.

“Alright, dinner?” Someone says, and when you turn, you’re stunned to see it’s the team manager.

Guess this means you’ll be saying goodbye.

“Headin’ home?” Joel asks when he notices you staying back once everyone funnels outside.

“Uh yeah, gotta grab an Uber first. Didn’t wanna drive down here and deal with Houston traffic along with awful parking during a game.” You joke, and Joel snorts.

“Let me take ya back then.” He offers, and you almost drop your phone.

You scramble out reassuring Joel it’s fine.

“Besides, don’t you have dinner to go to?” And where would he even get a car to take you.

“S’fine. Would rather make sure you get home safe anyway.” He then tells you to hang tight then goes to grab one of the rental cars the team has on ready.

Because of course they do.

Your blood hums wild knowing Joel is taking you home, that you’re going to be alone with him. Even in this glimmering dusted dream you still want to tell Malinda and Casey goodbye and thanks for treating you so kindly.

You wish them well and even welcome their warm goodbye hug.

“Wish you could come to dinner!” Casey frowns.

“Maybe next time.” Her mother in law says bright.

Next time.

“Yes hope to see you at more games.” Casey grins and the possibility bubbles iridescent in you.

With a goodbye to them you wait for Joel. There are still a few others of the wives or girlfriends hanging around while the team sorts out where to go.

You haven’t turned to give them any attention. However something crawls on your skin like you’re hyper aware of being watched.

“Did you see how she hugged him? Probably just using him, poor Joel.” One of them whispers.

“She’s not even that pretty.” Another one giggles.

“Oh then you know he’s maybe just using her then! And if that’s the case then good for Joel.” The other replies with a searing joke that makes your stomach sick.

Joel returns, keys in his hand. “Ready to go?”

You weakly grin back.

You should be basking in this moment of finally getting to be alone with Joel, of getting to see him drive you around. Once in the car he took off his cap allowing you sight of his soft hair. The darkness of the car, the warmth of the city lights flickering by, all coat him glorious. Yet those comments from earlier fester poisonous and sour any hope of enjoying this.

You stay rather quiet while giving him directions to your place.

Joel however is surprisingly talkative.

“So you’ll have to give me recommendations of places to go around here.” His voice even sounds just traces softer, higher almost - like he’s happy being here.

And it kills you.

“Y’seem quiet, you okay?” He notices it of course, ever aware.

“Yeah, just a bit tired. Didn’t know the game would take that much outta me.” You lie.

Eventually you arrive at your apartment complex.

“Your place is nice.” Joel admires as he helps you out of the car like the Texan gentleman he is. He even follows you to your door.

You graciously thank him again for this night and for taking you home.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks again.

You walk a few steps away from him. The night all around is still quiet, feels soupy with how much hangs in you.

You refuse to cry about this, don’t want to get emotional. If anything, you deserve to treat this like an adult.

“Joel…” you start cautiously, already hating the way your voice wavers.

“Yeah?” His voice stays steady, unbothered, but his eyes furrowing say otherwise.

“What…what is this? What are we?” You ask as steady as you can, but your tone continues to crack.

Joel’s eyes brow furrow and his mouth closes, tightening his jaw.

“Just…good friends.” He replies simply, almost cold. “Just showing my pal’s daughter a nice night.”

There it is.

Your soul deflates. So all the times you’ve felt like this might be something, maybe it's just been you wishing it would be.

So salvaging whatever dignity left, you nod.

“Thanks again, Joel.” You reply briskly and return walking towards your door.

He says your name. It stops you dead in your tracks.

“Why? Why d’ya ask that?” He asks, pressing firm and hard.

You turn back to him, and a deep scowl is etched on his face.

“It doesn’t matter.” You answer.

“The fuck does that mean?” He snaps a bit sharp.

“It means what it means.” You fire back.

“Bullshit. Why did you ask that?” Joel growls out firmer.

“Even if I told you, it doesn’t matter.” You repeat.

“Stop sounding like a fuckin’ owl.” His voice rises hard and fast, like a hand slamming on the wall.

It startles you, makes your eyes water and something in you shakes. Mainly because you know this is beginning to taste like the end. The smallest trace of hope is dissipating right before you.

You blink back tears, and immediately Joel’s face falls.

“Honey, I’m sorry-”

Shaking your head, you cut him off. Not even the sweet pet name he effortlessly uses can shake you.

Through gritted teeth you tell him to go.

“Not when you’re this upset.” He urges.

Through tears a sad water laugh escapes you and Joel’s eyes go cloudy.

“I’m realizing…I’ll never be anything to you then just your friend's kid, huh?” Your voice is waterlogged and you can’t fight it.

“You are.” He states simple and straightforward.

You nod, swallowing back the heartache boiling over.

“Can’t be anythin’ more than that.” Joel adds through mutter.

“Why?” You now ask him. Under the amber light of your apartment’s hallway the most frustrated cloudy look hardens his face.

His eyes scan your face then he steps closer towards you

“Don’t act dumb, sweetheart.” His voice rips out low cruel, slightly harsh.

You’re not and you tell him that.

“I…” the words you’ve held locked up so fiercely in your heart now sneak out from their bars to escape.

“I’d give anything to be yours, Joel.” You croak barely realizing you even said that.

He inhales, and his face goes taunt.

You wait for the sharp reply, even brace for it.

Instead Joel swoops in, kisses you wild like a sudden storm, and presses you against the door of your apartment.

Greedily, you claw onto him not wanting to ever let this go, to let him go. Your mouth begs him more to invade and consume. And he does so with a steady hunger.

The clamor into your apartment is messy, but at one point Joel cautiously stops to look around.

“My roommate’s visiting family…” you reassure, kissing his neck and softly under the side of his jaw with delicate cautious lips.

“Just you and me.” You whisper soft.

Joel takes command the minute you lead him to your room.

“Thought about this. Fuck, think about ya all the damn time.” He growls against your neck as he slides your bra off and runs a callous hand over your chest.

“Fucked my fist that first night you went swimmin’ at m’house.” Joel’s words make you whine and then his lips lick against your skin trying to savor you.

“Me too.” You admit through a whimper. “Touched myself thinking of you.”

Joel freezes.

“Tell me,” he says rather calmly, deadly almost.

Your syrupy lust begins fading away when you realize what you said, what he asks for, and what your answer will be.

Your lips and eyes shut close.

Then Joel’s warm breath, like a ghost, crawls against up your chest and tickles against your ear now.

“Come on, honey,” his voice is utterly decadent with a plea. “Tell me, please.”

You swallow hard telling Joel you don't want him to get weirded out.

He hums against your neck already starting to suck a mark against your skin. Your eyes roll back, and the embarrassment is quickly fading away.

“Promise, I’ll be okay.” Joel reassures you with a mumble against your skin.

So with a shaky voice, you weakly admit how you touched yourself to videos of him.

He groans.

“Baby, oh fuck, fuckin - shit.” Joel sputters out hard, like he just got kicked in the gut, and you’re worried until his lips smash into yours.

He devours you.

You’re swept into a tangled dizzying frenzy. Your clothes practically get ripped off as do Joel’s while he clutches onto you and licks into your mouth.

“That’s my girl. Knew you’d be m’good girl.” He says almost drunk and you’re done for.

You fall into the chasm with no hopes of turning back. But you don’t want to.

Joel feels like a god carving open your universe. You want to consume him and want him to consume you. He becomes your center of gravity.

In the aftermath, you’re left basking in Joel’s warmth and never want to leave.

Even though you were in his arms, Joel had to sit up to take a call and now scrolls through his phone. Your fingers trace his beautiful back.

You’re thankful for all the soft lamps you bought that now melt him into a dreamlike glow.

“Joel.”

He hums a gruff gentle noise that says he’s listening.

“I don’t…” you begin softly, then tell him your doubts. You don’t want him to think you’re simply using him for his status or money.

“Joel… you could quit or retire tomorrow and work with your brother as a contractor and I’d still always want you the way I want you.” Your deliciously aching limbs, the soft afterglow, all of it has you speaking soft and freely.

You never wanted Joel because of his fame or even because of the forbidden taste of him being friends with your dad. You wanted Joel for deeper reasons, some that have carved out a chasm in your heart.

You explain this all to him best as you can without rambling or sounding silly.

Joel sighs.

“Y’shouldn’t.” His voice is a hollow rumble. “I’m old, friends with your dad. We shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

Now a bitter venom spills in you.

You glare at his back, how his shoulders slump defeated while you sit up

“I'm an adult, Joel. And if that’s all you’re worried about then sorry it’s a shit reason.” You launch back.

Over his shoulder he glares at you.

“If…” you swallow hard. “If you’re the one who wants to leave, because i’m that young, or you really don't want this or don’t feel what I feel, then fine. At least tell me that.”

“But I care about you. And I want to make this, us, work.” You finish firmly, even with how much emotions clash in your chest.

Joel sighs again. His eyes face turns away now down downcasted.

“Didn’t wanna want you the way I do. You’re so bright, fucking’ smart and so g’damn gorgeous.” He softly admits.

A pause settles between him and you.

“Y’could be with someone younger, less complicated.” Joel admits low.

“Don’t want anyone younger or less complicated. Just want you.” You reassure with a soft steady mutter.

He goes quiet again.

“Used to not get bothered when I started leavin’ away games by myself. With Tommy married and the business booming, then the girls startin’ to have their own lives…I didn’t mind doing this alone.”

Underneath his words you catch it, his rusting loneliness.

“But then…these past few months…and now today seeing ya waitin’ for me…” he says clipped, like the rest of his words are caught in his throat and he can’t free them yet

Joel turns, and his eyes bore into you.

The silence stays as you stare unflinchingly back at him.

He doesn’t need to say anything else. You don’t think you have to either. Like a magnetic pull, it’s effortless moving towards him. Joel’s warm large calloused hand, seasoned from so many seasons of hard work, of pitching, cradles your face. You kiss him with every inch of your heart.

Even after spending the night, you’re surprised Joel hasn’t left yet. He even comments about figuring out lunch plans with you.

“You have another game today, Cowboy.” You comment.

The term makes his eyebrows rise, and the most coy smirk tugs his face making him look so charming.

“Got today off to rest, ya little shit.” It’s affectionate. “Besides my back ain’t what it use to be and after goin’ more rounds with ya this morning-”

In the middle of your living room you rush to kiss him.

The rest of the day unfolds like a dream drenched and stitched from every domestic fantasy you’ve ever had. Joel stands in your kitchen when you make him a quick lunch and you laugh apologizing that your fridge isn’t MLB diet certified. Joel steals your last saved snack after that joke.

Cuddled snug on the couch with him, you try watching a movie but Joel, so greedy and handsy, ends up fucking your brains out with his tongue.

When dinner rolls around, you order from your favorite local takeout place and Joel pays for everything. You ignore all the work you need to do for the week and don’t care. You’re here at this moment and want to stay crystalized in it for as long as you can.

But tomorrow is the last day before the team leaves to Miami to play the Marlins.

While showering with him, you wrap yourself against Joel’s back already dreading his leave. He seems to sense it too because his hands squeezes yours.

Against your shower wall he glides into you tender and slow, almost trying to draw out every inch of this.

Later that night, you try staying up but the day begins settling in. Your eyes flutter trying to fight sleep.

He mutters your name soft while his fingers run soft against your side.

“Hm?” You answer, trying hard to fight your tired eyes.

“Don’t want ya to think i’m ever using you, honey. You’re not just some young thing keepin’ me company.”

His words are simple, but they erupt so much in you.

Joel had been spooning you from behind, but now you immediately turn around to burrow your face against his chest. You reassure him and his arms tighten around you wonderful chains you wish never break.

But the next morning arrives.

“Gonna come to our last game here?” Joel asks while he packs up.

“Don’t know, I heard you guys still have that really old guy who might be pitching.” You say with a shrug.

His face frowns hard, but Joel moves to playfully smack your ass while you laugh. He quickly draws you in for another kiss.

You have class tomorrow and work you need to jump on, but you go to the game. Joel doesn’t play, but you don’t mind. Getting to hug him goodbye one last night in the shadow of the stadium is worth it.

“Text ya when we get to the airport.” Joel promises, secretly placing a soft kiss on your head.

That night when you get home you order not one, but two Joel Miller jerseys.