#alcoholism is a sport to him and he is winnin

[dusty-pistol]

Here's yalls husband

And his theme song/hj

And here's the non shaded version of one so yall can have somethin easy to color pick

[hornyhornyhimbos]

"Wilder Than Any Eight Second Ride" ~ S. Harrington

Summary: At the annual Honky-Tonk Halloween Party, Reader and Steve find themselves having a little bull-riding competition. When Steve isn't pleased with the results, he demands a rematch… in the bedroom.

Pairing: Bullrider!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,545

Content Warning: MINORS DNI (18+ content) unprotected piv sex, cowgirl activities, against the wall activities, creampie, bondage, marking a lil bit, nicknames (princess, sweetheart, baby, cowgirl; daddy once i think), explicit language, alcohol mentions since it takes place at a bar, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: i missed writing for these two individuals

Originally Written: 10/20/2024 through 10/24/2024

stranger things masterlist can be found here!

halloweek masterlist can be found here!

The air was buzzing, filled with the smell of alcohol and sweat. “Elvira” by The Oak Ridge Boys blared through the speakers, though it was barely heard over the crowd of probably two hundred people chattering amongst themselves. The annual Honky-Tonk Halloween celebration was officially underway.

Steve, as per usual, looked absolutely delectable, even in his cheaply made, party store costume. He used his hot-pink bandana to wipe up a spill on the bar, and something about the sight sent heat straight to your core.

“See something you like, Western Barbie?” he smirked, never taking his eyes off the spilled alcohol.

You met him with a similar smirk. “Just admiring the view, Cowboy Ken.”

Dark brown eyes finally met your own gaze as he finished cleaning up the puddle of beer on the counter. “You sure that's the only thing going on in that pretty head of yours?” You could tell he was already a little buzzed himself; his accent got thicker when he was under the influence.

“Other than how I'm totally gonna kick your ass at the mechanical bull riding competition?” you asked with an eye roll.

Steve met you with a daring expression, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “What makes you so sure you're winnin’? Considering I ride actual bulls for a living, I've got a little bit of a leg-up on ya, princess.”

You walked around to the other side of the bar, standing face to face with him and placing your hands on his chest. A gasp nearly escaped you at how rock-solid his chest felt underneath the jacket he currently sported, but you chose not to comment on it, considering how much you already inflated his ego on the daily. “Mmm, see, I also have a little riding experience of my own under my belt.”

“Is that so?” Steve asked, leaning down a little closer to you.

You simply met him halfway, leaning in for a playful kiss. “Well, what can I say? I've had a really good teacher.”

His hand swatted at your butt as you walked away, and the sound of Steve chuckling could be heard even through the chaos of everything else happening in the bar. He quickly followed after you, his long legs catching up in just a couple strides.

The crowd of half-drunk bull-riding fans cheered Steve on as he approached the mechanical bull. With a smirk, he climbed up, confident that he'd win this little competition between the two of you. “Start her up!” he hollered to the operator.

The machine started up, and immediately his hips began twisting in a way that should've been illegal in public, in your opinion anyway. One hand met his Stetson, while the other held tight to the handle of the bull. His jeans were ridiculously tight, showing off the curves of his ass and bulge as he rocked back and forth. It was dirty, practically erotic, and he soaked up every moment of the ride with his head thrown back. While he looked like an overdone version of a cowboy in a western movie, he looked like a damn good version of the stereotype.

“Think you can keep up with me this time, princess?” he called, practically grinding against the fake saddle.

Your scoff in reply could probably be heard in the parking lot. “You wish you could keep up with me!”

The comment must've been enough to catch him off guard, because as he laughed at your response, he came tumbling down from the machine and onto the safety mat.

He turned to look at the operator, who simply replied with, “Eighteen seconds.”

“Oooof,” you let out, trying to sound regretful. “Sounds like someone's slacking in their preseason. Your trainer's not gonna be too happy, Steven.”

He rolled his eyes, patting your ass again. “Let's see you do any better, cowgirl,” he said, lifting you by the hips onto the mechanical bull.

With a confident smile, you signaled for the operator to start up the machine again. You made a show of grinding your hips against the faux saddle, and in a similar fashion to Steve, your opposite hand that wasn't holding onto the bull flew to your sparkly cowgirl hat.

You whooped and shouted as you held onto the bull, your confidence never ceasing. All eyes were on you, though the only pair you cared about belonged to someone who'd seen these moves from you a million times. And just for him, you twisted your hips a little extra, all for his enjoyment.

Time seemed to slow as you fell off the mechanical bull and onto the mat below. Steve was quick to make his way over, offering a strong hand and helping you up from the floor. “Impressive,” he commented. “Not sure if it was enough to beat the champ, though.”

“We'll just see about that,” you replied confidently, turning to the machine's operator and asking for your results.

When he replied with, “Twenty-two seconds,” a pleased squeal left your lips. Your husband simply rolled his eyes, demanding a rematch.

With a shake of your head, you said, “No can do, Cowboy Ken. Results are final.” And then, “It's all in the hips, you know.”

“You forget who taught you that phrase?” he quipped. Then, as if just registering your first sentence, he said, “And final my ass.”

When you smiled about your accomplishment again, a hand swatted at your butt a third time. And then, a suggestive glint appeared in his eye as he whispered, “I think I know of a way we can have our rematch without interrupting all these people waiting for the bull…”

That was how you found yourselves wandering away from the party and up the stairs to your apartment, hands on each other the whole way. As soon as Steve opened the door, his lips were on yours, his hands meeting your hips and his foot moving to kick the door closed. As often as you and Steve were on each other, you couldn’t recall a time when the door had been closed the proper way.

In a matter of seconds, both your hat and Steve's had been tossed aside, along with his jacket. Your hands met his hair as he kneeled in front of you, making quick work of your cowgirl boots and nipping at your clothed thighs. Perhaps he should've been a magician for Halloween with the way he could manage to make your clothes disappear

He kicked off his own boots, a skill he'd managed to cut down to five seconds flat. While he worked on the fastening of his own pants, you easily slipped yours off, leaving you in nothing but a bandana, vest and a pair of lacy panties that left little to the imagination.

Steve groaned at the sight as his lips met your neck, the vibration sending heat straight through you. “You're so fucking beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, fingernails digging into your love handles ever-so-slightly.

“Even dressed as a party store Barbie?” you smirked, the sentence being cut off by a sigh as his hand moved to cup your clothed core.

“Especially dressed as a party store Barbie.” His thumb rubbed a soft circle against your covered clit, eliciting a noise of approval from you.

A moment later, his pants and boxers were shoved down and tossed aside, leaving him completely bare for you. He didn't even bother to undo your vest, instead focusing on discarding the white lace to get to where he wanted to feel you most. You couldn't help the moan that left your lips as the air hit your most sensitive spots.

Lips were on lips as Steve lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist as he forced the two of you backward into your bedroom. A small sound of both pain and pleasure came from you as your back hit the wall, overtaken by another, hungrier sound as the head of his cock teased at your entrance.

“Fuck,” you whined, canting your hips forward. You were desperate, oh so desperate, for him to be inside you at any capacity.

Still, Steve wasn't giving in that easily. “Gotta beg for it, princess. Otherwise, I don't know what you want.” He knew exactly what you craved, but he could be a dominant asshole sometimes, wanting to see just how far he could push you.

“I want to ride you,” you said, the words coming out in a sigh. Your hands pulled his face to yours, your lips meeting in a needy kiss and your tongues moving together hungrily.

With that simple sentence, Steve shifted your hips and used the space to push inside you. Both of you let out a synced groan, your body instinctively squeezing around his length.

Teeth nipped at his shoulder, eliciting a rather loud moan from his mouth as you sucked on his skin. “As sexy as that is, you know I got that Calvin Klein shoot coming up,” Steve reminded you.

You smirked at the thought. Steve “The Hawk” Harrington, had been invited by the Calvin Klein team to do his own campaign. The shoot was in just a few days, the two of you flying out to New York bright and early the next Monday. Every time you thought about him in those signature boxers, posing by a poolside, you nearly started to salivate.

A wicked expression lit up your face as you scratched at his chest this time, another moan coming from his lips. Clearly he was enjoying the feeling, but the rational side of his brain took over as he thrusted into you a little harder.

“Baby, as much as I love- fuck- the way it feels to have you marking me up,” he started to say, hips rolling into yours all the while, “I have to make sure I look my best for the photoshoot.”

“I think you look your best when you're all marked up,” you pouted, feigning innocence. With another nip at Steve's shoulder, you scratched him again, just to see what he'd do. His reaction wasn't quite what you expected, but it was still welcomed and still extremely sexy.

His hand met your neck, undoing the bright pink bandana that had been tied there. In one swift movement, he had you on the bed, pinning both of your arms above your head. With a nearly evil look, he tied your wrists together. “Bet you won't disobey now, huh?” he remarked, emphasizing his win with another deep roll of his hips.

Despite the restriction, you still managed to meet his thrusts like your life depended on it. Steve's name rolled off your tongue like a mantra, your way of showing him how you needed more of him, all of him.

Steve wrapped an arm around your body as he flipped the two of you over, giving you what you'd asked for earlier. His signature phrase, “Giddy up, cowgirl,” tumbled from his mouth, those three words only fueling you on.

His hands gripped your love handles, lifting you up and down his length. The restraint only made the scene that much more filthy, whine after whine falling from your lips.

The smell of sweat and sex wafted through the air, the partying crowd from downstairs being completely forgotten as the scent overtook you. They could be right outside your door, and honestly neither of you would care. As long as you were together, your bodies connected in any capacity, you didn't care who was around.

One of Steve's hands stayed on your hips while the other snaked between your bodies. His thumb rubbed circles over your aching clit, his eyes hooded as he watched you near your release.

“There ya go, cowgirl,” he encouraged, his fingers and dick working in tandem to please you just how you needed. “Take whatever you need from Daddy.”

His praise only made you keen further, your back arching and your mouth falling slack at just how much pleasure he was currently bringing you. To the best of your abilities, you bounced on his length a little harder, mentally cursing him for tying your hands together when you so desperately wanted to be gripping his shoulders or his hair.

“Stevie, please,” you begged. “I'm so close, but I can't-” Your sentence was cut off by a whimper as he thrusted up into you.

He knew exactly what you needed, finishing the statement for you. “If you can promise to not leave any more marks, I'll take it off, okay?”

You nodded, but obviously it wasn't enough, considering he once again told you to use your words. Another plea left your lips, this time telling him exactly what you needed.

With one flick of his finger, he undid the fastening around your wrists. Desperately, your hands met his hair, tugging at the tussled strands.

A chuckle rumbled through Steve's chest, the sound simultaneously hot and annoying. “Not sure Calvin will appreciate it if I show up all covered in marks.”

“I don't know,” you managed to smirk, your climax inching further as you continued to take his cock as deep as you could. “He might not, but I'm sure your female fans will.”

Ever the gentleman, he just leaned forward and kissed your neck with a juxtaposing sweetness to the otherwise lewd scene. “You're the only female fan I care about, sweetheart.”

The words made you clench around him. His thumb caressed your clit, the movement somehow both sweet and dirty. You were so close, and by the sudden twitch of his cock inside you, you could tell he was too.

“You're so beautiful,” he repeated, his lips meeting your wrist with a gentle kiss. Despite the earlier urgency, the air now had a level of soft intimacy to it that you simply couldn't explain. It was like that with Steve; one minute, he was a desperate mess, and the next, he was showing you how much he loved you.

The compliment was just what you needed to push you over the edge, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Steve quickly followed suit, his seed filling you up just how you always wanted.

You both collapsed in each other's arms, his now softening cock still buried inside you as he held your body close. His lips peppered what skin he had access to outside of your vest, his hands softly caressing your hips.

“Steve?” you said after a while of just laying there, just being together.

He hummed in question, too tired to form a full sentence.

You leaned up to look at him, a cheeky grin taking over your otherwise blissed-out face. “Not sure if you tying my wrists together was the sexiest thing or the meanest thing you've ever done.”

Steve met you with a smirk. “Can't it be both?”

With a roll of your eyes, your lips landed on his, and in that moment, you decided if you were to die just like that, you'd at least die a happy woman.

“I'll tell you what, though,” Steve said, a tired drawl to his words as he pulled you closer. “You sure are wilder than any eight second ride I've ever done.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” you smiled giddily, meeting him halfway for another kiss.

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @rupsmorge @writer-in-theory @esoltis280 @liberhoe @wifeyreid @serenity-lattes-reads

[sheerfreesia007]

Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 30)

Title: Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 30)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Author: @sheerfreesia007 ​​

Words:3,074

Warnings: Alcohol drinking, fluff, drunken antics

Tags: @synystersilenceinblacknwhite ​, @two-unbeatable-beaters ​, @randomness501 ​, @sevvysaurus ​, @paryl

Author Notes: I didn’t know how to finish this one but I’m quite happy with how it turned out. Please let me know what you think and thank you for reading!

Gif Credit: Google Search

           You smiled lazily over at Tequila as the two of you sat at the bar. The Red Sox game was playing on one of the T.V.’s behind the bar and you were avidly following the game as the two of you relaxed while drinking your beers. Tequila was trying but failing to chat up the new bar tender and you were trying but failing to be a successful wingman to your friend. Just as the gorgeous brunette bar tender walked away from Tequila again to go see to another bar patron you snorted into your beer.

           “You know you could help.” Tequila whined to you and you patted him absent mindedly on the arm.

           “Sox are playing Tequila. You know I can only focus on one thing when they’re playing.” You retorted affably as you turned your attention back to the game on the T.V. “Besides I already put in a good word for you and she’s interested just doesn’t want to show it in front of other customers. Brings down her tips if she shows preferential treatment.” You muttered out of the side of your mouth to him. Tequila jumped in surprise and shock as he started at you in awe. His eyes were wide as he looked at you reverently and then darted his eyes over to the bar tender at the other side of the bar.

           “Have I told you today that you’re amazing and that I love you best friend?” he asked cheekily as he grinned at you.

           “Nope but once the game is over you can tell me all you want.” You quipped back and Tequila laughed loudly clapping you on your back.

           “Alright, alright. I’m pretty sure Whiskey doesn’t have to share your attention with a whole baseball team.” Tequila snickered softly to you as he settled on his stool and turned to the baseball game.

           “Actually he does. He made the mistake of actually taking me to a game one time and then got bent outta shape when I ignored him the whole game.” You gripped with a small smirk on your lips as you remembered the game you were talking about.

           “No.” Tequila gasped out and began laughing in amusement. “Whoo, does that man not know you at all?” he asked rhetorically and you laughed entertained as you took a sip from your beer bottle.

           “He didn’t know about my love for baseball or hockey.” You said shrugging nonchalantly as you grinned.

           “Oh please tell me he didn’t actually take you to a hockey game too? You’re scary when it comes to hockey.” Tequila mused curiously. You laughed amiably and swatted at his shoulder.

           “Am not.” You retorted in shock. You shook your head at him with your eyes still on the game. “C’mon ump!” you shouted suddenly and Tequila whipped his head to the game.

           “Like I said scary.” Tequila confirmed as he swept a hand over to you.

           “Red Sox suck balls!” came a loud shout from behind the two of you and you scoffed softly as you drank again from your bottle. You flicked you hand up to catch the bar tender’s attention and held up your bottle up and nodded at Tequila as well. The bar tender nodded smiling warmly at you as she began to get your and Tequila’s refills. “Did you hear me? I said Red Sox suck.” Came the loud voice again from behind you. It sounded closer and you felt Tequila tense next to you but you placed a comforting hand on his arm to calm him down.

           “I heard ya.” You said over your shoulder not taking your eyes off the game. “But obviously speaks for the team more than I could.” You retorted smugly as your eyes lit up in happiness as the Sox gained another run against the Tampa Bay Rays.

           “Just because they on a winnin’ streak don’ mean nuttin’ honey.” Came the obnoxious voice over your shoulder and you saw the bar tender look worried from you to the foul mouthed drunk. You shook your head at the bar tender and smiled warmly at her.

           “Roy why don’t we go talk outside and I’ll show you how wrong you are.” You said pleasantly as you turned from the bar top to look over at the medium built man who was swaying in front of you.

           “You gonna’ show me a good time honey?” he asked leering at you. Sighing softly you looked over your shoulder at the game one last time and then turned back to Roy gesturing towards the door.

           “You better watch every moment of this game cuz when I get back I need to know what happened.” You threatened Tequila harshly before you took another swig of your beer before following Roy out of the bar.

           When you stepped out you easily saw Roy was trying to stand on his feet without falling, too drunk to even remember what his name was. You walked over to the man and pressed a hand into his shoulder until he groaned and tried to shove your hand off of him. You kept pressure there and Roy slumped to sit on the ground at your feet with a loud grunt. Fishing out your cell phone you called up the local police in this area and easily let them that Roy needed a ride down to the station to sleep off his alcohol since he was being a nuisance at the bar. Thankfully they had an officer in the area and he’d be there shortly.

           You were anxious to get back to the game in the bar and didn’t want to stay out here longer than you had. Not even ten minutes later the flashing lights of the police cruiser was pulling into the parking lot and you smiled widely at the officer who stepped out of the cruiser.

           “Well if it isn’t my fellow Red Sox fan. How you doin’ Curaçao?” came the smooth twang of Officer Langdon.

           “I would be better watching the boys.” You gripped warmly at the officer and he chuckled while nodding his head.

           “How they doing? I can’t really listen on the radio while on duty.” He questioned avidly as he cuffed Roy and pulled him up onto his feet.

           “Before I left with this one they were up three runs on the Rays.” You told him eagerly and followed him to his cruiser to make sure Roy didn’t give any trouble. Officer Langdon nodded his head confidently and you smiled at the man, it was nice to find another Red Sox fan all the way out here in Kentucky and you rather liked the officer because he was kind and did his job well.

           “Good, that’s good. They might have a shot at the playoffs this year.” He said assuredly. You nodded your head assertively as Roy was put in the back of the cruiser.

           “Oh without a doubt.” You agreed as you shook his head. “Stay safe out their officer. Thanks for coming to pick him up.”

           “Just doing my job miss.” He said warmly to you before saluting you climbing back into the cruiser. Waving to him as he pulled out of the parking lot you turned and quickly walked back into the bar. Your eyes darting quickly to the game and you whooped in happiness as you saw that the Sox had gained another two runs while you were out of the bar.

           “Don’t worry I watched the whole time.” Tequila confirmed from his spot on his stool. “They’re still winning.” You grinned to him as you sat on your stool and patted his back happily.

           “They’re sweeping this game.” You stated surefooted before turning back to your bottle and taking a swig.

           “Is there ever a time when they just stop gaining points?” Tequila asked curiously and you turned to him silently raising an eyebrow. “I mean if they’re moppin’ the floor with the other team? Do they ever stop to ease the loss on the other team?”

           “Not really. I mean would you pull your punches against a target?” you questioned tilting your head to Tequila and mused silently at you.

           “True.” He acquiesced as he flicked his Stetson up on his head. “Well since your team is winning why do you say we do some shots to celebrate?” You laughed blithely knowing that Tequila was bored. Baseball wasn’t really Tequila’s sport of choice, he was more of a football fan and he was a hockey fan until he’d gone to a Boston Bruins game with you once when you were both on a mission in Boston. He had adamantly told you that he was terrified of you because of that experience and you didn’t doubt him you knew your love for hockey ran deep. And you knew that sometimes you took your love for the sport a little too far, but that’s what being a fan was to you.

           “Alright let’s do some shots.” You agreed easily nodding your head. You figured it was still early and the game was almost over, you could do a few shots with Tequila and then call it a night once the game was over. Jack was in Kentucky still and you would be able to go catch a ride home with him tonight since you knew he was still in the office working.

             It was at least an hour later and you couldn’t remember how many shots later when you heard your cellphone ringing on top of the bar top. You turned with a loud boisterous laugh to make your way to the bar when Tequila wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you back to him so that he could continue dancing with you.

           “Trish would you answer that for Cur here? Tell her boyfriend she’s a little busy dancing with her best friend. It’ll drive him crazy.” Tequila called over to the bar tender who laughed as she shook her head at him before she swiped up your cellphone answering effortlessly.

           You turned back to Tequila with another boisterous laugh and gasped as he twirled you so quickly that the room spun even faster in front of your eyes. When you had come back to face Tequila you gripped tightly onto his biceps to steady yourself as Tequila did some fancy footwork. Grinning you looked down and tried to follow his dance moves but you tripped and fell to the floor with a loud grunt. Tequila doubled over as he laughed uncontrollably before trying to help you up from the floor. He truly tried but only managed to make you slip from his arms with his laughter and fall back to the floor with a grunt.

           “Hey Cur your boyfriend says he’d like you back in his office soon so he can drive you both home.” Called Trish from behind the bar. You scurried up to your feet and Tequila shouted for you to get back over to him and dance some more but you ignored him as you rushed to the bar. Trish laughed and told the person on your cellphone to hold on before handing you your phone.

           “Jack? Jack ya there?” you rushed out in panting breath. You heard Jack’s deep laughter fill your ear and you smiled widely at the sound.

           “I’m here darlin’. How hammered are you?” he asked teasingly.

           “On’ a lil’.” You replied slurring your words a little. Jack laughed again and the smile split your lips widely.

           “Alright well ask Tequila to bring you back up to my office. I’d like to leave soon.” He said warmly to you. You nodded your head enthusiastically and Jack laughed again. “I’m assuming you’re nodding your head even though I can’t see you darlin’. I’ll see you soon.”

           “See you.” You rushed out and then turned to Tequila not bothering to hang up the phone yet. “Tequila! You gotta bring me back to Whiskey! ‘e said so.” You shouted at Tequila and heard Jack’s laughter from your phone before you hung up. Tequila stopped flailing his legs in a funky dance move and twirled to you with a smirk.

           “Oh I gotta’ bring you back to Whiskey. What crock of shit is that?” he teased and you huffed at him before turning and grabbing your jean jacket from your stool where you left it.

           “Thanks Trish!” You called to the bar tender with a wave as she smiled affectionately at you. “’et Tequila work for tha’ date wiff you. You deserve ta see ‘im grovel a lil’. It’s amazing ta see.” You told her conspiratorially and she laughed kindly at your antics as Tequila came rushing up to you to no doubt pull you away from the bar tender.

           “C’mon Curaçao let’s get ya back to Whiskey.” Tequila said warmly to you as he slung an arm around your shoulders.

           “Get her home safely Tequila.” Trish warned him and he saluted to her with a wink before ushering you out of the bar.

           The trek back to Statesman was a blur to you, with only moments sticking out in your mind. One being that you and Tequila serenaded each other to the song of ‘Pocket Full Of Sunshine’ and laughing loudly together when you both sounded off key. The other moment was when you tried to balance while you walked along a low curb and nearly face planted which made Tequila laugh so hard that he farted loudly, which only made you fall into uncontrollable laughter too.

           Finally the two of you were trying to unsuccessfully sneak down the hall where Jack’s office was as Tequila softly sang the theme song to mission impossible. Once you reached Jack’s door you stretched your hand out to grasp the door knob but the door swung open suddenly and you nearly tumbled backwards on your ass in surprise. Tequila burst out laughing as he caught you easily and the two of you looked over to Jack who was watching you both with an amused look in his eye.

           “She is completely three sheets to the wind my friend. Good luck.” Tequila said pleased as he pushed you into Jack’s waiting arms and quickly turned away from the two of you leaving you in the care of Jack.

           “Trish likes you. But you gotta work ‘or ‘er.” You called over your shoulder to Tequila.

           “And who is Trish?” Jack asked you softly as he ushered you into his office. He smiled warmly up at him as your hands rested against his chest. You looked down to his chest and felt your cheeks blush as your fingers pressed against him in exploration.

           “Hmm?” you asked distractedly as you walked your fingers up his chest to his shoulders. Jack laughed deeply in affection as you silently explored his body in your drunken state.

           “Trish, who is she darlin’?” he asked again and you smiled up to him brightly.

           “She’s a new friend. A pretty bar tender that Tequila likes.” You answered truthfully as your fingers danced back down Jack’s chest from his shoulders before you slipped your arms around his waist and snuggled into his chest. Jack laughed softly and rested his head on top of yours.

           “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk.” Jack said suddenly and you chuckled softly shaking your head before burying your nose into his sternum.

           “Nope.” You quipped out against his shirt. Jack chuckled and pressed a kiss to your head before trying to lead you over to the couch in his office.

           “Well come sit down and relax for a little bit I just gotta’ finish up my last report and then we can go.” He said softly as he set you to lounge on the couch. You drunkenly lounged on the couch and watched him walk back to his desk to finish up his report. You silently thought that he was way too far away from you for your liking but before you could form the thought to correct that you turned to his ceiling and stared at it lazily.

           “If you had to lose a body part which one would it be and why?” you asked out into the air as you twirled your hand above you languidly.

           “What?” came Jack’s amused voice and you turned your head over to him smiling warmly at him.

           “If you had to lose a body part which one would it be and why?” you questioned again idly as you looked over at him. Jack was sitting at his desk staring at you with amusement infused on his face. “I think I’d choose to lose a finger, preferably the ring finger.” You decided drunkenly nodding your head as you looked away from Jack.

           “You’ve only answered half of your question. Why would you choose that finger?” came Jack’s response.

           “Oh yeah.” You said almost to yourself. “I’d choose that finger because it’s the only body part I can’t think of a function that I need it for.” You explained nodding your head confidently. “I mean I need the middle and thumb for gripping my desert eagles. Then there’s the pointer that’s my trigger finger and the pinky I think gives me balance. So by process of elimination it’s gotta be the ring finger. Besides I need all my other body parts.” You reasoned and heard Jack laughing softly over at his desk.

           “What about wearing a wedding ring?” Jack asked softly and you grinned cheekily over at him.

           “Why are you asking me to wear one?” you teased back and Jack grinned widely as his cheeks heated in a soft blush.

           “Not yet.” He retorted and your grin widened.

           “Well I’ll make sure to save the left one for you and I won’t get rid of it.” You reasoned easily as you smiled at him.

           “Good I’m gonna need that finger eventually.” Jack teased back easily and you chuckled softly. You were still staring up at the ceiling laughing when Jack came into view with a wide grin on his face. “C’mon my tipsy darlin’, it’s time to go home.” He said as he kissed your lips lightly before helping you up from the couch.

           “So marriage huh?” you teased gently to him and smiled up at him.

           “Well it is on the list of things to do.” He muttered warmly to you as he wrapped an arm around your waist and led you out of the office.

[homervnned]

––   f l o u r - c a k e d    h a n d s    c l o s e    t h e    r e g i s t e r .

                         “ oh, for fuck’s sake. ”

                                           there’s that signature eye roll.                                      they’re talking ‘bout their dead wife                                                          A G A I N.

                                          haven’t they read the roll along’s                                           no sentimental bullshit policy ?

                       “ just eat your fuckin’ cinnamon roll. ”

whaddup. hope y’like your bakers how you like your sweet rolls :  rude and emotional unavailable !

( sean teale, human, he/him & cismale ) is that ( spellbound ) by ( ac/dc ) playing? guess ( “brooks baker” / ferris feller )’s comin’ in hot! heard folks say the ( “25” / 52 ) year old ( bakery owner ) was at the thanksgiving fair, ( nearly droppin’ a tray of sweets ‘n goodies at his bakery stand as he thought he recognized the orange-wearing witch who hexed him years ago ) when chaos ensued. during the glitch, ( he tried to follow that damned lady to give her a piece of his mind, but wound up defendin’ himself from incomin’ hooligans with a blow-up baseball bat instead ).

b a c k g r o u n d. 

born as ferris feller in letum falls, oklahoma, 1930. his mother, greta feller, raised him and his little sister ( possible wc, if she’s been turned supernatural ? ) on her own. the story goes his father was stationed abroad in the military as a courier and died in a freak accident. there were photos of him ‘round the house, but really, those are just black and white photos of some random soldier his ma had written correspondence with as a volunteer letter writer during world war i. his real father was the local pastor. his mother started sleeping with him after he brought his suits in to be dry cleaned at her laundromat.

ferris took a natural liking to baseball, and distinguished himself as a standout batter early in elementary. his ma worked extra mending clothes in order to pay his little league dues, and soon little ferris was catapulted to local baseball success.

he never was the brightest tool in the shed. always quick with a comeback, but his faculties were always more geared toward the sport than mental acuity. he passed high school with the help of a tutor and very lenient teachers, who all wanted to see the first letum falls baseball star make to the big leagues.

and make it, he did. in 1948, ferris jumped on board with the new york yankees and made major league history with the team for over fifteen years.

but there was always this one gal throughout high school who couldn’t get the hint. she asked him to the sadie hawkins and he said yes out of pity, which he learned was a big mistake. this girl confessed her love for him at the end of their senior prom, ‘n ferris didn’t know what to say except no. that summer, stuff got weird. it started with small things. a beetle in his salad. worms in his burgers at the diner. and then he noticed the trend: it all happened when she was around, watchin’. she cornered him after a game in baltimore about two years after he started playin’ and demanded he propose to her, that she’d seen into the future and they were meant to be. ferris laughed in her face. and she said he’d rue the day. she said, you’ll get what’s comin’ to ya, feller, and then you won’t be so gosh darned smug.

ferris thought nothin’ of it, until the tenth year of his baseball career rolled around and he noticed his hits hadn’t changed. his records hadn’t budged anywhere but up. but... he was supposed to be pushin’ 33. his original teammates were talkin’ about retirement. developing some crow’s feet, some aches ‘n pains, some grays. yet there ferris was, as fresh-faced as when he joined.

and that’s when it hit him. that damn girl hexed him. and with the media talkin’ bout his miraculous youth, ferris knew he needed to step outta the limelight. but just retiring wasn’t an option –– they’d send reporters to monitor his post-game life. they’d see that he still looked the same. sounded the same. 

once again: not the sharpest tool in the shed. ferris ups and disappears in 1964. the media speculates kidnapping. murder. the search is on and ferris flees. ducks into the shadows. waits a few years livin’ quiet before he slinks on back to letum falls. 

it isn’t until near arrival in ‘66 he realizes he’s... he hasn’t got a plan. he parks the car he bought off the side of the road in delaware and racks his mind for a story. a name. anythin’.

brooks. it works. different letter, different sound. he buys himself a modest house near the outskirts of town ‘n gets his ducks in a row. doesn’t even blink at the idea of a surname, ‘til people start askin’. he’s gotta have a reason to be here. a story. people start sayin’ he looks familiar... and there’s his in: ferris feller’s son. came here in search of my pa, you seen him?  he’ll fake shock when folks say feller disappeared years ago. swallow his tears ‘n pay his vague condolences when they say his ma died of a heart attack in ‘64, after learnin’ about ferris’s disappearance. and he’ll... open a bakery. yeah. he’ll lie ‘n say his ma was a baker in baltimore, she met feller after a game ‘n he was the result. he’ll stay a while. open a bakery. bakery. baker. brooks baker. that’ll work.

so he opens the roll along. the town loves it. by 1970, he’s winnin’ awards with his sweets. but the baker’s disposition doesn’t match the confections’ flavor.

he’s bitter. crass. a dark cloud. you don’t walk into the roll along for a chat. but that doesn’t stop some from tryin’. behind that glare, there’s somethin’. behind those icy eyes, there’s a different story.

ask him if he knows baseball. he’ll say nah, never played a lick in my life. he misses it. god damn it, he misses the game.

he keeps facial hair to look around his age. although his age is loose –– he avoids numbers. avoids specifics. folks speculate he’s in his mid-20s and that’ll do. but if he ever shaved? he wouldn’t look a day over 22.

t h e     f a i r .

the roll along had its very own tent at the thanksgiving fair, and it was doin’ great business. brooks almost dropped a full tray of sweet rolls when chaos broke out. and then he saw the lady in orange and he just about lost his marbles. chucked the tray onto the nearest table. set off after her. but she disappeared ‘n then he had some hooligans on his hands, so he snatched the closest weapon –– a jumbo inflatable baseball bat and had at it. 

no glitz and glam. no heroics. he whacked those monsters upside the head with a useless bubble of hot air, sustained some deep slashes, ‘n then got the fuck outta there. locked himself in the bakery, slumped against the fridge, bloodied. cursed himself for bein’ here. cursed himself for not just dyin’ already.

the roll along was roped into hosting one of the pre-vigil gatherings. the mayor asked for 400 sweet rolls to honor the 400 fallen. brooks thought it was in poor taste but hey, can’t argue with asherby. he spent all night bakin’ the damned things in his blood-stained shirt.

c u r r e n t l y .

he can’t shake it. seein’ that woman. because that might be her. that might be the bitch who did this to him. the bitch who took everything by giving him it all.

so he’s stress bakin’. a lot. pawning it off on everyone and anyone. takin’ out his frustrations on unwitting customers.

people are askin’ more questions ‘bout where he’s from, but it’s been so long and he’s told so many white lies, it’s hard to keep his story straight. what’s it to you? is his go-to response, but that’s not sufficing any more.

c u r r e n t    c  o n  n e c t i o n s .

unlikely friends – duffy freely.  they’re an unlikely pair. but somehow, brooks’ bitterness doesn’t scare duffy off. and there’s somethin’ about this girl’s earnestness that’s got something akin to trust risin’ up in him. a friend. who’d have thunk.

smug flirty banter – cal caldwell.  the roll along supplies baked goods to letum skate, and ever since findin’ its owner hiding away in a closet from customers and coaxing him out with baked goods, brooks has developed... an intrigue ‘round cal. and, well. the guy’s a warlock. maybe he can help figure a way outta this fuckin’ curse.

w a n t e d    c o n n e c t i o n s .

younger sister.  she’d be pretty old now, but i imagine if this was filled, she’d have been turned supernatural in her 20s or 30s. growing up, brooks and his sister weren’t very close. brooks was always their mother’s priority because of baseball, and i imagine there was a lot of bitterness when he left town so quickly for the yankees. she’s likely around, and if they have interacted, it would be clipped and tense. dysfunctional as fuck. there’d be a lot of resentment about how their mother died. because, well... it’s his fuckin’ fault.

drinking buds.  two shots of vodka, glug glug glug !!   brooks is... well. definitely an alcoholic, among other things. he carries such a weight that it’s the only way he really knows how to dull it all. he’s bound to have a person or two for choice company in those need-to-drown-it-out moments.

bitter buds.  they don’t take one another’s shit. and in all other universes, maybe they’d be sworn enemies. but for some reason, these two wind up actually getting along.

someone haunt the shit out of him.  ghosts, i’m lookin’ at you.

unofficial baker’s aid.  alright so. brooks is all about flying solo. managing his own shit. but maybe this customer hangs around so often that they’ve become part of the process? taste testing, helping to get things out of the oven, dealing with customers when brooks is done with their shit, etc.