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pucksandpower · 8 months

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The Girlfriend Test

Lando Norris x girlfriend!Reader

Summary: no new LN merch is deemed ready for sale unless it passes the girlfriend test (or in which you are Lando’s favorite hoodie thief and the sight of another driver’s brand on you drives him just a little bit crazy)

You hear the front door open and close, followed by the sounds of Lando rummaging around in the entryway. “Babe, I’m home!” He calls out.

You’re curled up on the couch in his latest hoodie design, a soft charcoal grey number with black sleeves and his LN logo embroidered over the heart.

“In here!” You reply. Lando comes into the living room and smiles when he sees you wearing his new creation.

“Well hello there, hoodie thief,” he says, leaning down to give you a quick peck on the lips before flopping down on the couch next to you. “So I see you found my newest sample.”

You grin and snuggle further into the super soft fleece. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is my hoodie now.”

Lando laughs and tugs lightly on the hood. “Oh is it now? I could’ve sworn this was a prototype I brought home from my design meeting a few days ago.”

“Nope, definitely mine,” you say cheekily. “It’s so cozy I don’t think I can ever take it off.”

“In that case, I guess it passes the girlfriend test with flying colors,” Lando declares. At your confused look, he elaborates. “Oh, I never told you about the girlfriend test? I can’t launch a new LN design until you have stolen it out of my closet. That’s how I know for sure it’s comfy enough for my fans.”

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. “You’re telling me every hoodie so far has passed this supposed test?”

“You got it,” Lando grins. “I’ll leave the samples laying around and if you end up snagging one and wearing it all the time, I know it’s prime merchandise.”

You think back and realize it’s true — Lando’s hoodies have a habit of migrating into your wardrobe. The papaya one is your go-to for grocery store runs. The tie-dye version is your favorite for lazy Sundays. Even the bold purple hoodie he released last month has already earned a permanent place on your desk chair.

“So you mean to tell me this was all part of your master plan?” You ask in mock offense. “And here I thought I was sneakily stealing your comfiest clothes.”

“Baby, if I really didn’t want you wearing my stuff, I wouldn’t make it so tempting to take,” Lando says sincerely, wrapping an arm around you. “But it makes me so happy to see you in my designs, wearing my brand.”

You cuddle into his shoulder. “That’s really sweet, babe.”

“Anything for my number one fan and favorite hoodie model,” he says, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

You snuggle together in contented silence for a few minutes, your head tucked perfectly under his chin.

“So, how was the simulator today?” You ask. “Get some good practice in for Monza this weekend?”

Lando nods. “Yeah, had a really solid session. Tweaked a few things with the setup that I think will help with the low downforce.”

“Nice,” you say. “Maybe another podium this week?”

“We’ll see,” Lando replies. “Ferrari looked quick in Spa so it could be tough. But I feel good going into the weekend.”

“Well, I know you’ll kill it babe,” you say supportively. Lando smiles gratefully and pulls you closer.

“But anyway, enough about F1. How was your day off?” He asks.

You launch into a recap of your relaxed day — sleeping in, catching up on chores, and working on some creative projects you’ve had on the backburner. Lando listens intently, asking questions and commenting on the new songs and recipes you’re dying to try. The conversation flows easily, as it always does between you two.

Before you know it, Lando’s stomach rumbles loudly and you both crack up. “I guess that means it’s dinnertime,” you say, checking your phone. “Pizza sound good?”

“You read my mind,” Lando replies. While you call in the usual order from your favorite local pizza joint, Lando queues up Netflix and scrolls through options for tonight’s viewing.

Thirty minutes later you’re back on the couch, the coffee table littered with pizza boxes and cans of soda. Lando hits play on an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and you settle in, toes tucked under his legs to stay cozy.

You’re only halfway through the episode when you feel Lando’s gaze on you. You turn and find him staring at you wearing his newest hoodie creation, a small smile on his lips.

“What’s that look for?” You ask around a mouthful of pizza.

Lando shakes his head, the smile growing wider. “Nothing really. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

You tilt your head curiously and he continues. “I have my dream job, getting to race cars for a living. And then I come home to you and … I don’t know. It just feels really good. Like everything is kind of falling into place.”

You set down your pizza slice and cuddle up to him. “Aww babe. That’s so sweet.” You give him a greasy kiss on the cheek. “I’m the lucky one you know. I get to see you living your dream every day. And then I get to be here to celebrate the wins with you and cheer you up after the tough days. It’s pretty amazing.”

Lando wraps both arms around you in a hug. “Love you so much,” he says softly.

“Love you more,” you whisper back, your head tucked perfectly under his chin once again.

***

The next evening, you’re sprawled across the bed browsing on your phone when you hear Lando come home.

“Honey, I’m home!” He calls out in a sing-song voice. You grin, expecting him to come give you a kiss. But instead you hear his footsteps stop abruptly.

“Babe, what … is that?” Lando asks slowly.

You look up confused. “What do you mea-”

Then you spot what he’s staring at in horror: the soft teal hoodie you’re wearing with an embroidered Enchanté logo across the front.

“Oh this?” You say casually. “It’s from Daniel’s new merch drop. The fleece is so soft, I couldn’t resist snagging one.”

Lando’s jaw drops open. “You … you bought a hoodie? From a competing merch brand?”

You stifle a laugh at how seriously Lando is taking this. “Well yeah, you gotta support your friends right? And I told you how comfy it looked in his posts.”

Lando just blinks slowly, looking utterly betrayed. You almost feel bad for riling him up.

“Babe, come on, don’t look at me like that! You know I’m your number one fan.” You get up and go to hug him, but Lando dodges you.

“Nope. No hugs until that … that enemy hoodie comes off,” he says dramatically.

Now you really have to hold back your laughter. “Lando, don’t be silly.”

But he crosses his arms and sticks his chin up. “I’m dead serious, Y/N. My own girlfriend, wearing another man’s merch!” He shakes his head in despair.

You bite your lip, trying not to smile at his antics. Time to have some more fun with this.

“Well if you’re going to be like that, maybe I’ll just keep it on,” you say nonchalantly, snuggling back into the ridiculously soft fleece.

Lando’s eyes go wide. “You wouldn’t dare!”

You raise your eyebrows challengingly. “Try me.”

You stare each other down for a few tense moments, before Lando huffs loudly.

“Fine then. Desperate times call for desperate measures.” And with that ominous statement, he lunges forward and lifts you up, tossing you over his shoulder.

“Lando!” You shriek through laughter. “Put me down!”

But he marches down the hall determinedly, you still slung over his shoulder. He brings you into the living room and gently tosses you onto the couch. Before you can react, he rips the Enchanté hoodie up over your head in one swift move.

“Lando!” You squeal, trying to reach for the hoodie, but he’s quicker. In a flash, he has the offending article of clothing in his grip.

“How could you bring this … this enemy propaganda into our home?” Lando accuses dramatically. He holds the hoodie between two fingers like it’s contaminated.

You have to press a hand over your mouth to contain your giggles. Lando looks utterly scandalized at the sight of you in his rival’s merch.

“I’m sorry babe, but you left me no choice,” Lando says solemnly. And with that, he crosses the room, opens the fireplace, and tosses the hoodie in.

You gasp loudly. “Lando Norris, did you just burn my hoodie?”

“I had to protect the sanctity of this home! Can’t have you falling for another man’s branding,” Lando exclaims. But you can see his facade cracking as he fights back a smile of his own.

You get up from the couch and poke him in the chest. “You’re absolutely ridiculous, you know that?”

Lando grins sheepishly. “Maybe. But you love me.”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight back your own smile. “Debatable at the moment,” you joke.

Lando pouts and gives you his best puppy dog eyes. “Come onnnn, you know I’m your favorite driver.”

You pretend to think about it for a moment. “Hmm well Daniel does give the best hugs ...”

“Hey!” Lando exclaims and tackles you into a bear hug. You dissolve into giggles as he squeezes you tight and sways you back and forth.

“Nope, absolutely not allowed,” he declares, still holding you captive.

You lean back to look up at him with a smile. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because you’re my girl and I don’t share,” Lando states matter-of-factly. His eyes are soft now as he gazes down at you.

You feel your heart melt a little. You stand on your tiptoes to give him a sweet kiss. “You’re right, I’m all yours Lando.”

His answering smile is dazzling. But then a thought seems to occur to him and a grin spreads across his face.

In one smooth motion, he strips off the neon green hoodie he’s wearing, leaving just a black t-shirt underneath. Before you can react, he pulls it down over your head, enveloping you in soft fleece that smells like him.

“There. That’s better,” Lando declares satisfied.

You snuggle happily into Lando’s worn hoodie, his warmth still lingering in the fabric. Looking down, you recognize it as the exclusive design he wore constantly last season.

Lando’s eyes crease with happiness as he looks at you swimming in his hoodie. “That’s my girl,” he says softly, pulling you close again.

You nuzzle into his chest, perfectly content.

“Am I forgiven for my momentary lapse in loyalty?” You ask cheekily, peering up at him.

Lando pretends to consider this for a moment. “Hmmm, I guess I can let it slide this one time,” he teases back. “But only because you look so damn cute in my clothes.”

You smile and tighten your arms around him. You sway together slowly, Lando humming tunelessly under his breath. The fireplace crackles gently beside you.

After a few moments, Lando speaks again, his voice quiet. “You know I was only joking around before, right? You can wear whatever you want babe.”

You lean back to meet his gaze. His brown eyes are warm but serious now.

You touch his cheek softly. “Of course I know that Lando. Your hoodies might be the comfiest, but they’re not the only clothes I own.”

Lando nods, looking relieved that you understand. “I just never want you to feel like you have to choose between me and your own style or interests.” His voice is earnest. “I want you to always feel free to be yourself.”

Your heart swells at his words. You reach up and kiss him tenderly. When you pull back, Lando is smiling again.

“Thanks babe,” you say. “That really means a lot to me. And same to you, obviously.”

Lando grins. “Of course, it’s you and me against the world! Oh, and McLaren against the other teams,” he adds cheekily.

You laugh and snuggle back into his chest. “Yes, McLaren over all,” you agree, just to make him happy.

“That’s my girl,” Lando says again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

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elysianightsss · 5 months

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Stalker John Price thot🩵🌼

Stalker John Price who firsts sees you in the library, cute little sundress rising up your thighs as your strain to reach for pride and prejudice on a shelf that’s much too high for you to even try to reach.

Stalker John price who goes behind the shelf and pushes the book out from out from the other side, you thankfully catch it before it falls on your head.

Stalker John Price who uses his military experience to stalk you and not get caught.

Stalker John Price who examines your house while you’re at work to find the perfect hiding spots for him and placing the tiniest cameras around.

Stalker John Price who knows how wrong it is when he’s quick to dart into one of those hiding spaces as you open the door sighing from a long day at work but can’t seem to find a reason to care when you start to strip off your work clothes and change into your fuzzy stitch pj bottoms and hoodie.

Stalker John Price who thinks you look so fucking cute in your pjs. He leans forward almost making the house creak wanting to see more of you. He moves when you do, watching with a grin on his face as you cook your dinner while shaking your hips to music that’s blaring through your speaker.

Stalker John Price who smiles softly when you stuff your face full of pasta, your eyes never leaving the tv screen and soon end up falling asleep on your sofa. He feels it’s safe enough for him to come out.

Stalker John Price who presses a sweet little kiss to your cheek and then leaves your house to go home and set up all the cameras on his computer. He smiles seeing you clear as day on the screen in the same position as before, fast asleep on the sofa.

Stalker John Price who knows exactly how you like your morning coffee. He’s watched you make it 1000 times.

Stalker John Price who notes down in his notebook what your favourite foods and drinks are so he doesn’t forget.

Stalker John Price who confides in Simon about what’s he’s doing only for Simon to assure him he’s doing nothing wrong and it’s all normal even if he feels it’s wrong.

Stalker John Price who goes round your house more often after speaking to Simon.

Stalker John Price who gets painfully hard when you’re first out the shower, fluffy white towel wrapped around your wet body. His blue eyes never leaving your figure as you massage lotion into your skin and spray body mist all over. He inhales holding back from groaning at the scent that clings to you.

Stalker John price who watches you through the crack in your wardrobe doors as you pant and whine and buck your hips against the vibrator buzzing hastily against your little clit.

Stalker John Price who is practically drooling when he thinks you’re done, satisfied but watches you reach for the dildo in your bedside drawer. He was in for a long night of restraint.

Stalker John price who comes up with a plan to be a part of your life because he can’t keep going on without having you for himself. Without keeping you.

Stalker John Price who ‘bumps’ into at your local grocery store and the library and your local bar. Eventual you think it’s fate. Never suspecting he would be a stalker. He’s such a nice, sweet guy.

Stalker John Price who is giddy with excitement when you agree to go on a date with him. He makes it the best damn date you’d ever been on. Dinner, dancing and a show.

Stalker John Price who groans, “Fill my hands with you finally.” When you do eventually let him touch you, his large calloused hands grabbing at every part of you he can. “Finally gonna let me take care of you huh love?” He’ll grin down at you as you nod, so whiny and needy for him. “So fucking perfect and all mine.”

Stalker John Price who marries you.

Stalker John Price who cries when you show him the positive pregnancy test.

Stalker John Price who laughs loudly when your children say that daddy is obsessed with their mommy.

Stalker John Price who after thirty years of marriage, three children and 5 grandchildren never admits that he stalked you but tells you everyday how much he loves you.

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writersdrug · 5 months

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Training for Two

Chapter 1. Interview

Masterlist

SUMMARY: After Riley's injury on a mission, she can no longer be a part of the task force. Simon reluctantly starts looking for a dog-sitter to watch her while he's away for work, and that's when you show up on his doorstep.

Warnings: none

Simon Riley would have laughed if anyone had suggested that he needed a dog-sitter.

Riley, his eighty-pound German Shepherd and only family (outside of the 141, of course), went with him everywhere. Grocery store? There she was, K-9 vest on to avoid getting the stink eye from trouble-stirring strangers. Missions? She was there, working alongside Simon, and when she couldn't join, she was safe and tucked away on the animal unit back on base. At the small, one-story unit he called home? You'd better believe she's sitting on the couch next to him as he watches the telly, trying not to succumb to his daily nap. He never considered having a dog-walker care for her, since there was hardly a second where she wasn't walking right there with him.

But of course, as expected - life threw him a curveball.

The mission had gone well so far; everyone was booking it to exfil, hardly worrying about the few enemies left who could barely manage to fire their guns. Simon and Riley were sprinting to the heli, Simon already imagining how he was going to take a fat nap when he got back to base, when he heard it - amidst the sparce gunshots, Riley's pained yelp.

Simon had never shot someone so fast, but before he knew it, there was a bullet planted between the enemy soldier's eyes. Simon rushed to scoop Riley into his arms as she whined and howled - he loaded her onto the helicopter with Soap's help, hands shaking as he looked for the damage. Her right hind leg was bleeding, and every time he tried to look at it, she snapped her teeth in his direction with a shrill yap.

Simon couldn't hear Price as he promised to get her into surgery ASAP. He didn't register Gaz wrapping gauze around her leg as he carried her off the heli and into the medbay. He couldn't hear Johnny trying to comfort him as they stood in the hall, waiting for her to come out of the operating room so Simon could finally see her again. The only thing he could comprehend was her cries, her blood, and the fact that he was responsible for all this.

It wasn't a lethal injury, he knew that. But he assumed, and the vet later confirmed that she wouldn't be fit to continue working. And that terrified him. He had to continue working - what would happen to her? He wouldn't put her up for adoption, in fact, he'd nearly bit the head off the poor soldier who had suggested the idea. She'd be coming home with him, once she had fully healed, but then what? How would he take care of her when he had to go on missions?

He couldn't. Much to his chagrin, and as much as he hated the thought of her being under anyone else's responsibility, he was forced to hire a pet-sitter. He begrudgingly posted ads online, and even put his request up at the local doggie-daycare, despite having never sent Riley there. It didn't take long after bringing Riley home before people began to answer his ad, and he plucked a good handful of them to interview over the weekend.

So, there he was - sitting in the breakfast nook with Riley at his feet, silently judging each interviewee that had walked into his home. He was quite disappointed in the selection.

Simon had already decided 'no' to nearly every dog sitter that had answered his ad. He sat across from them as they described their skills and achievements, bored out of his mind as they treated the interview like it was a college application. He didn't want an egotistical, decorated twat caring for his dog... if Riley didn't care about this bloke being voted 'dog-walker of the month' by the doggie daycare, why should he?

He knew it came down to much more than that - but he was going by Riley's reaction, too. And so far, she was uninterested in all seven that he had interviewed thay day. She sat by Simon's feet, bum leg out and eyes zoning out on the stranger's shoes as they droned on. No one had actually paid much attention to her, instead focusing on impressing Simon.

He hated to admit it, but a boarding house for dogs might be the best option.

He had just scratched the second to last name off of his list of interviewees, pouring himself a cup of coffee at 4 pm, when a knock rapped at his door. He sighed, looking down at Riley; she was laying on her side, huffing at the fact that the random visits from random people was still going on.

"One more, eh?" Simon said, reaching down to ruffle her ears. She groaned through her nostrils in annoyance as he straightened out and walked towards the door.

He reluctantly opened it to find you standing there.

You, with nothing but your phone and keys, wearing a t shirt, oversized plaid, leggings, and sneakers. No folder full of resumes and reviews, no bone-shaped doggie bag holders... the only other thing you had was an apologetic look on your face.

"Hi." You said warily.

"Evenin'." Simon responded, leaning against the door.

You sighed. "I should let you know- well, aren't I being rude..." You rolled your eyes at yourself and stuck your hand out at him. You stated your name with a sheepish smile.

He stared at your hand for a second, before shaking it with his own. "Simon."

The way your eyes lingered on his hand after he had gripped it so firmly didn't go unnoticed by him - but you quickly regained focus. "Well - before you waste your time on me, I should explain: I didn't read the posting correctly, and I thought this was a house-sitting gig. Only just noticed when I checked the address before I left... figured I'd still stop by since I told you I would."

You were looking at the ground out of embarrassment at this point. Simon's brow furrowed as he observed you. House-sitting isn't horrendously different from pet-sitting... he thought. "Well-"

"But I love dogs!" You quickly interjected. "Had three of them growing up, two bullies and a golden! Loves of my life, they are- never a day I didn't walk them. Well, besides that one week for Becca's wedding- and when my Nan had that nasty virus and I had to check up... on her..."

Simon's raised brow must have made you realize the tangent you had embarked on, because you snapped your mouth shut. You cleared your throat nervously and shifted on your feet.

Simon was the tiniest bit entertained. "And how's your Nan now?" He asked.

"Oh, much better." You said with a smile. "'Course, that was four years ago... she- she's alive, I mean! God, that sounded morbid, didn't it?"

Simon huffed out a laugh, before he stepped to the side and nodded his head towards the inside. "C'mon in - you came out this way, might as well chat. Could maybe use a house-sitter, too."

You muttered a quick 'thanks' and stepped inside, immediately taking note of how pristine and bare the home was. No decorations, only dark grey furniture with darker accents... the closest thing to decor was probably the mauve throw blanket over the back of the sofa.

"You like cleaning?" You speculated, following Simon into the kitchen.

"Not home enough to get it dirty." He replied nonchalantly, seating himself at the breakfast nook. He took a sip from his mug as he shoved a hand in his sweatshirt pocket. "Coffee?"

"Oh, no thanks." You shook your head politely. "Not now, anyways. I'll be up all-"

You cut your reasoning short when you spotted Riley, sitting still by Simon's feet. "Oh, hello!" You chirped, lowering yourself down to your knees and reaching your knuckles towards her, palm-up. "You must be Riley!"

She hesitated, then sniffed your knuckles, huffed, sniffed again, and thumped her tail slowly. She tilted her head back and looked at Simon with a questioning glance.

He chuckled, rubbing between her ears. He watched as you fished a small baggie from your pocket, taking out one of the lumpy, golden balls from the contents. You held it up for Simon to see.

"Peanut butter bacon cookie." You said, and Riley sniffed the air between her and the treat. "No sugars, no preservatives. Picked some up from the daycare on the way here."

Simon nodded once. "You can give-"

Before he could finish, Riley flawlessly snatched the cookie from between your fingers, downing it in a few bites. She licked her lips and stared at you as you laughed.

"Where are your manners?!" You said, poking her side. She followed your finger with her nose, searching for another treat.

You looked back at Simon. "I hope that was alright."

Simon shrugged, though he silently scolded Riley for accepting something from a stranger so quickly. "She'll survive."

Over the next hour - which was twice as long as he had entertained anyone that day - Simon listened to you ramble about your qualifications. Except, you didn't mention reviews, awards, or self achievements. You talked about your family dogs (the two pitbulls, Rowena and Charlemagne, and the golden retriever, Donald). You described the time you took care of your neighbor's schnauzer and home when she had to make a last minute trip to Berlin for two weeks. You talked about the best trails for dogs based on the texture of the ground and the environment (the younger dogs liked Swan's trail more, due to the thicker, woody area; older ones seemed to like Ellington park, where it was more of a suburban area with smoother paths). You rattled on about how that damn husky in the apartment across from you is always yelling, and how you really should invest in some noise-cancelling headphones.

Simon listened to every word you said. You seemed to know more than just how to walk a dog - it was almost as if you knew their language. You didn't just live with them, you cared about their personalities and preferences. He had a subconscious appreciation for how you regarded them - despite trying to keep up the act thay he was unhappy about needing a dog-sitter, he liked you.

And clearly, so did Riley. She was laying at Simon's feet, completely relaxed, eyes flitting between you and your hand movements as you spoke. You would occasionally look down to her, as if you were letting her know that she was also a part of the conversation, and she would lift her head ever so slightly and stare back - like she was listening.

"- and she decided that the day before my biochemistry exam, she was going to take her frustration out on my notes! Papers everywhere, even my sticky notes were torn up! You'd think she had a personal vendetta against me, wouldn't you?" You looked down at Riley for affirmation, and she looked back at you and slapped her tail against the floor a few times.

Simon chuckled, then sighed. "Well- I think you're more than qualified for this, and I think she likes you." He nudged Riley with his foot, who looked at him and huffed.

Your eyes widened. "Does that mean I got the job?"

He nodded. "Don't know when I'll be deployed next, but it should be soon. I'll send you an email with Riley's routine, and if you want to make some extra cash, I'll include some things you can do around the house."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" You exclaimed. You leaned down to Riley, who reached her head out and sniffed the air between your faces. "Ya hear that girl? You're stuck with me!"

Simon chuckled and stood up, followed by you and Riley. "You can expect to hear from me by Tuesday. I'll give you the spare key the morning I head out."

You followed him out of the kitchen and towards the front door. Riley pushed past you to stay close to Simon's side.

"That's fine. My schedule's flexible, I don't do much besides babysit. Also, let me know her preferences, like where she likes to walk, treats, toys, things like that."

Simon opened the door for you and you stepped outside, turning to face him on the landing. "Also - glad you didn't go with Mitchell. Bloke's a fraud."

Simon's brow raised as he leaned against the door. "S'cuse me?"

"Daniel Mitchell. Saw him on your piece of paper there." You replied, making Simon look down at the crumpled list of interviewees in his hand. "He was NOT dog-walker of the month - in fact, he was turned away when he applied to work at the daycare. He treated the dogs like they were cats, for gods sake! Said they don't actually need to be walked n' you can just let them in the backyard for a few minutes. He's out of his head!"

You sighed, tugging your keys out of your flannel pocket. "Anyways, I should get going. I'll look out for your email!" You turned and departed down the walkway, not sparing Simon a second glance as you left him in the doorway. "See you soon!"

He watched you climb into your small car, returning the wave you gave him before you pulled out of his driveway and disappeared down the street. Simon felt an odd stillness in his home - you had came and went like a storm, and the only evidence that you were ever here was the small baggie of peanut butter and bacon cookies on the kitchen table. He sighed, closing his front door and looking down at Riley.

"She's either gonna be the best, or the worst." He said, running a hand down his face.

Riley let out a groan, which turned into a high-pitched growl. She shifted her weight back and forth on each foot anxiously.

He raised an eyebrow. "Want t' go see Johnny?" He asked. She barked at the familiar name, running to where her leash hung in the closet.

He supposed it was about time. He hadn't seen his team since she was sent home. He knew she was probably aching to see someone other than him right now, and he was honestly going a little stir crazy himself, after spending so much time in the normal, civilian world.

He moved next to her, grabbing the leash and snapping it to her collar. She immediately ran back to the door and waited for him to open it, and he laughed.

"A'right, a'right... but no tackling Price this time. Nearly took out a few of his teeth last time, ya ninny."

Next ->

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley #cod fanfiction #cod mw3 #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod #cod x reader

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tgirlwithreverb · 10 months

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I saw that post about what to do if you're homeless again (the one that starts by telling you to spend all of your money on motel rooms lmao) anyway, here's a few thoughts, specifically for trans girls, cuz I don't really care otherwise tbh:

1) plan ahead, most trans girls are in precarious housing situations, you will have a much easier time when it falls apart if you already have a pack with most of the gear you need in it. Also, if you find yourself in a situation where you cant make rent, dont pay part of it, spend that money on gear, pocket the rest and leave, youll have a much nicer time. Look up your local eviction laws, you have plenty of time. (Gear list at the end)

2) travel! If you're in Arizona in May, leave. it's about to be hot as hell. If you're in Michigan in October, leave. It's about to be cold as hell. If you're in a big city, leave. It's way easier to be homeless pretty much anywhere else. Amtrak is cheaper and more comfortable than greyhound, hitchhiking is free and easy, if you're alone it's not that much slower than the previous two, and it's more fun, and sometimes people buy you food or whatever or give you money. I promise it's not scary and you're entirely capable of doing it, no matter who you are. 95+% of people who will pick you up are very nice. All you have to do is take the bus out of town, as far down the highway you can, to an exit with a truck stop if possible, then just stand on the side of the road with your thumb out until someone picks you up. You can stand at the bottom of the ramp(on the highway) near where the merge lane ends or at the top of the ramp(where there's usually a traffic light), the former is more likely to lead to cop interactions but will maybe get you a ride faster, check on hitchwiki for how the cops are in the area. don't be afraid to take a commuter bus or Amtrak to get out of a shitty cop area

3) skip shelters if you can (they are very occasionally a decent place to get stuff from) and encampments, good places to sleep include the trees near railroad tracks or highways, wooded areas behind shopping centers, sections of parks without paths, overgrown empty lots. Hang a tarp above you if there's an appreciable chance of rain, there's tons of YouTube tutorials on how to do this, maybe I'll make a post about what I usually do some day. There are many habits more fun than motel rooms, save your money for them lmao.

4) get on food stamps. This is easier in some places than others, but it makes the whole thing a lot easier. Just tell them you're homeless, if they don't give you a card the same day, you can probably ask to pick it up from that office, alternatively some drop in centers/day shelters can receive mail for you, or you can have it sent to general delivery(USPS service, look it up)

7) libraries are great for charging your phone and using wifi, but also keep an eye out, plenty of random outlets on the outsides of buildings are also powered

5) dumpster. sidewalk trash cans, Aldi, Einstein's, trader Joe's, pizza places, etc. You need to develop a bit of a sense for it but it's an easy way to get cooked food or travelling food or expensive food without spending resources. Also it's fun.

6) water is free, go into the bathroom of any gas station or grocery store in America(offer not valid in most big cities or on the west coast, but in that case just go to the library) and fill up your water bottle

8) hygiene notes: truckers get free showers from chain truck stops(loves, pilot/flying j) go there and ask them. convenient if you're hitchhiking, also you don't need to shower 3 times a day, really, you'll survive. Ditto with deodorant. Take care of your teeth though. Take your socks off every. day. Change them consistently. Safety razors give a good shave, work well without adequate water pressure, and the replacement blades are very stealable, they're kind of heavy though. Walmart makes these electric razors for women that take AA batteries and are pretty light but give a worse shave, also they kinda go through batteries, pick whatever works for you(cartridge razors suck)

9) traveling food notes: peanut butter is great, tortillas and bagels travel pretty well, tuna packets are pretty good protein for traveling(the ones with rice and beans or whatever are nice since theyre often the same price as the regular), condiment packets are free, hot sauce makes everything better, and mayo goes well with tuna and has a bunch of calories in it, salad dressing packets are free from truck stops and work well turning the Walmart shredded vegetable packages (labeled for making into slaw, next to the bagged salads) into a salad with real vegetables(not iceberg lettuce) in it or mixing in with tuna packets for even more calories than mayo

Gear world:

Necessary items(in order of importance): a gallon of water carrying capacity(an Arizona jug or other twist top jug is conventional, but a bladder+arizona bottles also works), a tarp(larger than 6'x9', not brightly colored), a hank of parachord, a sleeping bag (20° rated, synthetic insulation), a backpack with a padded hip belt(at least 50L, no more than 75), rain gear(a rain poncho might cover your pack too, a rain jacket can help with wind when its cold, a trash bag inside or outside your pack can keep it dry, a plan to watch the weather and not get caught also works), a z-fold foam sleeping pad, three pairs of socks, two pairs of underwear (at least one pair of boxer breifs strongly recommended if you arent incredibly skinny), a decent pair of shoes with good arch support, a functional jacket(skip if you got a rain jacket before), a base layer(wool or poly, absolutely no cotton)

Convenient items: a sleeping bag liner(cotton free, keeps you warm in winter and cool in summer), gallon zip locks to pack your stuff in(helps keep it dry and organized), no more than one change of clothes(as light as possible), a multi-tool(can opener, pliers, wire cutter), lighter(burning rope ends etc), spoon, floss and needles for patching

#anyway #not all encompassing or whatever #feel free to add your own tips but ill make fun of you if theyre stupid

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homunculus-argument · 3 months

Text

Rural Finland gothic

the asphalt road you are driving has been cut through the woods. the sky is clouded and grey, the asphalt is grey, the forest on both sides of you is green. no other colour exists other than green and shades of grey. sometimes blue roadsigns point towards places whose names you've never heard. you don't google them. it's none of your business.

sometimes you drive past a house, a wooden house painted white, yellow or red. the paint is faded and chipping, there is moss growing on the roof tiles. there are lace curtains in the windows and a bench on the yard, but you cannot tell by the quick glance you get whether the house is abandoned or not. the residents don't want you to know. it's none of your business.

you pause at a gas station. it seems to be a part of a chain that you thought went bankrupt in the 90s. a handful of those wooden houses are settled around it, and you wonder if any of the people living there work at the station. not that it matters. it's none of your business.

there are a handful of locals gathered inside the gas station, drinking coffee at the table. They smell like pine soap, resin and mosquito repellent, and you can't tell whether paused their conversation to silently stare at you when you stepped in, or whether they had been sitting in silence to begin with. you don't ask. it's none of your business.

the station cashier doesn't talk to you save for a greeting and a few quick nods. you can't tell whether it's because they assume you don't speak finnish. they don't ask where you came from, or where you're going. it's none of their business.

the road leads you somewhere with more houses and buildings. the locals don't call the town by the name. it's just church town, the church is there. people don't say they're going to the town to buy their groceries, they say they'll be at the church. you're not sure whether the town was built around the church or the church was built into the town. It's none of your business.

people talk of going to the church when they're going to the town, but nobody seems to go in the church. people only go there to be christened, for confirmation, to get married and to be buried. a child has not been officially named before they're christened, and no-one will tell you the name of their baby before the child has been given their name by a priest. most of them don't seem to know why, and you don't ask. it's none of your business.

even the town is strangely quiet. you see seven people altogether, and half of that number is a family of four. besides the sound of a car rumbling by, and the occasional barking of a dog, you hear nothing. you're standing in the parking lot of a grocery store, across the street from a library, in a walking distance from the town square, and it's so quiet you hear the sound of wind whispering in nearby trees.

there is a dog barking somewhere. of course they are barking, they are guard dogs and hunting dogs. they're supposed to do that. they bark to alert their masters of game, of intruders, of strangers and outsiders. sometimes they bark at the woods, when it doesn't look like there's anything there. the locals don't go investigate it. it's none of their business.

you see the same symbol drawn, doodled and carved anywhere that graffiti accumulates to. an oval divided in the middle, with rays like a sun. it's called the "church boat", though everyone knows it's meant to be a cunt. you remember reading somewhere that it's an ancient symbol, from the time of the Old Gods before the christians came, when the inherent power of the woman of the house was considered stronger than even death magic. you don't ask what the people here know about this. it's none of your business.

the locals can tell you're an outsider here because you don't look like anyone they know. if you were someone's visiting grandchild, they could tell by your face which clan you belong to. they don't ask you what other business you could possibly have here. it's none of their business.

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ceilidho · 11 months

Text

prompt: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 1.

“—are priced wrong. You need to fix that.”

“Hmm? Sorry?” you ask, mind snapping out of whatever fog it’d descended into upon seeing John Price’s truck pull up out front of the grocer. You blink a couple times before focusing on the older lady lined up at your till, her face pinched with displeasure. It deepens when she realizes that you haven’t been paying a lick of attention to whatever she’d just spent the better half of a minute complaining about.

“The beefsteak tomatoes are priced wrong. They’re supposed to be two dollars a pound—it’s in the catalogue.”

Before you can so much assure her that you’ll certainly honour the advertised price and save yourself the headache, she’s already opening up her purse to pull out the crinkled grocery catalogue, unfolding it across your conveyor belt; it goes out in the local paper once a week with all the sales and rippable coupons, and this isn’t the first time you’ve had someone try to lecture you about discrepant prices (Kate, your manager, is a sweet, gungho lady, that often sends off discount confirmations to the editorial staff of the local paper without informing anyone that actually works in the shop day-to-day).

From the corner of your eye, you see John slam the door shut on his truck and make his way towards the shop, hands shoved into his pockets. Even from a ways away, the sight of him makes your cheeks redden; his beard’s gotten fuller in the week since you last saw him, clad in even more layers of flannel and tweed now with the fast approach of winter. He looks properly ready for the winter months, with just an air of heaviness present in the lines on his forehead and the tilt of his head.

You feel your lips slip down into a frown. Helpless, you can only watch in defeat as John lumbers into the grocery store, brushing his hand over his hat to shake off the snowflakes onto the mat by the automatic doors. He picks up one of the baskets by the front door before heading down one of the aisles. His eyes don’t flicker to meet yours so much as once.

Your shoulders slump when he ducks out of sight before you focus your attention back on the woman in front of you. She’s pointing out the tomato print with the little two dollar sign in the advertisement with a stiff finger, eyebrow cocked like she’s pulled one over on you. You really can’t imagine there being anything less important to you than the price of beefsteak tomatoes, never mind having to refund someone a whole dollar because you inadvertently overcharged them and you happened to get stuck with the one customer that would spend a full thirty seconds reviewing their bill before leaving the shop.

“See?” she says, the word coming out sibilant and stressed. You blink.

Turning back to the till, you click a couple buttons before the register pops back out again and you pluck up a dollar to hand back to your customer. On the receipt that’s printed out, you hastily scrawl the reason for the refund and shove the seller's copy back into the till. The woman stares at the dollar now sitting on the belt in front of her.

“Of course, ma’am,” you say, a robotic smile stretching across your face. “Apologies for the inconvenience. I’ll get someone to reprice the tomatoes so this doesn’t happen again.”

She doesn’t say anything when she snatches up the dollar along with her groceries and hobbles out the front door, the automatic doors swooshing behind her. With her finally gone, you close your eyes for a second, a private moment just to yourself.

Someone clears their throat from just off to the side. Your heart bursts into a frantic pitter-patter when you open your eyes to find John waiting patiently at the end of your till, his basket filled up with bottles of mustard, gherkins, and other preserves.

“A paper bag, please,” he says in a gruff voice, like he tousled with sleep just a few minutes ago. It makes your head spin.

You nod, hardly able to even respond.

Up close, he smells like firewood and smoke, the ever-present cigar usually hanging off his lip nowhere to be seen but still clinging to his jacket and flannel beneath it. The mutton chops of his beard have grown out more than the rest, but his jaw is covered in a layer of fur in comparison to the week previous. John doesn’t really make eye contact as you scan his groceries, almost too tired to raise them from the conveyor belt. Not for lack of respect—it comes off as pure exhaustion.

You know John as the gruff, taciturn park ranger that comes in once a week to load up on steaks, cold cuts and fresh produce, but in the months you’ve lived in this town, he’s always fresh off work, a little rough around the edges and not quite fit for human interaction just yet. He just grunts and nods when you tell him his total, towers over you and never really makes much eye contact.

It’s always non-perishables with him these days. At least for the past several weeks, as far as you know. Cans and jars and freezer-ready meals. He doesn’t strike you as much of a prepper, but his order speaks for itself. It’s one of the things you like most about your job—getting to peek into the small crack of life laid bare before you.

“Getting ready for the winter?” you ask.

John grunts, eyes meeting yours just briefly before dropping down again. Dark brown. Sometimes you swear you catch the faintest glimmer of gold in them, like a honey glaze, but it’s likely just a trick of the lights.

“Gonna be a rough one.”

You try not to shiver at the sound of his voice. It’s not often that you get to hear it; even though you moved into the house next to his almost six months ago, he spends most of his days in the mountains, working up there as a ranger. He comes home after dark nearly every day—not so hard now that the sun sets early on in the day, but even back in the summer you’d spy him coming back from his shift well after dark.

He’s gotten more heavyset in the last couple of weeks, a comfortable weight to his midsection and arms. Beefier, more solid. When John is in front of you, it’s like no one else in the world exists at that moment; he removes them all from sight and mind. It soothes some of the worry that his constant late coming has stirred up in you, knowing that he’s fed. Not all of it though.

“You know the, uh—” you start, clearing your throat midway through, almost losing your nerve under his sudden attention at the sound of your voice, “—the butter’s twenty percent off this week. I, um…I wasn’t sure if you’d noticed.” You catch his little frown and clarify. “You usually get butter.”

“Thank you, but not this time,” he says gruffly. “Got enough of it in the freezer.”

“Oh…well…” you trail off like you’re going to say something else but you let the conversation fall flat instead.

He’s quiet the rest of the time as you bag his groceries. John always is. There’s a hurt side of you, silently begging for more, but you’ve watched him enough around town to know that this is just what he’s like. Gruff with the other rangers on the mountain, taciturn after a long day’s work, and sweet as apple pie with the older townsfolk. You’ve seen him help people at crosswalks and more than once he’s footed someone’s grocery bill when they’ve come short.

Maybe you’re not interesting enough to merit conversation or that same goodwill he extends to others. Not that John has ever been anything less than polite with you, but—your thoughts scatter like birds when you recite his total without thinking and watch him wordlessly as he pays.

“Thanks, honey,” John says, eyes meeting yours again. “See you next week.” He finally manages a smile, his eyes crinkling under the weight of it.

You could get lost in his smile if you let yourself. It comes freely but seldomly these days, kept at bay by rough days out in the woods helping lost hikers, ticketing hunters for going over their allotment, and managing the wildlife. But when he smiles, you feel the blood go hot under your cheeks and fight every vision you have of him suddenly leaning across the counter and tipping your chin up for a kiss.

Tongue-tied, you nod. You can’t even force a smile on your face, wide eyes still set on him in wonderment. He doesn’t wait around for you to find your words.

But—you think again wistfully as he turns to leave—it might be nice once in a while. For him to look at you like you’re more than a stranger.

You mourn your chance to talk to him once he’s out the door, wishing you could call him back. It’s not his fault that just the mere sight of him leaves you tongue-tied. It folds up like a cherry stem in your mouth when he speaks to you and you haven’t yet managed to untangle it in his presence. Maybe someday.

That’s just life though.

He’s always made you feel nervous, like a schoolgirl with her first crush, but it’s a safe kind of crush. The kind that feels fun to indulge in because there’s no possibility of reciprocation, like you can just ogle him and pine over him without having to worry about what you’d do if he felt the same way. You mourn the loss of him when he leaves, but like a tender bruise on your knee that you sometimes press just to shy away from.

The rest of your shift pales in comparison to the eight minutes spent in his presence. Rinse and repeat. Someone else complains about the tomatoes and you write a note for your manager to read the next day. It’ll be her fault if someone finally emails in to complain or takes it to the news; there’s always an op-ed in the papers that’s little more than a thinly veiled bad Yelp review.

John’s car is outside his house when you make it home at the end of the day, the lights still on inside. You sit in your car and stare at the light hidden behind the curtains.

It would be nice, you think, resting your head back against the seat, to go up and knock at his door. If only you were braver. You’d march right up, knock on his door, and offer him something to eat. You could do it too. In the six months you’ve lived here, it’s not as though you’ve ever treated him particularly neighbourly.

You squeak when you see John pull the curtain back and peer out the window, sliding down in the front seat so he doesn’t notice you there.

Maybe some other day then.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #cod mw2 #captain john price #captain price #john price #price x reader #price x you #price/reader #x reader

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shockercoco · 3 months

Text

Rainbow vs. Leather

Benny Cross x reader

Warnings - some swearing, flirty! and nervous! Benny

Word count - 2397

a/n - request: Hi!! If interested can you please do a Benny Cross x reader who is an unofficial member of the gang?. . .Benny likes her and try’s to give her hints but she thinks that he is just being nice because she had bad luck with guys who only always saw her has a friend and so, he has to be blunt with her one day. And the rest is up to you. Thank you." - read the full request here. i think 2k words is just gonna be my average at this point lol, i hope you enjoy :)

“Do I have to?” You had asked your parents one night at dinner — they had basically turned it into an intervention.

Your parents weren’t a huge fan of you just lounging around the house all the time with nothing to do, although you had no problem with just kicking back and watching a little television. They thought you needed to get out and socialize and make some friends.

You weren’t necessarily opposed to the idea, but making friends wasn’t an easy thing for you. You came off as shy at first, but once you got comfortable in your environment you became pretty talkative and outgoing. This was also a problem when having conversations with people because sometimes they thought you didn’t want to talk, or even worse, that you didn’t like them for some reason.

You wanted to come out of your shell, so when your parents told you that they wanted you to get a job, you were hesitant but you agreed.

At least they weren’t kicking you out of the house.

What they didn’t know is that you would get a job at the local bar where all the Vandals hung out, the town’s motorcycle club. It was easy for you since Johnny, a close family friend — leader and owner of the club — practically owned the bar, so when you had asked him for a job, he was completely fine with it.

Your parents thought you would get a job at something like the grocery store or the book store down the street, but since they loved Johnny they were okay with you working at the bar.

So now here you are, your third week as a bartender and you enjoyed it. For the most part, the guys were pretty respectful and you rarely had any problems — mainly because Johnny basically threatened them into treating you right before you even started.

There was this instance a couple days ago with a drunk guy, though. He kept getting closer and closer to you, and when it became clear he wasn’t going to leave you alone, Johnny interrupted and kicked the guy out of the bar.

You told Johnny that you had it handled, but he had just dismissed you and said, “No lady should have to deal with that.”

It was pretty obvious that this wasn’t your usual crowd. You enjoyed wearing colorful clothes and jewelry, but you did try and tone it down a little so that you didn’t stick out too much. Thankfully, you had made a couple of friends so you didn’t feel too out of place.

“You should come out riding with us later,” Kathy, a new friend, tells you from the other side of the bar counter.

“On a motorcycle? Are you crazy?” You ask as you lean against the counter. A lot of the guys had already gotten their drinks, and they didn’t want to get too drunk for the ride later, so you didn’t have too much to do.

“What else would I be talking about?” she playfully rolls her eyes.

“I don’t know, maybe a car ride?”

“When was the last time you had fun?” She asks you as she taps the ashes off the end of her cigarette.

“Yesterday while watching some game show,” you joke, and Kathy just laughs.

“How are you two doing over here?” Benny walks up with a glass in his hand, taking a seat next to Kathy.

Benny was another one of your new friends, and you enjoyed whenever he was around. Mostly because you liked how he made your heart flutter just by looking at you or giving you that smirk of his. You hate to admit it, but you were a goner the first day you had met him.

He wasn’t your usual type, but who cares. The whole point of this job was to get you to become more open. You highly doubted that the feelings were reciprocated on his end, though.

But little did you know they were. Just like you, Benny had fallen for you as soon as he laid eyes on you. He had just entered the bar and joined a game of pool with some of the other Vandals.

As he was lining up his shot, he heard a laugh that he hadn’t heard before. All the laughs he was used to were from the other Vandals or the raspy laughs from the girls that hung around and smoked.

Your laugh was different — light and airy and sometimes started off as just a giggle and got interrupted with a snort. It was also loud enough to be heard over the regular chatter of the bar, making Benny miss his shot.

The guys had joked and asked if he was distracted, but he just brushed it off and tried to regain his focus.

When he looked up furrowed eyebrows to see who was causing the noise powerful enough to throw him off his game, he noticed you standing there behind the bar. You are laughing at something Johnny had said to you as you poured him a drink.

Benny ended up missing his next two shots, and he surprisingly wasn’t upset when he lost the game.

Benny needed to know who you were, and he made that his mission from then on. He tried to send you signals that he was interested in you, but for some reason you weren’t picking them up. He loved the way you giggled at something he said or how your soft hand accidentally brushed his as you handed him his drink.

He was trying so hard to be patient, including now as he saw you talking with Kathy with a gentle smile.

“I’m trying to get her to join us later tonight for the night ride,” Kathy answers him.

“And?” Benny asks hopefully, his eyebrows raised as he looks at you with humor written across his face.

“Not happening,” you shake your head.

“Why not?” he continues.

“Because she doesn’t like fun,” Kathy butts in before you can answer.

“Hey, I do like to have fun. It’s just that my version of fun and yours is different,” you defend.

“Have you ever been on a motorcycle?” Benny asks you as he rubs his hand over his chin. When you shake your head in response, he asks, “Do you want to?”

“Not really a huge fan of putting my life on the line like that,” you tell him. Benny chuckles, Kathy joining in.

“It’s not that dangerous, we don’t always drive fast. Tonight’s just a cruise. Come on,” Benny says.

His intense gaze is almost enough to make you say yes…but no. Being on the back of a motorcycle didn’t seem as safe as being inside a closed up car.

“I’m okay, plus my parents might kill me if I stay out too late,” you say.

“Doesn’t Johnny know your parents? I’m sure they wouldn’t be too mad,” says Kathy.

Benny’s face contorts into surprise at Kathy’s statement. He looks back at you for confirmation, and you give him a silent nod.

“What about me?” Johnny questions as he hears his name being mentioned. He gives you a smile as he hands you his glass to refill.

Good, hopefully he can help you get out of this.

“We’re trying to convince her to come out with us, but she’s too afraid,” Kathy explains. You let out a scoff.

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Johnny agrees, taking a sip from his glass.

What?

Your eyes widen as your lips slightly parted in disbelief.

Johnny shakes his head in amusement at your expression. “I promise it’s not that bad, you’ll be safe with us. If you get in any trouble with your parents, I’ll talk to them myself.”

You look at the three pairs of eyes staring back at you, waiting for your answer — Kathy with her eyebrows raised, Benny with a daring look behind his eyes, and Johnny with a smirk.

“Fine,” you surrender, throwing your hands in the air as the group in front of you lets out a small cheer.

As the night at the bar comes to an end, the bikers take that last sip from their glass and throw on their colors, before filing out the door and heading toward their bikes. Hoots and hollers fill the air as everyone begins to hype each other up.

“You can ride with me,” you hear Benny tell you as he walks past you and toward his own motorcycle. He doesn’t look back at you as he starts up the bike and waits as everyone else does the same.

Get on a bike. With Benny.

You spot Kathy on a bike with Cal. When she sees you looking, she nods her head towards Benny and smiles. You inhale a deep breath to give yourself before heading towards Benny, who offers you his hand as you climb on behind him.

“Well I’ll be damned, is Rainbow finally coming?” Brucie laughs when he sees you. He gave you the nickname when he saw you on your first day dressed in pastel colors and joked about how bright your clothes were. The name has stuck with you ever since, unfortunately.

“Hell yeah,” Cockroach shouts, along with a few others.

You roll your eyes and try to hide the smile forming across your lips. Benny instructs you to wrap your arms around his torso, which you do with uncertainty. You’re not sure how high or low you should have your hands and how tight to hold onto him.

This feels oddly intimate.

He smells like cigarettes — which would normally be a huge turn off if it was someone else — along with sweat from the multiple rounds of pool he played throughout the night, and his natural musk.

Benny must’ve noticed your nervousness because he grabs your hands and places them on his abdomen, allowing you to feel the muscles beneath his shirt. He gives your hands a small pat as if to keep them in place before following the rest of the Vandals as they pull out onto the street.

You’re not sure exactly what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. The way the wind whips around and through, taking your breath away in such an addicting way. The way the motorcycle vibrates your whole body, only intensifying your experience. You’re not sure how fast Benny’s going, but you couldn’t care less.

You hate to admit it, but the ride is over too quickly for your liking. As Benny separates from everyone else and pulls up in front of your house, you realize the smile currently on your face hasn’t left since the ride started.

Benny comes to a slow stop before cutting the engine and helping you off the bike and onto the sidewalk. Your body is still buzzing from the vibration of the bike, but you enjoy the feeling.

There’s a silence between the two of you as he watches you for a moment, looking you up and down.

“What?” You laugh nervously as you shift under his gaze. You wrap your arms around your body, not just to shield yourself from the window, but from him.

Benny smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing. I take it you enjoyed the ride.”

“I did actually,” you nod.

“So you wouldn’t be opposed to doing it again sometime?” he asks.

“I guess not,” you say.

“With me,” he adds, more as a statement than a question.

You blink. “What?”

“You know what. I’m asking you to come riding with me,” he says casually.

You want to say something, but honestly you're at a loss for words.

“Come on, you know you want to,” he smirks.

“And why would I do that?” you question.

“Because I want you to,” he shrugs his shoulders as he looks out into the distance. Benny takes a breath and hesitates for a second before looking back at you. It’s now or never. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get your attention?”

“My attention?” you ask, but you think you know where he’s headed with this.

“Yes, your attention. I’ve been flirting with you pretty much everyday since you started working at the bar, and you don’t seem to notice. I mean, some of the other guys have picked up on the fact that I like you.”

“I thought you were just being nice,” you tell him, your forehead creasing.

“Nice?” Benny scoffs with a laugh. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that.”

“I don’t know, I just-I thought you were being nice since I’m always hanging around Kathy!”

“Even Kathy has noticed!” he throws a hand up.

“Lower your voice!” you hush him. It’s after midnight, and you don’t want everyone on the street to start looking out of their windows.

You really don’t know what to say now, though. Like, what the hell have you been doing all this time?

Well, to be fair, people don’t usually flirt with you.

“So….”

“So….” Benny drags out. “Will you put me out of my misery and go on a date with me? It doesn’t have to be anything special, unless you want it to. We can just go for a ride or I could take you out to eat. Anything you want,” Benny looks at you with hope written all over his face.

A grin slowly made its way across your face as you took in Benny. Is he nervous?

“I mean, I can’t really say no because we see each other all the time at the bar anyways,” you joke, causing Benny to let out a chuckle.

“Is that a yes then?” he asks.

“Yes,” you confirm. Benny nods, satisfied with your answer.

“I guess I should probably go — you’re cold, and I’m pretty sure your mother has been looking out the window this whole time,” Benny smirks.

Your mouth drops as you whip your head around just in time to see someone move away from the window on the second floor. There’s no doubt you’ll be flooded with a ton of questions later.

You turn back around when you hear Benny’s engine start back up.

“I’ll see you soon, Rainbow,” Benny shoots you a win, stealing the nickname Brucie had given you.

“That’s not my name!” you shout after him, and he just gives you a quick glance back before continuing down the road.

like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #benny cross #benny cross x reader #the bikeriders #the bikeriders x reader

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dredgesnails · 5 months

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stardew valley au where joel and skizz are new residents to pelican town (hermit town?). joel just inherited a large farm from his late grandfather and skizz is moving in with his old friend after reconnecting with him and wanting a fresh start. and the townspeople are like, kinda weird.

bdubs is fine enough - he’s a sweet man with a fun personality and he’s the local builder, but it’s almost frightening how fast he constructs new buildings when joel needs them. pearl, their resident postmaster, is also pretty normal other than the fact that skizz never seems to be awake early enough to catch her delivering mail. scar is lovely but he’s never available when joel wants another chicken. the mayor, xisuma, is pleasant too, if a little eccentric at times, but he doesn’t really seem to do much in town.

for the most part, skizz is settling in well. he’s moved in with impulse, who runs the local blacksmith in town, and he gets along well with most of the local townspeople. he’s started spending his evenings at the local saloon listening to ren regale the patrons with fantastical tales while he and stress serve up food and drinks, and he finds himself growing close with cleo, the local sculptor. he even gets a new wardrobe from hypno free of charge, and sometimes helps cub out with his totally scientific studies and creations.

skizz also joins forces with beef (who helps to supply the local general store that xb and keralis run) in terrorising the local manager of the corporate chain grocery store that no one likes. doc is a terrible manager but would make a fun supervillain (according to joe hills, the bookseller who appears once in a blue moon but seems to know doc more than anyone in town).

joel, on the other hand, seems to only be interacting with the strangest residents in town. he discovers the adventurer’s guild after only a couple weeks, and is only somewhat irritated by iskall’s refusal to pronounce his name correctly. false promises to give him prizes if he can kill enough monsters, which is not something joel had expected to be doing when he pictured farm life, but here he is. he stumbles upon a travelling cart one day, and the man inside insists he’s a knight from a faraway land, that he risked his life to make it all the way here to sell his wares. it’s all stuff joel can get cheaper elsewhere.

he’s pretty sure the local doctor has no real medical training, but then he passes out while fighting monsters and he wakes up completely fine, so zedaph probably knows what he’s doing. maybe. when joel isn’t passing out he sometimes makes trips to the library-slash-museum, which is probably almost completely empty because mumbo, who begs joel for anything to display, looks like he’s never fought a duggie in his life. eventually mumbo gives joel a key to the sewers, which are way cooler than they have any right to be, and that’s where he finds jevin’s secret sewer shop. jevin lives in town. he just also has a shop hidden underground. joel has stopped asking questions by now.

and then there are the three who live by the beach. etho spends most of his time tinkering around the fishing hut or hovering around bdubs, but sometimes he drives the bus to the desert. only sometimes. there might be something under his mask. no one knows for sure. gem runs the fish shop most days and she claims she’s a sailor, but joel has never seen a single working boat around despite all the ocean. she can also hold her breath underwater for an uncannily long amount of time, like, scarily so, and will sometimes disappear for a few days and return with an abundance of treasures. joel has never seen her leave by boat. grian fishes a lot and runs the shop when gem can’t, and he sometimes talks as though the sea can speak to him. skizz has caught him staring into space for extended periods of time. one time he waded into the water and just stood there, head down, muttering to himself.

apparently there used to be a lighthouse but “it’s gone now”. gem says if they ask bdubs nicely enough maybe they can build another one, but she and grian are banned from build requests after the last incident with their pet snails (joel has never seen the snails, but scar complains about them enough to convince him they’re real).

there also might be some kind of wizard who lives in the creepy tower in the woods. skizz has heard he’s the one who helps maintain the power in the valley, and joel’s convinced he hallucinated seeing him once until he recieves a letter from the wizard himself, and visits him only to find that the strange fire-creature he saw that one time was, in fact, tango, who is human for the most part, he just sets himself on fire sometimes.

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biblio-smia · 11 months

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part one | part two | part three

mike hasn't been himself in a while.

he's been there, physically, barely. you chalked the first few days of the lack of anything from mike up to his new job working security at the local mall. the new title came with longer hours and a sort of haze over mike, the little energy he already had draining into the negatives. on the occasional night you stayed for dinner, there was a faraway look in his eyes and your words had to leave your mouth three times before mike really heard them.

next came the forgetfulness.

first it was to call you before he went to bed that night. you hung around the landline in your kitchen for hours before you slipped into unconsciousness in your dining room chair.

you didn't bring it up.

then came the second saturday since mike had started working as a security guard, the day you and mike would usually have a night in with dinner and drinks.

you'd kissed abby goodnight and shut her door quietly, almost spinning into mike as he came up behind you.

"i'm so sorry, i'm really, really, tired," mike sighed, his arms wrapping around you as his chin sank on your shoulder. your hands immediately set to soothe his muscles, hoping he'd get better sleep tonight.

"it's okay," you assure, pressing an understanding kiss to mike's cheek. "do you need me to tuck you in, too?"

mike laughs, an arm wrapped around you as he walks you out. you find comfort in the fact that he doesn't really want to let go, pulling you in for another warm hug and smothering you with quick kisses. quiet laughter fills the air and mike holds onto your hand until you're too far to touch, not retreating inside the door frame until your car has turned the corner of his neighborhood and disappeared.

so, even though you haven't had a proper conversation with mike in more than a few days, you don't bring it up.

mike forgets to make dinner again. last time he'd been lucky, a few stray vegetables coming together to save his ass with soup; it looks intentional enough for abby despite her usual groaning.

this time, not so much.

you’re up extra early to help take abby to school. at least, that’s what you say you’re there for, though really your mission is to make sure mike leaves with his uniform on his back the correct way. everyone is running late as mike flips over a pancake to reveal a blackened outside with a still-raw inside.

“ohhhkay,” you say, taking the spatula from mike and gently pushing him towards the door. you turn off the stove and throw the failed breakfast attempt out, checking the fridge only to find it almost completely barren.

looks like mike hasn’t even had time for groceries. you shouldn’t feel bad that he hasn’t had time for you.

you feel mike’s frustration grow as he can’t find his keys, abby’s impatient pointing to the time adding to his stress.

“hey.” your voice is grounding as you pull mike in by his slightly-wrinkled white collar, undoing a button in the wrong hole and smoothening out his shirt. “did you check your pockets?”

mike did not.

his hand digs into yesterday’s jeans and his fingers closed around the cold metal of his keys. there’s a smile on your lips as you pull mike in for an intoxicating kiss (mike doesn’t even hear abby gag).

“thank you,” mike whispers, one hand gratefully on your elbow.

“don’t forget to eat something, please.”

mike nods, kissing your cheek once before bolting out the door. if he drives fast, he might still make it on time.

you turn to abby with a smile, grabbing her backpack and her tiny hand.

“how about we pick something up for breakfast?”

abby cheers, no longer aware of how much silent reading time she’d missed.

when you pick abby up there’s a frown on her face and you feel bad for dragging her to the grocery store. abby doesn’t complain because she hates upsetting you, a nervous desire to be a “good kid” in front of you still standing strong. though her eyes light up when you place a candy bar in with the rest of your items at the very end, knowing it was for her by the way you smiled.

“don’t tell your brother.”

abby shakes her head and holds your hand tighter, grinning. mike always said you spoiled her, but you felt like going on a little bit of a rebellious streak.

abby helps you put away groceries (as best she can with her thin arms and small stature) and you let her pick tonight’s menu. to no one’s surprise, she chooses spaghetti and meatballs. you’d anticipated this dish being a popular one, pulling out the ingredients immediately.

abby draws while you cook, though mike’s kitchen was different from yours and you’d somehow burnt the sauce. really, all you had to do was heat it up.

you supposed you’d gotten lost in your head (now you could understand where mike was most of the time). but then abby’s face scrunched and her voice cut through.

“is something burning?”

you bite back a curse (not in front of abby!) and taste the sauce to see if it was worth salvaging (it wasn’t). you tossed the few cents’ worth and tried to scrape off the black stuff it left behind. you gave up and pulled out a new pan, making one of the easiest meals known to man without fault this time.

abby’s in bed. not even a sugary high could compete with a full belly and warm coaxing from you (though you’re glad mike’s running late, missing how much longer it takes you to lure abby to sleep).

keys jingle on the other side of the front door and you know staying was the right decision when you sigh at the sound. your shoulders are hunched as you sit at the dinner table, plate of spaghetti only half-touched.

the front door creaks open and you don’t rise to greet mike with a kiss as you usually would. mike barely notices, busy sniffing the air and trying to identify the hint of something awful. he locks the door behind him, kicks off his shoes, remembers to hang his keys. the place looks tidier than he left it.

he’s quiet, wondering if abby left the kitchen light on when his socked feet lead him in front of you.

your chin rests in your hands as you look up at him, slowly. there’s a tired, forced smile on your face and mike suddenly remembers dinner.

he opens the fridge and is convinced he’s traveled back to a week and a half ago with the state it’s in. mike glances at the stove and identifies the main smell that had hit him upon arrival.

“you..?” mike can’t finish, pointing instead to the fridge and the pot of pasta.

you nod, your eyes never leaving him despite your head not really moving. you’re different tonight.

“you didn’t have to.” mike is tiptoeing the line between grateful and annoyed. he’s an adult and these are his responsibilities. but really, what would he had done without you?

“yeah,” you reply and mike is worried you’re going to break up with him. his heart quickens his pace and he’s suddenly nervous. “are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?”

“what?” that wasn’t what mike was expecting. “nothing’s wrong,” he shrugs, shields coming up immediately.

“really?” you’re hoping he’ll just spit it out so you don’t have to ask again. but you underestimate how stubborn mike is. “because this is the first actual conversation we’ve had in, like, a week.” it’s been longer than that, but your head is starting to spin.

“i’m just… tired.” mike shrugs again, turning towards the cabinets to pull out a bowl, immediately guilty as he gets ready to eat the food you had to make.

your expression is unrelenting as mike glances over, his eyes darting back to his plate to avoid yours.

mike is startled by how quietly you creep beside him, hands pulling the pot and the pincers closer.

“i’ve got it,” mike insists as you begin reaching for his bowl (because, even now, you still care). “i said, i’ve got it.”

ceramic smashes against tile. the both of you are forced to freeze now, the threat of stabbed feet keeping either of you from walking away.

“mike, if i’m too much for you right now, you have to communicate-”

maybe that’s it.

“you are being too much,” mike blurts out heatedly, his honesty evidently shocking you. “i’m not a kid. you don’t have to take care of me.”

you need a second to recover. to let mike’s words sink in.

“i don’t mind it, mike, i really don’t. if you need me to pick abby up, fine. watch her? i’ve got it. if you need me to take care of dinner, i’d be happy to. i’ll do it all without you even having to ask, because that’s how i love you.”

mike is twelve years old again, feeling himself shut down completely, watching as his mother pleads for him to speak to her. she gives up eventually.

“it doesn’t even feel like we’re in a relationship anymore, michael. and if you need a break, that’s fine, i just want you to talk to me.” the pressure in your chest is lifted with the relief of saying what you’ve been meaning to but is immediately restored (and heavier, if possible) by mike’s silence

it had only taken a few more years for michael’s home to be completely broken, shattered into tiny pieces like the ceramic bowl on the ground.

michael is difficult. he knows this.

it has been floating in his head for years but it is hammered in now: michael schmidt is hard to love.

mike is silent now, watching your lips move but not quite grasping any sound coming out of them; not quite there, lost somewhere else like he has been for weeks.

at last he has the sense to do something.

he walks carefully through the remnants of the bowl on the floor, finding the broom in a different place than he’d left it and returning to the kitchen.

you’re gone and mike’s head snaps to the sound of the doorknob.

“i’m not gonna wait around forever.” you say before you slip out into the dark of the night.

mike sees your headlights faintly through the curtain before they disappear down the street.

mike begins mindlessly sweeping up what’s left of the bowl, left alone with no one but himself to blame.

he has been abandoned, once again, but can he really call it abandonment when he pushed you away first?

requests for mike schmidt are open!

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt angst #mike schmidt fluff #fnaf x reader #fnaf movie #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #v + mike #v writes #most anticlimatic fight scene ever im sorry #i dont like when ppl shout!!

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itsdannycragg · 2 months

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Hi Tumblr!

I logged da fuck off at some point and will continue to be very much so not on social media! Believe me when I tell you life is better on the other side.

I do want to pop in with a life update for the curious!

I'm out here in Durham, NC, and three years after moving here with Shelby and Brian, I can confidently say there isn't a place in the world I'd rather put my roots down.

I never knew what actual community looked or felt like until I came here. I'd made friends in town everywhere I'd lived, of course, and we would go out to eat or on a vacation, visit a gallery or something, but in Durham it's just different. Looking out the window during a car ride, chatting with a stranger in a grocery store, checking out a thrift shop or going to the library, I find myself declaring "I love living here..." the same compulsive way I tell my partners I love them. Durham isn't just a place I live, it's where I belong.

I've been calling myself an ex-cartoonist, and preaching the nightmare of trying to make art for infinite-profit focused megacorps. It's not that I didn't love making cartoons, it's that I did. It may not be that way for everyone, but for me, working a job I loved meant I was working every second of my life. Being an artist is a core part of my heart and soul, and near the end, I had become so burnt out I would spend hours just trying to start doing the work I used to fly out of bed excited to do.

So I did some of this and that, worked a retail job that fucked my hands up so bad that I had to have double carpal tunnel release surgery. 29 years as an artist and I get carpal tunnel from hefting around boxes in a warehouse!

Since then, I've pivoted into building a career as a graphic designer. (And I'm learning web dev too!) I'm getting involved in the local nonprofit scene, meeting so many incredible people and finding so many cool and exciting opportunities to focus my design work on community awareness, nonprofits, small businesses!! I didn't expect that to be so viable for a Graphic Designer. I had the misconception for a long time that I'd have to put my creative sensibilities aside for more dry, sensible corporate phooey. But there's so much more. Graphic design is truly a delight and a challenge! I have always enjoyed thinking critically about all forms of human creation. Why am I so drawn to this book cover? What makes that building so weird? Why do these casserole mix boxes piss me off? Why does that person's outfit look so fucking awesome?

Taking those thoughts and using them to inform how I approach design is an entirely different beast from animating and illustrating. I'm fighting for my life out there formatting text, morphing vectors and and scooting things around a comp until it works. A picture's worth a thousand words, but you don't have space for a thousand words in a graphic design. Condense! Condense! It's challenging, and a lot of fun.

Working as a cartoonist was my dream come true, and I am forever proud of and thankful for the part I have played in the history of animation and queer representation in entertainment. I had the privilege of having the life crisis I had at 21— "I never thought I'd get this far. What more could I want? What do I do now?"

Well, a decade later I confidently know what comes after having my dreams come true. I get older, and I experience new things, meet new people, struggle paying bills, endure all kinds of misfortunes and problems, and come out the other side astounded and proud to have survived it. Grow closer to my family friends and community as the years deepen our history together, and just be amazed and thankful that I made it this far, over and over.

It's funny being called old by my younger friends, because I have never felt so young in my life! I JUST cracked 30. There are so many things I haven't done yet, and so many things I don't know that I don't know yet. And I have the power to take ALL of this and to create art about it. Hopy shit!

Speaking of making art and sharing it, one of the reasons I'm excited to be learning web dev is so I can carve out places online where I can share anything and everything I want to. Media Crit, comics, essays, comics, illos, however I want to present it. I'll share it when I get the site running. Or maybe I wont and you'll have to find it by chance.

And of course, I'm still actively writing Neokosmos with Shelby and Brian, and doing other little things here and there. :) See ya when I see ya, Danny

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reidmotif · 1 year

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Behind Closed Doors Pt. 2

Summary: Reader and Spencer get caught having sex in the storage closet, in possibly the most embarrassing way possible.

A/N: This is a requested Part 2 to my other fic by the same name, "Behind Closed Doors" . For the full experience, read them back to back!

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: Reader POV, drinking/drinking games, rough sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, semi-public sex, tipsy sex (if you squint), exhibitionism (kind of)

Word Count: 2.9k

The storage closet at the BAU had become somewhat of an unlikely sanctuary for Spencer and I.

I didn’t realize how much I’d end liking it, especially since my boyfriend and I had always managed just fine with no PDA at work for long periods of time, but once I got a taste of it- I was fucking addicted.

Maybe it was the thrill of knowing we could be caught at any moment, or the idea of someone hearing my moans through the thin door of the small space, begging Spencer for more and more until I was practically sobbing.

Or maybe it was that Spencer seemed to lose all control when we were in the closet, any and all previous inhibitions and protests leaving him as soon as we closed the door, his hands immediately sneaking under my shirt, cupping my bra and removing it, touching me in any way fathomable. His lips would make their way down my neck, teasing me until I was needy and desperate, and then he’d let loose, fucking me like we’d never get the chance to do this again.

All in all, the closet was definitely a wonderful addition to the places we’d had sex in.

When Spencer and I had arrived at the bar for drinks after our most recent case, we weren’t really expecting too much from the night. It was meant to be celebratory, to commence a job well done from the entire team and while nights like this could get rowdy, Spencer and I had already planned to leave earlier into the night than usual to spend some time with just each other. (And to just have loads of sex, truthfully).

Spencer had his hand in mine as we entered, spotting our team in the back in a little booth, already seeming to have gotten started on their drinks for that night. They smiled and waved us over and we approached them. Spencer let me slide in first, while he scooted in next to me, our thighs touching due to the small and intimate setting of the booth. It didn’t bother him, and he let his hand let go of mine before placing it on my thigh. It was comforting, as if a way to subtly tether us to each other even while we were in front of the team.

We all exchanged hellos and pleasantries before Derek pushed two shots towards us.

“Drink up.” He said, with a smirk. “For being late.” He added.

I rolled my eyes playfully, before grabbing the drink and tipping my head back and taking it. The familiar burn of tequila hit the back of my throat, and I made a face.

“Eugh. Tequila? Seriously, Derek?” I said, scrunching up my face and placing the shot glass down, watching as Spencer mimicked my actions, having a similar reaction, albeit less pronounced than mine.

“Come on, pretty girl.” Derek said, winking. “Live a little. Plus, we all did them before you were here, so it’s only fair.”

I laughed a little, already feeling a little tipsy and nodded. “Fine. Fine.” I said. “I’m not leaving here without at least one Cosmo in me though.”

After a trip to the bar and a few drinks, conversation became lively, and jokes were exchanged freely. Everyone had loosened up quite a considerable amount, including Hotch, who was known for a much more stoic appearance at these things.

It was JJ who eventually suggested we all take part in a drinking game, a habit from her teenage years emerging, when the options for entertainment in her small town were limited between drinking or visiting a local grocery store. If there was anyone skilled at turning a seemingly mundane situation into a lively one, it was her.

“Ooh!” Penelope said, clearly enticed by the idea. “What do you propose we do?” She said, clasping her hands excitedly together and laughing.

“How about Never Have I Ever?” JJ suggests, smirking. I internally groaned. Never Have I Ever was fun, but when it turned sexual it was always a bit awkward for Spencer and I specifically. Whereas the married members of our team had the luxury of not having their partners there when risque questions were asked, Spencer and I would awkwardly put down both our fingers at the same time, watching as our team put two and two together and realize we’d actually done that thing together. It was all in good fun and it didn’t bother me or him that much. We were a couple. Of course we had sex- but still. Having everyone at the table know that the man who was the cause for all my put-down fingers and empty shot glasses was actually right next to me always proved to make some interesting situations for the two of us.

Still, we agreed good naturedly and smiled, as noises of approval spread among the table, everyone seemingly on board with the idea.

JJ looked happy, opting to ask the first question, since it was her suggestion in the first place.

“Okay, okay.” JJ says, excitedly. “Never have I ever.. slept with a coworker.” She flashed a mischievous smile, her eyes seemingly drifting towards our side of the table.

Spencer and I immediately groaned and the table erupted in laughter.

“Sorry, sorry.” JJ said, putting her hands up in playful defense. “You know I had to. It’s practically tradition at this point when we play."

Spencer and I clinked our respective drinks with a small smile exchanged between the two of us, letting the bitter and burning liquid plague our throats. Penelope took a shot as well, since she had been with Kevin. We all argued for a bit that technically JJ’s relationship hinged on the fact that she’d met her husband working on a case. It was eventually decided that since Will never worked at the BAU specifically, JJ was void from putting a finger down. Even then, JJ wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to drink and took a shot anyway, and grinned. “Onto the next person.” She said, raising her shot glass to the person on her right.

Derek beamed brightly, being the next person in succession to ask a question. “Alright, my turn.” Derek pauses. “Never have I ever had a threesome.” He says, confidently.

Emily smiled, sipping from her glass. “That’s me.” She said, tipping her head back and seemingly having no reaction.

“Really Prentiss?” Derek said, smirking a bit. “How was he?”

“Who said there was a ‘he’ at all?” Prentiss fired back, with a smirk and Derek nodded, raising his eyebrows and nodding. “Damn.”

“Damn indeed.” Prentiss said, laughing a bit. “My turn. Erm. Never have I ever had sex in public.”

Spencer and I glanced at each other, hesitated, before lifting up our drinks to our lips simultaneously. The entire team’s eyes widened, watching us.

“Hold on- what?” Penelope said, leaning over. “No way! You two are so.. proper!” She exclaimed, in disbelief. “Where would you even..?” She says, trailing off, trying to figure out how she could reason this in her mind.

“Hey, I don’t kiss and tell.” I say with a smirk. Spencer let his hand snake around my waist, away from the eyes of our incredulous coworkers.

Derek laughs a little. “Well, at least we can be sure you two aren't the closet couple.” Derek remarks, and the team laughs. "That isn't something you'd ever do."

“Closet couple?” Spencer says, and even if he’s trying to hide it, I could sense the edge in his voice.

“You know!" Penelope said, excitedly. “Nobody knows who they are- but there’s this couple who keeps sneaking into the storage closet off the hallways to have sex.”

Prentiss interrupts. “I’m telling you, it’s that guy and girl downstairs in Records.” She says, nodding with absolute certainty. “All alone in that basement all day? I’d want sex that makes me scream like that too.”

I heard the words and could feel my cheeks immediately heat up. Jesus, they were talking about me. Spencer and I were fully aware of the fact that we could be caught, especially since we weren’t exactly the best at staying quiet, but hearing our team discuss us- our sex, right in front of us without even realizing it was a mortifying experience nonetheless.

“I just wanna know what he’s doing to her in there.” JJ muses, and everyone nodded in agreement. “Like, are you having sex or absolutely murdering the girl in there?”

Spencer blushed at that, and now both of us were avoiding eye contact with the team, but they seemed totally unfazed, considering they were continuing their conversation about the aforementioned couple.

“I swear, somedays I want to stand outside that closet just to see who comes out, but they spend such an ungodly amount of time in there and there’s only so long you can listen to two people having sex before it gets weird.” Emily remarked, and JJ laughed.

“We’d have to take shifts, trying to catch them in the act.” and everyone agreed, nodding. “He must last long if they can spend that much time there..” JJ noted, offhandedly.

“As fun as it is to speculate on who’s having sex in a closet.” Hotch starts, “It’s getting late. I’m going to finish us off with an easy one.” Hotch says, looking at the team.

“Never have I ever had sex in a storage closet.” Hotch says, clearly expecting none of us to take the last few remaining shot glasses on the table.

Spencer bit his lip, hesitantly reaching over the table to take two shots for himself and me, and we both downed it. As we set our glasses down, we were met with the shocked faces of our coworkers. Derek's mouth was slightly agape, and Penelope pointed between the two of us, trying to connect the dots.

“You know what?” I say, loudly, before any of them can say anything. “I think that’s our cue to leave.” I comment, starting to push Spencer out of the booth, and he immediately understands my urgency. He grabs my hand and nods.

“Yeah, it’s getting late.” He says, hurriedly getting out of the booth. “We’ll see you all on Monday!” He let his strong grip nearly drag me out of the booth, and we had our backs to the team in a split second.

“Hold on! You can’t just-” Penelope called out, but we’d already made it halfway across the bar before our coworkers could question us about what had just happened. As we left the bar in a panicked rush and felt the cold wind nipping at us, we took one look at each other and burst into laughter.

“Is it safe to assume they know?” Spencer said, through laughs.

My own chuckles came out a little embarrassed. “Incredibly safe to assume, actually.” I said, smirking at him nonetheless. “Now we know that all our coworkers think you’re murdering me during sex.” I say, playfully nudging his shoulder.

Spencer wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me into a soft, yet passionate kiss. It takes me by surprise but I immediately melt into it, wrapping my arms around him. I can feel his lips moving against mine, and when he slips his tongue in, I can feel the taste of liquor transferring from his mouth to mine. He pulls back and grins, boyishly.

“I’ll take it as a compliment.” Spencer said, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke.

I bit my lip. He looked so fucking sexy right now, the adrenaline from the game and the drinks making his complexion look rosy and hot. His hair was messy from our kiss, and his lips slightly swollen. Despite what felt like embarrassment in the bar, I realized it didn’t corrode the fact that I desperately wanted the man.

“Spencer.” I say, tugging on his shirt. “I need you.” I breathe out.

"I need you too, baby." He responds, rubbing small circles into my waist.

"No, I need you. Please." I say, hoping he caught onto what I was asking for, without me explicitly saying so.

He knits his brows, understanding, and he let his hands linger on my waist. “Okay, baby.” He says, hesitantly. “Let’s get back home-”

My desire, only heightened by the alcohol I’d consumed, caused me to shake my head. “No.” I interrupted. “Please, I need you now.” I say, using a voice that would go straight to his cock, full of broken desperation and need for him, just for him.

It worked. He took one look at my blown out pupils and my parted lips and looked around. “I don’t wanna go back to the bar since the team could see us.” He groans.

“Then here.” I say, frantically.

“(Y/N).” He says, rubbing my shoulders. “I love sex just as much as you do but the front of a bar is not-”

“Not here.” I say rolling my eyes. “The back. That one alleyway?” I say, praying to every God that my boyfriend would just say yes. And thankfully, he did. His face broke out in a smug expression, realizing we could actually have sex now, nearly dragging me as much as I’d allow him. I could feel the exhilaration and lust permeating from both of us, and as soon as we got to the alleyway, he got to work, kissing up columns up and down my neck. He didn’t even bother to check if someone was out there, turning his entire focus to me, to us, and how badly he wanted this.

With every kiss and bite at my neck, my whimpers grew louder, and he cruelly put a mouth over my mouth, muffling my sounds.

“Stay quiet.” He growled, and I looked at him, my eyes begging him to just fuck me already.

“I think enough people know how much of a needy slut you are already, mm?" He says, beginning to undo my jeans and flipping me around, so his broad chest was up against my back. "Or are you that much of a whore that you want the people at the bar to know too?”

He let the hand encompassing my mouth drop, and leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Make one noise, and I stop.” I then realized that I could feel the head of his arousal rubbing against my folds, and my knees nearly went weak from the sensation. I hadn’t even realized we’d moved this fast, and suddenly, he entered me with a rough thrust, nearly pushing me into the wall.

It took everything in me not to let out a yelp of surprise, and the bite I had on my tongue in this moment was sure to draw blood, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was every rough thrust that Spencer fucked into me, holding my hips with a bruising force, jutting into me like a man possessed.

“You like that, mm?” Spencer whispered, leaning over to let his ears brush over the shell of my ear. “You like the idea of being caught? Of everyone knowing how fucking well I treat you?”

I nod, wildly. “Yes.” I whisper. “Spencer, please-”

But my words are cut off by another pass of his cock in me, leaving my jaw dropped but no sound coming out.

“Come on, baby.” He grunts, cruelly. “Gave you one rule, didn’t I?” He says. He notices how weak my knees have gotten in the midst of our rendezvous, and he quickly grips onto my hair, pulling me up against him. “Can’t be a good girl for me?” He teases, a ruthless lilt in his tone.

I whimper, nodding. “I can. I can” I mumble incoherently. I start to fuck back on him, matching the movement of his hips into mine, feeling myself rapidly approach my orgasm. “Please. I need- I need-” and without thinking of the consequences, I come, feeling the tension leave my body in pleasure inducing waves that cause my entire body to convulse. This only spurs him on to go faster, feeling the clench of my cunt around his cock.

“Fuck- you feel so good. So fucking good around me.” He praises, and in an instant, his head is thrown back and I can feel him emptying himself inside me with a shudder, still gripping my hair with a desperate, primal need. He's panting, and breathless, and he pulls out as he finishes, tucking himself back into his pants quickly. He lovingly turned his attention to me, fixing me up as well. I whimpered softly as he took care of me, brushing my hair back and pressing small kisses to the back of my neck.

He turns me back to face him once he managed to get my underwear and jeans back up, and caressed my face, planting a tender kiss on my lips, then my forehead, and then bringing me close for a hug. I can feel the scent of sex, liquor and his cologne swarming my senses, and it only causes me to retreat into him deeper. I sense him breathing in my scent, and it makes me smile, knowing we both derived the comfort we needed from each other in that moment.

Finally, he mumbles against the top of my head.

“Let’s get a cab and go home. Let me run you a bath. You’re so good to me.” He murmurs, still holding me in his arms like I was the last precious thing on Earth.

I giggled against him, nodding. “Yeah. Yes, please.” I say, still a bit breathless, retreating from his embrace. “I’m surprised I managed to convince you to do that.” I remark, smirking a little, despite myself. “I can’t imagine how many germs are in an alleyway.”

My boyfriend, of course, cringes. “Don’t remind me.” He says, squeezing my hand. beginning to lead me to the main road to find a cab. He then looks at me, a little smugly. “But I’d say it was worth it, right?”

“Absolutely.” I respond, squeezing his hand back, a smile gracing my face. He smiles back, and I feel my heart jump.

I don't think I'll ever stop feeling like I’d won the lottery when it came to him.

ahh! only got it out 1 day late. so that's good. hi! hope you enjoyed. nearly 4 people requested a part 2, so i hope you guys liked my take on the team "catching" them. any likes, reblogs, comments are so appreciated. thank you for reading. i am eternally grateful. ty!!! cannot say it enough

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mushroomates · 1 month

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the fellowship grocery shopping (modern au!):

frodo: has a list which he always loses halfway through shopping. tries to bring his own bags but they’re never enough, or he forgets them in the car and realizes mid checkout. does not like a lot of the name brand foods, goes for the knock offs- partly because he thinks they taste better and partly because he’s rooting for the underdog. (also they’re cheaper which means more money go towards buying treats for the neighborhood cats.) makes an exception for name brand strawberry poptarts, a pippin favorite. keeps his fridge stocked with snacks for his friends.

sam: grows a lot of his own produce and makes an effort to shop local. has his own chickens and a thriving herb garden. he often trades with neighbors-tomatoes for honey, basil for goats milk, etc. once a month he teams up with boromir and goes to costco for insane amounts of flour (he bakes his own bread) and a foot long hotdog. sam refuses to get his own membership.

merry: has a list of things to get that he has worked very hard to compile. this list stays on fridge, and whenever he runs out of something he adds it. this is always sabotaged by pippin who, in a port attempt to mimic merry’s handwriting, adds a copious amount of sweets and things only pippin likes. ends up buying them anyways only to not share with him- will gloat by snacking in front of pippin and not offering any to his cousin.

pippin: does not actually grocery shop. yes, he has food in his house but this is more because he just tags along whenever someone else is going. selectively copies whatever they get into his own basket. has eight jars of peanut butter because he loves peanut butter but does not consume it at the rate he believes he does. also for backup, incase he runs out mid sandwich and needs eight jars of the stuff. loves to ride in the shopping carts when no one’s watching. definitely scooters along isles. loves to hijack boromir’s shopping trips as boromir is the only one who will push him in the cart and give him a lil treat at the end.

gandalf: kind of just. wanders around the store. gets lost in the bakery. buys the most random things, causing the clerks to conspire about what he’s doing with two packs of rubber gloves, a rosterseie chicken, and a tub of mayonnaise. is he a murderer? a professor? a single mother? what is he doing with this stuff?

aragorn: does a lot of trading with neighbors, like sam. likes to accompany arwen on errands and do the little things. she points at an item and he puts it in the basket. he bags at checkout. drives her home. unloads the car and put it away. real quality time and acts of service. yes, arwen is capable of doing these things herself, but he likes to do it for her: hunts so be always has a surplus of jerky, does need to buy more salt then the typical person.

boromir: also hunts. has a thing about using every part of the animal, will eat bone marrow straight out of the femur with a spoon for breakfast. eats a lot of protein. is real big about no food waste and will use everything he can. has his own compost bin and a humble herb garden. likes hosting barbecues for everyone, and makes the burgers and hotdogs from scratch. every other tuesday is grocery day. he goes to costco and buys his things in bulk. he’s the only one in the fellowship with a costco card and everyone loves to take advantage of it.

legolas: mainly just happens upon farmers markets and grabs what appeals to him in the moment. does not have any seasonings or cooking oil as it’s not something that’s ever really occurred to him to buy. will forget he has food in his fridge for weeks and when he finally does it’s gone bad. this, however, does not stop him from eating it. makes a lot of smoothies.

gimli: has a lot of preserved foods and a cupboard dedicated to emergencies. owns a lot of canned beans, fruits and vegetables- anything that will keep well. has a freezer filled with food in his garage with backup stock. is a very good with coupons- pippin likes going with him just to see the total (and the clerks jaw) drop. eats a lot of trail mix and jerky. enjoys fresh fruit when he can but doesn’t like to buy it because it doesn’t last.

gollum: sneaky little man. he hides in the bottom part of the carts meant for heavy items and parties his way across the store with his hands, scooting along tile and grabbing anything with reach, tossing it back up to the cart and continuing on his journey. then he just rolls right out the door. no one can stop him.

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