#intern y/n

[starrspice]

Star, spice, and everythig nice. Do you have any Fashion designer AU crumbs

I do indeed!

I colored it just for this ask

So you may have noticed in the original concept drawing But Y/N isn't dressed very fashion forward and instead dresses more casual

But that's only when they work at their internship (because they know whatever fashion designer they work under is going to judge their clothes anyways)

So they dress standard casual at work and then embrace their love of fashion more outside of it so they don't have others criticisms making them second guess the clothes they love

Here's a couple of their favorite outfits to wear to class and in their personal work studio!

[moonstruckme]

hiiii mae if you’re up for it would you pretty please write spencer and intern reader when she gets hurt? holding her hand while she gets patched up or comforting her when she’s concussed or something of the like. i love your writing so much xoxoxo

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood, concussion, vague mention of a murder case but it's really just background

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 946 words

“Look this way, please.” 

When you don’t move, Spencer gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “Hey. Can you look over there?” 

You turn your face from Spencer’s jacket, and the paramedic offers you a smile. She knows you weren’t ignoring her; you only hadn’t been paying attention. “Follow my finger,” she tells you. 

Spencer watches as you do, her pen light gliding over your bloody face. There are tear tracks diluting the red. 

Staying with witnesses is supposed to be a safe part of the job. That’s why Hotch assigned it to you. But when Morgan walked the handcuffed unsub through the station, one victim’s husband lost it completely, and when you got into his warpath he shoved you so hard Spencer heard your head knock against the precinct’s tile floor. Blood puddled around your left temple before anyone could even make it to you. 

You started crying nearly as soon as you woke up. It was more than understandable, given the blood all around you and the confusion you must have been feeling after a head injury like that, but what scared the team was when you wouldn’t stop. JJ tried talking to you, even Morgan softened his teasing and offered you a hug, but to everyone’s surprise all you wanted was Spencer. You calmed some once he sat down in front of you. Tears still dribbled from your chin, but you didn’t seem quite so distraught, and you let the paramedics look at you so long as Spencer stayed. Eventually he wound up in the back of an ambulance, an arm around your shoulders while you sniffled miserably into his windbreaker and a paramedic applied butterfly bandages to the cut on your head. 

Your eyes water as the paramedic clicks off her pen light and begins asking you questions. It takes a few moments for your gaze to settle on her. 

“It’s…it’s Wednesday.” You turn to Spencer. “Is it Wednesday?” 

His heart throbs at the vulnerability in your tone. “Focus on her,” he says, softening the directive with a stroke of his thumb over your shoulder. 

You turn back to the paramedic, answering her questions with varying degrees of uncertainty. Your fingers curl in the material of Spencer’s jacket. He has the urge to tuck your head underneath his chin. 

The paramedic informs you (or informs Spencer, really, you’re not paying much attention) that they’re going to take you to the hospital for a CT scan. They’ll let him ride there with you if he wants to. Spencer says yes without a thought. 

While she goes to pack up her supplies, he takes your fingers and unbunches them, warming your palm between his. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks you. 

You make a soft, stymied sound, bringing the unhurt side of your head to Spencer’s shoulder for a rest. “I don’t like this.” 

Spencer doesn’t need to ask which part you mean. He imagines none of it is pleasant. The light and sound of an ambulance in general has to be torment for your head. 

“Try closing your eyes,” he suggests. 

“I’m worried that will make me dizzier.” 

“Do you feel sick?” 

“Not really.” 

“Just try. It helped last time.” 

You sigh but do. You turn your head so your forehead is pressing into the bump of his shoulder, and Spencer reaches up to stop you before you can get close to rubbing against the bandages keeping your cut closed. 

Your voice is a watery consistency. “I really don’t feel right.” 

Spencer feels a painful tug in his middle. “I know. I’m sure it’s scary, but it won’t be forever. We’re going to the hospital, and the doctors are going to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I just don’t like this.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Spencer?” 

“Hm?” 

“I really feel like I messed things up.” 

He has to remind himself not to move. In his surprise, his instinct is to pull back, to search your face for answers, but you’re pointed where he can’t see you with your voice trailing down his arm. 

“You didn’t. What makes you think that?” 

“It just…it feels like…” 

The words take a while to come. Spencer forces himself to set aside his curiosity. 

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to think about that right now. Just rest. You didn’t mess anything up.” 

“It feels like I’m…” you forge on, determined. “I’m always either not helping or in the way.” 

Again, Spencer’s first thought is to ask what you mean by that. But he doesn’t want to force you to overexercise your injured brain, so he tries to go along without elaboration. He fills in the gaps. 

“You’ve never been in the way,” he assures you, meaning it. “And you help us a lot. We wouldn’t be nearly as efficient without you, especially on this last case.” 

“I’m just an intern.” 

“Exactly. So it’s even more impressive how valuable you’ve been to our team.” 

You’re quiet for a few moments. Spencer starts rubbing slow circles into your shoulder with his thumb. Your forehead warms his arm through the jacket. 

“Thank you for staying with me. You’re always so nice.” 

“It’s no problem. I like hanging out with you.” 

“I don’t feel very well.” 

“Are your eyes still closed?” 

A pause. “Were they supposed to be closed?” 

Spencer smiles at the top of your head. Even confused as you are, there’s a familiar note of inquisitiveness to your tone. Like all you ever really want is to be sure you’re doing the right thing. Spencer is warmed that you trust him to tell you what that is. 

“Try closing them.” 

“Oh. This is better, thank you.” 

“It’s no problem.”

[yoyomomiko]

daisuke and anya's intern!reader, who just somehow always end up meeting each other in the hallways, a complete coincidence.

daisuke and anya's intern!reader, who can't help but make out whenever one of their superiors take a break. they can have some fun when they leave the room, that's their break too, isn't it?

daisuke and anya's intern!reader, always flirting with each other every chance they get, not even trying to keep their relationship a secret at this point.

daisuke and anya's intern!reader, who keep getting into dumb situations. daisuke does something stupid, and reader instantly joins in without another word or hesitance.

daisuke and anya's intern!reader, who just keep getting caught making out by their superiors, pulling at each other and getting into a heated mess.

daisuke and anya's intern!reader, getting caught by poor anya, who just wanted to make sure reader was okay and somehow was met with quite a sight, daiuke backed on the small table near the bed and reader's lips to his neck, praising him sweetly as he let out soft whines.

daisuke and anya's intern!reader, getting caught by a grumpy swansea, who just so happened to walk into daisuke's room without knocking, thinking that airhead was sleeping in again. he was also, met with quite a sight. daisuke on top of you, nibbling on your neck, biting softly at your sensitive spots as you huffed.

daisuke and anya's intern!reader, who just don't know how to be discreet.

[sun-e-chips]

DCA but it stands for Dino-Care Attendant

Had to build handlers capable of wrestling these massive creatures and that aren’t very edible haha

Sun the Dino specialist

Moon the Dino wrangler

[lightseoul]

a/n. pleasantly surprised at how quickly i wrote this bit, it practically wrote itself. glad the first part was interesting for a lot of you—i love writing about psych/therapy stuff (despite my complex relationship with 'em), and ofc bkg <3 i honestly don't know where i'm going with this, but it's been fun so far. (0.8k)

navigation. part 1, (you are here), part 3

thankfully—and to the relief of whatever dignity he had left—that interaction was short-lived.

well, it’s mostly because after you blinked at him for what felt like a torturous eternity and said a shaky hello back, he gave you a curt nod as if he wasn’t the one who just initiated the exchange and bolted it out of there without a single glance back.

that bit haunted him for the next few days, reappearing in his consciousness whenever the topic of therapy or anything remotely close to it was broached. he even snapped at kirishima when the redhead asked how his latest session went during one of their evening patrols together. it was a kneejerk reaction, an entirely out-of-proportion, aggressive response that shocked even him, which says a lot.

he should go ahead and text the guy an apology.

eventually, though, that unfortunate powwow slowly faded into the background of his exceptionally busy mind as the days went on. things got so hectic in the agency that he had to postpone his appointment for the week, which—quite frankly—is an upside to this chaos, because he sure wasn’t pumped about discussing his love life, or the lack thereof, with the jarringly knowing middle-aged lady. being able to definitively avoid you and buy you more time to forget about his stupid social blunder is merely the cherry on top.

okay, maybe the incident didn’t actually slip his mind after all.

“…bakugou-san? are you still with me?”

dazed, bakugou squeezes his eyes shut before fluttering them open, and what greets him is the very same lady against the backdrop of her increasingly familiar office, only this time she’s looking more concerned than perceptive.

right. he’s supposed to be in the middle of a session right now.

“yeah, sorry,” he mumbles, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of irrelevant thoughts and focus on the matters at hand. therapy is expensive, after all. “i’m here.”

that doesn’t seem to placate the woman who instead prods, much to his chagrin. “you seem out of it today. is there something in your mind that you want us to talk about?”

for a second, he debates caving and just telling her the dumb shit that happened two weeks ago, but then backtracks when it dawns on him how ridiculous everything is. what is he, a prepubescent boy? he died and survived a major war, for fuck’s sake. why is he so hung up on seeming awkward for once in his life?

even hearing it in his head is embarrassing enough.

that settles it, then. his lips are and will remain sealed.

but then his gaze refocuses on his therapist, and the sheer ‘unconditional positive regard’ or whatever the crap is called that she’s radiating becomes so palpable that it just spills out of him.

“i fucked up.”

that makes the lady frown—which, if he thinks about it, is understandable, because he rarely opens up about his failures, let alone this blatantly—although she manages to quickly school her expression into a more neutral one. “can i ask you to expound on it?”

at that, bakugou sighs, because it’s either he just tells the laughable truth or actually cite one of his actual mistakes—which he’s not feeling right now, by the way. or he can expertly maneuver the conversation to another topic, but something tells him there’s no getting out of the current subject. maybe today, there is, but it’ll surely loom over their next sessions indefinitely until either of them revisits it.

he should know. it’s happened to him too many times, he’s lost count.

with this realization, he can only sigh again.

“it’s stupid,” he preempts.

“i’d like to hear it regardless,” comes her classic, supportive response.

and so he does it. talk, that is. it starts off a bit rough—he didn’t know how to even begin without flushing like an idiot, but he managed to get the brief anecdote going. he still ended up blushing anyway—the warmth in his cheeks was undeniable—and if she noticed, she gratefully didn’t point it out. by the time he’s finished with the trivial tale, he’s mildly out of breath, having said everything in one continuous burst.

“i told you,” he spits when she doesn’t say anything for a beat. “it’s stupid.”

“i’d normally ask you to reconsider the adjectives you use for yourself and your experiences, but i think you’ve heard enough of that.”

he snorts. damn straight.

the woman then shoots him a smile, and he has to tamp down the reflex to bristle at an impending attempt to placate him. fortunately, it doesn’t come.

what does, instead, is a question.

one that catches him completely off guard.

“did you find her attractive?”

the fuck, is his first, immediate thought.

but then his normally trusty and acute brain seemingly comes to life and promptly supplies a second one that leaves him frozen and utterly dumbfounded.

yes.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra | @kalulakunundrum @cheezemanz @gold24fish @lunaryasha

[lechrts]

Tramp Stamp. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Intern!reader

Summary: When he catches sight of something that he wasn’t supposed to see. Something “so out of character” of you.

Word Count: 1.2k

Disclaimer/s: banter blah blah blah black cat x golden retriever tbh, Idk, flirty lando, Mean!reader because that’s all i know

Vera's Voice! a recycled prompt i had been wanting to use for an original story but i have no time since i cant be free of the shackles i call school and work so i just made it a lando imagine. YUHHHH. + sorry for my hiatus. Wassup. i hope u enjoy ^_^

The McLaren paddock was always buzzing with energy on a race weekend, but you barely noticed anymore. You were too focused on your job—an internship that demanded perfection, efficiency, and an unwavering dedication to details.

Unfortunately, no one seemed to have passed that memo to Lando Norris.

"You’re stalking me," You muttered, flipping through your clipboard as you strode through the garage, dodging mechanics and engineers.

"Following," Lando corrected, strolling beside you with way too much ease. "Completely different."

You stopped abruptly. He stopped too. You shot him a flat look. "You don’t even need to be here right now."

Lando smirked. “Aw come on, not enjoying our quality time?”

"Waste of time, actually." You scoffed, adjusting the clipboard in your arms. Lando gasped, pressing a hand to his chest like you’d just gravely offended him. "Wow. Harsh. I thought we were bonding."

You exhaled sharply, turning back to continue walking, attempting to wave him off. "Leave me alone, I’ve got work to do."

"And I have free time," He pointed out, easily keeping pace with you. "Which means I can spend it however I want."

"You want to spend it being an ass?"

"Of course." His grin was all mischief. "It’s my favorite pastime."

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t slow down, weaving through the garage with practiced efficiency.

Lando, despite having no real reason to be there, stuck to your side like an overgrown puppy, dodging cables and stepping around mechanics with the kind of casual ease that made your irritation flare.

He lived to get under your skin.

"Hmm," He mused, leaning in just slightly, "You should try smiling more. I think it’d be good for you."

You didn’t even glance up. "You should try shutting up more. I think it’d be good for everyone."

Lando let out a bark of laughter. "So mean."

“Well, I’m certainly not trying to be nice.” You glance up, sending him a fake and sarcastic smile before your face deadpanned with cold eyes.

Lando clutched his chest dramatically. “You truly wound me.”

“God, save me.” You muttered, flipping a page on your clipboard.

Lando, of course, was unfazed and continued pressing. “To be honest, I think you secretly like this,” He mused.

You gave him a look. “Like what exactly?” Furrowing your eyebrows, not following where he was going with this.

“This.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Our little game.”

You stopped so abruptly that he almost walked into you. “What game? You mean me trying to do my job while you act like an overgrown toddler with too much money and free time?”

Lando grinned, rocking back on his heels. “So do you like it or no?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, turning sharply on your heel, and in your haste, your pen slipped from your grip.

It clattered to the floor and rolled just slightly out of reach.

Without thinking, you bent down to grab it.

But. There was a shift in the air. A second of silence too long.

Then—

“Oh.”

The single syllable carried so much smug amusement that your stomach dropped before you even straightened.

You turned slowly, and Lando was standing there, arms crossed, lips curled into a knowing smirk.

His eyes flickered downward—just briefly—before meeting yours again.

"Oh, correct me if I’m wrong," He drawled, "But was that a lower back tattoo?"

Your entire body stiffened.

You knew right then and there that your McLaren issued shirt had betrayed you. Probably riding up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the delicate little ribbon bow and butterfly inked on your lower back you had gotten back in high school.

Your fingers curled tightly around the pen, knuckles white as if you wanted to shove it into his throat. You fought to keep your face neutral, but the heat creeping up your neck was traitorous.

Lando’s smirk deepened.

You knew you should just ignore him. Keep walking. Act like you didn’t hear. But his tone—so goddamn amused and intrigued—was already sinking its hooks into you.

You straightened fully, lifted your chin, and shot back smoothly, “Maybe don’t stare at my ass?”

Lando’s grin was instant. “Not my fault it was right there.”

"You could’ve looked away."

"But then I would’ve missed the best part of my day," He quipped, eyes glinting with unfiltered delight. "Because never in a million years would I have guessed you had a tramp stamp."

You exhaled sharply, flipping back to your clipboard with forced nonchalance. "You saw nothing."

"I feel like there's a story behind it." He leaned in slightly, eyes practically gleaming. "And now I have to know."

"You have to shut up."

"Make me."

You inhaled slowly, forcing yourself to stay composed. You refused to let him win.

Lando’s smirk widened like he could feel you getting flustered.

"Was it a dare?" He mused.

You ignored him, flipping a page.

"Drunken impulse?"

Silence.

"Rebellious phase?"

You turned sharply. "Lando."

"Hm?"

You briefly smiled, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Shut up."

"Can’t. I’m way too entertained at the moment."

"Oh, of course you would find this entertaining."

Lando grinned. "Come on, just tell me! I’ll drop it after."

"You never drop anything."

He sighed dramatically. "You know me too well."

“Unfortunately."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

"You know," He mused, rocking back on his heels, "It’s actually kind of hot."

Your brain short-circuited.

You nearly dropped your pen again.

"What?" You croaked.

Lando shrugged, far too nonchalant. "The tattoo. Didn’t expect it, but… yeah." He smirked. "Bit of a plot twist."

Your mouth opened—then closed. Then opened again. "You—I—what.”

He chuckled, watching your reaction unfold like it was the highlight of his day.

You refused to give him the satisfaction.

So, instead of responding, you lifted your clipboard and smacked him lightly on the arm.

Lando burst out laughing, clutching the spot like you’d actually hurt him.

"You’re an idiot," You muttered, turning away before he could see the hint of a smile threatening to break through.

Lando grinned after you, calling out, "I will get that story one day!”

And maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as annoyed as you pretended to be.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and pls Lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list

tags! @pedriache @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[formulakracing]

i. now or never - t.w.

pairing -> student intern!reader x toto wolff

word count -> 1.7k

warnings -> cursing, age gap relationships, power imbalance, a little bit of toxicity, toto being sexy (as always), world-building, mentions of marijuana use, mentions of alcohol use, allusions to sexual fantasies, SLOW BURN (fr this time) yadayadayada (if i missed somethin’ lemme know)

a/n -> i apologize in advance if the internship i write about is nothing like an actual internship for mercedes LMFAO also, bear with me. i know it starts slow but it will pick up!

"oh, great. you're bringing up this fucking internship again. why are you always going on and on about this stupid program?"

swallowing thickly, you drum your fingers on the table, shrugging ever so slightly, "why not? i think it would be a great opportunity for not only grad school, but for career advancement. do you know how many doors that would open for me if i—"

"you'd be gone for an entire year. that's why i don't think it's a good idea."

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

inhaling sharply, you bite down on your tongue, suppressing a sharp retort.

why does it matter if i have to leave for a year? it's not like you care enough about my interests anyway.

he arches a brow, cocking his head, "why aren't you saying anything?"

"because it's not worth bickering about," fingers curling around the misty glass, you swirl it around, watching as the bubbles float to the surface, "you're right. i'd be gone for a year. it's such a competitive program. i don't even think i'm good enough to get in. they probably prioritize european students anyway. the deadline for the application is due in a week. there's no way i could get everything together in time. it's not worth all the hassle."

"good girl," he hums in approval, shoving a few fries in his mouth, "you know i support you throughout everything you do. i just don't want you to pour all of your energy into this one project just to be rejected. i know you. you'd be devastated. you wouldn't leave your apartment for weeks."

do you know me though? do you really?

the waitress slips by the table, sliding a receipt toward the middle of the table, "here's the bill, as requested. have a great night! be safe getting home!"

gnawing on the inside of your cheek, you wait until her back is turned. exhaling, you pick up the bill, "i'll get it."

"you sure?" he presses, "i'll cover the tip then."

"sounds good."

fishing your phone out of your pocket, you let it hover over the qr code. typing in your card information, you can't help but notice him fumbling with his pockets, searching for his wallet.

puckering your lips, it's your turn to tilt your head, "did you forget your wallet at home?"

"yeaaaaahhhh," his lower lips quivers, forming a pout, "would you mind? i can just venmo or cashapp you later."

"sure," clicking your tongue, you select the tip percentage on the screen, ensuring that the waitress receives a few more dollars than suggested, "okay, it's paid for. let's go."

he follows in suit as you slide out of the booth, shoving your arms in your jacket. pulling his phone out, his attention is fixated on the dim screen, fingers a flurry as he types away.

"hey, one of the boys is going through some shit. you mind if i catch an uber over to his place? i'll be home later."

"like how late?"

"i don't know," he shakes his head, gaze glued on whatever he was possibly reading, "it's matteo. his girlfriend cheated on him. it looks like he could use cheering up."

"i don't care," your eye twitches, yet you wave a hand, "as long as you don't wake me up when you get back."

"of course baby," he coos, placing a tender peck on your cheek, "get some safe, okay?"

"i will," you nod, "love you."

"love you too!" he beams, pulling you in for a quick embrace, "i'll be back before midnight."

"okay."

it's a quiet trek through the parking lot.

a breeze rolls through the cars, promising of frigid weather. tangerine rays filter through the trees, the sun making its descent toward the horizon. the sky is a blanket of a tranquil blue, with traces of lavender and magenta as dusk transitions to night.

clicking your key fob, your vehicle chirps, the engine roaring to life. opening the door, you nearly collapse into the seat, your vision blurred by tears. sniffling, you ensure your seat belt is on, shifting the gear into reverse.

as you pull out of the parking lot, you catch a glimpse of your boyfriend as he clambers into the uber. you try to wave, to muster some sort of smile, but he is not paying any sort of attention as your car soars by.

at that, the tears erupt into sobs.

by no means was your boyfriend a terrible man. he was more than adequate, actually. however, the sheer disdain in his voice over the idea of your pursuing this internship left a sour taste in your mouth.

to be honest, it was more like an awful, putrid taste, bile rising up in the back of your throat as you wallow over the interaction, knuckles turning white as you grip the steering wheel.

the internship in question?

well, it was more like a job opening.

you left that part out, just so that your family and boyfriend would be more apt to the idea. after all, they did not need to know all of the particulars.

all they needed to know is that you were prepping for the opportunity of a lifetime.

an opportunity overseas to work with the mercedes amg petronas formula one team as a member of their media crew.

the internship spanned over the course of several months, following the team throughout the season. from what you could make out from the application, you would start just shy of the season opener in melbourne, around march third. the end date was unclear, but you figured it would end around the time the season was over in december. in all, you would be away from home for nine months.

and your internship duties? all you had to do was travel to luxurious cities, meet fans, promote the team across their social media platforms, and most importantly, film the races.

and the best part? it was a paid internship. mercedes would not only pay you for working with them, but they would also cover travel costs, food, and even software upgrades. additionally, you would receive a monthly stipend for your own personal spending, just so that you could "enjoy your time with us to the fullest."

it was everything you could have dreamed of and more.

so, what was holding you back?

well, there were a few things.

one, was your boyfriend. he was not keen on the idea of you leaving the country, even if it was only for a few months. he was very adamant that if you were to take this internship, then he would end your relationship.

according to him, nine months was too much for him to do long distance. although, the two of you had temporarily engaged in a long distance relationship before he transferred back home.

two, was your family. similar to your boyfriend, they were not happy about the idea of you leaving. they felt that formula one was too flashy. too extravagant. you would not fit in with all of the wealthy moguls and influencers.

you belonged here, in your mediocre college town where no one ever left. you would fare much better spending every weekend frequenting the same bars over and over again, running into the same people, making awkward, monotone small talk. besides, what if the internship was a scam? what if it wasn't everything you hoped it would be?

and the third reason?

well, it was a bit more complicated.

you had a bit of impostor syndrome, as you felt your skills were not good enough. your editing was too choppy. your transitions were not quite neat enough to fit the speed of the cars. since you were an amateur, your work was mainly posted across your instagram and tik tok accounts. your resume was nowhere near as elegant as the other potential applications.

so, why even try? why apply to something like this?

well, ever since you were a little girl, you dreamed of working in motorsports. you weren't quite sure of what you would do at the time, but you knew that it was your calling.

every time you watched a race or posted an edit, there was a shiver that ran down your spine, goosebumps appearing all over. there was a pull at your heart, nearly tugging away at you.

it was enticing, begging you to keep watching. to keep compiling clips together. to keep creating material that was crafted by you, and only you.

it called to push your creativity to the limits. to chase that dream.

to satisfy that hunger deep in your soul.

with graduation only if a few months, you were running out of time. it was now or never. make it or break it.

it was time to push yourself. it was time to break free from the clutches of your college town. it was time to take the leap, one that you had been putting off for so fucking long.

it was time to finally put yourself first.

to choose something that would bring you nothing but pure, immense joy.

and as you pulled into your driveway, you threw open your car door. scurrying inside, you made your way to your room, pushing the door open. tossing your bag on your bed, you hunker at your desk, locating that bookmarked tab.

everything was in order. you had the letters of recommendation. the personal statement was attached. the resume was completed. the portfolio was uploaded.

all you had to do was press that final square.

submit.

your index fingers hovers above the button, nearly trembling.

squeezing your eyes shut, you apply pressure, a clicking ringing in your ears.

within seconds, a new message appears across your screen.

thank you for your interest in this internship with the mercedes amg petronas formula one media team!

after receiving your application, our team will diligently look over your application and submit it for review.

a decision will be made in approximately six to eight weeks. once we have made our decision, you should receive an email in your inbox. make sure to check your spam, as it may be sent there.

we wish you the best of luck!

[grimmsbride]

Omg Ive been stalking ur account for my daily Daisuke intake and I have yet to see more sub!Daisuke. I NEED THIS MAN whimpering, yowling, growling, howling, grunting, yelling EVERYTHING💔 so pretty pls could I perchance get a crumb of giving Daisuke a handjob from behind with dominate reader🙏 -🦌

DIZZY [ daisuke x reader ]

after gentle coaxing, daisuke agrees to masturbate infront of you. unfortunately for him, he agreed to more he could bargain for

tags / sub!daisuke | ooc daisuke | overstimulation | watching him masturbate | dom!reader | whimpers | minor use of pet names & nicknames | daisuke is ooc, i repeat | minor throat & face fucking | not beta read |

notes / uhm so my beloved 🦌 anon i struggled way more with this then i should have & it came out so half assed i’m sorry (i also kind of combined your two asks). i gotta practice with sub daisuke like way more.. but anyway i hope you do try to enjoy & as always please excuse typos or grammar mistakes as this is not beta read

“Babe… this is embarrassing.”

“How so? It’s only us, Su..”

Your lover could only grumble softly in response, eyes flicking from his lap and over to you. You sat upon the edge of his bed comfortably, dressed in something of his with your thighs exposed to the cold. Your pretty lips held a small smile, leaning onto your hand with your head resting onto your shoulder. Despite his eyes being on you, yours weren’t on him— well.. not the part he wanted anyway.

The man followed your gaze back to his waist, a flush of hot embarrassment spreading throughout his body upon noticing his own hand wrapped his dripping length. How was Daisuke in this predicament? Well, through your sweet words and gentle coaxing.

You made it know you wished to see how he “took care of himself” when you weren’t available. At first the man thought you were joking, but was rather surprised when you settled onto his bed; allowing him to take the stage.

And here he was— all in his glory, under the watchful eyes of his beloved girlfriend.

You pressed your other hand to the bed as you crept closer, “Don’t be shy Daisuke.. Just pretend I’m not here.”

How could he? Especially when he’s literally always thinking about you when in this position.

Daisuke sucked in a breath, hand carefully smoothing up and down his dick— thumb spreading along the tip, making a small mess with his precum. His eyes were fluttering closed, trying desperately to keep his breathing level. He would hate to be too loud, causing the others to hear.

Slowly, the drags of his hand got a little more calculated, fast; the man unknowingly thrusting up into his hand each time his palm pressed against his sensitive tip. His teeth were grinding into his bottom lip, soft groans muffled— much to your annoyance.

Daisuke heard shuffling on his bed, eyes slowly peeking open; jumping upon noticing you were no longer in-front of him. No, suddenly your warm body was pressed against his back, chin resting onto his shoulder whilst your arms wrapped around his waist.

“[Name]…?”

“I wanna hear you, Daisuke. I told you don’t be so shy.”

His breath was shaky, deciding to nod instead of speak; fearful of stuttering. Going back to the task at hand, he repeated his pumps, twitching each time his palm find his tip. With you no longer in-front of Daisuke could relax slightly, but not much; given the sweet encouragements you released went directly into his ear.

He trembled, gasping as the softest whine fell from his throat, fucking his hand at a quicker pace.

Suddenly your hand was brushing his own, Daisuke’s eyes snapping open once more. He watched as you gently pushed his hand away, replacing it with your own. The breath he took was sharp, mouth agape as your soft palm wrapped around his length. Slowly, you pumped him, grip firm but not painful— dragging your hand up and down expertly on account of your previous watching.

“Like this, Su?”

Daisuke nodded far too quickly, hands struggling to relax on his thighs, gripping his pants which were messily pushed down far enough. He leaned back into you, gaze growing hazy as the pleasure ran through his body.

“Mm.. fuck, ye—yeah like that..” The man groaned, breath hitching into a pitch the moment you paid extra attention to his tip. Your thumb was circling the weeping slit, two fingers enclosing it gently and jerking him. His stomach was clenching at this point, gasping out— moans hinging on whimpers the longer you went.

You watched over his shoulder, that same pretty smile stuck to your features. You couldn’t deny this little fantasy of yours that seemed to develop the moment he whimpered into your ear during sex the first time. Since that day you’ve wondered.. when else does he whimper? Moan and cry, without restraint? Shame or embarrassment no factor, simply unadulterated, unhinged pleasure.

It seemed now was your answer. Your ears rendered to the beautiful melody of his hurried breaths and desperate cries. The way he struggled to keep his hips down, struggled to keep his hands off your wrist, and struggled to not be so loud— god, you felt your own arousal basically trickling down your thighs at this point.

You turned, planting kisses to the side of his face, giggling to yourself amidst the affection. “I should have done this sooner, huh?.. You’re enjoying it so much.” You murmured, back to fisting his entire length.

Daisuke didn’t even think to answer you, knowing the words would only come out as pathetic babbles. He’s beyond confused; he’s jerked off perfectly quiet before— sure, a few groans and grunts there, but aside from that he knew how to keep his voice down. But with you.. he simply couldn’t. With each movement of your hand, the pleasure was felt throughout his entire body, nerves exposed to your control. It frustrated him, how palpable he was in your hands— yet turned him on even more.

“[Name]…. [Name] ple—please..!”

Your eyebrows rose at his call of pleasure, trekking your lips to his neck and sucking gently at the skin. “You’re close.. twitching so much in my hand.” Your eyes dropped over his shoulder, soaking of the image of his messy length. Pre-cum glazed down his shaft on account of your hand, tip flushed red from its constant attention.

The man was practically shaking at this point, chest pumping with each shaky breath that escaped. At this point his head was going slack on your shoulder, face turning into you. There, you heard it all so clearly; those pretty whimpers and cries, how he struggled to say your name— it sounded like a jumbled mess of his tongue.

A mantra of swears escaped him next before Daisuke came undone, hips rising up into your hand; practically fucking it as his high ran through him. His nails dug into his thighs, eyes pinched closed and eyebrows furrowed. Moments passed before he even calmed down, feeling your hand continue its moving.

He allowed it as he caught his breath, eyes peeling open slowly; covered in a glossy gaze. However, when the man realized you weren’t stopping, he was quick to try to reach for your hand— groaning when you suddenly picked up pace.

“Ba—baby, ple…please,— ‘m too sensitive!”

Daisuke was begging at this point, a hand resting on your wrist yet not pushing you off. He couldn’t help his hips meeting your hand either, actions clearly outweighing his words.

You smiled all the same, rising your free hand to grasp the side of his face, turning him towards you to plant a kiss onto his lips. Continuing your pumps you shifted, slowly pulling yourself from behind him, lowering him onto the bed and hovering over him soon after.

Swiftly enough that Daisuke hadn’t even noticed until the two of you pulled apart, and he felt your lips trail down from his neck to his waist.

“But you’re a mess, Su.. I can help clean you up, right?” You glanced at him through those pretty eyelashes, words taunting yet enticing. Without his reply your lips were parting, tongue rolling from your mouth and licking a thick stripe up his shaft.

His head fell back into the pillow, hands landing to his sheets instead of you. Daisuke still hadn’t a clue when he became so weak to you, nor did he really have the time to delve into you; not with your plump lips wrapping around his tip, sucking gently— cleaning him up as you promised.

Your cheeks hollowed, taking more of him into your throat. Once reaching far enough your head was bobbing, wet sounds surrounding the room each time your lips made contact with the hilt. Daisuke’s vision was going white — or was his eyes rolling to the back of his skull? Either, all restraint was leaving his body.

With his fingers digging into the sheets, he couldn’t help but release the most pathetic sounds; desperate whines crawling from his throat each time he felt your tongue drag across a pulsing vein. The overstimulating pleasure began to burn, a sensation that hurt and felt way too good all at the same time.

“Fuck.. fuck.. fu—fuck..!” Racing pants escaped him, hips rising as he gently fucked your mouth. Even in the midst of his own pleasure, Daisuke refused to hurt you. Though, he wouldn’t have to worry much longer, given that verge was approaching just as quickly as before.

Daisuke wished to warn you, deciding it would be truly rude to come without warning. But as he pushed for words, they came out jumbled and messy— an intelligible sentence that caused heat to rush throughout his entire body.

Luckily, you seemed to be more in tune with his body than he was, eyes flicking to his features and smirking. You loved it all. His eyes clouded and squinted, a red crossing his tanned features, the way he alternated between biting his lip and letting his voice fly; you should have done this sooner.

Pulling up, you paid extra attention to his tip, sucking harshly and moaning the moment he filled your mouth. He came out messily, collecting on your tongue— some spilling out and trickling down his dick to his uncovered thighs.

Much to Daisuke’s happiness you were letting up this time, pulling away and swallowing the mess he left. With time to finally breathe the man’s vision went back to normal, gaze landing upon you as his heavy pants slowed.

“I think.. you almost killed me.” He huffed out, watching as you crawled over his body, hands rising to glide across your arms.

You smiled, leaning to press a wet kiss to his cheek.

“Next time.. I’m aiming for three.”

[cinnawonbabe]

CREEP

part one

pairings: peeping jungwon x sister’s best friend female reader

warnings: jungwon is a peeping creep watching y/n piss, and shower, masturbation, slight descriptions of intentional self inflicted harm, mentions of blood, slight, but not really, dubcon from reader, oral fem receiving, peeping on her sleeping

overview: jungwon had a weird creepy obsession with peeping on his older sister’s best friend whenever she comes over. he’s done it for so long it became like a game that he didn’t get caught in…. until it wasn’t.

taglist🏷️ : @nayeoniiz

jungwon was sitting in the living room, working on one of his many assignments from university. he was in year one and if he wanted to be the best, he had to earn it. he was so focused on his work that he didn’t realize when his sister walked in, accompanied by her best friend y/n. jungwon studies were soon halted by his sister coming into close proximity of him.

“hey wonnie whatcha doing?” his sister asked, breaking his trance from his work. he looked up and his eyes met with both of the girls. a light red glow tinted his cheeks. the girls knew jungwon had a fat crush on y/n and it became apparent that they took joy in teasing him for fun.

to them, jungwon was this sweet little boy, always caught up in his studies. you could always find his face stuffed in a good book. but the reality of it was far more sinister. little did they know how pervy jungwon really was: waiting until the late hours of the night to sneak and creep on y/n at any given moment. there was one summer where y/n was changing into a swimsuit in the bathroom. jungwon was hidden in the bathtub, peeping through the crack on the shower curtain. he watched her undress from her clothes and slide into her bathing suit while he rubbed one out quietly to the scene that unfolded in front of him. no one knew that this ”innocent” boy had a dark, twisted secret and he liked to keep it that way. or so he thought he could.

jungwon was now averting his attention away from the girls, ignoring their teasing looks. “can you guys just leave me be? i’m studying for an important exam coming up,” jungwon said as he began to collect his belongings.

“aww is wonnie going away? you don’t wanna spend time with me anymore?” y/n taunted. she knew exactly how to rile this boy up. jungwon shook his head, quickly grabbing the rest of his things and fleeing from the situation. he ran straight up to his room, closing the door behind him. he leaned his back against the door, taking a few deep breaths trying to calm himself. his trousers felt tight and uncomfortable. he wasn’t surprised to see how visibly hard he was. he couldn’t help it. y/n looked too stunning, her skin unmarked, so beautifully soft. he just wanted to devour her.

he locked his door and made his way to his bed, placing his belongings on the floor next to him. he slid his hands in his pants and underwear, bringing them down to his ankles before grabbing the lotion from the nightstand next to his bed. he had to fix his little problem now.

he squeezed a decent amount of lotion onto his hand and grabbed his throbbing member. the cold sensation from the lotion caused him to hiss as he stroked it, images of y/n flashing in his head. from seeing her naked, her flawless skin being illuminated by the dull bathroom light, from her unknowing sleeping figure’s chest rising and falling with each breath she took, her lips parting with every snore. oh how he adored her. he quickened his pace, firmly stroking his member to every fleeting thought of y/n. he choked on a moan, keeping quiet so no one knew what he did behind closed doors.

then, his imagination took a turn. he started imagining himself stripping her naked, marking up her sweet, soft skin. he thought about how she tasted, what her insides felt like. it felt so good. and he was so, so close. rubbing his thumb against the slit on his tip, he couldn’t contain it any longer. he was reaching his climax. with a final stroke he came hard into his hands, his body convulsing as he muffled a moan, biting hard onto his bottom lip. he could taste something metallic in his mouth. fuck. he thought. he’s bleeding. he quickly wiped the mess he made of himself onto his clothes and took them off, tossing them into his dirty clothes hamper in the corner of his room. he looked into the mirror next to his dresser. his lip didn’t look that bad, but he needed to clean up quickly. he quietly and quickly rushed straight to the bathroom that was down the hall. he did not need to get caught running naked while his sister and y/n were downstairs. he locked himself in the bathroom, taking a nice hot shower to cleanse him of his sins. it felt good having the hot water running down his body. but, oh how he wished it was y/n’s hands touching him instead.

he washed up using his favorite body soap, then washed his hair afterwards.

after he got out and wrapped a towel around his waist, he stared into the foggy mirror. he wiped it so he could view his lip better, bringing his face close to inspect it better. it was swollen and a small slit was in the middle of his bottom lip. it was very noticeable. how was he supposed to hide this? how will he explain this if he was asked? in that moment an idea popped in his head. he’d fake an injury. he grabbed onto the shower curtain, and fell forward causing a loud bang on impact, knocking the wind out of him. the fall caused him to bite down on his lip and bleed some more.

he heard commotion from outside the door, it had to be the girls. a loud knock soon followed right afterwards. jungwon got up and looked at the scene. the shower curtain and rod was on the floor, trails of blood droplets as well. this was brilliant. the perfect cover up. he opened the bathroom door, drawing gasps from the girls. it was a sight to see. jungwon’s sister look petrified, her brother was bleeding from the mouth, and the bathroom was a wreck. “wonnie, oh my god! are you okay? i’m going to call mom. y/n, please help him!” his sister screamed, scattering away to call their mom.

y/n was at a loss for words. on one hand, she was concerned about the boy’s wellbeing. but on the other hand? she couldn’t help but observe him and inspect his every feature. this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to see a wet and bloody, half naked jungwon. his abs were glistening in the bathroom light, water mixed with blood dripping down his chin, his wet hair messily sticking to his forehead. and as bad as it sounds, he looked desirable to her right now.

jungwon’s face grew hot, drawing her out of her trance. she didn't realize how long she had been staring. she immediately took action, grabbing a face towel and wetting it with cold water to clean his busted lip. he winced in pain from the contact. “oh, i’m sorry!” y/n exclaimed.

“it’s fine. i’m fine,” jungwon reassured her as she continued to clean him up. jungwon’s sister came upstairs to let them know their mama won’t be back until later tomorrow morning, she’s working an overnight shift at the hospital tonight. “so it’s just us tonight?” y/n asked and his sister nodded. “yeah, i’m in charge and mom said to just clean the afflicted area and ice it,” she added, handing him an ice pack. he took it and put it on his lip, quickly thanking them both before heading to his room to get dressed and finish with his studies.

after a while, he checked the clock: 10pm. i should probably head to bed soon, he thought. as was getting ready to head to bed, he heard commotion outside his door. he cracked it slightly open and saw y/n standing there, already dressed in her pajamas and heading towards the bathroom. a sinister smile appeared on his face as he quietly tiptoed out his room and walked in the direction of his sister’s room, peaking in. his sister was sound asleep in bed. it was showtime baby. he quietly made his way to the direction of the bathroom, peering into the keyhole as his eyes landed on y/n. he watched as she slid her shorts down and sat on the toilet, his own shorts now growing tight around him. he watched as she wiped herself, pulled her clothes up and washed her hands before he quickly fled back into his room. he couldn’t risk getting caught like this. he closed his door softly and waited for her to pass by. he heard her footsteps creeping down the hallway, but they stopped right in front of his door. he panicked, but didn’t dare to make a sound.

a soft knock was heard from the other side. at first he ignored it, sliding into his bed and under the covers. “jungwon are you awake?” y/n called out to him, but he didn’t respond. he kept quiet, hoping she would leave soon. but then the doorknob jingled, twisting and the door creaked open. jungwon felt his heart pounding. oh no oh no. he thought. she was coming in. he turned his back to the door, feigning sleeplessness. he heard her footsteps come closer to his bedside. the mattress dipped behind him. this cannot be happening right now. this had to be a dream.

he felt her small hand resting upon his arm and her breath dangerously close to his ear. “i know you’re asleep, but today is the first time i’ve actually seen you outside of that nerdy facade you have,” she whispered into his ear. it sent shivers down his spine. he felt her hand snake under his shirt, her fingertips running against his abs. “i’ve never knew such a sweet boy like you was so beautifully built. it has to be from those taekwondo lessons you’ve been taking,” she added, her hands now playing with the hem of his shorts.

his member throbbed painfully, craving so badly to be touched. he couldn’t hold back any longer. he grabbed her hand, causing her to yelp from the sudden action. he turned to face her, examining her facial expressions. they both stared at one another intensely. “you don’t know how long i’ve wanted to do this,” he said, crashing his lips onto hers. it was rough but passionate. he spent so long, longing for this moment and here it finally was. he never believed in miracles until now. their lips danced amongst each other. her hands now snaking around his neck to bring him closer. he wrapped his arms around her waist, flipping himself on top of her. he trailed kissed down her jaw to her neck, sucking and nipping at her skin. he waited so long for this, he wantedㅡ no he needed to leave his mark. he wanted the world to know that he finally bagged y/n after all these years of pining for her. he left so many love bites on her skin before he moved to rid her of her shirt, trailing more kisses down her body. he took one of her breasts into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue gently on her nipple as he squeezed the unoccupied one with his free hand. small whines escaped from her lips, riling him up even more. he alternated between each breast, edging her on before trailing more marks down her abdomen. he licked a small streak down her navel until he reached the hem of her pants.

he paused and looked up at her, a silent glance for any sign of hesitation. she looked down at him, her breath hitching in her throat as she did so. “please wonnie..” she heaved out. a switch flipped inside his head. he didn’t know what came over himself, but he soon stripped her out of her shorts and underwear, teasingly kissing and sucking on her inner thighs. soft moans escaping her lips. “all those years of you teasing me,” jungwon rasped out against her skin. “now look at who's on the other end.” kissing close to her core, but never touching her there, was driving y/n crazy. she never knew there was a dark side to the kid she grew up with. teasing him all those years only for her to end up being the fool.

she wanted him to touch her so bad. “please wonnie, touch me!” she pleaded with him in a whispered yell.

he smirked, “as you wish princess.” he then licked between her flaps, she shivered from the warmth of his tongue on her dripping wet core. he licked up her juices that threatened to leak out. his tongue dancing on her clitoris. the sensation was magical to y/n. she intertwined her fingers into his hair, grabbing chunks of it as she buried his face deeper into his core. she had never felt this way before. it was all new to her as it was to jungwon. despite the fact that they were both virgins, jungwon seemed experienced in this field. he sucked gently on her clit, plunging two fingers into her core. her back arched from the pleasure. he plunged his fingers deep inside her, curling them as he thrusted them. his moves were precise, accurately hitting all the spots she didn’t know she had. yher moans grew louder with each movement, echoing throughout the room, but she didn’t care. it felt too good. how was he so good at this?

he quickened his pace, bringing her closer to her high as her body started shaking, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach and stretching throughout her body. it was exhilarating, her body trembling with every breath she took. she felt his fingers plunge into the depths of her insides, loving the feeling of how he rubbed her sweet spots. “oh wonnie… i’m gonna-,“ her sentence was cut short by a loud whined out moan of pleasure. her body jolting from the overstimulation, feeling his two digits speed increasing as he finger fucked her through her orgasm. she came hard into his mouth, her juices flowing all over his face as he kept his pace, licking up all her delicious juices. her toes curled as she rode out her high. her body shook from the remaining overwhelming pleasure. as she came down from her orgasm, jungwon placed a final kiss on her clit, peering his head up to make eye contact with her. “how was it, princess?” he asked sitting up. he made direct eye contact as he took his two digits and put them in his mouth, licking up the remainder of her juices off his fingers. she watched intensely, her body craving him more. “phenomenal,” she said honestly. she watched as he took off his shirt and then used it to clean her off before helping her get dressed. “you should probably head back. i’m sure my sister is up now from all the commotion,” jungwon teased, smiling widely knowing he had finally fulfilled one of his many fantasies. she nodded in agreement, pushing herself off his bed and wobbling to the door making jungwon laugh. he found it cute that she could barely walk straight just from the head he gave. he felt accomplished with himself.

right before she left she turned to face him, “wonnie, we should do this more often,” she shyly stated and jungwon’s smile held a dark vibe. it both frightened y/n, yet turned her on. she really liked this side of him.

“princess, this is only the beginning of something beautiful,” he said and with that she left his room, shutting the door behind her. when she got back to her best friend’s room, she noticed that she hadn’t woken up at all. guess she wasn’t loud enough after all. and with that she headed straight to bed, not knowing jungwon was once again creeping on her as she slept. you’re finally mine, y/n. he thought as he started at her sleeping through the crack of the door.

TO BE CONTINUED…..

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

—

“Promotion” (Black Noir x Fem!Reader)

| Being Black Noir’s new handler and him becoming obsessed with you since Mr. Edgar himself assigned you to him.

| SFW, vought employee!reader, (TW: Noir is kind of stalking the Reader, who’s uncomfortable but adapting mostly)

| 1k+ words

“You want me to…what?”

“Be Noir’s new personal handler.” He fans his hands out on the table with a shrug and gives you a disarming smile. “You’ll be expected to parlay direct mission instructions from me, accompany him to said missions and stay with the deployment team. I expect you to give written reports on his performance at the end of every day, active mission or not…”

Your eyes continue to widen as his barrage keeps going. This job would require you to be present for everything short of Noir wiping his ass and even then you’ll be outside the restroom.

Mr. Edgar finishes, gives you an expectant look, and you clear your throat.

“And, what if I don’t want the new position?”

“I don’t see why not.” He shrugs, “I mean unless you don’t think you’re good enough for the promotion. Then I suppose I’ll just have to tell Ashley her recommendation was for naught.”

You laugh.

“No no, that’s fine. There’s no need to tell her anything…” you gulp, watching the man just look back at you before taking a second more to inhale, “…ex-cept that her recommendation payed off.”

He tilts his head and it feels like his eyes are boring through your own, boiling your brain to mush. Your voice is small as you push the rest of your words out in one exhale.

“And that I’ll be starting my new position tomorrow. Sir.”

You stretch a smile across your face and hiss out a sigh of relief as that finally gets the man to respond.

He instantly reanimates, reaching atop his desk to hand you a secure black portfolio made from hard plastic.

“That’s great. I’m glad you decided to take on this new journey, Ms. L/n. May it serve you well. Have a good day.”

You don’t dare drop your smile as you take the offered portfolio and shove it under your arm.

“Right.” You take a moment to mourn the loss of your old job before nodding, “Thank you for the opportunity, Sir. You have a good day as well.”

The older man nods back at you, attention immediately gone back to his computer monitor afterward. You blow out air from your nose and then turn on your heels.

It’s not until you’ve left the board room that it hits you.

“Shit.”

The man had just played you. Goddamn Edgar and his resoluteness. Once he’d decided to “ask” you about the upgrade in position he never intended for it to be an actual request.

You rub your temple and head to the restroom. At least you had the rest of the hours in the day before tackling your new job.

You hunker down in the stall after peeing to look over the papers Mr. Edgar gave you. As you're skimming through a whole lot of shit marked “classified” or “redacted” you have the stray thought to be glad that Translucent’s creep ass wasn’t here to ogle you and be all in your business anymore.

Thank the higher power for small mercies, you suppose.

All the snippets of information you're gathering are kind of baffling. Legal name: Earving (of all things), biological male, six foot two, African-American (that’s fun; may be the reason he took such a liking to you too, not many black people made it to the top floors of Vought after all). You dog-ear a packet about some sort of imaginary animals he sees in his mind before looking over a page about a severe peanut allergy. Hmm.

By the end of the day you’ve nearly gotten all the way through Noir’s portfolio, and you’ve also worked up an itch to get out of your skin that means you’re not working overtime worth a goddamn.

At six o’clock on the dot all of your crap is already quite thoroughly packed, your former workspace - barren thing that it already was due to regulations - was cleaned out and ready for the next poor soul, and you’re in the elevator heading for the sub-level garage.

Dead stare locked onto the floor numbers you become acutely aware of the bags weighing your eyes down.

“Fuck,” you sigh.

Black Noir's Personal Handler.

Despite Mr. Edgar’s clear efforts it was more than a little known open secret that personal handlers rarely got to retire. Madelyn Stillwell’s death might’ve been something none of you dared discuss for fear of either Edgar or - heaven forbid - Homelander catching wind and putting you back in your place, but it was a pattern of the job that you all were well aware of.

Though you’d take Mr. Edgar’s culling over whatever Homelander could possibly come up with.

Something about his blonde, blue-eyed, ass didn’t sit right with your spirit.

Far as PR and wrangling went though, short of maybe Starlight, any wrinkles Black Noir managed to make would be the easiest to smooth out.

Plus, even with you and Noir having some form of a pre-established relationship it was in no way dependent or built upon you being Noir’s emotional epicenter like Madelyn and Homelander’s weird…dynamic was.

You had seen and heard far too much in your years working for Vought to think for a second that there wasn’t something dark and twisted going on with The Seven, but Noir still seemed mellow in comparison to the rest and their constant ego trips and dick measuring.

You had zero clue how letting the fully covered man teach you a few notes to a song at the Christmas party when everyone was drunk off eggnog and watered down booze and sitting with him when he was crying on the floor once led you to this.

Sure the silent man and you had somewhat hit it off - so far as you were one of the few non-supers he didn’t intimidate or just flat out ignore - but to be made so intimately in charge of him seemed like a bit much.

Noir had seemed endlessly patient with you as he played for you and then eventually decided he’d teach you how to play the piano yourself, the sides of your bodies’ shifting incrementally until you were pressed flush to one another in both of yous concentration, so you could really only hope he kept that same levelness with you as his handler.

You bank the corner, work bag and portfolio on the same arm, and fish out your keys so you can unlock your trunk and shove your shit inside.

Hope truly was the name of the game here unfortunately. You could only hope Noir kept up his “good” streak, and that that streak wasn’t just a farce that you were now in charge of covering up. Hope that he didn’t end up getting angry or reckless and making you one of those *redacted* cases with a ‘cause of death, unknown’ attached to your name, because you could do nothing to stop him if he wanted to kill you.

Shiver racking up your spine and turning your blood to static, you snap your trunk closed, turning to leave when—

“—Fucking Christ!”

Eyes gone wide and spit having nearly choked you from your sharp inhalation before your exclamation, you do your best to appear composed as Black Noir himself steps out from a conclave of shadows to stand in front of you.

The Devil, you find yourself thinking. Had he been following you this whole time?

For his part Noir doesn’t move aside from cocking his head to the side.

Steadily, you force calmness onto yourself. Ignoring that your voice is too high when you call his name.

“Black Noir,” you say, trying to seep the professionalism back into your tone while smoothing down the creases in your pantsuit, “surprised to see you here. What can I do for you?”

The smile you offer him feels wonky even as you command the muscles up, but it’s the best you can do with your heart hammering against your chest as if it wants to run off and leave you behind.

For a couple more beats the man doesn’t do more than size you up presumably before finally - as you were weighing the pros and cons of just getting in your car despite his presence - raising a hand to point at your trunk.

You catch on to his meaning fairly quickly, your smile dropping to something more natural whilst you huff a tiny laugh.

“Oh yeah, guess Mr. Edgar must’ve told you. I’m your new handler - you know, if you had one before that is. I don’t…actually know…” you trail off, shifting on your heels when Noir only continues to keep his stillness.

“Mhm,” you mutter, rocking backwards, just staring until finally Noir shifts and there’s suddenly a pad and pen in his hand.

He flips casually to a clear page before starting to write and you’re fairly sure this is the first time he’s ever actually ‘talked’ to you.

Huh.

Not long after does the pad get flipped over and brandished to you. You click your teeth together.

‘Edgar says you’ll do good,’ he scribbles, writing absolute chicken scratch and letters far too large on the medium sized pages, before flipping the pad back to himself and writing some more.

‘Believe in you!’ and a whole bunch of smiley faces is what meets you once he lets you see.

You blink. Noir puts the pad back wherever he had it initially to give you two thumbs up.

You muster a slightly bigger half smile for his efforts.

“Thanks Noir,” you say, words more sincere than you’d been expecting.

A nod and an eternity more of silence and staring is what he gives you in response.

You’re getting ready to shift, to awkwardly relay that you’d like to be getting home soon, when Noir stiffens suddenly - and isn’t that startling, a man so tall and so strapped with sharp explosive deadly things going so alert like that - head tilting like he’s listening for something.

A few seconds go by like that where he doesn’t do anything else and you fight to keep yourself still, smile gone and part of your lip caught firmly between your teeth.

Then Noir’s giving you a nod and leaving just as silently and unseenly as he had come.

You wait another two-three beats before scrambling into your car. The sound of your lock engaging sounds like salvation and the steering wheel feels like a lifeline as you grip it with stiff nearly foreign fingers.

God.

You force a deep breath into your lungs, make sure it comes out more steadily than it came in.

At least Mr. Edgar didn’t dump you onto Homelander’s lap. Something in you shrivels up and dies at the mere prospect. You nod, your hands flexing on the steering wheel.

This was definitely better.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This is a semi companion story to “Pandora’s Melody” if you’d like to check that one out as well.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[acynicalsweetheart]

daisuke nonconing reader omg >.<

HERIKUTSU BOY !

pairing: daisuke x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

dead dove do not eat: 18+, smut, non-con/rape, drug use, weed, virginity loss accompanied by blood, teeny mention of non-sexual vomit at the end

author's note: hai sorry it took so long. first time ever writing for daisuke.. don’t quite think i nailed his characterisation but whatever. hope it’s not too ass. title from jun togawa hopefully got it right this time LOL. any interaction/feedback appreciated as always!!

“What about…” Daisuke scratches his chin thoughtfully, trying to come up with something that’ll impress you enough to let him get into your pants. “Is your dad a terrorist?”

You blink. Once. Twice. High as a kite. 

“‘Cause that ass is the bomb!” 

“That’s cringe.” You say totally unimpressed, rolling your bloodshot and half-lidded eyes at him, reaching over to take another hit of the bong. 

His dick is literally hard from how much effort he put into that pick-up line. And your boobs. And your really short shorts. And your pink panties that are peeking out of your really short shorts. 

Daisuke is just tryna get some, man. You’re so stubborn. Not even a crumb of pity sex. Not even a blowjob! The only thing he’s gonna walk away with is a tummy ache and a mouth drier than the Sahara desert, isn’t it? 

“Hey, you’re cringe! That was actually good. You… thought it was good, right?” Jeez, he hates how fucking high his voice goes when he raises it. Sounds so boyish. No wonder you don’t want him. 

You keep lighting the bong to take hit after hit, it’s like you think he’s annoying or something. You totally think he’s annoying. 

Daisuke would take more hits of the bong himself if he had the balls to. But he fears he’d cum in his pants placing his lips where you just had yours. Like, that would basically be equal to kissing. 

“Okay, fine.” Daisuke wipes his clammy palms on his jeans, heart falling out of his ass at the thought of you noticing the dark hand-shaped marks so he hides them with his hibiscus shirt. “How about this, it’s a new one this time.” Something less controversial, more… straightforward. Girls like that.

Blowing the smoke right in his face—when you should be blowing him—you speak slowly and flatly. “I really don’t care.” 

“Shut up, shut up—just listen…” he waves it off, clearing his throat and taking a sip of the piss-flavored Monster Energy as liquid courage. “Are you a light switch?”

Speaking before you can say no, Daisuke drops the bombshell. “Because you really turn me on.”

Oh my God. You definitely think he’s fruity. Should he take off his shirt? Okay, no, might make you think he’s trying to seduce you. Which he is. But subtlety is the best way to go, according to that one podcast. 

“Haha! Ha… Get it?” Daisuke scratches his neck nervously, petting the spiky ends of his hair in a failed attempt to comfort himself. 

…

“You turn me on?” He shrugs, palms upward like he’s trying to lift off the awkwardness weighing his shoulders down. 

“Daisuke, I’m not gonna sleep with you.” You tell him honestly, lighting the bong for the millionth time. 

At least give him credit for trying. 

“Why? You’re not a virgin.” He thinks? You’re like really freaking hot, no way you’ve never let anyone hit. “Or are you?” Daisuke wiggles his brows at you. Jokingly. He might have to die if you think he’d do that seriously. 

(He was doing it seriously.)

“No—“ you sputter, failing to exhale the smoke ‘cause you’re nearly choking on it. 

“I see what this is,” he grins, thinks he feels his balls grow ‘cause of the testosterone boost he just got. Actually might’ve been adrenaline. Uh, the sex hormone? Confidence? Whatever. “You’re scared because you’re a virgin.” Says Daisuke, who has gotten exactly zero bitches in his entire life. 

“I’m not! You are!” You’re so high you can’t even snap at him properly. Replying with a half-assed, “fuck you.”

“Yeah?” 

“No.” You groan, face palming. 

“Aw.” Daisuke pouts, about to take another swig of his energy drink that he’s pretending is beer when you absolutely keel over. Like a vase off a counter. “Woah!”

Can’t tell what, but you’re mumbling something. He hopes it’s related to banging him. A guy can dream. 

“Are you… okay?” Hands gripping your shoulders to hold you up, Daisuke tries to get a look at your face to tell what’s going on. You kind of look dead, like really fucking high and dead. 

“Mmm…” 

And sleepy. And… sexy. The straps of your tank top are falling down. Thank God for gravity. And boobs. Daisuke lays you down on the floor carefully. Props up a pillow behind your head for comfort. From where he’s sitting he can see everything. 

He’s totally staring at your crotch. 

“Sorry, I…” it’s like your pussy is made out of steel and Daisuke is a magnet. Like a fucking pervert, a trickle of drool forms at the corner of his mouth. Goodbye weed mouth, at least? “You’re… hot. I think you’re hot.” 

Did he just say that out loud? What the fuck, man? Is he on drugs? Shut up, Daisuke. 

“You don’t say.” He thinks you’re being sarcastic. 

“Well, uh,” he swallows the horny lump in his throat, “you’re gonna be alright, aren’t you? I mean, you’re not gonna… die or anything?” Please don’t die before he gets to tap that ass. 

“Nooo,” you glare at the ceiling. 

“Cool! So, then… you wouldn’t mind if I… you know.” Daisuke rolls his fingers, gesturing like a fucking clown and you can’t even see him. “Yeah, that’s, um…”

Your eyes flutter shut, cuddling the side of your face into his pillow. 

The very same pillow he sleeps on every night. Daisuke is so turned on he thinks he might spontaneously combust into pieces. Well, not entirely spontaneously, more so out of plain arousal. “Just… go to sleep. I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

…

“Okay, alright, sure,” he says to no one in particular, pumping his fists like it’ll give him the confidence to see this through. “Let’s… let’s do this.”

Shrugging off his button-up, he takes a few deep breaths. With shaky hands, he pulls off his shirt and unbuttons his baggy jeans that are only growing tighter ‘cause Daisuke is only growing harder by the minute. 

“I wanted to do this on my bed but… ya know.” He pulls the zipper down, sneaking glances at you and your nipples and your lips peeking out of your panties under your shorts. “I don’t really lift, heh.”

He thinks he hears you groan again. Like, a please-shut-the-fuck-up groan, not a sexy one.

“Not—not that you’re heavy or anything! God, no, I just… forget it.” See, this is why you should’ve just said yes. Could’ve spared Daisuke the embarrassment if you were kissing him right now. “It’s me, okay? I’m the one who doesn’t lift, totally my bad, uh—but you know, I play baseball so—“

“Sorry.” Daisuke looks down at the bulge and the huge dark spot on his red boxers. “I’ll shut up.”

Running his hand through his hair like it’ll alleviate his humiliation, Daisuke very carefully pulls down your tank top. Till your breasts show anyway. Man… he needs to suck those things like a fucking baby. What?

Your face is still relatively peaceful, he concludes from the frantic glances he shoots it every couple seconds. 

Next up are your shorts, takes a good struggle to get them off from how tight they’re clinging to your body. If Daisuke didn’t know any better he would have said you got them a size too small on purpose just to tease him. But he is pretty sure you hate his guts. 

Pink. Pink panties. So soft. He thinks he’s going to cum just from feeling the fucking fabric. 

Nevermind that, ‘cause Christ Almighty is your pussy perfect. 

“Wow!” He exclaims much too loud for somebody who just promised to stay quiet. Clearing his throat, Daisuke settles for a calmer, manlier: “I mean, wow.”

“Can I…” that puss has to be frickin’ magical. It’s got him under a spell for sure, “you don’t think I could have a taste, do you?”

…

“Right. Sorry.” Forgot you’re fucking asleep. Or passed out. Unconscious? Whatever’s going on. 

You’re not very wet. Damn. You really aren’t into Daisuke after all. He was hoping they were just those like, anxiety ridden thoughts that everybody gets sometimes. Wait. Everybody gets those, right? 

Right?

He wets his fucking chopstick fingers with his spit, very carefully rubbing at your pussy ‘cause he’s scared to hurt her. You whimper when he circles the bud peeking out, some of your own slickness starting to drool out of your slit. 

Daisuke’s dick twitches like it’s having a seizure, like it will physically power off forever unless he sticks it inside of you right now. 

“Oh my God.” Collecting your… pussy drool and staring at it in awe of its shininess—the fact that Daisuke is the one that induced this—he’s gotta hurry. “Sorry, I have to—I don’t wanna…” 

He has to fuck you because he doesn’t wanna cum in his underwear. It’s a miracle and a mystery how it hasn’t happened yet. 

“Okay,” Daisuke tastes your slick on his fingertips, unable to not moan at the flavor. Thankfully you’re still… you know. Not really there. So he pulls down his boxers, letting his harder-than-a-diamond dick spring free. 

It’s like, fucking leaking at the tip. 

Spreading your legs and wrapping them around his hips (which doesn’t exactly work ‘cause of how slack they are), half-failing to wrap your limp arms around his neck, Daisuke positions himself above you—bracing himself with his arm next to your head. 

You’re breathing out slow puffs of air onto his cheek as he jerks himself a handful of times before lining up with your hole. Daisuke can’t tell if it’s him or you that’s dripping fucking wet. Probably him. His cherry is so long overdue to be popped that it’s actually embarrassing. Virginity does in fact, not rock. 

After a few thrusts, Daisuke sinks inside and your walls grip his dick tighter than his fist at night, sucking him in eagerly like a vacuum cleaner. So… were you just playing hard to get all along? Your pussy is so warm he might be getting second degree burns. “Oh, yeah.”

He’s going to fucking bust.

Kind of hard to feel bad for you when you’re this pretty, when your cunt is this wet, and when Daisuke is this horny. He humps you like a dog, gasps and pants spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them. Burying his face in your neck, Daisuke gets a whiff of your perfume. 

You let out these mumbles that are kind of sounding like moans. Daisuke chuckles a little, biting and sucking on your neck till it bruises. ‘Cause it’s… hot. Also ‘cause he doesn’t want you to hear how loud he’s moaning himself. “This—this shit is fucking awesome. You’re awesome.”

And he’s close. 

Daisuke’s forearms are stinging with pins and needles ‘cause he’s essentially holding a plank above you, moving his hips and fuck all. Shit’s like a work-out. But his body moves like it’s on autopilot. Gives him this sort of understanding for dad now, for how Daisuke himself was made. A sexy damn mistake. 

Oh, boy, he’s fucking cumming. 

“Fuck,“ he hugs you closer, plowing into you harder—hitting some spongy spot inside of you. Turning him dizzy from the sound of skin slapping echoing throughout the room. So loud Daisuke can’t even hear himself moaning like a fucking female pornstar taking the biggest dick of her life, “oh, babe.”

(He wishes you were his babe.)

Balls tightening, Daisuke tenses up and cums with a groan, shooting thick spurts deep inside you. Painting your walls white for days. Your pussy’s gripping onto him for dear life. You may not want him back but your pussy sure does. Fuck, man. 

Bestest fucking release he’s ever had. Cleansed his soul by jizzing that hard. Like, opened his chakras and all that jazz. Jizz and jazz? Daisuke should totally be a comedian. 

You have to let him do this more often. Daisuke and you could go at it like, every day! Several times, too. Man, imagine the sheer abs he would get. Baseball don’t do that. He just gets these small lumps on his arms that are supposed to resemble muscles, but don’t show enough ‘cause he’s got a big-ass nasty sweet tooth. Not you this time, but actual sweets. So they’re sort of… soft. In a very not-manly way. 

Daisuke pulls out, freezing up like time’s paused. 

“Holy shit!” He looks down at the blood caked on his dick. Coating it like the condom he probably should’ve worn. Reddish-pink thick cream dripping out of your slit. “Are you on your period?” Idiot. “Or did I… did I hurt you? I mean, I don’t think I’m that big.”

…

“Sorry,” Daisuke grabs at his head, runs his hand through his hair, runs his hand over his face damp with sweat, “sorry, I just… holy shit.” He covers his mouth. Can’t take his eyes off his softening, bloody dick. 

“You really…” he feels fucking sick, forcing the bile building up in his throat back down with a dry swallow. “You really were a virgin, huh?” Thought Daisuke was the only one a virgin at his age. It’s somehow not comforting at all. 

Unless… 

“Or waitwaitwait—uh, cough once for yes and twice for no.” A beat. A sniffle? Was that him or you? “To the virgin question.”

Fucking idiot. Why would you cough? You can’t even speak! Like, can you even breathe? Oh, man, what if he killed you!? Okay, you’re still breathing. Still got a pulse. Thank God. Shit. Thought he was boutta land his ass in jail for a second. 

“I’m sorry.” Daisuke regrets not taking more hits of the bong when he had the opportunity to, ‘cause his mouth is overflowing with spit. He knows what’s coming. And it’s not a hangover one. “I didn’t—I didn’t—mean to—I didn’t know.” Heaving like he’s being strangled. Hiccups cutting off his every word. 

You whine like an old, creaky door. Tossing and turning with the subtlety of a professional assassin. What if you were awake all along? What if you were just… pretending to be asleep? ‘Cause you didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that he—that Daisuke… he can’t do this. 

“Did it hurt?” Daisuke’s blood is so cold he could very well get diagnosed with hypothermia if he went to the doctor. Stomach clenching and churning but he’s not hungry. He’s fucking sick. “Sorry… I’m really sorry.” 

Tucking his dick back into his boxers ‘cause he can’t stand the sight of it anymore, he throws himself off of you. Stumbling as he stands up on his feet, knocking over the bong in the process. You’re just laying there like a fucking ragdoll. A used and abused ragdoll. With Daisuke’s cum and your own blood pouring out of you. 

“Listen, I’ll get some painkillers and—“ shit’s fucking forcing itself up his esophagus as he speaks. It burns like lava straight from the devil’s ass. He has to fucking bail. “And… I’ll stay here till you wake up, okay?” Now. 

He doesn’t even make it to the bathroom, doesn’t reach the toilet before he fucking pukes. Bucketloads of acidy, watery yet somehow chunky shit just… falling out. All over himself. On the floor. On the toilet seat. On the carpet. 

It’s probably whatever blend of colors of his recent meal, but all Daisuke can see is your blood. Your blood and his cum coming out of his mouth. Laying there. Shit fucking moves, painting itself into your sleeping face. 

Daisuke is going to hell. 

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae I love your Spencer and intern reader fics they’re my sweet babes and I keep rereading them <3 would you consider writing something where Spencer defends her work and efforts in front of someone in the BAU or an officer/someone else they’re working with like maybe after they speak down to her? ilyilyily

They're my sweet babes too <3 Thanks for requesting angel!

cw: mention of bombing (no death)

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 1k words

“No. Find me someone else.” 

The voice reaches Spencer from the next room, raised and prickly. He pauses in sorting through crime scene photos to listen. 

Your reply is quieter, difficult to make out. 

“I’m not giving my testimony to an intern!” 

“This isn’t a testimony, sir,” you reply calmly. Spencer can hear it now, because somehow his feet have carried him towards you. He doesn’t stop once he realizes, continuing towards the doorway and the sound of your voice. “We’re not in court, and this isn’t a formal statement. I’m only asking you to tell me about what you saw.” 

“Yeah, and I saw some important shit. Go and get me someone qualified to talk to.” 

“Of course what you saw was important. This interview is to determine—” 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think is important. You don’t know what you’re doing!” 

“Excuse me,” Spencer says, coming up to a stop beside you. “Hi. Is there a problem?” 

You turn to Spencer with a look of relief, and as one, the rest of the onlookers in the packed police station lobby look away, resuming pretending to mind their own business. 

This morning, a bomb went off outside the Department of Commerce offices. Because the incident took place in D.C., the BAU was able to get to the site quicker than most cases, and whereas arriving at a fresh scene is generally a good thing, it has its drawbacks. One being that the dozens of witnesses didn’t have statements taken before Spencer’s team arrived. 

All those witnesses are crammed into one room now, and with the police station in chaos and most of the FBI rushing to figure out if they can expect another attack, the task of questioning has fallen to you and a few other officers. You’re mostly trying to shrink the pool. In the aftermath of an attack like this, many witnesses have a tendency to conjure images. Sometimes, the brain processes trauma by recollecting things that didn’t truly happen; sometimes, people recount things that they think will get them on the evening news. As you go down the line, you’re making note of witnesses who seem to have plausible, relevant information, and those are the ones being brought in for cognitives by the rest of the team.

Evidently, you’re getting some resistance. 

“Yeah,” says the man you’re talking to. He’s broad and in an ill-fitting suit that makes Spencer think he likes to appear more important than he is. “I want to give my testimony to someone with a badge.” 

“As she explained, it’s not a testimony,” Spencer says evenly. “Do you have a badge?” 

The man’s eyebrows draw together. “No,” he says, an invisible question mark at the end. 

“Then what do you think makes you qualified to determine who gives interviews?” 

The man makes a sound like he’s choking. Before he can speak, Spencer continues, just loud enough for the rest of the eavesdropping room to hear. 

“Miss L/N is an intern with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. She has studied this case and many others before it as thoroughly as anyone else on our team, and she is more than qualified to take your statement. Excuse us a moment, please.” 

You turn gladly into Spencer’s hand on your shoulder, allowing him to guide you from the room. Your posture slumps as soon as you’re out of sight. You’ve been keeping up a collected and professional facade, but you have to be tired after talking to witnesses all morning. Spencer passes you a water bottle as you sit down at the desk he’s been using. The way you gulp from it lends credence to his theory. 

“Your throat must be sore,” he says. 

You shrug, reluctant as always to complain. “There’s more talking in interviews than I would have expected,” you admit. “I thought it’d be all listening.” 

“Yeah, sometimes witnesses need some prompting. You’re doing great, though. Have there been many like that?” 

You swallow and let out a tired breath. “Not many. It’s, you know, lots of bureaucrats.” Your tone takes on a tinge of irreverence. A smile tugs at Spencer’s lips. Sometimes, it feels like you’re still brand new, but others your time with the FBI is obvious; bureaucracy is almost a dirty word in the bureau. “They all think they’re the most important person there. But really, it hasn’t been so bad. You saw the worst of it.” 

“Yeah.” Spencer studies you, taking in the terse set of your brows, the defeated line of your mouth. “That guy was pretty pugnacious.” 

Your eyes flicker up to Spencer’s, lips twitching at something he doesn’t understand. He understands that he’d like to make it happen again. 

“He was,” you agree. “He didn’t ask you for your credentials.” 

There’s a tinge of bitterness to your tone that Spencer doesn’t think you mean to reveal. He wouldn’t begrudge you it. He noticed the same thing. 

“Sometimes, JJ and Emily have a harder time with witnesses, too,” he tells you. “If it makes you feel any better, it probably doesn’t have anything to do with you not being an agent.” 

“No, it’s only something that will follow me through my career even after I do get credentials.” Your tone is wry, but there’s a little smile on your lips. And, Spencer can’t help but note, it’s the first time he’s heard you talk about your future with the BAU with such certainty. 

Still, he doesn’t know what to say to that. There are no easy placations or reassurances, at least none that would be true. So Spencer chooses silence, and as usual you let him. Your eyes criss-cross over his face like you’re doing more than studying. Like you’re practicing reading him the way he reads you, but something more than that too. It’s exhilarating to remember that there are things about you Spencer still doesn’t have figured out. 

After a minute, you say, “I should get back in there.” 

Spencer nods, begrudging. “Do you still want to interview that last one? I can take him, if you want.” 

“No, thanks.” You stand and toss the water bottle into the recycling, smiling with renewed vigor. “I’d rather make him sit through it.” 

Spencer can’t help but return your smile as you turn to go.

[arjudy224]

The Intern: Outreach Gala

Another uneventful day for Gotham's environmental intern...

The Intern: Gotham x reader

Prequel: Death of a family

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern Field Trip

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Teachers Pet

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

Gotham's public library appears unrecognizable under the cloak of night. Broad leaves shroud the outside exterior of the Gothic pillars while ivy cascades down the large door frames. Harris raises an eyebrow.

"How many forests do you think Wayne destroyed in his quest to save the planet?" He questions with a smirk.

Each grey hair is perfectly gelled out of his face. Ditching his glasses for the occasion, Dr. Harris may actually care about tonight's guests. The bouncer outside the door seemed to think the dress code was not a laughing matter.

Taking his extended arm, I roll my eyes. The security guy nods to the two of us as we walk through the door.

"Professor, if you keep saying things like that Gordon's going to question your stances on Gotham's resident Eco-terrorist. " I whisper with a smile. "....but at least 12."

Thanks to the joint collaboration between Wayne Industries, Goth-corp, and the Gotham Department of Environmental Protection. Gotham City is hosting its first Environmental Outreach Gala for the nearby tri-state area.

My heart flutters a little bit as a realization hits me. I’m actually here… surrounded by giants in clean energy and the scientific community alike. Award-winning journalists... All for the future of our planet. Passing my reflection, I smile thinking of how far I’ve come from that little river rat back at home.

A figure in the corner of my eye draws my thoughts away from the Grandma debrief. Dick Grayson, the Billionaire’s son, charms the group of ladies by his side. I take a mental note to find time to talk to him when there isn’t such a big crowd. It's been a long time since we last spoke.

The walls echo with the idle chatter coming from the rich socialites of Gotham. Waiters in tuxedos maneuver silently with a tray of champagne flutes in each hand. Considering, that most environmental professionals wear cargo pants from the early 2000s to work... the dress code was definitely a choice. I scan the room for familiar faces. Gordon flashes me a smile from across the room. I nod back. The Mayor works his way around the room with a large smile. It must be an election year.

My throat gets tight. I'm not ready for this. Looking to my right, I find that Dr. Harris has vanished into the crowd.

"Y/N L/N?" A voice calls distracting me from my nerves.

A well-dressed man strolls over. Something about him puts me on edge. Maybe it's his wicked smile or the large emerald ring on his outstretched hand. He walks with an easy air of confidence.

"Lex Luthor."

My heart does a little tap dance in my chest. The tight fabric of my rental dress makes it hard to breathe. I shake his hand politely. The party-goers go quiet around us. From the corner of my eye, Lois Lane, an investigative reporter from Metropolis, shoves through the crowd. So much for being a fly on the wall.

"I recently worked with a Professor of yours. She had a lot to say about your graduate proposal."

This cannot be happening. Memories of those long fights in the lab flash in the back of my mind. Mr. Luthor's cat-like gaze observes my reaction curiously.

I cover my face in embarrassment. That woman deserves hate mail. I could have at least been asked to type or spell-check it beforehand.

"To be frank, I originally chose the topic to get a rise outta her. Dr. Hendrix had me doing dishes for 3 weeks straight after I accidentally messed up a sample, so I wrote a proposal I knew she wouldn't like."

When I finally uncover my face, Luthor stares down at me with an amused grin.

"Even so. I'd like to discuss potential funding opportunities in Metropolis. If this is something you would think up out of boredom, I'd love to see what you can do when you put your mind to it."

That brings a smile to my face.

"Really? Everyone who I've brought it up to has been apprehensive about researching Kryptionian radiation.

"We need more scientists to ask questions Ms. L/N. Even the ones, that people don't want to know the answer to. "

The sullen green glow draws my eye once again to Mr. Luthor's ring finger... Wait, that's not an emerald. That's Kryptonite.

"Is this a personal interest of yours?" I ask slowly glancing between his eyes and his ring.

"In some ways."

An unspoken conversation occurs when he notices my acknowledgement of his strange choice of jewelry. The silence only creates more questions. Why would you wear something you know is irradiated?

"I hope to hear from you soon." Mr. Luthor concludes after handing me a business card, "There is always a spot at Lexcorp for a future scientist with your talents."

I stand there in silence watching him leave. The sleek modern design of the card lists only the bare essentials: his name, office address, and contact information in silver lettering.

Four hours ago, I was hauling boxes for the decorating committee. Huh. A nearby waiter offers a champagne flute from the tray. Respectfully, I turn them down. This dress costs more than my rent.

“Oh no. Thank you. I am… working.”

"Does work-life balance not apply to interns?” A voice interrupts.

I try not to roll my eyes at the "intern" comment. The constant reminders of my status are getting old. Starting at his perfectly buffed dress shoes, my gaze drags along the fabric of his black designer suit. Dick Grayson sure does like to make an entrance. With his dark curls and friendly blue eyes, his familiar smile knocks over my defenses. Sipping on his drink, he waits for my response with a teasing grin. His energy is contiguous. I ignore his question to ask my own instead.

“Has anyone told you that you tend to appear out of nowhere?”

His striking eyes light up with a mischievous glint.

“You have no idea.” He laughs, "It's nice to see you back in Gotham. It's been a long time."

"It has. From the rumors, you have been up to quite a bit of trouble." I joke gesturing to the envious eyes from across the room.

He raises a curious eyebrow.

“Good things I hope?”

Glancing around the room, I ignore the dozen eyes staring daggers in my direction. Academia can be such a bitch.

“Nothing too crazy: a few murders, unfounded accusations, and you might be an alien?”

Dick grimaces while tilting his head ever so slightly. He swirls his drink, yet doesn't take a sip.

“Sounds about right. Anything you believe? “

I pause... Do I play coy?

“I’m not sure an alien could do a quadruple summersault.”

Something flashes in his eyes that I don’t quite understand. For a moment, I wonder if I should have held my tongue. His suspicion morphs into the first genuine smile I've seen all evening.

“You’ve kept tabs on me Y/N.”

Before I can respond, a scream causes the ballroom to descend into chaos. Vines shoot out from under the floorboards while the native plants start attacking the guest. A woman with flaming red hair paces the floor. Her vines wrap around each person one by one…. A thorny bush springs out of a fallen leaf snagging my delicate rental dress.

Dammit Pamela. We talked about this.

Glancing at the bartender's horrified expression, I frown.

“I change my mind. I’ll have that drink now.”

[imagine-darksiders]

Minor spoilers for the next chap of CHWH, regarding Death and Y/n:

[starrspice]

Take this silly Idea I had

Sun and Moon are famous fashion designers and are known to be rather high maintenance and demanding.

Meanwhile Y/N is forced to take a position as their personal assistant (if they don't stick with the internship they don't graduate)

They run Y/N ragged and drive them crazy with their outrageous demands.

[sabrinajenre96]

Wes Mitchell x FBI!Reader:

WARNING:Please be aware that this story contains depictions of violence and injury, including a character being shot and undergoing surgery. It also deals with emotional themes of love, loss, and regret. If these topics are sensitive for you, please consider this a warning before reading.

The air crackled with tension. Greg Csonka’s conviction hung in the balance, and the fly team was tasked with ensuring his secure transport. You, an FBI agent with a history intertwined with Wes Mitchell, felt the weight of the situation. You and Wes shared a deep connection, a silent understanding that shimmered beneath the surface of your friendship. But life, in the form of his previous relationship and your own reticence, had kept you apart. Neither of you dared to risk the comfortable camaraderie for something more, something potentially explosive.

Alongside Wes and your best friend and colleague, Cameron, you were part of the escort detail. Chaos erupted when an ambush shattered the carefully laid plans. Bullets flew, adrenaline surged, and the hunt for Csonka began. You three took the lead, determined to recapture the fugitive. Cornering him in what you thought was a secure location, you never saw the sniper’s nest. The crack of the rifle echoed, followed by a searing pain. You crumpled to the ground, the world tilting on its axis. Csonka escaped.

The world narrowed to the frantic shouts of your teammates and the rising panic in your own chest. You were vaguely aware of being rushed to the hospital, the urgency in their voices a stark contrast to the fading light in your eyes.

The team’s world stopped. Everyone was at the hospital, a silent vigil for your life hanging heavy in the air. Raines stayed by your side, while Cameron, Smitty, Mitchell, and Booth relentlessly pursued Csonka. Wes was a man possessed, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a grim determination. He pushed himself to the limit, but his thoughts were only with you, his mind replaying every shared laugh, every stolen glance.

They found Csonka, but the confrontation ended in his death. The case, though closed, felt hollow. Their victory was overshadowed by the fear that gripped them all. They rushed back to the hospital, desperate for news.

Raines met them with a weary but relieved smile. You were stable, but in the ICU. Complications during surgery had necessitated close monitoring. One by one, they were allowed to see you.

Wes was the last to enter your room. He sat beside your bed, his hand gently resting on yours. He thought you were unconscious, lost in the medicated haze. The dam of his emotions broke.

"Y/N," he began, his voice thick with unshed tears, "I… I have to tell you something. Something I should have said a long time ago. I’ve been in love with you since… well, since forever. But I was an idiot. I let things get in the way. I was afraid of ruining our friendship, afraid of… everything. Remember that time we went to that concert, and it rained? We were soaked, but we just laughed. That was the moment I knew. But I was with someone else, and… I messed up. I’ve been messing up ever since. Please, Y/N, come back to me."

You lay there, perfectly still, listening to his heartfelt confession. Every word resonated deep within you. You had felt the same way, the same unspoken longing. The concert, the rain, his laughter… those memories were etched in your heart, too. A tear escaped from the corner of your eye, but you kept your eyes closed, wanting to hear every word.

When he finished, a soft sigh escaped your lips. You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, which was filled with a mixture of hope and despair.

"I love you too, Wes," you whispered, your voice weak but clear.

His eyes widened in disbelief, then filled with a radiant joy that chased away the shadows. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, tentative kiss.

"I love you," he repeated, his voice husky.

"I love you too," you replied, a smile gracing your lips.

The road ahead wouldn't be easy. Navigating the complexities of your careers, the aftermath of the shooting, and the delicate dance of a new relationship would be challenging. But you faced it together, two souls who had finally found their way to each other, their love a beacon in the midst of the storm.