#intern!reader

[bnnysweets]

WHEN I TALK TO YOU CUPID WALKS RIGHT TROUGH

teacher!sevika x intern!reader

author’s note: english is not my first language. this’ll be a slow burn but i’m super excited to write about their dynamic!

warnings: none! pure fluff. modern au. sevika is a physics teacher and reader is studying physics in college. reader uses she/her pronouns. age gap (sevika’s mid thirties and reader’s mid twenties). mentions of family issues and exhaustion from uni.

sevika is a physics teacher at high school, she’s been teaching for almost 7 years at this school, everyone knows her for ms. sevika. sevika don’t like her last names and all the memories they carry so she just use her first name because who chose it was her grandfather, the only one who sevika truly felt loved by.

there is class b-8, she been teaching them since freshman, they grew a great relationship together, they’re the only class sevika opens up a little more about her personal life, telling them about her arm and how physics changed her life, and her students LOVE HER! despite her being one of the strictest teachers in school, when she let her guard down, they were capable to see how she is just a human at end of the day, a pretty funny human, so over time, they became good friends, some of her students even knew her outside the school, following her instagram that is rigorously private.

you came along when the school she works on started a program with your university, with students who were almost graduating in degree courses on teaching area, it was a way to you meet how classes graduated teachers worked. you were a physics student, so you were paired with sevika, when you two first met you thought she would hate you, you were in all pastel colors while she was dressed like a cool vampire, she had a face that screamed “i’m too old for this”, so you did your best to win her approval before the classes begin (the introduction happened before the end of summer break). you brought her brownie, cookies, new pens and markers because hers were all dry, she always smiled to you and said “thank you.” nothing more, nothing, it was like this until the classes started.

you only started to go the classes with sevika after the first two weeks, so you introduced yourself and answered, surprisingly, a lot of questions from her students. after the first month everyone was already used to you, a group of girls especially, they always talked to you after the class and during the snack time too, these girls were a lot more smart and mature than you thought.

on a certain week, you were filled with exams and uni stuff, so you didn’t attend to the classes with sevika, you told her and she assured you it was okay, but you didn’t expect sarah, one of the girls that you were closest to, to drag you on the hallway when you came back to the school, before class, to tell you how ms. sevika didn’t stopped talking about you. “i swear to god!! she was all sad and pouting saying how she was sad that you couldn’t be with her last week and how she missed you, that you’re a wonderful companion and bla bla bla.” sarah said very excited, “i don’t know, i don’t think she really likes me.” you said not believing on her words and sarah tilted her head to the side dumbfounded “what are you talking about? she adores you! you see the way she looks at you?” you rolled your eyes laughing “of course no sarah, i’m always annotating something or explaining so i can’t focus on that.” “but you should!”

when you entered the room you everyone was at your desk to ask about happened last week so you asked sevika if was okay for to you to explain and she said yes. “i was drowned with exams, home works, articles and some other uni things to do, and i was not felling very well, so i took a week off, that’s all. i’m all good now!” you explained and some hands went up, “were you sick?” a redhead girl asked, “no, i was just mentally exhausted to be honest, i’m graduating this year so it’s a lot to do.” you explained, “ms. sevika is a lot nicer when you’re here, you shouldn’t leave us.” a boy said and you laughed looking to sevika “it’s that true?” you whispered only for her to hear and she nodded her head “you make me a little more soft.” she said and your blood went straight to your cheeks, “look! she’s all embarrassed.” sarah said a bit too loud to her friend and that was enough for the whole classe stare at you and make an “ownnnn” sound. you were so embarrassed that you could lay a egg.

during lunch you went to eat in your car, you wouldn’t be able to bear with teachers’ room with sevika there but unfortunately (or fortunately) you heard a knock at your window and saw her right there, you lowered the glass and with tupperware on hands she asked “may i eat lunch with my favorite intern?”.

you two were talking casually when she said “you didn’t told me you were exhausted.” you let out a little “oh” and swallowed hard, “why?” she asked “i didn’t wanna to be a bother.” you said softly, “you’ll never be.” she said and changed the subject, but your mind stopped there, maybe sevika did like you after all.

dividers by @kodaswrld

[wo8ngs]

⟢　　﹒ 　　CASE OF THE FIRST DAY JITTERS ..　۫　　◞

synopsis ⤷ first days can always be just a bit nerve-wracking, especially when you're interning at one of the most prestigious law firms in america. but why should you have nerves when only a few were even chosen for an interview, especially when you were the perfect fit? wait, you're interning at wong & associates, under THE ada wong? it's not like she could scrutinize your every move, right? wrong.

pairing: intern!reader x lawyer!ada wong

you were the perfect fit for the job, how could you not be?

you were at the top of all your classes. you have never missed a deadline—your ambition won’t allow it. you were always the first one to arrive and the last one to leave the building, and you push yourself past your limit because, for you, anything less than perfection is not good enough.

and if it wasn’t enough to just have the grades and the best recommendations from former professors and co-workers—you had to prove yourself. ada wong herself, famously known for her ruthlessness and high standards, personally interviewed you. she wanted to see the drive behind the résumé, to make sure you weren’t just another ambitious intern, but someone with the precision and dedication to match her own.

you impressed her, of course. how could you not? after all, you weren't just another candidate—you were the ideal one. you were the perfect fit for the role.

but now, as you stand in front of the mirror, clad in your signature mary janes, knee socks, and black mini-skirt, a wave of nerves wash over you. you can’t shake that fluttering anxiety in your stomach, as you adjust your hair for the tenth time. the reflection staring back at you looks polished to perfection, and put together, yet you can’t help but feel the weight of expectations pressing down on your shoulders.

what if you trip on your way in? what if your voice wavers during the morning brief? are you even supposed to talk as the intern on your first day? the very thought of it sends a shiver down your spine. you remind yourself of all the hours spent studying, the late nights you sacrificed, and that determination of yours that had brought you to the position you saw yourself in today. yet, standing there, it feels like its all on hinges on this moment, on how you present yourself. because, first impressions matter.

as you take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, you force a smile at yourself through the mirror. you know you’re more than capable; you’ve earned this opportunity. but the nerves are relentless, the doubts still stuck in the forefront of your mind.

‘what if you’re not good enough?’

‘what if they think i’m inexperienced?’

‘what if they judge me before i even get a chance to prove myself?’

‘what if—?’

as soon as you blink, you’re standing in the large building at the top floor where ‘wong & associates’ is located. the moment you step through the glass doors, the energy of the office instantly envelops you. people are moving around the open space, files clutched in their hands, their eyes focused on the task at hand. the rhythmic clicking of keyboard fills in the air.

the scent of coffee waffs through the air, mingling with the subtle hum of conversations and the sound of printers whirring. it feels like one of those well-oiled machines, and it makes you feel intimidated to be apart of it.

you take a moment to soak it all in, feeling both exhilarated and overwhelmed at the same time. as you adjust your grip on your notebook, you can’t help but feel that flutter of nerves coming back in your stomach. you glance around, spotting a few familiar faces from your interview, their expressions serious and focused as they navigate their tasks.

suddenly, the door to ada’s office swings open, a young women stepping out of it, her expression one of clear distress. her brow is furrowed, and her lips press into a tight line, as if her emotions were rolling off of the surface. she glances over her shoulder, as if expecting ada to follow her with more criticism or a command, before hastily making her way back to her desk. her movements are frantic, a stark contrast to the usual composed demeanor expected in this office. papers flutter from her hands as she rushes, and you can’t help but notice the way her shoulders tense with each step.

and then ada emerges behind her, the door clicking shut with a sense of finality. her face is cold and unreadable, her sharp features set in a stoic expression that rarely ever reveals any hint of emotion. she surveys the scene, her eyes narrowing as she scans the bustling office floor.

you can’t help but feel a chill run down your spine as you observe her demeanor.

she's a force to be reckoned with, and everyone knows it.

with her hands resting firmly on her hips, ada stands tall and imposing. there’s tension in the room, a silent acknowledgment of the pressure that comes with working under someone like ada. her gaze remains steady and piercing, as if she’s assessing not only the situation but the very people involved. you can sense the unease that settles over the office as colleagues glance furtively at each other, trying to gauge ada’s reaction.

from your vantage point by the front door, you can’t help but feel a little bad for the women who had exited the office. the tension is almost tangible, a thick fog of anxiety that hangs in the air. you watch as the young woman attempts to collect herself, desperately shuffling through her papers in a bid to regain some semblance of control, her hands trembling slightly.

ada’s sharp eyes finally catch sight of you standing near the entrance, and she squints, scrutinizing your presence. the moment stretches, and you feel your heart race under her gaze, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable.

were you already making a bad impression? especially on the person who is your boss?

her expression shifts slightly, though it remains inscrutable, and you can’t quite tell if she’s annoyed by your presence or simply assessing who you are.

you feel like you’re going to be sick. ada’s gaze remains locked on you as she begins to make her way over, each step purposeful and measured.

the rhythm of her heels clicking against the polished floor resonates through the office. colleagues momentarily pause their conversations, glancing up as she approaches. everyone was in understanding that ada’s presence isn’t something to be taken lightly.

as she closes the distance between you, her expression shifts from one of cold assessment to something more nuanced. her eyes, sharp and calculating, scan your face, searching for any signs of weakness or uncertainty. you can feel your heart rate quicken under her scrutiny.

when she finally reaches you, ada pauses for a moment, her gaze unwavering, as if she’s trying to gauge your reaction to her proximity. you can’t help but feel small under her scrutiny, like a deer caught in headlights.

"are you lost?" she asks.

the question is blunt, cutting through the tension in the air, leaving no room for ambiguity. it was as if she’s daring you to prove your worth in this high-stakes environment. there’s an intensity in her gaze that makes you acutely aware of every detail—how you stand, how you respond, and what you choose to say.

because be careful with what you say.

you’re about to say something, but you feel an unexpected tightness in your throat. the words you rehearsed in your mind suddenly seem to vanish, leaving you with a jumble of thoughts that struggle to break free. you open your mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a slight stutter, a nervous breath that does nothing to convey the impression you wish to convey.

ada tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just a bit, as if she’s peeling back the layers of your hesitation, trying to read what lies beneath your thoughts. the silence stretches between you, heavy and almost palpable, and you can feel your cheeks warm under her unwavering gaze. it’s as if time has slowed down, and the bustling office around you fades into a distant hum.

why was nothing coming out? you were desperate to articulate your thoughts while grappling with the overwhelming presence of the woman standing in front of you. you can see the slight twitch at the corner of ada’s mouth, a hint of amusement there, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. she remains steadfast, as she waits for you to gather your thoughts.

“um... i—” you begin, but the syllables falter before they can fully form. and in this moment, all you can do is clear your throat, willing yourself to sound more assured, but the sound only serves to amplify your nervousness.

before you can even finish constructing a full sentence, ada nods slightly, her expression shifting as if she’s already processed everything she needs to know from your brief attempt at a response. there’s an almost imperceptible spark of recognition in her eyes, as if she’s made a mental note about you—your hesitation, your ambition, the way you stand beneath her scrutiny. in that moment, you realize she’s not just assessing your words; she’s evaluating your potential.

with a smooth, authoritative motion, ada turns her attention away from you and calls out to the project manager, “jenna,” she says, her tone firm yet clear, slicing through the office chatter. you watch as a woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in a tailored suit that mirrors ada’s own style, glances up from her desk, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“come here for a moment,” ada instructs, and jenna rises to her feet, striding over with a confident gait that reflects her own position of authority. as she approaches, you can feel the tension in the air shift again, this time mingled with a sense of anticipation. you can’t help but feel the weight of ada’s gaze shifting back to you, her once again expression unreadable.

“this is the intern i mentioned,” ada states matter-of-factly, gesturing toward you with a flick of her wrist. “she’ll be working for me this fall term.” the way she introduces you carries a weight that sends a shiver down your spine; her words like a seal-of-approval. the significance of that statement sinks in, and you feel a rush of pride mixed with anxiety at the prospect of working under such a formidable figure.

THE ada wong.

jenna turns to you, her demeanor warm yet professional, and offers a friendly smile. “nice to meet you! i’ve heard great things about you already,” she says, extending her hand in greeting. as you shake jenna’s hand, as ada watches closely, her eyes assessing your response.

ada’s gaze shifts from jenna back to you, and she takes a moment to eye you up and down, slow and deliberate. her expression is inscrutable, making it hard to gauge what she’s thinking as she appraises every detail—from the way you stand to the way you’re dressed in your carefully chosen outfit. you can feel the weight of her scrutiny; it’s both intimidating and oddly exhilarating, making your heart race.

after a moment that stretches on for what feels like an eternity, ada finally breaks her inspection and turns on her heel, striding confidently back toward her office. the click of her heels against the polished floor resonates in the now-quiet space as she moves away. you can’t help but watch her, captivated.

as she reaches the threshold of her office, she pauses and glances over her shoulder one last time, her piercing gaze locking onto yours. there’s something almost inscrutable in her expression—perhaps it’s approval, or maybe it’s a silent warning to stay on your toes. you can feel your breath catch in your throat again.

with a slight tilt of her head, she seems to convey a message that says;

‘i’m watching you’.

then, in one fluid motion, she steps into her office and closes the door behind her. the click of the latch resonates in the stillness of the hallway. the sound reverberates through you, a reminder of her presence even as she disappears from view.

in ada’s own kind of way, she had acknowledged you on the first day of your orientation. and that doesn’t happen to a lot of interns on their first day.

consider yourself grateful, intern. your new internship is going to be interesting, to say the least.

© wo8ngs / do not repost, copy, steal, etc., any of my work and claim it as your own.

[mariasont]

intern!reader

smut = ✧ clean (ish) = ♡ angst = ✩

newest to oldest

[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.

[cvntroach5000]

LaDS men vs Orange Peel Theory

Xavier

• "Xavier, can you peel this orange for me?"

• "Of course!"

• No hesitation, all enthusiasm to do something for his babygirl. Very good boy.

Zayne

• You don't need to say anything, just place an orange next to him, nudge it in his direction and his muscle memory will take over and he'll peel it without even realising he's doing it.

• Reliable, locked in, responds without verbal prompt. Green flag king.

Sylus

• "Sylus, can you peel this orange for me?"

• "Sure. Do you need anything else? Are you hungry? I can call the chef or if you ask nicely, I'll make something myself."

• Not very good at the actual orange peeling part, compensates by going above and beyond. Attentive, happy to serve. Husband material.

Rafayel

• Uh... So here's the thing; if you catch him in the right mood and ask in the right way... Yeah, he'll do it!

• However, this man would debone a fish for you anytime. Which is exponentially harder??

• All in all, it's a win. He's just built different. Ocean diva exclusive.

Caleb

• LMAOOOOOO

• He literally cheated death for you, of course he'll peel your fucking orange.

• . . .

• The orange might have drugs in it though, so be careful.

• Least you could ask for, really, he'd do much, much worse bigger things for you. Easy peasy. 11/10.

[3amfanfiction]

I fully headcannon that Simon Riley is the type to take anything you give him, regardless of the impact to his health.

“Simon, you’re home!”

He had just walked in the door as you take a bite of a cooling cookie. you grab another one and hurry over to give him a hug and kiss, then you hand one of the cookies over to him. “You’ve gotta try these. They’re a cherry cream-cake cookie that my coworker gave me the recipe for. Tell me what you think!”

You wait expectantly for him to try it, bouncing excitedly when he tells you it’s good.

you grin as you stuff the rest of your cookie into your mouth and hurry back to finish your last batch. Simon follows and sits at the kitchen table to visit with you while you finish baking and begin cleaning the kitchen.

Before too long you notice his voice start to go a little hoarse when he answers your questions. as he clears his throat for the third time you ask, “You okay? Do you need something to drink?”

“Nah, I’ll b’ fine” he rasps, standing and coming to give you a kiss on the forehead. “i’ll be back in a bit, lovie.”

Is out the door before you can get your thoughts together enough to question him.

That evening you’re laying in bed when the door opens and in walks Simon.

When he crawls into bed you turn to him and let out a “Simon!’ when you see him covered in hives “what happened to you?”

He tells you he went to A&E since he’s allergic to cherries. His throat was swelling up while he was listening to you tell him about your day and he broke out in hives shortly after he left.

When you grill him, trying to figure out what was going through his mind when he accepted the cookie without saying anything, he just shrugs and pulls you into his chest with an eye roll and a, “it came from you, sweetheart. What was I gonna do? Not eat it?”

Next || Story Repository

[ysaefinn]

I think suguru would rather die a million and one times than let you wake up before him and make breakfast. No..YOU DONT understand how important the mornings are for him, you're all still sleepy and warm from the covers, yawning and rubbing your face, and you walk into the kitchen in one of his oversized shirts and cling to his back and mumble out a little "morning..." A.A.A.A..A.A.A..A.A.A.A.A.A.A..A.A. HE LOSES IT!!! HE LOSES HIS MARBLES, the urge to eat you in one bite is no jock to this man, he does let out some of the steam by embarrassing the shit out of UNINTENTIONALLY he would not stop cooing and patting your head and calling you his "sweet baby" eventually you're not as sleepy as before and manage to tell him to cut it out, to which he pouts 🥹🙏

[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!

[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

[wo8ngs]

⠀⠀⠀⠀︵𝜗℘︵　 ⠀⠀INTRODUCING INTERN!READER ...　　｡　 ⠀ ͜ ◞

top of her class. thrives on structure & is meticulously organized. never misses a deadline. always first to arrive and last to leave. always seen wearing mary janes, knee socks & black mini skirts. her desk is impeccably organized with colour-coded files, and everything is in its place. lover of all things minimalistic. ada wong's soon-to-be pretty little assistant.

TO WHO IT MAY CONCERN,

we are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for the internship position at wong & associates law firm for the fall term. after reviewing your application, we believe your skills and academic achievements make you an excellent fit for our team. your internship will commence on octoner 10 and is expected to run through december 21. during your time with us, you will be working closely with our legal team, gaining hands-on experience in corporate and civil litigation, and contributing to meaningful projects. we are confident this opportunity will provide valuable insights and allow you to further develop your legal expertise.

please confirm your acceptance of this offer by september 23 by clicking the button below. [confirm offer]

should you have any questions or need further information regarding the role or preparation for your start, do not hesitate to reach out. we look forward to welcoming you to wong & associates and are excited to work with you.

[mariasont]

maria. my girl penis is hard thinking about it. pretty please write intern reader x hotch. is it unethical? yesssss. is it hot? even more yes. please and thank you 🫶🫶🫶🫶

girl penis hard LMAO yes thank u ily u get me !!!! okay but we're on the same freaky wavelength, it's been heavy on my mind ... probably bc i was reflecting on my own internship last summer and the way it could've been exponentially better if my boss had been tall, hot, and brooding instead of, y'know, what it was. (delusion, yes, im aware). anyway thoughts (subject to change):

intern!reader being in her final semester (maybe masters track to age her up)

hotch helping with ur criminology assignments ????

attending ur capstone presentation ???? (prob would pretend it's coincidence)

giving another intern a passive aggressive professionalism speech bc he saw him flirt with u ONCE

staying up until 1am proofreading ur final paper bc he happened to be awake

keeping a mental list of every professor who was mean to you (for reasons)

im tweaking

[ferrarifudds]

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

[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.

[konpeitonom]

hii can u do mw characters hallucinating their dead partner??:3thx btw love ur posts

tulpar crew hallucinating their dead partners.

sfw— lowercase intended ^_^

g/n reader (i think) — content warning for self harm/substance abuse.. so sorry!!

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^

notes; i was super excited to do this request! finally got around to doing it. sorry if this a wee bit inaccurate, i’ve never had severe hallucinations like what im portraying here but i tried my best anyway. take this as a happy 100+ follower celebration! never written for all the cast before so this was really fun. i don’t rlly like this haha but hopefully u guys do

curly

— i’d break him. and i think he wouldn’t be able to work properly as captain if they were frequent. and he’d feel a lot of guilt about that. everyone’s counting on him, he can’t be so hung up on the past.

— would confide in jimmy about it, and jimmy would make some comment about he’s not fit to work if he’s seeing hallucinations of his dead partner- maybe even shame him a little..

— i’d freak him out every time i’d happen. he’d have to leave the room if someone else was there, to go cry somewhere private.

— he already has issues sleeping, but i’d make it much worst. which would only make the hallucinations worst. he can never catch a break..

— he knows he’d never get over your passing, especially if it was tragic/something he could’ve prevented- but he didn’t think he’d go crazy like this.

jimmy

— he would be pissed, seriously. he’d go mad. he’d resort to drinking or self harm if it was possible.

— i only say self harm as a.. he’d stand right in front of you, cut himself and say stuff like.. “you wanted this, right? is that why you’re here? came back to fucking haunt me?”

— he’s completely scummy, and would start blaming you. his view of you would be completely tainted. but then would start feeling upset about how he’s ruined even the image of you.

— to ground himself, he’d just look at old pictures- maybe look at your old clothes if he got the chance. he doesn’t wanna ruin you, but he does. even in death, you can’t run from him.

— all around a mess. haha. he’s confused, maybe a little scared- but still selfish old jimmy..

— i mean, death is regular. it happens. people he’s known, been close to, have died. but for him to be seeing you? and so vividly too? that’s not normal, not at all.

anya

— anya would find a lot of comfort in it. she knows it isn’t healthy, but she can’t help but maybe enjoy it a little. it’s nice to know you’re always there, even if it’s just her mind playing tricks on her.

— i think the first time it happened, she’s very quick to pull herself together. and then she’s very self aware of what’s happening.

— i think she’d feel a lot of guilt.. you’ve passed, and you should rest easy- and here she is still clinging onto the past. you’d be upset if you saw her like this, which is the only reason she’d try to push it away.

— still though.. she can’t help it. you look so real, and who’s it hurting? it’s not hurting her, that’s for sure. it makes her happy.

— would do anything to feel your presence once more, maybe staring at your photo as she cuddles with a pillow.. purposely not sleeping, so the chances of her hallucinating you are higher..

swansea

— like jimmy, he’d go crazy. mentally, he’s struggled before, but not to the extent where he’s seeing vivid images of you. i’d scare the shit out of him.

— would.. likely delve back into alcoholism. what’s the point of being sober if his spouse isn't alive? not like they’ll know anyway. he’d feel maybe a bit of guilt but not enough to stop.

— he would not be able to work properly. maybe only with daisuke, as he knows he can’t break down infront of some kid. he’s old enough to know how to hold himself together.

— maybe similar to anya, there’s slight feelings of comfort. but he can’t do that to you, so he tries his best to move the fuck on over it.

daisuke

— he’d be scared, severely. as the youngest of the crew, he’s constantly hearing things about how life is only gonna get worse as you grow older.. and he thinks, ‘there’s things worse than hallucinating my dead partner in store for me?’

— would try to push through it. put on a happy face in front of his co-workers and parents, as you sit there in the back of his mind.

— he wouldn’t know what to do. he doesn’t wanna bother anyone, doesn’t wanna be a burden. he wants people to look at him and think highly of him, not pity him.

— spends a lot of his free time just.. laying in bed. distracting himself with his hobbies and interests no longer works as he can’t bring himself to care.

— he’d draw often, i think. mostly you. only because he knows how upset you’d be if you found out he’d given up drawing.

[7brownsuga7]

Happy international women’s day lovelies <3

It’s international women’s day, so what better way to thank you and show you his admiration than having his cock curving into you, brushing against your tight walls and hitting your cervix? Having you cry out in pleasure as he thrusts into you repeatedly, not giving you a chance to catch your breath.

He’s so thankful to have you in his life. He wants to show you how empowering you are, and how much you inspire him. He wants to use this day to show you that he recognises all of your aspects and contributions.

He’s shown you how thankful he is for you, told you, and now he wants you to feel it. The great woman that you are… The good woman that you are…

So ready for him to fuck you like his life depends on it. Burying himself inside of you with so much precision and eagerness that it has you crying out for him. Nails clawing at his back, leaving your mark so people know he belongs to you.

The flower arrangement sits on your bedside, a small gesture to show his appreciation for you, even though at the moment he’s showing his appreciation in other ways.

Despite his harsh thrusts, his hands are careful as they roam your body. Touch like silk. His words just the same, so soft and delicate as his words flow through your ears and run through your body, making your pussy clench around him. Your juices coating his cock and the sheets below you. You’re always so wet for him.

“Nghh please” you cry out as his balls repeatedly slap against your ass, him hurried deep inside of you to the point he’s knocked all the air out of you.

“Please what baby?” He looks at you to see if you’re in any pain. He knows he can get too carried away, he can’t help it. Especially when he can feel your pussy clenching around him, sucking him in.

“Too good” you let out a breathy whimper, “too good” he kisses your collarbone as he whispers an “I know”. His own voice failing him as a whimper escapes his lips too. Head falling into the crook of your neck as he lets himself bask in everything that is you. Your pussy, your scent, your embrace, everything about you.

And when you both cum undone, him throbbing inside you as you both come down from your high, thick liquid oozing out of you, mixing with your juices, is when he’ll remind you of how much you mean to him.

And he’ll fuck you again and again and again, because showing you his appreciation is better than just telling you.