#key city brewing

[thedaily-beer]

Key City Brewing Death on Two Legs Double IPA (Picked up at Corner Market in Hattiesburg, MS). A 3 of 4. A really nice and bright IPA with mostly orange citrus in the nose and some pine/resin behind it. A pretty classic West Coast profile and quite a nicely balanced body with a lot of fruity and grain sweetness up front and a firm, clean bitterness in the finish.

[reiding-writing]

ok but the whole “on a case, reader fits the unsub’s type so the team wants her to go undercover pretending to be a couple with someone” type of scenario would be interesting with cold!reader bc the obvious choice for her “date” would be Spencer (cue Morgan’s teasing) and i imagine she wouldn’t be happy about any of it

SPIN THE WHEEL — SPENCER REID!

you and spencer have to go undercover as a couple for a case. chaos ensues.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 5.1k | ???? | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

WARNINGS | fem!reader, knife violence, violence against women, reader is physically threatened but not hurt, reader and spencer are kinda awkward sometimes, morgan is a great wingman and an annoying friend

a/n — unfortunate spolier alert, there is no kiss in this fic, sorry 😔

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as you stepped into the BAU briefing room. The heels of your boots clicked against the polished floor, a sharp counterpoint to the low hum of early-morning conversation. It was barely 7am, but the team was already gathered, their attention focused on the case files in front of them.

“Morning,” you said curtly, setting your travel mug on the edge of the conference table. Hotch acknowledged you with a nod, his expression as unreadable as ever. Morgan glanced up from his file and grinned.

“Look who decided to join us,” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “Thought you’d gone into hibernation now the sun’s out.”

“Wouldn’t want to miss your sparkling commentary,” you shot back, earning a quiet chuckle from JJ.

Hotch cleared his throat, and the room instantly quieted. “Let’s get started.”

He gestured to the board at the front of the room, where photos of four women were pinned in neat rows. Their faces, bright and smiling in life, were now haunting reminders of a killer’s pattern.

“Over the past two months,” Hotch began, “we’ve identified a series of abductions and murders targeting high-profile women in their late twenties to early thirties. Each victim was abducted from a public location—bars, restaurants, upscale events—and later found in secluded areas outside the city.”

JJ chimed in, leaning against the edge of the table. “They’re all single on paper, *but* they were last seen in public with male companions. Same dynamic in every sighting. The woman appears dominant, in control. The man, quiet and deferential. A classic ‘power couple,’ but with the woman holding the reins.”

Prentiss leaned forward. “So the unsub’s targeting these women because of their perceived control in the relationship?”

“Presumably one he wants for himself,” Hotch confirmed. “Each victim was restrained, but there’s evidence they were given specific instructions during captivity—what to wear, how to speak. The dominant dynamic appears to be a key element of their fantasy.”

You flipped open your case file, skimming the notes Garcia had compiled. Confident, independent women. Late twenties. Seen with male partners. A pattern was beginning to form alright.

Morgan spoke up. “So, the unsub is looking for a specific type of woman. Someone who exudes authority, but…”

“But is in a relationship dynamic that contradicts societal expectations,” Reid finished. “A dominant woman with a submissive male partner. It’s uncommon enough to draw attention, which might be part of the appeal for the unsub.”

Morgan let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a control freak with a very specific fantasy.”

“Precisely,” Hotch said. “Which is why we’ll need to act quickly. The unsub has been escalating—shortening the time between abductions. Based on their pattern, we believe they’ll strike again within the next 48 hours.”

“Any leads?” you asked, your voice sharp with focus.

Garcia’s cheerful voice practically burst through the door. “Good morning, my lovely profilers! As much as I’d love to say I’ve cracked this case wide open, we’re still working on a list of potential suspects. But I do have some good news—There’s a community gala happening, super high-profile. It’s upscale, trendy, and crawling with exactly the kind of power couples they’re looking for.”

Hotch nodded. “That’s where we’ll set up our operation.”

The tension in the room thickened. You could feel it before Hotch even said the words.

“We’ll need someone to go undercover,” he continued. “Someone who fits the unsub’s preferred victim profile. Confident. Independent.”

All eyes turned to you.

You froze, a sip of coffee halfway to your lips. “You can’t be serious,” you said, though the tone of your voice made it clear you already knew he was. “Can’t Prentiss do it?”

“You’re the best match,” Hotch said simply. “Your appearance and demeanor align with what the unsub is looking for.”

Morgan’s grin widened, sensing an opportunity to stir the pot. “And since it’s a couple we’re talking about…” He let the sentence dangle, his gaze flicking around the room. “Looks like we need to find you a boy toy.”

JJ smirked. “Any volunteers?”

Morgan pretended to study the room, tapping his chin theatrically. “Hmm, let’s see. Rossi’s too old. I’m way too good-looking. And Hotch… well, I don’t think he’d appreciate being dragged to a bar on his off-hours.”

“Get to the point, Morgan,” you snapped.

His eyes landed on Reid, who was sitting awkwardly at the edge of the table, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

“Oh, come on,” Morgan said, his voice full of mock conviction. “The answer is obvious. Dr. Reid is the perfect choice. Smart, polite, and devoted to his boss lady. What more could you ask for?”

Reid blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Me?” he stammered. “I—uh—I don’t think—”

“You’ll be fine,” Morgan interrupted, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just follow her lead. She’s already bossy enough for the both of you anyway, no acting needed,”

You glared at Morgan. “I’d rather go alone.”

“Not an option,” Hotch said firmly. “The unsub is looking for couples. If you go in alone, you’ll stand out for the wrong reasons,”

You crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair. “And why Reid? No offense, but he’s not exactly…”

“Not exactly what?” Reid asked, his tone defensive.

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “He’s not exactly the type you’d expect in this kind of role.”

“That’s what makes him perfect,” JJ pointed out. “The unsub isn’t looking for traditional dynamics. A strong, dominant woman with a partner who defies stereotypes fits the victim profile,”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but to your surprise, he straightened and spoke with quiet resolve. “If it helps catch the unsub, I’m willing to do it.”

“See? Loyal man already stepping up,” Morgan said with a laugh.

You shot him a withering look before turning to Hotch. “Fine,” you said, your voice clipped. “I’ll do it. But if this backfires—”

“It won’t,” Hotch interrupted. “You’ll have full backup, and the team will be monitoring every step of the operation.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, a smug grin on his face. “This is gonna be good,”

You sighed, already regretting the decision. Spencer, for his part, looked as nervous as you felt, but there was a determination in his eyes that you hadn’t expected.

“Great,” Garcia chirped. “I’ll send over everything you need for your cover story. And don’t worry—I’ll make sure you two are the most convincing power couple that bar has ever seen.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to stave off the headache already forming. This was going to be a long 48 hours.

—

“You’re really going to have to sell this,” JJ said, her lips curling into a faint smirk as she watched you and Spencer stand awkwardly in the aisle of the jet.

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. “I know how undercover work works, JJ.”

“Sure, but this isn’t just undercover work. This is undercover work as a couple,” Morgan chimed in from the corner, barely hiding his grin.

Spencer cleared his throat, the faint blush on his cheeks deepening. “We should probably practice,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “The unsub will be looking for natural interactions—gestures, body language, subtle communication cues. If we’re stiff or hesitant, it’ll be obvious,”

Morgan barked out a laugh. “Oh, trust me, kid. It’s already obvious,”

You shot Morgan a glare that would’ve made a lesser man wilt. He just grinned wider. “Fine,” you said brusquely. “Let’s get this over with.”

Spencer nodded, stepping closer to you. His movements were hesitant, almost shy, and it took every ounce of patience you had not to roll your eyes. He hesitated before holding out his hand.

“Let’s start with this,” he suggested.

You stared at his outstretched hand for a beat too long before sliding your palm into his. His hand was warm and slightly clammy, but his grip was firm, maybe a little *too* firm if the way your knuckles were awkwardly pressed together had anything to say about it.

“Relax,” you muttered, glancing up at him. “You’re supposed to be my date, not someone who’s never felt human interaction before.”

His lips twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile. “Right. Relaxed. Got it,”

You worked through the basics: standing close together, holding hands naturally, leaning into each other like a couple sharing a private moment. Spencer was diligent, taking mental notes and adjusting his movements based on your corrections.

Despite his effort, the awkwardness between you two was palpable, made worse by the occasional muffled laughter from Morgan and JJ.

When it came time to practice small touches—a hand on the small of your back, a brush of fingers against your arm—you could feel the tension radiating off him. He was careful, almost too careful, as though afraid you might snap at him.

“You’re overthinking it,” you said, your tone sharper than intended.

He blinked, his hand hovering inches from your arm. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not. Just… stop being so stiff about it. This isn’t life or death.”

“Actually, it kind of is,” he murmured, his lips quirking in a faint smile.

To your surprise, you felt the corner of your own mouth twitch upward. You quickly smothered it, stepping back and crossing your arms. “Good enough for now. Let’s move on to the backstory.”

—

The gala was in full swing by the time you and Spencer arrived, stepping into the grand ballroom of the city’s most exclusive hotel. The chandeliers glittered overhead, casting warm light over the crowd of elegantly dressed attendees.

You smoothed down the front of your sleek black gown, the fitted fabric hugging your frame in all the right places. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Spencer adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit. He looked… good. The cut of the suit flattered his lean frame, and the crisp white shirt brought out the warm tones in his skin.

He caught you looking and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, glancing away.

You looped your arm through his and guided him toward the bar. As you moved through the crowd, you felt the weight of eyes on you—not just from potential suspects, but from the other guests as well.

“I thought you didn’t drink,” you murmured as Spencer ordered a glass of wine.

“I don’t,” he said, giving you a small smile. “But it would look suspicious if I didn’t have something in my hand.”

You hated to admit it, but he was right. He was thinking like a profiler, analysing every detail to make your cover as convincing as possible.

Morgan’s voice crackled in your earpiece. “Damn, Pretty Boy cleans up nice. And look at you, boss lady. You two are turning heads out there,”

“Focus, Morgan,” you muttered under your breath.

JJ’s voice chimed in next, a hint of amusement in her tone. “He’s not wrong. You two look good together.”

You ignored them, instead focusing on the task at hand. Spencer leaned in slightly, his body angled toward yours in a way that felt natural, almost intimate.

“Do you see anyone who fits the profile?” he asked softly, his breath warm against your ear.

“Not yet,” you replied, scanning the room. Your gaze lingered on a man at the far end of the bar, his eyes locked on you with a little too much interest. You straightened slightly, letting your body language shift just enough to signal dominance.

Spencer noticed the change immediately. Without missing a beat, he placed a gentle hand on the small of your back, his fingers light but steady. The touch was subtle, protective, and entirely convincing.

You glanced up at him, surprised by the ease of the gesture. His face was calm, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that reminded you just how capable he was.

Morgan’s voice crackled through again. “Wow, look at Romeo and Ice Queen over here. You two might actually pull this off.”

“Shut up, Morgan,” you muttered, but there was no real heat in your voice.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself noticing things about Spencer you hadn’t before. The way he adjusted his movements to match yours, the subtle way he deflected unwanted attention, the quiet confidence in his voice when he introduced himself to other guests. He wasn’t just playing his role; he was living it.

And Spencer? Well he thought you were beautiful. You were always beautiful, but being this close to you, it was almost enough to feel like he was being set on fire.

“Someone’s watching us,” Spencer murmured, his lips barely moving.

“Where?”

“Two o’clock. Dark suit, red tie.”

You glanced in the direction he indicated, keeping your movements casual. The man from the bar was still watching, his gaze sharp and calculating.

Spencer leaned down, his lips brushing your temple in a gesture that looked affectionate but was purely strategic. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Maybe,” you said, your voice low. “Let’s see if he takes the bait.”

Spencer nodded, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. For the first time that night, you felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—a strange sense of comfort in his presence.

You pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. There was no room for distractions, no matter how unexpected they might be.

You sipped your drink, letting the act settle over you like a second skin. The confident CEO with her doting partner. The perfect bait.

“You’re doing well,” Spencer murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“I’m aware,” you replied dryly, earning a quiet huff of laughter from him.

“I mean it,” he said. “You’re commanding the room without overdoing it. Subtle but effective.”

You glanced at him, startled by the sincerity in his tone. “You’ve been taking notes.”

“Of course. It’s what I do,” He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that reached his eyes.

Something about the way he said it caught you off guard, though you weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the quiet confidence in his voice, or the way he seemed so at ease despite the tension crackling in the air.

A server passed by, offering a tray of appetisers. Spencer reached out, grabbing one before turning to you.

“They have the scallop canapés you liked at Rossi’s,” he said casually, holding it out to you.

You froze for a moment, caught off guard again. You’d barely mentioned your preference for seafood during one of Garcia’s long-winded stories about fancy catering. It was a throwaway comment, something you didn’t think anyone had noticed.

He shrugged, his expression impossibly soft. “You said you liked them. Thought it might help you relax.”

The gesture was so small, so thoughtful, that it left you momentarily speechless. Spencer wasn’t just going through the motions; he was paying attention, learning your rhythms and quirks without ever prying.

“Thanks,” you said finally, your voice quieter than usual. You took the canapé, your fingers brushing his.

His gaze lingered on yours for a beat longer than necessary, and for the first time, you found yourself looking away first.

“Stupid eidetic memory,”

—

The man in the red tie made his move a half-hour later.

You and Spencer had positioned yourselves near the bar, your conversation laced with just enough tension to draw attention. Spencer leaned in slightly, his voice low and steady as he spoke.

“Are you sure this is the right approach?”

“It’s fine,” you said sharply, letting your tone carry just enough edge to sell the act.

“You don’t have to handle everything alone,” he pressed, his brow furrowing in genuine concern that blended seamlessly into the performance.

“I said it’s fine.” you snapped, crossing your arms.

The man approached before Spencer could respond, his smile polite but laced with something colder. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice smooth. “Is everything all right here?”

You turned to him, plastering on a forced smile. “Everything’s fine. My partner is just… overstepping a bit.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, and he stepped back slightly, giving the other man an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean to upset her. She just works so hard—it’s difficult not to worry.”

The man’s eyes flicked between you and Spencer, assessing. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the way he cataloged your body language and tone.

You gave him a weary smile, letting the cracks in your façade show just enough. “Comes with the territory. My job isn’t exactly forgiving.”

“And what do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I run a consulting firm,” you said smoothly. “Corporate strategy and restructuring.”

“A powerful position,” he said, his tone laced with admiration. “I imagine it must be stressful, balancing work and… home life.”

You shrugged, casting a glance at Spencer. “It has its moments.”

Spencer stepped in, his role as the supportive but slightly sidelined husband playing out perfectly. “She does an incredible job. I just try to stay out of her way,”

There was something in his voice—an undercurrent of pride and affection that made the words feel painfully real. For a moment, you wondered if the man in the red tie wasn’t the only one Spencer was trying to convince.

The man chuckled, a cold, calculated sound. “It’s rare to see someone so dedicated to their partner’s success.”

Spencer nodded, offering a tight smile. “She deserves it. But, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll grab some air. Long nights like this aren’t really my scene.”

He turned to you, his expression softening. “You’ll be alright for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” you said, your voice clipped.

Spencer gave you a lingering look before turning and walking away, his retreat deliberate and measured. You could feel the man’s eyes on you the moment Spencer disappeared into the crowd.

“He seems… sensitive,” the man remarked, his tone careful.

You gave a soft laugh, sipping your drink. “He means well. But sometimes I wish he’d let me handle things without hovering.”

The man’s smile widened, the glint in his eyes unmistakable now. You’d hooked him.

“It’s difficult for some people to understand power dynamics,” he said. “Especially when the woman is in charge.”

You tilted your head, feigning curiosity. “You seem like someone who understands.”

“Oh, I do,” he said smoothly, stepping closer. “There’s a balance to everything. Some people thrive in positions of power. Others…” His gaze flicked to where Spencer had disappeared. “…are more suited to supporting roles.”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your expression neutral. The trap was set, and now it was just a matter of waiting for him to take the bait.

“Sometimes,” you said, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, “I think he resents me for it. He’d never say it, of course, but… you know how men can be.”

The man’s smile turned predatory. “I know exactly what you mean.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Spencer reenter the room, his posture tense but controlled. He caught your eye, giving you the faintest of nods.

Game on.

The man leaned in closer, the sharp scent of his cologne curling in your nose. You tilted your head, giving him a coy smile as he spoke, his voice low and smooth.

“Men like him don’t understand what it means to truly have power,” he said, his hand brushing lightly against your arm.

You forced yourself not to recoil, leaning into the act. “Sometimes, I think you’re right,” you murmured. “It’s hard to find someone who really… gets it.”

His eyes gleamed, and for a brief moment, you saw the darkness that lurked behind his charming façade. He believed he had you hooked, believed he was in control.

You felt the comm in your ear buzz faintly. “All eyes on Ice Queen,” Morgan’s voice came through, sharp and focused. “Unsub is making his move. Keep it steady.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, but you kept your expression relaxed, offering the man a small, inviting smile.

“You should come with me,” he said, his hand sliding to the small of your back. “Somewhere quieter. I’d like to hear more about your perspective.”

You hesitated, feigning reluctance. “I don’t know… I don’t want to leave him for too long.”

He chuckled, a low, predatory sound. “He’ll be fine. You deserve some time for yourself, don’t you?”

Spencer’s voice crackled through the comm, tight with tension. “Don’t let him separate her too far from the crowd.”

You met the man’s gaze, pretending to consider his offer. Finally, you nodded. “Just for a minute.”

He smiled, guiding you toward a hallway leading to a quieter area of the venue. Your stomach tightened, every step pulling you further from the team’s line of sight.

Once you were out of earshot of the crowd, the man’s demeanor shifted. His grip on your arm tightened, and his tone grew colder. “You really are impressive,” he said. “So confident. So controlled. It’s almost a shame.”

You let out a laugh, glancing around for an opening. “A shame?”

“That someone like you can’t appreciate what it means to truly submit.”

Your comm buzzed again. “We’re moving in,” Hotch’s calm voice said.

The man’s hand drifted to your waist, and that was all you needed.

“You’re under arrest,” you said sharply, yanking free of his grip and stepping back. You reached for the small earpiece hidden under your hair. “Target is isolated. Move in.”

The man’s eyes widened, and his mask of charm shattered. His hand shot toward you, his fingers curling around your wrist with bruising force.

Before you could react, Spencer’s voice cut through the tense air like a knife.

“Let her go!”

He stormed into the hallway, his face taut with barely contained anger. His usual awkward demeanor was gone, replaced by a fierce protectiveness that caught even you off guard.

The unsub tightened his grip, dragging you closer as he pulled a knife from his jacket. “Stay back!” he snarled.

Spencer didn’t flinch. His hands were raised in a calming gesture, but his eyes burned with determination. “You don’t want to do this. Let her go, and we can talk.”

Your pulse raced as you struggled against the unsub’s grip, a knife to your throat would do that to most people you supposed. You could see the rest of the team moving into position at the far end of the hallway, but Spencer was the only one close enough to take action.

“Reid.” you said, your voice steady despite the adrenaline racing through your veins. “Don’t blow this.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I’m not— I—”

There’s a moment where you feel the unsub’s arm relax, just that tiny bit where his confidence had gotten the better of him, and you take that moment like it’s the only chance you’ve got.

You slam the back of your head into the unsub’s jaw, hand darting up to grab the his wrist so you didn’t recoil into the blade. The knife clattered to the floor as he retreated in pain, and you go from being held hostage to pinning his chest against the marble floor.

The unsub froze, his face panicked as the team closed in. Within seconds, he was cuffed and hauled to his feet, Morgan giving him a hard shove toward the exit.

You leaned against the wall, catching your breath as Spencer hovered nearby.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft but urgent.

You nodded, your gaze flicking to him. His face was pale, his eyes filled with worry. “I’m fine, Reid.”

He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve been closer. I should’ve—”

“Spencer,” you interrupted, your tone firm. “You did exactly what you needed to. I’m fine.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, stepping back to give you space.

Back at the surveillance van, the tension dissolved into a mix of relief and exhaustion. Morgan leaned back in his chair, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“Well, I’ve gotta hand it to you two,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “You played the part perfectly. I mean, the chemistry? Oscar worthy.”

You shot him a glare, but he just laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Seriously, though,” he continued, glancing between you and Spencer. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you two were actually getting it on.”

Spencer’s ears turned pink, and you rolled your eyes. “Let it go, Morgan.”

“Never,” he said, smirking.

As the team packed up their gear, you caught Spencer’s eye. For a moment, neither of you said anything, but the unspoken gratitude between you was clear.

And maybe a hint of something else.

—

The jet ride home was unusually quiet. The adrenaline from the mission had finally worn off, leaving everyone drained but relieved. You kept mostly to yourself, as usual, watching the clouds pass by through the window. Occasionally, you caught Spencer glancing in your direction, though he didn’t say anything.

When you finally returned to the BAU, the rest of the team trickled out, eager to head home. You lingered in the bullpen, reviewing paperwork under the dim glow of your desk lamp. The steady rhythm of typing was almost comforting until you sensed someone hovering nearby.

Looking up, you saw Spencer standing a few feet away, fidgeting with the strap of his messenger bag. His brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth, hesitating before speaking.

“I just wanted to check in,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “About earlier. During the mission.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “What about it?”

He shifted on his feet, clearly nervous. “I just… I hope I didn’t overstep. With the unsub, and… you know, everything after.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was worried I might’ve made things harder for you.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, you considered brushing him off, deflecting like you always did. But you couldn’t do that to him, not tonight.

“You didn’t overstep,” you said, the words slower, more deliberate than you intended. You hesitated, the admission foreign and uncomfortable on your tongue. “You handled yourself well. Better than I expected.”

His eyes widened slightly, and you could see the flicker of surprise in his expression. “Really?”

You gave a small nod, your arms still crossed as a defence mechanism against the vulnerability creeping in. “You stayed calm under pressure. You didn’t panic, and you were quick on your feet. Not everyone can do that.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind that wasn’t quite sure if it was allowed. “Thanks. That… means a lot, coming from you.”

You glanced away, feeling the weight of his gratitude settling uncomfortably on your chest. “Don’t let it go to your head, Reid,” you said, your tone sharp but lacking its usual bite.

But before he could respond, Morgan strolled into the bullpen, his ever-present smirk firmly in place. He glanced between the two of you, one eyebrow quirking as if he’d stumbled upon something far more interesting than a late-night check-in.

“Well, well,” Morgan drawled, leaning against your desk. “What do we have here? Romeo and Ice Queen, burning the midnight oil together?”

You rolled your eyes, but this time, you didn’t fire back immediately. Instead, you glanced at Spencer, whose ears were turning an impressive shade of pink.

Morgan’s smirk widened. “Aw, come on, don’t let me stop you. You two clearly have some very important business to discuss.”

Spencer opened his mouth, likely to stammer out a denial, but you beat him to it.

“Goodnight, Morgan,” you said pointedly, your tone cool but lacking its usual edge.

Morgan chuckled, backing away with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Goodnight, lovebirds,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway.

When you turned back to Spencer, he looked flustered but oddly pleased, his bag clutched tightly to his chest.

You lingered for a moment longer than necessary, your gaze meeting his. “See you tomorrow, Reid.”

“See you tomorrow,” he echoed, his voice carrying a note of warmth you hadn’t noticed before.

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, and for the first time, you didn’t mind.

[leonastarry]

Hihi! Can you make a Mafia(secret)!Sung Jin-woo x author!fem!reader? Where the reader is a famous soft hearted author who wrote many kinds of stories which attracted many attention and Jin-woo being one of her fans(in secret) holds a whole collection of her books. He sent his most trusted guards (igris, bellion and beru in human) to watch over her and keep him updated.

He never misses any of her books and is always the one who buys it first (in her official store on online) he doesn’t buy it in person since yeah his a well known mafia in the underground. But on a random Friday, the CEO name Liu Zhigang requested her to work for him as the reader take’s her time to think about it. Thanks to Jin-woo’s connections and wandering guards, he found out about this and immediately made a move, he ordered his men to sabotage Liu Zhigang’s company to keep the reader away from him.

The rest up to you of how they met. Btw his secretly obsessed with her like a yandere

[ Req 18 ] Under the Cover of Pages. ✧. ┊    mafia!jinwoo x author!reader.

The midnight city throbbed with life, its lights casting a light that could not reach the man sitting behind the vast desk. Sung Jinwoo, the most feared mafia boss in the underworld, stared at the books neatly arranged on his bookshelf. Each title belonged to a single author—you.

To others, his works were simply literary masterpieces, filled with intricate plots and heartfelt characters. To Jinwoo, they were a lifeline. Every word he wrote spoke to a part of himself buried beneath layers of power and violence. The softness, the hope—he found himself drawn to the world he created, a stark contrast to the one he ruled.

Jinwoo’s obsession was a secret he kept fiercely close. Even his most trusted men—his shadows—knew better than to doubt his dedication to your work.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Keep her safe,” Jinwoo instructed, his voice cold but firm.

Igris bowed slightly, a graceful and elegant figure. “She remains unaware of our presence, my Liege.”

Beru, always eccentric, sneered. “Her schedule is predictable. She spends most of her time writing at home or going to cafes for inspiration.”

Bellion crossed his arms. “There’s no threat yet, but Liu Zhigang’s offer might change that.”

Jinwoo’s expression darkened. Liu Zhigang was a rival, his influence was immense in the business world, both legal and underground. That man had recently approached you, offering you a lucrative contract to write an exclusive story for his company. Jinwoo couldn't allow that.

Beru's smile widened. "What should we do, my Liege? Teach him a lesson?"

Bellion frowned. "Perhaps we shouldn't overdo it. The Liu family has power, any public move might attract her attention."

Jinwoo's fingers tapped lightly on the polished wood of the desk. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed his determination. "Liu Zhigang is no match for me. No need to be tactful. I guarantee his offer will be rescinded by tomorrow morning."

The shadows bowed and disappeared, leaving Jinwoo alone with his thoughts. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the latest book you had published, the pages worn from repeated reading.

“I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Liu Zhigang woke up in chaos. His company, known for its dominance in the media and entertainment industry, was suddenly in chaos. Key investors had pulled out, and rumors of internal scandals had tarnished his reputation. Within hours, his offer to you was withdrawn with a hasty apology.

Unaware of the chaos, you read Liu’s message with mixed feelings. There was something about his offer that didn’t feel right, and you felt relieved that you didn’t have to accept it. However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you, although you chalked it up to paranoia.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Your favorite coffee shop, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, is your sanctuary. The hum of conversation and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee create the perfect backdrop for your thoughts.

As you scribble in your notebook, a shadow falls across your desk. Looking up, you see a man dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His striking grey eyes gaze at you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

“May I sit here?” he asks, his voice soft and deep.

You nod, momentarily speechless.

“I’m Sung Jinwoo,” he introduces himself and holds out his hand.

Your eyes widen in recognition. “The CEO of Ahjin Industries?”

His lips curl into a small smile. “That’s one of my roles.”

As he sits across from you, the atmosphere seems to change. There was something about him that drew you in, something that held you back.

"I'm a fan of your work too," he admitted, his tone softer.

The confession took you by surprise. "You've read my books?"

"All of them," he said simply. "Your stories have a way of… reaching places most people can't. They're remarkable."

You felt your cheeks flush. "Thank you. That means a lot."

Over the next hour, Jinwoo engaged you in a conversation that felt effortless. He asked about your inspirations, your favorite authors, and even your least favorite topics. His genuine interest caught you off guard, and for the first time, you found yourself sharing parts of yourself that you usually kept hidden.

Little did you know, Jinwoo already knew a lot of what you shared. He memorized your interviews, tracked your public appearances, and pieced together your habits. But hearing it from your lips was a different kind of thrill.

As you spoke, you noticed something strange. The way Jinwoo looked at you—it wasn’t just admiration. It was as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

That night, Jinwoo returned to his room. In his hand was the notebook you left at the coffee shop. He had no intention of keeping it—just making sure it was returned to you—but he couldn’t help but flip through the pages.

Your notes, written in neat handwriting, were filled with ideas for future stories. Jinwoo’s heart raced as he read, imagining himself in every romantic scene you described.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, the possessiveness in his voice undeniable.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The next time you saw Jinwoo was at an event reserved for writers and industry leaders. You were invited as a guest of honor, and Jinwoo was there as a socialite.

Dressed in a sleek black suit, Jinwoo looked every inch the powerful CEO, but he was focused on you. As the night wore on, he found his opportunity.

“I want to return this,” he said, handing you your notebook.

Your eyes lit up in surprise. “You found it! Thank you.”

The two of you eventually left the event together, his presence a comforting contrast to the crowded crowd. As the elevator doors closed, Jinwoo turned to you, his expression unreadable.

“You have no idea how much I admire you,” he said, his voice low.

Before you could react, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both gentle and passionate. The world outside the elevator faded away, leaving only the two of you.

Hope you like it! 💗

Yipee, all the requests has been written :)

Proud of myself ✨

Thanks for loving my works, dear readers 💗💗💗

[w1w2]

A Contract of Silence

Previous part | Part 3 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 7k

Synopsis: As the icy distance between Y/N and Giselle begins to thaw, fleeting moments of vulnerability hint at the cracks in Giselle’s polished façade.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

A few days had passed since the gala, and the penthouse had fallen into a state of sterile quiet.

Giselle and Y/N barely interacted, their paths crossing only briefly in the vast, echoing space they now shared. Giselle seemed content to treat Y/N as though she were invisible, her focus consumed by work and the constant buzz of her phone or tablet.

In the mornings, Giselle left early, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floors as she strode out the door without so much as a glance in Y/N’s direction. In the evenings, she returned late, her presence marked only by the soft clink of her key card on the counter or the muffled sound of her voice as she took a call in her office.

To Giselle, Y/N’s silence seemed convenient, a background detail that required no attention.

For Y/N, the days stretched long and solitary. Since leaving her part-time jobs as part of the contract, she found herself filling the hours by scrolling through her phone, reading, or sketching in the small notebook she kept by her bedside. Giselle transferred her monthly sum equivalent to what Y/N had earned from her jobs, so she could transfer most of it to her mom, just as she had done when living with her family. Despite its grandeur, the penthouse felt like a gilded cage. Its immaculate surfaces and muted tones were undeniably beautiful, yet lifeless, providing none of the warmth or comfort she yearned for.

The diamond ring on her finger was a constant reminder of the role she had agreed to play, but in these quiet days, it felt like she was playing that role alone.

Y/N sat at the kitchen island, scrolling aimlessly through her phone as the soft hiss and clink of the coffee machine punctuated the silence. The penthouse was as quiet as ever, its vast, open spaces amplifying the stillness. The polished surfaces of the counters and cabinets reflected the pale light streaming in through the windows, casting a cold, almost clinical glow over the room.

She glanced at the city skyline beyond the glass, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the edge of her phone. Her thoughts drifted back to the gala, the way Giselle had transformed so effortlessly from distant and detached to warm and charismatic, captivating the room with her charm.

But the moment they were alone, the act had fallen away like a discarded costume. The warmth in her voice, the affectionate touches, all of it vanished, replaced by the sharp, businesslike demeanor that Y/N had come to associate with Giselle.

The transformation was jarring.

Y/N exhaled softly, shaking her head as she stared down at her phone.

“It’s not personal,” she reminded herself, for what felt like the hundredth time. “It’s just the way she is.”

The thought was meant to soothe her, but it didn’t help. If anything, it only deepened the ache in her chest. She had known from the start that this arrangement wasn’t about emotions or connections, it was a contract, nothing more. And yet, the starkness of Giselle’s coldness still stung in ways Y/N hadn’t anticipated.

The coffee machine let out a final hiss as it finished brewing, its soft click pulling Y/N from her thoughts. She stood, crossing the room to pour herself a cup. The warmth of the ceramic mug in her hands was a small comfort, and she cupped it tightly, letting the steam curl around her face.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, sharp and deliberate, breaking the silence. Y/N turned just as Giselle entered the kitchen, her presence as commanding as ever.

Giselle was dressed impeccably, her tailored blazer and pencil skirt hugging her figure with precision. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and the faint click of her heels against the tiled floor added to the aura of authority that surrounded her.

“Morning,” Giselle said briskly, her voice devoid of any warmth or familiarity. She moved to the counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee without so much as a glance in Y/N’s direction.

Y/N offered a polite smile, raising one hand in a small wave. She didn’t bother typing a response on her phone, Giselle had made it clear that she wasn’t interested in pleasantries.

For a moment, Giselle’s gaze flicked toward her. Her eyes, sharp and unreadable, lingered for just a beat too long before she returned her attention to her coffee.

“You’ll be accompanying me to a lunch meeting today,” Giselle said matter of factly, her tone as clinical as the setting around them. “It’s a small group, investors. Your role is simple. Smile, look engaged, and don’t draw too much attention to yourself.”

The words landed heavily in Y/N’s chest, the instructions clear but cutting. She nodded, forcing her expression to remain neutral even as her fingers tightened slightly around her mug.

Giselle didn’t seem to notice or if she did, she didn’t care. She sipped her coffee, her other hand already reaching for the tablet she had set on the counter. Her attention shifted seamlessly to the screen, her fingers scrolling through emails with the same efficiency she applied to everything else in her life.

Y/N turned her gaze back to her phone, biting the inside of her cheek to suppress the frustration bubbling within her.

The way Giselle spoke to her as though she were an accessory, a prop to be positioned perfectly in the background, made her chest tighten. But Y/N knew better than to let her emotions show. This wasn’t about her feelings.

"Just focus on the deal", she told herself firmly.

The thought steadied her, if only a little. She reminded herself of why she was here, her family, their struggles, the debts that had weighed them down for so long. This arrangement might be cold and transactional, but it was also her lifeline.

She sipped her coffee, the bitter taste grounding her as she forced herself to push the frustration aside. Across the room, Giselle remained engrossed in her tablet, her expression as composed and distant as ever.

Y/N glanced at her for a moment longer before turning back to her phone. The tension in the room felt almost suffocating, but she told herself it didn’t matter.

It couldn’t matter.

Giselle had left for the office and Y/N spent the hours that followed immersed in her sketches. By midday, the sound of the elevator chiming announced the CEO's return. Y/N glanced up from her notebook just as the doors slid open, revealing Giselle.

“We’re leaving in fifteen,” Giselle said briskly, her eyes scanning the room briefly before landing on Y/N. “The car’s waiting.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, her pen pausing mid-stroke. She quickly stood, gathering her things as Giselle disappeared down the hall to freshen up.

True to her word, fifteen minutes later, Giselle was ready, her presence commanding even in the simplicity of her preparation. She led Y/N to the waiting car with her usual composed efficiency, her pace brisk but unhurried. The restaurant was tucked away on a quiet street in one of the city’s most prestigious neighborhoods, its entrance understated but elegant. Inside, the décor was an embodiment of subtle luxury, muted tones, soft lighting, and sleek furnishings that exuded sophistication without being ostentatious.

Giselle walked in with her usual commanding presence, her heels clicking softly against the marble floors. Heads turned as she entered, her sharp features and tailored ensemble projecting an air of effortless authority.

Y/N followed closely, her heart pounding as she took in the scene, the clinking of fine glassware, the low murmur of conversations, and the faint strains of classical music playing in the background.

A small group of investors was seated at a round table near the center of the room. They stood as Giselle approached, their smiles widening in welcome.

“Miss Uchinaga,” one of the men said warmly, extending a hand. “Always a pleasure.”

Giselle returned the handshake with a polite smile, her composure flawless. “Thank you for meeting with us,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying just enough warmth to set the tone without losing its professional edge.

Her hand lightly rested on Y/N’s arm as she turned to introduce her. “This is my fiancée, Y/N,” she said.

Y/N nodded politely, her lips curving into a soft smile as she raised a hand in greeting.

The investors responded warmly, though their curiosity was evident. Their eyes lingered on Y/N, intrigued by her quiet demeanor but clearly unsure of how to engage with her.

As the lunch progressed, Y/N sat quietly beside Giselle, her posture straight but not stiff. Her hands rested lightly in her lap as she listened intently, her gaze shifting between the speakers. She didn’t fully understand the intricacies of what they were discussing, but she followed enough to recognize the dynamics at play, Giselle commanded respect, and the investors were eager to align themselves with her vision.

It wasn’t long before one of the men, a middle-aged gentleman with salt and pepper hair, turned his attention to Y/N.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” he said with a warm smile. “What do you think of all this?”

Y/N froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden attention. Her cheeks warmed as she glanced at Giselle, who raised a subtle brow, her expression unreadable but expectant.

Y/N hesitated, then gestured with her hands to indicate that she didn’t speak. Her movements were smooth and fluid, her proficiency in sign language evident.

The man’s eyes widened slightly, and then his expression brightened. “You sign?” he asked, his tone delighted.

Y/N nodded, her hands moving quickly to respond. “I’m fluent.”

He grinned, his enthusiasm infectious. “Well, that’s wonderful! I know a bit of sign language myself.”

His hands moved clumsily as he signed back, “I’ll try. Be patient.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a genuine smile, her hands responding gracefully. “You’re doing fine.”

The exchange caught the attention of the rest of the table.

“What’s she saying?” one of the women asked, her curiosity piqued.

The man glanced around the table, his grin widening. “She says she’s fluent and that I’m not completely hopeless,” he translated, earning a ripple of laughter from the group.

The ice was broken, and the man continued to act as a translator, relaying Y/N’s signs to the rest of the table.

“Do you have any hobbies?” one of the women asked, leaning forward with interest.

Y/N smiled and signed her response. “I enjoy painting. It’s relaxing.”

The group reacted warmly, asking follow up questions that Y/N answered with her hands, the man translating each response with surprising enthusiasm.

From her seat, Giselle observed the interaction with quiet intensity. She said little, letting the exchange flow naturally, but her sharp gaze lingered on Y/N.

As the conversation continued, Giselle found herself watching Y/N more closely. There was something captivating about the way Y/N signed, her movements graceful yet deliberate, her expressions subtly conveying emotions that her hands couldn’t.

But more than that, Giselle noticed how the investors seemed drawn to her. Despite her initial instructions for Y/N to stay in the background, she had become the center of attention, her natural charm cutting through the formality of the meeting.

One of the women leaned toward Giselle with a smile. “She’s lovely,” she said softly. “And very engaging. You’re lucky to have her.”

Giselle returned the smile with practiced ease. “I know,” she said smoothly. “She has a way of drawing people in.”

The words were calculated, part of the role she was playing, but as Giselle glanced back at Y/N, she couldn’t deny their truth.

By the end of the meal, it was clear that Y/N had made an impression. The investors were smiling and laughing as they prepared to leave, their earlier formality replaced by an easy warmth.

The middle-aged man shook Y/N’s hand enthusiastically before turning to Giselle. “You’ve got a gem here,” he said with a wink. “Don’t let this one go.”

Giselle offered a faint smirk, her tone measured as she replied, “I don’t plan to.”

As the group departed, Giselle and Y/N lingered for a moment. The hum of the restaurant returned, the clinking of glasses and murmured conversations filling the space.

Giselle turned to Y/N, her expression unreadable. “You handled yourself well,” she said, her tone calm but edged with acknowledgement.

Y/N tilted her head, pulling her phone from her bag. Her fingers moved carefully over the screen as she typed out a message. After a moment, she turned the screen toward Giselle.

“Thank you. It was easier than I thought.”

Giselle’s gaze lingered on the phone, then shifted to Y/N. For a brief moment, her sharp eyes softened, but her expression quickly returned to its usual composed neutrality.

“People like you,” Giselle said simply, her tone devoid of emotion but carrying an undertone of acknowledgment.

The words, though delivered with Giselle’s usual detachment, made Y/N’s chest tighten. She nodded, slipping her phone back into her bag as they walked toward the car.

The car ride back to the penthouse was quiet, the low hum of the engine the only sound breaking the stillness. Giselle sat with her legs crossed, her gaze fixed on the passing city lights. Her profile was sharp and unreadable, her expression betraying nothing of her thoughts.

Y/N sat beside her, stealing the occasional glance. The silence felt heavy, almost suffocating, but she couldn’t decide if it was tension or simply Giselle’s usual detachment.

Finally, Giselle spoke, her voice breaking the quiet.

“You have a natural presence,” she said, her tone cool but not unkind. “People notice you.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the unexpected comment. She tilted her head slightly, reaching for her phone. Her fingers hesitated over the screen before typing.

“In a good way?”

Giselle turned her head slightly, her eyes flicking briefly to the phone before returning to the window. “It’s useful,” she said simply, her words measured. “People trust you. It makes them... easier to manage.”

The statement was clinical, devoid of sentiment, but it struck something deep in Y/N. She wasn’t sure if it was meant as a compliment or a reminder of her role.

She glanced down at her hands, her fingers brushing against the diamond ring on her finger. The weight of it felt heavier now, a physical representation of the unspoken expectations that hung between them.

The car pulled into the underground garage of the penthouse, the sleek hum of the engine cutting off as the driver stepped out to open the door. Giselle exited first, her heels clicking against the concrete as she strode toward the elevator.

Y/N followed closely, her steps quieter but no less deliberate. The elevator ride was silent, the faint hum of the machinery amplifying the tension that lingered between them.

When they stepped into the penthouse, the cool, sterile atmosphere of the space immediately enveloped them. Giselle set her bag down on the counter with practiced precision, her movements as controlled and deliberate as ever.

“Get some rest,” she said without looking at Y/N. “You’ll need it.”

Y/N nodded, watching as Giselle disappeared down the hallway to her quarters without another word.

The silence of the penthouse felt heavier than usual, pressing down on Y/N like a physical weight. She stood in the living room for a moment, her eyes drifting to the city skyline beyond the massive windows.

The image of Giselle’s cool detachment lingered in her mind, her words replaying over and over. “People trust you. It makes them easier to manage.”

Y/N sank onto the couch, slipping off her heels and letting them drop to the floor. The ache in her feet was nothing compared to the tension coiled in her chest. She pulled her phone from her bag, her fingers hovering over the screen as she typed a message to herself.

“Am I just another piece on her chessboard?”

The thought made her stomach twist, but she didn’t delete the words. Instead, she stared at them for a long moment before locking her phone and setting it on the coffee table.

She leaned back against the cushions, her eyes drifting shut as she tried to push the day’s events from her mind. The weight of the ring on her finger was impossible to ignore, but she focused instead on the bigger picture, the reason she was here, the reason she had agreed to this in the first place. 

The days in the penthouse began to blur together, each one a quiet echo of the last. The morning sunlight filtered through the windows in golden streaks, casting long shadows over the sleek furniture. Despite the luxury surrounding her, Y/N found the space oddly lifeless, its grandeur doing little to chase away the persistent silence that filled the rooms.

A routine settled back into place.

Each morning, Giselle left early, her movements crisp and purposeful, the quiet rhythm of her steps echoing through the penthouse. Even in the evenings, her return was marked by a reserved presence. She often retreated to her office, where the faint glow of the light spilled into the darkened hallway, a lone beacon of her late-night focus.

During evenings if Giselle emerged into the shared spaces, it was only briefly, to pour a drink or skim through her tablet, her interactions fleeting and detached.

For Y/N, the days felt suspended, dragging on with a suffocating stillness. She found herself watching Giselle from afar, trying to uncover the person behind the composed exterior. Giselle’s every move seemed deliberate, her routine unyielding, but now and then, there were cracks in the veneer, small moments where the façade softened, revealing something raw and unguarded beneath.

At first, the changes were so subtle that Y/N thought she might be imagining them.

Giselle’s tone, while still sharp and professional, occasionally softened during their brief exchanges. Instead of curtly assigning Y/N tasks or outlining expectations, she would sometimes ask if she was comfortable with a particular outfit or schedule.

“Does this work for you?” Giselle had asked one afternoon while reviewing an upcoming event.

The question had been so unexpected that Y/N had hesitated before nodding. Giselle didn’t comment further, but the small consideration lingered in Y/N’s mind.

There were other moments, too.

Once, while Y/N was quietly sketching in the living room, she had glanced up to find Giselle standing by the window, her expression unusually pensive. She held a glass of wine in her hand, but she wasn’t drinking it, her gaze fixed on the distant city lights.

Y/N had quickly looked away, not wanting to intrude on the rare moment of vulnerability, but the image stayed with her.

Y/N, for her part, stuck to her role as best she could. She avoided unnecessary conversations, kept her questions to a minimum, and did her best to maintain the balance of their arrangement. But despite her efforts to remain in the background, she couldn’t ignore the moments when Giselle’s actions seemed to go beyond mere obligation.

There was the time before another dinner with investors when Giselle came to the Y/N room to hurry her and noticed Y/N struggling to zip up her dress, without a word, stepped forward to help. Her hands were cool and steady as she fastened the zipper, and though the moment was brief, Y/N had felt a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name.

Or the evening when Y/N found a small bouquet of fresh flowers on the kitchen counter, their vibrant colors standing out starkly against the muted tones of the penthouse. There was no note, but when she glanced at Giselle later that night, she thought she saw the faintest flicker of acknowledgment in her eyes.

These moments were fleeting, often explained away by Giselle’s characteristic practicality, but they hinted at something deeper.

Y/N began to notice the way Giselle’s gaze lingered on her during their events, the subtle way her posture shifted whenever Y/N seemed uncomfortable. It wasn’t overt care, Giselle was far too guarded for that, but it was enough to suggest that she was paying attention.

The changes weren’t dramatic, but they were there. And for Y/N, who had grown used to the silence and distance between them, they were enough to make her wonder.

The soft hum of the penthouse’s central air system filled the silence as Y/N stepped out of her room. The day had been long, marked by yet another round of distant interactions and a private event that left her drained. She moved toward the dining area, expecting the same sterile quiet that greeted her every evening.

But tonight was different.

The table was already set, its pristine surface adorned with elegant place settings. At her usual spot sat a covered dish, the polished dome glinting under the warm glow of the pendant lights overhead. The soft amber lighting cast a golden hue over the room, making it feel uncharacteristically inviting.

Y/N hesitated in the doorway, her eyes scanning the unexpected scene before landing on Giselle.

The CEO was already seated, one leg crossed over the other, her tablet balanced in one hand. She looked as composed as ever, dressed in her usual attire, but there was something oddly relaxed about the way she leaned back in her chair, a glass of wine resting on the table beside her.

Giselle glanced up as Y/N entered, her expression unreadable.

“Sit,” she said simply, gesturing to the chair across from her. Her tone was calm, but it carried an undertone of expectation that left little room for argument.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her chest. This wasn’t part of their usual routine. She had grown accustomed to eating alone, her meals left for her by the housekeeper, with Giselle either absent or holed up in her office.

Still, she nodded silently and moved to her seat.

The chair’s leather creaked softly as she settled into it, her eyes darting to the covered dish in front of her. She reached out slowly, her fingers brushing against the polished dome before lifting it.

Her breath hitched.

Steam curled up from the plate beneath, carrying the unmistakable aroma of her favorite dish. Every detail was perfect, from the garnish on top to the way it was plated with care.

Her fingers hovered over her phone as she quickly typed out a message, her heart racing. She turned the screen toward Giselle.

“How did you know this is my favorite?”

Giselle set her tablet down, her sharp eyes meeting Y/N’s. For a moment, she didn’t speak, as though weighing her response. Then, in her usual measured tone, she said, “It’s my job to know things.”

The explanation was clinical, as if she were discussing a business strategy, but there was a flicker of something in her gaze, something softer, almost reluctant, that didn’t align with her brusque demeanor.

Y/N’s chest tightened as she typed another message, her fingers moving more slowly this time.

“Thank you. It’s... thoughtful.”

Giselle didn’t respond immediately. She picked up her glass of wine instead, swirling the liquid before taking a measured sip.

“You’ve been doing well,” she said finally, her voice even. “Consider it a small acknowledgment.”

The words were typical Giselle, detached, businesslike, but the gesture itself spoke louder than her tone.

Y/N studied her for a moment longer, searching for any sign of warmth beneath the polished surface. But Giselle’s expression had already returned to its usual neutrality, her attention drifting back to her tablet.

With a quiet exhale, Y/N picked up her fork and took her first bite. The familiar flavors danced across her tongue, and despite the lingering tension in the room, she found herself smiling.

“Good?” Giselle asked, her voice casual.

Y/N nodded, quickly typing a response.

“Perfect.”

Giselle glanced at the screen briefly before returning to her work. “Good,” she said simply, her tone almost too casual, as if dismissing the significance of the moment.

But for Y/N, the gesture lingered. It was more than a meal, it was a small crack in the wall that Giselle kept so carefully constructed around herself.

As she finished her dinner, Y/N allowed herself a brief moment of hope. Perhaps, beneath the layers of professionalism and detachment, there was more to Giselle than she let on.

A few days later, the car rolled to a smooth stop in front of the Fashion Week venue, its sleek black exterior reflecting the kaleidoscope of flashing lights outside. Y/N could already hear the chaotic noise, shouted questions, instructions from handlers, and the relentless click of cameras. It was a wall of sound, muffled slightly by the car’s thick windows but growing louder with every passing second.

Giselle exhaled softly, her demeanor calm and collected. She had always avoided such events unless absolutely necessary, preferring to let her work speak for itself rather than courting public attention. But with the looming partnership with Lueur and the image of a devoted fiancée to project, she had stepped into the spotlight with a calculated precision.

“This is part of it,” Giselle murmured, more to herself than to Y/N.

Y/N’s heart began to race as the door opened, the din of the crowd rushing in like a tidal wave. Giselle exited first, stepping out with her signature poise and grace. The flashes intensified, the cameras snapping away to capture every detail of her entrance.

Y/N hesitated briefly before stepping out, the noise and light hitting her all at once. It was overwhelming, the glare of the cameras, the shouted questions she couldn’t even begin to decipher, and the sheer mass of people pressing closer for a glimpse.

Giselle extended her arm, and Y/N looped hers through it instinctively. The contact was grounding, a thin thread of stability in the chaos surrounding them.

“Keep your head up,” Giselle murmured softly, her tone low but commanding. “Smile. You’re supposed to enjoy this.”

Y/N nodded faintly, forcing her lips into a small, polite smile. The cameras were relentless, capturing every step as they made their way up the red carpet.

The noise seemed to grow louder as they moved closer to the entrance. Y/N kept her head slightly lowered, her gaze focused on the path ahead to avoid being blinded by the constant flashes.

The path was a gauntlet of flashing cameras and shouted questions. The crowd surged forward at times, contained only by the velvet ropes and vigilant security.

“Giselle! Over here!” “Y/N! Who designed your dress?’” “Smile for us, please!”

The calls blurred together, merging into a chaotic wall of sound. Y/N kept her gaze slightly lowered, her focus trained on the path ahead to avoid being blinded by the relentless flashes.

Then, suddenly, the controlled chaos broke.

A man with a camera broke from the crowd, pushing forward in an attempt to get closer. His lens was practically shoved into Y/N’s face as he shouted for her attention.

“Over here! Y/N, give us a smile! Look this way!”

The intrusion was jarring. The camera was too close, the man’s voice cutting through the already overwhelming noise. Y/N flinched instinctively, stepping back and pulling slightly away from Giselle’s arm. Her breath caught in her throat, the disorienting moment sending a surge of panic through her.

Before she could fully register what was happening, Giselle moved.

She shifted in front of Y/N in one smooth motion, her body acting as a shield. Her arm extended slightly, creating a barrier between the photographer and Y/N.

“Step back,” Giselle said sharply, her tone laced with authority.

The photographer froze, startled by the steel in her voice. He muttered an apology, retreating back into the crowd as security intervened to restore order.

The moment was brief, over in seconds, but it left a lingering impression on Y/N.

Giselle turned her head slightly, glancing back at Y/N. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice quieter now, carrying an uncharacteristic note of concern.

Y/N nodded quickly, her hands brushing down the front of her dress as she steadied herself.

Giselle didn’t say anything further, but her hand moved to rest gently on Y/N’s back, guiding her forward. The touch was subtle but firm, a steadying presence that helped Y/N regain her composure.

They continued up the carpet together, Giselle maintaining her usual confident demeanor as though nothing had happened. To the crowd and the cameras, it was just another perfect moment in a flawless evening, but to Y/N, it felt like something more.

The noise of the crowd faded as the heavy doors of the venue closed behind them, the sudden quiet almost jarring. The soft murmur of voices and the distant sound of a live string quartet filled the space, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

Y/N let out a slow breath, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly now. She glanced at Giselle, who was already scanning the room, her sharp gaze assessing the crowd with practiced ease.

Y/N pulled out her phone, her fingers moving quickly over the screen. When she was done, she held it up for Giselle to see.

“Thank you for stepping in.”

Giselle’s eyes flicked to the phone, and for a brief moment, her expression softened. The hard lines of her face eased, and a faint warmth flickered in her gaze.

“It’s part of the deal,” she said quietly, her tone carefully neutral. But her hand lingered on Y/N’s arm for just a moment longer than necessary, her fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of her dress before she let go.

The gesture, though fleeting, didn’t feel like business to Y/N.

As they moved deeper into the venue, mingling with the other attendees, Y/N found herself replaying the moment in her mind. Giselle’s sharp command, the way she had positioned herself as a barrier, the steady hand on her back, all of it had felt so natural, so instinctive.

Y/N couldn’t decide whether to feel grateful or confused. Maybe both.

Whatever it was, it left a warmth in her chest that lingered long after the event had begun.

The quiet of the penthouse wrapped around Y/N as she sat on the wide windowsill in her room, the cool glass pressed against her back. The city stretched out before her, a sprawling canvas of twinkling lights and distant movement. From this height, the noise of the streets below was nothing more than a faint hum, a soothing contrast to the chaos of the evening.

The day’s events replayed in her mind like a montage, each moment sharp and vivid.

The way Giselle had instinctively stepped between her and the photographer, her voice cutting through the noise with an authority that demanded compliance.

Y/N’s gaze dropped to her hands, which rested in her lap. Her fingers brushed absently against the fabric of her dress, as if still feeling the ghost of Giselle’s touch.

It wasn’t the first time Giselle had shown a flicker of care, but tonight had been different. It had been genuine or at least, it had felt that way.

Her phone buzzed, breaking the stillness. Y/N reached for it, the light from the screen illuminating her face in the dim room.

The message was from Giselle’s assistant, a reminder about tomorrow’s schedule. Simple and efficient, like everything else in this arrangement. Y/N’s eyes lingered on the notification, her thumb hovering over the screen.

She set the phone aside without responding, leaning her head back against the glass.

Y/N’s reflection stared back at her faintly in the window, her features softened by the dim light of the room and the glow of the city beyond.

She thought about Giselle, about the small moments that had begun to hint at something beneath her carefully constructed façade.

Why? The question lingered in her mind, insistent but unanswered.

Giselle’s kindnesses were fleeting, always followed by her usual detached demeanor, as though she regretted letting the cracks show. Y/N wasn’t sure what to make of it. The gestures seemed too deliberate to be accidents, but Giselle’s guarded nature made it hard to believe they were entirely uncalculated.

Y/N exhaled softly, running a hand through her hair as she leaned her forehead against the glass. She didn’t know if she wanted to untangle the truth of Giselle’s actions. Maybe it was easier not to.

But despite her uncertainty, Y/N couldn’t deny that something had shifted. For the first time in weeks, the weight of the arrangement didn’t feel quite as suffocating.

Y/N slid off the windowsill, padding across the plush carpet to her bed. She climbed onto the sheets, leaning back against the pillows as she let her body sink into the softness.

Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, her thoughts still circling around Giselle. What was it that made someone like her, so polished and cold, show these fleeting glimpses of care?

Y/N’s fingers itched to pull out her phone and type a message to Giselle, something simple, maybe just a thank you for the way she had stepped in tonight. But she hesitated.

Would Giselle brush it off? Dismiss it with another one of her detached comments?

Y/N sighed, tucking her phone under her pillow instead. The words could wait.

As her eyes fluttered shut, the lights of the city still flickering faintly through her window, Y/N held onto the warmth of those moments. Small and fleeting though they were, they offered a quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Giselle than met the eye.

The days that followed the event were oddly quiet, the penthouse steeped in an unspoken tension.

Y/N tried to settle back into the routine, but something felt off, an undercurrent of unease that she couldn’t quite name.

The small moments of connection she had shared with Giselle at the event lingered in her mind. They had been fleeting, but meaningful enough to leave a faint warmth in her chest. Yet now, Giselle seemed even more guarded than before, her presence sharp and distant, like a blade kept just out of reach.

Y/N told herself not to dwell on it. Giselle was an enigma, her walls impenetrable. Trying to understand her was like chasing shadows.

One morning, as sunlight poured through the penthouse’s towering windows, Y/N sat at the kitchen island with a steaming cup of coffee. The comforting bitterness of the drink filled her senses as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone. The peaceful moment was broken by the sound of sharp, deliberate footsteps echoing down the hall.

Y/N looked up just as Giselle entered the living room, her phone pressed to her ear. She was dressed impeccably, as always, but her posture was more rigid than usual.

The rapid cadence of Japanese spilled from Giselle’s lips, her tone clipped and precise. Her free hand gestured subtly as she spoke, the motion betraying a rare hint of agitation.

Y/N watched from her seat, her curiosity piqued. Giselle rarely showed anything other than complete control, and this sudden tension in her demeanor was like a crack in the polished armor she always wore.

The call ended abruptly. Giselle pulled the phone away from her ear and placed it on the counter with a quiet but deliberate thud. She exhaled sharply, her gaze flicking to the city skyline visible through the windows.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before reaching for her own phone. Her fingers hovered over the screen as she typed out a message, her movements careful.

“Is everything all right?”

She held up the phone hesitantly, her heart beating a little faster as Giselle’s sharp eyes turned to her.

For a moment, Giselle didn’t respond, her gaze flickering between the screen and Y/N. Her expression was guarded, her jaw tight.

“Fine,” she said finally, her tone clipped. “Just business.”

But the way her shoulders remained tense and her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the counter told a different story.

Y/N nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. She wanted to press further, to ask what had rattled her so visibly, but the distance in Giselle’s tone warned her to let it go.

As Giselle turned and walked toward her office, her footsteps soft but purposeful against the hardwood floors, Y/N found herself staring at the counter where the phone had landed.

“Fine,” Giselle had said, but it was clear she was anything but.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her mug as she tried to push away the unease creeping into her thoughts. Whatever was troubling Giselle wasn’t her business or at least, that’s what she told herself.

But the memory of Giselle’s clenched jaw and distant gaze lingered, leaving Y/N with the unshakable feeling that something was shifting, just out of sight.

The quiet of the penthouse deepened as the night settled in. Outside the windows of Giselle’s office, the city sparkled in the distance, its lights casting faint reflections on the glass walls. The faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional creak of the building were the only sounds that accompanied her.

Giselle sat at her sleek black desk, the soft glow of her desk lamp illuminating her sharp features. The light cast long shadows across the room, accentuating the minimalist elegance of the space. The shelves behind her were lined with carefully arranged books and awards, their polished surfaces reflecting her meticulous nature.

In front of her sat an unmarked envelope.

Unlike the neatly typed correspondence she was accustomed to, this envelope was different, its edges were slightly creased, the paper heavier and rougher to the touch. It had arrived that morning, mixed in with her usual stack of business letters and invitations, its plain exterior drawing no attention from her assistant.

But Giselle had noticed it immediately.

Her sharp eyes studied it for what felt like an eternity. The lack of a return address and the faint smudge on one corner told her it had been handled carelessly, unlike the precision with which her professional correspondence was always prepared.

With a measured exhale, she reached for the envelope. Her fingers slid under the flap, breaking the seal with practiced ease. The sound of tearing paper seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded neatly in half. She unfolded it slowly, her movements deliberate.

The words were scrawled in a hasty, uneven hand.

“Still playing the part of the untouchable queen, are we? Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you owe me. The truth has a way of coming out, Aeri. You can’t keep it buried forever.”

The message sent a chill down her spine. Though the note was unsigned, Giselle didn’t need a name to know who had sent it.

Her grip on the paper tightened slightly, the edges crinkling under her fingers. Her jaw clenched as her mind raced, old memories stirring like ghosts she thought she’d buried long ago.

Jeno.

It had been years since she had last seen her brother, but his presence lingered like a shadow, always waiting to reemerge at the worst possible moments. His words, written in the same spiteful tone she remembered from their last encounter, echoed in her mind.

Her breath came in measured intervals, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her calm exterior. Giselle sat frozen, her eyes scanning the words again and again as if hoping their meaning would change. But the threat was clear.

Her brother had always been unpredictable, a dangerous combination of charm and malice. Jeno knew how to hurt her, how to twist the knife in ways no one else could. And he had leverage.

Her fingers curled tightly around the letter before she forced herself to relax. With a slow, deliberate motion, she folded the paper and set it on the desk. Her gaze flicked toward the office door, ensuring it was firmly shut.

No one could know about this. Especially not Y/N.

The younger woman was already entangled in Giselle’s fabricated life for reasons that had nothing to do with her past. Involving her in the twisted dynamics of the Uchinaga family would only complicate things further.

Giselle opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a small, silver key from her blazer pocket. She unlocked the drawer and slipped the letter inside, placing it beneath a stack of old, forgotten files. The drawer clicked shut as she turned the key again, ensuring it was secure.

Leaning back in her chair, Giselle let out a slow breath, her hands resting on the polished surface of the desk. Her sharp nails tapped rhythmically against the wood, her mind churning with possibilities.

Jeno’s timing was deliberate, it always was. He had a knack for appearing when she was most vulnerable, his threats a constant reminder of the secrets they both shared. Secrets that could destroy everything she had built if they ever came to light.

Her gaze drifted to the city skyline beyond the glass. The lights were steady and unchanging, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in her chest.

For a brief moment, her polished façade cracked. The weight of her past, the weight of the letter, pressed heavily on her. But as quickly as it slipped, she forced the mask back into place.

There was no room for weakness. Not now. Not ever.

Giselle stood, her movements as precise as ever, and adjusted her blazer. She smoothed her expression, the icy control returning to her features like armor being reaffixed.

Whatever Jeno wanted, she would deal with it. Alone. 

And no one, not Y/N, not the media, not even Jeno, would see her falter.

[cailinsblog]

Autumn in Monaco- lando norris

Lando Norris x reader

Please repost

Masterlist

The air in Monaco had taken on that familiar crispness, signaling the arrival of fall, even in this glamorous coastal city. The leaves on the trees lining the quiet streets had turned shades of amber, gold, and deep crimson, creating a picturesque scene against the azure backdrop of the Mediterranean. It was the perfect morning for a cozy coffee date, and that’s exactly what you and Lando Norris had planned.

Lando, your boyfriend and Formula 1 driver, was often busy with races, media events, and training, but today was one of those rare, slower days. You both had decided to take a stroll through the quieter parts of Monaco and grab coffee at a little café nestled away from the bustling center. It was your special spot—the one you loved for its charm, its warm atmosphere, and the way the barista always seemed to remember your order. Plus, the sight of fallen leaves dancing along the cobbled streets made everything feel like a scene from a romantic movie.

“Ready to go?” Lando asked, standing by the front door of your shared apartment, dressed in a casual hoodie and jeans, looking effortlessly handsome. His car keys dangled from his hand, but you shook your head with a smile.

“I was thinking we could walk,” you suggested, adjusting your cozy scarf. “It’s such a beautiful day out.”

Lando grinned, that playful sparkle in his eyes. “Walking it is, then. Let’s make the most of this perfect fall weather.”

As you stepped outside, the cool air nipped at your cheeks, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The sun was shining, casting a golden glow over the colorful leaves that blanketed the ground. Lando took your hand as you started down the street, his fingers warm against yours. You couldn’t help but smile at the simplicity of it all—the two of you, together, with no rush and no interruptions.

Monaco had a different energy during the off-season, quieter and more peaceful, and you loved moments like this when you could just enjoy each other’s company without the constant hum of the racing world. As you walked, you pointed out the vibrant leaves and the way they crunched underfoot, laughing as Lando kicked a small pile, sending them swirling in the air.

“I think fall is my favorite season,” you mused as you looked around. “It’s just so cozy.”

Lando chuckled softly. “Yeah, but you say that about every season. You love summer when we’re at the beach, and winter when we’re by the fire.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Okay, fine. But can’t I love all the seasons?”

He smiled, squeezing your hand. “You can love whatever you want. Just as long as I get to be there with you.”

The walk to the café was serene, the sounds of the city muted by the quiet streets and the soft rustling of the leaves. As you turned a corner, the small café came into view. It was a charming little place with ivy crawling up its stone façade and a few wooden tables outside, though they were empty today because of the chill in the air. Inside, the warm glow from the windows beckoned, promising the smell of fresh pastries and the sound of gentle conversation.

Lando held the door open for you as you stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming softly. The familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and the cozy warmth immediately made you feel at home. The café was quiet this morning, just a few locals reading newspapers or working on laptops, and your usual table by the window was free.

You both settled in, and Lando went to the counter to order your drinks. You watched him from your seat, your heart swelling with affection as he flashed his charming smile at the barista, engaging in a light conversation like he always did. Even in the simplest moments, Lando had this way of making everything feel special.

A few minutes later, he returned with two steaming cups of coffee—yours with a touch of cinnamon, just the way you liked it, and his plain and strong. He set them down on the table with a flourish, as if he were presenting the most luxurious drinks in all of Monaco.

“Voilà, mademoiselle,” he teased, his British accent a bit exaggerated as he sat down across from you.

“Merci, monsieur,” you replied with a laugh, taking the warm cup in your hands and feeling the heat seep through your fingers.

You both sat there, sipping your coffee and watching the world go by outside the window. The leaves continued to fall, swirling in the gentle breeze, and you couldn’t help but feel like this was the perfect moment. The kind of moment that made you pause and appreciate how lucky you were to have someone like Lando in your life.

“This is nice,” Lando said after a while, his voice soft. “I feel like we don’t get enough of this.”

You nodded, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes were warm and filled with the same contentment you felt. “Yeah, I love these quiet mornings with you.”

He reached across the table, taking your hand in his again. “I know it’s hard with how busy things can get sometimes, but I really love doing normal things with you. Like this.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. “Me too, Lando. It’s the little moments that make everything else worth it.”

He smiled, a genuine, soft smile that melted you completely. “You always know exactly what to say.”

The two of you spent the next hour chatting about everything and nothing—about his upcoming races, about the plans you had for the rest of the fall season, and about how much you were both looking forward to the holidays. Every now and then, Lando would make a joke, or you’d laugh about some old memory, and it felt like time had slowed down, giving you both the chance to simply enjoy being together.

Eventually, as the sun dipped lower in the sky and the café began to fill with more people, you both decided it was time to head home. Lando insisted on paying, of course, and after saying goodbye to the barista, you stepped back out into the cool afternoon air.

As you walked hand in hand back through the quiet streets, the soft crunch of leaves underfoot, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky. Being with Lando, sharing these simple moments, was everything you could have ever hoped for.

Back at the apartment, the warmth enveloped you once again, and as you settled onto the couch, Lando pulled you close, wrapping his arm around you. Outside, the autumn leaves continued to fall, painting the world in golden hues, but inside, everything felt just right.

“Thank you for today,” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you for always being my favorite part of it.”

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, with the world quiet and peaceful outside, you knew that these little moments, shared with Lando, were what made life so beautiful.

[keisins]

gojo satoru x reader. fwb!au. angst to comfort/fluff

kind of a sequel to this

You’ve been ghosted.

To be fair, you had kind of expected this. Key work: kind of. You try to not let your heart constrict itself into an organ of loathe, depression and hatred for the past 3 weeks.

Unfortunately, the agony still sits on your granite kitchen counter three weeks later. It’s in the box of his stuff he had the nerve to leave behind, along with all the thread-like semblance of hope you had for your future together. (How foolish of you, really.)

The kitchen itself, however, is empty. The living room you’re standing in — also empty. Your family and friends who came to help you move your stuff to your new apartment left a few minutes ago. They’re on their way there first to pick up some food before all of you move more heavy boxes into the place. And you’re grateful.

Grateful that you have people in your life that don’t ghost you, even if you can count them on a hand. People that care. That are consistent in your life. That aren’t curse-bound.

God, you hated him for the first week. Hated how even though you tried to make his habitual appearances not a part of your routine, you find yourself missing the white hair that tickles your neck when you search for a fresh set of pajamas, the clingy hands that harbor not-so-innocent touches as you put on skin care, and even sometimes, in the morning when you didn’t have the heart to kick him out the last night, the most amateur brewing of coffee you’ve ever had because who needs coffee when you have Gojo Satoru to keep you energized.

You shake your head to rid your thoughts. You take a deep breath in, ready to say goodbye to the place, goodbye to the memories, ready to let the box be discarded away just like he has done to you.

And just as you almost let go, you feel it.

You feel him. You don’t turn. You can’t. Because it cannot be real. You know what’s real and it’s not tender kisses and hands intertwined, it’s a job in a new city, in a new position. Life is not Gojo Satoru, it’s a new apartment.

Yet, there in your old apartment, you come to life upon hearing his voice.

“I see you’ve changed the place.”

His joke comes soft and light, as if to not scare you. Because he has to know that you are livid. He keeps his distance. Though, everything in Satoru is compelled to hold you. He thinks your name must be carved into his bones, with the way it urges his joints to reach for you, always always drawn to you.

You still haven’t turned. Still in shock, because this has to be a hallucination. Some sick joke from the universe, maybe. He calls your name, but before he can close his mouth, you turn around and ask harshly, “What are you doing here?”

Tears are already brimming at your eyes. You find yourself looking at him for the first time in a long time and it makes your heart ache. You could hear him out, but there is something in you that doesn’t want to. You had been raised with impatient needs, always in a rush to satisfy the ones who claimed to love you. Love is patient, love is kind, and you want it so bad to not be love.

A moment of silence passes by as Gojo bores into you, until his heart caves and takes a big step toward you, tests the water by taking your hand in his.

And you cry, weakly shrugging away, before he’s pulling you into the warmest embrace of your life.

“I’m sorry.” He catches sight of the box on the counter and can only guess what it could be. He’s been so selfish with his love for you, that he had forgotten about the treachery that so greatly tries to seep through his infinity. Gojo hadn’t accounted for it, didn’t ever in his life think he could feel afford to be humbled. But, as he stands there with you falling apart in his arms, he feels intimidated. “I’m so sorry.”

“I hate you.” Are you okay? How have you been? Where did you go? He hums softly, still caging you with his arms. You dare to ask, because to love is to be vulnerable, “Where were you?”

He holds you tighter, his eyes threatening to drop some tears of their own. He laughs and you can hear how watery it is when he tells you, “A box.”

You pull away, brows furrowed as you look up at him. He wipes away a falling tear on your cheek before pulling you into him again, desperate for you to not see him cry.

“I’ll explain later… Just let me hold you right now.”

[galedekarios]

meta master list

BALDUR'S GATE 3

early access content & cut content

i'm strong enough. i'll carry on alone - a meta about gale's strength of character

i cherish you - a look into gale's ea romance

gale & curing the orb - what the game had originally planned for gale

cut reactions & dialogues - 23 cut conversations from ea

the loss scene - major cut scene from ea

the deer stew scene - major cut scene from ea

gale's three tadpole dreams - cut content from ea

gale's condition & how artefacts worked - cut content from ea

the tiefling party - part 1 - cut content from ea

gale's key art

unused gale's scene / datamined cut scene found in the game's full release files

tara's cut content for companion gale

gale's introduction - early access vs final release version

gale centric

gale & his parents - morena & his father

the netherese orb - consequences for gale's magic

gale & physical ailments caused by the orb

the nautiloid - where was he & where did he see the protag

gale - where was he kidnapped? ( 1 )

gale & yartar, the city attacked by mindflayers - where was he kidnapped? ( 2)

gale's love language - acts of service

gale's arcane hunger and its consequences

the missed potential of orin kidnapping gale

gale & masking - tell me more about yourself

epilogue - class specific skills gale learns from his s/o

to know you love me for the man that i am, not the magic i command... none have loved me so purely before - a closer look at gale & his relationship with the protag

gale & his love for his friends

gale's youth & time spent before the game's events

gale as professor at blackstaff academy

gale as a born sorcerer with a wizard's education

epilogue - gale, raphael, elminster and mystra

last night alive / act 2 romance scene cinematic notes

last night alive / act 2 romance scene devnotes

the drow twins scene

gale's scars - ea & full release

what do you need? - the red thread through gale's greetings

when is gale's birthday?

references in gale's banter on selection

evil ending devnotes

relationships with companions & npcs

gale & elminster - mentor, friend & paternal figure

gale & elminster - an addition

minsc & gale - a meta about their relationship with each other

karlach & gale - a meta about the relationship between the two

gale & karlach - epilogue specific lines

what was i after all but a mortal plaything in sacred hands? - parallels between gale and shadowheart

gale & withers - epilogue specific lines

gale & the ash, the magma mephit

gale & lae'zel

gale & family

gale & morena

gale & tara - general dialogue

tara being protective of gale

gale & tara - epilogue banter

gale & tara - epilogue ambient banter

tara & her little love

tara can speak common but doesn't want to

tara likes to snoop through gale's things

dialogue collection of tara & gale

items

gale's epilogue outfit - items decriptions & analysis

god!gale's outfit - items details & analysis

gale's animation vs standard wizard animation - a comparison

the chosen's earring - idle champions item descriptions

tara in idle champions - item decriptions

armillary sphere - coliar, karpri, anadia

gale's companion icon

the epilogue room

piano playing

waterdeep

waterdeep's splendours - what makes waterdeep special

waterdeep's festivities and celebrations

ahghairon's lost nose - who was ahghairon?

gale, waterdeep & coinage - a meta about waterdeep's coins and gale's wealth

manycats alley & a hc

wedding traditions in waterdeep - the wedding band

waterdhavians and their way of life - class & station, character & temperament, other races, smalltalk

doth thy mirror crack - ambient dialogue & waterdhavian saying

waterdeep after the game ends - trouble is brewing

the hospice st laupsenn & gale's stay there

waterdeep's wards

part 1: dock ward

part 2: castle ward

shorts

gale & home

the finer things in life

until we wake again, my love

scent - tim downie's hcs

colours associated with gale - tim downie's hcs

gale's themes - tim downie's hcs

epilogue - bookworm gale sneaking into various libraries & book shops

epilogue - epilogue description of professor vs god ending

epilogue - new hobbies

a look at gale's lifespan with an elven partner

quiet is not always peace

romance epilogue details - a closer look at outfits outfits & animations

idle animations - a closer look

DRAGON AGE: THE VEILGUARD

musing on the companions' rooms

down among the dead men: a closer look at emmrich's short story in tevinter nights

emmrich's vows & vengeance episode

emmrich & audric felhausen - a look at tevinters nights & da4

emmrich & flowers - meta and headcanon

emmrich & regret - a look at what happens after the argument with rook

emmrich & lichdom

[octaneink]

Crescendo

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Next part: Accelerando Summary : Will has a new neighbour Warnings : none Notes : I have a part 2!

In the bustling heart of London, nestled between the towering beige buildings and the cobblestone streets, was a peculiar flat. It was peculiar, not in the way you might think. It was a typical London flat, rectangular, aged, with big rectangular windows. It was peculiar because of its inhabitants, a young woman whose days were filled with a rhythm that seemed to resonate through the very walls. Every morning, the thumping bass heavy of reggaetón echoed down the narrow alleyways as she revved up her engine and pulled away from the curb. Her car was a vibrant splash of colour in a sea of monochrome vehicles, the music spilling out like a siren's call to the city's early risers.

And its other inhabitant, Will. He had rarely been home the past few weeks, having to spend time in his office to work with video ideas with the lads, and the last few days he had been outside the country filming for a video. But he was used to the hectic schedule. Will was no stranger to late nights and early mornings, his own schedule dictated by the whims of content creation.

So it was a surprise, on the first night back, — it was not really night. He had landed in the UK at 4 am and had only gone through baggage collection an hour later, managing to get an Uber drop him off outside the flat around 6 am — that he saw a bright yellow Miata roared to life and peeled away, the surrounding air vibrated as it drove past him.

After that first morning, Will noticed the pattern start. Each time the music started, he felt the walls of his flat vibrate slightly, a gentle reminder that the world outside his window was waking up. Or at least his elusive neighbour was.

The pattern was this, at around 6 am, he would hear the muffled heavy base, some mornings he'd pick up words when he was closer to the windows in his front room. Though he didn't understand it one bit. At the time, he made the mental note to ask James if he would know what the words meant. Then in the evening around 5:30 pm he’d hear the beat grow in volume the closer the car got, then silence as they cut the keys, a loud car door slamming, and lastly, the beep to indicate their car locked.

The curiosity grew stronger, Will found himself one day setting his alarm earlier to catch a glimpse of the driver. He'd make a cup of tea, the kind that could be brewed quickly and enjoyed just as fast, so he didn't miss the moment.

He didn't catch them, unfortunately. 

Then one day, the pattern changed. 

He woke as he normally did, made his morning tea, sat on the sofa mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. Something was different today. Looking at the time on his phone, 6:30 am, then outside through the blinds. The little yellow Miata sat parked in its usual spot, instead of the empty parking space that should be at this time of day. 

Will’s brows furrowed, but he had no time to wonder the reason at the moment, so he got ready and left his flat. With his hand on the door knob, he locked the door of his flat. Footsteps came from his left and slowed as it got closer to him, “Mornin’.” a female voice called out. 

Turning, he saw a stranger. She was shorter than him, wearing an oversized hoodie, baggy jeans, and a pair of white Club C 85. Blinking in surprised, he took a deep breath in shock, and smelt coconut. “Good morning.” Will greeted back.

“I’m your new neighbour. I live in the next flat,” she held her hand out and introduced herself. Will smiled and said, “I’m Will.” she smiled back, replying “I’ve been excited to meet people, but I’ve not seen other neighbours in the flat yet, only heard them.” 

She continued to walk towards the exit, Will followed after her, nodding. “Yea, tell me about it. There's some bloke nearby that's been playing loud music out their car every morning and evening.”

They had got to the door by that point, and she opened the door for him, motioning for him to move through first, he nodded his head in thanks and said “Oh really? I can't say I’ve heard it.” 

He shrugged “They must’ve decided they’d have a lie in today.” he looked at the time on his phone and told her “Listen, it was nice to meet you,” he said her name “but I’ve got to head to work. I’ll see you around, love.” 

Will heard her reply as he walked off. Just as he put on his headphones, he heard the noise he’d been hearing every day for the past month that signalled the Miata being unlocked. He whipped around, mouth agog, his eyes widening when he saw the girl he’d just met climb into the car. 

Then the realisation hit him. She was the mysterious neighbour whose music had been invading his mornings and evenings, and he had no idea she'd been living right next to him.

He gulped, and watched her drive off.

What do we think of this part 1?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

A few days pass as the humiliation of your big lesson clings in the air. You think about it too much. Enough that you find yourself cringing to yourself on your bike ride home or even when lying in bed. You’ve never been the most socially adept so the encounter leaves you reeling.

As you help Bre with opening, you feel your heartbeat pick up once more. You need to chase the elephant from the room. You puff out and wet your lips as you glance over at her. She measures out grinds into the silver machine as her eyes pinpoint on the task.

“Um, so, Bre,” you approach her warily with a fresh sleeve of cups, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Mm,” she grumbles groggily. She’s on her second coffee already and she only just got there twenty minutes ago.

“So, um, that guy, from the other day,” you rub your boiling neck, “with the mustache. You said he’s the boss. So he owns this place?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes as she shuts the lid of the machine and turns the silver dial on the front. She shakes her head as the machine starts to brew and she plants her hand on the counter in front of it. She faces you, her other hand going to her hip.

“Mr. Hansen? Lloyd. Hansen.” She enunciates as if you should know the name.

Your lips downturn and you shrug, “is that his name?”

“Are you new in town?” She asks hotly.

You nod, “yeah, actually. I used to live about forty minutes out of town but there was nothing there--”

“It shows,” she retorts, “he owns this shop, he owns the street outside, he owns me, he owns you. He owns this city. Got it?”

You hum and nod as you look thoughtfully to the ceiling, “not really. But he’s important, got it.”

“Just if he comes back in, come get me and say as little as you can. And please, for the love of god, do not ask him for money,” she snips.

“Oh, alright,” you deflate, “I didn’t know--”

“Now you do. Just trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to fuck around with him. If he tells you to pour boiling water on yourself, you’re better off just doing it,” she sneers.

You wince, “okay, sorry, Bre, I was just asking.”

“You ask too many questions,” she turns and goes into the backroom. She returns, dangling a keyring from her finger, “open up. It’s time.”

You take the key and go to unlock the door and flip on the sign. You retreat back behind the counter, swallowed up by the tension between you. You regret asking. You thought it might help clear the air but now you can barely breathe.

When the first customer enters, you volunteer to help them. Bre just mutters and slurps from her coffee. She might have less of a headache if she takes it easy on the caffeine. You don’t say as much to her, nothing really at all as you work through order after order.

She hops onto prep as you man the till while the queue grows. The morning rush is in full effect as you slide baked goods into little paper sleeves and hand them over before sending customers down to the window to wait for their drinks. The hectic flow helps you forget about the awkward start.

When at last the crowd trickles down and the cafe hums with voices sitting at the tables, you have a moment to catch your breath and center yourself. You like this job, it’s just like your last one, but the company isn’t as pleasant. Bre taps her thumb on her phone screen and ignores you.

The ebbs come with hide tides and soon lunch has you scrambling once more. The smell of toasted bread and cinnamon has your stomach grumbling. You’re too busy to let the emptiness bother you for long. When high noon influx subsides, Bre yawns.

“Lunch,” she announces, “I’m going to head down to Tabitha’s. They’re having a clearance sale.”

“Oh, alright,” you agree, not mentioning that she said earlier you could go first, “I’ll be here.”

She doesn’t respond as she disappears into the back to get her things. You hear her leave through the side door that leads through to the alley. You sigh out and watch the sit-in customers on their laptops or chatting with friends.

You resist the temptation of the tarts staring at you from the display. You can hold out until it’s your turn. The door jingles and a new customer enters. You’re too fixated on the painting of a latte to glance over. Not until you sense the sudden shift in the air. Several people quiet and pack up to go.

Footfalls scuff across the floor and customers leave their unfinished drinks on the table as they hurry for the door. You peer around then at the approaching shadow. It’s him. Oh no. Bre isn’t here.

“Um, hello, Mr. Hensen,” you smile shakily, “how are you?”

He stares at you as he comes to stand across the till from you. His blue eyes darken as he lets a long exhale out through his nose. You gulp and your cheeks tremble. He tilts his head and arches a brow.

“Hansen,” he corrects.

“Right, Floyd Hansen, I remember--”

“Lloyd,” he hits his fist on the counter and you gasp. “Lloyd fucking Hansen.” He leans forward and bares his teeth, “get that through that thick fucking skull.” He reaches for you, grabbing the front of your shirt, “you won’t forget who I am.”

“I’m s-sorry, I’m bad with names--”

“Shut up,” he twists the fabric until it strains against the back of your neck, “if you weren’t so goddamn pathetic, I’d drag you across this counter.”

Your eyes round and you bat your lashes. He’s only an inch away from you. You shiver as he opens his hand and presses the vee of his index and thumb to your throat. You’re frozen, terrified. Who is this man?

“Get me my fucking coffee,” he squeezes then shoves you so you choke.

You stumble back and bring your hand to your neck. You nod, eyes glittering with unspent tears, and look around. You can’t remember what he ordered. You’ll just have to make something up. Or maybe you could just sneak out like Bre...

[starlight-incarnate]

House of Feänor as Aesthetics:

Fëanor  —  loud voice, commanding presence, analytical, natural leader, piercing eyes, foggy hillsides, black boots, tipping their head back to breathe the air, mirrored lakes and everything below the surface, tearing leaves from trees, blunt sarcasm, long dark hair, deep sleeper, rotting tree stumps, black leather jacket, songs that makes you want to create a storm, rebellious, ambition, unstoppable passion, fast trains, polaroids, empty castles.

Maedhros — walking silently, stronger due to all the stuff meant to kill them, ignoring their mental health issues, fiery red hair, crumbling marble, oversized hoodies, raw voice, lingering touches, faint music in the distance, calming down from a panic attack, long heavy cloaks, cold hands, disillusioned with the world, insomnia, unhealthy habits, sighs made visible by cold night air, strong hugs, never sleeps, loud music, freckles, dark under-eyes.

Maglor — hypnotising smiles, a broken mind, melancholy, driving through mountains and the woods, iced coffee, the faint feeling of raindrops on your cheeks, ripped jeans, tight hugs, whispered compliments, deep conversations, late night texts, nimble hands, thin blades, white lilies, vertigo, unkept journals, lightning and thunder, rhythms so raw the heartbreak is showing, shattered glass, walking alone on a cold night, silver necklaces, regret.

Celegorm — bright eyes, climbing rock formations, cold-hearted, hard breathing after running, wood cabins, gladiator arenas, wicked smiles, twisted branches, wild hair, growing more and more dangerous, night drives, adrenaline rushes, bruises, bloody cloaks, running from society, breathless laughing, that animalistic unpredictability, silver and leather bracelets, strong coffee after a sleepless night, city lights from a high rise, addiction, barking dogs, hurricanes.

Caranthir — ironic smirks, bitten nails painted black, lightning in summer, empty threats, sunglasses hiding dead eyes, thick chain jewellery, temperamental, goes to car races just to watch the crashes, deep glares, tongue/lip piercings, midnight walks, lightbulbs burning out, diamonds, crushed ice, a glint of cat eyes in the dark, gold coins in storm drains, cold hands, storm clouds rolling in, theatres, suppressed emotions, wrought iron gates, motorcycles. 

Curufin — cherries and Diet Coke, white marble, a studio apartment on the 67th floor, tattoos, neon lights, sweetened coffee, smudged makeup, too-loud music, cursive notes written in red ink, veiny forearms, sharp canines, fresh snowfall, high rise buildings, white light, sheer robes with nothing underneath, fog, stained glass windows, colourful hair, slow heartbeats, long-forgotten love, cold mountaintops, eternal silence.

Amrod — burnished copper, feverish eyes, hues of orange and gold, stars and spades, brewing tea, freckles, hardwood floors, poisonous flowers, listens to Hozier, messy hair, fake circle glasses, bullet point notes on a restaurant napkin, comfortable silence, broken wings on insects, old hungers, the whispering of trees, kicking stones on deserted paths, forgotten places, origami stars, old overgrown stone castles, morning mist, horse riding.

Amras  —  misplaced keys, wandering aimlessly, selectively mute, deep lakes hiding secrets, pine trees, restless nights, misunderstood, reliving the same day over and over again, graphic tees, dead moths, visual mind, muffled screams into a pillow, listens to asmr, doc martens, profanity, burned cigarettes, zoning out often, heart fluttering nervously, confusing satellites for stars, comic filled bookshelves, radios, old jeeps, glowing keyboards.

Celebrimbor — ravens, white-hot metal, the darkest shade of black, glittering skin, low waist pants, stars falling, the heat lingering in the evening, petals falling off dead flowers, trusting the wrong people, blue veins, cobblestone paths, linoleum tiles, bruises/scars easily, the heat lingering in the evening, cities awake late, card games, overanalysing everything, shiny fabrics, the slamming of a shot glass, the sting of betrayal.

[tsumuus]

meet cutes | karasuno

a/n so random and not proof read at all. also photographer tsukishima..? idk just seemed like a cute idea lol

characters shoyo hinata, tobio kageyama, kei tsukishima, tadashi yamaguchi

masterlist

shoyo hinata

The bustling city streets were a blur of colors and sounds as you hurried to your next appointment. The air was crisp, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of autumn leaves. Turning a corner, you nearly collided with a vibrant blur of orange hair and infectious energy.

Shoyo Hinata, was out for a jog, his bright smile lighting up the gray morning. His laughter echoed as you both stumbled back, a small leaf fluttering down from your hair. His eyes sparkled with recognition and curiosity, a brief moment of connection in the midst of the city’s chaos.

Without a word, he handed you a stray leaf that had landed on his shoulder, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a silent apology. Your heart fluttered as you watched him jog away, a sudden warmth blooming in your chest.

tobio kageyama

The coffee shop was warm and inviting, a refuge from the chilly winter air outside. You stood in line, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloping you like a comforting blanket. As you reached the counter, a familiar figure in a dark coat caught your eye.

Tobio Kageyama, was intently studying the menu, his brow furrowed in concentration. The barista handed him a cup just as he turned, and the collision was inevitable. Coffee spilled, a sharp intake of breath, and then the warmth of his gaze as he apologized, handing you a stack of napkins.

His intense blue eyes met yours, a flicker of recognition passing between you. With a shy smile, he offered to buy you another coffee, the simple gesture filling the small café with an unexpected brightness.

kei tsukishima

The quiet hum of the aquarium surrounded you, the soft blue glow of the tanks casting a serene ambiance. You meandered through the exhibits, captivated by the graceful movements of sea creatures. Stopping in front of the jellyfish display, you watched the delicate creatures drift in their ethereal dance.

Next to you, a tall figure adjusted his camera, the soft click of the shutter breaking the silence. Kei Tsukishima, an avid photographer, glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable. He focused back on the jellyfish, capturing their fluid motions with practiced ease.

Intrigued, you stole glances at his work, admiring the way he captured the essence of the moment. Sensing your interest, Tsukishima turned the camera towards you, offering a rare, small smile. The aquarium's blue light reflected in his glasses, creating an almost otherworldly effect.

Without a word, he showed you the photo he had taken- a perfect shot of the jellyfish, with your awed expression mirrored in the glass. The quiet understanding and shared appreciation for the beauty around you forged an unspoken bond, leaving you with a sense of connection that lingered long after you parted ways.

tadashi yamaguchi

The small bookstore was a haven of warmth and tranquility, the scent of old books mingling with fresh coffee from the attached café. You browsed the shelves, fingers tracing the spines of well-worn novels. A book caught your eye, but as you reached for it, another hand brushed against yours.

Tadashi Yamaguchi, stood beside you, his shy smile lighting up his freckled face. The moment was fleeting, but his gentle presence lingered as he handed you the book with a quiet apology. His green eyes held a hint of recognition, a shared memory from years past.

As he turned to leave, a bookmark fell from his pocket, and you picked it up, the small gesture filling the bookstore with a sense of serendipity. His quiet thank you and the warmth of his smile left an indelible mark on your heart.

[write-or-run]

Danny Phantom in YJ but its ALL of team phantom

so this idea assumes DP is set in the DC verse and Danny's identity is revealed to the town during Reign Storm. His parents accept him like in the series finale, and the town, grateful for being saved from Pariah Dark, has an unspoken rule not to sell out Danny's secret identity to outsiders (mainly the GIW).

All the Amity Park vigilantes are working together at this point, but the public dosent really know it. Now that they're no longer hunting their son's alter ego the Fenton parents continue doing their thing, but now they make gear specifically for their ghost son to use without it backfiring on him (mostly). Jazz gets some of the ghosts to do interviews and eventually branches out into ghost psychology, something that her parents had neglected to study before now.

Danny, Sam, and Tucker continue ghost wrangling, but the supervision of the Fentons proves to be surprisingly helpful and the trio finds that they have more time to pursue other things (space, eco-witchcraft, and tech respectively). Tucker and Sam's parents are on the fence about their friendship with Danny. Angela and Maurice Foley are talked down from their worries after Tucker points out that the dangerous ghost stuff will happen regardless, so he might as well have the local vigilante on speed dial. Jeremy and Pamela Manson are harder to convince. They're used to having to pick their battles when it comes to Sam's goth, ultra recyclo vegetarian lifestyle, but on this they're not budging. They try to restrict Sam's contact with her friends and even go so far as to get a restraining order. Sam is increasingly fed up with their controlling behavior and, inspired by the Infi-Map, Sam breaks into the ghost zone in search of an artifact that would give her power so that she would never be trapped. Obviously Danny goes in after her, but then Sam's parents storm the Fenton house to take back their daughter and accidentally fall into the ghost portal, so Tucker takes the Specter Speeder and goes in after them. By the time the Fenton Parents return home everyone is back and the Manson's have given in to Sam's determination.

Valerie Gray initially continues to operate on her own. She maintains a frenemy status with Team Phantom due to her mixed feelings on Danny's civilian and ghostly personas, between that and the revelation of Vlad's villainous career Valerie's worldview is really shaken. She throws herself into vigilantism and hers dad gets really concerned when Valerie starts running herself ragged. In a last ditch effort to make her stop Damon Grey goes to the towns ghost hunting experts and begs them for an intervention. The Fenton parents agree and the three of them sit down with her for a talk about safe ghost hunting practices. This fails to stop her, but the Fentons refuse to give up on the 'Junior Ghost Hunter' and start inviting themselves on her patrols .Things come to a head when Dark Danny travels back in time to ensure his creation. Seeing how desperate Danny is to avoid becoming evil, and fighting alongside the Fentons convinces Valerie that its okay to count on others and slow down and take care of herself. (and also the Fentons are low-key inescapable)

Pariah Dark's incursion through Amity Park was the last straw needed for the Infinity Realms to start really breaking into reality. There was already some leakage (see lazarus pits) but this was the last straw for a problem that has been brewing for thousands of years now. Life in Amity Park continues normally, because to them ghost stuff is normal, but for the rest of the world its a different matter.

The Justice League is going around dealing with the sudden influx of supernatural nonsense. The ghost attacks range from minor nuisance to city-wide threat. The magic leaugers are trying to find the source, but it's Batman who identifies Amity Park as 'Ground Zero' for ghostly nonsense.

also something something Amanda Waller and the GIW either team up or become rivals.

I'm literally writing this while waiting to board my flight so I'll try and flesh out this AU later

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you have any recommendations for TTRPGs where Body Horror is a central theme or mechanic? Preferably ones where themes like loss of agency or control over one's body are the focus. Thank you!!

THEME: Body Horror (Part 2!)

Hello there, I’m going to start by providing a link to the Body Horror recommendation post I put up back in 2022, before I move on to new recommendations!

Mutant Monster Machine Girls, by babblegumsam.

In MUTANT MONSTER MACHINE GIRLS, you play as a member of "The Girls", a group of queer misfits fighting against an oppressive anarcho-capitalist state ruled by The Corporation. 

Each of you fights against them because all your lives have been ruined by The Man Responsible, a dangerous and cruel servant of The Corporation. Because of his actions and the nature of your evolutions, you can no longer return to your previous lives and the people you love.

Your only solution? Exact your ultraviolent revenge on him and bring peace to the city by force!

The Mutant part of Mutant Monster Machine Girls is pretty heavy on the body horror, although I think the other character options certainly have possibilities. Babblegumsam has a fondness for weaving trauma and emotion into many of their works, so you’ll likely find a lot of feelings about exploration and loss in this one. The game system uses a modified PbtA system, which gives you tokens that you can spend to add modifiers to your roll. (This same mechanic can be found in Apocalypse Keys!)

Soul Burner, by World Champ Game Co.

Soul Burner is a standalone tabletop role-playing game of adventuring ashen corpses wandering a volcanic ghostland in service of the gods of fate, protecting the timeline from imminent disaster by manifesting fractured memories to shape the world to their will.

Compatible with Mork Borg and inspired by Necronautilus, this game acts as a bridge between worlds of violent dark fantasy and stoner metal science fantasy.

Soul Burner embeds body horror both into the characters you play and the creatures you come across, using MORK BORG rules and depicting your characters as merely remnants of who they used to be. You will find creatures overgrown by fungi, desperate cannibals, and lava-worshipping cultists in this book, evoking a grim and gritty fantasy setting. Your own characters are ever-changing, morphing and distorting whenever you gain a Reminder - pieces of who you are that give you mechanical advantages in the game.

FLËSHMØG, by Freak Flag Games.

FLËSHMØG: THE FLESH BEGINS TO EXERT ITS WILL UPON ITSELF

mäw of hëck: flëshmøg is a pen & paper body horror character creator. draw your hand, discover your body, and mutate your form.

This isn’t so much a game as it is a character-creation exercise. Using a deck of playing cards, you assemble cards as you randomly draw them to give yourself body parts, strengths, and adaptations according to the world around you. This might be an interesting exercise if you want to come up with a wretched home-brew character for MORK BORG, or if you want to design some kind of horror to pit against your players in another game.

Do Not Fear: In Death We Bloom, by Hella Big Claws.

Do Not Fear is a Forged In the Dark Tabletop Roleplaying game, about accepting the fleetingness of life; and using the strength that gives you in order to combat a growing stagnation.

Fight as a Hunter, a person who has been given a Gift of Bloom; a fungus like infection that allows for incredible strength and regenerative ability; in exchange for subsuming your flesh as you die.

Combat or save the Rusted; living creatures infected by a growing viral stagnation; marbling their bones and rusting their flesh; sculpting them into horrifyingly beautiful creations. Ascend the Tower; a large, multilayered structure which you call home. Interact with the factions and people within, as you set down roots.

As a fungus-infested person, the characters for Do Not Fear feel like prime candidates for body horror. Your characters have accepted that their fate will likely end in death, but only because they must if they are to save the world from a horrible plague. The game is built off of the same system as Blades in the Dark, but I think there’s been some tweaks here and there, because there are teasers to creatures and weapons that indicate hit-points and stats. The character abilities however, look really powerful and exciting. If you are a fan of Bloodborne, Hunter X Hunter, or Technoir, you might like this game.

Mutagenic Hive Swarm, by Atelier Hwei.

Waking up as a transdimensional insectoid reptilian has never been more fun!You are a stone age psychonaut apparently occupying the body of a Transdimensional Insectoid Reptile, a bug.

But who you were is less important than where you are: you must navigate the bloody, alien meatscape of the MUTAGENIC HIVE SWARM and find a way back to the Here & Now… before memories of who or what you fade completely.

Mutagenic Hive Swarm is all about playing bugs who are not really bugs - your characters have found themselves in the bodies of alien creatures, and will need to fight in order to hold onto their sense of self. Much of your character’s skills and effort will be directed towards trying to resist certain influences and changes, so I think the theme of loss of agency really shines through in this game. What you might really like is the d20 table of mutations that can threaten you every time your body changes. If you want a game where your character is more likely going to succumb to their changes than find a way out, you might want to check out Mutagenic Hive Swarm.

Other Games to Check Out

Wasted, by World Champ Game Co.

Bio-Drones & Cryo0Clones, by ChrisAir (for Mothership).

[heartsandhischier]

Rinkside Romance

nico hischier x reader

summary - 3.2k words. Y/N, an author has an unexpectant meeting with the captain of the New Jersey Devils, Nico Hischier

note - this is my first writing ever, so I hope you all like it :)

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, creating a rich symphony of scents that blended with the soft murmur of conversation that surrounded the quaint little coffee shop. The coffee machines whirred in time with the gentle hum of patrons bustling about, seeking comfort from the cold evening.

Amidst the comforting atmosphere, Y/N found herself engrossed in the world of her latest novel, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she wove her characters through the chapter’s final paragraph. Her fingers moved swiftly, navigating the keys with practiced ease, each click punctuated by the rhythmic beat of the nearby espresso machines.

As she reached for her steaming cappuccino, her heart skipped a beat, realising the cup was empty. She hurried to the counter, her mind already lost in the world of her novel, she felt compelled to keep her creative momentum going. “Another one?” the barista questioned, his voice barely rising above the din of orders being shouted and the hissing of steam from the machines. Y/N nodded, a smile on her lips as she slid him the empy cup across the counter.

Her gaze wandered across the bustling cafe, taking in the familiar faces and comforting atmosphere that had become her haven since moving to New Jersey. But then her attention was drawn to a figure across the room – a man whose rugged charm and quiet confidence seemed to entice her.

His hand swept his dark locks out of his face, revealing warm brown eyes that sparkeled at her. Their eyes met briefly, and in that fleeting moment, it felt like a page was ripped out from one of her books. In the midst of the coffee shop’s bustle, he held her gaze, momentarily suspending time itself. It felt as if the world had quiteted down, leaving only the two of them in a shared moment of calm amidst the chaos.

“Cappuccino for Y/N!” The call of her name snapped her back to reality. Y/N collected her fresh cappuccino and thanked the barista with a nod. As she took the cup, she turned around in searchfor the stranger with the big brown eyes. To her surprise he was still there, his eyes fixed on her every move, a gentle smile playing on his lips. With a final smile, Y/N returned to her booth, unaware that fate was about to interwine.

Puck Drop and Bar Hops

A few weeks later, Y/N found herself in the midst of a bustling local sports bar, where her friend Jessica had successfully persuaded her to come out and experience the city’s vibrant energy and passion for their team. Tonight, it was a hockey match—the New Jersey Devils against the Dallas Stars. Y/N didn’t know too much about the sport but nevertheless kept her eyes glued to the screen as she struggled to keep track of the puck’s whereabouts.

No matter the extent of knowledge, or rather lack thereof. Jessica’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Y/N couldn’t help but join in as the entire bar erupted in cheers with each Devils goal. The atmosphere was electric, with glasses clinking and cheerful chants filling the air as the Devils cruised to a 5-2 win.  

“See! It wasn’t too bad getting out of your apartment to experience this, right?” Jessica chimed, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. Y/N playfully stuck her tongue out in response, joining in the laughter that bubbled between them.

“Come on! You need to get out more! Explore the city, not just your apartment and the coffee shop! Who knows, it might even give you some inspiration for your books,” Jessica continued, nudging Y/N with a playful elbow.

Jessica then leaned in closer, her voice lowered to a whisper. “You know, this bar is where the team usually goes to unwind after their games,” she explained, excitement in her eyes. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get to meet some of the players.”

Before Y/N could respond, the door swung open, causing a wave of cheers to erupt from the fans in the bar as all heads turned to face the entrance. The atmosphere crackled with excitement as a group of familiar faces made their grand entrance—the New Jersey Devils themselves. 

They were greeted with enthusiastic pats on the backs and a flurry of “Go Devils!” from the triumphant fans as they navigated through the bar, basking in the adoration of their supporters. Among them, Y/N’s gaze was immediately drawn to a pair of unmistakable brown eyes, their warmth and familiarity sparking a sudden surge of recognition within her.

Her heart raced as she watched the players move through the crowd, their presence commanding attention and admiration from everyone present. Could it truly be him? The realisation sent a thrill through her, igniting a spark of home and curiosity that she couldn't ignore.

“They’re cute right!” Jessica giggled next to her, her eyes glued to the players now standing by the bar. Y/N turned around in confusion as her friend pried her eyes away from the players ordering drinks and beers. "Y/N, you were quite literally drooling,” caught off guard, Y/N blushed hard as she attempted to regain her composure. “I, uh, I guess so,” she stammered, her gaze flickering nervously between Jessica and the group of athletes at the bar. 

Jessica leaned in closed, her continuing to eye the players. “I think Timo Meier is pretty cute,” she admitted with a playful grin. “But, oh my god, have you seen the captain? He’s also Swiss, like Timo, and he was a first-round draft pick. And those big brown eyes? Endearing as hell!” 

As the evening wore on, Jessica couldn’t help but gush about the players, pointing them out amidst the crowd. Y/N listened intently, her eyes skipping a beat as Jessica rambled on about their captain, Nico, pointing to a tall familiar figure. With a jolt of recognition, she realised that Nico, the captain Jessica had been raving about, was the same guy from the coffee shop. Her cheeks flushed with warmth as she stole a glance in Nico’s direction, her mind racing with newfound understanding.

Suddenly, a bartender approached their table, a tray of drinks in hand. “These are from one of the players,” he announced with a wink. “Lucky you!”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise as she glanced over to the bar, spotting the hockey player with the familiar brown eyes. A rush of excitement coursed through her veins as she quietly thanked herself for agreeing to go out today. 

Emboldened by the gesture, Y/N found herself drawn to the bar, her heart pounding in her chest as she took a big swig of her drink and approached the handsome stranger. With a warm smile, she thanked Nico for the drinks, her voice steady and sure. Nico’s laughter filled the air, a melodic sound that wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone warm and inviting.

Before she could say anything else, he extended his hand with a charming grin. “I’m Nico,” he introduced himself, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Y/N felt a rush of nerves as she struggled to respond, the weight of Nico’s presence catching her off guard, and in the heat of the moment without thought she blurted out an awkward “I know,” immediately cringing at her own words. Nico’s laughter only grew louder, genuine amusement dancing in his eyes. “Well, it’s nice to meet you again, ‘I know’,” he teased gently, his easygoing demeanour putting her at ease.

Blushing furiously, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh along with him, the tension of the moment melting away in the warmth of their shared laughter. “Sorry, that probably sounded weird,” she chuckled nervously. “My friend just told me about the team and their captain, and then I realised it was you and…” you rambled on as you tried to explain yourself as the awkwardness you felt lingered. Nico shook his head, his smile widening as he interrupted your panic. “Not at all. It’s kind of cute actually,” he reassured her, his gaze warm and reassuring.

Relieved by his response, Y/N felt her nerves begin to ease. “Thanks,” she replied, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “So, uh, what brings you to the bar tonight?” she asked, eager to keep the conversation flowing.

As the evening progressed, the conversation between Y/N and Nico flowed effortlessly, punctuated by shared laughter and easy banter. Y/N occasionally glanced over at her friend Jessica, ensuring she was enjoying herself, only to find her deeply engaged in conversation with Timo Meier, the player she had pointed out earlier.

Seeing that her friend was in good hands with her newfound connection, Y/N turned her attention back to Nico. With each passing minute, she found herself drawn further into Nico’s magnetic presence. Her initial nervousness gave way to a growing sense of comfort and excitement. And as the night wore on, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this unexpected encounter was just the beginning of something truly special. 

Jersey lights and Italian Delights

The clicking of Y/N’s heels echoed across the lobby of her apartment building as she nervously adjusted her dress, the sleek black fabric hugging her curves in all the right places. She had opted for a longer dress at Jessica’s suggestion, feeling a bit out of her comfort zone in such formal attire, especially for a date. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage before stepping out into the cool evening air.

As she descended the steps, her heart raced with anticipation. There he was, leaning against the sleek black car, his brown hair swept back, revealing those familiar and warm brown eyes. When he spotted her, his face lit up with a smile that sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. 

“Hey there, ‘I know’,” he greeted her, his voice filled with warmth and affection. “You look stunning!”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush at his compliment as she approached him, his arms wrapping around her waist in a comforting embrace. Meeting his gaze, she couldn’t help but smile back. “Thank you,” she replied softly, her heart racing with excitement. “Ready for our date?”

Their first date was nothing short of magical—a candlelit dinner at a cosy Italian restaurant, where time seemed to stand still as they delved into deep conversations and shared intimate stories. Amidst the flickering candlelight, Nico and Y/N’s connection only grew stronger as the night went on.

As their relationship progressed, Y/N and Nico found themselves drawn to familiar places that held special memories for them. None more so than the cosy, quaint coffee shop where they had first locked eyes. 

“One cappuccino for my favourite author!” Nico’s voice rang out cheerfully as he approached their table, bearing two steaming cups of coffee. Y/N glanced up at the brown-haired man, a smile tugging at her lips at his playful remark. Accepting the coffee, she savoured the rich aroma before taking a sip, feeling the warmth spread through her. “Well, thank you, my favourite hockey player in the NHL,” she quipped in return as he settled into the booth opposite her. Nico chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. “Yeah, I’d better be,” he teased, reaching across the table to gently brush his fingers against hers.

Their playful banter was interrupted by the familiar sound of Y/N’s phone buzzing with a notification. It was an email about her book release event, scheduled for the following week. Excitement bubbled up inside her as she shared the news with Nico. “I’d love for you to come,” she said, her voice tinged with anticipation. “It would mean the world to me to have you there.” Nico’s response was immediate and unwavering. “Of course I’ll be there,” he said, his brown eyes filled with sincerity.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

As the day of the book release event arrived, Y/N felt a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through her veins. Sitting at the table where she signed copies of her book for eager fans, her heart was fluttering with each interaction. Amidst the bustling atmosphere, she couldn’t help but notice a familiar figure in the line. It was Nico, patiently waiting with a copy of her newly released book clutched to his chest.

When Nico finally approached her table, his eyes lit up with excitement as he handed her his copy of her book. “Hey there, ‘I know’,” he greeted warmly, a grin spreading across his face. “I’ve been looking forward to getting my hands on a signed copy of this book. I’ve heard the author is amazing!”

Y/N chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through her. She signed his copy, adding a little extra flourish with a heart next to her signature.

“Well, a little special signature for my favorite fan then!”

Midnight came creeping, and the event came to a close. Y/N stood up from her seat, approaching Nico, who had been engaging with her fans and colleagues throughout the evening. She smiled at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. “Thank you for being here,” she spoke softly. “Having you by my side means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Nico pulled her into a warm embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively. “I’ll always be here for you,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. 

“No matter what.”

From Ice to Ink

Amidst the whirlwind of her book release and hectic schedule, Y/N found herself attending her first hockey game at the Prudential Center in New Jersey. Adorned in Nico’s jersey, proudly displaying the number 13 on her back, she felt a sense of pride and excitement as she entered the arena to support Nico and the New Jersey Devils as they faced off against the Nashville Predators.

Welcomed by a friendly security guard, Y/N was guided to the room reserved for the players’ wives and girlfriends, where she was warmly greeted by the other women. Engaging in conversation and camaraderie, she felt a sense of belonging among them, despite it being her first time attending a game. As the game started, Y/N found her seat alongside the other wives and girlfriends, excitement filled the air. And Y/N couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride as she watched Nico and the Devils take to the ice. 

As the game unfolded, the tension in the area was palpable. The Predators put up a strong fight, but the Devils matched them stride for stride. The score remained close throughout the game, with both teams trading goals in a back-and-forth battle. Y/N watched with bated breaths as Nico and his teammates fought tirelessly on the ice. The energy in the arena was electric, with fans on the edge of their seats as the team vied for control of the game.

The third period had the whole arena on the edge of their seats. With the score tied, the two teams fought to get the puck into their opponents goal. Chasing the puck across the ice, Nico seized a golden opportunity. As the puck soared into the back of the net, the arena exploded with cheers and applause. Amidst the jubilant roar of the crowd, Nico’s celebration was a sight to behold. With a leap of sheer exhilaration, he raised his arms triumphantly, his face radiant with joy. 

Turning towards the stands, his gaze found Y/N amidst the sea of cheering fans. A wide smile spread across his face as he blew her a kiss, a gesture filled with love and appreciation. In that moment, amidst the deafening roar of the crowd, it was as if time stood still, and their connection shone brightly for all to see. 

As the final buzzer sounded, signalling the end of the game, the scoreboard read: New Jersey Devils 4, Nashville Predators 3. The Devils had emerged victorious in a hard-fought battle, much to the delight of fans in attendance. 

After the game, Y/N waited patiently with the other women in the lounge as the players headed to the locker room. Y/N couldn’t resist checking social media for highlights of the game. To her surprise, she stumbled upon a clip of Nico’s post-game interview. “The celly you did after your goal was terrific,” the interviewer remarked. “That kiss into the crowd—was that planned? Perhaps directed at someone?”

Nico’s smile widened as he responded, “Well, it was a special moment for me. It’s actually my girlfriend’s first game here, so I just wanted to show her a little extra love.”

Watching the interview, Y/N felt a rush of emotion as Nico publicly referred to her as his girlfriend for the first time. When Nico finally emerged from the locker rooms, she couldn’t contain her excitement, rushing to greet him with a big hug and congratulations on the win and his goal.

“So, I’ve been upgraded from ‘I know’ to girlfriend now, huh?” She teased playfully.

Nico chuckled, his eyes filled with affection. With a gentle smile, he pulled away and reached into his suit pocket, retrieving something special from the night—a puck. It was inscribed with the words “Y/N’s first game” in white marker. 

“Well, it would be my pleasure if you’d want that promotion,” he replied, his gaze locked onto hers with those captivating brown eyes as he presented her the puck. 

Nico's words had her cheeks flaring, and with a surge of happiness she nodded eagerly. "I would love to be your girlfriend, Nico!"As their eyes met, he grinned and leaned in to give her a tender kiss, sealing the moment with a promise of more to come.

[perfectsunlight]

( 𝟮𝟵 ) ✏ 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 (𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗳-𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀: 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘃𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲

“i’m enjoying our date.” 

you teased with a smirk as minjeong finished the last few pieces of her ice cream cone. the president rolled her eyes before brushing her hands and leaning back against her hands. the two of you sat on the curb outside of the ice cream shop you had practically begged the other girl to take you to.

“we’re not on a date.”

“sure feels like one,” you shot back playfully. “i mean, ice cream after food? driving me around?”

the blonde sighed, a small smile playing on her lips despite her best efforts to remain serious. “we only got ice cream because you whined about it.”

“and you caved. i’m taking that as a win.” 

she shook her head, her expression softening as she looked up at the sky. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“and yet, you’re still here with me,” you replied, nudging her lightly with your shoulder.

“yeah, well,” she started as she snickered. “only because of your grades. and your sister is paying me to help you.” minjeong teased back with a sly grin.

you chuckled, shaking your head. “nice try, but we both know that’s not true. my grades aren’t that bad.”

she raised an eyebrow, earning a gasp from your own lips. “hey! i’m improving, aren’t i? thanks to you.” you said with a hit on her shoulder.

minjeong shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a hint of pride in her eyes. “i guess you’re not entirely a lost cause.”

“high praise from the president herself,” you answered with a playful eye roll. you knew minjeong took her role seriously, but she didn’t see herself as some sort of monarch of the student body. however, you enjoyed poking fun at her, as always. “seriously though, i appreciate it.”

she nodded, her smile softening into something more genuine. “no problem, princess.”

“stop calling me that,” you groaned before resting your head against your chin. “it’s not funny.”

“it’s not?” the blonde chuckled with a smile. “i find it very funny.”

a comfortable silence settled between you as the evening air grew cooler. the stars above twinkled, casting a gentle glow over the city. you glanced at minjeong, her profile serene against the backdrop of the night sky.

“hey, minjeong?” you said, breaking the silence. your thoughts had been brewing for a bit and you wanted to get something off your chest.

minjeong.

she had heard you say her actual name on a small number of accounts, but it was usually accompanied with undertones of sass or groaning. you never said her name so gently before.

she liked it. a lot.

“yeah?” the president answered casually, conveying no sign of her internal feelings. she kept her gaze ahead at the street in front of the two of you. 

“thanks for tonight.” you paused after a few moments before speaking slowly. “i know you’re busy, and you didn’t have to do this because you felt bad. but thank you, really.”

minjeong turned to look at you, her eyes softening in the darkness. “you don’t have to thank me. i wanted to.”

you grinned, feeling a sense of accomplishment in getting the stone-cold president to show some emotion. however, you still decided to tease her, like usual.

your torso leaned a bit closer to minjeong, pointing a finger in the face of the blonde. “so, if it’s not a date, what is it?” 

the blonde’s face twisted into one of feigned annoyance. “i don’t know. maybe just two friends hanging out.”

“friends, huh?” you mused, watching the president pull her keys out of her pocket. “you want to be my friend, president?”

“okay, let’s get you back to your sister so she can deal with you instead.” 

you rolled your eyes as you watched minjeong rise to her feet. “fine, fine. but you didn’t answer my question. do you want to be my friend?” you asked with a small pout on your lips.

she glanced at you, a small smile tugging at her lips while she stuck her hand out to help you up. 

“maybe. if you behave.”

“oh, come on, i’m always on my best behavior,” you joked, making her roll her eyes once more. “sure you are,” she said dryly, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

the drive back to your family’s house was filled with the usual light-hearted banter and easy conversation. it felt natural, comfortable, and you couldn’t help but steal glances at the girl in the driver's seat, noticing the way the streetlights cast soft shadows on her face.

minjeong’s freshly dyed blonde hair looked like a halo around her face in the passing streetlights overhead. you didn’t want to admit it, but she really was nice to look at. 

you caught yourself staring and quickly looked away, hoping she hadn’t noticed. but then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw her smile.

“what?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant. internally you thanked the darkness of night to hide the heat rising to your cheeks.

“nothing,” she replied, her smile widening. “just thinking about how quiet you suddenly got. it’s a nice change.”

your eyes narrowed before scoffing lightly and folding your arms against your chest. “don’t get used to it.”

when she pulled up in front of your house, she walked you to your front doorstep. your older sister opened the door while you quickly waved the blonde goodnight before disappearing inside.

minjeong turned to leave, but quickly stopped when she heard your sister’s voice behind her. “minjeong?”

the blonde whipped around quickly, straightening her posture and looking attentively at jennie. “yes, ma’am?” 

jennie studied her for a moment, then smiled softly. “thank you for bringing her back, i apologize for the hassle.” she reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope and handed it towards the younger girl.

“by the way, here’s this week’s payment for the tutoring. i really appreciate everything you’re doing.”

minjeong looked at the envelope and then back at jennie, shaking her head with a smile. “you can keep it.”

jennie raised an eyebrow at the blonde before slowly moving the envelope closer to herself. “so suddenly?”

minjeong shook her head lightly, eyes still bright as her small smile. “i like hanging out with y/n. tutoring or not.”

jennie smiled, a look of respect in her eyes. “i’m glad my sister has you.” 

“me too,” minjeong replied softly. “goodnight, ma’am.”

“goodnight.” jennie answered, watching as minjeong walked back to her car. the older girl watched from the doorstep as minjeong’s bmw drove off in the distance, mentally replaying the smile her younger sister wore when she first arrived.

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