#was not on my list of things to watch out for

[5sospenguinqueen]

WAG In Training - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: When your boyfriend makes the leap from F2 to F1, you never expected for fans to show so much interest in you. However, they seem to enjoy that your comments are… less than professional

Warnings: Suggestive comments

Requested: Yes by anon

F1 Masterlist

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f1 just posted

liked by jensonbutton, officialmpmotorsport and others

f1 starting in monza, franco colapinto will be racing in williams for the remainder of the 2024 season

12,074 comments

williamsracing welcome to the team

alex_albon bienvenida, franco

francolapinto so excited for this opportunity 

→ user1 he’s so polite

→ user2 just wait

user3 he looks like disney prince

user4 not surprised he got the seat. look at those big beautiful eyes. i bet james was like "whatever you say, handsome"

user5 hand veins! 

its_yn so proud of you baby! we’ll have to celebrate later

→ francolapinto i can think of a few ways 

→ its_yn as long as it ends with those fireproofs on the floor 

→ user6 who is this?

→ user7 his girlfriend, and has been since before he was in f2 so don’t start 

→ user8 omg her instagram is so cute. all the pics of her and franco 

its_yn just posted

liked by williamsracing, lilymhe and others

its_yn i heard f1 drivers get the best head. @/francolapinto want to test that theory?

6,389 comments

francolapinto but i already know i get the best. i am always happy to prove it though

→ williamsracing add this to the list of things you can no longer say online

→ its_yn that’s becoming a very long list

user9 she’s an icon, she’s a legend, she is the moment

user10 i never knew how much i needed yn in my life until right now 

user11 i hope williams never pr train her because she is hilarious 

lilymhe i can’t wait to meet you 

→ its_yn me too! you’ve definitely been my favourite thing about williams so far

→ alex_albon rude

alexandrasaintmleux i like the shade of lipstick

→ its_yn i’ll let you borrow it

user12 yn and franco are going to take off ten years from james vowels’ lifespan

user13 i love how cute her aesthetic is but then you read her captions

yourfriend uh oh, they’ve found you, yn. you better delete your old tweets

→ user14 too late. we already have screenshots 

user15 this is unhinged and i love it. is she like this all the time?

→ dennis_hauger yes. and i’m glad she’s gone

→ its_yn oi

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williamsracing just posted

liked by alex_albon, francolapinto and others

williamsracing first post-quali interview in f1 completed

10,998 comments

francolapinto something i have been looking forward to 

→ user1 yeah, hun, we know

→ user2 the interviewer definitely knows

user3 okay but the pouty lip in the last slide? talk about kissable

→ user4 i’d like to nibble on them liked by its_yn

→ user5 i love that instead of disliking all these comments, yn just joins in

user6 his face in the second slide when he realised yn was watching him flirt with older women

user7 yn is stronger than me because if my man was rizzing up all the interviewers, i would throw myself in front of a moving f1 car 

→ francolapinto she’s fine. she gets her own back by flirting with jenson whenever she sees him

→ its_yn it’s not my fault he’s so scrummy

→ jensonbutton thank you, yn

user8 okay but i love how secure they are in their relationship. she only jokingly told him off and they kissed straight after 

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fc43 just posted

liked by user9, its_yn and others

fc43 i wonder what else is thick

4,044 comments

its_yn i can already feel the bruises on my cervix 

→ user9 !!! 

→ user10 out of pocket

user11 i love that she’s even interacting with a fan page

→ user12 aha she’s everywhere 

user13 do you think he’s into choking? liked by its_yn

→ user13 omg she confirmed

→ user14 yes but in which way? he likes to be choked? she likes to be choked? both?? liked by its_yn

user15 his neck looks so biteable  liked by its_yn

user16 (s)creaming

franco43stan just posted

liked by user1, its_yn and others

franco43stan i’d like to report these photos. they made my 85yr old grandmother have palpitations

11,437 comments

its_yn gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

its_yn actually salivating

its_yn yes, i’ve licked those abs. yes, i’ve done so when they were sweaty 

→ williamsracing we knew we’d find you here

→ user1 oop she’s been caught. they’re going to take her away from us

user2 yn stronger than me letting her man post videos with a slutty 2 second shot of his stomach

→ user3 girl likes watching us thirst over him

→ user4 makes her feel validated about her horniness

→ its_yn at the end of the day, ladies, i’m the one who gets to touch 

user5 imagine that chain swinging against your back

→ its_yn been there, done that

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francolapinto just posted

liked by williamsracing, landonorris and others

francolapinto my girl

11,437 comments

alex_albon okay, this was sorta sweet if i ignore what these photos undoubtedly lead to 

→ lilymhe you never show photos like this of me

→ alex_albon those are only for my eyes! plus, i have been trained properly 

user6 franco saw that everyone loved yn for being unhinged and decided to let everyone know that he is also down bad

its_yn why would you post these when you’re all the way in america and can’t do anything about the ache you’ve created! 

→ francolapinto calling you. now. 

→ user7 doesn’t he have quali in 40 mins?

→ user8 phone sex is more important 

williamsracing why do you give us hope that this will be a normal post… and then we scroll? and then we read the comments

user9 i only look at franco’s posts to see yn’s comments

user10 even if franco doesn’t have a seat for next year, yn will forever be famous as my #1 wag

user11 yn and franco mean so much to me. we can’t lose them next year 

user12 franco is cute and all but yn 🥵

user13 can franco fight?

→ francolapinto he will try 

its_yn if i’d have known we’d get this much attention, i’d have convinced franco to stay in f2

→ francolapinto do not lie. you were so happy for me that you cried

→ its_yn no, that was from how good the celebration sex was

→ francolapinto some of our best work tbf  

williamsracing just posted

liked by jensonbutton, f1 and others

williamsracing couple’s day out? no! couple’s pr training! 

14,880 comments

f1 heartbroken 

jensonbutton finally 

user1 poor james looks like he’s heard things he never wanted to

user2 aha james has been through the trenches 

redbullracing don’t try to silence them

alpinef1team no! let them let their freak flags fly 

user3 james fighting for his life with these two

→ user4 and all the teams opposing him

user5 did they put franco in time out?

→ francolapinto yes :(

user6 just fell to my knees in walmart 

user7 noooo they got to my emotional support couple

user8 yn looks like she’s had an amazing day

→ its_yn i did! i learnt so much

→ user9 are you going to listen to any of it

→ its_yn no :)

→ francolapinto we’re here for a fun time, not a long time 

→ user10 ^^ franco trying to convince yn to have sex in his driver’s room liked by its_yn and francolapinto

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requests open

coming up; liam lawson x ferrari admin including cars references

max verstappen part 2 to taste

charles leclerc x sainz reader

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @iloveyou3000morgan

[sparxaf]

**I have never related to anything less than that list above. So I made my own. **

Ways to Feel Like a Depressed, Neuro-spicy, Sloth Woman

1. Wear your pajamas all day and don't bother showering. Only brush your teeth if you have to leave the house.

2. Read horny, terrible stories on apps that overcharge. Fantasize about a grumpy, alpha werewolf roughly claiming you as their moon mate. Try rubbing one out, but fall asleep in the middle because you were up all night on that dumb app.

3. Take care of your emotional needs by eating cookies by the fistful.

4. Stare blankly at the social media app of your choice, scrolling through endless videos you'll never watch & posts you'll never read. Repeat until you achieve enlightenment.

5. Cancel plans. Never answer the phone. Let your friends know that you're still alive by popping into your group chats to cryptically react to the last thing someone said. Like 🧛‍♀️. It's on them to figure out what you mean by that. You're not responding to questions this year.

6. Set small goals. Start one, realize you need to do something else to accomplish it. Then another thing. Keep ADHD-ing until you have 7 tangential projects going, and you're sobbing into a sweater you started knitting for reasons you can't remember. Feel freed by the knowledge that nothing is gonna get done and none of it matters anyway, so eat another cookie and maybe a cheese stick to celebrate your newfound apathy.

7. Hiss at discipline and accountability like an angry possum.

8. Treat your emotions like an overflowing trash container you're too depressed to empty. Stick a foot in and shove it down. Compact your unexamined feelings. How else can they properly explode when you and your loved ones least expect it if you don't overfill the bag until it breaks and everything ends up in a smelly heap on the floor?

9. Avoid math like the plague. Have panic attacks when you think about logging into your bank account. Buy something dumb on Temu. Money and math are both imaginary anyway.

10. View sports a bit like a confused puppy. Tilt your head to the side and wonder why anyone wants to be that sweaty. Once a year, act like you give a shit about your health and start using the elliptical machine and then immediately get bored and replace it with eating more cookies.

11. Fall down endless internet rabbit holes and learn about the most obscure topics you can stumble on. Make sure to babble incessantly about them to your bored coworkers, and then act morally superior when no one else knows who invented forks and why. God, why is everyone so ignorant these days?

12. Cut off people - especially men- when they aren’t worth your time. Do it with malice and a stream of profanities. Politeness is for people who aren't in their pajamas at 3pm on a Wednesday.

13. Don't say yes. Don't say no. Learn to avoid making choices altogether and ignore anyone who tries to push you to make them. Especially if the choice forces you to put on pants. No one who loves you would put you through that.

14. Dedicate one day a week to self-care. Use cheap facemasks that will inevitably break you out. Over-tweeze your already meager eyebrows and then avoid mirrors for a while. Use the Korean washcloth you got off Amazon and scrub the shit out of yourself so you can be grossed out by the dead skin you've let fester upon your person. Be very red afterward.

15. Become overly-attached to fictional characters. Join a fandom. Dissociate from reality. Write fanfic. Make it your whole personality.

16. Be unaware of the happenings in your city. Know nothing about new places unless they deliver. Be baffled by heavy traffic because you had no idea that there was a sports thingy happening. What sport? Who fucking cares? Did you know that forks were invented in China? But the first written record of tined utensils was in Greece where apparently, the use of two-tined forks were seen as vain and also, possibly demonic, as they looked like tiny pitchforks. Like whaaaaat?

17. Don't iron your clothes before or during wear (especially during). A rumpled appearance let's people know that you don't want to be where you are, and you will be leaving SOON. It's about setting expectations. Also, who irons their pajamas?

18. Never prioritize others or their needs. You're depressed and it's your right to be rumpled and solipsistic. Nothing needs to exist outside of your sadness and self-pity. Doing things for others would make you feel better and then what? You'd have to put on pants and leave the house? Gross.

19. Hydration is important. But do not--I repeat-- DO NOT make smoothies. It's a waste of time and you'll have to wash the damn smoothie blender and we both know you ain't gonna do that. Gargle water in the shower for hydration (if you can bring yourself to shower). Drink soda pop late at night so you won't sleep. Horrify the Brits and microwave some tea because it's cold in your house and you can't afford to turn the heat up (cuz 'Murica). Don't eat soup though. Soup is depressing and you're depressed enough.

20. Anxiety attacks and true crime.

Ways to Feel Like a Powerful Woman

1. Buy lingerie when you’re single.

2. Read about finance and news.

3. Take care of your physical body.

4. Meditate.

5. Stay in touch with your friends - host every now and then if you can.

6. Set small goals everyday and accomplish them.

7. Be disciplined in whatever you do.

8. Work on your emotions. It’s important to be aware of what you’re feeling, and not brush them away.

9. Be good at math. Bonus points if you can calculate discounts, sales and tips in your head.

10. Stick to one sport of any kind. It’ll create a sense of self.

11. Aim to always be educated, without your ego of knowing everything getting in the way.

12. Cut off people - especially men- when they aren’t worth your time. Do it politely, cordially and quickly.

13. Be able to say no.

14. Dedicate one day a week to beauty and care. Masks, hair removal (if you choose to), exfoliation, blackhead removal, body brushing, nails - take care of your body.

15. Enjoy things without developing an attachment to them.

16. Know the best happening places in your city/ the city you know you’re going to eventually live in/ your dream city. Events, people (even if you don’t know them personally), establishments - keep yourself up to date.

17. Iron your clothes before you wear them.

18. Never prioritise anyone over your well being.

19. Drink stuff that isn’t alcohol or soda. Water, soups, cold pressed juices, smoothies, teas.

20. Multivitamins and collagen.

[rootedinrevisions]

Five More Minutes

SUMMARY: You and Jake are headed to The Hard Deck to meet the daggers, but a few things risk making you late.

A/N: Thank you to the person who sent this request in! I apologize that it's taken me a month to get it written. I hope it's worth the wait! I'm working to get requests done as I have time and the inspiration is flowing! Hope you enjoy! xx

WARNINGS: None, smut is implied but none actually happens.

WORD COUNT: 767

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

Jake sprawled on the edge of the bed, bouncing his knee impatiently as he watched you at the vanity. He glanced at his watch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes before letting out a dramatic sigh. “Babe, come on,” he drawled, leaning back on his palms. “We’re gonna be late! We were supposed to be there by nine!”

“Five more minutes,” you called over your shoulder, carefully applying the last bit of mascara. Your voice was calm, but Jake could hear the teasing lilt in it, and he knew you weren’t in any rush.

“Five more minutes?” he repeated, raising a brow and letting out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart, you said that twenty minutes ago. You realize they’re all gonna roast me for this, right? Phoenix is gonna have a field day.”

“Phoenix already roasts you,” you shot back, swapping the mascara for your lipstick. “I’m just giving her more material to work with.”

Jake groaned, flopping back onto the bed in defeat. “I knew you’d be trouble the moment I laid eyes on you,” he muttered, though his tone was light and full of affection.

“And yet, here you are two months later, and still with me” you replied, smirking as you caught his reflection in the mirror.

He propped himself up on his elbows, his green eyes narrowing as he watched you smooth a hand over your outfit. 

“Here I am,” he agreed, his smirk matching yours. “Sittin’ here, waitin’.”

“You wouldn’t be waiting if you hadn’t joined me in the shower,” you shot back, not even looking at him as you adjusted an earring in the mirror. Your knowing look in the reflection caught his eye, and Jake’s smirk widened into something that made your stomach flip. 

He sat up straighter, feigning innocence. “Now, I don’t recall you complainin’ about that,” he drawled, standing and taking slow, deliberate steps toward you.

You met him halfway, tilting your chin up as he closed the distance. “I wasn’t,” you admitted, your voice softening just a little. “But we both know that’s why we’re running late.”

“Not sure what you’re talkin’ about,” he murmured, feigning innocence as he wrapped his arms around your waist. His lips found the spot just below your ear, brushing against it in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

You sighed, trying to maintain your composure as he trailed soft kisses along your neck. “Jake,” you warned, though your tone lacked conviction. “We’re already late.”

Jake pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his smirk now bordering on devilish. “Five minutes,” he said, mimicking your earlier words as he leaned down again. “Hell, I only need two.”

You raised a brow, fighting the urge to smile. “Is that so? Pretty sure I remember you needing a lot more than two in the shower.”

“Let’s give ‘em a real reason to wonder why we’re late.” His mischievous grin returned, and he started tugging you toward the bed.

You raised a brow, laughing as you dug your heels into the floor to stop him. 

“What happened to you trying to rush me five minutes ago, huh?” you teased, your voice light and playful. “Weren’t you the one whining about how we’re gonna be late?”

Jake stopped, turning back to you with that signature cocky smirk you both loved and hated. “I realized I had my priorities all wrong,” he said, his tone smooth as honey. His hands slipped to your waist, pulling you closer. “A little late never hurt anybody. But missing the chance to keep you in my arms a little longer? Now that would be a crime.”

You rolled your eyes, your heart doing an embarrassing little flip at his words despite yourself. “Wow, you’re really laying it on thick tonight,” you said, though the corners of your lips twitched upward. “But we’re still not skipping out just because you’ve got no self-control.”

Jake leaned in until his forehead rested against yours, his grin never wavering. “No self-control when it comes to you, sweetheart. Guilty as charged.”

“Okay, Casanova,” you said, gently patting his chest and stepping back. “Let’s get going before your squad decides to start placing bets on whether or not we’re ever showing up.”

“Alright, alright,” he relented with a chuckle. “Just know, sweetheart, that the second we get home, you’re mine.”

“And you’ll still only need a few minutes,” you quipped, grabbing your bag and heading for the door.

“Keep talkin’ like that, darlin’,” Jake called after you, grabbing his jacket with a chuckle, “and we’ll see who’s beggin’ for more time later.”

[httpsserene]

𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 - 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬 & 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢

summary: you know a thing or two about baking, because you’ve baked a thing or two.

pairing: lando norris & oscar piastri x fem!black/poc!reader (in my head? there’s no physical description of reader.)

content warning: fluff. attempt at banter. dialogue heavy. c0vid lockdown mentioned. baking soda vs powder plagiarized from reddit; thank you redditor fowler311.

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ qatar, you were magnificent until you weren't. this post alone is me putting good energy in the atmosphere for the boys in abu dhabi. is this platonic or not? idk, it's up to you—i just happened to write it. (college semester is over !!! i will be so active you'll wish i never came back xxx) no part two requests, pls 🥺 enjoy reading, loves < 3

⌕ join taglist | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

you grocery shop on saturday night because no one else living in monaco would consider doing the same. usually.

as you’ve been grabbing items off the shelves, you occasionally stumble across two young men—they’re the only other customers in the store with you this evening. 

the first time you shared an aisle with them, you offered a polite smile before redirecting your gaze to the various shapes and brands of pasta. the second time, you shyly murmured an ���excusez-moi” and they apologized immediately while stepping out of the way, allowing you to grab a pack of chocolate chips. the third time, your polite smile widened in amusement, as you watched the man drowning in an oversized hoodie shadow-box his friend, who remained unfazed at the whooshing fists as he inspected a carton for any cracked eggs.

the fourth time, you realize that the two men are lando norris and oscar piastri—the driver lineup of the mclaren formula one team. and, they’re arguing about the difference between baking powder and baking soda, very loudly. in a carrefour. in aisle three. at eight in the evening. on a saturday night.

surely, these two have more interesting plans for their weekend besides grocery shopping.

“they can’t be that different, can they?”

“hmm. once is soda, and the other is powder. that’s quite different, i reckon.”

“yeah, but, they both start with ‘baking,’ so, i figure they’re more similar.”

“if they’re similar, why would they make two different products?”

“greed? consumption—oh, no, wait—consummate? no.”

“consumerism?”

“consumerism! that’s it.”

“i would agree, but i don’t think that’s the case with these two.”

“well, think harder. it’s freezing in here, osc.”

“i think you’re iron deficient.”

“what?”

“never mind—look, mate, this is your fault, really.”

“woo-oooow, i can’t believe this! so, you’re blaming me now?”

“you wrote the list, lando! how is your handwriting so terrible that i can’t tell if you wrote ‘baking soda’ or ‘baking powder’?”

“first of all, you told me to write the list! nobody writes grocery lists anymore, grandpa! secondly, why would you make the dyslexic kid write the list? it’s cruel and unusual—you know i can’t spell for shit.”

“lando. the word ‘powder’ has two more letters than ‘soda.’ i know that you know that. how did you make—whatever the hell that says—look like it could be either one?”

“osc, you’re hurting my feelings. are—are you saying i’m stupid?”

“i literally never said that. the word ‘stupid’ didn’t even come out of my mouth, you muppet—“

you bang the front of your cart into the end-cap of the aisle, sending a few rolls of bagels to the floor. your cheeks warm as their banter halts and heads snap over to look at you awkwardly rushing around to pick up the floor bagels. the last package rolled unbelievably far to knock against lando norris’s shoe. aren’t you just lucky?

you see lando press his lips together to avoid laughing (you appreciate the effort), and he dismisses your apologies as he scoops the bagels off the floor and moves to help place them back on the shelf.

“uh, t-thank you,” you stutter, as oscar piastri walks over just in time to catch a roll that was eagerly looking to return to the supermarket floor. the two men offer smiles in return—lando’s wide and gap-toothed, oscar’s boxy and toothless.

“soda spreads and powder puffs,” you blurt out, because you left you brain-to-mouth filter at home. maybe they sell replacements here. in the aisle furthest away from the two formula one drivers, preferably.

“what?” lando questions, a matching look of confusion plastered on his teammates face.

“sorry, i overheard your conversation,” you shrug, trying for nonchalance, “baking soda influences spread and browning, whereas baking powder provides puffiness and lift. they’re both leavening agents but, baking soda is sodium bicarbonate and baking powder is a mixture of sodium bicarbonate and an acid. soda needs and an acid to activate but powder needs moisture and heat. so—i guess which one you need depends on what your trying to make.”

you think you failed to portray nonchalance, if the perplexed expressions the two stare at you with are any telling.

oscar blinks, “…we’re trying to make chocolate chip cookies. i tried to convince him to buy cookie dough but he wanted to make them from scratch, even though neither of us can bake.”

“it’s more fun if we do it from scratch,” lando crosses his arms huffily, “you didn’t have to tell her that we’re absolutely hopeless in the kitchen, though.”

“i reckon she already knew that from overhearing our lack of knowledge about baking ingredients, lando,” the australian chuckles quietly, shifting the shopping basket from one arm to the other.

“do you have the recipe on you?” you ask kindly.

oscar hands the scorned grocery list over without complaint, “it’s my mum’s recipe. sorry if it’s hard to read—you’ll have to blame him for that.”

lando scoffs in indignation, “you’re exaggerating, oscar. my handwriting isn’t that bad, is it?”

you feel them watching as you decipher the hieroglyphics that are lando’s letters. you bring a finger up to trace underneath the scrawl, eyes squinting to force the words into focus—oscar snorts and lando sighs in played-up dejection.

“i can understand what you’ve wrote just fine,” you smile at lando, “i’ve seen worse. you know, my younger cousin’s handwritting is miles more dreadful than this.”

the brit knocks his shoulder against oscar’s teasingly, “hah! maybe you just can’t read, osc. have you thought about that?”

you tap your finger against your chin in thought, “—but my cousin is like, five-years-old, with terrible fine motor skills. so, i wouldn’t say that’s a fair comparison.”

the two are caught by surprise, laughing delightedly at your ribbing. the sound of their amusement is contagious enough for you to crease with your own giggles.

“i didn’t expect to be bullied in a carrefour’s on a saturday night by a stranger,” lando says with a grin, after he’s calmed down.

“sorry,” you shake your head playfully, properly introducing yourself before continuing, “i forgot you usually spend your time here arguing about baking soda. which—by the way, your mum’s recipe calls for both baking powder and soda, oscar. which is very smart and unique! in most cookie recipes, most people usually opt for baking soda alone, for the spread of the batter. but, your mum must’ve liked her cookies puffier and fluffier as well! anyways, that explains why it looks like lando could’ve written either word here—because he meant to write both.”

they thank you profusely for helping them overcome the challenge of lando’s handwriting, oscar returning to the aisle to place each ingredient in his basket.

“sorry, could you grab me one of the baking soda, as well?” you ask, “that’s the last thing off of my list tonight.”

“we’re all done, too,” the australian walks over with your box, hesitating briefly before you gesture for him to drop it in your filled cart.

the duo walks towards the registers with you, lando asking, “are you a baker?”

“no,” you chuckle, “i had a phase during lockdown.”

“ah, i should’ve known,” he teases, “i mean, that’s how you know that baking powder is sodium carbon-fiber—“, oscar echoes his teammates ‘sodium carbon-fiber’ with a soft smile, “—just a baking phase, right. makes sense.”

“oh, come on, lando norris,” you scold him jokingly, “baking powder is sodium carbon-fiber and an acid. keep up—we’ve been over this already.”

you separate from the two as you near the registers, unloading your cart onto the conveyor belt and exchanging polite conversation with the cashier as you hand over your stack of reusable bags. you don’t realize that they’ve waited for you until you start to think about the logistic of carrying all of your groceries home.

“uh,” lando pushes oscar forward with a firm hand on his back, the tips of the australian’s ears are reddening, “would you like help with those? we don’t mind holding a few.”

“would you mind?” your shoulders sag in relief, “i do this in one trip routinely but i don’t think that’s happening tonight. i only live about four blocks over—my doorman will help me get them all up to my flat, so i won’t be keeping you longer than necessary.”

that’s how you find yourself walking home, on a saturday night, with two formula one drivers holding the bulk of your groceries in their arms. you’re going to the casino directly after you put the groceries away because your luck is too good to miss out on right now. your doorman heads inside to grab a cart as soon as he catches sight of you. your two helpers exchange a glance in your peripheral vision as you come to stop in front of your building.

“well, this is me,” you start, pausing to thank your doorman, gabriel, as the boys carefully unload the bags onto the cart, “thank you for the assistance, you are both too kind.”

“mr. norris and mr. piastri are always kind,” hums gabriel, winking at the two men, before rolling the cart inside.

“wait, what? you live in the same building as me?” you’re flummoxed. you knew the rent was too expensive, but you didn’t think it was formula-one-driver-expensive.

“i live here,” lando reveals, holding the door as he lets you and oscar walk inside, “osc doesn’t. i feel like i would remember your face if i’ve seen you here before. what floor are you on?”

“i don’t know if i should tell you that,” you side-eye them flippantly, “i fear for my safety.”

“well, i shouldn’t have told you that i live here,” lando sniffs.

“gabriel blew your cover, mate,” oscar rolls his eyes, “also, she would’ve found out anyways. we would’ve had to follow her in to make the cookies in your apartment.”

your doorman squeezes into the first elevator with your groceries, while you and the boys opt for the second. oscar’s hand hovers over the button while he waits for you to clue him in, pressing lando’s afterwards.

lando clears his throat as the elevator begins to rise. “seeing as your thrilling saturday night activity of grocery shopping is over, what are the rest of your plans for tonight?”

scratching at the nape of your neck, you say, “don’t judge me anymore than you have tonight…i was thinking about watching the entire how to train your dragon trilogy.”

oscar gasps quietly, his eyes bright, “i love those movies.”

“would you like to come up to my flat and make chocolate chip cookies from scratch with us? and watch the movies, too?” lando’s question is sweet, and his eyes are earnest.

“i feel like it would be very dumb of me to visit the apartment of a man i just met in the grocery—formula one driver or not.”

“sorry, i can see how it’s weird. better safe than sorry, i know. i promise we’re not like going to try anything, or we’re not, like, serial killers or anything. oscar’s too polite for that, and i’m too squeamish. seriously, it would be just for the cookies. we didn’t have a baking phase in lockdown like you did, so we’re lost on a lot more than the different between baking soda and powder. sodium carbon-fiber and acid, or not. if it’s uncomfortable for you, that’s fine. maybe we can plan for another day when you know us better.”

“yep,” oscar offers in support of lando’s statement.

you smile, “you remembered about the acid this time.”

the elevator dings before softly jerking to a stop on your floor. the doors begin to slide open, “honestly? i think i’m more afraid about you guys possibly burning our building down rather than killing me in cold blood.”

you step out of the elevator, seeing gabriel waiting by your door with the cart.

turning back to face the two men, you survey them with a serious gaze before breaking into a grin, “don’t turn on the oven without me. that part requires adult supervision. let me put my groceries away and then i’ll be right up.”

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© httpsserene - do not repost. photos in header from pinterest.

[chvoswxtch]

on the first day of slutmas, court gave to me...

thigh riding with bucky barnes

It wasn’t like Bucky was a virgin. Back in the 40s, before the war, he’d been a very charming ladies man and had his fair share of girlfriends. But back then, sex was a little more…vanilla. Or at least that was the word he’d learned for it. The 107 year old out of time super soldier was still learning a lot about the modern world, and modern sex. Through the internet, he’d discovered a whole new world of kinks he hadn’t even realized existed.

And also through you.

Which is how he found himself sitting sprawled out on the couch, staring at you in awe, watching you grind your wet pussy on his muscular thigh. His enhanced hearing picked up the lewd sound of your slick folds rubbing against his bare skin, and it made him want to combust. When you’d first asked if you could ride his thigh, Bucky nearly choked on his drink, and his eyes almost popped out of his head. He didn’t understand. He was confused about how that could possibly bring you pleasure, but he couldn’t deny you a goddamn thing if he tried. 

But now, as he watched you writhe on his lap, your lips parted and head dipped back, face contorted in pure bliss, he understood the appeal. And he was starting to enjoy it himself. A lot.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

He muttered under his breath. His hands gripped your hips as he guided your movements, like he would if you were riding his cock. He liked that one. He liked it a lot. His steel blue eyes kept flickering between your bouncing breasts and the look of ecstasy on your face, feeling your wetness coating his heated skin as you rubbed your soaked cunt on his thick thigh. 

“It feels that good, baby?”

Bucky asked almost breathlessly, his pupils blown wide open in lust, mesmerized by the sight of you. His cock had been swelling in his briefs and was now achingly hard, creating a huge tent that the thin black fabric did nothing to conceal. But your pleasure was at the forefront of his mind, not his own.

“Yes…James-”

He loved hearing you say his full name. He didn’t know what it was about it, or why he preferred it, but it scratched something in his brain, and it made his cock twitch. He could feel your thighs starting to tremble, your hips moving faster as you bucked with reckless abandon, rhythm growing sloppier as you greedily used his body for your own pleasure. Bucky brought his metal hand up to grab your breast, squeezing gently and using his fingers to rub over your peaked nipple before toying with it. He knew how much you liked the cool contrast of the vibranium on your heated skin, and how the duality of using his flesh and metal fingers to play with your sensitive nipples drove you wild.

Bucky flexed his thigh, which tore a sharp moan from your parted lips, and he licked his own lips as he made you grind harder against him, an invigorated sense of purpose fueling him.

“That’s it baby, use me. C’mon, use me to make yourself come.” He wanted to see you come like this. And then he wanted to learn all the new ways that he could pleasure you, outside of new positions, and that one night with one of his belts. Bucky was a quick learner, and he’d always been a good student. Without knowing it, you’d just awoken something in Bucky with your simple request. Your sex life was about to get a lot more creative.

tags: @itwasthereaminuteago @bless-my-demons @phoenixe3 @fxckahs-blog @dreadfulxives18 @daisyxchains

12 days of slutmas masterlist / naughty list sign up

[she-ra-ra-skirt]

I don't think we give up. I think we try really, really hard but it doesn't work for us.

Stopping something that doesn't work is sensible, as you are probably being judged against the wrong criteria. I've never been compared to someone with my disability to see how 'well' I'm doing, just to my healthy siblings. which is fucking stupid!

The only way I can cope with my (various) disabilities, is to take tiny, tiny steps over time. I changed my diet to being Japanese based as it's quick, stove based so I can get close to it to look after it and not forget it's in the oven, and filling. It's taken me years to find the easy recipes I like but now, I can eat healthily most of the week. Well, part from the inordinate amount of toast I eat, but it's still food and it gives me energy.

I no longer berate myself when I need a nap or can't get off the settee. That's today's limit and I accept that and find something I can do sitting down, which is lots of Tumblr at the moment!

I have a sleep routine where I listen to ambient music and have a night light that changes colour but if it doesn't work, I don't punish myself by forcing myself to stay in bed, I get up, watch TV, or play on Tumblr, and accept that I'll nap the next day.

I'm so much kinder to myself than I used to be, since I started to think about what I'd say to a friend. Some things shoved at us by the medical profession do nothing but get us out of their hair, where they don't have to deal with us again. I recommend keeping a simple notebook and writing the date and what they told you to do, eg PT and if it helped on a 1-10 scale. Then you can pull out all the dates you tried things and how it didn't improve things, and they can't argue with that. Or you can ask them "are you calling me a liar?"

I keep a list of all the treatments I've tried so I can go through them quickly with a new doctor and say, tried it but it didn't work, what's the next treatment available? But I have noticed, that now I'm late 40s I get treated a lot better than when I was young and they thought I was exaggerating all the time.

You know what? It’s fucking hard trying to get better. It’s exhausting managing doctors appointments, doing daily PT exercises, eating better, trying to exercise, trying to meditate, and doing ADL’s. I have had a bad crash per week trying to juggle and do all of the above.

It’s easier and less acutely painful to just coast and not actively work on ‘getting better’. Is the work worth it? I don’t know yet.

But to people who’ve tried and given up, to those who don’t even bother - you still deserve care and compassion.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

“When You Fall Apart”

oscar x wife reader will forever have my heart 💗 especially protective osc

The morning light poured softly through the curtains, and the house felt too quiet. The children were playing, their laughter echoing through the halls, oblivious to the storm of exhaustion and illness brewing within their mother. You sat at the kitchen table, the mug of cold coffee untouched in front of you, your hands trembling as you forced yourself to keep moving. Breakfast needed to be made, the laundry folded, the house cleaned — there was always something that needed doing.

You had barely noticed how bad you were feeling. The constant cycle of feeding, cleaning, and tending to your kids had consumed every ounce of energy you had left. You hadn’t had a moment to think about yourself, and you certainly hadn’t told Oscar. He was away at a race, doing what he loved, and you didn’t want to worry him. After all, you were supposed to be strong — for him, for the kids. He couldn’t know you were falling apart.

But your body was protesting. You hadn’t been sleeping, hadn’t been eating right. The aches in your muscles had become constant, the dizziness unrelenting. You felt a fever creeping up, but you told yourself it wasn’t important. You didn’t need rest. The kids needed you, and Oscar would be home soon enough.

By the time Oscar finally returned, things had spiraled out of control. He was greeted by the kids’ excited chatter, but his smile faltered when he noticed the way you were standing in the hallway, pale, your movements slow and deliberate. There were bags under your eyes, and your usual warmth was dimmed by the exhaustion written all over your face. But it wasn’t just that. Oscar’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took you in. Your clothes hung loosely, the fabric sagging in places where it used to fit just right. He could see it clearly now: you had lost weight. A lot of it. The hollowed-out look in your cheeks, the way your clothes seemed to swallow you—he couldn’t ignore it.

“Hey, babe,” Oscar called, his voice light, but there was concern creeping into his tone. He put down his bag and stepped closer. “You okay?”

You forced a smile, waving him off. “Yeah, just tired. You know how it is.”

But Oscar wasn’t convinced. He took in the way your shoulders slumped, how you swayed slightly on your feet. Before you could protest, he reached out, his hand brushing against your forehead. His brow furrowed immediately, his fingers pressing gently against your skin.

“You’re burning up,” he said softly, his voice a little more strained now. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you mumbled, your words barely audible as you tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you.

Oscar looked at you, his eyes dark with concern and something deeper — frustration, maybe guilt. He had been away, living his dream, while you had been here, taking on everything alone. He should’ve called, checked in more often. You had never once complained, always putting the kids and him first. But now, as he watched you tremble in front of him, he could see how much you’d been neglecting yourself. And now, with the physical evidence of your weight loss staring him in the face, the guilt hit harder. He hadn’t seen you this way when he left. His chest tightened.

“You should have told me,” he repeated, his voice now softer but no less urgent. “You’ve been doing everything for the kids while I’ve been away. Let me take care of you for once.”

But you didn’t feel worthy of his care, not when there were still so many things to do. The house was a mess, the kids needed dinner, there was laundry to fold. The list of things to do was endless, and you couldn’t let go.

“I’m fine, Oscar. Really,” you tried again, your voice weak.

“No, you’re not.” He wasn’t having it. Oscar’s hands were on your shoulders now, his touch firm but gentle. “You’re not fine, and I’m not letting you get worse. You’re going to rest, and I’m going to take care of everything else.”

His words were a command, but there was no harshness in them — only love and concern. The way he looked at you, the warmth in his eyes, it made you want to crumble, to finally let go of the weight you had been carrying for so long.

Oscar guided you to the couch, tucking a blanket around you. The kids, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, were quieter now, their bright faces filled with curiosity as they asked questions. But Oscar simply smiled at them and told them everything was okay. They would have to share him for a while, but he promised he’d make it up to them.

For the first time in days, you allowed yourself to close your eyes. The ache in your body, the pressure on your chest, it all started to ebb away just a little. Oscar was here, and he was going to make sure you were okay.

Later that night, after the kids had been tucked into bed, Oscar came back to you. He sat down beside you on the couch, his hand finding yours in the quiet darkness. His fingers laced with yours, a simple, intimate gesture, but it felt like the world.

“You should’ve told me, love,” he whispered, his thumb gently rubbing over the back of your hand. “I can’t do this without you, you know. You’re my world.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you fought them back, embarrassed at how easily you broke in front of him. But Oscar simply pulled you into his arms, holding you close. His warmth enveloped you, and you realized just how much you had needed this — his embrace, his tenderness, his love.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Oscar kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there. “Don’t apologize. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. Just let me take care of you.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but this time, it wasn’t from pain or exhaustion. It was from the overwhelming relief of knowing you didn’t have to carry it all by yourself anymore.

“I love you,” you whispered.

Oscar’s voice was soft, a promise wrapped in tenderness. “I love you too. And I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it.

[tsuutarr]

“…eager to whisk you away once you’re more fae than human.”

I can’t help but imagine a tiny little fairy just lifting an entire person above their head and slowly flying them over the rainbow

This inspired me to make a friend for Cot, soooo here's Maple!!

(Who knows, maybe a harem of fairies is coming eventually)

Yandere! Garden Fairy x Reader

Recently, a human has appeared in Maple’s village. For some reason that Maple genuinely cannot understand, his friend, Cot, has brought over a human. 

Even when Cot dotes on his human, Maple can’t see what the appeal is. Humans are so… eugh.

Still, seeing Cot chatter on and on about his human makes Maple somewhat curious, so he decides to venture out one day. You’re the first human he sees in the human realm, and honestly? Maple still can’t really understand what Cot’s thinking at all.

But one thing Maple can understand is how delicious those strawberries in your garden look. Once you’re out of sight, he quietly sneaks into your garden. You won’t miss one tiny strawberry, will you?

Just as he’s about to reach out and grab a strawberry, he hears a gasp. Slowly, he turns around, only to come face to face with your shocked expression. He’s frozen from shock, certain that he’ll meet his demise when you say, “Oh my gosh, you’re so cute!”

Your words startle Maple to the point he can only watch as you reach out and poke his cheek. He makes various noises of discontentment, making you apologize with a smile.

“Here, are you hungry?” you ask, plucking a strawberry off of your strawberry plant and handing it to him. “Eat up!”

Alarm bells should be running rampant in Maple’s head but… but! That strawberry looks so scrumptious that he has no choice but to indulge. And boy, was he right! The strawberry is absolutely yummy and oh so delicious that he can’t help but chow down. 

You allow him to take a few strawberries back home, much to his surprise. He didn’t expect you to be so nice.

Maple, as one of the cooking fairies, has always been a gourmet in regards to food and anyone who’s willing to give him some tasty treats always lands on his favorite list. So, it’s no surprise that you’ve found yourself in the top five of his favorites list. Maybe Cot did have the right idea about humans.

Honestly, Maple can’t wait to visit you again (for the strawberries, of course). And you’ll let him in every time and give him tasty treats because he’s oh so cute. But make no mistake – he’s hardly innocent. He’s a fairy, after all, so it’s only a matter of time before he takes you back home with him whether you like it or not.

[whokilledsamara]

hello my lovely!!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

i figured since you sent me a request i'll send you one too if that's okay?! i see a lack of mr hood on ur acc so maybe some headcanons for him if you have any!!? anything cute or anything filthy!!

MR. HOOD N/SFW HCS

a list of Mr. Hood x reader hcs {an: ofc my love, hope you like!! 💋💋}

warnings || smut, tentacles, monster fucking, soft dom, slight violence, black goo

{an || ah hello!! i hope you enjoy these, i dont have much Mr. Hood and i wanted to write for him soon so thank you!}

SFW

Mr. Hood is a difficult lover, as expected. he cant quite grasp the concept of love- or he just doesn't want to. it will take forever to even convince him to admit his feelings.

he is known to bring gifts, or anything he comes across that would seem to interest you. he just really likes seeing you happy!

he is a very monotone guy, rarely any emotion noticeable from him honestly. he prefers to keep things leveled out and little to no affection.

even if you aren't "shrunken", he still likes having you inside of his coat. he says its for safety purposes, but you know its more than that.

when it comes to the others- he doesn't mind letting you hang out with them! he isn't controlling whatsoever and allows you to pretty much do as you please.

usually he is gone somewhere, but don't worry, he is always watching. even if you cant see him per se, he has his "eyes" on you.

he wont admit it, but he enjoys your company. his biggest fear is loosing you. therefore, if you call for him- he will always be there.

cold? he will either stuff you inside of his coat with him or he will just take it off and hand it to you. something about seeing you in it does something for him.

NSFW

he is a very gentle lover. while yes, he has a lot of pent up tension, he wont be rough with you unless explicitly asked. if you do however allow him to be rough, he will still have restraint.

he doesn't have a penis, he has tentacles. they work the same, and act the same, just don't look the same. {feels better too}

he is terrified of harming you, so any negative noise you make will cause him to halt his motions. just tap his arm or something to make him resume.

not a greedy or teasing lover. will give you what you both want, and do it efficiently.

his favorite position is missionary. he gets to use all of your holes at once with his multiple tentacles.

his cum is black and translucent, but has the consistency of human semen. tastes like literally nothing.

noises aren't very frequent with him. you might hear a grunt or two every now and then, but nothing loud or anything.

his hands feel very cool against your body, often groping and grabbing whatever flesh he can. specifically your neck.

very few limits on what he will do. anything you ask, he will do silently and immediately. very obedient.

he is a very soft dom. will please you and will be quiet without degradation or roughness, but always on "top".

hehehe,, might make more...

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[loveanddeepdick]

Ur obsessed geto hcs r consuming my thoughts... do you have anymore hcs to spare for this poor tumbler user

lemme conjure up my thoughts on this sunday morning..! this is just small hcs that he’d do with u tehe im glad u guys like my unserious series of this, everything is under the obsessed!geto tag that i have listed below <3

obsessed!geto who loves doing small things that you should be doing be he does for you instead. he loves lifting your chin gently with two fingers and feeding you. he loves sitting you down on a stool by the front door and putting on your shoes for you.

in a way, it makes him feel in control. he doesn’t want to take over your whole life, but it’s a small reminder that you’re his. his favorite thing to do, in his opinion, is replying to your texts or answering calls for you. some sleezy guy dming you on instagram? he’s replying. your boss calling you to work overtime? he picks up, telling her that you’ve come down with a cold.

obsessed!geto who loves when you act a little pervy as well. one night after you guys fucked, you brought up the idea of relaxing with his dick in your mouth.

“won’t you get uncomfortable, angel?” he hummed, running his scarred hands in your hair as you rest on his bare chest.

“sugu pleaseee? i know you wanna,” you giggle, one hand coming down to cup his clothed dick.

he chuckled, rolling his eyes and letting you have at it. you stayed with his dick in your mouth for about 30 minutes until you knocked out. sugu noticed ofc, your breath stilling on his half-hard cock.

he looks at you with such adoration. you’re his. his soulmate. his everything. but he just can’t help it when you look sooo cute sleeping like this. pulling out his phone to record, he leans down a bit to keep one hand in your hair, slowly bobbing your head up and down gently while he records his cute little soon-to-be fiance <3

obsessed!geto who gifts you an itty bitty owl plushie which you happily keep on your desk since it’d get lost on your bed. it stares at you intently, its cute, glittery eyes boring into your room. it looks like him in a way. the owl’s plastic eyes reflecting a hollow orb inside. it was creepy in comparison to its fluffy body, kinda like your boyfriend.

on the other end, suguru is watching you from his car, he’s already otw to you ofc! he watches you type away on your laptop, probably writing a report on something useless your boss is forcing you to do.

however, sometimes he’s lucky and the owl is facing towards your bed. he wishes there was sound from the plushy when he catches you on your bed, legs spread with your hand in your sloppy pussy. he can tell you’re frustrated. frustrated because your little hands or any toy can’t do what he can. he’ll solve your problem, he’ll do anything for you.

>are you busy, sweetheart? im coming in 10

>better see you naked on that cute little bed of yours

[gothcsz]

part ten of the neighbors series. i hope everyone who has been reading so far enjoys this chapter, because i definitely shed a tear or two during the writing process. one of the more difficult things i've had to write because that writer's block hit me good and hard multiple times throughout this, but i am pretty proud of what came out of it! mwah, love you all... please come cry about this with me ok thank u 🖤 oh and a big big big thank you to @persephone-girl for always being there for me when i'm ranting about how i don't know what the hell i'm doing and for reading over the parts i was struggling with. ¡te amo, cleo!

javier peña x f!reader. ~10k word count. (oops) the angst we've all come to know and love, canon typical violence (please proceed with caution), feelings are confessed, anything procedural that occurs comes from the small knowledge i have and just pure vibes (let's suspend our belief real quick), translated spanish, mateo is a piece of shit, reader is going through it, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

The sharp buzzing of your pager against the kitchen table jolts you out of your book. You frown, sliding a ribbon into place to mark your page before rising to see who’s paging you this late.

Mateo glances over from his spot on the couch, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you. “¿Quién te llama tan tarde?” (Who is calling you so late?)

“No se,” (I don’t know) you pluck the device from the table and squint at the screen. A number you don’t recognize flashes, accompanied by the name of a local hospital. 

You blink in confusion, picking up the landline and dialing the number, tapping your fingers against the countertop as you wait.

A brisk receptionist answers, eventually redirecting you to someone who can actually help you in English.

Your Spanish is good but not that good.

“Javier Peña is here and you’re listed as one of his emergency contacts.”

Your heart drops into your stomach and your grip tightens on the receiver. “Is he okay? What happened?” Your mind races through a dozen worst-case scenarios.

“He’s alright,” the nurse assures you, “Much less intoxicated than when he was brought in. He was involved in an… altercation at a bar. We need someone to sign his discharge papers before he can leave.”

The knot of anxiety loosens slightly, but in its place comes a flare of exasperation. Of course. A bar fight? You rub at your eyebrow, closing your eyes.

You’ve done everything possible to create distance between you and this man, and still, somehow, he finds a way to pull you back in.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

You snap out of your thoughts and clear your throat. “Yes—sorry. I’ll be there shortly.”

Hanging up, you let out a sharp breath. Why do you keep doing this? Even though you tell yourself you’re just being a good person, there’s a part of you that knows better… that secretly wonders if you’re glad for an excuse to see him again.

You straighten up and head back to the living room where Mateo is lounging, and his eyes shift to you expectantly.

“¿Quién fue?” (Who was it?)

“The hospital downtown. Javier’s been injured and I need to go help him.” You move around the room, grabbing your things.

You feel the shift in the air when he mutes the television and stands, his brows furrowing. “Javier? Your neighbor? The one who nearly ruined our first date?”

You pause, bending to put on your shoes, catching the sharp edge in his tone.

“Yeah,” you admit, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m listed as one of his emergency contacts, so…”

His body language shifts into something more rigid. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“My girlfriend is being called out in the middle of the night to pick up some malparido who’s clearly into her. That’s what I mean.”

The snort that escapes you is involuntary. “You’re being ridiculous. We’re just friends.” Barely that anymore, you think. That word feels like a fragile label for whatever exists—or existed—between you and him. But Mateo doesn’t need to know the messy, complicated details.

You’ve deliberately kept it that way to avoid exactly what’s happening now.

“Friends,” he repeats, the word heavy with doubt. “No me gusta.” (I don’t like it)

“It’s a good thing I don’t need your permission.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You don’t see how strange this is?”

You let out a breath, straightening your posture as you meet his gaze. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mateo. All I have to do is sign his discharge papers and call him a cab home. That’s it.”

“It’s not your responsibility. He’s not your responsibility.”

You blink at him, taken aback slightly. He’s always been steady, easygoing, and this possessive edge is new—unwelcome. Jealousy, you realize. You understand it to a degree, but it makes you wary.

“I know that—”

“You don’t see me playing knight-in-shining-armor for some random woman I barely talk to anymore.”

“Javier is not just some random guy—”  You cut yourself off with an exasperated sigh, hating how defensive you sound, feeling uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has made.

Mateo’s expression darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly,” he mutters bitterly. “He’s not some random guy. Y ese es el problema ¿no?” (And that’s the problem, isn’t it?)

You can feel the heat rising in your face, a mix of anger and guilt twisting in your gut. “We’re just friends.” You reiterate, trying to sound as resolute as possible. “You can believe that or not, but it’s the truth,” you retort, ending your side of this argument before grabbing your bag from the entryway table.

“Are you coming or not?” you ask without looking back.

There’s a long, agonizing pause that makes your heart pound in your ears. For a moment, you think he might refuse, that he might dig his heels in and escalate this further. But then he just sighs, shuffling to gather his own things.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

The nurse ushers you through a brightly lit hallway and into a larger room lined with hospital beds, each one partially hidden by flimsy curtains that do little to offer privacy. At the very end, you spot Javier.

He’s perched on the edge of a bed, his broad shoulders slumped forward. His arm is wrapped in gauze, a deep gash on his eyebrow held together with fresh stitches. His lip is swollen and split, a constellation of bruises littering his face, one eye swollen shut.

He looks like he’s been through hell.

“Javier, oh my god!” Your voice comes out squeakier than you intended as you rush toward him. You stop short, your hands hovering awkwardly in the space between you, instinct screaming to pull him into a hug. But the injuries hold you back.

Even with the ache radiating through his body, the sound of your voice and the sight of you standing there softens the edges of his pain, offering a brief, soothing reprieve. He can’t believe you actually came.

“What happened?” You ask, your voice cracking with worry despite your efforts to keep it even.

Javier looks up at you, his gaze glassy but warm, a tired smirk tugging at the corner of his injured mouth. “Guys talkin’ shit at the bar,” he mutters, his voice raspy and slightly slurred. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t mention how he courted the violence, drunk and bitter, until it exploded into a fight he couldn’t win. Three guys dragged him outside, taking turns landing blows.

The shameful truth is, he relished the pain. It was sharp, tangible—more real than the numbness he’d been drowning in with booze and meaningless sex. 

It was a culmination of all the bad decisions, every scar his job had etched into his soul, and the emptiness he couldn’t seem to escape.

“You are not fine, Javier,” you snap, your frustration spilling over as you gesture to the mess of bruises and bandages covering him. “You got the shit beat out of you.”

That earns you a low chuckle, though it quickly morphs into a wince as he presses his uninjured hand lightly to his ribs. “Always so dramatic,” he teases, his gaze sweeping over you. “You look good.”

Your cheeks warm despite yourself. How he’s able to be a flirtatious bastard all the time is lost on you. You cross your arms over your chest. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” He grins wider, which only makes him wince again. “That’s why I’m laughing.”

You let out a sharp breath, your emotions roiling—frustration, worry, and relief that he’s fine.

“I handled everything up front,” you say firmly, needing to regain control. “We just need to go outside and wait for your cab.”

Javier’s expression falters, his brows pulling together. “You’re not coming back home with me?”

The casual way he says it makes your stomach flip. You bite the inside of your cheek, choosing your next words carefully. “I’m going home with Mateo. He drove me here.”

For a moment, Javier is quiet. Too quiet. You watch as his body stiffens, his bruised jaw clenching tightly.

“He’s here?”

“Yes,” you reply as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, dropping your arms to your sides. “He’s waiting in the lobby.”

Javier swears he’s never sobered up so fast.

The urge to tear through the room rises, and he almost gives in to the intrusive thoughts, but instead, he tamps it down, the only outward sign being the sharp scowl twisting his swollen, beaten features.

“Couldn’t leave him at home?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows shoot up.

“I don’t need an audience for this.”

“An audience? He’s my boyfriend, Javier. Of course he’s here. This isn’t even about him,” you’re feeling déjà vu from your argument earlier.

No one really prepares you for how dramatic relationships can be.

“This is about you—about you acting out and dragging me into it. You show up at my place drunk, claiming you miss me after ditching me for months, fall asleep at my door like I’m some kind of lifeline for you. You pull me in so many different directions, and it’s exhausting.”

Javier’s mouth opens like he’s about to fire back, but then he deflates. The irritation in his eyes dims, replaced by something that looks a lot like regret.

“I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, partially relieved that Mateo wasn’t allowed back here, or this confrontation would have spiraled into something much uglier.

“Try by being sincere. Every time you apologize it feels like you’re only doing it to save your own ass.”

“Because I was. For the longest time.” He admits, gingerly slipping off the bed, slowly walking over to you and you swallow harshly as the distance between you decreases. “Then I realized how much I took you for granted and I’ve been falling apart since.”

Why does he have to make everything so complicated? Why does the apology you’ve craved for months suddenly feel like the hardest thing you’ve had to hear?

You cross your arms over your chest again, trying to create some kind of barrier between you and the honesty radiating off him. You don’t even know what to say.

Javier inches closer, his voice softening further. “I’m sorry for treatin’ you like shit and for being a terrible friend. I just... I need you to know that I really mean that, and I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you… if that’s something you even want from me anymore.”

You look at him then, really look at him—the bruises, the stitches, the exhaustion lining his face. There’s no wall of deflection in his eyes this time, no trace of the usual excuses he uses like armor. Just unguarded sincerity.

You rub your temple, trying to soothe the headache forming.

“I appreciate your apology,” you finally manage to find your voice. “And that you recognize what you’ve done wrong. But it’s going to take more than just words to fix this.”

The admission feels dangerous, like opening a door you’re not sure you’ll be able to close.

Is it even a good idea to let him try to fix this? The memory of the argument earlier replays in your mind, and you know without a doubt there will be more fights like it if you allow Javier back into your life.

Mateo made his feelings about him abundantly clear.

But beyond your boyfriend’s disapproval—and that glaring red flag of jealousy you haven’t entirely processed yet—there’s the deeper question: can you handle this? Can you handle being just friends with Javier? The last time you tried, it nearly destroyed you.

And if he does follow through? If he becomes the person you’ve wanted him to be this entire time? That might be worse, because you don’t know if you’ll be able to keep your feelings in check.

The storm of thoughts threatens to overwhelm you, so you silence them, focusing instead on the immediate task: getting him home safely.

Javier’s expression softens at your words. Relief flickers in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable. “I know. I’ll be better.”

You let out a heavy sigh, toying with the pendant around your neck as you try to ground yourself. “Come on,” you say after a beat, resigned. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He follows you out of the room, each step betraying just how much pain he’s in.

When you step into the waiting room, Mateo is standing by the entrance, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His dark eyes sweep over Javier, taking in the full extent of his injuries, before landing on you.

There’s no mistaking the irritation simmering beneath his calm facade.

Javier straightens despite the visible discomfort it causes him, his sore muscles screaming at him. His dark gaze meets Mateo’s, and for a moment, the two men size each other up.

You can practically hear the things they’re not saying. Mateo’s scorn is written all over his face—This is the guy? The one who’s causing all this bullshit? And Javier’s defiance is just as clear—Yeah, I’m the guy. What are you going to do about it?

“Mateo,” you say, your voice cutting through the charged silence, “this is Javier.”

“I remember.” Mateo’s tone is clipped, his eyes narrowing slightly as they linger on Javier’s injuries. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s wait for the cab outside.” You quickly add, anything to keep these two and their manly, dick measuring competition at bay.

As you lead the way, the two men follow like a shadow, heavy and unavoidable, their stares burning into your back.

“Oh—I forgot to grab your meds. Wait here,” you quickly pivot back toward the sliding glass doors before either of them can protest.

The moment you’re out of earshot, Mateo takes a step closer to Javier, his gaze hard and unyielding. “No sé cuál es tu obsesión con mi mujer,” (I don’t know what your obsession with my girl is) he begins to confront him, “but that shit ends tonight. Basta con estas tonterías de ser contacto de emergencia o de andar con ella, fingiendo ser su amigo. I can see right through you.” (No more of this emergency contact bullshit or hanging around her pretending to be her friend)

Javier’s jaw tightens, and a muscle twitches in his cheek. He’s already had his ass handed to him once tonight, but the temptation to go another round—this time with Mateo—is almost too good to resist.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah? Then maybe you should be the one hittin’ the road,” he retorts, his tone like gravel. “Keepin’ her locked up at your place like she’s some fuckin’ doll that doesn’t have a life of her own to live. Eso no es amor, es control.” (That’s not love, that’s control)

Mateo snorts, a humorless sound that sets Javier’s blood boiling. “Locked up?” he echoes, his lips curling into a sneer. “Le doy todo lo que necesita. Está feliz conmigo—ya no es el desastre que era cuando andabas por aqui. Cree que no me doy cuenta, pero no soy idiota. Desde que desapareciste de la faz de la tierra, está contenta. No necesito que regreses y me lo arruines. Stay the fuck away from her.” (I give her everything she needs. She’s happy with me —no longer the upset mess she was when you were around. She thinks I don’t notice, but I’m not an idiot. Ever since you dropped off the face of the earth, she’s been content. I don’t need you coming back and ruining it for me)

The words hit Javier harder than any punch he took earlier that night. He knows there’s some truth to them. Hell, he’s been kicking himself for months over how he left things with you.

But Mateo’s entitled delivery makes his fists clench, his chest puffing out in barely contained fury. It takes every ounce of willpower not to lunge forward and break his fucking nose.

Before either of them can escalate the situation further, you reappear, a white paper bag in hand. You stop short, glancing between them, your brows furrowing at their postures.

“Instructions are on the bag,” you say, handing it to Javier. “Your cab should be here any minute.”

Javier takes the bag, his eyes darting to you briefly before landing back on Mateo. His fists relax slightly, but his shoulders remain rigid.

You shift uncomfortably, the atmosphere heavy and you wonder what you just walked in on. 

Mateo steps closer to you, sliding his hand into yours and pulling you to his side. You let it happen, not fully grasping that this isn’t just affection—it’s a display of dominance. He’s making a point, staking his claim on you in front of Javier.

Javier notices. Of course he does. It burns him up inside, but he bites down on the simmering anger, knowing now isn’t the time to say anything. He’s just been given a sliver of hope to fix things with you, and he’s not about to jeopardize it by getting into it with your asshole boyfriend.

Moments later, the cab pulls up to the curb. Javier exhales slowly, steeling himself as he moves toward the car. He tries not to wince as he slides into the backseat, his body protesting every movement.

“I’ll see you around,” you tell him softly, still standing at Mateo’s side. His arm has snaked around your waist now, and Javi’s stomach twists at the sight.

He doesn’t respond, just nods, his expression unreadable. The door closes, and as the cab pulls away, Javier’s head falls back against the headrest.

He knows this isn’t going to be easy. Fixing things with you, proving he’s deserving of your friendship—it’s going to take a lot of fucking effort.

A nagging doubt then creeps in: has he set himself up for failure?

The room is stifling, the warm glow of the desk lamp barely cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and exhaustion. Papers are strewn across the table, maps, routing numbers, and satellite photos spread out like the world's most maddening puzzle.

Javier leans back in his chair with his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose while Trujillo flips through pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“I keep seeing the same routing number attached to some of these shipments,” Steve mutters, ashing his cigarette into an overflowing tray. He leans forward, his tone carrying a spark of determination. “Something’s telling me we should check it out.”

It feels like it’s been months of running after ghosts while Escobar and his men continue to outpace them. “Half of these are fake accounts set up to throw us off,” Javi states. “Even if there’s drug money in ‘em, they don’t give a shit. It’s collateral. They’ll make that back in days.”

“It’s still worth checking out,” Steve counters, unbothered by his partner’s irritation. He taps the paper. “Could be our needle in this fucked-up haystack.”

Javier exhales heavily, rolling his neck like he’s trying to shake off the weight of his own weariness. He has no desire to chase another dead end tonight. “You handle it. I’ll stay here with Trujillo, see if we can find another angle.”

Steve shrugs, already slipping on his coat. “Fine by me. Need some fresh air anyway. Smells like ass in here.”

Trujillo snorts, his laughter muffled behind his fist, but Javier doesn’t even crack a smile. His focus is already back on the satellite photos sprawled across the table—grainy images of the barrios where Escobar’s operations are most active.

He traces the outline of one, his coffee mug dangling precariously from his other hand, its contents spiked with enough liquor to numb the ache of his lingering injuries.

The hours stretch thin, blending into each other, the occasional sound of shuffling papers or Trujillo’s half-snore the only break in the silence. Javier barely notices, remaining focused to find anything that could give them the upperhand.

When Steve returns, the sound of the folder slamming onto the table jolts Trujillo awake. He blinks blearily, mumbling something incoherent, while Javier looks up, his expression more bored than curious.

“What’d you find?” he asks, his tone flat, tired.

“Open it,” Steve says, a sly edge in his voice.

Javier grabs the folder with little enthusiasm. But the moment his eyes land on the photo inside, his entire body stiffens. His jaw tightens, and his chest constricts as a surge of panic bolts through him.

It’s Mateo.

Steve keeps talking, his words distant and muddled as Javier stares at the picture. “Just like that account is attached to the shipments, he’s attached to the account. The bank he works at is owned by some powerful and shady people. I’m almost certain he’s on Escobar’s payroll. At this point—who isn’t?”

The rest of Steve’s explanation fades into background noise as Javier processes what this means.

For months you’ve been involved with someone who has ties to one of the most dangerous men in the world.

It can’t be a coincidence. Mateo sought you out. You work at the American embassy—not in a high-ranking position, but enough to get the attention of the wrong people.

That night at the hospital… it wasn’t just jealousy. It wasn’t just him ‘staking his claim’, telling Javi to stay away. Mateo knew. He knew that if Javier got too close, he’d find out.

Now all of the violence, the lies, the endless cycles of chasing men like your boyfriend have spilled over into your life, staining the one good thing he’s tried to keep untouched.

“Javier.” Steve snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting him back to the present.

“What?”

Steve narrows his eyes. “What do you think we should do?”

Javier exhales through his nose, rubbing his lips together as he stares down at the photo again. His mind is already spinning with strategies, balancing the need to act against the risk of tipping Mateo off too soon.

Then he thinks about how you’ll react when he tells you. He knows you’ll need more than just his word. He’ll need proof. Otherwise, you’ll think he’s doing this just to sabotage your relationship.

“Tail the guy,” he finally says, his voice steadier now. “Follow him around, gather intel. We need to be sure we’re not just jumping the gun because it fits the narrative we want it to fit.”

Steve nods, but Javier barely notices. His only priority now is making sure that you remain safe while they think of a plan to bring this man in. 

“Cariño, hold up.” Javier’s voice cuts through the cool night air as he jogs toward you. You’re halfway to the entrance of Mateo’s building, keys in hand, when you stop and turn, startled to see him.

“Javi?” Your brows furrow, confusion flickering across your face as you take in his familiar figure—black button-up shirt, jeans, and those scuffed boots that have somehow become as much a part of him as the shadows he carries. “What are you doing here?”

Things between you two aren’t as strained as they were, but they’re far from how they used to be. Those easy conversations and shared meals feel like a distant memory, replaced by brief, polite interactions at work and the occasional glance that lingers too long.

At least you’re acknowledging that he exists again.

Javier hasn’t pushed, though. He’s been careful, letting things progress naturally, giving you space while silently yearning for the warmth you once offered so freely.

But right now, his usual restraint is gone. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to tell you.” He glances around the semi-populated area then gently takes your elbow, guiding you away from the open street to a nearby alleyway.

Your heart sinks. You don’t know what he’s about to say, but the hardened look in his eyes tells you it’s not good. “What’s wrong?”

He reaches behind him, pulling out a stack of folded papers he had tucked into the back of his jeans. He holds them out to you, his expression unreadable, as if bracing for impact. “Mateo is working for Escobar,” he says bluntly.

For a moment, all you can do is blink at him, your mind scrambling to process. Slowly, you take the papers, your hands trembling slightly as you unfold them. 

The photos hit you first: Mateo in various locations, surrounded by men you don’t recognize. Beneath the images are detailed reports, routing numbers, bank transactions—a web of evidence you don’t want to believe.

“I’m sorry—what?” You let out a laugh, but it’s strained and hollow, a defense against the disbelief clawing at your chest. “Are you serious?”

“The bank he works at launders money for Escobar’s operations,” Javier explains, his voice steady but tense. “Fake accounts, hidden transfers, branches overseas—he’s tied to all of it. We’re building a case now, but—”

“Stop.” You cut him off, shoving the papers back into his hands. Your head shakes instinctively, refusing to entertain the possibility. “No. No way. Mateo would never. He’s always talking about how much he hates those men, how they’ve ruined this country. He wouldn’t work for them, Javi. He hates them. And honestly? I’m kind of hurt you’d even accuse him of this.”

The man Javier is describing—some slimy criminal playing a dangerous game with the cartel—doesn’t resemble the Mateo you know, the Mateo you’ve spent nearly a year forcing yourself to feel something for. And now that some feelings are sticking, here comes Javier with this metaphorical anvil, dropping it right over your head.

Your brain scrambles, frantically searching for some explanation that could make it all untrue.

You’ve seen his disgust at the violence that plagues this country, the way his jaw tightens when the news shows another bombing or assassination. You’ve heard his impassioned speeches about wanting to see real change, about how the corruption needs to end for there to be any hope.

Your chest tightens as the thoughts contort inside you: What if you’re wrong? What if Mateo’s perfect facade is just that—a facade? It feels impossible, a cruel betrayal by the universe itself.

Because if it’s true, then you’ve let yourself fall for a lie. And you’re not sure how you’ll cope with the weight of that.

Javier’s face hardens, his frustration nipping at him. He says your name firmly. “This isn’t about some petty rivalry. I’m not making this up. It’s real. He’s dangerous.”

But you shake your head again, denial eclipsing reason. “You’re wrong. This is just…” You exhale sharply, the words tangled on your tongue. “It’s absurd. You don’t like him, so now you’re trying to drag him into this?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face at your lack of acceptance, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by sheer exasperation. “This has nothing to do with how I feel about him,” his voice rises slightly before he reins it in.

He steps closer, his hands gently gripping your forearms to stop you from walking away. “I’m not lying to you. You have to trust me. Mateo isn’t who you think he is.”

“Much like you, right?” The words escape before you can stop them, cutting deep and twisting in the space between you.

His jaw twitches. “Cariño, por favor—”

“Let go, Javi.” Your voice wavers, but your resolve doesn’t.

He wants to shout, to demand you reconsider, to tell you how these things usually end. But he doesn’t. The thought that you’re safer because of your government ties is the only thing keeping him in check.

He stares at you for a long moment, his grip loosening before he finally lets go. “Fine,” he says, “don’t believe me. But you’ll see soon enough. Just…” He swallows hard, “be smart. Be safe. If something happens to you…”

He trails off, looking down, his thoughts drifting elsewhere. You don’t know about the ghosts that haunt him, but you can see the weight of them now, heavy in the lines of his face. “Por favor, cuídate.” (Please take care of yourself)

You straighten your shoulders, masking the turmoil inside with a veneer of indifference. “I’ll be fine. Goodbye, Javi.”

Turning away, you walk back toward the building without a backward glance. Your steps are steady, but your chest feels hollow, your mind buzzing with too many thoughts to make sense of any of them.

Behind you, Javier stands in the shadows of the alley, watching until you disappear through the doors of the building.

His hands curl into fists at his sides, frustration and dread curling in his gut.

What happened earlier with Javier clouds your line of thinking as you lie naked beneath the silk sheets of Mateo’s bed, his lips lazily dragging across your shoulder before finding their way to your mouth, kissing you passionately.

“Join me in the shower?” He mutters, his large hand massaging your thigh before it trails up to cup your breast. 

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, hoping it disguises the unease you’re beginning to feel. “Yeah, just give me a second and I’ll be there.”

He doesn’t think anything of it, kissing you again before slipping out of bed. You listen as the bathroom door shuts and wait for the faint hiss of water hitting the tile.

Wrapping the sheet around yourself, you rise quietly, your pulse pounding in your ears. The small voice in your head that’s screaming at you to stop is drowned out by the rush of adrenaline as you start rifling through his belongings.

Nothing stands out—just the neatly arranged trappings of his life, curated to look perfect. But perfection doesn’t leave room for secrets.

If he’s hiding something, it wouldn’t be here. Your gaze shifts to the hallway where the closed door of his office is.

Tiptoeing down the corridor, you push the door open and slip inside, the sheet still wrapped tightly around you. 

The air in here feels heavier, like the room itself is holding its breath. You move quickly, sifting through drawers and shelves, your heart a riot in your chest as you search for something—anything—to prove or disprove Javier’s accusations.

Then you find it: a loose bottom in one of the desk drawers. Your fingers fumble as you pry it open, and there it is—a leather-bound ledger, hidden away like a dirty secret.

You bite your lip, hesitating for just a moment before flipping through it. Familiar initials, dates, and sums that match too closely with what Javier showed you earlier. Names you’ve heard on the news, men associated with violence and destruction.

Your stomach turns as the realization washes over you—Javier was right.

You’re so caught up in the revelation, that you don’t hear when Mateo curiously cuts his shower short after you failed to join him, padding down the hallway until he’s at the door of his office, catching you red handed with the ledger in your possession.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice slices through the air like a whip, and you flinch, clutching the damning item to your chest. Turning slowly, you meet his glare, the heat of his anger so palpable it makes your skin prickle.

“What is this, Mateo?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, heat flooding your face, panic building at the base of your spine.

He steps into the room, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, his eyes dark and dangerous. “Why the fuck are you going through my things?”

“You need to explain yourself right now,” you demand, though your hands tremble. “Or else—”

“Or else what, lindura?” His voice drips indignation as he closes the space between you in an instant. “You gonna call your friend at the DEA? Snitch on me?”

Before you can answer, he crosses the room in two long strides. The ledger is ripped from your grasp, and his hands are on you, shoving you roughly against the wall. Your cheek presses against the cool surface, and he yanks your arms behind your back, his grip on your wrists unrelenting.

The cool silk of the sheet clings to your skin, but it does nothing to shield you from the shame burning through your body. His breath, hot and sharp with fury, ghosts over your ear as he leans in close. “You had no right to go through my things.”

“You lied to me,” you spit back, struggling against his grip. “You’re working with those monsters—you’re just like them!”

He laughs bitterly, the sound lacking humor. “You don’t know shit about how this works.” He presses harder, keeping you pinned. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand enough to know what you are,” you hiss, your voice breaking. “That ledger proves everything. The accounts, the shipments—everything Javi said was true.”

At the mention of Javier, his grip tightens painfully, and you let out a soft gasp. “Javier.” The way he spits the name sends a shiver down your spine. “Of course, this is about him.”

“You’re deflecting,” you accuse, though your body betrays you, trembling against the wall. “If you’re innocent, explain it to me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Mateo lets out another harsh, humorless laugh. “Wrong? Wrong?” He releases one of your wrists, only to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back until your neck strains and you wince. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? You’ve put both of us in danger.”

“I’m not the one working with murderers!” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You lied to me, Mateo. You’ve been lying this whole time.”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he might actually hurt you. Instead, he yanks you back from the wall and spins you around to face him, his hold on you still bruising.

“This world isn’t all black and white like you think it is. People like me—we do what we have to, to survive.”

“Survive?” you repeat, disbelief lacing your words. “You chose this. You chose to work for men who ruin lives, who destroy families. You’re just as bad as they are. You’re profiting off the misery and destruction of others. That’s not survival—that’s greed.”

Mateo’s face twists with fury, his hand flying up like he’s about to strike, and you brace yourself for the hit, but he stops himself, his chest heaving.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths.

He steps back, releasing you abruptly, and you stumble, clutching the sheet tightly against you.

“You know too much. I can’t risk you running off telling them everything, especially if they’ve already been tipped off. Fuck!” He swipes at his desk, sending a glass trinket flying and shattering against the hardwood floor. 

You try not to let fear swallow you whole, but it’s hard not to—especially when you know how brutal these things can end.

You remain silent, watching Mateo pace the room with a towel wrapped around his hips, not daring to say anything because you don’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger again.

He doesn’t let you leave his apartment for three long days, the hours stretching endlessly under his watchful gaze.

Being held in his penthouse—perched high above the city like a gilded cage—only amplifies the suffocating isolation.

The thought of trying to escape crosses your mind repeatedly, but you know better. Running would make things worse. Right now, staying put and waiting for Javier to come through is your best, and only, option.

You can’t stop replaying the moment he tried to warn you, the worry etched into his face, the edge of desperation in his voice.

You’d brushed it all off, blinded by your need to believe Mateo was different. That he could be something good. 

You should have listened to him. 

Now you see the truth. He wasn’t special; he was just another man playing a role. You hate yourself for letting your heart cloud your judgment so easily.

Calling in sick to work is a delicate operation. Mateo looms nearby, arms crossed, glaring at you as you speak to your supervisor. You carefully mask the tremor in your voice, saying all the right things to ensure no suspicions are raised.

He keeps his own phone calls confined to the balcony, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that’s too muffled and too quick for you to decipher. You strain to catch even a few words, pressing your ear to the glass, but it’s futile. The conversations are long, tense, and only heighten your paranoia.

You’re not sure what his plan is, but since the initial explosion of anger and aggression when he caught you with the ledger, he’s been disturbingly composed.

His calmness is almost off putting. 

He finally approaches you one evening, the sun dipping low behind him, his voice is unnervingly steady. “You can go.”

You blink, sure you’ve misheard him. “What?”

“You’re not a threat. Too low-level for anyone to care about. By the time you’re home, I’ll be gone.”

His nonchalance unsettles you, and you hesitate as he disappears down the hall. When he returns, he’s carrying your shoes and bag, as though this were a casual parting.

“So that’s it? You’re just letting me leave after keeping me here like a hostage?”

“I had to make sure everything was in place first,” he explains. “I couldn’t have you running your mouth before things were handled.”

His packed suitcase in his closet flashes in your mind, along with his endless phone calls. Maybe he really is more worried about disappearing than dealing with you.

But the cartel doesn’t let loose ends walk away. Your heart pounds as you weigh whether this sudden freedom is genuine—or a trap.

You slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder, the need to escape drowning your caution. Still, you pause, unable to shake the uneasy feeling settling in your bones.

“What?” Mateo’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “You don’t believe me? Want me to drop you off myself?” He steps toward you, and you instinctively retreat.

“Why were you even with me?” you ask, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Was it my job?”

He tilts his head, his gaze cold and calculating. “No,” he replies, his tone devoid of emotion. “I was attracted to you. Then you mentioned your job, and I figured, why not? But you turned out to be useless for that. Didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the perks—companionship, a warm bed…”

The insinuation in his voice makes your stomach churn. “So you used me.”

“As much as you used me,” he counters, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Your chest tightens and your gaze flits down to the floor. His detached demeanor cuts deeper than any heated argument could. When he says your name, it pulls your attention back to him like a leash.

“Leave.”

The word releases you, your body moving before your mind catches up. Stumbling toward the door, your trembling hands barely manage to turn the lock. The moment it opens, you bolt, refusing to look back.

Your necessities are in your bag, everything left behind purely materialistic.

You know you can’t go back to your apartment. They know who you are now, and no matter how insignificant Mateo says you are, you can’t risk staying. 

Your fingers dig into the strap of your bag as you mentally map out an escape plan. You’ll go straight to Javier. He’ll know what to do. He’ll keep you safe.

Upstairs, Mateo leans against the window, the burner phone pressed to his ear. “Ya se fue,” (She’s gone) he says, his tone devoid of emotion. “Hagan lo que quieran con ella, pero no le disparen.” (Do whatever you want with her—just don’t shoot her)

Javier has been restless all night, unable to shake the weight of worry that had clung to him since returning from his assignment in Medellín.

The information about your sudden “illness” hadn’t sat right with him. Too convenient, too vague. He hadn’t pressed his team tailing Mateo for more than the facts—they’d seen nothing suspicious—but the absence of evidence did little to calm him.

So when the muffled sounds outside his door reach him, he’s on his feet in seconds.

He swings open the door to find you struggling to unlock yours, your entire body trembling as you fumble with your keys. Relief washes over him so suddenly, it nearly buckles his knees. “You’re okay.”

The second his voice cuts through the silence, something inside you begins to break. It’s soft, concerned, carrying a weight of relief that only makes you feel heavier.

The ache that has swallowed your body whole now reaches your chest, blooming into something sharper. You feel like crumbling right there in the hallway, letting the floor catch you because you don’t think you can hold yourself up for much longer.

This pain is a hum that pulses through your entire being, dull in some places, jagged and relentless in others. It numbs you in strange ways, yet it’s all you can feel, consuming every fragile thread of strength you have left.

You don’t even know how you made it back, how your trembling legs carried you through shadowed alleys and along dimly lit streets. Survival instinct? Perseverance?

It all happened so fast.

You stepped off the bus from Mateo’s place, unaware of the storm waiting to meet you. A few minutes of walking was all it took. They came out of nowhere, grabbing you roughly and dragging you into the shadows. Two of them—large, brutal—landed punches and kicks like you were nothing more than a punching bag.

The pain blurred into one endless wave, but their words cut even deeper. They spoke mockingly, almost laughing, about assaulting you in ways that made you wish they would just pull a gun out and end it all right there.

When you finally fell limp under their blows, you heard one of them mutter something. A boot nudged your side—testing, checking—but they didn’t bother to confirm. No pulse, no breath. Just assumptions. They left you there like discarded trash, their shadows disappearing into the night.

It took minutes, maybe hours, before you could even think about moving. You waited, your breath catching on sharp pains that confirmed what you feared—broken ribs.

The air burned in your lungs, and your head spun so violently, it was hard to tell if you were standing or lying down.

Eventually, with no other choice, you dragged yourself upright, ignoring the protests of your battered body.

The world tilted as you took your first step, and then another. Every ounce of strength you had went into putting one foot in front of the other.

When you finally reached your apartment door, you were shaking so hard it was nearly impossible to hold your keys.

Trembling hands fumbled with the lock, missing again and again. Your vision swam, blurring the keyhole into an indistinct smudge.

And then there’s Javier.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. He says your name, but you don’t respond, your focus locked on the useless, agitating hands that can’t seem to do anything right. How could you possibly move on from this?

You’re just standing here, struggling to breathe, struggling to exist, as the weight of everything presses harder and harder on your broken soul.

His relief is short-lived. Something’s wrong.

The second his voice reaches you, your whole body seems to collapse inward. You clutch the door frame for balance, your breathing ragged.

Javier’s stomach twists as he takes in your state—your disheveled hair, the cuts on your hands, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has been dropped on them.

He steps closer. “Hey,” he says softly yet firmly. “Look at me. Mirame.”

You don’t. Your head shakes faintly, and the motion makes you wince.

It’s not purposeful ignoring; you’re hurt. He notices it now, the stiffness in the way you hold yourself, the shallow rise and fall of your chest like every breath is a struggle. His jaw clenches. What the hell happened to you?

His plea is more urgent now. “Cariño, please. You’re worrying me.”

Your lip quivers, and slowly, you start to unravel—one tear falls, then another, then another until they’re streaming freely down your cheeks.

He can’t hold himself back anymore. In two strides, he’s in front of you, slipping between you and the door, his large frame a protective shield.

Still, you refuse to meet his gaze, your silence loud and barbed.

Javier’s jaw tightens, his hand twitching at his side. It is taking every ounce of restraint not to reach out and cup your face, tilt it upward, make you look at him.

The tension is unbearable, the space between your bowed head and his searching eyes buzzing with unsaid words.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Look at me.”

Finally, you do. And it breaks him.

Your face is battered—one eye nearly swollen shut, a deep gash across your cheek, your lip split, nose still bleeding.

The vulnerability in your gaze hits him like a freight train, and he fights to keep his rage at bay. His nostrils flare, his entire body tensing as red creeps into the edges of his vision.

Every mark on your face feels like a personal attack.

This isn’t the time to lose control—not when you need him steady. Not when you’re crumbling right in front of him. You’re here. You’re alive. And right now, that’s all that matters.

His grip is careful, as though you might shatter beneath his touch, as he gently cradles your face into his hands. “Did he do this to you?” He has to know, though the answer seems to be glaringly obvious.

The sob tears from your throat like a wounded animal’s cry, raw and unrestrained, echoing down the hallway. It shakes you to your core, unraveling the fragile composure you’ve been clinging to.

Before you can hit the ground, Javier is there—solid and unyielding—catching you in his arms and pulling you carefully against his chest then guiding you into his apartment.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his anger and helplessness.

The pain hits you all at once and you cling to Javier like he’s a lifeline, allowing him to move you until you’re sitting on his couch and he’s crouching in front of you.

Through choked cries, you manage, “Two men... they pulled me into an alley and did this.” The words spill out in fragments, each one more pained than the last. Your whole body quivers, and your heart races so wildly that you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” He is woefully underprepared to deal with you in this state, you need proper care and he needs to deal with the fury that’s engulfing him by finding this piece of shit to beat his teeth in for what he’s done to you.

Your eyes widen. “No,” you croak, your voice hoarse from crying. “They’ll know they didn’t kill me. I can’t, Javi. I can’t.”

This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do–remaining calm and fucking collected right now, suppressing the rage that’s clawing at his chest and threatening to spill out in a way that would terrify you more than you already are.

His mind spirals, circling back to that same godforsaken question: Why does it always come to this? First Helena, now you. This job—this life—it’s a parasite, sucking the light out of anything worth a damn.

Why can’t his penance be his own? Why must it reach everything he loves?

Fuck, maybe Connie knows enough to help you in the time being. If not, he’d find a way to make sure you got the care you needed while flying under the radar.

He’d tear down the goddamn world for you if he had to. Move heaven and hell, break every rule in the book—none of it matters if it means keeping you safe.

He looks at you again, seeing the fear trembling on your lips, and something solidifies within him. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

I won’t let them take anything more from you, he swears silently, his gaze softening despite the storm raging inside him. “I’ll take care of it,” he says aloud, his voice steadier now, resolute.

He starts to rise, intent on getting help, but your hand darts out, catching his wrist with trembling fingers, even though the motion sends a fresh wave of agony through your ribs. “Please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Don’t leave me.” The sheer terror in your eyes is enough to tear him up from the inside out. 

“Never again.” He promises, reaching over for the phone on the end table with one hand while the other stays on yours, dialing the familiar number.

Javier leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed and his jaw tight, listening as Connie explains your injuries.

The words feel like punches themselves—broken ribs, bruises all over your body, stitches across your cheekbone, but nothing that needed immediate intervention.

When he finally forces himself to ask, his voice is gruff, barely above a whisper. “Did they…”

Connie’s face softens, the professionalism in her demeanor giving way to quiet sympathy. “No,” she says firmly, meeting his eyes. “I asked her. I didn’t see any bruising or signs of trauma around her pelvis. She says it didn’t happen, but we won’t know for sure until she gets a kit ran.”

The tightness in his chest doesn’t ease, even with her answer. The mere thought of those men doing that to you has his fists clenching so hard his knuckles ache. His fury simmers low but steady, like a kettle on the verge of boiling over.

He nods curtly, his voice rough with gratitude. “Thanks for coming, Connie. I owe you one.”

She waves him off, already heading toward the door with her medical bag slung over her shoulder. “It’s the least I can do. You make sure my husband gets home safe all the time. Just… make sure she rests, takes the pain meds. No heavy lifting, no unnecessary stress.” She glances back at him, her eyes full of meaning. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

When he closes the door behind her, he exhales slowly, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on his chest. The apartment feels too quiet now, and his eyes drift toward the closed bathroom door where you’re still inside.

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck before knocking gently. “You good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, almost tentative.

There’s a long pause before he hears your voice, quiet and weary. “Yeah… you can come in.”

Pushing the door open, Javier steps inside, his boots scraping softly against the tile. The sight of you in the tub stops him cold.

You’re hugging your knees to your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around them despite the obvious strain it puts on your ribs. The water is cloudy, tinged slightly pink from where Connie had cleaned your wounds. Steam curls faintly in the air, the room heavy with the scent of lavender soap.

His chest tightens again, a mix of anger and something else entirely. You look so small, so vulnerable, your face drawn with exhaustion and pain. Your head tilts slightly, your damp hair sticking to your cheeks as you glance up at him, your expression guarded.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

Javier’s throat works as he swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face to mask the guilt flashing across his features. “I don’t think you’re broken,” he says finally, his voice rough but steady. “I think you’re strong as hell.”

You huff a soft, humorless laugh, resting your chin on your knees. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

He takes a careful step closer, his hand brushing against the edge of the sink as he leans back against it, his eyes never leaving you. “You survived,” he says quietly, his voice thick with conviction. “That’s strength.”

For a moment, you don’t respond, your gaze fixed on the water as if it holds answers you can’t quite find. Finally, you sigh, your arms loosening slightly from around your knees. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Javier says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The silence stretches between you like a fragile thread until your voice breaks it, soft and raw. “I’m sorry for not believing you.”

Javier’s head snaps up, his expression hardening—not with anger, but with the kind of fierce protectiveness that has become second nature to him. “Don’t,” he says sharply, the words thick with conviction. He shakes his head, his voice softening but no less intense. “Don’t you dare apologize, cariño. None of this—none of it—is on you. This is on men like them, who run through life hurting innocent people for their selfish, fucked-up reasons.”

Your face crumples, and you press your trembling lips together, trying to stave off the tears threatening to spill over again. “I was stupid,” you choke out, the words a blade against your own heart. “I thought—God, I thought he was just going to let me go. He made it seem like… like I was nothing but a minor inconvenience. And then…” Your voice falters, the memories clawing at you, and you shut your eyes tight, forcing a deep breath the way Connie had just taught you.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Seeing you like this does something to Javier that he’s never quite felt before.

He’s seen grief, fear, and pain—hell, he’s caused more than his fair share—but this? This helplessness, this guilt? It’s a hollowing thing, gnawing at his insides with ruthless efficiency.

He thought what happened Helena had broken him, but this is different. This is you. You. And he’s here, but it feels like it isn’t enough.

“What’s going to happen now?” you ask,  barely above a whisper, as though afraid of the answer.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops to the tips of his boots, jaw tightening. 

The logical answer is simple: those bastards who hurt you should be found, arrested, and thrown behind bars to rot. But he’s not naïve. Justice doesn’t always come cleanly. More often than not, it doesn’t come at all. And the thought of leaving it up to the system? Doing nothing would be more beneficial somehow.

Ever since Connie showed up to treat your wounds, an idea has been gnawing at the back of his mind.

He could visit Berna… one of his more resourceful informants, and get everything he needs to track those motherfuckers down. Handle things his way.

But he can’t tell you that, especially if he decides to follow through with it.

“You’re going to stay with me until I can guarantee that you’re safe,” he says finally. “Or, I can arrange for you to go to a safe house—”

“No.” The word comes sharp and immediate, your eyes snapping open to meet his. Despite the pain radiating through your battered body, you sit up slightly, holding his gaze with surprising resolve. “I’d rather stay here. With you.”

He exhales a long breath, nodding slowly as he scratches at his jaw, considering his next words carefully. “Do you remember that night you got drunk with Maria from HR and almost threw up in my car?”

The memory hits you, sharp and vivid. It was after you and Javier had mended things following the night he stood you up for Helena. You cringe a little at the thought of how self-deprecating you’d been then, how you’d spilled your guts—both figuratively and literally—once you got home.

This unexpected shift catches you off guard. For a moment, the ghost of a smile tries to tug at your lips, though it’s swallowed quickly by the weight of the night. “Yeah,” you murmur. “One of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had.”

Javier chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Tequila’ll do that…” His voice trails off as he thinks about the confession you’d made that night—about your discomfort in your own skin, your doubts about whether you even belonged here. He remembers how, in return, he’d told you then how much you meant to him, how much this job weighed on his conscience.

“I should’ve told you then. That I loved you.”

The confession rams right into your heart. Tears spill freely, and you bury your face in your arms, your entire body shaking.

As tender and sincere as it is, his profession doesn’t soothe you.

You want to feel comforted, to let his words wrap around you like a shield against the horror of the night, but instead, they do the opposite.

The timing feels wrong, the weight of his love pressing down on wounds too fresh to bear it. It feels like trying to breathe through shattered ribs—too much, too soon, and it hurts more than it heals.

Fuck. shouldn’t have said that—not now, not when you’re at your most vulnerable. He stands frozen for a moment, unsure if he should move closer or stay where he is. His hands grip the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Finally, you lift your head, your face swollen and red. “Don’t say that just because of what h-happened,” you stammer, your voice cracking. “I don’t need you to feel obligated to feel some type of way because of it.”

“This has nothing to do with what happened tonight,” Javier says firmly, your name falling from his lips. He pushes off the sink, crossing the room to crouch beside the tub.

Neither of you seem to care about your state of undress—it’s not about that. His gaze locks on yours, steady and sure.

“It’s how I’ve been feeling for so long now,” he continues, his voice low but full of conviction. “And I’ve fucked it up so many times along the way when I should have just been honest. But I was so scared—scared of hurting you, of not being able to give you all of me. Of not being the man you deserve.”

You blink at him, your mind swimming in the gravity of his words.

They hit you like waves, powerful and unrelenting, pulling you under even as you struggle to stay afloat in this overwhelming moment.

Javier loves you. Despite the scars he carries, despite his mistakes, he’s offering you a truth that feels too big to hold right now. It’s not just one-sided; it never has been, and that realization aches in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Javi…” you whisper his name, a sigh that escapes like a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

One of your arms unwinds from around your body, trembling as you reach out and rest your hand on his where it clings to the edge of the tub. The warmth of his skin against yours feels grounding, even as everything inside you is unraveling.

His gaze locks onto yours, those soulful brown eyes glinting with hope and desperation under the soft bathroom light. He leans closer, as if every ounce of him is hanging on what you might say next.

“Do you mean that?”

“With all my fuckin’ heart.”

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest, conflicting emotions tearing you apart. “I can’t even begin to fathom that right now,” you admit, your voice breaking.

“And I’m not expecting you to,” he says quickly, his grip tightening on the porcelain edge of the tub. “I just needed you to know. I guess what happened tonight finally put my ass in place. Made me realize how much of a dumbass I’ve been. Te amo, cariño. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

You want to tell him everything—how you’ve carried feelings for him from the very first day you met, how his mere presence lit up spaces you didn’t know were dark. How you’ve loved him in ways that scared you, in ways you tried to push down. But the words stay trapped, locked behind the barricade of pain you’re still trying to process.

“I wish we could have had this conversation before all of this.” Your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in a tentative, instinctual show of affection, and his whole body seems to soften under the touch.

“Me too,” he admits, “But we can’t change the past, as much as we want to. Whatever happens after this… we’ll get through it. Together.” His voice lowers, a quiet promise lingering in the air. “I meant it when I said I’m not leaving you.”

For the first time tonight, you feel a fragile flicker of safety, of something unbroken, even if you’re not ready to hold it just yet.

You nod, biting your lip as tears spill over yet again, and Javier’s hand shifts slightly beneath yours, his fingers brushing against yours in silent reassurance.

For now, that’s enough.

tag list for my works can be found here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @magneticecstasy . @thundermartini . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @almostfoxglove . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @pigeonmama . @lunatiquess . @piercethevic03 . @theestorm . @myownwholewildworld . @pepsicolacoochie . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @letsmeetintheafterglow . @pasc4lfuzz . @larascorneroftheworld . @marisemonteiroo . @samanthajonees . @yellowbrickyeti . @bambisweethearts . @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack . @picketniffler .

[directdogman]

Hi, I hope this isn't a bother. I'm trying to make a dating sim and want to have a section where the player inputs their pronouns (like you gave the option to in Dial Town). Despite my hours of effort though, I can't figure out how to do it. I'm using Visual Novel Machinery for Unreal Engine (because Unreal is required for the class I'm making this for). Even if you aren't familiar with it though, just the basic 'pull code from here and input there' would be so helpful. I'm sure I can piece it together in a way Unreal will understand with a bit of help. Legit though, I made unreal crash twice when I tried to run the initial code for it, so I'm at a loss. Side note: Your games are so awesome and a big part of why I want to make a dating sim to begin with. I wish you all the peace and love on planet earth!

Hello hello:

The trick is using a string for every instance of a pronoun in player dialogue (which is just a variable set of letters.) They, them, their, theirs, etc. Be careful when you set the system up as some pronouns don't conjugate for all cases. For instance, their and theirs are separate words, as are her/hers, but his uses the same word for both pronouns.

You also have to account for case too. This is how I set it up (this is all done right when the pronoun is first entered btw):

1)let the user input a pronoun for each option. each pronoun is a different string, one for each pronoun type (you'll see my list below)

2)i then use a script command right after that to turn all of the pronoun strings entered to lower case. This is account for players possibly capitalizing the first letter in the pronoun instinctively. IE: characters won't say: "Hey, where's He going?" instead of "he going?", which is correct.

How you convert to lowercase is different for each programming language, but I bet there's an equivalent command in UE.

3)Then I copy each pronoun twice, essentially creating two duplicates for each lower case pronoun (so there's now 3 identical pronouns for her, three for hers, etc.)

4)For the second set, I run a command that capitalizes the first and only first letter of each separately (this is useful for if a sentence starts with a pronoun, meaning the first letter would be upper case in that sentence. EG: His cowboy hat looks RIDICULOUS.)

5)for the third set, i then turn the whole string upper case. this is useful for if a character speaks in all caps or if the character is shouting/emphasizing. (EG: "Where's HE going?!")

At the end, this is what my list of strings looks like, hopefully helping you visualize what I've done:

Then, when a pronoun is referenced in dialogue, I use the string that matches the correct version of the pronoun I need. So for he, i use #6 normally, #12 if it's the start of a sentence and #18 if the character is shouting. it's good to keep a list like this handy so you don't have to go looking every time you write dialogue.

The big other thing to watch out for is how plural pronouns affect verbs. He and she IS, but they ARE. I have the player tell the game whether or not their pronoun of choice is plural after they're entered it in and then simply load two separate versions of each sentence with one set for ises and one for ares.

You can also make some more blank name variables to use for verbs and have the game check if the pronoun's plural and then reference a string like with the pronouns (ie, having a string for is that changes to are if plural and using that in dialogue.) Both solutions generally work and I use both for different situations in dialogue.

Beyond that, I can't really give any engine specific advice, but this is how I do it. Best of luck with your game! :)

[devildomwriter]

The Spirit of Giving | Mephistopheles x Reader

1K+ words | GN! Reader | CW: None

“Thank you so much for coming with me, Mephistopheles!”

“Why, of course.”

Christmas songs echoed over the speakers of the supermarket as you pushed an empty basket toward the toy aisle.

Mephistopheles accompanied you, making the excuse it was to investigate the human world during the holiday season but you could see a faint blush every time you smiled at him.

In the spirit of the holidays, you decided to help with the toy drive for the local impoverished kids. Mephistopheles, being as rich as he was, did not understand the concept that five-dollar toys could not be bought. This made his journey to buy toys with you that much more interesting.

He observed dolls of stylish monsters, miniature versions of food, plastic garbage trucks, and mystery stuffed animals with horns and large eyes. He was entertained, to say the least. Humans had such a wide variety of interests. He looked at the tiny tricycles and chuckled imagining a small child playing with it so he quickly picked it up and put it into the cart.

“Uh, how much is that?”

“It’s only forty.”

“I have a two hundred dollar budget, maybe let’s try quantity instead of quality. That way more kids can get things.”

“Two hundred?” Mephistopheles was baffled. To him this wasn’t even a budget it was less than pennies. “That’s far too little, make it a million, that’s more reasonable.”

“Are you out of your mind!? I don’t have anywhere near that much!”

“But I do, I’ll take over from here, push the basket and I’ll put things in it. Does this place have shopping assistants?”

“This is a Walmart…”

“That doesn’t answer my question?”

“It definitely doesn’t have any.”

“Hmph. I’ll call by butler from the limo, he can help us. I’ll summon a few more while I’m at it.”

Although you felt small pangs of jealousy that this money was nothing to him you were more overwhelmed with the joy of how excited the kids in shelters were going to be.

You quickly took his hand as soon as he hung up the phone and grinned.

“Let’s get shopping!”

He was flustered for a moment but quickly composed himself and matched your smile. “Right! Tell me what they like?”

“Okay! Let’s start with the little ones!”

Mephistopheles was confused by the idea of a giraffe specifically meant for children to chew. Weren’t they born with fangs? How else can they defend themselves?

And why are all their toys so soft? Will wood and plastic break them? He couldn’t believe any of them made it to adulthood.

“Okay, these ones are for kids around eight to ten,” you explained walking down the aisle. “This side is girl-coded and this one boy-coded.”

He took a moment to look around. “There certainly are a lot of dinosaurs and fake bugs. What is this… a robotic cockroach…” he grimaced.

You laughed at his expression and nodded, “I don’t know what to tell you. I can say for certain though I was a dinosaur kid, hand me one of the moving t-Rexes.”

“This one?” He asked as he handed you a triceratops.

“Nope, but we can get that too.”

He smiled and nodded approvingly as the third basket was filled and passed off to one of the butlers he summoned.

“And these dolls that look like monsters…these are for little girls?”

“Yes. Monster High, it’s a childhood staple.”

“I see. What’s next on the list…arts and crafts?”

“My favorite!” You exclaimed loudly which caught him by surprise but he followed your brisk pace down to the next aisle.

At one point you noticed several employees watching you warily, as well as security standing near the butlers waiting with their full baskets. You decided to ignore it in favor of shopping as eventually they’d see you weren’t trying to steal anything.

“Aren’t guns…an issue? Why are there so many mock guns for kids to play with?”

“It’s a nerf gun, don’t question it.”

“And this…thing…”

“I honestly don’t even know, kids are weird.”

“That they are…”

When it was time to check out the sun had set and the employees were very relieved they did not have an organized theft on their hands, as this was normal for Walmart.

As you sat in the limo you made sure to choose the middle seat right next to Mephistopheles.

“Oh?” He questioned, legitimately taken aback but he decided not to question it as you held his arm with both hands and rested your head against his shoulder.

He stiffened up and turned a deep shade of pink. “A-are you tired?” He stammered out.

“No. Just very happy.” You said as you smiled up at him and he turned a shade of red.

“Is that so? Well…I’m glad I could make you happy.” He hesitated to ask but was too curious not to. “And what have I done to please you so much?”

You were astonished he hadn’t put it together. “You bought toys for the little kids in need.”

“That made you happy? Even though they aren’t for you?”

You tilted your head curiously. “Then why did you help? Didn’t it make you happy, knowing a little boy can ride a bike now that his parents can’t afford it, if he even has any parents? Doesn’t it make you smile thinking about a little girl brushing her Barbie’s hair and showing her off at school? What about the kids who can race each other with remote-controlled cars or ride around in expensive fake cars? You don’t feel happy that thanks to you all of that is possible? That all these children are happy?”

Mephistopheles was silent but thought deeply for a moment. This wasn’t in line with how he was raised both as an aristocratic noble and as a demon. Happiness just from giving? And giving to someone with no recognition and no ties to you at all? He thought some more and realized that yes, he was happy. He felt he had a responsibility now to these kids to give them a good holiday even if he was against said holiday.

He smiled at you in confirmation and you snuggled deeper into his side. Pleased with how the short trip to the human world had gone, he let his guard down and rested his head atop yours. For the first time, the moral of Christmas had gotten through to him, and it was thanks to the adorable human attached to his side.

[lizzieolseniskinda]

SPENCER REID - christmas traditions☃︎

x FEM!reader (POC!friendly)

SUMMARY: spence doesn't have any christmas traditions, so reader helps him

WORD COUNT: 1033

GENRE: fluff

Lizzies Christmas Masterlist. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

the bau office hummed with its usual busy energy, but the holiday spirit managed to creep in between cases and paperwork. it was just a few days before christmas, and the team was doing their best to enjoy a lighter day. decorations hung here and there, and small talk about holiday plans floated through the bullpen.

you were sitting on the edge of jj’s desk, sipping your coffee as she sorted through a few case files. the conversation had naturally drifted to christmas traditions.

“do you have any christmas traditions, jj?” You asked her. “like, what do you and will do with the boys?”

jj’s face lit up instantly. “oh, definitely. every christmas eve, we bake cookies with henry and michael. we always leave one out for 'santa', of course, with a glass of milk.” she smiled, lost in a sweet memory. “then, after the kids go to bed, will and i stay up and watch old christmas movies while wrapping presents. it’s something we’ve done since our first christmas together.”

you smiled fondly at that. “that sounds so nice.”

“so, what about you?” jj asked, looking up with a warm smile. “any family traditions for the holidays?”

you perked up at the question, smiling as you thought about your favorite part of the season. “yeah, we have a pretty fun one. every year, starting on christmas eve until new year’s, my family and i watch a christmas movie every night. it’s a mix of classics and some silly ones. we rotate who gets to pick the movie, and it’s always a big debate over which ones make the list.”

“it's chaotic, but i love it. it’s just… cozy, you know? it doesn’t feel like the holidays without it.”

jj chuckled, her eyes sparkling. “that sounds like a lot of fun. i bet you’ve watched Elf a thousand times, huh?”

“oh, you have no idea. and my dad is obsessed with a christmas story. we have to watch that at least twice,” you laughed.

just then, spencer walked by, carrying a stack of files and books—no surprise there. his usual composed self, he glanced curiously at the conversation.

“spence, what about you?” you asked, turning your attention to him. “do you have any christmas traditions?”

spencer paused, shifting his weight slightly as he thought about it. “uh, no, not really,” he replied, his voice casual but quiet. “we didn’t celebrate christmas much when i was growing up, so... i never had any traditions.”

you felt your heart give a small squeeze at his words. spencer’s childhood had always been different from most people’s, and you knew that his relationship with his mom added layers of complexity to things like holidays. but still, the idea of him never experiencing a christmas tradition of his own hit you harder than you expected.

there was a beat of silence as his words settled between the three of you. you, however, couldn’t help but feel a small tug in your chest, the idea of spencer not having any traditions—especially for christmas—saddening you more than you expected.

before you could say anything, though, the moment passed. he gave you both a quick, tight-lipped smile and continued on his way. jj gave you a knowing look, sensing your reaction. she offered him a sympathetic smile but quickly shifted the conversation back to your current case, sparing spencer from any further awkwardness.

the rest of the workday dragged on in a blur of paperwork and phone calls, but your thoughts kept drifting back to spencer and his lack of holiday traditions. you tried to shake the feeling, but something about it just didn’t sit right with you. everyone deserved to have something special during the holidays—a moment of joy or comfort. but spencer had never really had that.

christmas was a big thing in your family, now you were going to make it a big part of spencer’s life too.

by the end of the workday, spencer could tell something was bothering you. you were quieter than usual, distracted even. he noticed these things, especially when it came to you.

as you gathered your things, ready to leave for the day, he approached you. “hey, is everything okay?” he asked softly. “you’ve seemed… distracted all afternoon.”

you hesitated, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, but it was spencer. if anyone could understand your overthinking, it was him.

“it’s just... i guess i’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” you admitted, glancing up at him. “about not having any christmas traditions. it just seems... sad, you know?”

spencer blinked, slightly taken aback. “sad?”

you nodded, feeling a little self-conscious now that you were saying it out loud. “yeah. i mean, traditions are such a big part of what makes this time of year special. it’s something to look forward to, a way to feel connected. and i just... i don’t know, it’s hard for me to imagine christmas without that. i don’t want you to feel like you’re missing out.”

spencer’s expression softened. he hadn’t thought about it that way before. “I guess i’ve never really felt like i was missing out because i didn’t know any different,” he said slowly.

you offered him a tentative smile, the idea forming in your head before you could second-guess it. “well… if you want, you could come over and join me. i watch christmas movies every night until new year’s, my parents won’t be here. so, i’ve got some extra space on my couch. we could make it a new tradition,” you suggested, your voice a little more hopeful than you intended.

spencer’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but then a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, soft and genuine. “you’re inviting me to be part of your tradition?”

“yeah,” you said with a small laugh. “i think you might enjoy it. besides, it’s never too late to start your own tradition, right?”

his smile grew, and for a moment, the tension you had been carrying all day lifted. “i’d like that,” he said softly. “a lot.”

“good,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you. “we’ll start tomorrow with one of my favorites. the holidate!”

[vanillyanmocattio]

Agere sensories - visuals! (things I see!)

Seeking:

fairy lights, night lamps, aquarium lamps, lava lamps, LED strips, christmas lights

online you can search up toy commercials, toy unboxing, pinterest, or the website that you're on right now, Tumblr! however make sure your blocked tags and phrases are secured before going through social media, especially as a little

if you're feeling confident, visit toy stores, libraries' kids sections, playgrounds! they're very stimulating, but remember to stay respectful on your visits :)

There's more to artsy life than coloring books! Bead bracelets, clay, stickers, collecting various things, journaling, baby books, finger painting, glitter!

To my fem leaning regressors, hairclips, jewelry, bright make-up (I do not recommend kids make-up as it doesn't have regulations, use adult make up in a childish way), animal headbands! To my neutral/masc regressors, pins, patches, funky shoelaces, sticker tattoos, keychains! Decorate yourself to stimulate yourself on gloomy days!

get food for kids! More colorful, maybe with a cute animal or a smile or dinos, the pretty juice bottles with cartoons? don't get me started. You can also get shape cutters for your veggies/sandwiches

stimboards, gifs!

customize your devices! Wallpapers, keyboards, AOD, widgets! You can even use gifs!

decorate your room and gear too! Coloring pages or other craft you're proud of, showing your favorite toys (if you're safe) colorful rugs! Make custom pacis, add stickers to your bottles, add cute labels!

stim toys, glow in the dark toys! Water toys, squishy balls with colors in them, orbeez, snowglobes, slime!

Avoidant:

Have nap times! They don't have to be a nap time, but you can make an hour to yourself, covering the windows and turning off the lights

There are settings on modern devices specifically targeted for visuals. Lower the brightness, get yourself a dark mode, have eye safety on

Get yourself fuzzy nighttime blindfolds, cute sunglasses, hats or hoodies that will limit your eye view (be careful to be protected, but functional if you're outside)

this is universal for any sensory suppression, but items for babies are your best friends if you're looking for less eye straining gear. (Especially with the beige mom trend being more popular, ha ha)

if you still want to watch baby shows, check low-stimulation lists. Also, usually shows directed at younger age range are slower. I also find vintage cartoons less overwhelming (but they're not guaranteed to be always slow and not stimulating)

You can order online instead of throwing yourself out to the chaotic, overwhelming stores

limit your screentime! Short-form content is easily overwhelming, and staring into a bright screen for x hours doesn't do your eyes a favor. It's okay to need breaks and not always be up to date with everything

if possible, pick safe times to do your errands where there's not a lot of people, like weekend mornings.

have a list of safe cartoons, safe colors, safe places, or other "safe" sensories. It's sometimes better to know what you're comfortable with!

remember, if it gets too much, it is always okay to back out. This is YOUR coping mechanism and nobody else's, it's up to YOU what you're okay and not okay with

[thinking-emoji]

Phannie acronym/initialism* dictionary

*no i'm not getting into what counts as an acronym or an initialism. I'm also not telling you how to pronounce any of these

Please refer to the original version of this post to check for updates!

7SC: 7 Second Challenge

AP: AmazingPhil

BFTD: Back from the Dead

BIG: Basically I’m Gay

BWAGFEO: Basically We Are Gay For Each Other

BWYBMS: Better With You By My Side

COTY: Coming Out To You

D&P: Dan and Phil

DAP: Dan and Phil

DAPB: DanAndPhilBEATS

DAPC: DanAndPhilCRAFTS

DAPFTTT: Dan and Phil Finally Tell the Truth

DAPG: DanAndPhilGAMES

DAPGO: Dan and Phil Go Outside

DAPGOOSE: Dan and Phil Go Outside On Stage Event

DAPWEPINOF: Dan and Phil watch every phil is not on fire (sic)

DD: Dystopia Daily; rarely: The Drug Deal

DILM: Dan is leaving me

DINI: danisnotinteresting

DINK: 1. dumb twink; 2. double/dual income, no kids

DINKWAD: double/dual income, no kids, with a dog

DINOF: danisnotonfire

DINOK: Dan is not Ok

DITL: Day in the Life

DJH: Daniel James Howell

DnP: Dan and Phil

DNPG: DanAndPhilGAMES

DvP: Dan vs. Phil

DvPHTSD: Dan vs. Phil Hometown Showdown

ETVAHTCTE: Embrace the void and have the courage to exist

FDITL: Festive Day in the Life

FFVII: Final Fantasy VII

FFXIV: Final Fantasy XIV

GG: Guru Gossiper; old forum site with dnp threads

GTPWTW: Giving the People What They Want

GwF: Golf with Friends

HEH: Heart Eyes Howell

HL: Hard launch

IDB: In Depth Bants

II: Interactive Introverts

IOM: Isle of Man

ISG: Internet Support Group

IT2: It Takes Two

LAP: LessAmazingPhil

LEL: Love Eyes Lester

M&C: Martyn and Cornelia

NBSII: No But Seriously Imagine It

PCOU: Post Coming Out Universe

PGPIA: Post gay Phan in Australia

PINOF: phil is not on fire

PMAVEDFAW: Phil makes a video every day for a week

PML: Philip Michael Lester

PPA: Phan Porn Addiction

PSL: Pumpkin Spice Latte

RPF: Real Person Fiction; rarely: Roleplay F...iction???

SAP: SuperAmazingProject

SSAYWD: some shit a youtuber would do (dystopia daily segment)

SWWTTY: Something we want to tell you

TABINOF: The Amazing Book is Not on Fire

TATINOF: The Amazing Tour is Not on Fire

TIIH: The Internet is Here

TIT: Terrible Influence Tour

TTLMT: Trying to Live My Truth

TTSTWMG: Trying to See Things Without My Glasses

VPDO: Viewers Pick Dan's Outfits

VPMO: Viewers Pick My Outfits

WAD: We’re All Doomed

WDAPTEO: What Dan and Phil text each other

WITL: Week in the life

WIQY: Why I Quit YouTube

WWWY: When We Were Young festival

YWGTTN: You Will Get Through This Night

Works Cited: