#Victoriano ramirez

[frogs-and-oscar-brainrot]

I love how, as a fanbase, we fully depend on Elvira to post pics / vids of her husband

[theoscarisaaccharacters]

Victoriano.. What the fuck are you doing

-Nathan Bateman

Mate that's jake

-Steven Grant

Oh

-Nathan Bateman

[virtie333]

For Greater Glory

Not me sharing a scene from a movie that depicts some horrific history on this Feast Day of the Mexican Martyrs while also showing off my man who starred in the movie.

[basicalyrandom]

‼️SPOILERS FOR PU-239, FOR GREATER GLORY, SHOW ME A HERO, AND DUNE PART ONE‼️

Director: So there’s this role where someone tragically dies—

Oscar Isaac:

[official-mr-knight]

Mr. Victoriano do you mind not sending me these?..

[generalramirez]

I am clearly No me gusta esta mierda..

[moonyflesh]

Oscar Isaac jawline appreciation post !

[foxilayde]

You know what, I get super shy about sending in prompts. But fuck it, I'm gonna send in a prompt! Do with it as you will, darling.

#20 angst prompt and General Victoriano " El Catorce" Ramirez, baby....Please and thanks!

Btw, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! 🎇🎇✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

No need to be shy! Happy New Year! Thanks for the prompt!

"It isn't safe for you here."

Victoriano "El Catorce" Ramirez x Fem!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 500

Riding through the night to find the elusive militia, you had expected a more joyous reception to your arrival. Shit, at the very least, Victoriano could have stood up to greet you. Instead all your rough ridden demeanor complete with pantalones, grants you is his careful inspection of the lit cigar between his thumb and index, and a dismissive "It isn't safe for you here." He meets your eye for about half of a second before turning his attention back to the evenly burning tobacco and deliberately licks his lips while the valley between his brows remains dispassionately constant.

"Oh? Not safe? In the middle of a war? You don't say. I'll just fuck off back home then to Jalisco. Sorry to have bothered you."

You wish his militia were more established if for only the purpose of his temporary "office" having a door for you to slam. Your angry hurl of his tent flap just doesn't have the same satisfaction of the squeak of hinges and the rattling collision of wood-on-wood.

You huff off to the stables, constantly adjusting the still-new garmet of trousers, to retrieve Panal from what was supposed to be a comfortable rest after a long journey. Panal is unpleased to say the least when you take her away from the food, water and shelter and lead her back into the desert on this moonless night.

She's stubborn and drags her hoofs and you make sure to loudly tell her, when you pass by Victoriano's tent "it's not SAFE for us here, Panal. Much safer to be a woman alone on the road to Jalisco than in the company of El Catorce!"

You lose grip of Panal's bridle when she's spooked by the rapid emergence of one pissed off Victoriano.

"Keep your fucking voice down, my men are sleeping." He grits at you.

"Panal!" You call out before Victoriano slaps a hand over your mouth.

"I said be quiet. She's fine. Look, she went back to the stables. She's smarter than you. Donato's got her. Get inside."

He doesn't give you a choice, letting go of your mouth he drags you by your wrist into his tent. He shoves you down by your shoulders to sit on his cot. You can tell he wants to yell. You can see the fire in his eyes reflected from the minimal candlelight.

"The hell do you think you're doing?"

"I was leaving!"

"You can't leave. It's not safe for you out there."

"It's not safe for me here, it's not safe for me there, it's--"

"It's not safe in Jalisco, it's not safe for you anywhere, muñequita." The fire in his eyes is softer now and he cups your cheek in his rough palm.

[andr0medafallen]

Legitimate

A/N: My baby. My masterpiece. Absolutely the most filthy thing I have ever written. This is a repost, but it must be said that this would not have been written if it weren't for @foxilayde 1. Telling me to watch For Greater Glory (not a great movie, but 10/10 grime boy) and 2. encouraging well...everything deranged that can be found in this fic (no regrets).

Pairing: Victoriano "El Catorce" Ramirez

Warnings: Smut, oral sex, p in v, inexperienced reader, innocence (?) kink, some religious imagery, lots and lots of spit (I won't apologize)

Description: "What is the name of your legitimate wife, if I may ask?" “Señor, every woman is legitimate.”

Word Count: 3.3k

Dinner is a silent affair in your household tonight. You were not there when the Cristero had arrived; You had been out with the chickens, collecting eggs on the small farm which you help your parents take care of. It’s small—both the ranchero town you live in and the barely on the right end of bankrupt farm where you had grown up—the sort of Jalisco affair where everyone and their grandmother have never even seen another county. Small farm, small town, small life.

If small farm town life is good for one thing though, it’s gossip. You have heard whispers of “El Catorce” all day, everywhere you turn. The fourteen. Named such for the fourteen federales who he’d defeated in Christ’s name when he’d been ambushed. It was all anyone would talk about, to the point that you had almost begged for a subject change while buying ribbons at the local depot. And now, here he is, El Catorce, breaking bread at your table.

You know that your parents support the rebellion, but if anyone had been so kind as to tell you that it was your very own parents harboring the fugitive during the market gossip, you would have laughed in their face. Evidently, this incorrect judgement was a misstep, but you could tell that your parents were praying for him to leave soon. There is a lot that your parents will do in God’s name, but apparently making polite conversation is not one of them. 

You consider breaking the silence, but ultimately decide that it is much safer just watching. Watching as Señor Victoriano Ramírez López tears into the bread that you’d baked this morning, each muscle in his forearm visible due to the rolled up sleeves of his dirty linen shirt. He breathes heavily as he chews, sharp jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. Everything about it is so… Animalistic. So feral.

It is clear that your father feels the same way, but you doubt that his own opinion of Catorce is clouded by a stirring of excitement.

“The rumors of your travels precede you, Señor Ramírez.” It is your father who finally breaks the silence. Your mother clutches her pearl rosary below the table as if she doesn’t think that you would possibly notice.

“If you’re hinting at something, it may help to be specific.” Catorce met your father’s gaze, strong and proud. Your mother kept clutching that damned rosary, and you were left as the only sane person at the table wondering what in hell had gotten into the lot of them, God forgive.

“What is the name of your legitimate wife, if I may ask?” Whether or not your father ‘may’ ask the question, he asks it regardless.

Your cheeks burn with heat at the shock of such an uncouth question, but Victoriano seems unphased, leaning forward to tell your father, “Señor, every woman is legitimate.” His new posture leads him closer to you, and you can smell him, his sweat mingling with the grime of the valley. It should disgust you, it would disgust any proper lady, but it only seems to leave you intoxicated and wanting more. It certainly does not help that his eyes flick to you, locking with your own over the flickering candle at the center of the wooden table when he utters the phrase; An admonition of his own sin.

When silence falls back over the table, you are quick to finish your stew and ask to be excused, but even in the comfort of your own room, you cannot stop thinking about him. Victoriano Ramírez López. El Catorce. You should just leave it. The man is a Cristero, a man of God, but even so, you could see it in his eyes. The forbidden desire which you desperately wished you did not share. The right thing to do would be to fall asleep now, and forget about his intrusion into your life beyond anything more than petty market gossip.

But you cannot. You have tried; Both falling asleep and forgetting about him, but neither seem to work very well. When twilight relinquishes its light to the stars of the night and you still find yourself unable to do anything other than twist and turn in bed, you decide that you will see him. After all, you would only be talking to him. Surely it would be better to satiate your curiosity now than to be distracted an entire harvest season by a man who has no right to distract you.

You can’t just go, though. He would think you naive; Eager. So you fold up your blanket, twisted in knots from your turmoil. You’d had no plans for sleep anyways, and you could stop by the closet on your way back for extras if you are truly cold. Maybe he will smell your own scent on it and become just as affected as you were by his. Maybe, when you leave, he will submit to his own iniquity with your scent in his nose and your image in his mind—Your face flushes at the thought. The idea that you would have such an effect on him as he has on you is ludicrous, but you cannot help but find it intoxicating nonetheless.

The walk to the barn is a short one, but it is dark, and the autumn wind chills you to the bone. Autumn may be a festive season, filled with mirth and fertility, but even so near the equator you sometimes wish for the warmth of summer. Of course the opposite is true come July. Still, given the drafty nature of the wooden barn, surely you won’t be spurned for the kindness of an extra blanket.

You don’t bother to knock. There is no need to risk getting caught before you even have the chance to reap your reward. You open the door, not trying particularly hard to hide the creak of the hinges as you enter. Catorce doesn’t announce himself as you climb the steep wooden stairs to the hayloft, but he meets your gaze when you are within sight of where he is sprawled against a bale of hay, cigar in his mouth, sturdy thighs spread, and boots abandoned in the corner of the small loft.

“Señor Ramírez?” You ask, stepping up the remaining steps and kneeling on the floor to avoid the stoop of the low ceiling. You are suddenly aware of your attire, feeling bare in the thin nightdress which you had changed into when your plans for the night had been to actually submit to sleep. “My mother noticed the draft and asked if I would bring you an extra blanket?” You curse yourself for how uncertain you sound, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

Catorce takes a drawl from his cigar, blowing the smoke out without regard to your proximity. “You know, I used to be a ranchero from around this area. Do you know what allows a ranchero to become a decorated warrior in Mexico’s succeeding rebellion?” When you don’t answer, he continues, gesturing toward you with his cigar. “Ruthlessness, sure. Not many men can say that they’ve killed fourteen in an ambush waged against them, your Padre certainly can’t. But what really elevates your rank and ability is a low tolerance for bullshit.”

You gulp, shifting. If you could, you would bring your knees in towards your chest, but you fear that if you do so you will become much less covered than you are now.

“Now I’m no fool, I know that your parents are no great worshippers of mine, but your own mother told me that she gave me every spare blanket in the house. You aren’t calling your madre a liar, are you?”

You shook your head rapidly. “No, of course not.”

“So what was your plan then, hmm? Give me your only blanket? Are you truly so worried for my comfort that you would go cold tonight?”

You don’t respond. What could you possibly say? He has already caught you in a lie, there is no reason to dig yourself a deeper grave.

“Do you want to know what I think?” When you still remain silent, he prompts, “Say it. Say, ‘General Catorce, please tell me what you think.’”

He waits for you, dark eyes boring into your soul. You know that he holds all the power. If he tells anyone what you have already done tonight, you will be in trouble for ages, cursed to an unending purgatory of confessionals and isolation. So you do what he says. You quietly parrot, “General Catorce, please tell me what you think.”

“I think that you did not come here to make sure that I was warm. I think that you came here to get warm.” He advances on you, snubbing out the cigar which leaves a dark scorch mark on the wooden floor. You can feel his breath on your face when he nears you, your wide eyes looking up at him. You gasp when he pinches your nipple through the thin night dress, the calluses on his fingers providing a delicious and terrible friction; Your nipple was already hard and pebbled, and while you are sure that he is merely emphasizing his point about you needing the blanket more than him, it is all you can do to stifle a moan.

The cristero smirks, eyes fluttering down where your nipple pokes through the thin linen which covers the soft hills of your chest. He is gentler this time as he brushes his fingertips against your breasts, no longer goading, but curious.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” Catorce mumbles, low voice an intoxicating rasp. You can smell the tobacco on his lips, and wonder what they might taste like against yours.

“It’s a sin,” you insist, although the only person you seem to be trying to persuade was yourself.

“We can say our ‘Hail Mary’s’ after.” Catorce cups your breast in his large palm, and breath leaves your lungs in a weak moan as he squeezes you in just the right way, an unknown feeling washing over you. You should resist. Surely that would be the righteous thing to do—but it isn’t what you want. You want him. So when he presses his lips against yours in an anything-but-chaste kiss, there is nothing to do but to kiss him back, pressing your body against his, which is warm and hard in all the right places.

Catorce’s tongue is in your mouth, his hands roving against your body and pushing up the white fabric of your dress, gripping your thighs. You’re both kneeling—the low ceiling unable to accommodate either of your heights—but he eases you backward, legs swept out from under you until you’re near on your back, trying to remain upright. He does not aid you in your goal, instead shoving you down by the shoulders and breaking away from your mouth to trail down your neck.

“Catorce…” you moan as he sucks bruises into your skin. Asking him to stop doesn’t even enter your mind as an option, your body so desperate for more, more, more.

You whine when he lifts his head from your neck. Your eyes act of their own volition, tracking the trail of spit which still connects your body to Catorce’s lips, now pink from use. This is interrupted, though, when he grabs your chin and forces you to look him in the eyes. “General,” he commands, and you wriggle against him, nodding.

“General,” you echo, arching your back against him, wanting nothing more than to get closer, to feel his warmth against you. Catorce tuts, and leans back further, dark eyes gliding across your body as you pout below him. When he finally touches you again, you’re desperate and needy, like a starved man presented with food for the first time in his God-forsaken life. The general moves to spread your legs, but they remain shut in a self-conscious clouded panic.

Catorce’s palm meets your cheek, not in the slap you had been expecting, but in a cradling motion which you lean into. His voice is stern, though, when he says, “Behave.”

You obey, and he spreads your thighs, gripping at the soft skin and flesh. Catorce’s thick fingers prod at your lips, separating them and moving around the warm slick that has accumulated along your folds. When he leans in and inhales, nose pressed against your core, you think you might die and go to hell right then, and you’re not even mad about it. This ridiculous man is so deliciously sinful and carnally sacred.

Your face is hot as Catorce leans back, looking down at your spread thighs—parts of you which no man before him has ever seen—and you’re half tempted to hide in embarrassment and shock when he spits—spits on you, right at your mound. The act is blasphemous, but your hips involuntarily rut up, craving any touch that this man will give you. Any amount of disgrace which this man gives you is a boon to your unclean soul. Catorce is grinning up at you from between your legs and your hands find their way to his greasy locks, your chest heaving beneath your gown.

He pins you down against the wooden floor by the hips and starts lapping and sucking at your core. It is passionate and unrestrained in a way that you have never known, and though you know you shouldn’t, you can’t help but push against Catorce’s hold, doing everything you can to grind against his face and the delightful scratch of his mustache. You are pulling at his hair, hips pushing at his hands, and he slaps you on the thigh to bring you back in line, only causing you to become louder.

“General…” Your back arches against the floor, wooden slats and alfalfa digging into your shoulders.

Catorce breaks away for just a moment, lips glistening with your juices, to say, “You can scream, chiquita. They won’t hear.”

You do scream. You scream his name, you scream every swear that the boys at the market have taught you. “Señor Ramírez, I—I don’t—” An unfamiliar feeling washes over you, like a knot tightening in your stomach. Catorce loosens one of your hands from his hair, linking your fingers as he persists in his ministrations. He carries you up and through the pleasure; You feel like you’re flying, soaring above the clouds, and you don’t have a single coherent thought in your head as you moan and grind against the general’s face.

When he is satisfied that he has pleased you, Catorce removes his tongue from where it had been attached to your clit and leans up to kiss you, tongue dipping into your mouth. You can taste yourself on his lips, and you try to follow when Catorce leans up, but he breaks away.

“You did well,” he placates, sitting further back on his heels.

“I’m not done.” Catorce’s eyes light with surprise when you say this, but are quick to darken again when you sit forward, ignoring the ache in your body as you lean into him and press the flat of your palm against his cock; You can feel it throb, straining against the confines of his dark pants. “I did not think you were one to quit in the middle of something you’ve started, General.”

He chuckles darkly, eyes watching you with some mix of amusement and lust. “You’ve sure got a lot of audacity for someone with no experience.”

“I’m a quick learner.”

He grabs your chin, forcing your mouth open, tongue sticking out. For the second time this night, he spits on you, this time right on your outstretched tongue. “You’re desperate.”

You thickly swallow Catorce’s spit, holding his gaze. “So are you.”

It does not take long before you are back on the floor, frantically pulling at Catorce’s clothing. When he takes your night dress off, you are completely exposed beneath him. He sucks at your breasts as he pushes a finger into your core. The stretch stings, but he is sucking bruises onto your tits, and it isn’t long before you can’t think of anything other than how good it feels; How much more you want, how you will take any drop he’ll give you.

Catorce slides another finger into your wet heat. You gasp, hugging his face to your chest. Whining, you wrap your legs around the general’s hips, drawing him in towards you and fumbling with the clasp of his trousers.

“Be patient,” he commands, even while aiding you with his free hand, his other still pumping in and out at a leisurely pace. He doesn’t shuck his pants all the way off, merely enough to expose himself. He’s big. The ruddy tip and thick veins make your mouth water, even if you are a bit nervous. 

“Eyes on me, chiquita,” Catorce prompts, and you comply, bringing your gaze to meet his brown eyes. His hand stills at your core, before slowly sliding out.

“Please, please, please, please, please, please, please,” you beg, your mind a broken record. Your eyes are still on the cristero’s face; He makes sure of it, any time you try to look down, he tilts your chin back up. He seems to take pity on you—your body at his command below him and tears leaking out of your eyes—when he slides the tip of his dick inside you. The stretch is nearly unbearable, your fingers gripping the hay that you laid on as you breathed heavily. Catorce pauses, a hand on your cheek, wiping away your tears. “Keep–keep going.”

He pushes further into you at your request, and it isn’t long before you decide that he isn’t going fast enough and place your hands at his hips, pulling him further into you. Catorce grabs your hands, pinning them to the floor above you.

“You will take what I give you, understand?”

“Yes, General,” you agree, before smirking and continuing, “As long as you plan to give me what I want.”

He rolls his eyes at you, the snarky son of a bitch, and snaps his hips until he is fully and completely pressed into you. Evidently deciding that he’s had enough of your smart mouth, he presses his fingers against your tongue, and you suck on them, moaning against the digits with a furrowed brow. You can taste yourself on them, Catorce’s thick fingers that had been inside you only moments prior.

“So naughty, hermosa,” Catorce teases, speeding up his pace as you fall apart beneath him. “Are you going to show me how naughty you are, hmm? Are you going to come on my dick?”

You nod frantically, your lips still wrapped around his fingers, and when he rubs the thumb of his other hand against your bundle of nerves, letting go of the hands he had been holding in place above you, you feel your body begin to spasm and shake for the second time tonight. All thoughts exit your mind as you grab onto Catorce’s broad shoulders, clutching onto them like a lifeline as he fucks you dumb. All you can feel is pleasure, your head spinning as you come down from your high. Catorce doesn’t stop until you’re whining under him from overstimulation; Then he pulls out of you, using both hands to finish himself off, slowly twisting them along the shaft of his dick as you watch, mesmerized. You can see it in his eyes, in the curl of his lip, that he is about to come. Beads of pearlescent liquid spill over your chest and stomach as Catorce jerks himself to your image with a low grunt.

When he’s finished, he tucks himself back into his trousers and lowers himself beside you in a heavy thunk.

You lay there, naked on the hay and covered in his cum, before asking, “So… Will you be staying for mass tomorrow?”

“You are a very dirty girl chiquita.”

[ear-worthy]

New My Cultura Podcast: Senora Sex Ed

 About three years ago, Sonoro and iHeartMedia announced a new deal to co-produce a slate of podcasts for My Cultura, iHeartMedia’s new podcast network dedicated to elevating Latinx voices and creators, while also sharing the Latinx experience with millions of listeners. 

First in the slate was Princess of South Beach,a 36-part modern audio telenovela series available in both English and Spanish, making it widely available to bicultural and bilingual listeners around the world. "At Sonoro, we believe Hollywood’s future leaders need to reflect the millions of Latinx and Spanish-speaking creators in the U.S. and around the world,” said Camila Victoriano, Co-Founder and Head of Partnerships at Sonoro. “Our part in that is to develop genre-defining intellectual property with Latinx characters at the center of every story. Our entire team is bilingual and bicultural, and we work with talent and storytellers from over 15 countries of origin. Our hope is that the projects we develop together become a jumping off point for their careers, flipping the traditional Hollywood business model on its head and changing what content looks and sounds like globally.”

Now, iHeartMedia’s My Cultura, a podcast network dedicated to elevating Latinx voices, stories and creators, and Locatora Productions have announced a new original podcast, Señora Sex Ed. The series, hosted by Locatora Productions co-founders Mala Muñoz and Diosa Femme, will center around conversations between beloved Señoras and their younger contemporaries, designed to break the stigma and silence around sex and sexuality in Latinx communities.

Mala Muñoz is a Chicana podcast producer, writer, comedian, and voice actress from Los Angeles. A Co-Founder of Locatora Productions, she is the creator and host of Marijuanera: A Podcast for Potheads, a Gotham-Award winning show and the second podcast in the Locatora Audioverse.

Diosa Femme is an audio storyteller, podcast producer, and writer from Los Angeles. She is the Co-Founder of Locatora Productions, an award-winning production studio and home to the critically acclaimed podcast, Locatora Radio.  

“Señora Sex Ed” debuted on August 20th, with new episodes released every Tuesday.

 The new podcast will feature thought-provoking conversations with inspiring Latina voices including upcoming guest Ana Ortiz (Ugly Betty, Devious Maids) centered around personal stories, insights and experiences that will resonate with listeners of all ages.

 “At a time when conversations about identity, body image and sexuality are more important than ever, ‘Señora Sex Ed,’ will provide a vital platform for not only the Latinx community but listeners everywhere,” said Gisselle Bances, Head of the My Cultura Podcast Network. “We’re excited to share this show with listeners and hope to inspire understanding and connection across generations.”

The My Cultura Podcast Network is home to a variety of podcasts in English, Spanish and Spanglish that celebrate inclusivity, representation and the beauty of Latinx culture.

My Cultura shows include More Better and Date My Abuelita, First!, executive produced by network stakeholder Wilmer Valderrama, Hungry For History, Princess of South Beach starring Rachel Zegler (West Side Story) and Sheryl Rubio (Casa de las Flores), Wrestling with Freddie with Freddie Prinze, Jr., Sisters of the Underground executive produced by Eva Longoria and Dania Ramirez, Chiquis and Chill, Escuela Secreta, Sacred Scandal, Overcomfort with Jenicka Lopez, Ay Por Favor, Enrique Santos Podcast and many more. 

My personal favorites include the quirky Wrestling With Freddie and Princess of South Beach.

Check out Señora Sex Ed.The show aims to bridge the gap between Latina Sexuality, Representation and Education.

[oscarisaacsspit]

i feel like we don’t talk about this enough

and it is time to discuss.

[frogs-and-oscar-brainrot]

Guys, where do you find good fanfics? ;-;

I can't find any for a while. Maybe I can't search... Maybe it's because ai is popular now? (not that I don't use it, but I definitely suck at writing human interactions)

Please feed me with Oscar Isaac things ;-; I'm almost over a terrible internship for my university degree and I feel drained from my whole life essence

[theoscarisaaccharacters]

Victoriano ramirez- the fu.. We are totally not doing this if we got to jail for no reason

Rydal Keener- it's a great plan, get used it

Santiago Garcia- oh people..

[uomo-accattivante]

Il materiale di origine: JC Montes-Roldán (Facebook) / Oscar Isaac on the set of For Greater Glory: The True Story of Cristiada. (shot in 2010)

[ophelialoveshandsomemen]

A december writing challenge that I will try. If you want to send me one of Oscar Isaac’s characters and a day to write for, go ahead! If I don’t get any prompts, I will be writing my own choices. Ask me if you wanna be tagged!

Female reader or GN reader only please!

I’m more comfortable with female reader, but I can easily write gender neutral. Male reader, however, I am NOT comfortable writing for too many reasons to state here.

Just a warning, I’m not big on cities, so this will feature mainly rural/country settings.

Warning. There may be religious themes in some of these, which I will tag accordingly.

** indicates smut, both light and heavy.

Day 1 - Baking || Vanilla, sprinkles, and chocolate flavored kisses. (Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader)

Day 2 - Frozen Lake || Cold hands, Scarves, and Snow.(Duke Leto Atreides x fiancée!fem!reader) **

Day 3 - Hot Chocolate || Marshmallows, warm hands, and soft smiles.(Abel Morales x fem!reader)**

Day 4 - Cozy Cabin || Patterned rugs, soft blankets, and warm baths.( Santiago Garcia x wife!fem!reader)

Day 5 - Fire Places || Fuzzy socks, soft rugs, and hands intertwined.(Pt.2! Duke Leto Atreides x fiancée!fem!reader .sequel to You’re handsome with snowflakes in your beard.)**

Day 6 - Blanket Fort || Fluffy pillows, movies, and snacks(Modern!Poe Dameron x pregnant!fem!wife!reader)

Day 7 - Catching a cold  || Tissues, savory soup, and cuddles.(Llewyn Davis x fem!reader)

Day 8 - Snowed In || Candles, snow drifts, and quiet.(Mikael Boghosian x fem!reader)

Day 9 - Sledding || biting wind, cold noses, and laughter(Laurent Leclaire x fem!reader. Canon era.)

Day 10  - Winter Market || Murmuring crowds, rows of stalls, and the smell of food.(Blue Jones x gn!reader)

Day 11 - Snowball Fight || Heavy breathing, footprints in the snow, and warm hugs.( Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader. Part 2! sequel to Kisses of Chocolate.)

Day 12 - Lonely  || Gloomy skies, soft blankets, and a warm fire.

Day 13 - Warm Bath || Bubble bath, soft music, and gentle hands.

Day 14 - Homemade Meal/Cooking || Savory spices, hot meals, and family.

Day 15 - Sleigh Ride || Sleigh bells, foggy breath, and the smell of cedar.(Nathan Bateman x fem!reader)

Day 16 - Mistletoe || Warm lights, smoke, and friends.(Jonathan Levy x fem!reader)

Day 17 - Gingerbread || Icing on their cheek, smell of cinnamon, and playful kisses.

Day 18 - Sunsets || Golden hour, towering pine trees, and warm coats.

Day 19 - Movie Nights || Laughter, snacks, and cuddles.

Day 20 - Hiking || Rough ground, crisp morning air, and sunrises.

Day 21 - Sweaters || Cozy feelings, goosebumps, and comforting hands.

Day 22 - Unique Traditions || Smiles, acceptance, and making memories.

Day 23 - Proposal || Nerves, candles, and a tasty meal.

Day 24 - Holiday Traffic || Car horns, comforting words, and snow.

Day 25 - Lazy Mornings || Soft blankets, familiar arms, and the morning light.

Day 26 -Furry Friends || Shining eyes, the pitter - patter of paws, and that fuzzy feeling in your chest.

Day 27 - Roasting Marshmallows || Roaring bonfires, laughter of friends, and gooey marshmallows.

Day 28 - Huddle for Warmth || Warm bodies, steady breaths, and comforting feelings.

Day 29 - Holiday Lights || Holiday music, bright colors, and joy.

Day 30 - Fireworks || Loud booms, sparkling light, and a breathtaking kiss.

Day 31 - Wild Card || write anything you want!(Victoriano ‘El Catorce’ Ramirez x fem!reader)

[bobfloydssunnies]

For thirsty thursday. Victoriano 'El catorce' Ramirez! Nurse reader. Returning from a battle, dirty and sweaty with a bullet graze on his leg, he's sloppily bandaged himself.

this was hard cause I haven’t seen this movie for a while ( i had to go look it up cause I literally couldn't remember anything about it) 

first, we have to take care of the wound and just be happy he’s back and alive but like I think once all that is done we definitely getting another kind of reunion because it’s that i’m here and we’re both alive situation where you just have to keep touching the other person because you are afraid they aren’t really there 

Followers Celebration!