#1527 words

[fideidefenswhore]

now. that. we. don't. talk!!

[girl-next-door-writes]

And Everything Changed

Characters: Eddie Munson x reader

Summary: Eddie Munson’s D&D game takes a surprising turn when a new player arrives, leading to unexpected romance and vulnerability.

Word Count: 1527 words

Prompt: ‘Now Kiss her.’

A/N: This is for @caplanbuckybarnes Disney Celebration

Eddie Munson sat in the dimly lit room, drumming his fingers on the table, waiting for the Hellfire Club members to arrive. This was their big campaign night, the night when their characters would either emerge victorious or face unspeakable doom. But there was a problem—Gareth had dropped out last minute, flu. A replacement was required, and fast.

When Dustin suggested the idea earlier in the caffeteria, Eddie had balked.

"Are you sure about this?" Eddie asked, his fingers still tapping a restless rhythm. "She's never played DnD before."

"Trust me, Eddie. She’s cool. Plus, she's into fantasy stuff," Dustin replied, already confident that this would work out.

Eddie sighed and ran a hand through his untamable hair. It wasn’t that he doubted your ability to grasp the game—it was something else. You’d been hanging out with them more lately, joining their lunch tables and occasional after-school hangouts. And as much as Eddie tried to play it cool, there was something about you that made his pulse race and his thoughts jumble. You were... different. And maybe that’s what scared him.

"Alright, fine. Bring her in. But if she can't handle the pressure, it's on you," Eddie said, pretending to be casual, even though a small part of him was excited at the thought of spending the evening with you.

When you walked into the session that evening, Eddie’s breath hitched. You looked a little out of place, unsure of what you were stepping into, but still radiating confidence. Dustin had given you a brief rundown of what you were getting yourself into, but nothing could have prepared you for the theatrical spectacle that was Eddie Munson running a Dungeons & Dragons campaign.

"Welcome to the Hellfire Club," Eddie said, his voice deep and theatrical as he gestured to the table. "I hope you're ready for the most intense adventure of your life."

You smiled, a little shy but intrigued. "Thanks. I hope I don’t mess up too much."

"Nah, you'll be fine," Dustin chimed in. "Eddie's a good teacher."

Eddie shot Dustin a glare, as if to say 'don't oversell me,' but then he turned back to you and gave you one of his trademark devilish grins. "Alright, sit down, newbie. Let’s get started."

As the game kicked off, Eddie watched you carefully. You were picking things up quickly, asking questions when needed but mostly diving into the story with surprising enthusiasm. The room was buzzing with energy as everyone got lost in the game, but Eddie couldn’t help but be distracted by you.

It wasn’t just your character’s quick thinking or the way you seemed to take to the fantasy world so easily—it was you. The way your eyes lit up when something exciting happened in the game. The way you leaned forward when your character was in danger. And how, when you laughed at one of his ridiculous voices, it felt like a little victory.

As the campaign progressed, something shifted. The game wasn’t just a game anymore—it became a stage for something bigger. Every glance between your character and Eddie’s NPCs seemed to carry more weight. Every time your characters interacted, it felt like the two of you were playing out something just beneath the surface, something neither of you had the courage to confront directly.

And then it happened.

The group had just survived a major battle. Your character, an inexperienced mage, had managed to cast a spell that turned the tide in their favor, saving everyone from certain doom. Eddie, as the dungeon master, described the aftermath in vivid detail.

"The smoke clears, and all that’s left are the charred remains of your enemies. But as the dust settles, you realize something—your companion, Sir Andor," he said, referring to the noble knight NPC he’d been playing, "is badly wounded. He falls to the ground, bleeding."

You looked at Eddie, your brow furrowing. "I rush over to him. Can I do anything?"

Eddie leaned forward, the intensity of the moment pulling everyone in. "Sir Andor looks up at you, his breaths shallow. 'I fear... this is the end...,'" he said, dropping his voice low to play the character.

"No," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine emotion. "It can’t be the end."

The rest of the group was watching in silence, completely wrapped up in the drama unfolding between your character and Eddie’s. Even Dustin, who usually cracked jokes during the game, was unusually quiet.

"I want to... try to heal him," you said, almost hesitant.

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure if it was the game or if it was you, sitting right there, your eyes locked with his. For a moment, it felt like everything else fell away.

"Roll for it," Eddie said, trying to keep his voice steady.

The dice clattered across the table. It was a high roll—just enough to succeed.

Eddie cleared his throat, slipping back into character. "Sir Andor looks at you, his eyes softening. 'You... you saved me,' he says, his voice filled with gratitude. He reaches out and touches your hand."

The room was thick with tension, everyone waiting for what would happen next. Your character had saved him, but the moment felt bigger than the game.

Dustin, sensing something in the air, leaned forward with a mischievous grin and whispered, "Now kiss her."

The table erupted in laughter, breaking the tension. But Eddie, instead of laughing it off, looked at you. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away. His heart was racing, and the playful comment had hit a little too close to home.

You looked back at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "Well, Sir Andor?" you teased, breaking the silence.

Eddie chuckled, but there was something different in his laugh now—something real. "I think Sir Andor... owes you more than just a kiss."

The rest of the game played out smoothly, but the dynamic between you and Eddie had changed. What had started as a game had turned into something far more personal. By the end of the night, as the other players packed up their things and said their goodbyes, you lingered behind, waiting for Eddie.

"I had fun tonight," you said softly, your voice carrying more meaning than just the game.

"Yeah? Even though you got thrown into the deep end?" Eddie asked, trying to sound casual, but his nerves were betraying him.

You shrugged. "I think I did alright. Plus, I had a good teacher."

Eddie smiled, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes now. He wasn’t sure if it was the game, the way you’d thrown yourself into the character, or the fact that you’d stayed after everyone else had left—but something had shifted. He wasn’t just crushing on you from a distance anymore. There was a real connection here, something deeper.

"I, uh..." Eddie started, his voice faltering. He wasn’t sure how to say what was on his mind, so he just blurted it out. "I’ve kinda liked you for a while, you know."

Your eyes widened slightly, but instead of pulling away, you stepped closer to him. "I know," you said quietly.

Eddie blinked, surprised. "You do?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I’ve noticed. And... I kinda like you too."

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat, the world around him fading into the background. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to feeling this vulnerable, this exposed. But at the same time, it felt right.

"I, uh... I don’t know how to do this," Eddie admitted, his voice softer now. "I’m not exactly the guy who gets the girl, you know?"

You reached out and took his hand, your touch grounding him. "You don’t have to be perfect, Eddie. I don’t want perfect. I just want someone who sees me, who’s willing to stick around even when things get messy."

Eddie looked at you, his heart swelling with something he hadn’t felt in a long time—hope. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you said, stepping even closer. "I want someone who can love the parts of me that aren’t always easy."

Eddie swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was like you were speaking the words he’d always longed to hear but had never dared to hope for.

For a moment, there was nothing but the two of you, standing there in the dimly lit room, the echoes of your words hanging in the air. And then, without thinking, Eddie leaned in and kissed you—not in the way Sir Andor would have kissed your character in the game, but in a way that was real and raw, like it was the first time he’d ever truly let himself feel this way.

When he pulled back, his heart was pounding, and he could barely catch his breath. "So... does this mean you’re coming back to Hellfire next week?" he asked with a teasing grin.

You laughed softly, still holding his hand. "Yeah. I think I’ll stick around."

And just like that, everything changed for Eddie Munson.

[andy-15-07]

Hello! Love your fics! Maybe a Paul Mescal fic about tattoos… like maybe after sex the reader and him are laying there talking about their tattoos?

Ink and Intimacy

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1527 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlist

warning : smut

The sheets, crumpled and damp, lay tangled around them. Paul, his hair damp and plastered to his forehead, traced lazy circles on Y/N's hip. She sighed, a contented sound, and shifted closer, pressing her body against his.

"You know," she murmured, her voice husky from the aftermath of their lovemaking, "I've always wanted to get another tattoo."

Paul hummed in agreement, his eyes still closed. "What would you get?"

Y/N thought for a moment. "I don't know, maybe something small and delicate. Maybe a tiny bird, or a constellation."

Paul opened his eyes and looked at her, a mischievous glint in them. "Or maybe," he suggested, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we could get matching tattoos."

Y/N's eyebrows shot up. "Matching tattoos? Paul, are you serious?"

He grinned. "Why not? It would be a way to always remember this." He leaned down and kissed her softly, his lips lingering on hers. "Besides," he added, "I think it would be kind of hot."

Y/N giggled. "You're impossible." But she couldn't deny that the idea intrigued her. "What kind of tattoo were you thinking?"

Paul shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe something simple, like a line. Or maybe a symbol that means something to us."

Y/N's eyes widened. "A symbol?"

He nodded. "Yeah, like a heart, or an infinity sign. Or maybe something more personal."

Y/N thought about it. "What about a moon?" she suggested. "It represents so many things – mystery, magic, the passage of time."

Paul's eyes lit up. "I love it. A moon. It's perfect."

They spent the next few minutes discussing where they would get the tattoos, what style they would choose, and what it would all mean. Y/N felt a thrill of excitement. This was something special, something they would share forever.

Later that day, they went to a tattoo parlor. The artist, a young woman with a nose ring and a constellation of stars tattooed on her arm, listened patiently as they explained their idea. She sketched a delicate crescent moon on a piece of paper, then added a tiny star to one side.

"Perfect," Y/N breathed, her heart pounding.

Paul grinned. "I can't wait."

They scheduled their appointments for the following week. In the meantime, the anticipation grew. Y/N found herself constantly touching the spot on her wrist where the moon would be tattooed. She imagined the cool sting of the needle, the feeling of permanence.

The day of their appointments finally arrived. Y/N, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement, met Paul at the tattoo parlor. They held hands as they walked into the studio, their fingers intertwined.

The artist set up her equipment and began to work. Y/N closed her eyes, trying to relax. She could hear the rhythmic hum of the tattoo machine, the steady thrum of her own heartbeat.

When she finally opened her eyes, the moon was there, a perfect little crescent on her wrist, sparkling with a delicate sheen. She gasped, tears welling up in her eyes. It was even more beautiful than she had imagined.

Paul, seeing her reaction, smiled. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

She nodded, unable to speak. He leaned down and kissed her wrist, then whispered, "I love you."

Y/N looked at him, her eyes shining. "I love you too."

They spent the rest of the day celebrating. They went out for a celebratory dinner, then walked along the beach, holding hands and admiring their new tattoos. As they watched the moon rise above the horizon, Y/N knew that this was a moment they would cherish forever.

The sheets were tangled around them, a testament to the passion that had consumed them earlier. Y/N lay beneath Paul, his weight a comforting anchor against the soft mattress. Her breath hitched as he moved, his lips trailing a path down her neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

"You taste incredible," he murmured, his voice a low growl against her skin.

Y/N arched her back, pressing herself closer to him. "You're not so bad yourself," she whispered back, her hands tangling in his hair.

Paul chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers down her spine. He shifted, his hands moving lower, exploring her body with a practiced touch. Y/N moaned, her fingers digging into the sheets.

He leaned down, his lips finding the sensitive skin between her legs. Y/N gasped, her body arching involuntarily. He moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, his tongue swirling around her, eliciting a series of involuntary moans from her.

She reached for him, her fingers finding the waistband of his boxers. He met her gaze, his eyes dark and intense. With a slow, deliberate motion, he lowered himself onto her, filling her completely.

Y/N cried out, her nails digging into his back. He moved inside her, his strokes slow and powerful, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through her. She arched her back, meeting him with her own hips, desperate for more.

He kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth as he moved within her. Y/N clung to him, her body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure. She felt herself nearing the edge, a wave of euphoria washing over her.

"Paul," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "I'm—"

He groaned, his movements accelerating. "I know, baby," he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

With a final, explosive thrust, they both erupted, their bodies trembling in unison. They lay still for a moment, their breaths mingling in the air.

Paul pulled back slightly, his eyes filled with a lingering afterglow. "That was incredible," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Y/N smiled, her heart still racing. "It was," she agreed, her voice soft.

He leaned down and kissed her gently, his lips lingering on hers. "I love you," he murmured against her lips.

"I love you too," she whispered back, her voice thick with emotion.

Paul shifted, his hands moving lower, tracing circles around her nipples. Y/N gasped, her body already tightening in anticipation. He leaned down, his mouth finding her breast, sucking gently on her nipple.

She arched her back, her hands gripping his hair, pulling him closer. He moved to the other breast, repeating the motion, his tongue swirling around her nipple, eliciting a low moan from her.

Y/N reached down, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, then moving lower, exploring his chest, her hands lingering on the small constellation of stars tattooed there.

Paul groaned, his hands moving lower, exploring the sensitive folds between her legs. Y/N moaned, her body arching involuntarily. He moved his fingers inside her, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through her.

She reached for him, her fingers finding the waistband of his boxers again. With a slow, deliberate motion, she pulled them down, revealing him fully. He was hard and throbbing, a sight that made her gasp.

She reached for him, her fingers closing around him. He moaned, his head thrown back. She began to move her hand, slowly at first, then faster, her fingers tightening around him.

Paul's breathing hitched. "Y/N," he groaned, his voice rough with desire. "Don't stop."

She continued to move her hand, her fingers finding his sensitive spot. He cried out, his body arching involuntarily.

With a final, explosive burst, he came undone in her hand. He let out a low groan, his body trembling.

Y/N continued to stroke him, her fingers soothing his arousal. He leaned back, his eyes closed, savoring the afterglow.

After a few moments, he opened his eyes and looked at her, a mischievous glint in them. "Your turn," he whispered, his voice husky.

Y/N smiled, her eyes sparkling. She leaned down, her lips finding the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. He gasped, his body tightening.

She moved slowly, her lips tracing a path up his leg, then lower, exploring his most intimate areas. He moaned, his hands gripping the sheets.

She continued to move, her tongue swirling around him, eliciting a series of involuntary moans from him. He reached for her, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer.

With a final, explosive thrust of her tongue, he erupted again, his body trembling violently. He let out a low groan, his head falling back against the pillow.

Y/N smiled, her heart pounding. She leaned down and kissed him gently, her lips lingering on his.

"That was incredible," she whispered, her voice husky.

Paul smiled, his eyes still closed. "It was," he agreed, his voice rough with satisfaction.

They lay there for a while, content in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Y/N traced lazy circles on his chest, her fingers lingering on the small constellation of stars tattooed there.

"I love your tattoos," she murmured, her voice drowsy.

Paul smiled. "I love yours too." He leaned down and kissed the delicate crescent moon on her wrist. "It's perfect."

Y/N sighed contentedly. She knew this was just the beginning of their story, a story that would be written on their bodies, a testament to their love, forever.

[snoopyhq]

i literally love your writing sm omg,,

i was wondering if you could write viktor helping reader get over a bad breakup?

sorry if that's a little vague-

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ me and my head high, and my tears dry, get on without my my guy

type: viktor x reader (slight jayvik x reader if you want to squint, but this one is viktor centric 🐺)

summary: fic of viktor comforting reader after a bad breakup

word count: 1527

a/n: guys, you know what's crazy? i LITERALLY broke up with my ex recently, wow. this ask and my response is going to be bit personal to be quite honest with you guys 😭 i'm much better off, trust, but damn, it's still awful. i hope you're feeling better and finding all the little joys you deserve, tumblrina

Skip. Skip again. [2 seconds. no. skip]. Skip skip skipskipskip

Your finger mindlessly hit the button. No matter what song it was, your mind simply didn't care for it. Even if it was your carefully curated masterpiece of breakup songs-made just for the occasion-your heart just couldn't muster the energy. You were usually able to lose yourself in song. To ease your emotions into the carefully crafted motifs made through measures and lines.

Not today though.

When you think about Before, all you could feel was, well... nothing. There wasn't an ounce of sadness you could summon. That emptiness welling up inside you felt crushing, like being held beneath water and pushed further and further down at an agonizing pace.

The heaviness took its toll.

You had promised yourself that what happened that fateful day stayed between you two, and the ever faithful pages of your well-loved journal. No one else would be privy to the way your heart found a way to break into a million new fragments.

So far, it's worked.

You kept to your usual routine. You interacted with your friends, you kept up appearances, and made an effort to at least look like your life wasn't slowly losing color day by day. That didn't mean everyone was immune to the walls you were so good at putting up.

Jayce had been the first one to voice his suspicions out loud, to Viktor of course. He had expressed his concern for your wellbeing after you had spent an entire afternoon hardly responding, and only after multiple repeats of your name did you focus on any conversation directed at you. Viktor agreed, having observed that too.

You had unconsciously begun gravitating towards larger groups. You didn't give yourself moments alone with anyone. That would make it harder to pretend you were fully ok.

Jayce began giving you extra attention after he and Viktor reached the same consensus. Giving you more desk space, inviting you to sit with him, and bringing you food without you having asked. You were grateful, and made sure to tell him for every deed. Viktor was more subtle in his care, but his calming presence was there.

Waiting to walk with you out of the lab so you wouldn't be alone. Deliberately changing the music he usually played to songs he knew you liked. Leaving small, unsigned notes of encouragement around for you to find.

Everyone was so sweet, and you couldn't help but feel worse.

You weren't stupid. You figured out that they had figured out that there was something deeply wrong. You just didn't want them to ask. So, with that worry now in mind, you doubled your efforts to pass off as A-OK. You started joking around with Jayce more, and hovering over Viktor's shoulder to pester him while he worked on recording his notes for the day. He would grumble and bat at you, but it was half-hearted at best.

Viktor and Jayce would exchange small glances, subtle nods. They were both glad you were back.

Except you weren't.

You hadn't expected the radio to switch to Your Song. As the familiar chords progressed and the romantic lyrics played, everything you repressed for weeks finally came to the surface, gasping and clawing at your throat for air. You broke down completely, your body wracked with grief.

Your head fell forward on the wheel, and you had to resist the urge to scream until your throat and lungs collapsed.

Why did it, what went wrong, blame him, blame you, blame whoever and whatever, it happened anyways and there was nothing to be done now, it's OVER so why?

The parking lot was empty. That was the only tangible thought you could form, the truth a small comfort.

Except it wasn't.

The universe really thinks it's got jokes, huh?

His amber eyes were fixated on your vulnerable form. His brows furrowed, his mind already racing to figure out everything in front of him. There was no way this was a new, sudden bout of sorrow.

With his shoulders set, he picked up his brisk pace, not stopping until he was beside your car. He rapped on the window with his hands, startling you out of your misery.

At first, all you could do was stare. Curse your luck. Viktor was witnessing your breakdown in Real Time. Your face was streaked with tears and snot and probably some unholy mix of eyeliner and whatever remained of your carefully constructed look for the day. You rolled down the window.

"... 'Sup?" you croaked. It sounded just as pathetic as it felt.

"Can I come in?"

"No."

You unlocked the passenger door.

For a moment, there was only a long, tense silence. Finally, he broke it with a wordless hug. And gods above, did you need that. You knew he wasn't someone who freely gave away his touch, so you made sur to cherish this.

Wiping your eyes, you reached over and changed the music, raising the volume up until it was enough to shake your poor car. You didn't care.

Neither did Viktor. He would wait for you, until you were ready to say what you need.

"It's over," you finally blurted out, barely audible.

Viktor sighed, and lowered the music.

"We broke up," you said again.

Ah.

"I don't know. I think deep down, we always knew it was inevitable. I think I did, at least. Our goals were never going to align. I don't think he saw a future where I could fit, despite all the compromises I've made for him. Why did I let myself do that? For love?"

You laughed at that. It sounded so ridiculous when you voiced it plainly. No more justifying it to yourself for hours on end. Just you and Viktor, in the safety net of darkness your car provided, the treeline the audience to your eyes.

"Don't get me wrong. I did some damn awful things too. I let things drag on for much longer than they should've gone. I held out for nothing and all that did was make it worse. How could I have been so foolish? I used to think I was somehow above the petty strains of heartbreak. I mean! I read the books. I watched the shows. I observed and I listened and I took every damn precaution at every turn, and it still ended like that."

You took in a shuddering breath.

"In all my obsession with being prepared, I forgot to pay attention to the aftermath. I don't know how to heal. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I have tried so, so hard to find myself again after everything. And I'm reasoning it with the fact that my dopamine neurotransmitters have conditioned me to feel the motivation and reap the rewards that love offered, making the sudden loss of a romantic relationship so terribly hard to adjust to. But that's not enough, Viktor. I can't comfort myself with a bullet point list. What is wrong with me?"

Viktor let you talk. He listened, taking it all in and turning it over carefully in his head. When there was a lull in your confessions, he spoke, carefully choosing his words.

"I believe a good start would be to find your support system, and to let us in, even if only a little bit. You have Jayce. You have me. Let us remind you that you aren't alone," he said gently.

"And another thing. You are correct with your statements. This grief and inability to cope with loss can be reasoned with psychology. You can acknowledge that both of you did awful things. You can say and do all you want to remain as impartial as you can, so you don't end up worse for wear, but it is ok to also acknowledge you were hurt."

"Not everyone you love or have loved treated you like they should have. And I believe letting that truth overshadow your neutral acknowledgement will help you heal. Your self worth is in shambles. That is heartbreaking. You are a brilliant aspect to so many lives. Never doubt that, and never diminish that."

He somehow knew all the right things to say. Sweet, brilliant Viktor. You could feel your eyes welling back up with tears.

"Thank you. You're right. Finally telling someone has made me feel lighter. I do feel better. You're a wonderful friend to me Viktor. I can never thank you enough," you whispered, your voice breaking as it trembled.

"No need to thank me," his hand found yours, giving it a grounding squeeze. "When you're ready to talk about it some more, I will be there. If you choose to never think of that terrible time again, then that is ok too. Whatever you choose to do, know you are supported. You are loved, and not just for circumstance."

With that, it was like the clouds could finally begin dissipating. Your music slowly cranked back up. You start the engine again, your drive back to the dorms no longer blurred by tears. For the first time since it happened, you felt like you could finally see again.

[the-reader-insert-gazette]

Figure It Out - F!Reader x Kaedehara Kazuha

Featured Column - Genshin Impact

Kazuha can’t pinpoint when he started looking at Reader differently. But now, the thought of turning away feels impossible.

✒️ Word Count: 1527

He knew her sharp wit, the way she spoke without hesitation, the way her voice cut through the din of the Alcor’s crew like the clean slice of a blade. He knew how she handled herself in a fight—practical, efficient, with no wasted movement. He knew she preferred her tea bitter, that she had a habit of rolling her sleeves up to her elbows even in the dead of winter, and that she was always the first to volunteer for the worst jobs just to shut the others up.

But somewhere along the way, something had shifted.

Kazuha couldn’t pinpoint when it had started.

Only that now, he couldn’t stop noticing.

It wasn’t an extraordinary day. The Alcor was docked in Liyue Harbor, the crew unloading cargo while Beidou argued with a merchant about their latest trade. It was the usual chaos.

[Name] was perched on a wooden crate, arms crossed, watching the ordeal with something between amusement and exasperation. “Five minutes before she threatens to throw him overboard,” she muttered.

Kazuha, leaning against the mast beside her, let out a quiet chuckle. “You underestimate her patience.”

[Name] snorted. “I’ve seen her drag people out of a tavern by their collars for less.”

He hummed in agreement, eyes drifting to the harbor beyond, where the afternoon sun glowed against the waves. The wind carried the scent of the sea, warm and salty.

And then, without thinking, he glanced back at her.

She was still watching Beidou, but the light caught in her hair, turning the strands gold at the edges. Her profile was relaxed, sharp in places where the sun cast shadows, soft in others where it didn’t.

She wasn’t doing anything. Just existing.

And yet, for some reason, Kazuha felt his breath catch.

His mind stumbled over itself, trying to place the feeling, but it was frustratingly out of reach—like trying to catch mist in his hands.

It was nothing new, her being here, her talking to him. But something about this moment lodged itself deep in his chest, unfamiliar and warm.

When had that started happening?

Kazuha blinked, looking away as if she might somehow notice what had just unraveled inside him.

But of course, she didn’t. She just kept talking.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to your cloud-watching or whatever it is you do,” she said, stretching her arms overhead before hopping off the crate. “I’ve got errands to run before we set sail again.”

Kazuha cleared his throat lightly, forcing himself to focus. “Do you need company?”

[Name] shot him a glance, amused. “You volunteering?”

He hesitated. He wasn’t sure why.

But then, as if his body had decided before his mind could catch up, he nodded.

[Name] huffed a quiet laugh. “Suit yourself.”

Kazuha had followed [Name] into town before. This wasn’t new.

And yet, somehow, this time felt different.

He walked beside her as they navigated the busy streets of Liyue Harbor, the sea breeze mixing with the scent of fresh-baked pastries and spices from merchant stalls. The sounds of bargaining and laughter filled the air, familiar and constant.

[Name] moved through the marketplace with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before, haggling down prices with little effort. Kazuha watched as she bartered with a fishmonger, her voice level, arms crossed, entirely unimpressed.

“That’s robbery,” she scoffed, jerking a thumb toward the stall beside them. “He’s selling the same cut for six mora less.”

The vendor, a stout man with calloused hands, let out a good-natured chuckle. “Aye, but mine’s fresher.”

[Name] arched a brow. “And yet, somehow, it’s still overpriced.”

Kazuha fought back a smile as the back-and-forth continued, watching the way her expression shifted so naturally—sharp, confident, unwavering. She didn’t demand attention, she commanded it.

And yet, there was something about her that had always been effortless.

He didn’t know why he had never thought about it before.

Why now was different.

The fishmonger finally sighed, waving a hand. “Fine, fine. I’ll take four mora off, but that’s my final offer.”

[Name] clicked her tongue. “Five.”

The man groaned. “Woman, you drive a harder bargain than Beidou.”

[Name] smirked. “You should see me when I’m actually trying.”

The deal was struck. She handed over the mora and turned to Kazuha, lifting the wrapped fish slightly. “See? You just have to know how to talk to people.”

Kazuha tilted his head, amused. “I’ve always found silence to be just as effective.”

[Name] clicked her tongue, adjusting the bag on her hip as they kept walking. “Yeah, well, I don’t have the luxury of improving poetry and hoping people feel like giving me a discount.”

Kazuha chuckled, watching as she scanned the next stall, already setting her sights on a vendor selling spices.

And then, without thinking, he asked, “Do you do this every time we dock here?”

[Name] shrugged. “Someone has to.”

He considered that for a moment. “And if you didn’t?”

She blinked, giving him a sidelong glance. “What?”

“If you weren’t here. If you didn’t come to this market, argue over fish prices, talk merchants into lowering their costs. What would you be doing instead?”

[Name] frowned, as if the thought had never occurred to her. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “This is just… what I do.”

Something about that answer made something settle in Kazuha’s chest.

Because he understood it.

That constant motion. That feeling of always having something to do, because stopping—because thinking too hard about what came after—wasn’t something either of them allowed themselves to do.

And suddenly, Kazuha wasn’t sure if he had followed her out of curiosity or if he had followed her because, in some small way, she was the only thing that made sense to him right now.

[Name] gave him a look. “What’s with you today?”

Kazuha exhaled, gaze flickering down toward the cobblestone path before meeting hers again.

“I suppose I hadn’t realized how much I’ve been watching you.”

[Name] blinked. “That’s not creepy at all.”

Kazuha laughed, shaking his head. “I meant… I never noticed the way you move through these moments. How easily you fit into the flow of things.”

[Name] stared at him for a second longer before rolling her eyes. “Alright, poet.” She waved a dismissive hand. “If you’re just gonna get weird about it, you can carry the fish.”

She shoved the wrapped package into his hands before he could respond, already walking ahead.

Kazuha stared down at the bundle in his hands, lips quirking in amusement.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected her to say. Maybe something sharp, something deflective—something that would make it easier to ignore the way his thoughts had shifted lately.

But [Name] had always had a way of cutting through things, even when she didn’t mean to.

So instead of pushing, instead of trying to make sense of whatever this was, Kazuha simply adjusted his grip on the fish and followed after her.

They moved through the marketplace with ease, weaving through clusters of vendors and shoppers. [Name] didn’t slow her stride for him, but he never had trouble keeping up.

She had always walked like this—with purpose, like she belonged to every place she set foot in.

And Kazuha, for reasons he didn’t quite understand yet, couldn't keep his eyes off of her.

They finished the rest of the shopping without incident, though Kazuha ended up carrying most of it. Not because [Name] asked—she never asked—but because he kept taking things from her hands without a word, and she never fought him on it.

By the time they returned to the Alcor, the sun was beginning its slow descent toward the horizon, streaks of gold and orange bleeding into the sky.

[Name] dumped her satchel onto a crate near the ship’s entrance, rolling her shoulders with a satisfied sigh. “Not bad. No outrageous prices, no fights, no getting chased out of stalls.”

Kazuha arched a brow. “Should I be concerned that those are your standards for a successful trip?”

She smirked. “I live a very exciting life.”

Kazuha chuckled, setting the bundle of goods beside hers. He didn’t step away immediately, though.

Instead, he hesitated.

It was small—almost imperceptible. A pause that lasted only a fraction too long.

But [Name] caught it.

She turned her head slightly, fixing him with a look. “What?”

Kazuha exhaled, watching the way the wind pulled at the strands of her hair, the way the fading sunlight softened the edges of her sharp features.

He could lie. Say it was nothing.

But Kazuha had never been one to waste words.

“…I think I see you differently than I used to,” he admitted.

[Name] blinked, expression unreadable. “…What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Kazuha huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know yet.”

[Name] studied him for a long moment, as if waiting for him to say something else. But he didn’t—not because he didn’t want to, but because he was still trying to understand it himself.

And for once, she didn’t push.

She simply let out a slow breath, tilting her head slightly. “Figure it out, then.”

Kazuha smiled, small and knowing.

"Will do."

Editor's Note: Poetry is not my strong suit so yes, I avoided it in this, under the thought that his poet brain turns to mush around Reader.

[coraline-scarlet]

Caught in the act || Poly!Ghostface x Reader

Billy Loomis x Reader x Stu Macher

Summary: Randy's sister always have been forbidden territory, but that never stop Billy and Stu from getting what they want.

Warning: dirty talk, oral (m recive), pet names, lil exhibitionism, cursing, sex mentions

Word Count: 1527

A/N: This took me so long to write, but I love every second of it! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy and be prepared because this boys is my new hyperfixation (English is not my first language, so it may contain grammatical errors)

(̶T̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶g̶i̶f̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶b̶e̶l̶o̶n̶g̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶m̶e̶,̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶r̶e̶d̶i̶t̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶r̶e̶a̶t̶o̶r̶)̶

Y/N Meeks, known as the Randy's twin (or more commonly as the hot Meeks). Even though they were twins, they never had been too close. It always seems that they have a strange thing between them. Although they're siblings and love each other, they just weren't too close. It is the way it is.

This didn't change their friends. The group was completely made by The Meeks twins, Tatum and Sidney, Billy and Stu. It had been this way since early high school.

In the group (the boys part), always had an unannounced rule. Randy's sister is out off the game. Randy made it clear since when they first became friends. But Stu, and mainly Billy, never wanted to follow this rule. And today was the proof of it.

And all this brings us for today. You ended up in the same group for a biology project as Billy and Stu, so you three decided to do it in your house. That wasn't a problem for you, and the reason was because you have been having a thing with those boys in the last months. You always find them hot and all but never thought that this could ever pass the crush line, but suddenly one day they both showed you the same interest, when that happened you couldn't say no.

It all started six months ago, when Billy finally decided to totally ignore Randy and just follow his wants. Stu always has noticed Billy's passion (obsession) in the Meeks girl, and after observing Y/N to see what makes his best friends feel like that, he totally understood. Something in the way she smiled, or how she simply ignores all the idiots comments with just an eye roll, the way her hair moved, her voice, simply her, was completely mesmerizing. After a few months from the realization, they decided something. That perfect girl have to belong to them, no matter what.

So here you are, doing some idiot biology group work with the guys you have been kissing (fucking) secretly the last 6 months. With only you three in the house, is kinda obvious that biology would turn in another thing.

"She looks so pretty down there." You can hear Stu voice saying excitedly, followed by his typical laugh.

"She looks like a doll using her mouth for something useful." Billy's voice is more husky, with a deep sigh due to the pleasure he was feeling.

In the last few weeks, you ended up not having any time alone with your boys, and that made you three very sexualy frustrated persons. And feeling as if you didn't get enough attention, you have decided to do some revenge. Using the clothes you know they like, whispering dirty things in their ears in front of everyone, and as Stu said, "acting like a flirt." The same boy had the ideia to put you here now, under the table with Billy's dick in your mouth.

The table was covered with a cloth that only could show your feet, so you just could be seen from when Billy pulled up the cloth to see your working in his cock. You can see the smirk printed in his face, his dark eyes looking at you with hunger. His stare gives you shiver that goes straight to your pussy.

You can see a little bit of Stu beside Billy, his hand jerking off his big dick with that idiot ear-to-ear smile that he always has. That scene makes your mouth salivate. Looking again at Billy's face, you're contemplating by his pleased expression, and you can't stop staring him.

"You're giving me some doe eyes, uh? Such a cock slut, aren't you?" He pulled your hair as he pushed your head lower on his member, making his cock go deeper in your throat. Your hands hold his thighs, squeezing the muscle covered by the jeans when you start to choke. But Billy continues to hold your head down for some seconds until finally let you go up.

"Man she's such a view!" You hear Stu moan as he says it. You can't stop smiling as you rest your head in Billy's lap, breathing a little before go back to his dick, but your hand never stopping to move in his member.

"Wanna test it?" Billy say now looking at Stu. The boy never would regret it.

With a little slap in your cheek, he send you for the other side of the table, when now Stu has sat. You immediately take his member with your hands, he was huge, more than Billy, just a little lass thick. You start your job when you hear the nock from the front door.

Gasping, you try to take his dick of your mouth but Billy's voice stops you. "You will keep him in your mouth. If you can suck his cock silently while we take care of it, you will have a gift in the end."

He was looking at you beside Stu, his order making your pussy melt even more. Obediently, you do it. Stu squirm inside your mouth, his hand affectionately passing through your hair. The idea of being caught makes you rub your thighs, looking for friction.

Sitting back in his seat, Billy makes sure to hide you, making it look like he and Stu are only sitting at the table with your studying stuff waiting for you.

"Hey guys, what're you doing here?" You hear Randy's voice as you continue to suck Stu.

"Biology project, man." Billy responds.

Randy only nods and walks to the fridge. All of you are in the kitchen table. He takes a can of soda, opening and turning to see the boys as he talks.

"So... Where's Y/N?" With that question, Stu pushes deeper into your mouth.

"Bathroom." Is the only thing Stu says. The room remains in silent until Randy start walking through.

"Okay. I'm leaving, have a... good study?" He start passing the room. It's only then you finally can breath, taking his dick out of your mouth. That situation makes you nervous, but something in the ideia of it is exciting.

"Oh, I forgot something!" You freeze when Randy's voice is return. "Wait, what she doing down there?" He asks as he stop walking.

You look down and see the gap in the cloth that allows you to see your feet. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Nobody says anything.

"What she hiding for?" His voice is closer, and you can now see his feet. Then he starts pulling up the cloth, and you can't even breathe.

"What are you hiding for..." Now you can see your brother's face. Everyone is freezes for a second as you stare at Randy in shock.

"Shit!" It's Billy voice who breaks the moment, and then you immediately start walking off the table, as the boys are closing their jeans and getting up, all this so fast.

"You're kidding me?!" Is Randy's first reaction. When you're finally up, you see his face.

"My sister? In my house? In front of me?!" In each sentence, his voice get even more loud.

"Hey, man, it is not that deep..." Stu said, but the anger in Randy's eyes shows this is not the moment.

"Is not that deep?!" He walks slowly to Stu. "I'm gonna kill you!"

"Fuck!" Is the only thing Stu can say before everything start ruin.

Randy start to run after Stu as the boy tries to escape, and they run around the table. You scream, trying to stop Randy as Billy take their stuff quickly. Stu is running all over the house, as Randy is right behind him in screaming with killer eyes.

"Let's go!" Billy says, pushing you to the front door. "Stu!" You call, holding the door for him. And when you three are outside, you close the door in Randy's face.

All of you immediately run to the car. When the last door is closed and locked, its the exact moment Randy tries to open it.

"GO, GO, GO!" Stu shouts to Billy, who speeds up, driving away.

When you reach a safe distance, Stu starts laughing nervously. "Shit! That was insane!"

Sitting in the backseat, you look at him. "Stu, that's not the moment!" You scold him.

"No baby, Stu is right, that was insane!" Billy agrees. "But you know what? In the end, that's all for good."

"What?!" You look at Billy in disbelief. He stares back at you through the rearview mirror before saying.

"Yeah, Baby! That means we don't have to hide this anymore." You start to think abouti, and then it hits you.

"Really?" You look at him, and Stu moves on the seat so he can see you and hold your hand.

"Yes, now we can show to everyone who you belong to!" Stu smiles at you and leans in, placing a quick kiss on your lips.

You can only smile with the idea of them finally being yours. "But what about Randy and the girls?"

"They can handle it." Billy smiles to you in response. "So what do you say, Y/N? Will you date us?"

You hold Stu's hands more tightly as you keep smiling to Billy. "I'd love to!"

[thepastisalreadywritten]

By Leslie Patrick

1 August 2023

Anne Boleyn (c. 1501 or 1507 – 19 May 1536), King Henry VIII's second queen, is often portrayed as a seductress and ultimately the woman responsible for changing the face of religion in England.

In reality, she was a fiercely intelligent and pious woman dedicated to education and religious reform.

But after her arrest and execution on false charges of adultery and incest in May 1536, Henry VIII was determined to forget her memory.

Her royal emblems were removed from palace walls, her sparkling jewels tucked away in dark coffers, and her precious books disappeared from the pages of time.

One of Boleyn’s books that has reappeared is the Book of Hours, a stunning prayer book, printed around 1527 with devotional texts designed to be read throughout the day, features hand-painted woodcuts — as well as a rare example of the queen’s own writing.

In the margins of one of the beautifully decorated pages, she penned a rhyming couplet followed by her signature:

“Remember me when you do pray, that hope doth lead from day to day, Anne Boleyn.”

The book vanished with Boleyn’s execution in 1536, then resurfaced around 1903 when it was acquired by the American millionaire William Waldorf Astor (31 March 1848 – 18 October 1919) after he purchased Hever Castle, Anne Boleyn’s childhood home in the English countryside.

The hiding place of the disgraced queen’s devotional tome had been a mystery for centuries, until recent research by a university student uncovered hidden signatures that helped trace its path through history.

The discovery

The book’s whereabouts in the 367 years between Boleyn’s death and its reemergence remained puzzling until 2020 when Kate McCaffrey, then a graduate student at the University of Kent working on her master’s thesis about Anne Boleyn’s Book of Hours, found something unexpected in the margins of the book.

“I noticed what appeared to be smudges to the naked eye,” recalls McCaffrey, assistant curator at Hever Castle since 2021.

Intrigued, she borrowed an industrial-strength ultraviolet light and set it up in the darkest room of Hever Castle.

Ultraviolet light is often used to examine historical documents because ink absorbs the ultraviolet wavelength, causing it to appear darker against the page when exposed.

“The words just came through. It was incredible to see them underneath the light, they were completely illuminated,” the curator recalls.

McCaffrey’s theory is that the words were erased during the late Victorian era when it was popular to cleanse marginalia from books or manuscripts.

But thanks to her extraordinary detective work, these erased words turned out to be the key that unlocked the tale of the book’s secret journey from certain destruction at the royal court to safety in the hands of a dedicated group of Boleyn’s supporters.

The guardians

Indeed, various pages throughout the text reveal the names and notations of a string of Kentish women — Elizabeth Hill, Elizabeth Shirley, Mary Cheke, Philippa Gage, and Mary West — who banded together to safeguard Anne's precious book and keep her memory alive.

While it’s unclear how the book was initially passed to these women, Anne Boleyn expert Natalie Grueninger suggests it was gifted by Anne to a woman named Elizabeth Hill.

Elizabeth grew up near Hever Castle, and her husband, Richard Hill, was sergeant of the King’s Cellar at Henry VIII’s court.

There are records of the Hill’s playing cards with the king, and there may have been a friendship between Elizabeth and the queen that prompted Boleyn to pass her prayer book on before her execution.

“This extended Kentish family kept the book safe following Anne’s demise, which was an incredibly brave and bold act considering it could have been considered treasonous,” says Grueninger, podcaster and author of the book The Final Year of Anne Boleyn.

Anne’s Book of Hours was passed between mothers, daughters, sisters, and nieces until the late sixteenth century, when the last name makes its appearance in its margins.

“This story is an example of the women in the family prioritizing loyalty, friendship, fidelity, and a personal connection to Anne,” says McCaffrey.

“The fact that the women have kept it safe is a really beautiful story of solidarity, community, and bravery.”

The book, currently on display at Hever Castle, is a touchstone of the enigma that was Anne Boleyn.

Castle historian and assistant curator Owen Emmerson points out that the book contains Anne’s DNA on the pages from where she touched and kissed it during her daily devotions.

“This was a really beloved possession of hers,�� says Emmerson.

“Because of what happened to Anne Boleyn, we don’t have a vast amount of information in Anne’s own words. But the physical remnants of her use of the book, and the construction of that beautiful little couplet, have her identity in them.”

While Anne’s Book of Hours has finally found its way home, the research into this intriguing historical mystery is not yet over.

McCaffrey continues to chart the book’s provenance through the centuries to find out where it was hiding all this time.

The discovery of the inscriptions illuminates the book’s furtive journey, providing us with a glimpse into the controversy, loyalty, and fascination that Anne Boleyn has engendered for the past 500 years.

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 7 - Magic with a Cost

Galadriel x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: Galadriel is weakened after Dol Guldur and you're charged with keeping her safe.

Warnings/Notes: None. Gotta admit I always wondered wtf happened after this scene so here's my rushed take on it.

Word Count: 1527

  Every being must at least once tamper with darkness. Even you had, dancing with the shadows in late nights where it seemed that was the only option left. But you didn’t expect the Lady of Lorien to turn so… terrifying.

  If there was anybody that could banish Sauron back to where he had come from, it would be her, but it didn’t go down how you would have imagined.

  Galadriel was already weakened from reviving Gandalf, her pale body draped loosely across the cold floor of Dol Guldur. But when the evil being began to reform in front of your very eyes, she was suddenly back upon her feet with a new strength.

  Instead of a warm light radiating from her body, it was dark, almost evil. Her hair flew behind her in murky blue strands as if she’d fallen down a well and reemerged soaked to the bone. Her face was dark, eyes wide and wild. You’d never heard a voice as deep and booming as hers as she banished Sauron from this realm with such a power you were almost cowering in fear.

  Though, the second the evil vanished, so did her power.

  Galadriel’s legs stood for only a second longer before she collapsed backwards with a cry. She would’ve fallen onto the ground had you not been there to catch her, slowly lowering her down so she was on the stone once more, her head against your shoulder and your arm around her back. She was shaking as violently as a feather in the wind, trying to catch her breath between weak gasps.

  “I’ve got you…” You whispered, maneuvering the weakened elf so her head could rest easy against your chest. Then you looked up at the others; Elrond and Saruman. “We were deceived.”

  Her shuddering breath tickled your neck, still trembling as the last remnants of her strength filtered from her body. “Sauron… his spirit endured…” She rasped in an airy tone. “We… we must..”

  Galadriel tried to stand but the sudden dizziness that swept her body dragged her back down. Her eyes fluttered shut and a weary moan escaped her lips as she sunk back into you. The idea of standing caused a sickening feeling to spread through her stomach. Oh, she was cold… so cold.

  “Stay still, my Lady…” You murmured into her hair, rubbing your thumb in soft circles over her back in a weak attempt to provide comfort.

  The other two continued their discussion about Sauron, but you could hardly hear them over Galadriel’s heavy but useless breaths. 

  “Y/n.” Elrond suddenly spoke, snapping you out of it. At once you tried to stand, but Galadriel grabbed your arm, leaving you half bent at the knee as she held onto you to keep herself from fully collapsing. “You need to take Lady Galadriel back to Lothlorien.”

  “Me?” You frowned, confused. Though you were Galadriel’s servant, yes, you were still nobody of importance. You’d come along because she asked you to, but the idea of trying to get her home in this state, alone, was terrifying. 

  Galadriel’s hand slipped from your arm but you caught it in hers, squeezing it tight. Her skin was usually quite cool to the touch, but now it was near freezing. 

  “I will help you get her there, but you must care for her after.” Elrond restated his words. His eyes flicked from yours to Galadriel’s as the ancient white being’s head fell onto your leg, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. “She needs healing, her strength has been all but destroyed.”

  You moved your hand to rest on Galadriel’s back, fingers trailing loosely through her hair. She could not stay here any longer, that was for sure, even if it seemed impossible to move her. But what other choice did you have? This was your lady, your boss, your friend… If the others trusted you enough to care for her in such a weekend state then so be it.

  “Okay.” 

  It turns out Elrond had predicted something of this manner would happen as he brought an extra horse. The two of you loaded Galadriel’s exhausted body onto the horse and you sat behind her, keeping her on the steed as you raced across the plains and through the forests.

  Lothlorien was only a day away, and with elven horses blessed by Rivendell, you arrived at a little less than that. 

  The healers whisked around you immediately once you arrived, practically carrying Galadriel away for healing. You were not allowed to see her until much later when she had been returned to her chambers.

  You peeked your head into her room, fingers clenched around the doorway. Your eyes fell upon the white shape in bed, asleep.

  With the quietness of a mouse, you snuck further into her room. You placed a tray down on her bedside table, pouring a glass of healing water and setting it aside for her inevitable waking. The healers had done well in changing her into a more comfortable gown but they left her other one folded horribly on the floor.

  You kneeled down to pick up the white fabric, shaking it out. You folded it back up and hummed to yourself. Then you placed the gown on her dresser when you heard her shifting.

  Galadriel’s face was still as pale as snow, though the softest hints of color were returning to her cheeks. She groaned softly in her sleep, eyes fluttering

  When you’d first arrived and spoke to one of the healers you had learned Galadriel had only ever exhausted herself this badly once, though they would not tell you why or how. They reassured you that she just needed rest. Lots and lots of rest. Using all of the power she did had drained her almost to the point of a magic-induced coma, but she was strong enough to fight the tendrils wanting to drag her down. 

  As far as you were concerned, Galadriel’s health and rest was the most important thing. After gazing at her slackened face you decided to have the cooks create her favorite meal so it would be ready when she woke up.

  But as you turned to leave you heard a soft voice.

  “Y/n…?”

  Galadriel’s eyes were hardly open, tiny slits of the ancient blue gazing at your blurry figure. Her soft cry was hardly more than a whimper. She tried to reach for your hand but fell short halfway through.

  You kneeled at her bedside and took her hand into yours. It was still chilly but not as icy as it had been before. A small smile spread across your lips as you looked at her. She really was healing.

  “I’m here…” You whispered. “I’m right here.”

  “I…” Galadriel was too weak to form any words but you sensed her need. You gently lifted her head as you held the glass of water to her lips, letting her drink until the glass was emptied.

  When you laid her head back down, her eyelids sank closed once more, but the corners of her lips were ever so slightly raised.

  “Stay…” She croaked.

  You moved one hand to gently touch the side of her face, fingers feather light across her skin. After you kissed her forehead, you nodded. “I will.”

  You stayed at her side the remainder of the day and even well into the night. Galadriel’s only fear at the moment was being alone, and you weren’t fond of the idea either, so you stayed with her as long as you could.

  By the time the next day rolled around she began to regain some of her strength though she was still bedridden and shaky.

  “Would you be able to stomach some soup?” You entered her room once more with another tray, a warm bowl of soup atop the metal platter. 

  Galadriel blinked a few times, lifting her head. A soft groan escaped her lips from the movement but once her eyes fell upon you and the soup, she smiled weakly.

  “Please.”

  You sat beside her once more, sort of propping her body up against yours. She was far too shaky to hold the spoon herself without spilling the hot liquid so you did it for her, feeding her until she was finished.

  Galadriel was not a fan of being unable to sustain herself but at your side she felt no need to protest. You were a safe presence for her, one she knew she could trust and be weak around. Plus… she secretly enjoyed the way you babied her, though she would never admit it.

  The soup seemed to do her some good as she could sit up on her own now but the idea of standing made her queasy so she stayed beside you in bed. Her body was still struggling to warm itself so at her request you cuddled with her, her head on your chest as your fingers ran gently through her golden hair, keeping her body and heart warm.

  You could certainly get used to a few more days of this. And so could she as the two of you drifted off in each others arms once more.

[threelionsgirl]

hiii i hope you’re okay x idk if your taking any requests at the moment so feel free to ignore this if your aren’t, but if u are could u write something for mason mount where the reader is an actress or model or something and masons had a celebrity crush on her for ages but then he finds out they’re going to meet for the first them at an interview they have to do together! u can decide everything else like if he’s nervous or really flirty when they meet xx

the interview | mason mount

warnings: none word count: 1527 notes: hi anon, yes the requests are open, it's just been a long time since I've written, and I wasn't sure how to get back, but I'm on vacation so fuck it, feel free to send more requests!!! by the way, I couldn't decide whether to do nervous!mase or flirt!mason then I did both! masterlist | requests are open!

The knock on the door caught Mason's attention. He was in his dressing room waiting to have his makeup done. That day he was going to be on an interview talk show, and he was excited.

"Mason?" was the producer of the show, poking her head into his dressing room. "Is it okay if you share the dressing room with someone else? We had a little incident, it would just be for makeup."

"Sure no problem." He agreed without elaborating. The only information he had received before arriving was that he would only be one of two special guests for the interview that night.

When the door opened again and Y/N walked in, Mason couldn't believe his luck. Mason had had a crush on Y/N for years. He had seen all of her movies, especially those that were part of the Marvel franchise, and had fantasized about meeting her, and now here he was, about to share a dressing room with her for an interview that they would do together.

As soon as Y/N entered the room, Mason's heart skipped a beat. He tried his best to stay calm, but he couldn't help but feel nervous around her.

"Hm, hello?" she smiled, and he tried not to look like an idiot.

"H-h-hi." Shit. Why the hell was he stuttering? It wasn't in his profile to be so nervous in front of a woman, but Y/N's beauty was really otherworldly.

"Sorry to invade your space like this, but they left something rotting in my dressing room, and now it's the biggest stink in there." She laughed, waving her hand in front of her nose, remembering the smell. "I'm Y/N by the way, actress." Mason only realized that he had been drooling for so long, enchanted with Y/N that he barely noticed that she had a hand outstretched toward him.

"I-I know who you are." He faked a cough to try to get that damn stutter to stop, as he squeezed her hand.

"Oh you do?" She raised an amused eyebrow.

"Yeah, I think I've seen all your movies." He was sure he had seen them all.

"Oh, so I have a fan?"

"Yeah, I guess you do." He laughed gracelessly and decided to complete. "I'm Mason."

"You play football, don't you? I was told that's what it was."

"Yeah, I play for Chelsea."

"I'm not very familiar with the sport, but you're one of the best players in the country, aren't you? It must be hard to deal with all that pressure."

"Yeah, it's complicated sometimes, but I love what I do…" Mason had to confess he was in heaven to have Y/N there with him and so interested in what he was saying, but that nervousness didn't seem to want to go away, and he seemed to prefer to look everywhere rather than look at her and do something silly. "Sorry… Do you want something? I swear I didn't finish like all the stock in the fridge."

Y/N laughed lightly noticing his nervousness and moved a few steps closer towards him and touching his shoulder which made Mason shudder.

"No need to get nervous in front of me, Mount, I usually treat my fans very well." She blinked with one of her eyes, and Mason arched his eyebrows.

Wait a minute, was that a flirtation? It had to have been a flirtation by the way Y/N said the last sentence, with a certain malice. But Mason didn't have time to find out because the make-up artist, Margot, entered the trailer, interrupting them.

They didn't have much more time to talk alone because in minutes they were being driven to the studio to start recording the show, but the glances they had exchanged since Y/N's last sentence had not gone unnoticed by Mason.

The interview went well, he and Y/N had already talked about almost everything involving their lives while the host alternated with jokes to lighten the mood. The one this time would be Mason, who would participate in a "Marry, kill or kiss?"

"So Mason, Gal Gadot, Scarlett Johansson and Y/N. Who do you marry, kill or kiss?" The host asked, and Mason looked at the audience. The idea was to make him look dull, but he didn't because he saw an opportunity there. He looked at Y/N who was sitting next to him. She raised an eyebrow at him, really interested in his answer.

"Hm, I think I marry Scarlett, kill Gal and kiss Y/N."

A chorus coming from the audience filled the room and Y/N looked slightly positively surprised.

At intermission, when they returned to the dressing room, Y/N asked the first thing she thought of:

"So, you would kiss me, but not marry me? Why?"

"Because kissing you is one thing I can do now." He winked, confidently, taking Y/N by surprise. She had expected to hear anything but that, but she smiled witlessly, so Mason realized that she had enjoyed it. She wanted him to flirt with her, and that was enough to make him put all nervousness aside. He knew he had to make the most of this opportunity.

Margot appeared to touch up his makeup, and soon they were back on the couch to restart the interview. Y/N felt that the second half was being different, Mason was different with her, he seemed more at ease, more playful, and she couldn't ignore the shivers she felt every time her hand accidentally brushed against some part of her skin.

What she didn't know was that everything Mason did was on purpose.

The interview must have been almost over when a blackout covered the entire studio, leaving almost everything dark except for the lights coming from the cell phone screens.

The director warned them that they were having a problem with the power outage, and the producer turned to the one of those still sitting side by side.

"Mason and Y/N is it okay if you guys hold on for a bit? It's a minor technical problem, and we are already fixing it."

"No problem" Y/N replied, staying a little longer than planned would not be a problem for his schedule.

"With Y/N's company, I can wait all day." He replied simply, and Y/N looked at him. Even in the dark, she could see the wink he directed at her.

"Okay what's this?" She asked, sitting up so that she was facing him. "Stop flirting with me."

"Why? Is it working?" He laughed, getting a little closer.

"You don't seem like the same shy guy from half an hour ago."

"I'm not shy, but I confess that meeting you made me nervous." He said low, just so she could hear. Mason ran his fingers up her arm, making circles on the bare part of her shoulder, and that time Y/N didn't know if she could concentrate on his words and the touch at the same time. "Because I have to admit, I've had a crush on you for a few years now."

"Oh yeah?" Y/N asked, licking her lips. She thought the nervous Mason was adorable, but the flirtatious Mason was thought-provoking and much more interesting. "I have to admit that I think you are very sexy, and I would also kiss you in 'Marry, Kill or Kiss'."

That was all the fuel Mason needed to put all shyness aside and follow Y/N. It was dark enough to sneak back into the trailer without anyone noticing.

He just waited for her to close the door tightly before pulling her around the waist and pinning her to the wall, his body keeping her from moving. He brought his mouth close to hers, trying first to feel her breath, and almost laughed at her anxiety.

In the dark, they kissed passionately, Mason's hands traversing Y/N's body as she gave herself over to the moment. The sound of their quickening breaths was the only thing audible as they crumpled together in the trailer.

The touch of their hands and the pressure of their bodies against each other were a mixture of sensations that left them breathless. They knew they couldn't stay there forever, but they wanted to enjoy every second of it while they could.

"Let me know if you want me to stop." Mason whispered as his hands moved down from her waist to her hips. When he squeezed her ass while distributing kisses on her neck, Y/N found herself unable to ask him to stop.

The return of the light was the only thing that could separate them, reluctantly, knowing that they had to get back to the studio before someone came for them. But the gleam in their eyes showed that the moment they shared would never be forgotten.

"So…" Mason began half-heartedly, but extremely pleased.

"Now you're going to have to give me a lot more than a kiss, Mount." She said before they went back into the studio to wrap up the Talk Show.

When they said their goodbyes, Y/N gave Mason a mischievous smile and told him to keep in touch. Mason left the interview feeling like he was on cloud nine. He knew he had just had the best day of his life and couldn't wait to see what the future held for him with Y/N.

[promiseofeywa]

GUTS ?! simon riley! destroys himself, but spouse!reader tries to soften the blow. content warning !! : self-harm, emotional trauma, short yet graphic description of physical pain, simon not wanting to communicate, angst(?) with open ending, low possibility of part-two (but i can be convinced......) 1527 words .ᐟ

THE ABUSE. The torture. The pain. The nightmares. All of it beginning to become unbearable for Simon.

A shattered man with a hardened heart yet yearning for solace.

Numbing the pain is his only escape. Inflicting harm on himself was his means of release. Past memories becoming overwhelmingly haunting, shadowing all of his thoughts, shoving them into a small jar. His sorrow spiraling into anger, which then morphed into frustration and fear.

Guttural grunts filled the training room, along with the pounding of bare flesh hitting a bag filled with sand. The old and worn-out leather of the punching bag being the victim of relentless hits, for hours and hours. Black wife-beater becoming a dark in a few areas as sweat and droplets of blood, result from Simon’s raw and bloody knuckles, hit the cheap fabric.

You already had his routine memorized by now, result of months (or has it been a year since?) watching and waiting for your husband to notice whenever you stood in the doorway.

Although, Simon always knew when you were walking down the hallway.

His sweet dove who stood patiently by the entry with a water bottle in one hand (that, by the time he acknowledges you, had already gone warm; water droplets trailing down your hand and onto the ground) and a small IFAK in the other, ready to treat his wounds.

Not that he ever let you treat them anyway.

His jaw clenches at the thought of vulnerability, the same thing that caused numerous of the marks that now littered across his body.

His heart clenched whenever you traced them with your fingertips, thinking that he was asleep.

The memory of when Major Vernon betrayed them and had all of his team tortured, brainwashed crossed his mind—

bang.

You don’t flinch as the punching bag hurtles across the room, sand soon after beginning to trail out of the rather large hole that Simon had punched in it. Closing your eyes momentarily before slowly reopening them, gazing at the ground before you and then gradually lifting your gaze towards your husband.

Simon’s body trembled with adrenaline, his shoulders tense and jaw clenched. He leaned against the cold-cement wall of the training room, fast breaths beginning to even out as he got down of his high.

A bead of sweat slowly made its way down his temple, the pain in his knuckles increasing now that his adrenaline had started to die down. He kept his gaze locked on the crumbled punching bag, refusing to look at you.

“M’ fine.”

He muttered out, his voice hoarse as he felt the burning gaze of his dove, blue eyes continuing to glare down at the beaten punching bag on the floor.

“It’s down already, Simon.” You respond, a frown beginning to settle on your face. Simon’s eyes lock on you, his jaw clenched and annoyance starting to build. His balaclava could only hide so much but loving him all these years taught you to know better than that.

“I don’t need yer help, I can ‘andle it m’self.” He grumbles out through gritted teeth, referring to the IFAK in your left hand, glancing at the ringless finger for a moment.

“I haven’t offered it.”

“Then why are ya here?”

“Because I need you to stop doing this to yourself.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed, expression darkening as he took a few steps closer to you. He lifts his hand up and rests his palm on the doorframe beside your head, towering over you. He leaned closer, voice lowering into a dangerous growl.

“Y’ don’t get t’order me around, don’t test me, dove.”

You never backed down, never showed the slightest hint of fear. Why?

You never found a reason to, around Simon.

Your eyes hardened as you stared up at your husband, eyebrow raising at his words. The water bottle crinkled a bit in your grip, water droplets falling onto the ground from the force.

You had no choice.

“Let me take care of you or you’ll never see me again.”

Simon’s eyes widened slightly at your threat, eyebrow raising as an amused huff escaped him as he shook his head in disbelief. He knew you weren’t bluffing, but that didn’t matter to him.

But he couldn’t help as his heart drops at the thought of you leaving.

“Y’ don’t have the guts to leave me.”

He leaned in even closer. His towering height and broad frame looming over your own frame, blocking your view from anything else but him; a clear display of dominance.

You press your lips together as your frown worsened, usual doe eyes that gazed at Simon as if he held the moon and the stars now glared at him as if he took them away.

“You’re right, I don’t—“ You pause, pondering on whether or not say what’s on your mind. "But I don’t have the guts to watch you ruin yourself while I stand by and do nothing either.”

Simon’s gaze flickered, a mixture of anger and guilt in his eyes. A drop of blood began to trail down the arm that Simon had beside your head, slowing down as gravity did its job and had it land beside the drops of water.

He knew you were right, but his pride, his stubbornness, would not let him give in — not so easily.

“Get out of m’sight.” He growled out through gritted teeth, his shoulders tense and jaw clenched. He felt a familiar sensation forming in his head, a sensation of frustration and anger boiling inside it.

“I want you t—“

“Don’t.”

He knew what you were going to say, and it only made his anger flare even more; it began to make him think whether you were a human or a recorder.

Perhaps it was time to listen to you.

He didn’t want to hear it, he didn’t want to face the truth. It didn’t matter if you were childhood sweethearts or if you met at a random supermarket years after. He’s not used to being vulnerable, especially with you; his sweet dove who’s done nothing but stick by his side, obedient.

But even a caged dove yearns for the sky.

Simon’s hands clenched into fists, his purple bruised and bloody knuckles aching, pounding even. His jaw tense as he glares down at you, ready to maul you up if you tested him further.

Until you silently hold your gloved palm out to him.

Simon’s gaze locks onto your outstretched palm, his heart thudding in his chest. He knew what you were asking, what you were offering. His body tenses as his stubbornness wars with his love for you. He desperately wants to shove you out of the training room, to keep you away from the window; not wanting you to peek at the sky any longer—

but a part of him craves the comfort only you can provide.

Without a word, he slowly reaches out and places his hand in yours, fingers bloody. His knuckles were a mess of torn flesh and raw bruises, some of the skin hanging in ragged flaps as blood seeps through the cracks. Dark purple and blue bruises radiated out, swelling out the joints twice its normal size.

You grimaced at the sight, heart dropping as the result of Simon’s self-torture sat in-front of you. You kneel and place the water bottle beside Simon, not letting go of his hand. With your free hand, you grabbed some antiseptic wipes and began to clean the wound, clearing out some of the sand and oil from the leather; the feeling of your husband’s fingers twitching and trembling made you gently squeeze his hand in comfort.

“Fucking hell...” He curses under his breath as he watches you add a generous amount of antibiotic ointment before wrapping the knuckle in a sterile gauze— securing it with some surgical tape, making sure it was snug but not too tight.

His shoulders tense, body on high alert— prepared to pull away if he feels too vulnerable or exposed. Your touch is gentle, the coolness of the antiseptic on his skin a stark contrast to the rough and calloused hands of a soldier.

You let your fingers gently glide over the sterile gauze, not daring to make any eye contact with your husband. Simon didn’t move either, simply watching the way your lashes fluttered whenever you blinked.

He turns over his hand and lets your fingers graze his palm.

Your head moves up, eyes flickering up to meet Simon’s, a mix of emotions swirling in the depths of his sky-colored eyes. Neither of you said a word or made a move, standing in silence, basking in the other’s presence.

Until you pulled away, turning around as you walk out of the training room. Simon’s jaw clenches as he watches you walk away, a pang of disappointment and frustration coursing through him. The water bottle sits by his feet, but he makes no move to pick it up. Instead, he just reaches over and closes the door.

Loving Simon Riley is akin to caring for a caged dove desperate for the sky; a challenge to give it the space it craves.

[whencyclopedia]

The Conquest of New Spain

The Conquest of New Spain by Bernal Díaz del Castillo (1492 to c. 1580) is an account written in 1568 of the early Spanish colonization of Mesoamerica, specifically the conquest of the Aztec civilization in Mexico from 1519 to 1521 when Díaz was a member of the conquistador expedition led by Hernán Cortés (1485-1547).

Bernal Díaz

Díaz was born in 1492 in Medina del Campo, Valladolid, in Spain. Like many young men of his generation, he sought his fortune in military escapades in the New World. Díaz was in Nombre de Dios in Panama in 1514 where he served Pedro Arias de Avila (aka Pedrarias Dávila, b. 1442). In 1517, Díaz moved on to Cuba where he served under another infamous colonial governor, Diego Velázquez de Cuéllar (1465-1524). Velázquez was keen to find out more about the Yucatán Peninsula – then considered just another Caribbean island. Cuéllar sent two expeditions of exploration to Mexico: one in 1517 led by Francisco Hernández de Córdoba (1474-1517) and another in 1518 led by Juan de Grijalva (1489-1527). Díaz was on both expeditions as an ensign, and they have a chapter each devoted to them in Díaz's chronicle, but it is inconsistencies in the geography of these expeditions which have led some to doubt Díaz's participation.

Velázquez was so intrigued by the reports of the first two expeditions concerning a large civilization to the west that he determined to send out a third reconnaissance mission, this time to be led by Hernán Cortés. Díaz went on this expedition in 1519, but Cortés was ambitious for much more than information and was intent on conquest and riches.

After the campaign against the Aztecs, Díaz had an official position in Guatemala which included an encomienda license to extract labour from the indigenous community. Díaz visited Spain again but ultimately returned to Guatemala to write his famous work in the last years of his eventful life. The original title in Spanish is Historia verdadera de la conquista de la Nueva España ("The True History of the Conquest of New Spain"). New Spain was the name given to the viceroyalty that the Spanish established in 1535, of which Mexico was a part.

The work was first published in 1568, almost 50 years after the events the book describes. Díaz was 76 at the time, and this may explain some of the inconsistencies that have preoccupied modern historians. The doubts are a little ironic since one of the primary motivations for Díaz to take up his pen was to set the record straight. Díaz did not agree with a recent publication by Francisco López de Gómara (1511 to c. 1566), Herńan Cortés' private chaplain and final confessor. He felt that López's General History of the Indies (Historia General de las Indias), written in collaboration with Gonzalo de Illescas, had not got all the details of the Aztec conquest right and that Cortés had not been represented accurately. Díaz claimed that López had never even been to the Americas while he had been an eyewitness at every major battle. Díaz frequently criticises and corrects these chroniclers in his own work, and he is keen to show that the conquest was a team effort of conquistadors and not just Cortés, who Díaz felt had gained too much credit at the cost of his colleagues. A further motivation for Díaz was that his account, in which he is keen to show his role in the conquest, in some sense justified his encomienda, which at that point risked being abolished by a new set of laws.

Díaz died around 1580, having outlived all his old conquistador companions, but at least, in the words of the English translator J. M. Cohen, having recorded his version of events for posterity by displaying "a graphic memory and a great sense of the dramatic" (7).

Continue reading...

[rizlowwritessortof]

Jacklesversebingo Square 4!!

Written for Jacklesversebingo2024. The prompt for this one: TV Remote - Air Freshener - Rubber Duck. Yeah. 😁😂 (Included in the fic in bold) Just silly and fluffy!

Your week at work has been shit, and the guys are getting on your nerves with their constant bickering. And then you walk into the shower room, and BOOM.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1527

Warnings: Temper Tantrum? No smut (that's a warning for some people 😂)

Divider from @strangergraphics-archive

You pull into the bunker garage and just sit there for a minute, basking in the feeling of just being home. Work this week has been a bitch – one cluster-fuck after another, a boss that loves to pile the responsibility for untangling said cluster-fucks squarely on your desk, and the stress has taken a toll. Your neck, shoulders and back are in knots, a dull headache throbs at your temples, and you just want to grab some food, your pajamas, and soak in a hot, fragrant bubble bath until it all melts away.

You walk into the library, and a mouth-watering aroma makes your stomach growl. Apparently Dean is cooking, and you kick off your shoes, wandering into the kitchen. “Hey, there she is,” he greets you, gesturing to the table, where Sam is already seated and a plate waits for you. “Made you a steak and baked potato. Want a beer?”

You inhale appreciatively as he deposits the food on your plate, giving him a tired, grateful smile. “Thank you, Dean. This smells wonderful.” He grins, that little boy look in his eyes that he gets when you praise him for anything, and it makes you happy. And the little kiss he plants on your lips doesn’t hurt, either.

You eat, and chat, and complain about work, listen to the boys rail about what an asshole your boss is, and how he should appreciate you more. It’s nice, and comforting, and you feel a little of the tension leaving you.

And then the bickering starts.

They haven’t had a hunt in three weeks, and they’re getting on each others’ nerves. It’s been going on all week, along with your work issues, and you just don’t have the patience for it. Not tonight. So you quietly get up from the table, put your dishes in the sink, and head for your room. You shed your work clothes and put on your fluffy robe, put your hair up and head for the shower room, ready for that lovely escape from your annoying reality.

The door to the shower room is closed, so you open it and walk in, stopping mid-step. You completely forgot about the mess in there. Dean is a neat freak when it comes to the kitchen, and Sam is usually pretty clean. But, for some reason, they just always assume you will take care of the bathroom. The last few days you have just silently refused to do anything about it, and it has slowly gotten completely out of control.

There are wet towels on the floor, or draped over every available surface, and random pieces of clothing have been left here and there, including a pile of bloody, messy clothes from the last hunt. Both sinks are covered with toothpaste and whiskers from shaving. The room smells like something large and hairy has crawled in there and died after eating a Mexican restaurant.

You stand there for a minute, your temper coming to a full boil before you turn around and leave the room, marching towards the library where you can hear the brothers still sniping at each other. You walk up to the table, grab the book nearest you, and slam it to the floor, the sound echoing through the room. The boys both look at you, eyes wide and mouths open, and you unload.

“Why is it that you two can manage to clean up after yourselves in every room in this place except the bathroom? Is this a hotel? Do I look like I work for housekeeping? I just wanted to run a hot bubble bath, soak and relax in peace, but oh my god the smell in there… If you guys are going to binge on burritos, then please for the love of god at least maybe buy some air fresheners! And I am not cleaning up your disgusting sinks or picking up your dirty clothes and wet towels, are you fucking toddlers?”

“Sorry, meant to clean up in there, but…” Dean started, but you hold up a hand, cutting him off.

“Another thing – I have listened to you two bickering like a couple of old ladies all week. And when I try to escape that, go watch TV, you” (you point at Dean) “come in and grab the remote and start channel surfing at every commercial, and then I always miss half of my show because it’s already started again by the time you go back to it. And you always expect me to spend my whole weekend doing the laundry. What did you do before I lived here? I am not your maid, I work my ass off just as much as you do, and I’m done.”

You turn and march off to your room, throwing your robe on the bed and digging clothes from your dresser. The guys are still sitting there in shock when you come back out, fully clothed and jacket on. “I’m going to town. Keep your phones on, I’m gonna need a ride home later.” You storm out, climbing into your car and heading for the bar in Lebanon, fully intending to get shit-faced.

Several hours later, you weave your way out to the parking lot of the bar where Dean sits waiting for you in the Impala. It’s only around 10:30 and you’re tipsy, but you’re not fuzzy-headed drunk, your tirade from earlier in the night completely clear in your mind. Yes, you had reason to be frustrated, but the boys hadn’t deserved your temper tantrum.

You climb into the car, feeling Dean’s eyes on you as you settle in and close the door. You can’t bear to look at him yet, and he doesn’t say anything, just backs out and heads for the bunker. You both go inside, and Sam is waiting as you reach the bottom of the stairs.

You move past him and turn to face them both as Dean joins his brother. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve…” Dean shakes his head as he steps forward and pulls you into a hug.

“We’re sorry.”

Sam speaks up next. “We have been kinda taking you for granted. We didn’t mean to.”

You reach out a hand to take his, giving it a squeeze. “Forgive me for yelling at you?” you ask them softly. Sam joins the hug for a second, dropping a kiss to the top of your head before smiling at you and leaving you and Dean alone.

Dean bends to give you a gentle kiss. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Okay? Now I need you to come with me.”

You let him lead you down the hall to the shower room, and he opens the door, waving you by with one arm. You step into the room, which now looks clean on a molecular level. The tile shines, the porcelain sparkles, the chrome fixtures gleam. The air smells clean and fresh, and you finally remember to close your mouth. “You cleaned. I mean, you really cleaned. This is amazing.”

“Yeah. You were right, we were pretty disgusting. Sorry, babe.” He pulls you into his arms again and hugs you tight. “Why don’t you go get ready for bed, I’ll be there in a minute.” You squeeze him back and head for the kitchen to grab water before going to the bedroom.

You are down to your bra and panties when Dean comes into the room, and he grabs your fluffy robe from the hook on the back of the door on his way in. He approaches, tossing the robe onto the bed and reaching behind you to unhook your bra, his eyes on yours as he brushes the straps from your shoulders and takes it off. Then he goes to one knee in front of you, slipping his fingers into the top of your panties to pull them down your legs, letting you balance with one hand on his shoulder as he lets you step out of them. He stands, grabbing your robe, and holds it for you. “Put it on, I need you to come with me,” he says softly.

He leads you back to the shower room, all the way to the back, and a smile replaces your confusion as you see what waits for you.

The large claw foot tub is full of steaming water, mounds of bubbles floating on the surface, a rubber duck perched on top. There is a stack of clean, fluffy towels nearby, and the table at the head of the tub and the shelf on the wall behind it are laden with candles, the space full of their flickering light. You can’t help but giggle at the duck, and Dean grins as you stretch up to kiss him. “I love you.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he says, pulling you close for another lingering kiss. “So – are you gonna get in?”

You step back, letting your robe slip to the floor. “Are you gonna get in with me?”

“Hell, yeah. But I get to play with the duck.”

“Fine with me. I’m gonna have better things to play with,” you tease as you move close to unzip his jeans.

Tags for my lovelies: 

 @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog 

   @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel  

  @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5  

  @melanie451        @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean-blog   

        @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain  

  @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie 

   @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic  

  @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma   

 @ioanashalala    @jencharlan    @deansthirstblog     @dorky-and-i-know-it    @mischief-maker1   

 @winchestersandwordprocessors    @percussiongirl2017    @bringmesomepie56   @akshi8278    @torn-and-frayed  

  @sandlee44   @wingedcatninja  @evansrogerskitten   @emoryhemsworth  @peaceinourtime82 

 @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  @sarcasmqueen74   @maliburenee     @mrsjenniferwinchester   @yeehawbitchs  

 @emily-winchester  @hobby27    spnbaby-67   @zepskies  @ladysparkles78  

@alwaystiredandconfused   @just-another-busyfangirl    @muhahaha303    @deansimpalababy    @kr804573  

@suckitands33    @ej13928    @lmhf1

[knoepfl]

Christmas Feelings

7/24

Characters

• Arthur Fleck: A shy, emotionally fragile man who struggles with feelings of unworthiness but deeply desires love and connection.

• Reader (You): A compassionate and patient individual who creates a safe, loving space for Arthur, fostering his emotional growth.

Trigger Warnings

• Mental health themes: Anxiety, low self-esteem, and vulnerability.

• Emotional intimacy: Delicate exploration of love and trust.

• Physical intimacy: Detailed kissing and tender touches.

Masterlist

Words: 1527

You watched him for a moment, your heart aching at how out of place he seemed even in the safety of your home. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, his head tilted slightly to the side as though he were listening to something only he could hear.

---

The warm, golden glow of your apartment’s lamp cast soft shadows along the walls, mingling with the steady hum of a record player. The air was filled with the faint aroma of lavender from the candle you’d lit earlier, a scent you knew Arthur liked even though he never said it outright. He was standing by the window, his lanky frame silhouetted against the flickering lights of Gotham’s skyline.

"Arthur," you called softly, breaking the silence.

He turned to face you, his wide, almost startled eyes meeting yours. There was something so vulnerable in his expression, something that made you want to wrap him in your arms and never let go.

"Come sit with me," you said, patting the space beside you on the couch.

He hesitated for a moment, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other before finally crossing the room. He sat down gingerly, as though afraid the couch might collapse under him. His knee brushed yours, and he pulled back slightly, his hands settling in his lap.

"You okay?" you asked gently, reaching out to rest your hand on his arm.

Arthur glanced at you, his lips twitching into that shy, almost boyish smile that made your heart skip a beat.

"Yeah," he said, though his voice was barely above a whisper. "I just… I don’t want to mess this up."

"You won’t," you assured him, your fingers lightly tracing circles on his forearm. "You couldn’t."

Arthur’s laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating, but the tension in his shoulders eased just a little. He looked down at where your hands touched, his brows furrowing slightly as though he couldn’t quite believe it.

"You’re so good to me," he murmured after a moment, his voice tinged with awe.

"That’s because you’re good to me," you replied, leaning closer until your head rested against his shoulder.

Arthur froze for a moment before relaxing, his body leaning into yours like a weary traveler finally finding a safe place to rest. You tilted your head to look up at him, your eyes meeting his. There was a hesitance in his gaze, a quiet yearning that made your chest tighten.

"Arthur," you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"Yeah?"

You didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, you leaned up and kissed him, your lips brushing against his in a gentle, tentative way. Arthur stiffened at first, his breath hitching, but then he melted into the kiss, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

It was slow and sweet, each movement deliberate and full of meaning. You felt his fingers tremble against your skin, and it only made you deepen the kiss, wanting to show him that he didn’t have to hold back with you.

When you finally pulled away, Arthur’s eyes fluttered open, his expression a mix of wonder and disbelief.

"You don’t have to be so careful with me," you said, your voice soft but firm.

Arthur swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said quietly.

"You won’t," you promised, leaning into his touch. "I trust you, Arthur."

Your words seemed to unlock something in him. He leaned in again, his kisses growing bolder but still impossibly tender. His hands, rough and calloused from years of work, moved to your waist, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

You let him take the lead, guiding him with soft touches and whispered words of encouragement. His kisses trailed from your lips to your jawline, then down to your neck, each one sending a shiver of warmth through your body.

"Arthur," you murmured, threading your fingers through his unruly hair. He made a soft sound in response, his lips pausing against your collarbone.

"I—" he started, then hesitated, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Are you sure this is okay?"

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over the sharp planes of his cheekbones.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything," you said, your voice steady and full of conviction.

Arthur nodded, his eyes shining with something you couldn’t quite name. He leaned back in, his kisses growing deeper, more confident. His hands slid beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch warm and hesitant as he explored the curve of your waist.

You guided him gently, letting him take his time. Every movement was deliberate, filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. Arthur wasn’t just touching you—he was cherishing you, as though trying to memorize every detail.

When you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, he let out a quiet, almost surprised sound.

"I love you," he whispered against your skin, the words so soft you almost didn’t hear them.

Your breath hitched, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet your gaze.

"I love you too, Arthur," you said, your voice breaking slightly.

The smile that spread across his face was unlike anything you’d ever seen—a mixture of joy, relief, and something deeper, something unbreakable.

He kissed you again, his hands pulling you closer, and in that moment, it felt like the rest of the world had disappeared. It was just you and Arthur, tangled together in the warmth of your apartment, and for once, everything felt right.

---

Arthur’s kisses grew more assured as he leaned into you, his earlier hesitance melting away under the weight of your mutual desire. His hands, now steadier, slid further along your waist, his fingers brushing against the small of your back. You could feel the reverence in his touch, as though he were afraid to let go and wake up from a dream.

You tugged gently at the collar of his shirt, and he broke away for a moment, his breathing uneven as he watched you. His eyes, bright and filled with wonder, searched yours for permission, for reassurance.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, guiding his hands to the hem of your shirt.

Arthur hesitated, his fingers trembling slightly before he slowly lifted the fabric over your head, his movements deliberate. His breath hitched as he took in the sight of you, his lips parting in awe.

“You’re… so beautiful,” he said softly, the words carrying a weight that made your chest tighten.

You reached for him, pulling him back into a kiss, and this time, there was no hesitation. His hands found their place on your skin, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. You shifted, drawing him closer until there was no space left between you.

Arthur’s lips moved to your collarbone, his kisses trailing downward with a tenderness that made your heart ache. His hands roamed cautiously, exploring every curve with a care that only he could offer.

“Arthur,” you whispered, your fingers threading through his hair. “You don’t have to hold back.”

He paused, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he took a shaky breath.

“I just… I want to do this right,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

“You are,” you assured him, tilting his face up to meet yours. “You’re perfect.”

The words seemed to embolden him. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands traveling to places he hadn’t dared before. There was no rush, no urgency—just a slow unraveling of barriers, a quiet surrender to the moment.

As the evening stretched on, the room grew warmer, the flickering candlelight casting your intertwined shadows on the walls. Every touch, every kiss, felt like a promise—a quiet declaration of love that needed no words.

When you finally found yourselves tangled together beneath the soft blanket on the couch, the world outside had faded completely. Arthur held you close, his arms wrapped protectively around you as his breathing steadied.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern.

“I’m more than okay,” you replied, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I’m happy.”

Arthur’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, one that made your heart swell.

“I never thought… I never thought I’d have this,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “You make me feel… like I’m worth something.”

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you looked into his eyes.

“You are worth everything, Arthur,” you said firmly. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and he leaned down to kiss you again, this time with a quiet desperation, as though trying to show you just how much your words meant to him.

The night passed slowly, the two of you wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing whispered confessions and soft touches. And as the first light of dawn crept through the window, you knew that this was only the beginning of a love that would carry you both through even the darkest of times.

---

[lucarionite9364]

Johnny Cage x reader x Kenshi Takahashi

CW: Smut (18+ content)

Word count: 1527

PART 2

Straight horny ngl

How you ended up in this situation evades you, but god . . . were you glad it happened.

You were gently shoved onto the bed by the Hollywood actor, and pinned down by your wrists. “Eyes on me baby,” he spoke. He takes a free hand and roams your torso freely, squeezing lightly on your breasts. You let out a soft moan as he circles his finger around your clothed nipple. Johnny removes your top and looks awestruck while staring at your half clothed body. “Quit staring at me like that” you say impatiently.

“Let him stare all he likes, I can pick up the slack” says someone behind you as he cups your face in his hands from behind you. You tilt your head back to see Kenshi gazing at you seductively. As you are staring at each other, Johnny takes this moment to pull your bra down and start sucking at your breasts. You let out a surprised groan. Kenshi takes this opportunity to kiss you open-mouthed. As your tongues clash for dominance, you feel a rush of heat go straight to your core.

You move your tongue in circles around in the swordsman’s mouth, occasionally letting out breathy moans. His stubble is scratchy against your face, but you can’t find it in you to care as two handsome men ravish you. The lighter haired man slowly trails kisses down your upper torso toward your naval, sending shivers through your spine. He massaged your hips with his large hands, causing you to buck your hips upward into his head. He smirked, “Someone’s needy tonight.” You tried to wiggle your hips but he held you firmly. “Let me take my time sweetheart,” he lets out a chuckle, “we have all night.” This made you squirm even harder as he then dragged down your pants and panties, revealing your whole body to the two starved men around you.

Kenshi moved his ministrations to your lonely chest and began tweaking and pinching at them. At the same time Johnny drags his strong tongue up and down your clit causing you to writhe in their arms. The taller man leans down into your ear, “Uh uh Uh, no escaping this time,” he breathes out. You can’t control the desperate moan that escapes you. He goes down farther to suck on your neck, surly leaving dark spots by the morning. While Kenshi works on you from above, Johnny makes good use of his big mouth down south. He laps and sucks at your lips and clit like it’s the only thing he’ll ever eat again. He groans while inserting his tongue into your sopping cunt. Grasping onto Kenshi’s arms for support, you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. They fall down your face as you look down and see the actor staring up at you with the most fucked out expression on his face. This causes you to go over the edge and squirt all over his face. He happily starts lapping at all the juices and helps you ride out your orgasm before he pulls away.

“Holy shit, Johnny” you can barely speak as your legs are still shaking. “You look so beautiful when you cum on my face, babe.” You feel your face flush as he says that unabashedly. Kenshi wipes your tears from your face as he lets out his words of agreement. Johnny kisses your mound and stomach again as he sits up and straddles your waist. You feel something hard poking your back and see Kenshi looking into your eyes with pure lust on his face. While you're distracted, Cage flips you over onto your stomach. Wobbly, you rise to your hands and knees and are met with Kenshi pulling you in for another sloppy kiss. You hear the sound of clothes rustling as they start to undress themselves, hands or lips never leaving your body for too long.

You start to palm at the darker man’s shirt to help him get it off quicker. Spreading your hands over his pectorals, dragging his garments over his strong, tattooed arms, and off him completely. You’re lost in the feeling of his mouth on your when you feel something long grind up against your ass. You let out a gasp as you turn around just as Johnny spits on his hand and rubs his hard shaft languidly. You move your hips backward to meet his hardened length, but he lands a harsh smack on your ass instead. You yelp out in shock. “Needy little slut, so ready to take my cock aren’t ya?” He degrades. Your pussy throbs at the insult and your breath starts to pick up. Kenshi pulls your face toward him by the chin, “I want you to look at me darling, I wanna see your pretty little face around my cock, sucking me off like the whore you are,” you stare at him as your face flushes deep red, “can you do that for me, baby~?” You desperately cry out yes and nod your head eagerly as he palms his stiffening cock in his hands. “Then be a good girl and stay quiet, we don’t want anyone else finding us now do we?” You feel Johnny’s hands all over your ass as you spread your legs further apart to give him access.

He teases the tip of his shaft against your entrance making you cry out in frustration. “Come on Jo–HNNY UGH!” He gives you no chance to finish your sentence as he shoves his dick into your tight cunt. You barely get to recover from the intrusion as Kenshi pushes your jaw open and thrusts his hips to your lips making you gag around him. The two earthrealm defenders let out groans and sighs of pleasure simultaneously.

Kenshi fucks your mouth hard and fast. Wanting to give him more pleasure, you hollow out your cheeks and suck harder on him, he lets out groans in pleasure at how good your mouth feels. He grips his fist into your hair and tugs hard making you moan out around his dick. Johnny grips onto your hips for dear life as he rams into you as hard as he can. He’s very vocal about his pleasure, spewing out words about how you feel so good and he can’t get enough of your pretty little pussy. His words of nasty praise make you clench around him, making him even louder. Kenshi starts to silently berate Johnny as he’s being too loud. Johnny just looks at him and smiles his signature grin. Being fed up, Kenshi pulls Johnny into a heated kiss, which quickly devolves into sloppily making out. They moan into eachothers mouths as their hands find their way around the other’s bodies.

The pleasure you feel is overwhelming, that damn inside you welling up, about to break. You’re helplessly moaning around Kenshi’s cock and Johnny is plowing you like there’s no tomorrow. The two men finally have released each other’s mouths to give you their full attention. Johnny is panting heavily as he leans down, covering your back, moaning in your ear. “Baby,, hah,, I’m so close. Nghh- I’m gonna c-cum. Baby you’re so pretty, can’t believe I haven’t done you sooner hah.” You squeeze him tighter at his words, crying out around the shaft still going in and out of your throat at lightning pace. Kenshi's eyes are screwed shut and he’s breathing heavily. “Ohhh, Y/N, your mouth is so good. Hah, I’m gonna shoot my cum so far down your throat. You want that? You want my cum in you?” He speaks through gritted teeth, trying desperately not to bust right then and there.

With a little more sucking on your part, you get Kenshi to go first. You feel the hot seed before you taste its salty flavor. He grips your head on both sides and shoves it down till you’re deepthroating him. You can’t breathe but the feeling of his cum sliding down your throat is too good to care about anything else. Johnny brings his hand down to circle and press against your clit once more and that throws you both over the edge. Your mind blanks and you swear you black out for only a moment. Johnny bites down on your neck to keep his sound level in check as he spills inside your heat.

Your juices mix together as he fills you to the brim. He stills inside you as he pushes every last drop into you. Kenshi falls back onto the bed, you and Johnny following suit. You’re squished between them, feeling Johnny slowly pull out of you with an obscene squelching noise. You groan at the feeling and loss of his length. Kenshi pulled you closer into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. He was warm and comforting. You could hear muted grumbling behind you as Johnny complained he wasn’t getting any attention. “Get over here, Cage” you and Kenshi both say at the same time as he pulls you both closer (unintentionally squeezing you into his tiddies :3.)

(I hope you enjoyed🤧 I had fun writing this)

[we-loved-once-and-true]

Two's a Party, Three's... a Bigger Party

Reader and Javier are friends with benefits who use the cover of overnight jobs to release some tension. When new guy Charles joins the gang, Dutch insists he joins them on one of their trips. Will the presence of this gorgeous stranger throw a hammer in their plans, or are these jobs about to get a lot more fun?

Chapter One: Heatstroke

Chapter Two Tumblr // AO3

1527 words Read on AO3

You and Javier prepare for a robbery over in West Elizabeth, a welcome change from the New Austin sun and the relentless tension building between you. Was it the heat or the heat that gave you heatstroke?

F!Reader x Javier x Charles / porn with plot / ch1 suggestive, smut coming in ch2 / reader not described but mentions being from the east coast / pre-Blackwater / the camp is Twin Rocks in New Austin / no whump but reader has heatstroke / we'll meet Charles in ch 3

The midday sun bore into your skin, beads of sweat rolled down your back. The bandana that swept the sweat from your brow was now too damp to do much good, and was resigned to stop the burning metal of the rifle from blistering your hands.

You were going to kill Bill Williamson.

He knew it was his guard shift when he left to go “hunting”. You should have known you’d end up on guard duty; the heat making your blood boil had made you quite an annoyance for Grimshaw. You were too warm to sit and sew, too hot to labour over laundry, and no way were you willing to make your horse endure the sun anymo than necessary. As Bill trotted out of Twin Rocks, you could already sense Grimshaw’s focus on you.

With half an hour left, you resigned yourself to another pace around the camp. Usually, behind the old buildings would provide a little shade, but the punishing noon sun banished shadows from appearing. As you approached the back of camp, you squinted to look up at the hills. New Austin burned, but God was it beautiful.

“Careful, cariño, someone might sneak up on you,” a smooth voice teased from behind you. Spinning around, you saw Javier leaning against the wall, a cigarette hanging from his smirk, his face even more tanned than usual. His eyes narrowed in the glare of the sun as he looked at you from under his sombrero, the wide brim casting the only shadow for miles around. You had never wanted one more.

“Didn’t sneak up on me Escuella,” you lied with a grin, “I saw ya, just didn’t think you were much of a threat.” Your voice was slightly breathless - as far as handling the weather, you were haggard compared to the Mexican relaxing in front of you.

He chuckled softly, “That right, cariño?” His gaze shifted slightly, taking in more of your figure, causing a shiver to run through you. “Guess I haven’t been able to show off my skills recently… been a while since we last did a job, ay?”

Fighting your bashful blush, you looked away and blew a loose strand of hair from your face. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was watching your lips. You licked them before speaking, not acknowledging the shaky breath in front of you, “Has been some time, huh? I’ve been too busy scrubbing the constant dust from all our clothes to find any leads.” You kept your voice neutral incase anyone overheard, but you hoped your apology was apparent to him.

He clicked his tongue and pushed off the wall, “No worries, cariño, I got ya. Well, John said somethin’ about a stagecoach. Probably not as interesting as your laundry though.” Javier was now standing as close as he could while being in the camp; close enough to see the depths of his eyes, but not arouse suspicion. The perfect distance to make your heart jump, to make your face flush, to make you dizzy in anticipation.

There were rumours from the get-go about the two of you. The two newest recruits of the Van der Linde gang, inseparable as if from birth, found a fast and deep friendship in one another. Javier, heartbroken and forced from his home. You, having lost your family and prospects. You joined after attempting to pick-pocket Mary-Beth, who took pity on your starved and scared face, and saw a little of herself in you. You sheepishly returned her pocket watch, she apologetically returned your coin purse.

Less than a few months later, Dutch rode in with another lost soul, this one a ravenous and bloodstained foreigner. As Mary-Beth had with you, you saw yourself in his sunken face. You volunteered to help him, teaching him English and soothing him from his manic nightmares. In turn, he taught you to live by the ways of shooting and fishing. Together, you rebuilt yourselves, perfecting your partnership in crime. As to not disturb the girls you bunked with during his nightly terrors, you unceremoniously moved your bedroll into his lean-to. He didn’t look up from sharpening his knife when he told you to make yourself at home. His nightmares came less frequently.

Your friendship was natural, moving in sync and communicating with a glance. The rumours, therefore, were expected. Mary-Beth would embellish your fondness of the new mysterious revolutionary into little teases and tales. For years, you both insisted you were only friends, and for years you were telling the truth.

A job in Nevada turned sour fast, and through a storm of bullets you both escaped - nearly unscathed. Banged up from the fight and with a bullet gash in your thigh, you ended up laying on a musty cot in an abandoned cabin as Javier’s slim and precise fingers stitched you up, straddling your legs to hold you still. A bandaged leg and several bottles of whiskey later, you found yourself straddling him, fingers in his hair, kissing him like you needed him to survive.

His heart was still broken. You still wanted the freedom of a woman not spoken-for. So, friends you remained.

Long missions would keep you both from camp for a few days. Travel out, rob, hide, travel back. The adrenaline, the rush, the celebratory liquor - it was a routine between best friends. It wasn’t love - not in the traditional sense - but it was passion.

You threw yourself down on your bedroll, a long heavy sign releasing the stress from your body. The short shadow of your lean-to left your lower legs and feet in the sun, but the relief on your face and arms was heavenly. Your legs were lead and your blistered feet throbbed in your boots. Aching muscles and imminent heat stroke distracted you from approaching footsteps, the jingling of spurs muffled by a pounding headache.

You flinched at the cold cloth touching your face. “Easy, cariño,” his familiar voice cooed, “I’ll get you some water.” The cold bandana eased the stinging of your face; taking deep breaths, you smelt the tobacco and aftershave that soaked the fibres of Javier’s clothes (and, by proxy, quite a few of yours). A sloshing sound told you Javier had returned with your full canteena. Propping yourself up, you gulped down the water with desperate gratitude, the dizziness of heat stroke fading. Returning yourself to your pillow, you allowed the cloth to block the light and let the pull of sleep take over, barely aware of Javier’s gentle strumming.

You stirred awake, wiping your face with Javier’s bandana. Mid-afternoon sunlight dazzled your eyes, but thankfully offered you a larger shade, as if to apologise for its earlier abuse. Sitting, you brought the canteena to your lips, gulping down the refreshing water. In your grogginess, you vaguely noticed it had been refilled.

“Enjoy your siesta, hermosa?” You looked beside you to Javier sitting on his bedroll with his map open in front of him, watching you with a fond smile.

“Yeah, thanks for the water,” you raised your bottle towards him. “Guess the heat got to me.”

Javier hummed lightheartedly, “Don’t worry about it, we can’t all be blessed with my sun-tolerance.”

“Hah! I’d like to see you try snow-tolerance,” you thought back to your childhood on the east coast. “Bet you wouldn’t have made it to noon.”

“Good luck getting me anywhere past West Elizabeth. Speaking of which,” he pulled the map closer to you, “I’ve drawn out our route for tomorrow, what do you think?” He looked up and paused at your confused expression, “Cariño?”

The last thing you really remembered was the way Javier was looking at you, his smirk, his suggestion at doing a job together-

“Oh!” He smiled as your memory came back, the fog from the heat stroke disappearing. John had followed the lead of a banking coach crossing West Elizabeth once a month. Some other job had taken John’s attention, so Javier had volunteered to follow up on it. The invitation of three days alone with Javier was too tempting - so did a few days out of the New Austin sun. “Yes! The bak thing in West- yeah! I remember. When’re we going?”

“Careful hermosa, you might get faint again,” his sultry voice teased, flashing a toothy grin. “I reckon we leave first thing: we can get to Blackwater, stake out the roads, find a place to, ahhh, bunk down for the night,” he traced a long finger along the road he had drawn on his map. His suggestive wording was paired with a subtle glance at you, pleased to see you looked as excited as him. “Next day, we hit the coach. Hide out as usual, be back the day after. Hopefully,” he added dryly.

“Hopefully,” you repeated. “You know if Blackwater has a hotel? Or are we, uh, roughing it?” The innuendoes could pass as a poor choice of words for eavesdropping ears, but all they did was fuel the fire that was building up between the two of you.

“Don’t worry about it, hermosa,” he reassured you with a dark laugh, “I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of.”

This is my first upload for RDR so please please let me know if you have any feedback ! Any and all comments are appreciated ♡ Porn is coming in Part 2, then we'll be meeting Charles, so I hope you hang around for a bit ! Thanks for reading, enjoy xoxo

[loudn-mcyt]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Skyblock Kingdoms SMP Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Rubyco/Vintage_Applesauce (Video Blogging RPF) Characters: Rubyco (Video Blogging RPF), vintage_applesauce (Video Blogging RPF) Additional Tags: warden!vintage, Post-Finale, Ruby loves their new monster wife, Angst, Mild Horror Summary:

Vintage made a promise to Ruby, to watch after the clock and compass at the end of the world. She will keep that promise, no matter what.