#middle east muscle

[fag4arabs]

Yeah, just like that you filthy fag! Suck my Arabian Cock good and deep. Take it in your throat like a slut. My wife is not here now and I need to unload my balls in a hole. And you the first hole available. So it is up to you now to make me cum. Come on whore. Take it deep in your throat and thank me later for my mighty cum.

[mountndo]

[gazagfmboost]

Bashar Alazaanin (19)

Vetting: TheLastTurtle / GofundWatermelons #242 Instagram: basharzaneen Fund Currency: € Euro

Bashar is an incredible 19 year old young man who spent his time loving life, doing gymnastics & parkour with his beloved friends before the conflict- since then he's been volunteering his time bringing joy & aid to the traumatized children of the refugee camps.

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A post shared by ابو الكوفية 🤍| Bashar Alzaanin𓂆 (@basharzaneen)

I hope that you will please consider sharing some hope with this young man by throwing a heart towards this post, donating any tiny amount if possible or by helping Bashar's story to be seen & heard by sharing <3 Your time & kindness are appreciated very much <3

EMERGENCY: HELP evacuate Bashar from Gaza gofund.me/f7997d0b

[ceilidho]

I’ve been watching Spartacus with my dad and I must share with you the vision I had.

Gladiator 141 and the sweet little thing they got as a reward after a fight well fought.

this is very old:

Sometimes he spends as much as an hour staring at you through the bars of your cell. 

You haven’t yet worked up the nerve to say something to him. Not while he still wears the silver-plated galea that obscures most of his face. You can still see thin lips through the middle slit of his helmet, where the cheek plates don’t meet and the thin strip running down the bridge of his nose gives way to his philtrum, and the barest slivers of dark eyes. 

Apart from his helmet, he wears little else—sometimes the customary leather pteruge around his waist or a simple tunic belted at the waist. Nothing that would hinder his movements. It keeps the bulk of him on display. A prized fighter then, you surmise, as if the helmet weren’t enough to make that known. 

He still gleams bronze from his fights under the sun. Perhaps he’s counted at least a full hand’s worth this week alone. He comes to you sometimes after those very fights, still dripping sweat and prowling the length of your cell like one of the lions kept beneath the arena. You never know what to say to him then. There’s little you can do apart from curl up into yourself in the far corner of this cell you’ve come to know as a temporary home and eye him warily. 

It’s hard to reckon with the size of him. That’s what keeps you wary, watchful of him when he comes to keep you company for reasons unbeknownst to you. He hasn’t made them known yet, in any case. 

There isn’t an augur to warn you the day he chooses to speak. 

“Where'd they take you from, pretty bird?”

You flinch at the sound of his voice. It comes from the pure depths of him, Tartarus deep. You think it would take nine days for it to reach you, like a bronze anvil falling alongside it. In the days that he’s spent at your side, haunting the length of your cell like a sentry bound to his post, you’ve never once heard so much as a whisper.

His words take a moment to register. Across from you, he sits back on his haunches, thick thighs bunched up under the fan of his pteruge. It’s hard to tell how long he’s been there—the hallway outside your cell is relatively dark, the only windows being on the leftmost side of the building, near the door where he must have quietly slipped in. 

“East of here,” you answer hesitantly.

He hums, nods his head. Ruminates on your words. 

In truth, you can only guess—the village where you grew up, where you suckled at your mother’s teat and played with the other children in the glen surrounded by mountains jutting up from the earth and ochre yellow and green wildgrass, the fog sometimes sitting so low in the valley that you could lose yourself in it, is far from here. At least a month’s walk, perhaps more (you lost time along the way). Your feet are still blistered from the march back to Rome, legs still covered in sores and bruises; even now your cell is a poor comfort, the dirt floors harsh on your knees and shins, abrasive to the partially healed skin of your feet. 

You’ve never been very worldly though, never known more than the four walls around your bed. Perhaps the walk wasn’t nearly as long, as treacherous; maybe you came from the west instead, or the south. You can only guess. 

“I came from the north,” he says, breaking the silence again. That startles you somehow. The thought of him under the thumb of another feels inexplicably gut-wrenching; if a man with a virile, sweat-laden chest like his, arms corded with muscle that yours will never see in a thousand years, has been yoked to Rome’s chariot, what hope do you have? 

You wonder for a moment if he’ll tell you more, but he falls silent after that simple revelation. The weight of his gaze still pins you in place.

“…You’re a prisoner then?” you ask, considering briefly whether to say like I, before discarding the thought. Like I, like me. Are you too in a cage, like me?

It’s difficult to suppress the urge to ask him more, but you do. It does you no good to endear yourself to men that move and stare like beasts. There’s something malignant in him, you think, a rot burrowed in deep. You can feel it stir in you too when your eyes dip too low, halted by the muscles of his thighs and the thick slabs packing his arms. You’ve seen beasts copulate; you imagine he’d be much the same. 

He tilts his head, considering your words. Wolf-like, and you’ve seen wolves before. Though the ever-present helmet obstructs most of his face, the sharpness of his eyes pierces through. “They don’t put me in a cage anymore. What would you call that?”

Your chest collapses under his words. Hopes dashed. Does he go in the cage of his own accord then? Does he lock the door himself, deliver the key to the guard standing watch? You think people taken from their homes should see their plight in each other, but the gladiator before you doesn’t look at you like the two of you share a fate. 

“A slave?” you postulate, perhaps too boldly. Worry crawls inside the walls of your belly when his lips flatten, almost imperceptibly.

“Do I look like a slave to you?” he asks, and you can hear it this time. A gentle warning. A rebuke. A question that tells you all that you need to know about this man and how he sees the two of you. 

You remain silent, cowed under his stare and the tone of his voice. Perhaps he’s right, in a way; he’s not the one in the cage. He seems free to come and go as he pleases, his movements unrestricted. Unlike your own. You’ve hardly left this cell once since a faction of the legionaries left you at the gates of the city to be handled by those in charge, watching slave after slave made empticii, helpless, until finally you were dragged to the stand for viewing. 

You flinch when he grabs one of the bars of your cell, thick fingers coiling around the metal and overlapping easily. 

“What did they take you for, pretty bird?” His fingers tighten around the bar, knuckles whitening. “Every day I fight and yet they never offer you as a prize.”

The new scars on his body make sense then, fresh lacerations across his arms and legs that have multiplied by the days since he started visiting you. Why he gleams with fresh sweat every day, correlating with the fights you hear in the arena above you, the cacophonous chants and stamping feet. You can imagine him in front of a crowd frothing at the mouth for blood and gore. 

He comes stained in it sometimes. You hold your breath until he leaves on those days, reminded too much of your village in the aftermath of the plundering. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, tucking your legs into your chest and trying to get as close to the wall behind you as possible. 

It’s the truth. No one tells you anything. No one told you what would happen when they ransacked your village and burnt it to ash, the bodies of everyone you’ve ever loved still burning char black in the tall grass, whittled down by the flames. No one told you what would happen after they dragged you back a thousand passus to a city scorched in white marble and stone and immaculate gold. They dragged you here and shut the door. 

He seems frustrated at your words, lips thinning like he has to hold back his rage.

“I’ll slaughter a hundred more if that’s your price,” he says, his helmet knocking into the bars with a rough clang and making you jump when he leans in. His chest lifts with his quickened breaths, working himself up at the thought of more bloodshed. “Then give you their hearts. No other man will take you. I’ll rend their limbs if another man tries. Make you taste their blood on my fingers and lap it up when I split you on my—”

Your heel skitters across the ground, digging a small groove into the dirt and scattering small rocks across the cell. “I don’t k-know what they intend—”

You stare at him when he rises back up to his feet, words dying on your tongue. Standing, he towers over you, shoulders rolling back to puff out his chest. 

“You wait, little bird. Flutter your wings. Soon you’ll see the sun.”

You can only imagine what he means. The thought of sunlight on your face fills you with dread for the first time in your life. 

He leaves without another word, heavy footsteps carrying him to the door until you hear him pry it open, sunlight streaming in for a second before it slams shut. The silence in the absence of him feels monstrous, gargantuan. 

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath.

[metalheadsforblacklivesmatter]

Heat Intolerance

This disability pride month I'd like to talk about heat intolerance. Because honestly although it's not the first health issue that presented symptoms in my life. It was the first time I was like "I don't think my body works right".

And honestly given disability pride month is during one of the hottest months in the year. It seems fitting. Especially because there's a lot of disabilities and medications that cause it.

What is heat intolerance?

Simply speaking it's the inability for the body to regulate it's temperatures especially in hot settings to cool itself down.

Why is awareness important?

Because gaslighting people or worse not providing them a place to cool down just because you "feel fine" is extremely fucking dangerous.

What are the medicines that can cause heat intolerance?

Antihistamines (Allergy medications) . Decongestants (Sudafed or any medication that has the D at the end of it). Stimulants (ADHD medications. Steroids. Caffeine.) Beta-blockers (blood pressure medications). Overactive bladder treatment. Psychiatric medications (including but not limited to medications for depression and anxiety). Pain relievers. Antibiotics.

What medical conditions can cause heat intolerance?

EDS (Elhers-Danlos syndrome). Autism. ADHD. Migraines. Brain/spinal-cord injury. Sensory processing disorder. Chronic fatigue syndrome. Endocrin problems. POTS. Menopause. Hypothyroidism. Diabetes. Heart Disease. Multiple sclerosis. Mental health disorders.

What should I do if I suspect I have heat intolerance?

Reduce time outside during hot months. Keep your electrolytes up. Drink plenty of water. Stay out of the sun whenever possible if outside. Be aware of the symptoms of heat exhaustion and heat stroke.

Clothes that are best worn for heat intolerance. Loose lightweight breathable fabrics. Natural fibers. Long sleeves that protect from sunburn as sunburns will increase your risk. Light clothes that reflect light. Wide brimmed hats that shade the face and neck.

Cool. So what are those symptoms I'm supposed you be looking for?

Headaches. Excessive fatigue. Mood changes. Muscle cramping or weakness. Nausea/ vomiting. Rapid heartbeat. Excessive sweating or not sweating at all.

When should I do to the doctor?

If you suspect you have heat intolerance you can go to your PCP to discuss what medications you may be on and what you can do about it. Otherwise, please go to the emergency room if you have symptoms of heat stroke.

This is good information and all but why are you making this post?

To raise awareness. Not just for the people that have it but weren't aware of what it was called. But for all of the idiots that tried to gaslight me when I was in school because I was like "I don't think this is normal. Every time we do our mile run outside I vomit all over the place but other kids aren't doing that."

Also because people always blame me for over heating if I wear long sleeves or pants. I always like to take notes from what people in the middle east wear because they literally live in the excessive heat and spend long hours in the excessive heat. Often in clothing that covers most of their body. They've gotta know what they're doing, right?

I have some type of xenophobic comment about why people from the middle east cover up

Shut the fuck up 😊

-fae

[theemporium]

[5.1k] an off-putting interaction with a supposed fan leaves jack cursed and, somehow, you find yourself in the middle of it. because acting like your enemy's girlfriend to not aggravate a curse is totally normal, right?

[find other fright night specials here]

.

It was well known by all that you and Jack Hughes did not like each other. 

If anything, that was an understatement about how the two of you felt about each other. It was one of those things that everyone knew: the sky was blue, the sun rose in the east and set in the west, and Jack Hughes was the bane of your fucking existence. 

You couldn’t quite remember a time when he wasn’t a pain in your ass. Since the day you joined the Devils team, the boy seemed to have it out for you and you returned the attitude. You were constantly at each other’s throats—much to the other boys’ entertainment—bickering and arguing and snapping. 

It was one of the safest bets you could make—especially on game days.

“Dude, I just had the weirdest fucking fan experience of my life!”

You didn’t hold back the urge to roll your eyes, your attention focused on the clipboard in your hands rather than the boy who had barrelled over and interrupted you. “Jesus, I thought players were meant to be mellow and calm before a game.” 

“Maybe that’s just what they tell you because you’re boring,” Jack retorted, flashing you a smile that was as irritating as it was charming. “And I wasn’t even talking to you. I was talking—”

“To my patient,” you bit out, turning your attention back to Dawson who was looking between the two of you with a slightly awkward but apprehensive expression. “Now, like I was asking before we were interrupted, the tension in your—”

“She was so weird,” Jack continued on, his lips twitching when he noticed the heavy sigh you let out but he kept going, facing forward towards Dawson as his shoulder brushed against yours. “I was coming out of the carpark and—”

Dawson’s nose scrunched up. “She was in the player carpark?”

“Yes!” Jack exclaimed, his eyes widening. “That’s what I’m saying, she already snuck in there and then she kept saying something but I couldn’t understand a word. So, I tried to politely—”

You snorted.

“—tell her that I was running late,” Jack continued, shooting you a quick but dirty look as he did. “But then she just started muttering to herself and waved her hands at me before walking away.” 

“Sounds like you broke a sweet old woman’s heart,” Dawson commented, grinning a little when Jack smacked his arm.

“Shut up,” Jack murmured, though his cheeks flushed pink in response. “I was already running late—”

“No surprise there,” you added.

“—I just didn’t have time,” Jack defended, once again shooting you a dirty look. “But it was weird, bro. She had some weird juju.”

Dawson pressed his lips together to hold back his laughter. “Juju?”

“Juju!” Jack repeated with a nod.

“I think you’re letting the guilt get to you, bro,” Dawson said, shaking his head in amusement. “You should head in to get ready for the game. Pretty sure Coach was asking Nico where you—”

“And you just let me stand here and talk?” Jack hissed, his eyes wide before he began rushing down the hallway towards the locker room. “What the fuck, Merc?!” 

“Always blaming everyone but himself,” you huffed, shaking your head. “Typical.”

Dawson grinned a little. “You know, people say that tension is a great aphrodisiac.” 

You shot him a blank look. “The only tension I am interested in is the kind in your muscles. Now, you gonna tell me how your hamstring is feeling or should I tell Coach to scrap you from the game?” 

Dawson quickly zipped his mouth shut.

…

It happened too fast for anyone to comprehend. 

There was five minutes left of the third period, the Devils were up one goal but it was still close. The Jets were putting up more of a fight than they anticipated, pulling moves and hits that were rough and dirty and tiring out the Devils far faster than they would have liked. 

Jack’s whole body was screaming, his heart pounding in his chest and his brain clinging onto the fact that it was almost over. Just a few more minutes until the final buzzer sounded, they just needed to make sure they didn’t let the other team score. That was all. Just tire them out in the last few minutes and they could clinch the win. 

He was so focused on thinking defensively, on thinking what would keep the Jets moving and chasing that he hadn’t even noticed the player barrelling towards him until it was too late. 

The referees blew the whistle too late, Jack’s whole body lurching with the hit as he felt himself get smacked up against the glass before he hit the ice. He felt as though someone had dunked his head underwater, his hearing muffled and his senses disoriented as he tried to scramble up onto his feet. As he tried to show that he was okay and he could keep playing. 

But the pain that ripped through his head when he tried to stand prevented him from doing so. 

“Give him space!” 

“Someone get the medics!” 

“Jack? You good?”

“He looks like he is gonna throw up!” 

Jack could feels hands on him. He could hear voices and he could hear the concern, even if he couldn’t lift his head to work out who was talking to him. He couldn’t do anything but groan and clench his eyes shut and hope that somebody would just make his head stop pounding.

He didn’t even remember how he got off the ice but he was grateful for the darkness in the medic room, the determination to finish the game as a win no longer at the top of his priority list. 

…

You knew the Devils took a chance on you when they offered you the job, but you liked to think you lived up to their expectations. 

You were fresh out of college, lost and intimidated and a degree in physiotherapy in your hands that you didn’t quite know what to do with. You had seen the opening in the Devils’ team by chance, and had applied for the sake of just having the experience of applying. You never considered getting an interview, or for them to like you. 

You never considered that they would take a chance on a student fresh out of college, offering a place under the current head of the team to shadow for a few years before fully taking over the position. 

But life had funny ways of working out and the job with the Devils was one of them.

You had been with the team for almost three years now. You were hardworking and diligent and you performed the roles of your job and beyond. You were a good employee. You knew you were. 

Which is why you were utterly baffled by the fact you were being dragged down the hallway instead of preparing your office for the players' cooldown massages and checkups. 

“What did I do? Are they angry at me? Was there a report I forgot to hand in?” You questioned the boy pulling you, nerves bubbling up in your stomach and you suddenly regretted the pretzel you ate during the second period. 

“No, no, it’s just—” Nico paused, his brows furrowing together. “I can’t really explain it. You just gotta see it.” 

“See what?” You questioned, your eyes darting over the boy’s shoulder to see him leading you towards the medic rooms. “Why are you bringing me here? Did someone pull something?” 

“It’s Jack,” Nico replied, like that explained anything.

“Did Jack pull something?” You asked, albeit a bit desperately. Your patience was already thin and the vague replies were starting to test you. “Nico, tell me what’s wrong? I thought Jack was just on concussion watch, Susan said—” 

“Just,” Nico paused outside the room, grimacing a little. “Just play along, yeah?” 

You opened your mouth, a dozen more questions on the tip of your tongue but it was that very moment the door swung open. 

“Baby, there you are! Where have you been?” 

You blinked, staring at Jack who was currently sitting up on one of the medic beds, grinning happily at you. Then your eyes shifted to the team doctor who looked sheepish, a similar expression shared by the coaching staff beside her. And finally, your eyes landed on Luke who was standing beside Jack’s bed, looking like he was seconds away from laughing (an expression you weren’t expecting on the brother of someone who took a very bad hit).

Nico cleared his throat, nudging you forward. “Found her!”

You stumbled forward, still utterly confused at the odd looks you were receiving from everyone in the room. “What? Was something broken in the hit or something?”

“Baby,” Jack groaned, though it sounded fond and sweet as he reached his hand out towards you. “Stop thinking about work for two seconds, will you? C’mere, I missed you. They said you were too busy to see me just after the hit.” 

You blinked. “Are you talking to me?” 

Jack raised his brows in amusement. “Is there another girlfriend I have that I’ve forgotten about?” 

“Girlfriend?” You repeated, your jaw almost hitting the ground. “I am—”

“Very much his girlfriend who loves him very much,” Nico interrupted, stepping forward and giving you a look you were starting to understand. “And who must be very concerned after he took that big hit that could have gone badly and could have affected his memory.”

Your lips parted slightly as everything clicked.

“Geez, Hisch, way to look at things in a glass half empty kinda way,” Jack laughed before lifting his hand out to you. “Baby, m’fine. Don’t listen to him.”

You had half the mind to shoot Luke a glare as you closed the distance between you and took Jack’s hand in yours, ignoring the snickering from the younger Hughes. You swallowed harshly, turning to look at the team doctor instead of Jack.

“So, doc, what’s the consensus?” 

The team doctor gave you a sheepish smile. “He’s been cursed.” 

You blinked. “Yeah, no shit.” 

“Shit, can you tell?” Jack frowned, lifting his other hand to touch his face. “Do I have warts on my face or something? Oh god, do you still think I’m hot?” 

“I—” You flashed him a slightly strained smile. “Still hot, babe.” 

“Oh, it gets better,” Luke mumbled under his breath. 

Jack beamed in response. 

“The hit should have been a standard hit, the Jets player wasn’t even skating fast enough to cause the…damage Jack is experiencing,” the doctor continued. “We suspected foul play and did a few additional tests. It seemed like Jack had a curse manifesting throughout the game but the brunt of the curse didn’t hit until mid-play. And whoever cursed him seemed to have it out for him because it took the environment around him and made it worse—hence, the Jets player’s hit seeming harder, the force he hit the glass and the pain caused by the hit.” 

You frowned. “So, what do we do? How do we…un-curse him?” 

“You can’t,” Luke jumped in, smiling far too wide for your liking. “Doc says we just have to let the curse play out.” 

“I hardly feel cursed,” Jack said dismissively. “What, a rough hit? That’s it? Some curse. Everything else is normal.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. 

“Until then,” the doctor continued. “I strongly advise doing anything that would…agitate the curse. It could make things worse. We got lucky with the…limited inconveniences.” 

Despite her cryptic words, you understood the message loud and clear. 

Play along and be his girlfriend until his memory returned to normal or else god knows what will happen.

You just wondered what you did to deserve being cursed along with him. 

…

“I bet it was that old lady before the game.”

You lifted your head to find Jack lounging on the massage bed in your office, staring at the ceiling as he continued to contemplate. You had mentioned to him that you needed to finish some paperwork before leaving for the day. 

You expected him to head back to his apartment with Luke, not stay behind with you.

Luke just cackled when Jack decided to stay with you. 

Your brows furrowed together. “Who?”

“The weird old lady that I told you and Dawson about before the game,” Jack said, turning his head to look back at you. “The one who I said had bad juju?” 

And of course he would remember that, just not the fact you weren’t his girlfriend.

Stupid curse. 

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded, leaning back in your seat. “So, what? You didn’t take a photo with her and she curses you? Seems a bit harsh.” 

“Maybe she didn’t like the fact I told her I wasn’t available,” Jack teased, winking at you.

It took every tensed muscle in your body to stop you from scrunching your nose in response. 

“Seems likely,” you replied with a strained smile on your face once more. “Right, I’m done here. Do you want a lift back?” 

Jack laughed, pushing himself to sit up. “Yeah, unless you expect me to walk back to your place and meet you there.”

You froze. “You’re coming back to mine?”

“Duh,” Jack said, his brows furrowing a little at your reaction. “Like I do after every game, babe. This isn’t new. Are you feeling okay?” 

“Yeah, just—” You waved him off, focusing on tidying up your desk instead. “Tired. I think I slept badly.” 

“Aw, baby,” Jack cooed, and it was odd hearing it in a sweet, concerning way rather than the condescending tone you were used to. “S’fine, you’ve got me tonight. Bet you’ll sleep like a baby.” 

“Definitely,” you agreed, making a mental note to strangle Luke the next time he came in for a deep muscle massage.

…

“Uh, where’s your clothes?” 

Jack glanced over at you, that stupid grin on his face that still looked unbelievably fond. It felt wrong to be on the receiving end of it. 

“M’getting ready for bed,” he said simply. “I can’t sleep in a shirt, babe, you know this.” 

“Right, of course I do,” you nodded. “I was just testing you. Making sure you have no more memory problems.” 

“That’s sweet, babe, but I am okay,” Jack assured you, climbing under the covers and settling on the right side of the bed, like he somehow fucking knew you preferred the left. “The doc cleared me and I’ve felt fine since. You know I’d tell you if I felt like something was wrong.”

“Yeah, I just…worry,” you answered after a few moments, trying to calm the thoughts racing through your head as you climbed into the bed next to him. You kept telling yourself to relax, to just pretend like this was normal, to do what the doctor said and play along with the curse so it doesn’t get worse.

But it was hard to believe you were sharing a bed with the boy when he—mutually—hated your guts a few hours ago.

“C’mere,” Jack hummed, pulling you into his embrace with ease and ignoring the way your body seemed to tense at the contact between you both. “Just relax. It’s hockey, hits happen. You know that.” 

You swallowed. “Curses don’t, though.” 

“True, but we will get through that too,” Jack said with so much confidence. “We’re a team, remember? I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine.”

Your eyes widened as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Mhm. A team. That’s us.” 

Jack grinned against your head. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Night, Jack.” 

…

You woke up the following morning to an empty bed.

For a moment, you thought the whole thing was a bad dream. You thought that it was some twisted nightmare your brain tormented you with, something that would haunt you for the next few days but ultimately forget. 

For a moment, you let out a sigh of relief. 

And then you heard a crash from the kitchen, followed by a familiar voice whispering ‘shit’ and realised it was not, in fact, a dream.

You weren’t even sure what you expected to find when you threw the covers off and quickly rushed towards the source of the noise. But finding Jack, half dressed, with two plates on the counter with a sizzling pan on the stove was not it. 

“Oh hey, you’re up,” he beamed once he spotted you lingering in the doorway. “We didn’t have much in the fridge, so we should probably do a grocery run soon. But I managed to whip up something edible.” 

You blinked. “You cook?”

Jack groaned but there was still a smile on his face. “Babe, I’m getting better. I only set the toaster on fire twice in the last few months!” 

You blinked again, your brain far too tired to even stay with the conversation.

“Your coffee is in the fridge,” Jack said, turning back around to focus on not burning whatever was in the pan. “I didn’t make it, so I promise it tastes good. It’s from that cafe down the road you like.”

You knew the cafe well. It was one of your favourites and one you frequently bought coffees from, especially before work. You knew it wasn’t the most shocking thing in the world that he knew of its existence, but the fact he somehow seemed to know it was your favourite and choose the correct order threw you off.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking a sip of the iced coffee whilst Jack just grinned at you. 

“You’re snappy before coffee,” he teased. 

You shuffled towards the stools by the counter, settling down as you watched the boy closely, like somehow staring at him would reverse whatever curse that old lady put on him. It didn’t. Instead, you were just blatantly staring at the shirtless boy in your kitchen like he was an alien.

He almost felt like one, if you were being honest.

“So,” you spoke up after a few moments. “What are your plans for today?” 

Jack glanced over his shoulder, shooting you an odd look. “Are you sure you’re not the one who got hit last night? We have the charity event with the other boys, remember? The picnic in the park? Don’t tell me my date is bailing on me.”

You laughed nervously. “Of course not! Just…testing you again!”

“Well, you can chill with the tests,” he assured you, pressing another fucking kiss on your forehead that made you feel warm and gooey and confused as he placed your plate in front of you. “M’okay, baby, promise. Also, I promised Nico we would bring something so we should probably stop by some bakery and grab cookies, or something.” 

You only hummed in response, fighting the urge to blurt out the truth and somehow relieved that you wouldn’t have to be spending the day alone with him.

…

“You. Here. Now.” 

Luke blinked, his brows furrowed in confusion as he stared at you. He pointed his finger towards himself and you could have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so desperate. 

“Yes, you, idiot. Hurry up.” 

However, Luke was a little bitch so he slowly made his way over to the tree you were currently hiding behind, a plate of finger foods in his hand that he was snacking away on. 

“Sup?” 

You stared at him blankly. “You’re already on thin ice.” 

“Aw,” Luke cooed, a teasing grin growing on his face. “Was the night with Jack that bad?” 

“He knows things!” You hissed under your breath, a bit more frantic that you would have preferred. “We need to find this fucking witch, I can’t do this anymore.” 

“It’s been less than twenty-four hours,” Luke pointed out.

“It’s freaky as fuck,” you retorted. “He knows things about me that a normal boyfriend would.” 

“Wow, it’s almost like magic,” Luke deadpanned.

“I hate you.” 

“Rude way to talk to your possible future brother-in-law,” Luke grinned, letting out a squeal when you pinched his side. “Ow, ouch! Okay! I’ll try to keep him away from you as much as I can.” 

You sighed. “Thank you.” 

…

It took twenty minutes before that plan flopped. 

Jack snuck off after an interview he had done with Luke for the Devils social media team, hardly giving his brother a chance to come up with an excuse to hang out on the other side of the park before he hunted you down. 

You almost screamed when a body flopped down on the blanket beside you, Jack’s grinning face in your line of vision as he settled his head on your lap. 

“Hey, stranger,” he greeted, lifting his hand to tuck some hair behind your ear. “You’ve been quiet today.” 

“Just tired,” you said, the response almost automatic at this point. 

But Jack frowned. “I think you might be getting sick. We should pick up some soup from that deli place you like, down in Hoboken. Maybe pick up some tea too.” 

Your throat felt tight but you nodded nonetheless, hoping your surprise wasn’t obvious on your face.

Fucking magic. 

…

When you woke up the next morning, Jack still thought he was your boyfriend.

The next day was the same. 

So was the one after that. 

And the days following. 

Before you knew it, it had been well over a week—honestly closer to two weeks—and the curse seemed well and truly cemented in place. It was still an absolute mind-fuck, and not just for you but everyone on the team. 

It felt like one big secret you were all holding back on telling Jack, letting him live in some weird and ignorant bliss. The worst part was that he was so unsuspecting of the people closest to him lying to his face. He didn’t question the snickers Dawson or Luke would sometimes let out when the two of you showed up to work together. Or the way Nico seemed to actively avoid talking about the relationship (despite Jack insisting it was his friend’s shove that prompted him to ask you out). Or the fact you had been ‘sick’ for the last two weeks and, therefore, unable to kiss him.

Though, that one was easy with hockey players and their odd superstitions and need to prevent any possible scrap from a game. 

He was so trusting and gullible when it came to the people around him, you almost felt bad. 

The emphasis being on almost because by some weird and twisted turn of events, you didn’t mind it. Not really. Not after the initial weirdness and tension of it wore off. Maybe you had been single for too long or maybe you were mourning something you had never truly experienced, the love and attention of someone who notices, who sees you, who cares about keeping you happy. 

It felt wrong, like you were exploiting Jack for emotions and feelings he didn’t organically have. But it also felt too nice to tell the truth, to tell him that you weren’t really his girlfriend and lose the benefits you had gained over the last two weeks.

It was weird seeing this side of Jack. Not a bad weird, just a different kind. 

A kind you knew you would have to give up once the curse was gone.

“M’gonna be a bit longer, Dawson wanted to run some more drills outside of practice,” Jack said as he lifted himself off the massage bed, flashing those puppy dog eyes at you that made your stomach twist in endearment (when once upon a time, they pissed you off). “Wait for me? I’ll pay for your lunch.” 

“You don’t have to bribe me, you know,” you snorted but your eyes fluttered shut as he rounded your desk, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “But deal. We’re getting burritos.” 

He beamed, shaking his head fondly. “Fine. I’ll catch you in a few hours.” 

You watched him scurry out of your office, probably running through the corridors to get to the locker room before he was reprimanded for being late. He had even arrived two hours earlier than he was meant to, just because he wanted to chill in your office whilst you worked. 

It shouldn’t have made your heart flutter when you knew it wasn’t really Jack but it did.

It really fucking did.

…

It was an hour or so later when you couldn’t ignore your stomach rumbling anymore. 

There was still another two hours before Jack would step off the ice, heading towards the locker room to shower and change before the two of you could grab some food. And you sure as hell could not wait that long. 

You let out a groan, your joints clicking as you stood up from your desk for the first time in a few hours. You ignored the voice in the back of your head that reminded yourself to try walking around a bit more between writing reports before you headed into the hallway, deciding to treat yourself to the vending machines closer to the players’ locker room (it had better snacks, despite what management liked to tell everyone).

You had been standing in front of the vending machine with your brows furrowed in contemplation that you hadn’t even noticed an old lady approaching you.

“You’re the girl.” 

You jumped out of your skin, an unflattering noise of surprise leaving your lips as you stared at the woman with wide eyes. “I, uh, what?” Your brain took a few seconds to catch up. “I mean, I am a girl. I don’t know about being the girl.”

The woman smiled and it sent shivers down your spine. “Hm, yes, I can see it now. His aura lingers on you.” 

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, but the magic remains. It is strong. Pungent,” she continued, tsking as she shook her head. “You delay the inevitable!” 

Your eyes widened as you took a step back on instinct. “You’re the one that cursed Jack, aren’t you?”

“Curse?” Her smile became knowing, sneaky, disconcerting. “Oh, honey, there was no curse.”

You frowned. “Uh, ma’am, with all due respect, I find that hard to believe considering he—” 

“All I did was give him what he wanted,” she said, so simply and so directly that it caught you off guard. “His deepest desire to be his, though I assumed that would be a game win. The losing streak was quite off-putting.” 

“I—” You blinked. “So, wait. You’re a fan?” 

“Yes,” she stated. “Was it not obvious?” 

You bit back the sarcastic response that wanted to leave your lips. “And what? You cursed him to win the game?” 

“That was my mistake for assuming it was what he desired the most,” she replied, that almost-creepy smile on her face. “It seems his deepest desires lay with you.” 

You stared at the woman in front of you. “You’re joking, right?” 

“I do not joke,” she stated bluntly. 

“So…the way he’s been acting…” you trailed off, your mind racing with a million different thoughts.

“All himself,” the woman answered. “Think of the magic as the confidence boost he needed to get there.” 

“He likes me?” 

“Yes.”

“Like, properly?” 

“Yes.” 

“And everything he’s been doing? That’s been done by him and not influenced by magic? Not even the tidbits of knowledge?” 

“My dear, it sounds like you have been very oblivious to how this man feels about you.” 

You shot her a look, unsure how you felt about being called out by the very witch who ‘didn’t curse’ the boy you had been calling your boyfriend for the last two weeks. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Though, it seems like his change in relationship with you has been what he needed to get him out of his losing slump, so I guess we both win.”

You frowned a little. “You’re one odd lady.” 

She shrugged in response. 

“How did you even get in here?” 

…

“Run it again!” 

Jack’s muscles were screaming at him as he pushed himself across the ice, pushing himself to go faster, faster, faster like the coach wanted as he carried the puck on his stick. His eyes were laser-focused on the players around him, on dodging the defencemen lined up in front of him and skating around them to get to the goal. 

He didn’t let himself relax until the sound of the puck hitting the back of the net hit his ears.

“JACK!” 

He turned his head, expecting to find one of his teammates skating towards him to celebrate his goal in their makeshift drill. But instead of Nico skating towards him with his arms in the air or Dougie prepared to smack him on the back for dodging his attempts, he instead found you standing by the tunnel. 

You looked flustered and on edge and panicked, and it made his spine straighten.

Jack dodged the others, ignoring whatever the coaching staff were barking at them as he made his way towards you at a speed that you would have disapproved of if you knew how sore his muscles were.

“What? Are you okay? Did something happen?” He asked frantically, confused as to why else you would have interrupted a training practice. 

“You like me,” you said to him.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, yeah, babe. I do. What are you—”

But before he could continue, you grabbed his face with both hands and tugged him closer. He stumbled a step or two before his lips were pressed on yours. His surprise disappeared after a few seconds, his body melting into the kiss and his brain forgetting whatever he was trying to ask moments ago.

He was still in a daze when you pulled away, your hands still holding his face and your gaze completely focused on him, like you were expecting to see something different. 

“Do you still like me?” You asked, a little breathless.

And he felt winded. 

Winded by an influx of memories and realisations and emotions that were all his own. Winded by the magic coursing through him, ringing obvious and evident to his body despite two weeks of feeling nothing. Winded by the look on your face, a hint of fear and hope shining in your eyes as you awaited his response.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his cheeks burning hot. “I do.”

“Okay,” you nodded, your lips twitching upwards. “Good.” 

And then you kissed him again. 

However, this time it was the shrill of a whistle that broke you two apart, the annoyed voices of the coaching staff telling Jack to stop slacking and continue on with his training ringing loud and clear through the rink. 

“We still have a lot to talk about,” you said as Jack began to skate back towards the rest of the group. “Like, a lot.”

He grinned at you. “We still on for burritos after?” 

You laughed. “Only if you’re still playing.” 

“It’s a date, baby,” Jack winked. 

It was well known by all that you and Jack Hughes did not like each other. 

But maybe a little bit of magic was the shove the two of you needed to realise that wasn’t quite true. 

.

[whirlybirbs]

— THE FOOL ; KYOJURO RENGOKU ; 煉獄

summary: all you wanted was to pass out in your room, but no. here you are, dragging yourself (quite literally) up the mountainside to the ubuyashiki mansion's onsen. pairing: kyojuro rengoku / f!hashira!reader wc: 3.6k tags: set-pre season 1, rated T, hashira dynamics, kyojuro's impeccable manners, tengen uzui is a son of a bitch, good fluff, embarrassed flirting, slightly forbidden romance, retable reader insert who just wants to be left alone to bathe in peace a/n: don't look at me.

Your bones are tired. 

Not just your bones — but every ounce of marrow in those very bones. The expression 'bone tired'? Yea, it was written and smithed with you in mind. Tonight, you're the muse for true exhaustion — battered, bruised, and barely hanging on. 

The short walk up to the Ubuyashiki Mansion's onsen is proving formidable. 

Every muscle in your body aches and with each step closer, you pray you'll have a moment of quiet peace to yourself. After all, Shinobu insisted (read as threatened) that you soak in the hot spring after administering simple medical aid post-mission. 

Something, something, hot spring stimulates blood flow, blah, blah, strong healing properties.

All you wanted was to pass out in your room, but no. Here you are, dragging yourself (quite literally) up the mountainside through the willows of wisteria on a lantern-lit path to the hot spring.

Your geta catches on a root and you trip up, scoffing tiredly as you catch yourself and grumble a curse. Ow. Irritation simmers under your skin, and you wonder absently what's gotten into you. 

It normally takes more for you to be so... cranky. And openly so.

When you reach the gate of the onsen, your eye twitches.

Son of a —

There's Hashira abound tonight. 

"Look who's back from her little foray out East!"

Did Tengen need to be so loud? 

All the damn time?

The small, dimly lit spot is surrounded by wisteria and maple. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you sigh and shut the red gate behind you, paying careful mind not to catch your fingers in the latch. Lanterns are perched on rocks, candles only beginning to run with wax in the evening air. The open-air bath overlooks the sprawling estate down the mountain. 

You sigh deeply from your chest, your eyes practically at half-mast when you turn around to snipe Tengen with an unamused look.

"Our dear Dream Hashira... you look like shit," comes the rogue commentary, "No offense, beautiful."

Tengen is at the far edge of the steaming bath with both arms outstretched along the edge. As always, he's taking up as much space as humanly possible. His silver hair hangs about his shoulders — and he even goes so far as to pin you with a rogueish smile. You stare flatly at him in response.

Then: the middle finger. 

"Woof. Tough crowd tonight," he rumbles as he slides a look towards a decidedly uninterested Sanemi. The Wind Hashira has his head hung back against the edge with a towel over his forehead — his eyes are closed. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he was asleep. 

"Tengen, do me a favor," comes the gritted reply from the scarred man, "and shut the hell up." 

You motion plainly to Sanemi — the gesture says thank you — with your brows raising in silent agreeance. Even the act of speaking right now is all too much. 

"I must agree with Tengen," comes the wistful and soft voice of Muichiro Tokito as he lifts his chin from its submerged position; his hair is swimming about him. The Mist Hashira looks... almost peaceful; but his words are damning, "You do look like shit."

Somehow it's worse when Tokito says it.

That makes Sanemi lift his head and pry one eye open. 

You serve him an unenthused look from your spot by the benches. You hope for a bit of sympathy, but instead:

"...What the fuck happened to you?" comes his dry response to your current state of being. 

Which — fine, maybe it's fair. The others rarely ever see you in any state aside from perfect. You're meticulous about your appearance; from your uniform to your posture, you value perfection over all else. The devil that has always haunted you is the details. Perhaps it was your rigid upbringing, but regardless—

"Ah!" suddenly, there's a resoundingly warm voice booming across the small courtyard from the onsen's koshitsu, "I see you've returned, Lady— Oh... my, are you quite alright...?"

You've got to be kidding me.

Kyojuro Rengoku's face is twisted into genuine worry. He's standing in the middle of the path, his focus entirely on you. His hair is undone and the sunburst strands are spilling along his chest and back. There's a small cotton towel slung around his narrow waist. You purposefully level your eyes with his, not daring to let your gaze waver — and then you curse Kocho Shinobu a thousand times over for sending you here.  

(Tengen is smirking. You want to throw your sandal at his head.)

Finally, you speak. 

"I'm fine." 

You don't sound fine. You sound like a woman who'd endured being unceremoniously whipped about by a snake Demon in a swamp for three hours before she could finally land a killing blow. 

Kyojuro frowns. His eyes — like two gems of carnelian — are nearly glowing with concern. Those dark brows of his knit and you try to grit out a tight smile. It fails. It looks more like a wince than anything.

It's... pathetic.

"Perhaps a soak will help," the Flame Hashira offers gently. His tone is soft with pity.

Shit. Fuck. Damn it. Fucking Shinobu, fucking hot spring, fucking swamp demon, fucking—

Right. Right, a soak. It's the thing that Tengen Uzui is somehow singlehandedly making more unbearable — he's dragging Sanemi and Muichiro by the necks from the onsen — by leaving you alone with Rengoku. 

"Go on you two! We're just leaving anyways, right fellas?"

"Die," you spit hoarsly in his direction; your expression is flat.

Tengen throws you a wink. "Relax a little, pretty. You deserve it!"

You could still hit him with your geta. Maybe if you put enough force behind it, it could kill him. 

After all, he's been doing this ever since you let it slip about your little crush. 

And just when a girl thinks she can trust an ex-shinobi... never again. You don't care if Tengen is the one offering to buy the sake, you're never drinking with that man again. He's a gossip and a whore. A gossiping whore. A devoted husband-whore who gossips like no-fucking-other. 

Admitting to Tengen Uzui's stupid face that you've been avoiding Kyojuro Rengoku because of your feelings was the second worst mistake you ever made.

Your first worst mistake was not dragging your sorry ass back down the mountain after you and Kyojuro were left alone in the onsen. 

At least — at the very least — it's quieter now, even if the silence feels oddly intimate. 

You're thankful Kyojuro has retreated into the water of the bath; the distance allows you to ignore the burning pit in your gut at the thought of him and you together. In the onsen. Alone.

You've bathed alongside the other Hashira before. The whole lot of you are warriors. There's no shame in the body — and admittedly, you grew up around konyoku onsen in Tokyo. 

It wasn't the nakedness that was the problem. 

...Maybe it was a little bit of the nakedness. 

But, mostly the fact it's Kyojuro Rengoku: the kindest man you've ever met, a man whose smile is nearly as bright as the morning sun, a man whose laugh feels like a summer thunderstorm. A man who is tall, strong, and handsome. It's no small secret he's well-loved among the ranks; respected, admired, sought after... Who wouldn't make an attempt atcatching his eye? After all, he's capable, swift, courageous, honorable—

Having a heart attack.

He's having a heart attack.

I mean — it's you. And him. Alone. 

...Naked. And alone.

He himself could have strangled Tengen when the ex-shinobi scurried off, leaving him here — though he'd never admit it. That sneaky bastard is fully aware of Kyojuro's feelings towards you, and Kyojuro swears the Sound Hashira gets off on forcing him to confront the very thing he forbids himself to even dwell upon. 

Your voice pulls him from his enraptured internal monologue.

"I am fine," you break the silence as your fingers work at the obi around your waist in nervousness. Your back is to him, and as the grey kimono slips down your shoulders, he panics, "I swear."

"I'm not sure I've ever seen you in such a state as this," he tries to sound level, confident, as he turns in the water; suddenly the mountainside is very beautiful. Yes, very nice. Very... mountain-y. 

Kyojuro's eyes flick over his shoulder briefly, back at you.

He sees skin. More of your skin than he's ever seen. There are dimples at the base of your spine. Good god. He swallows tightly and turns his gaze forward once more. 

Even the act of shrugging your kimono off is enough to make you rasp. The ribs Shinobu had been so concerned about are protesting now. It's fine. Everything is fine. You peek over your shoulder. Relief floods you as you realize Rengoku's back is turned. 

Quickly, you slip into the onsen. It's the quickest you've moved all night. 

You plunge in deep, ignoring the burn of the water along of the more raw marks and bruises bitten into your skin. Your ribs wail in protest as you inhale sharply at the heat, and you try your best to coach your expression into unwavering when Kyojuro turns back around. 

"Better?"

All you can do is grunt from your submerged position.

That makes him laugh.

You try to memorize the warm sound and tuck it neatly into your heart. It's cute, the way his eyes scrunch when he laughs. You find yourself staring for a second before swallowing down your affections.

"Shinobu demanded I come," you explain slowly, lifting your hands and playing with the surface of the water, "If I had it my way, I'd be in bed."

Or murdering Tengen in his sleep.

"The hot springs are good for healing," Kyojuro chirps brightly, canting his head as he speaks almost as if he's going to reprimand you. His voice drops an octave, "You know that, Lady Hashira."

He's teasing you.

He's — he's seriously teasing you.

You're naked and he's teasing you.

You sink a little lower into the water and narrow your eyes at him — the act makes you look a bit like an angry, wet cat. Kyojuro can only grin. Truly this is rare form for you. Your disposition is usually sunny, if not well-manicured and mindfully well-mannered. You are every bit a Lady Hashira. Moreso than Shinobu or Mitsuri in a way. 

You are the Dream Pillar, after all, and a woman composed purely of romanticism in his eyes. It's the way he could see you, in another life, in a fine silk kimono and delicate make-up; he could see you in gold and pearls, pouring tea worth more than his monthly salary into fine ceramic cups. Suitors abound.

Though, perhaps that's not so different than now.

Not with the way you're delicately pouring yourself a helping of Tengen's abandoned sake at the edge of the onsen. You'd think it was the most expensive liquor in the land with the care you take to not spill a drop. 

You slide him a hesitant look over your shoulder, the water lapping at your bruised back. Kyojuro lifts a brow.

"What?" you ask, feigning innocence as you turn back to the task at hand, "It'd be a shame if it went to waste."

"I didn't know sake had healing properties," Kyojuro offers slowly, his lips twitching upwards as he watches you take a long sip from the cup.

"Something, something, blood flow," you murmur mostly to yourself, tossing back the rest with a scowl and a wince, "I'm sure Shinobu would agree."

Kyojuro leans back against the wall, sinking a little deeper as he settles onto the seat beneath the water. The ends of his hair are soaked, turning an even darker shade of crimson. His shoulders flex as he relaxes his arms against the stones. 

His own body is tired. Beneath the water, he absently stretches his legs and pays careful mind to the twinge of pain in his left knee.

"Whether she agrees or disagrees is none of my business," he supplies diplomatically.

You reach for the jug, giving it a light shake. It's nearly empty anyway. 

You extend it, offering it to Kyojuro.

The Flame Hashira shakes his head. "No thank you. I reserve drink for special occasions only."

You quirk a brow. Your tone is light. Airy, almost. "I didn't know that about you."

He hums. You place the sake down, sink lower into the water, and try to focus on his face — not the strength in his forearms, nor the water running in rivets down his chest. 

"My father has quite a love for the stuff," he admits with a controlled frown, "I avoid it when I can."

Ah. 

Right. 

Your own father, also a retired Hashira, voiced many a feeling about Shinjuro Rengoku when he was given the chance. You'd visited home months ago and when you mentioned serving alongside Kyojuro, his eyes narrowed dangerously and impeccably sharp. His tongue lashed out at you — as if you were the retired Flame Pillar himself. 

There's a history there, it seems.

"I apologize."

"Don't," he says; firm yet soft.

"It is better that way, really," you mumble in an attempt to soothe the ache you can see across his face, "Liquor leads to making many a fool."

Kyojuro's brow quirks. "You sound as though you're speaking from experience."

"Perhaps," you say slyly, wandering to the far end of the pool. You're nearly submerged to your nose, "A lady shall never tell."

"And if I asked Tengen?"

"You wouldn't dare." The water splashes as you whip around and glare — though Kyojuro senses no real malice. 

It was no small secret you'd been dragged through the mud after you and Tengen's night on the town. Why the Master called a meeting that morning was beyond you, but there's a part of you that wonders if he was slightly amused at your less-than-pleasant state. You swore you were going to puke all over the engawa when you bowed — never mind the fact the morning sun's brightness was enough to nearly drill your brain into a pulp. 

Kyojuro had never seen you so... disheveled. 

Second to tonight, that is.

The Flame Hashira smirks. "If the lady forbades it, then who am I to ignore her wishes?"

Fucking Tengen, fucking Shinobu, fucking Kyojuro—

Fucking honorable, respectable, polite Kyojuro.

"Well, this lady does forbade it," you say with narrowed eyes, "So there."

"You really are in rare form this evening."

He's smirking. That's new.

"Yes, well," you mumble as you lull your head back and wet the rest of your hair; the warmth seeps through the strands and feels soothing on your scalp. You already feel better. Less like a swamp demon's plaything, more like a girl trying her best not to let her petal-mouthed feelings slip out, "We can blame Muzan Kibutsuji for that."

"I surmise it has been a difficult day?" he rumbles quietly from his spot in the onsen.

"You haven't the slightest idea."

"Care to enlighten me?" 

"And embarrass myself?" she mutters, splashing absently, "I'd prefer to remain capable in your eyes, Rengoku. I'll spare you the details. And anyone else who asks."

He's grinning. That sort that appears in an optimist's dream. Bright, sunny and so enrapturing it feels like your heart is being scorched by its warmth. 

"Your capability will never waver in my eyes," Kyojuro supplies as he flicks the water absently; his gaze has fallen to the sway of the wisteria in the evening air, "You are amazing. One particularly bad day does not diminish that fact."

Maybe it's the sake. Maybe it's the compliment. Either way, the tips of your ears feel warm. 

That little, nibbling feeling is back in his chest. The very one he's been trying his best to ignore for months. 

"You are only being kind," you mutter, "Because, as the other's made very clear, I look like shit." 

Kyojuro finds himself smiling a bit at the jest — his fingers glide along the top of the water, tracing idly patterns into it as he watches you sink deeper and deeper into the hot spring. Finally, for a moment, you descend below the surface.

Then, you break the surface slowly. Your hair is swimming around you, clinging to your bare shoulders. You exhale, brush water from your lashes, and inhale. You look... beautiful. A different sort of beautiful than he's used to. This sort of beauty is relaxed. Tired. You seem a bit freer than usual — unrestrained by the image you aim to keep well protected amongst the others. 

Kyojuro sinks a little deeper himself.

He's still watching you.

Your eyes find his. 

There's a moment where all you two can do is blink — Flame and Dream mingling for a breath beneath the stars. Wide eyes bound by a moment of silence, a moment of hesitation. He feels like all the breath has been swept from his lungs. All Kyojuro can do is stare into your eyes.

Then, he speaks.

Blurts, more aptly.

"You are beautiful."

...Did he just say that? 

Your lips part in quiet shock.

Suddenly, his posture is more rigid, and his expression a bit panicked — perhaps because your own eyes widen a mile at the words that spill from his mouth. Kyojuro raises his hands as he inhales sharply, the heat of the bath inching a degree hotter. Whether it's from the sudden admission or a misfire of his breathing technique, you're unsure. 

His cheeks are hot. He leans forward, shaking his head.

Damn you, Tengen. Damn you, damn you—

"I-I simply mean — you... You do not look like shit—" He attempts to explain.

"Oh—"

"Yes, yes, I—"

"Thank you," you say quickly, trying to calm your own racing heart as he swallows down a bought of embarrassment and offers a pained smile your way. It's enough to quell his panic.

"Of course," he breathes out, sagging a bit deeper into the water as he fiddles with his hands. He has a habit of rubbing at his callouses. Kyojuro swallows, then hoarsly admits: "One might think that I was drinking the sake with the way I'm making a fool of myself."

Your laugh is like a balm. 

"Hardly," you offer as you sink into the water with a smile; your eyes are glimmering with something a bit mischievous as you swim towards the water's edge. You pause, then slip a look his way over your bare shoulder, "...Do you mean it?"

"That I'm a fool? Of course."

You scoff quietly. Kyojuro's smile is tight — knowing. 

Then, he speaks warmly and kindly. He confirms your question with ease. His arms are wound across his chest. "You are truly beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever had the grace to lay eyes upon, my Lady." 

Maybe you could drown yourself here. 

You're not entirely sure how you'll ever recover from this — not from how tender he says it, not from how honest his words sound. So suddenly you feel as though he's hung every star in the sky for your eyes only, having wished upon them, time and time again, for nothing more than a moment of your time. It's reverent is what it is.

You're about to open your mouth and say something when a bright, girlish giggle cuts through the tension—

Kyojuro Rengoku has never been more thankful for Mitsuri Kanroji's ill timing. Behind her is Lady Shinobu. 

The pink and green-haired Hashira is ecstatic to find both yourself and Rengoku in the hot spring — her delight is palpable as she waves her arms and cheers brightly into the air. Her crow caws overhead. Her darker-haired counterpart levels them both with polite smiles.

"Oh, this is just lovely! My friends!" she's chirping as she closes the gate, "I am so glad to see you both back safe and sound—"

"Heading my advice, it seems," Shinobu says slowly — almost like she knows something you don't. Her pale, lilac eyes flick between you and Rengoku. For a moment, you almost suspect she's about to ask something.

"How are you feeling?" Mitsuri cries in your direction, shrugging her kimono off with ease — unbothered entirely by Rengoku's presence. The two are like brother and sister, and Mitsuri has never batted an eye about nudity, "How are your ribs?"

Kyojuro levels you with a look. 

You offer a sheepish grin. 

"Yes," Shinobu mutters as she slips out of her geta, "Four broken ribs."

Kyojuro's nostrils flare. "You said nothing about the sort."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I told you I was sparing you the details."

Mitsuri's bright eyes dart between the two of you — a little bit of giddiness blooming at the sight of Kyojuro looking so worried about their fellow Dream Hashira. 

He slides a look towards Kocho. Then rolls his shoulders. With a sigh, he moves to stand, the water lapping at his waist. You decidedly find the edge of the onsen very interesting as you try to coach yourself through the overwhelming urge to stare. 

"I trust you'll monitor her condition, Kocho," he murmurs as he moves through the water; the words sit nicely in your heart and you feel a little pride swell at his indication that he cares if you're alright, "I'll let you ladies have some time amongst yourselves."

You catch his eyes for a second. A moment. A lingering little breath that mingles between you — like Kocho and Mitsuri aren't there. Then, he stepped from the bath and gathered his robe.

For now, the two of you will pretend earlier never happened.

For now.

Just a little thing between the two of you — and suddenly, you're not so cranky. Once the muse for exhaustion, you're now the muse of lovesickness. 

When the gate closes behind Kyojuro, Kocho speaks.

"...What was all that?"

Nevermind. The crankiness is back.

"Shut up."

[ddejavvu]

Tyler Owens x Shy!Reader giving each other a good luck kiss before a tornado chase🩵🌪️

Spotlight - Tyler Owens x Reader

come participate in tyler owens night !

You're relieved that Tyler won't be gone for days, crossing state lines to chase this twister, but that comes with a downside: it's local. That means that, though the tornado's path isn't projected near your home, you're still on high-alert as anxiety convinces you that something will change and your house will be torn down plank by plank and blown away into oblivion.

"I'll be back for dinner," Tyler vows, grinning at you with the thrill of the chase already gleaming in his eyes and smile, "You just sit pretty 'til I'm back, darlin', and we can go out tonight. Get somethin' real nice, then we can go dancin' afterwards. In our own little corner, I promise." He tugs you close, miming how things will go only hours from now, knowing your tendency to be shy in large crowds.

The roaring of tires on gravel lets you know that Tyler's crew has arrived, and you've mostly conquered your nerves surrounding them. They're lovely people, if only a little intense, but you still feel sometimes like a complete outsider. Still, you wave sweetly to them, and a chorus of greetings floats your way over the open Arkansas air.

"Alright," Tyler pats once, twice against your hip, "That's my cue. If I don't get goin' soon, Boone's gonna start throwing shit at me."

"I'll protect you," You shrug, drinking in the last of his embrace- logically, the last of it for only a few hours. Irrationally- the last of it you might ever get. You shake away a shuddery feeling in your chest as Tyler laughs at your joke, squeezing you tighter around the waist.

"That's right, you're my little protector, aren't you? 'Gonna get those big ol' muscles out and show 'em all who's boss?"

Flexing your biceps does absolutely nothing to show them off like it does when Tyler does it, and you can feel the fondness in his ear-to-ear grin.

"Alright, darlin'." He lets go of your waist and suddenly the handprints on your sides are cold, terribly so, as a mild wind blows through your front yard, "Stay safe in here, m'kay? The storm's projected to go east but you know the drill; keep weather alerts on and hole up in the cellar if anything changes. Love you," He squeezes your hand in lieu of a kiss, something you're decidedly uncomfortable with in public, but when he turns to walk away, you act on impulse and grab his wrist.

"Ty-" You gasp, almost as shocked at your actions as he is when he turns to raise a questioning brow at you.

"Hm?"

"Uh- I," You stammer, his eyes like spotlights showcasing your awkward stance before you realize that words are failing, and the only thing you can do is kiss him.

You surge forwards, tugging him along to meet you in the middle as you lean up to press your lips to his. He's surprised if the way that his eyes go wide is any indication, and you feel like you're stealing his breath when his chest tightens up. It takes him barely a second to melt into it, but it's a second that feels like an eternity as your brain and heart race in tandem.

There's cheering, whooping, shouting, and a slew of other reactions from his crew that you'll lay awake embarrassed about later tonight, but for now you kiss Tyler Owens like it's the last time you'll see him- because it might be.

The words, 'Good luck,' are whispered softly against his lips when you part from them, and his eyes are hazy before he blinks away the cloudy daze he's trapped in. He stares down at you, equal parts bewildered and head-over-heels, and his grin is less cocky, more sappy now as he watches you.

"That was one hell of a kiss," He remarks, smoothing his tongue between the seam of his lips and catching your chapstick, "I don't even think I wanna go out now. Tornado be damned, the real fun's right here."

"Go," You push against his chest, and your laughter comes easy despite having just stepped so far out of your comfort zone, "Go and be back for dinner and dancing!"

"Yes ma'am!" Tyler calls, walking backwards towards his own truck as his crew splits in half to fill both vehicles equally, "I love you!"

He says it like it's an inside joke, like it's something he's informing you of for the first time instead of something you'd just pressed against his mouth.

You grin back, lazy and sure even amongst the watchful eyes of his crew, "I love you too, Ty."

[silent-sanctum]

"Jotaro Kujo is Weak at His Core"

As a writer and avid character psycho-analyzer, I find this concept fascinating because I wholeheartedly agree with what OP has quoted from a "What opinion would get the community to do this? *Insert Johnny getting torn apart*" post.

Before I begin, I know some people will see this, misread it, and immediately say "lmao did we watch the same show? He's strong, badass, and can kick anyone's ass. Like do you know Star Platinum bro?". Trust me, I've seen the replies to this post and they said this same exact thing.

And I'm here to say that to said people, if you truly are not the illiterates I'd like to term you as, you'd take the time to realize that when we say "he's weak", we're not referring to his physical prowess because we know he's one of the strongest characters in the show.

If you don't like to, then you're just proving the accuracy of the last sentence: "You can't stand seeing your edgy badass image of Jotaro as vulnerable."

Pushing that aside, I'd like to expand on OP's opinion/headcanon with some depth to it and explain how exactly he's "weak" outside of being a skilled and strategic fighter.

I've learned that to be holistically healthy, one needs to develop and maintain all optimal functions of oneself: Physical, Emotional, Social, and Mental.

Obviously, Jotaro excels in the physical category. He's conventionally attractive, taller than the average male population, well-defined with a muscled build, fit as hell, street and book smart, and highly in tune with his environment making him adaptable in any circumstance.

He's "strong" in that aspect we all know at a superficial level.

However, we start to see the core problem once we strip this good-hearted man of his physical appeal:

Emotional? He believes he doesn't need to express them to others because why should he. He refuses to process them and instead keeps them behind a locked wall of stoicism and aloofness.

Social? Can't communicate to save his life. He's reclusive and doesn't know how to socialize outside of work. Guarded and skeptical around others. Too much of a workaholic to bother making new acquaintances (if he even knows how) outside of familial connections.

Mental? At 17, he went on a death crusade over Asia and the Middle East, almost died numerous times, and most likely lived with unresolved PTSD that carried over into adulthood, and further deteriorated his already poor social and emotional skills.

What do we have then? If we look past that powerful exterior of a man, we have inappropriate emotional expression, poor socialization, and constant fatigue of dealing with bullshit that relates to his trauma.

And this is what we mean by his "core": His mindset. His inner machinations. The soft spot his enemies would need to target in order to defeat or kill him, strategy-wise.

I. Emotional

We pretty much already know how this man handles emotions. And this may come off as "irrelevant" to the dudebros and the meme riders who believe "haha feelings are for pussies, I advocate for edgy autistic Florida man who don't give a fuck, elopes with dolphins, and berates women".

But believe it or not, he has them, just like any other human being on the planet. I said it once and I'll say it again: Not everyone will wear their heart on their sleeves. Some will convey emotions publicly with no issue, while others would prefer to keep to themselves.

But how does this contribute to him being "weak" at his core?

Essentially, it's similar to how someone with depression may behave (not everyone, some of them). One may appear friendly, sunny, and bubbly to everyone around them, not knowing they're actually suffering from a void that eats them up from the inside when alone.

For his case, it may look like he doesn't care about what happens to him and everyone around him, considering his nonchalant and aloof behavior, but beneath that cold exterior, he cares way too much for his family, friends, and allies. He feels too much to the point where once his allies are endangered, he would sacrifice his well-being without a second thought.

And that's an issue to him.

To him, emotions make him vulnerable and in his circumstance where enemies are actively hunting him down trying to find his weak spots, his emotions should be kept behind doors because he doesn't know how to regulate it on the outside so it's either total stoicism or lashing out.

I found someone saying this line about him that fits him so well: "He's a good person who doesn't know how to be a good person."

This is a man who means well and truly wants to help out of the goodness of his heart, but because of his inability to convey his emotions properly and is unable to pick up emotional cues, it can lead to shit tons of misunderstandings due to inappropriate tone & expression, and that can change how someone views him in the long run, thus leading to unintended deterioration of personal relationships (which contribute to the social aspect of his weakness).

I found a visual representation of what I just said above. Just to give context: The show is about a married couple who struggles to keep their relationship afloat, having to navigate through family politics, work & life balance, and miscommunications so they could find why they loved each other in the first place.

The emotionally-reserved character here with the poor communication skills is the girl. She's a CEO who just received a call, came out from work, and meets with her husband, asking him to accompany her to a doctor's appointment.

Observe how she thinks she views herself VS how others actually view her as.

Other's POV: Demanding, brash, and insensitive Her POV: Anxious, hesitant, and confused

Now remember what Araki had written about Jotaro? "He doesn't believe he must reveal his emotions to others because he thinks everyone can figure him out, leading him to be a victim of misunderstandings. Others think him to be cold-hearted, rebellious, and insensitive."

II. Social

With emotions as our base foundation to poor communication skills, this leads us to his weak socialization aspect.

In a recent quote reblog about how he was raised as a child may have contributed to his tough persona, I mentioned something about his need of "Security".

Growing up, it was mostly just him and his sweet pacifist mother Holly. Joseph couldn't have visited often (he hates Japan) and his dad is a busy musician with a packed schedule on tour. As a kid up to early adolescence, he was coddled by his mother and raised as a good student. Everything was going great for him.

[In popular headcanon] Once he passed puberty, the change to his Part 3 MC era began. People began picking fights with him and bullying him, and he began to see the world as a threat to his safety. Knowing his mother, he wouldn't rely on her to defend him against these dangers. She was too kind, too friendly, too loving for her to deal with the harsh life he now has to deal with.

So he had to be the stronger one for both of them. He already had the physical attributes for it, so why not use it to his advantage?

He got on the popular delinquent trend back in 80's Japan, integrated a couple of cool masculine-esque personalities as his own from his favorite Western and Crime media, and is then able to project this menacing aura everyone should be afraid of, to ward potential threats away from him and his mother.

But Mijin, how does this make him weak? What does this have to do with his need for security?

Think about it: The poor guy's already introverted, doesn't feel comfortable with his emotions that he can't express properly, and now he has to be skeptical with people around him because he realized how shitty society can be, which leads to intimidation that wards off not only potential foes but potential friends as well, making it look like he's anti-social.

On the outside, people are likely to think that he likes being this way when in reality, he seeks a reliable support system on which he can lean onto. Everyone with a sound mind wants that subconsciously because we are social creatures. It's part of our nature.

He's constantly fearful of his surroundings, growing even more vigilant as he ages, but he doesn't look afraid because he chooses to put on a brave face to challenge said fears instead of acknowledging he's scared. I read somewhere in an ask that's not mine that in the manga, some panels actually depict Jotaro shaking/trembling in a mix of fear and adrenaline during some of his fights.

He wants to be around people who he can trust. People who he can lower his defenses with. People who are capable of protecting him just as he is capable of protecting them. People who can face his intimidating aura and challenge it to stand on equal grounds with him or to remind him of his place when he goes too far with certain things. Hence, why he seems comfortable being with the Crusaders.

For once, he wants to feel safe.

To not feel like he has to be this strong pillar of hope that everyone depends on.

To be someone being protected, instead of the other way around where he was always the strong protector. He wants a life of normalcy where he can just be a marine biologist and a professor with a loving family he can come home to.

But that can't happen. The inner circle of friends he counted on is either dead or far away, leaving him even more fearful of the world around him. This results in even more guarded skepticism, always watchful of who's an enemy Stand user and what their Stand could do. Because of his cautious nature, this leads to minimized socialization with others.

With little to no solid support system he can count on, he has no one he feels completely secure with because he believes danger will always come to hurt and/or kill those near him. He doesn't want to burden others with the issues & responsibilities of dealing with Stand users. He wants them to live the normal life he could no longer have.

He doesn't trust in the capabilities of his loved ones when it comes to defending themselves against the amount of potential threats and dangers he has faced, and yet he cares about them dearly. So, he commits to what seems to be the most practical solution in his mind: Self-Isolation.

To be a distant beacon where danger is attracted to and away from those dear to him.

(As we see in the beginning of Part 3 where he willingly locks himself in jail as soon as he sees himself as the threat, and in Part 6 where he stays away from his family once he realizes his enemies were targeting him).

"Your family is your weakness."

All this leads him to become what Araki always envisioned him to be: A lone hero.

III. Mental

Now onto the last part, this part of the essay will focus more on the popular headcanon the community has made about him: "Jotaro has PTSD."

Considering what he's been through at only 17, it would be no surprise that he'd acquired major trauma after those 50 days. Think about it- he gets injured more times than he can count, almost dies numerous times, sees his grandfather get "killed" in front of him, and all this combined with the constant reminder that his mother's life is also on a time limit. A failure to kill DIO meant a failure to save Holly.

The amount of pressure and risk he had to endure for her (and there will still be people who adamantly believe that he hated Holly because he said "bitch" to her twice in the first two episodes).

Now, remember when I said about him having this mentality of over-independence when dealing with stressors? It was still manageable during Stardust Crusaders, but because of what had transpired in Cairo, that mindset carries on to the rest of his adulthood, more so if we consider that he most likely didn't get any therapy or treatment for his trauma.

It might be normal for a teenager to hold onto this stubborn notion of "I can do this by myself" and be casual about it, but with trauma now involved, that notion warps into a persisting belief of "by doing this myself, no one else will get hurt" (i.e. refusing help, doing solo fieldwork, self-isolation).

But Mijin, you keep saying "mentality" this, "mindset" that. What are you talking about?

There's an old Tumblr post I found that talks specifically about this in great detail, but to put it shortly: Jotaro has always wanted to do things by himself because he believes that not only will the task be done with, there would be no one else involved with it, making it better for him to cope mentally if ever shit hits the fan (tying back to poor emotional expression and insecurity in bonds).

If any injuries were to be inflicted, he would be the one to receive them, and he alone, because who knows how he'll react and/or cope when his allies are harmed instead of him over and over again? (refer to the trauma of Jotaro surviving Cairo while the majority of the team that went with him died a.k.a "survivor's guilt")

(Also, refer to how he had exhibited great distress when Jolyne was about to be struck by a rain of knives that Pucci sent)

This might also be the reason why he's more self-sacrificial as an adult: Will be the bait during the rat episode instead of Josuke, takes the brunt of Sheer Heart Attack's explosion to spare Koichi, dives straight onto a path of bullets to save Jolyne, etc.

The only possible solution so he could snap out of that belief he holds on to is that strong, reliable support system he internally needs. People who can help him without sustaining fatal injuries in the process [social]. People who he can approach to release any pent-up frustrations and inner conflicts [emotional].

If he had found those people, then he might have been able to deal and/or cope with his trauma better instead of letting it linger and change his outlook in life [mental].

But we all know how his life went in canon. One moment he's a kid playing ball with his mother, then in his last, he dies by having his head bisected by a time-altering Stand.

Jotaro is a person with a gold heart and a rough exterior. Someone who wants to help and protect his loved ones from the unpredictability of the world the best that he can. But even then, his best wasn't enough. His fear was masked with an air of strength and capability, perhaps as compensation for everything else he lacked:

Adequate processing of emotions.

Stable connection with familial, platonic, and romantic bonds.

A sound mindset that stems from effective coping for his PTSD.

We could only hope in headcanon land that he had a better chance at life in the Ireneverse where he finally could develop his inner core better and get that long-deserved break he had always wanted.

[writingoddess1125]

Roger and Jessica Rabbit Effect pt. 3

Buggy Headcanon. Buggy x Reader

⚠️ Warnings: ⚠️ Some Angst, Action, Pirating

Support me on Ko-Fi

<<< Previously. Part 4 >>>>

• Buggy knew being a Warlord while was a massive benefit added a new target to his back- However he would take advantage of these privileges to protect you- His Darling seamstress wife.

• Buggy with his new status made sure no one knew of you- insisting that he had claimed the island that was his home as his territory and even renaming it entirely to Blue Edge Island- Just so people didn't sniff around the spot.

• However it seemed not everyone got the memo-

• You were in the shop, finishing up the latest thing for Buggy. A wedding anniversary gift for your darling- A nice big coat for him that was white and orange, and styled similarly to his idol and former Captian Gold D Roger's. It was probably your best work yet and you were proud.

• Forced from your creative mind as you heard crashing outside. Quickly walking out confused that a light post or building had fallen you stand out in the middle of the street- Others doing the same as you. That was till an unfamiliar pirate ship could be seen and hoards of the aggressive crew yelled and began to slice through your home- Ripping through your Unprotected people like paper.

• Your eyes widening as you turned to run back into your shop and call Buggy- But you were yanked back by a rough hand, A man with a wicked grin

• The pirate snatching the gold necklace from around your neck and shoved it greedily in his pockets- Not even bothering to check the emblem on it.

• "Captian take a look at this one!" He screamed out, Easily overpowering you as he showed you off. The Captian as grimy as he crew jeered at you and ripped you from his lowly members hands and stared you down.

• "Shes pretty- Find the treasures and other fine specimens like this one! And Take her to the ship!" The man yelled, Tossing you towards other crew members and dragging you away to their ship-

• A act they would regret in time.

• Not far from your home in the East Blue Buggy was sailing- he was less then day away from the home he shared with you, planning to visit in his own way. But He had some errands to run however, mainly to stash some of their recent earnings.

• "Buggy Sir!" A Pirate ran up to the Warlord in a total panic, Buggy who was laughing down at his 'employees' working away after another well done job.

• "What What?!" He yelled, The young pirates hesitanting.

• "From the Transporter snail and a surviving resident of the area- Someone raided Blue Edge Island, a women by the name of (Y/N) and several other villagers have been reported stolen by the pirates who did this" The young pirate babbled out-

• "Blue Edge Island?- Is that the little tourist area in the East Blue?-" Mohji mumbled, remembering Buggy ordering for people to keep away from it entirely. Cabaji nodding at this-

• However what was noticed was how oddly silently Buggy was- they all silently looking at each other then at Buggy whos hands were digging into the wood railing- his eyes dark and he was grunting it teeth so hard it sounded like he was chewing sand-

• "....change course...We are heading to Blue Edge Island Now-" He said in a eerily calm voice.

• No one moved a muscle- All just staring at the Warlord who looked ready to explode.

• "I SAID NOW!" His voice roared, loudly- Everyone feeling a rush like they were being strangled in this moment as they felt true fear pour in their vain.

• "YES CAPTIAN!!" Everyone Shouted in unison before rushing off to do as told-

• You were loaded into the unfamiliar ship like cattle, you and other pretty things the Grimy pirates had ripped from your village.

• The crew members shoving a cloth in your mouth as they loaded you and the other scared villagers into the cells. You and the others bound in rope, shivering in fear.

• Feeling the rocking of the ship as the pirates sailed away from your home, after what felt like eternity a man came down- staring at all of you before opening the cell and yanking you out by force. You screaming against the restraints as he pulled you through the halls of the ship before tossing you into what you assumed was the Captian's quarters.

• The Captian staring at you with a wicked grin, fear coursing through your system as he reached forward grabbing the front of your blouse and tearing it open. You crying at this, he groaned and ripped the fabric from your lips.

• "My husband is gonna kick you as-" You started but he backhanded you quickly to shut you up.

• "Silence! You will be perfect, My perfect little bed slav-" The ship suddently rocked harshly, Him staggering as he looked around confused.

• "The hell?!" The angry man yelled as he pulled his hand away from your ruined blouse. You sat there shaking and terrified as you heard loud fighting from outside. Flinching as the doors were slammed open, fear bleeding into you as you expected the pirates from before to return-

• "B-Buggy?" You say softly, Seeing your husband standing there as he sighed in relief at seeing you tossing what seemed to be a man behind him. Rushing to you quickly and Reaching down to quickly cut away the Ropes that held you in place.

• His glove hands running over your face, Wiping the blood from your busted lip from the slap and his face worse then a storm when seeing the ripped blouse and the bruise around your neck from the necklace being ripped away.

• "Are you hurt (Y/N)!?- they didnt-" Be asked carefully, you shaking your head no which seemed to ease your husband greatly as he scooped you up in his arms with great care.

• The second you were in his arms you began to sob, Pressing your face against him as you babbled incoherently 'I was so scared' You managed to wheeze out as Buggg held you close. Rubbing his gloved hand on your back- You didn't see his face but it was twisted in pure rage then..

• Picking you up fully, Buggy carefully walked you out of the Captian's quarters they had you confined in. The other stolen villagers already safely on his ship to get treatment for their injuries.

• No one had ever seen Buggy this pissed off before- It was terrifying. The other pirates beaten within inches of their lives laying there staring at the Warlord once he returned from tucking you into his bed.

• "I-It was just a village!" The Grimy Captian manages out, wheezing through his broken ribs- Buggy scoffed at this and kicked the man square in the mouth shattering his teeth and making the man scream in agony.

• "THAT Village belongs to me- THAT part of the East Blue belongs to me-" Buggy yelled in rage, Pressing a boot into the screaming Captian.

• "and.. THAT women you tried to violate was My Wife-" Buggy said calmly, that's when everyone seemed to understand all at once. The color draining from everyone's faces drained of color.

• Buggy messed with his gloves, a new set you had just sent him and stained with the blood from your lips- he silently listened to the babbling and bloody Captian at his feet begging for his life- 'I didn't know' 'My apologies' and more sprouting from his busted lips- Buggy ignoring them as he stared at the man.

• "You ripped the necklace from her poor neck that had my Jolly Roger on it- You disrespected my Village and My Wife- However I have more important matters for now... So I won't personally rip you apart with my bare hands!" He hissed, But a wide smile that was clearly forced.

• "Set up the Firework Show-" He Said calmly as he turned to walk back to his ship. Buggy's crew seemed to immediately understand what this ment-

• The beaten crew tied to the mast of their own ship as crates of fireworks were loaded on the ship and forced away from the Big Top, Buggy's Canons aimed at the ship as he stood and watched calmly. Already hearing the screams of the other pirates begging for their lives or trying to escape- However that was a foolish thought.

• "FIRE!" Buggy roared once at a safe distance and a massive Buggy Ball was fired at the rival ship- Hitting directly as it exploded in a devastation of colors and screams.

• The Big Top crew all watching the fireworks in awe despite the carnage.

• "Why the Fireworks sir?" Galdino Looking to his Captian who had an unreadable expression on his face.

• "My Wife likes fireworks..." He said simply before dismissing himself while everyone watched the exploding ship and colorful sky-

• Down below Buggy checked on you, Seeing you were asleep wrapped around his pillows. Clearly having cried yourself out.

• Buggy sat on the corner of the bed, His hand rubbing circles on your leg as you laid there- Thinking silently to himself what he needed to do, guilt eating him alive as he stared at you.

• When you woke up you found yourself surrounded...

• By hundreds of Balloon Flowers. Different types and different sizes all scattered around you. Paired with a fresh outfit laid out perfectly on the bed. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had done this.

• You smiling as you touched a balloon sunflower so carefully placed next to you and holding it as a giggle left you-

• "So cheesy.." You whisper out softly and smile.

• Once dressed and holding one of the balloon flowers you walk up to the Main Deck, never having been on Buggys ship before the array of colors surprising you. There were also so many people- Everywhere who would stop for a moment to stare at you, Clearly surprised by your presence.

• Spotting Buggy rather quickly by his inflated size you call to the man. Who turns around red faced and comes to you immediately.

• "Get Back to Bed! You shouldnt be up walking around!" He yelled at you, However you knew this was just his pride and worry for you coming out at the same time. Waving him down to be at your eyelevel, he complies without a thought or word.

• Reaching forward you grab his face gently, giggling at the new scruff there and pull him down for a nice kiss over his lips.

• He gave a Goofy Giggle at this, as red as his nose as you smoothed your hands over his parted hair.

• "Thank you for Rescuing me Buggy Boo~" His eyes soften at this, smiling softly.

• "Anything for you Doll" He all but purred out as he peppered kisses on your cheeks and held you close making you giggle happily.

• His eyes widened however as he saw everyone staring at him with their jaws on the floor he awkwardly coughed.

• "Doll-l um let's get you back to the room okay? It's best until we get back to Blue Edge for now-" He said with the gentlest voice and had one of his hands escort you back to his quarters.

• "What are you looking at?" He growled in defense as everyone scrambled back to work.

• Alvida giggled at this point and looked at him "Whats with the Buggy Bo-"

• "SHUT UP!!"

• It soon spread like wild fire that The Infamous Warlord Buggy had a Wife that was WAY too hot for him-

[fag4arabs]

I know I used your throat last week, fag. When I was still horny after fucking your sister. But it is up to me to decide when I ll do this again. So today I need your holes again. I am fucking horny and need to drain my Arab balls inside you. Where are you? Come home, now, you filthy whore! Come between my legs first and smell my balls. Take that masculinity deep in. I know you want this. Be ready to be raped, fucking cumslut

[ghosty-writes-23]

Let Me Be Your Inspiration. - Leon S Kennedy.

!TAGS!: Fluff, Leon being husband material, !CONSENT IS KEY!, SoftDom!Leon, Praise, Hints Of Degrading, Cockwarming, Blow Job, Eating Out, !WRAP IT, BEFORE YOU TAP IT!, Mating Press, Choking, Spit Play, Aftercare.

Pairing: DI!Husband!Leon + Writer!Fem!Reader.

Rating: Mature.

Summary: “Want Me To Fuck You Like The Characters In Your Books.” After a cozy night in with your husband editing your books, you decided you want to recreate the smut scene you had written early in the back with your darling husband Leon.

Word Count: 4.5k

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

----------

18+ Content // Minors DO NOT Interreact // 18+ Content.

On a cold winter’s night you were snuggled into your comfortable and cozy marshmallow couch, with Oreo curled up by your side purring softy as she enjoyed the warmth of your warm blanket and affection. You were wearing one of your husbands’ oversized hoodies since the weather was a little chillier than usual tonight and you couldn’t be bothered lighting the fireplace, you had been engrossed in your story writing for your next coming book project, that you had been working on for the past couple of months.

It was a spicy enemies to lover’s dark romance about a girl that is a rookie agent that falls in love with a higher up government agent that is her boss, they don’t get along at first but after a steamy training session things get a little more heated between the pair, and yes you did use your husband Leon for inspiration with his consent of course.

Finishing your final sentence, you glanced down at the time on your computer seen it was almost 6pm, which meant you had to start making dinner soon, since Leon had cooked last night even when it wasn’t his turn, but just as you stretched your arms above your head, your back popping slightly as some of your bones moved back into place, you heard the front door open and the familiar heavy boots on the hardwood floor that belonged to your darling husband.

Ace your German Shepard came flying into the room excitedly but panting, before he disappeared into the kitchen to get a drink, turning your head your eyes landed on Leon as he was taking off his jacket and placing Ace’s leash on the hook beside the door.

You didn’t say anything but you let your eyes run along the curves of his body, his t-shirt was tight around his biceps, showing off his muscles he worked hard to maintain for the sake of his job and bedroom activities, since he liked to go for multiple rounds especially after a stressful day, or being away for long periods of times because of missions. Sometimes you wonder how lucky you were to meet Leon when you did, you will admit it wasn’t the most romantic setting and was in the middle of a zombie outbreak, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

*Flashback.*

September 30th 1998 was a night you would never forget, it was night filled with unspeakable horrors, zombies and other creatures, the smell of rotting flesh and gunpowder and even an unexpected romance between yourself and a young rookie cop, you were at university and an English major with a love of book and writing even your own stories. You lived in raccoon city at the time of the incident; you had headed to the RPD as they were promising shelter and medical care for all citizens and you didn’t have much option since your university dorm room had been over ran with your classmates who had now been turned into flesh eating monsters.

When you had reached the police department, having had to go through the back and through the back fire escape and into a bloody hallway with bodies everywhere, you tried not to gag as you headed to what you hopefully thought was an unlocked door, luckily it was and you found yourself in the east office area on the first floor.

You were surprised to see some of the sections had already been opened, almost as if somebody had been through, you had armed yourself with a pistol you found on a desk and you decided to go and see if you could find anybody alive. You had walked around looking for anybody, but there was no sign of life expect for zombies and these gold awful creatures that looked as if they had been skinned alive, you had found out they were very sensitive to sound so you had to tread very carefully, you were on guard the whole time.

It wasn’t until you were on the 3rd floor balcony when you meet the man that would make this night of horror a little easier to bare. He wore a police uniform that was currently soaked with rain, his dark blonde hair was sticking to his forehead, he was an officer and was trying to make the same sense of this situation as you were. for a moment you both where speechless as if you were studying the details of each other’s face.

“I’m Y/n.” you say softly breaking the silence between you too, the male reached up and tucked some of your fallen wet hair behind your ear. “I’m Leon.” He says causing you to smile softly at his gesture, you felt yourself blush slightly and you could see him smiling as well, you were covered in zombie blood, creature gut juice and god knows what else and yet Leon looked at you as if you were the most beautiful woman in the world.

You two had survived the night together, not leave each other’s side and fighting side by side, when you finally got out of the police department and where on the outskirts of the city you breathed a sigh of relief, even though you had gotten injuried in your leg by landing on a piece of broken glass after you and Leon where chased by the sewer monster that was an alligator but that was no normal alligator.

You had been leaning against Leon for support as you both walked down an old dirt road. “you know this would make a great story.” Leon says as he helped by supporting your back, he had offered to piggyback you but you knew he was just as exhausted as you were and you didn’t want to be a burden on him.

“I am not writing the horrors we witness into a book.” You laughed shaking your head at him. “come on you could write an amazing story.” Leon says making an embarrassed blush to come onto your cheeks, you had told Leon about your passion for writing stories and he wanted to read your work.

“If I write something I will send you a copy.” You tell him and he gave you a smile, the same one he gave you when you two had meet not even 24 hours ago. “I look forward to it.” He says as you both traveled to the next city and you could finally have the shower you so desperately wanted.

*End Of Flashback.*

It was one hell of a night, and as perfect as your marriage seemed now, there were times that isn’t wasn’t so easy and balanced, you were there when Leon used to drink himself to sleep because he couldn’t deal with the trauma of Raccoon city, you where there when he blamed himself for every person that he loved and cared about dying, he pushed you away thinking all he ever brought you was bad luck, there where times he would purposefully not come home after a mission because he didn’t want you see him in the state he was in.

you were both nearly driven to a divorce because that is what you thought Leon wanted, you even had the papers mailed to you, but after a dangerous and life threatening mission and when he saw the signed papers that were on the kitchen counter when he returned home, he knew things needed to change, he made a vow to get better to be the husband you needed and deserved, he went to therapy and you both went to marriage counselling and now you were in the best possible place you could be and are even stronger as a couple now.

You also knew that your pets had an positive impact on your marriage as well, Ace was like your younger son, even thought he was an older police dog he acted like a big puppy, always full of energy and wanting to play games especially around Leon when he was home, but he loved affection from the both of you and he was a handful, then you have sweet but slightly temperamental Oreo that mostly keeps to herself and will only show affection when she wants too, but she like cuddles on a winter night or staying around either you or Leon when your home.

As your eyes meet his blue ones there was a small smirk on his lips. “What sweetheart.” Leon asked as he walked over to you and placed a gentle kiss on your neck, his slight stubble softly scratching your neck causing you to giggle softly. “just happy.” You replied before feeling another kiss being placed on your neck this time you could feel his teeth softly grazing your neck making you shiver in delight. “Well, I’m going to shower and then I will make dinner for us.” Leon says as he moved away from you, but quickly you reached out and grabbed his hand before he got too far.

“its my turn to cook tonight, you cooked last night.” You tried to argue with him as you gave your husband’s hand a soft squeeze, but Leon shook his head as he leaned down and gave your lips a soft kiss. You could still taste the faint hint of his sweet sports drink he takes when he is working out on his lips, it was berry flavoured.

“I rarely get to cook for you, please let me tonight.” He says resting his forehead on yours it was true Leon rarely cooked for you since he was rarely home because of his job and never getting time off work, the only reason he was home at the moment was because after his last mission to Alcatraz, he insisted on having some vacation time afterwards which was luckily approved.

Once it was approved Leon rushed home like an excited puppy, finally gets to spend some time with his beloved wife. His callous hands gently cupping your face and his thumb softly caressing your cheek, it always melted your heart when he did something like this, you knew you weren’t going to be able to argue with him.

“Fine but I’m cooking tomorrow.” You tried to playfully argue with him, but he just smiled and gently kissed you again. “whatever you say sweetheart.” He mumbles cheekily against your lips before kissing you again then pulling away going upstairs to the bathroom.

Shaking your head at his goofy antics you couldn’t help but grin slightly to yourself, as your head rested on the back of the couch, even after all of these years Leon still makes you feel the same butterflies you felt all those years ago on the RPD balcony, even thought you where both older and more wiser to you he will always be the man that saved your life and for that you were enterally grateful for meeting him.

*Later That Night.*

After eating the dinner Leon made, it was a simple pasta dish since he asked you what you where craving and you said carbs, he always knew exactly what to make you, it was a chicken and cheese pasta. Currently you were in the living room, a random movie playing on Netflix in the background so it wasn’t dead quiet.

Ace and Oreo were sleeping together on the large pet bed in the living room since it was big enough for the both of them and fluffy, while Leon was reading over what you had written today, as you wanted his approval on it and for him to proof read it since he can always find mistakes where you can’t and his grammar skills were slightly better then yours.

Leon edited your chapter from today, one of his hands was on your laptop his blue eyes scanning your words and fixing a few grammar mistakes, his other hand was in your hair as he gently massaged your scalp as your head rested on his sweatpants covered thigh while his cock rested perfectly in your mouth as you cockwarmed him, you wanted to show your husband how much you appreciated his help and what better way then to let him use you for his own pleasure for a while.  

You used your tongue softly to feel every bump, vein and ridge as you made a soft slurp noise, so you weren’t drooling everywhere. He was heavy on your tongue, but the weight brought you a sense of comfort as your eyes were closed happily. When you felt a gentle tug on your hair your eyes fluttered open before you looked up at Leon through your lashes. “you really do spoil me doll.” He softly praises you as his hand moves from your hair to your face, his callous hands gently stroking the soft skin of your slightly blushing cheek.

Instead of replying you took him deeper in your mouth causing you to gag slightly, but you pushed that through aside when you heard Leon’s deep groan, the sound alone was enough to make you clench around nothing. “Fuck princess.” He grunts before he moved your laptop onto the couch beside him and gives you his full attention, with his now free hand he used it to pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail to keep your hair out of your face.

There was a slight pain in your jaw, but you pushed that thought to the side and lifted your head up slightly to give yourself some room to swallow the precum that was already in your mouth, you gently sucked on his cock tip causing a soft whine to leave his lips before you started to bob your head at a steady pace as you sucked in your cheeks.

You could feel him moving his hips slightly to the rhythm of your head as you tried to take him deeper, but it caused you to gag slightly, you could feel his thumb gently caress your cheek wiping the stray tear. “don’t push yourself to much sweetheart.” Leon tells you causing you to look up at him.

You could see the lust in his eyes but also the love and affection, you wanted to make him feel good like he had done for you countless times, You used your hands to pump what you couldn’t fit before you felt him twitch on your tongue, you knew he was close by the pitch of his moans, breath a deep breath through your nose you decided to push Leon’s cock deep into your throat until your nose was touching his pubic area. “Fuck Y/n.” You heard Leon curse loudly as you felt his body tense up then a thick steam of cum filled your throat and mouth.

A few tears ran down your cheeks as you tried your best to swallow what you could, pulling off with a soft pop you placed your hand over your mouth as there was quite a bit of mess, you swallowed the rest before coughing slightly.

Leon looked at you worriedly as if all the pleasure was gone from his face and he was worried about you. “I’m okay.” You reassured him after you coughed a few times and caught your breath. “you sure?” Leon asked you as he gently rubbed your back, you nodded your head before you felt his thumb on your bottom lip.

“as pleasurable as that was, it was very stupid of you.” Leon says looking into your eyes, you could hear the seriousness in his tone, but also the worry and care. “I know I’m sorry, I just wanted to make you feel good.” You say to him with a soft pout, but Leon couldn’t stay mad at you felt him press a soft kiss to your lips as he rested his forehead on yours. “knowing your happy and comfortable makes me happy.” Leon says making you playfully roll your eyes. “that’s not what I mean.” You say as you look up at him to which he just grins at you.

Getting off the couch Leon picked you up with ease causing you to giggle softly as you clung to him. “where are we going?” you asked as he started to walk upstairs to your guys shared bedroom. “to bed sweetheart.” Leon says but there is a smirk on his lips, he was up to something, and you knew it. On the way to your shared bedroom, you started to kiss and softly bite your husband’s neck to tease him, you could tell he was smiling and even felt a gentle smack on your ass.

Once in your bedroom he kicked the door closed and laid you on the bed, his neck was covered in little love bites done by you which caused you to grin as he hovered over you. “my turn.” Leon says as he pressed a kiss to your lips and then one on your jawline then your neck, his hands going under his hoodie you’re wearing and gently caressing the soft skin of your body.

His touch alone made a shiver run down your spine as he started to trail his kisses down your neck to your chest, then pushing his hoodie you were wearing up and placing more kisses down your chest trailing down to your stomach.

When he reached the top of your shorts Leon’s loving blue eyes looked up at yours, nodding your head he hooked his fingers into your shorts and carefully pulled them down, leaving you in your panties on your bottom half, you could see the hungry and lust clouding his eyes as he licked his lips when he saw the wet patch on your panties.

He gave your clit a soft kiss through your panties causing you to gasps soft and grip the blanket under your body. “Leon.” You whine his name softly causing a deep chuckle to leave his lips.

 “I know baby I know.” Leon says smirking to himself before he pulled your panties to the side and ran his tongue up your wet folds in one swipe, causing a sweet moan to leave your lips as you bucked your hips slightly, your fingers finding their way into his dark hair and softly tugging, pulling him closer to your wet heat.

Getting your message Leon used his index finger and middle finger to spread your pussy, before sliding his tongue inside and slowly thrusting it as his nose gently bumped your clit, as his stubble gently scratched your inner thigh with every movement.

You where withering under him, your toes curling as your thighs trembled against his head. “Fuck.” You cursed slightly as your back arched slightly but he didn’t stop, only gripping your hips slightly harder keeping you steady for him. You could hear him softy slurping and even feel him suckling, it was getting to much for you as you felt a knot forming in your stomach.

“I’m cumming.” You moaned sweetly as you gripped the pillow under your head, you could hear Leon groaning against you as he doubled his efforts and pulled you closer to his face as he buried his face in your wet core.

“Cum for me sweetheart.” Leon groaned against your core, his deep and raspy lust filled voice alone was enough to push you over the edge, the knot in your stomach finally snapped you came with a loud cry of Leon’s name, your back arched off the bed as you felt your whole-body tremble.

When you finally came down from your high you gently pushed Leon’s head away with how sensitive you were, when he reluctantly pulled away his face was wet and there was a wide grin on his face.

“seem after all these years, I can still leave you breathless.” Leon says as he licked his lips, you playfully roll your eyes but there is a laugh on your lips as well. “it seems you do, now are you going to hurry up and fuck me.” You say back at him with a smirk. “yes ma’am.” He says before reaching into the bedside table draw to grab a condom and some lube.

As Leon ripped open the condom packet with his teeth and placed the rubber protection around his cock, you had grabbed the bottle of lube and applied some to your soaked heat. You knew you were wet enough but this was just a safety precaution to not cause you any discomfort.

“You ready darling?” Leon asks as he tapped the tip of his cock on your pussy a few times, you nodded your head biting your bottom lip as your legs rests on either side of his hips, slowly he began to push in the familiar starching making you moan softy and slightly dig your nails into his muscular shoulders.

He always stretched you perfectly like nobody else could. One he had fully bottomed out and you had adjusted to his size comfortably Leon leaned forward and gently kissed your head. “you okay?” he asks looking down at you.

Looking up you gave him a smile and leaned up and softly kissed his lips, as you gently kissed Leon you could feel his hips start to move slowly and steady, pleasure ran through your body causing you to moan against his lips as you both moved with each other, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

But as slow and sweet as his thrusts where you needed more, you needed him to be rougher with you, reaching over you grabbed one of his hands there was gripping the pillow by your head you placed it around your throat.

“be rougher with me Leon.” You moan softy wanting him to choke you, he stopped for a second his hips stilling, you through you had said something wrong and possibly made him uncomfortable, but before you could ask him what’s the matter, both of your legs are placed on his shoulders in the mating press position as his hand that was currently around your throat slightly tightens.

“Is this what you wanted doll, for me to fuck you like the characters you write about in your books.” Leon asks as he leaned down to your ear and gently bites the lobe as his once gently thrusts where hard and deep causing the deep to creak slightly.

You wanted to argue with him, but you couldn’t deny it you loved it when Leon fucked you like this, you liked it when he was loving and gentle, his touch careful and delicate, but other times you liked it when he was like this rough and slightly mean, when he bent your body for his pleasure, but you knew his ultimate goal was to please you. “Yes.” You choked out as your eyes started to roll back as Leon’s cock was hitting your sweet spot perfectly causing you whines and moans to leave your lips.

“then I’ll give you some inspiration.” Leon groans feeling you tighten around him as he picks up the pace, he pressed your legs closer to your chest and tightened his hand around your neck slightly more causing you to hear your heartbeat in your ears, as you start to feel lightheaded. Your moans were getting whiner and higher pitched, soon you felt Leon’s other hand came up to your face as his thumb was on your bottom lip as he gently pulled your mouth open.

Knowing what he was going to do, you laid your tongue flat for him before you felt him spit into your mouth causing a whine to leave your throat as you swallowed. “dirty slut.” Leon grunted as he grinned down at you, he knew how dirty you liked things, he had read all your books and he knew you used your bedroom activities for inspiration for them, he was just glad that he could bring these scene you had written down to life for your pleasure.

“Leon.” You moaned loudly feeling the familiar knot in your stomach, you knew there was a mess of lube, precum and your juices on the bed beneath your ass. “I know sweetheart, I know.” He grunts moving some of your sweaty hair out of your face as he thrusted into your soaked pussy, your gummy walls sucking him in and never wanting him to leave.

“You going to cum for me baby?” you heard Leon ask and you nodded your head quickly feeling the familiar tightening in your stomach. “Yes.” you choked out in between moans; your thighs were trembling, and your head was feeling light and hazy. “Cumming.” you cry out as you let out a high pitch moan and came around Leon, you felt him soon follow filling up the condom.

After a couple of moments, you both found yourselves laughing and smiling with each other as you leaned up and brushed some of Leon’s wet and sweaty hair from his face. “so, I take it you like what I wrote today.” You say with a grin as this was exactly how you imagined the chapter you had written today.

“I did but maybe next time we can do some roleplay, I might even dress up as this government agent you seem to love writing about.” He says with a soft smile before he slowly and carefully pulls out of your now oversensitive pussy and discards the condom on the bin beside your shared bed.

“now that would be a treat.” You say before you move over and nuzzle into his side, your head resting on his chest as his hand is softly running down your back. “I love you.” You say to Leon as you looked at the matching black bands on your fingers, the sight of them still brings a smile to your face.

“I love you too sweetheart, did you want to shower or cuddle.” Leon asks as he kisses the top of your head. “a shower can wait.” You said closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth and feeling of Leon’s body next to yours. “okay honey.” Leon says pulling you closer to his body as you both just enjoyed the company of each other…

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Bonus Head Canons for Writer!Fem!Reader.

Leon will take you on his motorbike to bookstores for dates, you can pick as many books as you would like.

He will carry all of the book he purchased you not wanting you to strain yourself.

Leon will listen to you rant about your favourite fictional characters.

He likes it when you use his head as a pillow while you read your books, or cuddle together on the couch while you are writing, he just likes being close to you.

Yes he will recreate your favourite smut book scenes.

He is your number one fan of your books and comes to every signing when he can, if he isn't working.

He will talk about you at work and even recommend people your books.

Leon is the model for some of your book covers, but you kept his face hidden for privacy reasons.

He doesn’t get jealous when you have a new fictional husband from a new book you read.

If he can’t find you, he knows you’re in the in-home library he built you for valentines day. (!One-Shot Link!)

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©Ghosty-writes-23, 2024. all rights reserved. !I DO NOT! consent to translations or replications or reproduction of my work on any other social media platforms and or make AI Bots without my explict consent and permission.

[yourstrqly]

✰ LATE NIGHT'S DESIRE , O. PIASTRI

[ preview ] working as a mclaren strategist for years, the newest driver is the perfect candidate to satisfy your hunger — he does make it easy for you, coming to your door in the middle of the night.

[ tw ] smut, unprotected sex, dom!fem!reader, teeny tiny little bit of corruption kink, spit kink, inappropriate work relationship | gif by @princemick

[ a/n ] idk what this is but yeah slay or whatever bruh. Might write more smut about oscar, I'm really fixed on him rn + ITS MELBOURNE GP and in honor of that i had to write a little something

. minors do not read | masterlist .

The sight of the quiet, charmingly awkward Oscar makes your blood pump fastly though your veins as the desire within you grows. You know its wrong, having inappropriate thoughts about a co-worker, one that isn't as secure as you are on the team but you can't help yourself with it; the need to fuck whoever is handsome and new is strong enough to make you black out rules.

First you had Lando — he was eager to fuck you as you pleased, then you had to have Daniel, who mind you, wasn't as easy to get in your bed and he also wasn't to corrupt as he was the one to mirror your actions and pull some stuff. Sadly it ended rather fast with him getting a girlfriend. But you still have Lando every other month as the boy can't keep a girl around, making him fall regularly in your bed or wherever you are to fuck. It's not that fun anymore, quiet bland. The routine is always the same — first he'll finger you to get you wet enough and then you push him to whatever surface and take his cock. Afterwards you clean yourself, Lando already out of the door.

So, that brings you to Oscar.

He's fresh blood, newly single, and dear lord in heaven over the winter break he put on a lot more muscles, looking ridiculous strong, causing your pussy to flutter whenever you see him. You flirt with him quite often and you do see his brown eyes cloud with lust, but you want to take your time. There's no need to rush.

But the day comes.

Its Sunday night, hours after the race and celebrations of Oscar taking P3, when you hear knocks on the door of your hotel room. Reaching for your phone, the homescreen only shows a few messages from people you're currently not interested in responding. No Lando. Normally, he'd shot a text beforehand, so you're not sure of who is standing opposite the wooden door.

Breathing in, you swing your bare legs off the bed and walk across the room, opening the door. The sight greeting you leaves your mouth agape — Oscar's wearing an maroon satin shirt, tucked into a pair of black slacks. On his thick fingers are two rings which you've never seen him wear but it suits him. He looks hot, even more so with his hair all toulouse and a curl glued to his forehead. It's an indicator that he is influenced by Lewis and Guanyu, both very fashionable drivers on the grid, and you could kiss them right now because Oscar has never looked this hot. He is but this is otherworldly.

"Everything alright, Oscar?", you ask, crossing your arms under your breasts and unintentionally pushing them up, presenting the man with your more than welcoming cleavage.

He can't help himself; his focus rests on the soft curves of your tits, the skin glistening under a sweat film the heat of middle east brings.

Clearing his throat, the Mclaren driver, sends you a dashing smile. "Yes, actually I've missed you at the celebration and was wondering if you—", he stops himself, cheeks flaming hotly.

"If I want?"

You can see the thoughts running around faster than the car on the track earlier. Must be hard to grasp whatever plagues his mind.

"I was wondering if you'd celebrate with me", he whispers, somewhat bashful which is endearing.

"Sure, let me throw on something else to wear, can't go out in this", you say, hands moving across your body to clarify your point; due to the heat you're only wearing some boxers and a flimsy babydoll top. Oscar gazes at you, shaking his head. "No, no, I mean celebrate in, you know . .", he stumbles over the words, blush now burning his ears too.

Oh. Oh.

To end his misery, you catch his wrists to pull him inside before hitting the door close with your foot and shove him against it.

For the first time you kiss him, all teeth and tongue, and its different from what you have imagined — his hands are rougher, caressing your lower back, creeping under the top to feel the warm skin of yours. Grabbing you by the hips, he sloths his dick against your stomach and grinds. He doesn't feel small, maybe even bigger than his teammate. In your imagination, he was softer yet he let you guide him to bed exactly like dream-oscar did and falls backwards on top of the cream coloured sheets, breath hitching in anticipation.

"Remove your clothes, baby."

You reach for the hem of your top as you command him, letting him stare at your tits while he steps out of his bottoms and throws the shirt in a corner. His milky smooth skin's glowing in the dim lighting a street lamp spends, and you see a map of freckles on his chest as well as a happy tail lending down to his beautiful cock.

Spitting in your hands, slander finger gently touch his length, causing Oscar's head to fall back, lips wide agape and you take the opportunity to spit in his mouth. "Shallow, Osc, be a good boy f'me, yeah?", you coe, hot breath fawning the auricle. He does, groaning lowly but its getting louder when you bring your legs on either side of his lap, left hand grabbing his cock and coating it in your wetness before probing the fat mushroom tip at your pussy, gliding down till every inch is inside you.

The feeling of his cock might aswell change everything; he's the biggest you've ever taken, scraping and burning you inner spongy walls deliciously as he kisses your cervix.

Fuck Lando, he doesn't have anything on Oscar.

"M so full, you're filling me up so good, baby", the praise let the man smile in a haze, far lost in how good you ride him. Your wet hole holds his grith snuggly as you fuck yourself on his cream coated length — his eyes roll back in pleasure at the sight of a white ring forming on the base of his dick, something he has never seen before, and it spurrs him on to grind his hips into yours, getting a worish wail out of you.

You fuck him till his abdomen thighten and he pumps you full of cum, that is oozing out of your desperately moving body, chasing your own orgasm. Oscar leans in, bitting on your pulse point. Then you fall over the edge, legs shaking as you still on top of him.

After catching your breath, you charmingly smirk at him before he grinds up in your fluttering hole — he's already getting hard again.

[bigwishes]

Size Trade

was talking about getting massive with @samir-the-dumb-jockboyeee and since he turned him into a giant hulk of a man I think I should do the same.

First I think you'd be better with some mixed heritage from the middle east, nice tan skin, thick black hair all over your body, making it hard to wash any B.O off, but you cant be small and naturally sweaty so I think we better beef you up.

there we go!! starting to look good but I dunno man, you still seem not quite right. Maybe we'll make a few more adjustments. First too tall I think a better way to make you look bigger is to push you down a few inches, maybe to 5ft exactly, a short king with the same amount of mass, but its still not enough, I think you deserve another 60 pounds of mixed muscle and fat pushed onto your body and I know you got a think for guys with big feet so I can't let you go without atleast being a size 20 but I still think you might be small, ya know down stares so why dont we beef you up like you've shoved a basket ball in your pants.

Id say we've gone far enough but chatting with you I know you say you want a guy to ruin you so lets go all in, go big or go home. Again you dont look beefy enough, I think we just need to keep adding size until you find it hard to move.

Much better, and from the sounds of furniture it sounds like you might have to spend a few grand ordering some reinforced stuff because if you get stuck on your back you'll find it hard to get up at all.

But I don't think we've ruined you yet.

How about some more body hair, and lets make you sweat like a fucking pig and stink like an ogre. You feet dripping with sweat leaving puddles behind you, every step results in a deep breath like you are climbing a mountain. Anyone who looks at you will see the massive stink cloud circling you at all times and people might even laugh at the man who's wider than he is tall trying to squeeze through doors.

Sweaty, rank, hairy, short and wide? is that ruined enough for you? or maybe I should make you a lil shorter and ad another 50 pounds hahaha, enjoy man.

[sayruq]

In January of 2024, Dr. Bara Zuhaili entered Gaza on a two-week medical mission with a U.S.-based organization, Rahma Worldwide. Dr. Zuhaili dedicated most of his time to Shuhada' Al-Aqsa Hospital in Deir Al-Balah, central Gaza. While this was not his first experience in a wartime or crisis setting — he had undertaken medical missions in Syria and was in southern Turkey during the earthquake — it proved to be his most horrific. As a vascular surgeon, he was tasked with assisting Gazan doctors in one of the ugliest tasks of this war: amputations. A generation of amputees has emerged, with over 10 children losing one or more limbs per day, on average, since the beginning of the war. Dr. Ghassan Abu-Sittah called it “the biggest cohort of pediatric amputees in history.” Even this statistic, reported by UNICEF in December of 2023, is now outdated. The true number of men, women, and child amputees remains unknown, with estimates ranging upwards of 10,000 people. It is a number that will continue to rise as new and unknown weapons destroy tissue and bone, crumbling medical infrastructures and scarce supplies force constant life-and-death decisions, while infections and chronic illnesses — largely ignored — silently kill or handicap thousands.

Is this the first time you've worked in a war zone or in a humanitarian crisis? Did any of them prepare you for this? It was not the first time. Unfortunately, I had experience in Syria, working in the underground hospitals in the besieged areas of Aleppo and Idlib. There, the healthcare facilities were also under constant attack by the Syrian regime. But Gaza was unlike anything I had seen before. To start, the supply chain was completely broken. Supplies were extremely limited in Deir Al Balah, where I was based for most of my stay. The hospital functioned at only 5-10% capacity compared to any similar hospital in the Middle East—I'm not even talking about an American hospital. Then, there were the number of patients. Just to give you an idea: Shuhada' Al-Aqsa Hospital in Deir Al Balah is only equipped for 150 patients. Under extreme circumstances, they could maybe stretch to accommodate up to 200 patients. When I arrived, there were 950 patients, in addition to over 20,000 refugees sleeping in the corridors of the hospital and its complex. Every time we experienced a bombardment, we had anywhere from 20 to 60 patients rushing in simultaneously, in addition to the patients already being treated. It was completely overwhelming and overcrowded. The third issue had to do with the type of injuries. I've seen a lot of trauma before — traumatic injuries are not new to me — but the level of trauma I saw was something I've never witnessed in my entire life. When I was in the operating room, I would get a call from the ER saying someone was shot in the leg and they needed me as soon as possible. In my mind, someone shot in the leg with a bullet would have an entry size of about five to six millimeters and an exit wound size of about two centimeters long. That is what I was familiar with. What I saw in Gaza — which I had never seen before — was literally as if an explosion, an RPG, had exploded into the leg. The entry wound would be about five to 10 centimeters wide and the exit wound would be almost 30 centimeters wide. One bullet would destroy a diameter of 10-15 centimeters… all of the muscle, bone, arteries, and nerves were all gone, destroyed.I'm not a military expert, I don't know much about weapons. But I don't know what kind of bullet can cause that much destruction. With a bullet wound in the U.S., I could get away with doing a bypass to salvage the leg. In Gaza, there was nothing anyone could do to salvage the leg. The amount of tissue damage forced me to do amputations almost every single time. 

Can you describe what a single day would look like? As a rule, anytime a bombardment happened, we would wait between four to eight hours before we received any injured people. In Deir Al-Balah, we would see the missile hitting two to three kilometers away and we knew that there were many casualties, but it would take these people — who were only three kilometers away from us — four to eight hours to reach our location. The IOF (Israeli Occupation Forces) prevented any ambulances from entering the scene, and anyone attempting to help or approach would be shot. I had many cases where the ambulance driver would come to me holding two or three kids. They were dead, and he would swear to me they were alive four hours ago. We lost a lot of lives just waiting to reach us in the hospital. Our days typically began around seven in the morning, and even though the night was filled with attacks and bombardments, no casualties would reach us before the morning. By then, we would go to the ER and try to start the triage process: determining who needs to go to the OR first and who could afford to wait. We would then perform surgeries throughout the day, often not finishing until one or two in the morning. Sometimes, if I had time, I would do my rounds to check on the patients, and by late afternoon, we would have more bombardments and injuries coming in until midnight. Usually, by midnight, things slowed down… not because there was no bombardment, but because they couldn't reach us anymore.

[opencommunion]

since zionists want to act obtuse about why we're criticizing a superbowl ad, here's an explanation from before the ad even aired. it was openly designed to act as pro-genocide propaganda. fighting antisemitism is a worthy goal but that's not what's happening here:

"The New England Patriots’ 81-year-old owner, Robert Kraft, writes seven-digit checks to the right-wing Israeli lobbying machine AIPAC, but his personal, political, and financial ties to Israel run deeper than the occasional donation. The multibillionaire married his late wife, Myra, in Israel in 1963 when Kraft, then 22, was older than the nation itself. Together they set up numerous business, athletic, and charitable ties to Israel, a record of which is proudly proclaimed on the Kraft company website. In particular, the Kraft Group boasts of its 'Touchdown in Israel' program, where NFL players are given free, highly organized vacations to see 'the holy land' and come back to spread the word about 'the only democracy in the Middle East.' (Not every NFL player has chosen to take part.) Kraft also attends fundraisers for the Israel Defense Forces, currently—and in open view of the world—committing war crimes in Gaza."

Now, as Israel wages war against the civilians of Gaza—more than 25,000 Palestinian have been killed with at least 10,000 of them children—Kraft is again flexing his financial and political muscles in order to defend the indefensible. His Foundation to Combat Antisemitism (FCAS) will be spending an estimated $7 million to buy a Super Bowl ad titled 'Stop Jewish Hate' that will be seen by well over 100 million people. Under Kraft’s direction, the ad’s goal is to create a propaganda campaign to counter the reports and images from Gaza that young people are consuming on social media. 

... The content of the Super Bowl ad is not yet known, but FCAS has afforded Kraft the opportunity to make the rounds on cable news saying things like, 'It’s horrible to me that a group like Hamas can be respected and people in the United States of America can be carrying flags or supporting them.'

This is Kraft enacting the mission of FCAS: fostering disinformation. He is far from subtle: A Palestinian flag becomes a 'Hamas flag,' and people like the hundreds of thousands who took to the streets of Washington, D.C., last month to call for a cease-fire and end the violence are expressions of the 'rise in antisemitism.' Without a sense of irony or the horrors happening on the ground in Gaza, Kraft says he is giving $100 million of his own money to FCAS, because 'hate leads to violence.'

Let’s be clear: What Kraft is doing politically and what he will be using the Super Bowl as a platform to do is dangerous. He appears to think any criticism of Israel is inherently antisemitic. For Kraft, it is Jews like myself, rabbis, and Holocaust survivors calling for a cease-fire and a Free Palestine that are part of the problem. Kraft seems to think that opposition to Israel, the IDF, and the AIPAC agenda is antisemitism.

... Right-wing Christian nationalists, with their belief in a Jewish state existing alongside their conviction that Jews are going to Hell, are welcome in Netanyahu’s Israel and Kraft’s coalition. Left-wing anti-Zionist Jews are not. The greatest foghorn of this evangelical right-wing 'love Israel, hate Jews' perspective is, of course, Donald Trump. Kraft, while speaking of being troubled by events like the Charlottesville Nazi march and the right-wing massacre at the Tree of Life synagogue, counts Donald Trump as a close friend and even donated $1 million to his presidential inauguration.

No one who provides cover for the most powerful, public antisemite in the history of US politics should ever be taken seriously on how to best fight antisemitism. No one who funds AIPAC and the IDF and opposes a cease-fire amid the carnage should be allowed a commercial platform at the Super Bowl. But given that the big game is always an orgy of militarism, blind patriotism, and big budget commercials that lie through their teeth, perhaps that ad could not be more appropriate. We can do better than Kraft’s perspective on how to fight antisemitism. Morally, we don’t have a choice."