#day 9 of ramadan

[dazzlerdrawer]

*scribbles*

[theliteralmoon]

I just set a work boundary whomst will celebrate with me

[darksisterswielder]

Eid Mubarak to all my fellow lovely muslims! I hope you have/had a lovely day and that this ramadan you were able to deepen your connection to God, recognize and learn new things about yourself, and that your new insights and thoughts brought about by your fast may help you better and heal yourself in the future ❤️❤️❤️

[gentlesounds]

I had to rush and get milk before iftar and I was wearing my prayer baati and this lady was fascinated by the fabric like outside our cars it was so cute 🥺

[muslim-world]

[ghoooooooooooooooost]

there are going to be global demonstrations for Palestine on march 2nd, this site has more info

here's what's written on the front page:

"On March 2, millions across the world will march for Gaza! The Israeli government is planning to have a full-scale invasion of Rafah one week later, on March 9, one day before the start of Ramadan. Today, the United States vetoed a UN resolution that insisted that Israel immediately cease its mass killing spree in Gaza.

Now is the time to act! People around the world are going into the streets in cities and towns, including in the United States, as part of the global day of protest on Saturday, March 2.

Gaza is facing famine, its hospitals are besieged, threats of ground invasion in Rafah loom near, and Israel continues its onslaught on the over 2 million Palestinians in the Gaza Strip.

The mass movement for Palestine has led to the isolation of the US and Israel on the world stage. With growing internal divisions and heightened political pressure on Israel and the United States, it’s time to push even harder. Our mobilizations at this moment can be more decisive than ever, and we must show our full strength now to ensure a lasting ceasefire and an end to the siege on Gaza.

Act now, and mobilize in your communities and institutions, everyone must be on the streets on March 2nd! All out for Rafah! All out for Gaza! Stop the genocide!"

[cupid-styles]

scare (cheatrry)

word count: 1.9k

content warnings: slight mentions of smut, pregnancy scare, cheating plot, mentions of abortion, not suitable for ramadan

based on this blurb!

main masterlist

. . .

Harry’s not an oblivious man.

More often than not, he considers himself to be an empath, easily picking up on mood changes pertaining to those around him. With his ex-wife, he could tell if she’d had a bad day at work just by the way she walked through the front door. With Y/N, it’s much, much easier, because, for the first time ever, she’s clearly avoiding him. 

When he texted for their weekly hookup, she churned out some bullshit excuse about landscapers being at the house all day. (There weren’t. Call him insane, but he drove by on her lunch break, and her front and back yards were so quiet, you’d be able to hear the sound of leaves falling.) 

And while they normally don’t interact much at school pickup — usually Harry’s being swarmed by hungry MILFs who he politely rejects each and every time — she’s taken to wearing a large pair of sunglasses over her eyes, almost as if she’s physically attempting to hide from him. It’s odd and it makes him concerned, even if he’s the one that’s repeated the same sentiment regarding their situation a million times over (“no feelings, just sex”). 

His brain launches itself into the worst places it could possibly go, so on Thursday afternoon, exactly one week and a day since they last slept together, Harry tries to casually mosey over to her car as she stands there, waiting for her kids to leave school. He watches as she visibly clenches her jaw and he clears his throat, standing next to her but refusing to give her eye contact. There’s a reason they don’t ever speak too much at pickup time, and it’s always to make sure no one suspects anything.

“You’re avoiding me.” he says through gritted teeth. She inhales through her nose and he peers down from the corner of his eye to see her expression. It’s difficult to tell when she’s wearing those ridiculously oversized sunglasses. 

“I’m not avoiding you.” she mutters, leaning her hip against the bumper of her black SUV. 

“Then why haven’t I seen you?”

Her nostrils flare as she runs her tongue over her teeth. 

“It’s barely been two weeks, Harry. Don’t be dramatic.”

He resists the urge to snort and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well fuck me for wanting to make sure you’re alright.”

“Keep your voice down,” she grumbles, flashing a forced smile to a mom who passes by them. She clears her throat and pushes her sunglasses into her hair. Harry’s relieved to finally be able to see her eyes. “I might be… pregnant.”

Despite the drop in his stomach, he’s able to maintain a stoic expression. He’s no longer the foolish teenager he once was — he and Y/N are both fully capable adults and would know how to approach an unwanted pregnancy, need be. What scares him more is the prospect of her wanting to keep the baby.

His mind is whirring at a million miles per hour when she grits out his name, bringing him back down to earth. He coughs. 

“My period is late but I haven’t had a chance to pick up a test yet, so don’t get your panties in a twist.” she replies lowly. They hear the school bell ring, signaling the official end to the day. They have about four minutes before the kids come running out through the front. 

“I’ll pick you up tonight at 9. Tell your husband you’re having a baking emergency or some shit.”

Y/N doesn’t have a chance to fight him before he’s walking away, headed back in the direction of his car to wait for his twins.

. . .

Harry parks down the road from Y/N’s house at 9 pm on the dot.

He feels like some sort of shitty spy with the way he’s turned his car lights off as he waits for Y/N to get in. He texted her as soon as he got there — they used to have a secret code word for their rendezvouses but it’s been months since they started, and Harry thinks they could fuck right in front of her husband and he wouldn’t even notice.

He sighs as he takes a sip from his reusable water bottle. He glances up at the rearview mirror for the tenth time in the past minute, his stomach calming some when he recognizes Y/N’s frame hustling towards his SUV. He presses the ‘unlock’ button as she wordlessly climbs in the passenger’s seat. Harry doesn’t say anything when he shifts the gear back into drive to pull out of her cul-de-sac. 

Finally, he asks: “Did your husband have an issue with you leaving?” 

Y/N tries not to roll her eyes. 

“No, but I also didn’t tell him I was having a ‘baking emergency’, like you so kindly suggested.”

“Oh, so you told him you have to go take a pregnancy test to make sure you’re not knocked up with some other guy’s kid?”

“Stop being a dick,” she mumbles, occupying her shaky hands by playing with the ends of her hair. “Where are we going?”

“Where do you think?” 

When she doesn’t reply, he sighs.

“The twins are at their mom’s for the next few days so after I dropped them off, I got a few tests from the pharmacy a few towns over. We’re going to my place so you can take them.”

Her stomach tightens. While she’s mainly worried about the results of the impending pregnancy tests, she’s also never been to Harry’s before. He’s never actually offered.

Y/N hums in response — it’s apparent she doesn’t have much of a choice, and quite frankly, she’d rather take them there than go back to her own home and do it. A silence blankets them once again as he drives through their quiet suburban neighborhood.

Until Harry clears his throat. 

She cranes her neck to look at him, quirking an eyebrow as a wordless encouragement to say whatever stupid thing he’s thinking. 

“If it’s positive… you’re not… you’re not gonna have the kid, right?”

She sighs noisily. “Do I look like I’m in the position to deal with that? I already feel guilty enough fucking you behind his back.”

“He pays you no attention, Y/N. Your pussy is always completely depraved when we hook up. You shouldn’t feel bad.”

Y/N ignores the way her skin warms at the casual filth that falls from his lips. 

“To answer your initial question, no, I wouldn’t keep them. I would get an abortion.”

He doesn’t respond to that, which leaves her to believe it’s a satisfactory reply. 

It’s only a few more minutes before Harry’s pulling into the three-car garage attached to his house. They move silently and quickly, as if any one of his neighbors could come out and see them together — she supposes it’s a possibility, but their town is usually asleep by 8:30 at the latest. She follows him in through the side door, which apparently takes them into the kitchen. He flicks some lights on as he digs in his pocket, pulling three small boxes out and tossing them on the kitchen island. 

“Take your pick,” he says before nudging his chin in the direction of the hallway. “There’s a bathroom down there.”

Somehow, she’s unsurprised that he got the most expensive options — the ones with the digital screens that spell out “you’re pregnant!” with a smiley face on it. She grabs the first one and follows the direction that Harry led her in. Despite the harshness of the interior design (everything feels pristine thanks to white marbled flooring and light gray walls), she notices that he has a plethora of family photos that line the hallway. None of the pictures include his ex-wife, who left Harry three or so years ago. She remembers it being a huge deal in their small community. They were both gorgeous, a completely picturesque family that seemed completely destined to be together. Rumors flew about the divorce — everything from Harry sleeping with his wife’s assistant to her running away to Aruba — but Y/N never cared to find out what really happened. In fact, she and Harry didn’t really speak until they started sleeping together.

Her mind wanders back to the task at hand when she closes the bathroom door behind her. She’s taken many pregnancy tests in her life — she has two kids, after all. It’s a straightforward process and she gently places the cap back on the stick, placing it on the sink as she waits for it to process. After flushing and washing her hands, she nibbles on her bottom lip, watching as the little bar loads.

. . .

Harry thinks he’s going to vomit as he waits for Y/N to emerge from the bathroom. 

He hasn’t felt this way in years. Despite the twins being his entire life nowadays, when his ex first got pregnant with them, he spent months sick with worry. And although Y/N already assured him that she wouldn’t keep it if she is pregnant, the thought of her carrying his child still makes him woozy.

His head snaps up when he hears the bathroom door creak open. A few moments later, her sneaker-clad feet carry her back into the kitchen. She holds the stick in her hands and Harry’s eyes bulge at it. 

“Negative,” she breathes, putting it down on the table, as if to prove it. “No baby.”

He sighs out in relief. “Thank fuck.”

She nods. “Just make sure you destroy this or whatever,” she mumbles, reaching up to run a hand through her hair. It’s only then that Harry realizes how exhausted she looks. She has deep bags under her eyes and her lips look worn from constantly biting them. “Listen, I’m fine if you want to stop messing around. This was scary.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “It was a pregnancy scare. It happens to everyone.”

“Yeah, but there’s more consequences for us.”

He shrugs. “We would’ve taken care of it.”

She’s too exhausted to fight him on his nonchalant nature, so she just sighs instead. 

“I take it that you don’t want to stop, then?” she asks, pursing her lips at the male. 

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“Okay,” she nods, “We’ll just need to be more careful, then.”

“Sure.”

She swallows, glancing past him to read the time on the stove. “I guess I’ll get going then.”

“I can drive you home.” he says quickly, grabbing his keys off the table.

She doesn’t reject his offer, especially now that the adrenaline from the evening has officially worn off. For the second time that night, she sits in the passenger’s seat of Harry’s car, allowing him to chauffeur her back to her house. He drives down to the spot he picked her up in, at the very end of her road so no one sees him dropping her off. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs as she unbuckles her seatbelt. “Sorry about all this.”

“It’s fine, shit happens. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

It may be the nicest thing he’s ever said to her and she doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she simply flashes him a small smile before moving to open the car door. 

“Wait—” Harry reaches out to press his hand to her knee. Y/N glances down at his touch and he quickly rips it away. “Are you around sometime next week? For me to come by?”

She doesn’t even consider what her schedule looks like before she turns to look at him. 

“Yeah. Come over whenever you want.”

He sends her a wide grin as she climbs out of his car.

[rebirthgarments]

I have been fundraising for a my friend who is a 21 year old IT student from Palestine named Seraj. His family has been displaced 3 times, and the 9 of them currently live in a tent in in the Rafah displacement camps.

Seraj has been doing a wonderful mutual aid project for Ramadan in Rafah, because as he says “it’s not just our family that needs help”

21 year old Seraj is putting together food/cash packages for 60 of the families around him in the displacement camps.

Send support to his family + others at bit.ly/serajfund

Donate art, goods + services for Seraj’s Support Soirée!

online auction / virtual Rebirth Garments dance party.

Fill out the form at bit.ly/fundraiserforseraj

Seraj gave out 60 envelopes of cash totaling $1500 USD to different families in the first day of Ramadan! Now he is working to put together packages of food. Each package of food will cost around $70 USD, so we need more donations to make that possible!

[sabrgirl]

dhul hijjah - a second chance after ramadan ♡

what is dhul hijjah?

meaning 'the month of the pilgrimage' as many muslims go on hajj in this time, dhul hijjah is the twelfth and final month of the islamic year. the first ten days of this month are the best days of the entire year. yes - even better than ramadan:

it was narrated by Ibn Abbas that the Prophet ﷺ said: “There are no days during which righteous deeds are more beloved to Allah than these days,” meaning the (first) ten days of Dhul- Hijjah" - Sunan Ibn Majah 1727

these ten days encompass the day of Arafah, Hajj, and Eid ul-Adha

this month, we remember prophet Ibrahim (as) and how he was told by Allah to sacrifice his son, Hadrat Ismail (as). he took hadrat Ismail (as) on top of mount Arafat for the sacrifice, and just as he was about to sacrifice Ismail (as), Allah told him to stop as He was only testing him to see if he was truly obedient and willing to sacrifice everything for Allah's sake. the 9th day of dhul hijjah is the day of Arafah, commemorating this event.

we also remember how Allah told Ibrahim (as) to leave Ismail (as) and his wife, Hadrat Hajar, in a desert - which, today, is present day makkah.

this month is therefore about obedience, surrender and sacrifice for Allah سُبْحَٰنَهُۥ وَتَعَٰلَىٰ.

depending on the sighting of the moon, dhul hijjah is expected to begin friday 7th june!

what to do in these first ten days?

even if you're not going for hajj, you should use these blessed days for extra righteous deeds and worship, especially on the day of arafah - the 9th day (which falls on 16th june this year, Insha'Allah) - the day before eid.

FASTING

it is a sunnah to fast the first 9 days of dhul hijjah. if you won't fast all 9 days, then it's best to prioritise the 9th day, the day of Arafah. this is because the prophet ﷺ said: “Fasting on the Day of ‘Arafah expiates for the sins of the year before and the year after.” (Sunan Ibn Majah 1730) however, unless you're going for hajj and you're actually at Afarah, then you cannot as it's forbidden to fast while on the mountain.

DHIKR

it's extremely important to increase your dhikr in this time. recite the tasbeeh, tahmeed, takbeer and tahleel often: tasbeeh - subhanallah (Holy is Allah) tahmeed - alhamdulillah (all praise belongs to Allah) takbeer - Allah Akbar (Allah is the Greatest) tahleel - laa ilaha ill-Allah (there is no God except Allah) Allah said “remembrance of Allah indeed is the greatest virtue” (29:46) - it brings you closer to Him, you feel more certain in His powers that He can remove any hardship which makes the heart feel less anxious, Allah becomes your Friend, you'll become successful (remember Allah often so you may prosper” (8:46), it cleans your heart, it protects you from harm, Allah becomes pleased with you. it truly is the greatest virtue.

also recite istighfar (astagfirullah) and repent for your sins

the best dua to recite on the day of Arafah itself is:

laa ilaaha ill-allaahu, waḥdahu laa shareeka lah, lahul-mulku wa lahul-ḥamdu, wa huwa ‛alaa kulli shay’in qadeer - (None has the right to be worshipped except Allah, alone, without partner. To Him belongs sovereignty and all praise and He is over all things omnipotent)

OTHER INCREASED ACTS OF WORSHIP

do extra voluntary acts of worship (nawafil, sunnah prayers, duha prayers)

read a lot of Qur'an

listen to the Qur'an more

send many, many salutations to the Prophet ﷺ (durood sharif!)

practice gratitude. what are you thankful for?

pray tahajjud

give sadaqah / donate to a charity. make sacrifices!

be kind!

read translation and commentary of surahs

listen to islamic podcasts/read islamic books to increase your knowledge

memorise a surah

talk to Allah!!!! pray!!!!

try and increase your acts of worship throughout the 9 days and especially on the 9th day, the day of arafah, which is the day before eid! (16th june Insha'Allah, depending on where you are in the world)

10th day - eid ul adha

on the tenth day of dhul hijjah (eid), our beloved Prophet ﷺ used to give Qurbani (a sacrifice) every year to remember Ibrahim (as) almost sacrificing his son for Allah سُبْحَٰنَهُۥ وَتَعَٰلَىٰ's sake. muslims sacrifice animals all over the world to follow this sunnah, and donating qurbani is encouraged for every Muslim who is financially able to do so (this can be done online)

may Allah سُبْحَٰنَهُۥ وَتَعَٰلَىٰ make it easy for us to utilise these blessed and best 10 days to the best of our abilities, forgive us of our sins, draw us ever nearer to Him and allow us to become His best friends, Allahumma Ameen ♡

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Yesterday, the IDF managed to prevent an independent Palestinian terrorist attack, by killing the would be terrorist on his way to execute his plan. Based on the type of weapons that were found on him, had he managed to carry out the attack, there probably would have been a lot of fatalities.

Also yesterday, the UN Security Council had an emergency session to discuss the UN report on the sexual violence of Hamas on Oct 7 and since (with the hostages). This was thanks to Israel asking several countries to request this session, and the US, the UK and France obliged. Believe it or not, more than 5 months after the biggest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust and the single bloodiest day in the Israeli-Arab conflict, that was the FIRST time that the UN has met to discuss what happened to people in Israel on that day. Let it sink in that the UN has discussed earlier and more frequently the situation in Gaza, than the massacre that started it. And that the UN still doesn't consider Hamas a terrorist organization. Israel again asked for this to change during yesterday's session.

Remember how I wrote about Yussuf and Hamza al-Ziadna, 2 of the 3 Muslim Israeli hostages, still held in Gaza after more than 5 months? Well, yesterday at the UN, Ali al-Ziadna, Yussuf's brother and Hamza's uncle, confronted the Palestinian ambassador, demanding to know why the Muslim Israeli hostages have not been released to fast and pray during Ramadan, as all Muslims should get to, and how could Hamas call themselves Muslims... (I'll just correct one thing he said: while Hamas released 23 of its 32 Thai hostages without asking for anything in return, but as part of the November 2023 deal to release the Israeli hostages, 9 Thai citizens are still in captivity. I do not want anyone to forget these men, they must be released and reunited with their loved ones, too)

The BBC has already been accused by members of the British Parliament of being institutionally antisemitic. Now, it seems like the British broadcaster is insisting on further proving those accusations right, as its head chooses to defend the BBC's use of an unsubstantiated witness account from a "journalist" known to be working for Iran, and who has in the past praised terrorists killing Israelis (his testament matches Hamas' narrative) regarding the stampede incident in northern Gaza. But, you know. Good on the Jews and the Jewish state for controlling the media. *eyeroll*

This is 58 years old Rami Davidian.

He's a farmer from moshav Patish. On Oct 7, he got a message from a friend, asking Rami to save his kid, who was at the Nova music festival, where today we know was the single deadliest scene of all the place Hamas attacked during the massacre. Rami went in, and saved the kid and 12 others in his vehicle, while also directing others to moshav Patish. This led to more people hearing about it, and calling Rami as well, giving him details about their loved ones, and asking for his help in rescuing them. Rami went back in, again and again, to an active shooting scene controlled by murderous terrorists, for hours, and he kept getting people out. Once, to save the life of a young girl, he approached the terrorists, and speaking Arabic to them, he lied that he's a Muslim Arab like them who came to warn them of nearing soldiers, and that they must flee, leaving their victim behind. Rami didn't know this, but on that day, many actual Israeli Muslim Arabs were murdered by Hamas for "working for the Jews," which the terrorists claimed made these Arabs even worse than the Jews. But miraculously, the lie worked for Rami. Once the IDF arrived and Rami was no longer needed to save the living, he helped with the identification and bringing to burial of the dead. After everything he had done for others on that day, risking his own life repeatedly, 2 days ago Rami gave an interview, and said that it's the survivors of Hamas' sexual violence who are the real heroes. Thank you for everything you did and who you are, Rami. Together with other people who risked themselves to save others, whether Jewish or not, you are gibor Yisrael (hero of Israel).

This is 19 years old Itay Chen.

He's one of the Israeli hostages that in the past 5 months, I have heard his parents speaking about their fears over not having gotten a sign of life, and hopes for his release countless times. As Itay has an American citizenship, they even personally met with Biden to plea for their son's life. Today we got the announcement that he had in fact been murdered on Oct 7, and it's his body that's being held captive by Hamas. I have no doubt that Israel will still do whatever it can to get it back, and allow him to be brought to kever Yisrael (Hebrew term for Jewish burial. Literally: Israel grave), and it would even release convicted terrorists to make that happen (it has done this before), but obviously the "price" for a living hostage is higher, not to mention that the thought of someone alive and suffering in captivity comes with a greater psychological pressure and urgency, so Hamas intentionally and cruelly let his parents spend months not knowing, hoping for what Hamas already know was impossible, fly all over the world, and beg for something that no one could give them. I just have no words for this type of ruthlessness.

May his memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[be-my-ally]

Big Bunny

Playboy Bunny Reader x Elvis on the Playboy jet request

it might be 3:30am here, i may have work today at 9 and i may have to proof read over this again tomorrow but still, here, have a bunny themed fic - very apt for a slightly (at least for where i am) belated good friday gift (for those who celebrate and a spring themed passover/ramadan/weekend gift for everyone else) !!

I genuinely did not expect to end up doing nearly as much research for this as I did - and therefore there ended up being significantly more back story than I anticipated for what I had planned to be a short smutty one shot lol so… here’s a p ridiculous 9.8k fill xx 

pairing: jet bunny reader x 1973-4 elvis (yes we are going that specific this time) - early big daddy era.

summary: freshly hired shy new playboy bunny reader and elvis get up to some fun away from the other passengers on Hugh Hefner's private plane, the aptly named 'Big Bunny'.

warnings: 18+, 18+, penetrative sex (p in v), oral (v receiving), lil bit of fingering, gratuitous use of the term 'bunny' and all accompanying euphemisms, elvis (as always in my writing) refers to himself as daddy.

wc: 9.8k

You nervously adjust your scarf around your neck; it’s windy, and you’re worried about your hair—that its carefully styled easy look might be ruined by the breeze. You roll from one foot to the other in anticipation; you can already feel the leather of the new, tall boot starting to rub behind your knee, and you’re hopeful for the chance to switch it out for your regular heels on board. The other girls are quiet, and that’s how you can tell that they too are nervous or excited—anticipatory perhaps. Usually, they would be chattering away right now—at least, that’s your experience from the last few flights you’d worked. But for some reason, the knowledge of this special guest had made them all fall silent, worrying their scarves or hair, and checking one another’s lipsticks, even more so than when Hugh was on board. Perhaps it was, like the Bunny bible said, because there was the knowledge that you were all representatives of the brand, and that was even more true for someone who wasn’t the owner of the brand, or perhaps it was simply because it wasn’t just any boring old investor but Elvis Presley flying on board today.

You’re all too young to remember much of him in his early prime or his dizzying launch to success, but you know that every girl in this line-up had watched the ’68 special, probably at a similar formative age to you, and had an experience; it had been impossible not to. You had been on the cusp of being 16 and were utterly gobsmacked and captivated by the television set as you watched him gyrate in a full black leather suit. Your mind had gone blank, and you couldn’t have told anyone what your father had said about it—you honestly couldn’t hear him because you were so shocked and excited by what you were seeing. Suddenly, you understood. You’d all discussed the marvel of the possibilities of the use of the satellites for the Aloha show only a few months ago, and you knew you weren’t the only bunny in the group who still found him almost alarmingly attractive. The concept, therefore, of being loaned out to him with the plane made you more than a little nervous. Another fragment of your anxiety for this flight also revolved around your new uniform—you weren’t comfortable in it yet; a teeny leatherette dress that somehow seemed far more revealing than your corset had ever seemed. Perhaps because it felt less like a costume in some way, perhaps because it simply was so unlike anything you would wear in day-to-day life—the over-the-knee boots were uncomfortable still too. 

It’s unclear how you’d become so attached to the little corset costume when you were still so new to the plane and to this life as a whole. You’d been well-trained and ready to use your newfound, extensive bar knowledge while working as a table bunny in the club in LA. Although you had hoped that you might be spotted and bumped up to a more senior position in a little while—that one day you might be able to work your way up to the mansion or maybe even be handpicked to be a playmate—it all seemed so glamorous, and the attention was so exciting. You’d never dreamed you would, after only working a month, be handpicked as a jet bunny. It had been one of the most exciting moments of your life. Since then, you’ve not been flying for very long, although the training had been intense and your first flight had only been two weeks ago. And it had been a pretty slow start, with just Hugh and a couple of colleagues on board. They had their favourites, and while you had been chatted to and flirted with—treated well—you had also been mostly ignored.

Elvis, as far as you could tell, didn’t have favourites; he hadn’t requested anyone in particular from the thirty or so girls on regular rotation for the jet, and it made you relieved to think that you were on a mostly even keel with the other girls. You’d gossiped about it as you packed your bags onto the plane before you’d all ended up where you were now: standing in a row waiting for him to pull up, having been given word that he was mere minutes away. When you looked down at the other girls, you couldn’t help but wonder why, as one man with a small entourage for the flight, he really needed the bunny equivalent of five stewardesses. But, you think to yourself, at least he did because, as the most junior of the bunch, you definitely would have been the first to be bumped from the flight.

It’s only another few minutes until his long, sleek, white Cadillac pulls up in front, another car close behind, and his long legs are immediately sliding out of the car, almost before its even come to a complete stop. He seems eager to be away. He’s arguing with someone and barely acknowledges any of you as he starts to storm up the stairs towards the jet entrance—clearly familiar with the plane already. It becomes pretty clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t arguing with someone physically with him but was instead recounting what had been discussed on the phone in the car—you could hear him swearing as he went inside, 

"I fuckin’ asked her to come out here with me, and now she’s being all cold, just then she was sayin’ she don’t wanna see me -" You can’t hear anything more, and you look down the row before Darla in front shrugs her shoulders and starts greeting the other couple of men still coming out of the car, and in the car behind, there were around a dozen guys in total, no women other than you five, which wasn’t unusual on the jet but wasn't entirely expected either.

A moment later, Elvis is hurrying back down the stairs, panting slightly as he comes. He arrives back in front of you, the last in line, with a series of apologies.

"Lord, where are my manners? I’m so sorry, girls. Hello, nice to meet ya; well, aren’t you all pretty little things?" You blush, and he catches your eye, winking at you as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He smiles at the rest of them, and Darla launches into her ‘Welcome to Big Bunny’ spiel as she directs him back up the way he just came. Your mind is racing as you follow them all up the stairs, and you’re more than a little distracted as you close the door and conduct the safety checks. Does that mean something? That he singled you out?

You weren’t meant to be his main assistant; of course, the main focus for today was keeping him happy, but you’d been specifically told that your purpose was to make sure the other passengers felt that they were getting similar attention. You didn’t have the experience, as Darla had told you, to understand how to deal with men like him. Those that think they’re special or that just because you’re wearing a bunny outfit they have some sort of claim on you, that you’re all the same and your centrefold is owed to them. And also, she’d flippantly added, you were still very inexperienced, and first and foremost she had to consider the brand. Now as you watch her take his arm up the stairs, you think you might be understanding her motivations a little more; her hips swaying more than they usually would. But you can’t say you blame her or that her other observations were wrong. You were inexperienced, both in flying and with men. But, as you’re locking the door shut and heading around to fetch towels and drinks before the pilots engage the engine, you can feel his eyes on you, and you think, I know what that means. 

It’s a pretty long flight for a domestic flight—four or five hours, depending on the route the pilot takes—so you have plenty of time to get to know the passengers and ensure they’re all well taken care of. You’ve heard rumours from some of the other girls that this kind of flight can often go one of two ways: either the men are rowdy, raucous, and handsy, or they’re quiet, appreciative, but distant. You had assumed Elvis and his entourage would be the former, but from the way he quickly gets himself situated and settled in the forward compartment, you’re inclined to believe it will be the latter. You can’t help but notice he’s sequestered himself in the back; a couple of the men are with him, but the rest are a series of seats away. It seems like even the inner circle has an inner circle.

Before serving the drinks, you have a chance to look over at him. Trying to be inconspicuous, you’re surprised at how large he is. You’ve never realised how tall he really is, but he’d remained a few inches taller than you even in your heels, and while the plane is more spacious and furnished less compactly than the average, it still serves to make him seem bigger in contrast to the environment. He seems to take up more space than his body needs too, like his presence needs allowance; he looks incapable of staying on one seat, and the way he spreads his legs, his knees falling open, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he might be taking up more than his fair share of space. 

You don’t realise how long you’ve been standing there, peering behind a partition wall, pretty much directly at his spread thighs. Until you move your eyes up, tracking up his body past his famously large belt to his open collared shirt, through which you can see tiny wisps of chest hair peeking through. You assess how his shirt is lying on him, clinging but well-tailored, and his trousers too, tight around his thighs and well-fitted on his waist but equally well-tailored, looking comfortable and well-fitted. Your eyes continue to roam over him until they come to rest on his face, and you realise he’s been watching you look at him. He’s smirking at you, clearly used to the attention but perhaps still flattered that he inspires it, and winks through his lavender-coloured glasses. You immediately duck back, taking a moment to gather yourself from the embarrassment of being caught out, before heading back out with the first tray of drinks.

It wasn’t your place to be, but you couldn’t help but be pleased when he showed himself not to be the type to start demanding wildly complicated cocktails—in fact, rolling his eyes when one of the men, Red, perhaps his name was, asked for a mai tai—and at his clear desire to remain sober, simply requesting a Pepsi. You take a breath, plastering your customer service smile on, determined to ignore any embarrassment, and swing around with the tray. Praying you don’t trip or spill anything in front of him.

Thankfully, you make it around without consequence, your thorough club training coming into play and keeping you steady even when there’s a mild bump as the plane engines start to roar. He grins up at you when you hand him the drink, and you can’t help but return it, beaming at him, forgetting your practised coquettish expression. You have to head back, sit down for a moment while the pilots announce your takeoff, and try not to grimace, knowing that your face can be seen from the compartment, at the feeling of taking off. You’re fine in the air, but that whooshing feeling of the plane jetting forward and up, the moment where you can feel the balance of the wings against the air as the engine battles its way up, still sends a wave of anxiety over you. Maggie brushes her hand over yours where it lies on the little armrest between the steward seats, and you thankfully grasp it, taking deep breaths. Once the pilot has announced you are officially flying and will be for approximately four more hours, you’re pleased you can finally stand up again and relax somewhat.

You’re not really needed for much for a little while, so you bounce about, chatting and keeping them company, talking with some of the other girls as you help to serve more drinks and food, and setting up the games tables when asked. Elvis has demanded the theatre be set up, so you arrange that, praying that when you return to the room he’ll have picked one of the latest cinematic releases and not, as you feared, one of the many adult releases available. You’re not sure you could keep a straight face if you had to watch him watch Deep Throat; it would just be too much to bear.

So you’ve avoided the lounge by staying in the forward compartment and helping the men there. Before you were sent on a mission to see if there was any peanut butter on board, a special request had apparently been made, but whether it had been complied with was yet to be seen. When Michelle, one of the more senior girls, suddenly appeared beside you, grabbing your arm and speaking in a hurried, hushed tone, she told you that you really ought to change. You panic for a second that something was wrong with your dress, but she’s quick to assure you that it was nothing like that. But Elvis had taken her aside and mentioned that although he "love[s] your yittle skirts, like yer spies or somethin’," he was "missin’ them little bunny outfits" and had left that with her. He hadn’t specifically requested anyone should change, but she’d successfully read between the lines of the very obvious hint and was, therefore, suggesting that you, Daisy, and Maggie change into your bunny corsets. You’d all planned for this possibility, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but you were still slightly surprised. You’d not been given the impression that Elvis had been that bothered by the theme of the plane, of you, but rather was utilising the plane for the luxury and convenience of the travelling experience. But if he was requesting your bunny outfits, clearly he was more into it than you thought.

It’s not long after that you do as requested and emerge from the powder room in your little patented corset teddy, the black silk highlighting your complexion and the little collar and bow emphasising your neckline. You were slightly annoyed that despite your careful packing, your little cottontail puff had been flattened, and so you’d had to spend way too long fluffing it to bring it back to life. This also meant that you were the last to emerge, and there was no way you could deny noticing that Elvis himself was sitting back in the forward compartment, turned so that he was practically facing the powder room door, watching you exit with a satisfied smirk on his face. You try to ignore him, listening to the conversations happening around you and trying to anticipate everyone’s needs. In your absence, more substantial snacks have been served, and you can see the remnants of some sort of peanut butter sandwich situation dotted around the room, so clearly that had been found too. There’s now a discussion happening about whether you should turn on the lights in the disco room or wait a little while to eat first. Eventually, it’s decided a proper meal is imperative at some point in the flight, but that right now? They wanted music.

So you all move down the plane. You end up walking directly behind Elvis, and when the plane bumps up and down briefly in the tiniest spot of turbulence, you trip into his back. You right yourself with help from one of his arms, apologising, but you’re flustered. It’s only worse when he turns to you.

"No need to be sorry, doll; you can fall into my arms whenever you like." It was one thing to imagine how he felt, but to be able to remember the feel of him, even from behind, even from just a brief moment of contact, was a heady feeling. Especially when he felt just as you’d imagined he would—soft but firm and broad. So broad. Walking behind him like this also made you nervous for another reason: it made you feel as if your movement down towards the intimate bedroom quarters at the end might be signalling something. The cosiness of the rooms between -- the disco and the lounge, perhaps reflective of the internal struggle you’re facing; the disco the butterflies in your belly.

You know you won’t be able to prevent meeting his eye again. The thought worries you; you’ve been around attractive men before, of course, but never one that, just by looking at him once, has made you feel like you would risk giving up everything for a few hours of fun. Lose everything you have simply for the pleasure of touching him. Maybe this was what Darla was concerned about; you can see her glance over to you every now and again, checking in, and you can tell she’s a little bothered by something.

Once you’re in the disco, the girls and you are well-practised at setting it all up, making sure there are enough tracks ready to be played and that there was easy access to free-flowing drinks and bar snacks. You’re also all very used to essentially having to start the dancing yourselves, having to encourage the others to join in despite their enthusiasm in suggesting the disco. You hang back slightly, holding a tray, when Elvis lightly grasps your elbow. You jump, having not seen him come to your side, and look questioningly at him.

"Dance for me, baby?" You’re not a stripper or a go-go dancer or anything like that, but it’s not a request that’s unheard of in the clubs. And you enjoy it; you wouldn’t be in the job if you didn’t get a slight thrill from being looked at, watched, wanted. So it’s easy to agree, especially when you’ve always found it hard to ignore a man when he adds a pet name, and besides, you want to. So you do. Elvis sits himself down, and a few of the men join in, and you and Maggie and Daisy all dance around them. You prance and shimmy, and soon most of the passengers onboard are dancing around to the music that plays from the surround system.

The group cheered and laughed when Burning Love was played on the 8-track, and Elvis sang along, laughing and joking when he missed one of the high notes ("God almighty, that’s high"). You notice that after a while Elvis has disappeared back into the living area and looks like he might be close to nodding off; sat there with his head back. You suppose he must be tired—you don’t know what he was doing prior to the flight this afternoon, but you do know he was coming off of the back of a week straight of shows and heading towards another one. You again know it’s not your place, and yet you still can’t help feeling like you ought to check on him.

You head over, leaning over, and crouching in the way you’re told to, almost in a bunny dip. He blinks up at you when you touch his shoulder.

"Lord, you’re a vision." You’re taken aback and can’t do much more than crouch there, stuck in place. "Talk with me, honey?" He pats your arm, and you nod, standing upright again and looking for a place to perch. There’s nowhere for you to sit down, or perch, few seats as there were in this living area, attached to the disco, and with the other men and girls also collapsing around you, you awkwardly look around for a moment before Elvis’ hand comes out and wraps around your thigh, pulling you down onto his lap.

"Oh!"  You gasp, "Oh, I—I, uh, don’t think you’re meant to touch me, sir."

"Bunny, for the next three hours, I own you." He chuckles but removes his hands from your legs, although he makes no attempt to shift you from his lap, instead sitting further back, causing you to fall more securely onto his lap. You avoid what is sure to be judging looks from the other girls as they hand him drinks and chat with the other boys on board. You’re wrong about them watching you and judging you; of course, all the other girls are distracted, and even when they do glance over, it’s mostly to check that you, as the new girl, are still doing okay. Despite any jealousy they may be feeling about the attention he’s giving you, they still know how shocking and abrupt all of this can suddenly feel when you’re being confronted with men like him.

He’s surprised when you look shy, and you know the rumours abound—about how you’re all able to make extra cash—the private parties for the number one keyholders. But it’s not something you’re forced into just by virtue of being a bunny, and it’s not something you’ve been interested in finding out more about. Still, being perched on his firm lap, the seams of his suit rubbing against your silk tights, you can’t help but wish that you had asked more about it; found out if there were expectations. You wouldn’t want to let him down. You awkwardly sit there a moment before opening your mouth, 

“So, uh, what did you wanna talk about?” He smiles, 

“Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself honey.” So you do, giving him the basic information of your life, while he hmms and uh-huhs in all the right moments to show he’s listening to you. You’re starting to run out of steam and you’re about to ask him to tell you something when you’re distracted by him reaching to the side of you, jostling you a little. 

He lights a cigar, and you can feel the heat of the tip. You shift the tiniest bit; you don’t know why it’s getting you so hot. You’re suddenly grateful for the subtle but multiple layers you’re wearing. Thankful for the fact that you’ve never listened to the few girls who swear it makes more sense not to bother with panties; you’d never been convinced that it wasn’t asking for trouble—something was sure to slip or become exposed. But you also always wore a double layer of pantyhose. He grunts the tiniest bit as you bump back into his stomach, and when you pause for a moment, you can feel a dampness growing between your legs. Through all the layers, he can’t feel it, thank God, but he does murmur to you: "Lord, are you a hot little Bunny." He strokes the small of your back, and you somehow know he doesn’t just mean it in the attractive sense, but that he can feel your heat.

You wriggle back against him, thinking, - don’t waste your chance, girl; don’t do it; you may as well go for it. All of your sense of propriety is lost, and you’re suddenly completely ignorant of the happenings around you. You can feel where the rubber around the edge of the leg bands of the teddy is starting to roll, being unable to stay put on the slippery tights and causing it to fall further away from your thighs riding up. You know he can feel it too, as close as you are. And while you’re still theoretically clothed, you can feel his trouser leg better on your thigh after it rolled up; he said you were hot, but he’s burning, it feels like. You push back onto him, feeling his tummy nudge against you, and under your tail, what felt like a growing erection. You don’t know what’s come over you, where this sexual confidence, this determination, this lack of self-consciousness, has come from. You wonder if it could just be the adrenaline of being so close, but you still go with it, and you nudge your ass back to him, grinding a little.

"Don’t baby," he pushes you forward a little, with his one free hand, blowing smoke past the side of your face, and you giggle, putting on a faux deep voice.

"Don’t procrastinate; don’t articulate…" You can’t even get the words out of your mouth you’re giggling so hard, wiggling in his lap, and it sets him off too, shaking his head and murmuring against your ear.

"Lord save me, girlie, you’re trouble, ain’t ya?" He holds you still. You try, but you’re practically incoherent because you’re laughing so hard.

"If you're lookin' for..." But your laughter cuts off when he hooks a finger in the corset and strokes it down your inner thigh—somewhere that you would have slapped anyone else and whispers, 

"You came to the right place." You gasp, head going back, and his own tucking into your shoulder - he holds out the cigar, and, despite having barely lit it, rests it in the tray to the side of you so that he can use both hands to grip your waist. It’s ridiculously cheesy, and you don’t want to think about how many times and with how many girls he might have used similar lines, or how easy it must be for him.

"You want me, Bunny?" You still don’t know if you should be playing hard to get or if you should just give in to the inevitability of it all. "Can feel your little tail pressin’ into me - little puffy thing. Twitching ‘gainst me;" You wrinkle your nose cutely at his words, and he smiles into your neck: "Even a little twitchin’ bunny nose!" he presses a finger to it, and the strokes down to your lips. He rests it there for a second, "Do you wanna do this, bun?" You decide you may as well give in and nod—there's no point trying to play it cool when you’re sitting on his lap. You open your mouth, trying to catch his finger in your teeth as he fools around with you. He pulls you around, so one of your bent knees is now pressed against him and your other is resting on the seat, facing him. You shiver, loving how his sturdy hands manhandle you. You lean forward, as if to kiss him, when he stills you, 

"Baby, we’re surrounded." You glance up, confused expression on your face, and a question in your eyes: Why would it matter? They all know the score. He shakes his head. "It’s your job isn’t it? You can’t - we shouldn’t?" You shrug your shoulders, he’s technically right and mere minutes ago you’d been worried about it yourself, but... It’s also not completely true to say that you would be discouraged from doing this with him.

"Say doll, how’d’ya - how’d’ya feel about joinin’ me?" Your heart flips, you glance around, but it appears the other girls are either preoccupied or purposefully avoiding looking at you. Plausible deniability. You’re frozen, and he stands up, pushing off of his lap, and leaves without looking back at you, only stopping at the door to the bedroom to call back,

"You coming or what?" So sure that you’ll follow him in. You glance around, and only Darla catches your eye. You’re wide-eyed and panicked at being caught, but she looks at you for a moment before nodding slightly and winking as she turns away. Somehow, it untangles the ball of anxiety that you didn’t realise was holding you so tense. Seconds later, you stand up, clearing the empty glasses from the tables around you, when Michelle swoops in, taking them out of your hands and nudging you with her hip towards the bedroom. Right then. You follow where Elvis had gone only a minute or so ago, and you cross past the little faux wood door into the bedroom. You look around but find that he’s already in the bathroom—perhaps so certain that you would follow that he didn’t even need to check that you had come in.

You sit anxiously on the big, round, fur-covered bed as you wait for him to reappear. You cross your legs before immediately uncrossing them and standing up—wondering if it was too presumptuous to be sitting there waiting for him. A moment later, leaning against the wall, you change your mind, deciding to sit on the edge again. It really did make the most sense. And while you didn’t want to make it seem like you were assuming something, you doubted he’d invited you back here to play checkers. He comes out and watches you for a brief second before coming over to stand in front of you, mere inches apart, so you’re forced to crane your neck up to look at him.

You’re a little skittish, and he can tell by the way you tremble when his hand comes up to touch your shoulder; he leans forward as if to kiss you, and you pull back. He pauses. 

"What’s the matter, little Bunny? Why are’ya so twitchy now?" He doesn’t want to force himself, but he also can tell you want him, even before you willingly followed him here. He also knows that you must know the score—you can’t be that innocent in your role—and you must understand what he’s asking of you.

"I’m, I’m just -- it’s just a little surreal, you’re Elvis Presley. I don’t know how to, I've never been with anyone famous." He smiles, thankful that he hadn’t misread the situation — god forbid what the newspapers would have said about that if it had leaked: Elvis forces himself onto Playboy Bunny, BANNED from Hefner’s jet. It doesn’t bear thinking about. So he does the one thing he knows he can do well — can do so well that most women forget their worries and tilts your chin up to kiss you. He brackets your body with his thighs and cups your face in both hands. He’s masterful at it, knowing all the right moves,  just the right amount of tongue forced into you, mapping your mouth. His lips are so soft, and his little nibbling bites on your lower lip hurt just the right amount for you to be totally consumed by his actions. He nudges you to move further up when you break apart, and you shimmy up a little, your legs coming up so that only your ankles are not on the bed. He presses one knee between your legs, balancing so he can move forward enough to kiss your cheek, his own high cheekbones rubbing against your face, and whisper, 

"I’m just a man, hon, just like any other — don’t, don’t worry ‘bout it." He leans over and you’re forced onto your back, his hand catching you and lowering you down gently onto the fur coverlet. You lean up to kiss the exposed part of his neck, your nose nudging against his high collar. 

"I, uh, god, I haven’t been around that many men in general — not like this, so that doesn’t actually make me feel a whole lot better. " You respond quietly. He pauses where his hand had been starting to fiddle with the zipper on the back of your corset. Pulling himself up to look you in the eyes. 

"You, have - you have been with a man though? Right Doll?" You nod, frantically, you might be nervous but god don’t let him stop now. 

"Yes - yes, just, just only the one." He moans on top of you, clearly liking the answer. You feel the zipper come down, and your chest is finally allowed to expand properly again, free from the restrictive boning. You suddenly panic, holding the garment close to your chest as you force him back a little. He rolls sideways, onto his elbow, to watch you; 

"What’sthe matter baby?" He looks concerned as you force yourself up into a sitting position, 

"Uh, could you - could you just close your eyes or something while I take this off?" He frowns, 

"Well, sure, but… I don’t think you need to worry ‘bout modesty right now." You smile nervously back, trying for a blasé air — 

"No, no, I know it’s just — it would just make me feel better." He looks at you, clutching the corset teddy to your chest. He nods, starting to close his eyes and you let out a sigh of relief, immediately standing up and wriggling out of it. You’re bent over, folding the fabric over itself when he starts to talk, 

"I ain’t got a problem making you comfortable, babe, but if it’s about them little cottontails stuffed down your top I already know." You pause. Whirling around to see him peeking through his lashes at you. You forget to be shy, stood there topless, braless in nothing but your pantyhose and heels and you put your hands on your hips. 

"How on earth —“ He laughs at you, opening his eyes properly, 

"I’m not new to this game sweetheart." You can tell he’s teasing, but now he’s made you slightly worried that it's always been obvious thatyou weren’t quite as endowed as you were claiming, 

"How’d you tell though?" 

"You’re not the first girl meeting me with something stuffed down their shirt, darling, you just, sometimes you can just tell— I don’t know what you’d be stressin’ over though," He takes a moment to very obviously look you over, "they’re some pretty little tits." You’re pleased, but annoyed that he’s still decided to use the term little. 

"Well - isn’t that why! Little!" He laughs at your indignation, reaching a hand out to pull you back to him, but he can barely speak through his giggles.

"No, no, no I didn’t mean it like that." You frown, but his amusement is infectious and you find yourself also giggling - "See, see, there’s a good girl - no reason to be sore about it, much more than what you’ve got’sa waste anyway mama, you’ll see." 

He puts you back where he wanted you to start with - on your back, as leans over you. The feeling of him still being fully clothed against your chest, your near nakedness, makes you tremble - the soft silk of his shirt rubbing against your nipples. You can smell him, the slight musk of the day masked by cologne - perhaps reapplied in the bathroom a moment ago. His hair is looser than you expected it to be and it’s already starting to flop forward, it unnerves you slightly because it allows you to somehow forget who it is lying over you - the loss of that trademark making you forget that he’s practically a patented figure at this point. Until you catch sight of his blue eyes or his little curled lip and you’re reminded all over again. He strokes up from your waist to your neck and then back down, gentle fingertips dancing over your skin. He leans down to kiss you and your arm winds around his neck, pulling him closer. You’ve never felt a hunger like this. Desire like this before. You’re suddenly desperate to be closer, forgetting to play it cool you’re tugging at his shirt, 

"C’mon get this off!" He laughs at you again, but stands up, ignoring your request. You lie there on your back looking up at him as he assesses you. You can’t help but puff your chest out a little and curve your back. Then he bends to grasp your left ankle, slipping your heel off. You yelp at the unexpectedly quick motion but the relief is almost immediate. He grabs your other ankle to take the other heel off, flinging it against the wall of the plane. Then his hands are immediately going to your black tights, he tries to pull them from the ankle but quickly realises that’s getting him nowhere, unable to get a proper purchase on the slippy material. So he works his way up to the waistband, grasping it and tugging it down. His finger catches by your knee, the rough bitten edge of his nail snagging and you hear the tell-tale ripping sound of them laddering, He laughs as you groan, 

"Oh, no! Those were my last good pair; they cost me nearly seven dollars!" It only makes him laugh harder as he tears them off of you. 

"Tell you what, honey, I’ll make sure you have ten new pairs by the time we land." He throws them somewhere near the rest of your clothes and turns his attention back to your stomach, only to be surprised when he’s met with another pair of pantyhose — this time in a sheer nude. 

"Lordy! How many layers’is there?" You laugh at him, as he begins the process of rolling them down too — lifting your hips to allow them to come down easier than last time; it’s not that you don’t believe he would replace them, but just in case you’d prefer not to rip these too. 

"Not meant to be being touched am I, Mr Presley?" It’s like, as he exposes more of your skin, he can’t help himself from pausing — the tights stay rolled around your knees to allow him to kiss your thighs, or the patch of skin between your belly button and your panties. You lift your leg, allowing him to roll down the last of the hosiery. He rubs over the arch of your foot and you moan at the relief — you may be getting used to the heels now but it didn’t mean that your feet didn’t still ache as soon as they came off. He gives the same attention to the other foot, rubbing firmly, before physically pushing you up the bed. 

"Oh darling, call me Elvis." He strokes up your calves, before he stops again at your feet, "God, has anyone ever told you you’ve got real pretty sooties, Lordy these little toes are gorgeous." You wiggle them at him, you’ve never given much thought to your feet other than deciding what colour to paint your nails. He pulls your foot towards him, lifting your leg up. He kisses along the ball of it, before taking your big toe into his mouth. 

You had never, ever, been turned on by the thought of someone playing, or sucking your feet, but suddenly it’s like electricity zapping up your legs to your tummy and core — you can feel yourself growing damp just from his gentle tongue lapping around your toes and you can’t help little moans falling from your mouth. You’re normally ticklish but this time the sensation forms little jolts through your tummy, making it flip slightly, and butterflies form. He lets go with a little pop, his lips forming the perfect round little ‘O’ of suction and the warm wet heat is suddenly released, causing the air to feel colder and your feet more sensitive than ever before. When you look at him standing there, holding your ankle, caressing your calve you have a sudden flash of what it must be like to be a man — and suddenly you think you can understand why men love being sucked so much. The sight of him, his lips red, your toes wet, is overwhelmingly erotic. 

He keeps going - right up your foot, before he holds your leg up, kissing up it before he put his knees on the bed again, lowering your limb to allow him to kneel over you. He places little kisses up your thighs, and you can feel his chin rubbing against your stomach as he kisses his way up there, he uses one elbow to lean on, keeping himself somewhat horizontal, but his other hand is following his lips. 

"Time to prove it to you, little bun-bun." He whispers against your sternum, before turning his head, licking a line across your breast and capturing your nipple in his mouth. His hand reaches to squeeze your other, pinching the nipple until it hardens into a little nub. He pulls off of where he’s been sucking and blows onto you. The cool air over your wet nipple sends a jolt straight to your pussy — it’s clearly an education for you tonight since you’d also never before known how sensitive your chest really was. He laps at the other side, giving it a similar treatment, palming the breast around it. While you gasp and wiggle underneath him you can feel his length straining in his trousers, and the slight feel of his lowly buttoned shirt, allowing you to feel a slither of the hairs on his chest and tummy is enough to send your arousal into overdrive. You start tugging at his top and trying to feel around his waist to undo one of the belts that had become synonymous with his image, far more insistently than before. Demanding he takes it off, even as the words fail to make it out of your mouth alongside the moans and gasps caused by his ministrations. He pulls back, planting one last kiss on the side of your chest and laughs at you when you beg. 

"Please, gotta see you, wanna see all of you - please Elvis, dreamed about this, gotta see it." But still, he complies with your request, sitting himself up to strip off his shirt; unbuttoning the last few buttons and then standing to kick off his trousers, pulling off his belt. You stare at him. Incapable of doing anything else. He’s carrying more weight than before, especially around his middle, although he’s still clearly a man of generally slim build, padded tummy over muscle. But regardless of his weight, or maybe because of it, he’s still beautiful. You reach for him when he lies back down, stroking the hair on his head - the hair that ensures you recognise that this is no longer the slicked-back hair of his Hollywood days and that he’s no longer a boy in anyway but a man and you need only look at his chest to remind you of that. The few sparse hairs that used to be there have been joined by a collection covering his chest and stomach in a soft carpet. 

His hands move back down the sides of your body and he whispers to you, "Lift up baby," as you would while trying to undress a child to pull your panties down and off of you — throwing them god-knows-where also. You wriggle, nervous and self-conscious as he stares at you. He’s flushed pink down his face and chest, and he looks you over, assessing. He nods, clearly satisfied and smiles when you breathe a sigh of relief. You bring a hand down, and he follows with his own, going to stroke you. 

"God Bunny, you’re dripping." And it’s true, your inner thighs were already sticky with your own slick and you’re genuinely not sure you’ve ever felt this wet without having even touched yourself. He brushes over you lightly, circling your clit, before going to press a single finger into you. Your own hand rests on top of his, ostensibly as if you were guiding him, but really being dragged by him. You let out a moan as he pulls your hand down to join his, directing and tugging your finger to join his, pulling them both out and pushing them back in together as if your two hands made one. It feels wild, it’s so out there, your soft hand intertwined with his rougher fingers pressed against one another as they delve into your most intimate place. 

You’re not unused to the sensation in general but his singular finger alone was similar to two of your own and so you can feel a slight burn at your entrance, a barely-there sting that cuts through the pleasure. Like a pinch of salt atop a cookie, it only enhances the flavour — the feel andyourhips circle around as his thumb finds its way up to rub at your clit.

"Gotta make sure you’re nice and loose for me huh baby, just like a new set’a wheels gotta grease you up." You moan at his words, the objectification for some reason really doing something for you. He uses his other fingers to stroke gently at you and the tickling sensation is almost enough to tip you over the edge. He seems to hold you there for a miraculously long time, and you realise you probably ought to be trying to return the favour so you reach down to tug at his hard cock. It’s a different feel than what you were used to, you’d never been around an uncut penis before, and you didn’t really know what to do with it other than pretend that it was exactly the same as the two others you’d touched. He winces slightly when you roll your palm over before his foreskin has retracted back causing you to roll the skin around, pinching him as you try. He bats your hand out of the way, pumping himself. You take note and recreate his actions as best you can, and you know you’ve hit the sweet spot when his own hips jerk and his hand tightens around your wrist. He pulls his fingers out from you, dragging your hand back with him and flings your arm away, before going back down with three fingers, he prods them at your entrance, testing the boundary before slowly sinking them in. You whine at him, panting, 

"Please, god, Elvis, you gotta, I’m ready for you, I swear I’m ready for you," he pulls his fingers out, and pushes your hand away from his cock, rolling you firmly onto your back and kneeling himself up again. 

"Ok, Ok, Bunny, ok, I hear ya, I can feel you’re ready for me, just, just didn’t wanna hurt you, just wanna make you feel good little Bunny." He pulls your hips towards him and lines himself up. 

He thrusts into you, pulling you onto him and you whine as you feel his sticky head stretching you open. Despite your claims of being ready for him it has been a while. His stomach is resting on yours, his tummy pressing down on you. It’s almost like he’s smothering you, he’s entirely enveloping you. His hands are holding your waist, bracketing you to him. If it were anyone else you think you might find it claustrophobic, so close together that your breath is mingling, you can see his pores, feel his belly button. But for some reason it just makes you want even more of him, getting as close as humanely possible, desperate for however much you can get. His taste, his smell, his everything. 

"Oh god," as he pushes in further, devastatingly slowly, "Tight as a fucking virgin aren’t ya… you sure you haven’t still got your cherry? Sure I’m not about to - ah - pop it ‘gain?" You moan, trying to relax your breathing from its quickened state as you adjust to him inside you. He moves one of his hands to touch you, feeling where you’re spread open and up to press your clit, and you buck up involuntarily at the contact, forcing a few more inches of him in. He groans at the unexpected tight pressure and heat. You clutch at his shoulders as he responds with his thumb speeding up on you. He drives into you, and you clench down as you start to feel his fingers doing their job, along with his cock jabbing against your internal walls. You don’t recognise the noises coming out of your mouth, they’re not the practised noises that you might expect from a woman of your occupation, but the very real moans and groans from a woman surprised at how this could feel.

He’s breathing heavily, and you can see the sweat starting to form, but he keeps the pace — clearly, his near-constant performances have maintained his stamina. A bead of it starts to form on his brow and you watch it drip, slowly, down his cheek towards the little patch of sideburns. You suddenly yearn to taste it, it’s sure to be salty, and maybe a little sweet, but his musky smell is already filling your nostrils and you can’t help but want to lick it. You try to distract yourself, don’t want to embarrass yourself like that, how unbecoming that would be. You try to look at a point beyond his shoulders, but you fail when you feel his hot, large, heavy, hand on you - cupping your cheek and drawing your eyes back to his face. 

"Where ya going little Bunny?" He huffs, "Stay with me." He’s pleading with you and it immediately catches your attention. You nod, frantically, as his hips rock back and forth into you. He grips your waist and hips tight and leans closer, pausing in his rutting to press into you, deep, and catching your mouth with his. When he pulls off of you, he goes to kiss the side of your face, curving over himself to kiss your neck and you can see another drip of swear forming. It’s too much to take and you reach with your hands, both of them cupping his head, pulling him back up to your eye level from your shoulder. He looks up slightly confused at why you’ve stopped him but his eyes quickly roll closed as you lean forward, 

"Wanna taste you, let me taste you daddy." He nods, and you hold his head in place, kissing the side of his mouth, before licking his cheek, little kitten licks before a broader stripe up to his temples, where the sweat is forming. You were right; it’s sweet and salty, manly. His hips stutter a little and you can feel him twitch inside you, your own walls fluttering and clenching a little in response to his feel and taste. He pulls back a few inches, about to thrust back into you but you put a hand on his chest. He frowns down at you, disappointed that you were blocking his movements. 

"Let me, let me — can I, wanna ride you." His eyes roll back and his bitten, pouty, lips fall open in pleasure as he doesn’t say anything but starts to remove himself from you. When his cock pops out, bobbing between you he rubs it against your folds, cockhead bumping your clit. You grind against him, before moaning at the loss as he sits himself at the head of the bed, sliding down to be in a semi-reclining position. 

"C’mon then doll, have at it." He gestures with both hands at his crotch. "Hippity hop little Bun." You grin, you don’t normally love the bunny jokes and comments — you’re not ashamed of your job and in fact, you’re normally quite proud of your career, but you do like to keep it separate from your private life; it’s still your work, and you’re more than just a playboy bunny. But coming from him? If Elvis wants to call you Bunny, he can call you a bunny — hell you’d hop about the room, eating a carrot, until he was satisfied if he asked. 

You sink down onto him, your slick and his precum have lubricated your entrance enough by now to make it far easier than his first push into you, although your mouth still falls open at the feel of the stretch. You moan at the feel of the different angles, hitting different parts of your walls as you bottom out before rising back up, only to rock yourself back down again. You try to pay attention to his face, work out what feels the best for him but honestly you’re too distracted trying to get the angle right for yourself. He seems content, though, to let you do the work, offering you a near-constant stream of praise; 

"Uh-huh that’s it, good girl, good fucking girl.” You circle your hips in response, grinding down and he’s moaning at you, telling you that you’re "treating’ me so nice, oh god, oh yes." You bounce on him until your thighs are shaking and you’re so close, but you just need a little more something. You’re about to say so, and you’re reaching down one of your hands that had been on his shoulders to touch yourself when he says, 

"It alright bunny if Daddy takes over again now?" You feel yourself clench, his slightly condescending tone for some reason heightening your arousal even further, and you nod rapidly. He lifts you off of him, his forearms flexing, and manhandles you into turning around - pushing you down onto all fours. Your arms are a little shaky and you lean down onto your elbows to compensate.  

"Arch your back baby, that’s it." You comply with his request, feeling a little like a whore and how strange it was to feel, as fucked open as you were, the air running past your pussy. He grips your hips and lines up again, one hand staying around your hipbone while the other strayed around to hold you close to him, palm splayed across your lower stomach as he pushes into you again. 

He slides in, the stretch lessening each time — you can still feel him, of course, but it’s less of a burning sensation and more of a gentle pull now. He’s constantly talking — praising you, telling you you’re "so goddamn fucking pretty" that "you were born to take this," and that you were "such a good girl." You’re not used to the noises he pulls from you, and you probably should be more concerned about how thin the walls are - he reminds you a few times that you "gotta be quieter baby, gotta quiet down, be a quiet little Bunny for me", but when his balls are slapping against you, his tummy knocking into you, and his cock is stretching your hole you lose the ability to stay quiet. 

A stream of swears and words of approval coming from your own mouth, "C’mon, please Daddy, please, that’s it, that’s it, give it to me Daddy." 

He reaches around, stroking you and rolling his fingers over the little silky soft patch between his cock and your clit, feeling around where you’re joined. It’s filthy - and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and when he reaches down with a hand - rubbing his fingers over you just so you’re reminded that you’re not the second person he’s ever fucked. He seems to know all the right moves to get you where he wants you, your head turned against the bed, gasping. You’re knocked momentarily silent when he pulls out, rubbing his cock up and down your folds, jabbing it against your clit before he presses a hand agaisnt your back, forcing your ass up higher and presses back inside you. This time he’s aiming, going deeper than his shallower thrusts before, and he knows he’s aimed true when you wail as he hits the bumpy little spot inside you. He breathes a laugh like your reaction is amusing to him — perhaps because of the sheer shock in your tone and he continues at the same pace. Hitting that same spot and focusing his fingers once again on your clit. 

He circles his middle finger and thumb around, moving closer and closer before eventually, finally, brushing directly over it. It’s enough to make you cry out, thrashing around a little, legs jerking, as you come — your hole clenching around him causing him to groan in time with you. Your body goes slack against him, as he continues to pummel into you, although he does slow down, letting you ride the waves of your orgasm back down. He shifts slightly, pulling you up, and holding you by his grip on your waist and pussy as he kisses the sweat on your collarbone. Before abruptly shoving you back down onto the bed. Your face rubs against the fur as your arms give way, and you grab fistfuls to hold onto as he grips your hips, so tight you’re bound to bruise,  and starts to pound away at you. You’re oversensitive and his rapid pace is a little uncomfortable, but as he starts to swear, and you can feel him drawing near he reaches down with his left hand, and nudges your folds open again. He rubs your clit at a pace that would normally have made you shove the guy off of you, so little attention given elsewhere, but that matches his own hips perfectly and is apparently just the right amount of abrasion to send you careening to the edge again. You convulse on his cock at almost the exact same moment you can feel him rapidly pulling out, to shoot his own cum across your ass and back. 

"Now you got your own little white tail Bunny." He doesn’t let you rest. As soon as he’s stopped spurting he’s pushing you over, rolling you onto your back and diving between your legs. He tongues your sloppy, open, hole and he licks his way up and down your folds, before tongue-fucking into you. His fingers coming up to replace his tongue, scissoring into you, so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking on that little nub and sending your oversensitive self straight through to a third orgasm. You scream, unable to remain quiet any longer, clutching at his hair and holding him tight to you as you writhe against his mouth. He licks you out like a man possessed, like he’s been told it’s essential for the good of humanity, and you’ve never had someone do this to you before; you had no idea this was how this felt, but to have someone so dedicated to the task was a feeling almost as heady as the orgasm itself.

He flops back, resting his head back onto your inner thigh, and you pat gently at his head, still breathless and unable to speak as you blink away black spots in your vision. He’s breathing heavily and you can feel his sweaty forehead on your fingertips. You can’t believe it’s his soft, sweaty hair in your hands. God, you wished this plane would never land. He sits up, and looks down at you, patting at your pussy lightly, as you would a pet, affectionately. You look over at your clothes, wondering if you’ll even be able to contain your puffy folds in the tiny gusset of the corset teddy when he distracts you by leaning down and pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"If it’s alright with you, darling, I think I might request you on my crew every time I fly."

[eisukevint]

gojo satoru x muslim!reader ramadan hcs ✧

lil promt so you all dont come for me: he reverted a year ago and its his first ramadan as a muslim and your husband

a/n: ramadan mubarak !! 9 days of ramadan have passed already dang, time’s passing so quickly. this ramadan has been a little less hard, probably because its not hot ?? anyways, i hope the rest of this holy month may be full of blessings for everyone <3

also, not the first time ive written for jjk but you all dont know that since ive never posted so first jjk work??

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

• he’s so excited like actually, its his first ramadan with you and he wants to make the most of it. he decorates the house with fairy lights and ramadan decorations saying he saw online how people do this stuff when ramadan starts.

• says he’ll stay up until sehri with you but you both end up falling asleep while you were telling him funny stories about your family and you during ramadan. always sneaks sweets during sehri saying he needs that extra sugar to work him through the day.

• drinks an entire gallon of water 2 minutes before sehri ends ‘just making sure i’m not thirsty during the day’ he says as he almost chokes on all that water he’s consuming.

• he feels the burn, like my man is struggling but he’s trying his very best. the first few days are the hardest for him as he’s not used to fasting so if his stomach rumbles he justs tells it to shut up. checks time every five minutes to see if its time for iftar yet.

• whenever you’re reciting Quran, he sits near you and listens attentively. he adores it when you recite it out loud, it always calms him.

• punctual with his prayers, period. makes wudhu before every prayer but when he finds out its not obligatory, he definitely tries to keep his wudhu until isha prayer and as soon as he’s done, he makes a dash for the toilet.

• if any of his students ask why he’s fasting, he’d give an elaborate explanation of what ramadan actually is and why its so important for muslims. theyre so fascinated by the concept that they try fasting with you both for a day.

• he always helps you with iftar, no matter how busy or tired he is. helps you clean up after and you both take turns to do the dishes everyday

• if you say youre gonna pray 20 rakaat for taraweeh, he’ll definitely do the same like he’s committed and actually does it until you see him limping out of the masjid.

• wore his nike air force to masjid once and got them stolen. he was baffled like ??? why would someone steal slippers of all things?

• he thinks jam e shireen vs rooh afza debate is pointless. when he tasted both of them, he decided he’s a jam e shireen person through and through. he’d fight with anyone over this

• tries to not hover all over you during the day when youre fasting but after iftar, he loves cuddling with you <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

its kinda short but my brain’s not keeping up with all the bio chemistry ive been doing so this is it for now :> i might make eid headcanons

[notetaeker]

RAMADAN CHALLENGE 2024:

Welcome to this years Ramadan Challenge! This is something I've been doing for the past 3 years and it has been so beneficial to me so I hope it is the same for you. Everyone is welcome to join! Please also let me know if u have any suggestions / notice any mistakes ;_;

Special thank you to @nuuralshams 💕 and @laikastudies ✨

RULES:

Reblog this post to let me know you're in! (and to have as reference)

Pls use the tag '#RamadanChallenge2024'

I will be rb-ing every post I see in there (unless it's spam bots)

You can do a question per day or batch them together if you like

You can also do some questions out of order if you want (like answering the surah kahf question on a friday)

Feel free to skip any question or just post abt how ur ramadan went that day / what you ate for iftar / anything tbh

You are also welcome to start late (or early! If you want to use some of the questions as a countdown to Ramadan!)

I also included some Ramadan Prep questions + Eid post if you'd like! ( Very optional!)

I will be starting the challenge when I personally start Ramadan but if Ramadan starts a day earlier for you- you can just start then!

I added a bonus day in case Ramadan is 30 days lol but you can skip it if you want if Ramadan is only 29 days

I will try my best to queue your posts but knowing me I might just mass-reblog 🤡

Anyway Allahumma Balighna Ramadan!!! / Ramadan Mubarak !!!! (based on when you're reading this)

Let me know! If you want to be tagged / reminded when we start!

PREP QUESTIONS (Optional):

Prep day 1: One thing you're looking forward to this Ramadan

Prep day 2: Anything you are scared of / worried about for this year?

Prep day 3: List one thing that would help future-you get the most out of this Ramadan, and go do it now! (if possible)

RAMADAN QUESTIONS:

Day 1: What are your goals this Ramadan? Possible suggestions: 1 habit to build, 1 habit to break, and one accomplishment you hope to gain!

Day 2: What are your other obligations this month? How does it compare to previous years? How do you balance them with ramadan?

Day 3: What is your favorite act of worship? Has it always been your favorite?

Day 4: Ramadan is the month of the qur'an. What is an ayah from the Qur'an that has changed your view of things or impacted you deeply (this year)?

Day 5: Share a treasured ramadan memory

Day 6: Biggest life lesson or advice you would give to others

Day 7: Best iftar item?

Day 8: What is a suhoor necessity to get you through the day?

Day 9: Share a hadith you’ve been thinking about recently or try this link that gives you a random hadith. How does it relate to you? (Does it?)

Day 10: First 10 days end today! Share a taraweeh tip! If you haven't prayed Taraweeh before, what is something that feels difficult about it?

Day 11: How has your experience of Ramadan changed over the years (Has it?)

Day 12: Most challenging thing about Ramadan and how do you try to overcome it?

Day 13: What aspects of the qur'anic science have you explored, and how did that go? (e.g tafsir, translation, memorization, tajweed, recitation)

Day 14: Favorite lesson(s) from the surah kahf stories?

Day 15: Any islamic lecture series / podcast / book that you would recommend?

Day 16: Favorite time to read qur'an during Ramadan? What about outside of Ramadan?

Day 17: What is your Ramadan Routine this year?

Day 18: the second 10 days is almost over! Are you part of any islamic communities during Ramadan? What about outside of Ramadan?

Day 19: What is something you are grateful for this Ramadan?

Day 20: Have you ever done i'tikaf or qiyamul-layl in previous Ramadans? Are you doing any this time?

Day 21: Any feel-good dua acceptance stories to share? It could be your own story, a friend's, or even from a lecture that you heard

Day 22: What is something you always miss about Ramadan when it's over? / What do you think you might miss this year?

Day 23: Are you making dua for anything specific? (Any dua you want us to make for you?)

Day 24: Share an Eid memory that sticks out to you! What kind of Eid traditions do you have?

Day 25: Who is a sahaba (companion of the prophet ﷺ) that you feel inspired by? Can you share the story that inspires you?

Day 26: Your Laylatul-Qadr worship routine! Dhikr? Dua? Salah? Tell us!

Day 27: Mention a favorite story about the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, or which of his qualities you look up to the most.

Day 28: Think over the last month and the Ramadan that you've spent. Is there something you wish you had spent more time on? There's still 1-2 days left! What's your plan?

Day 29: Ramadan is our honorable yearly guest who is now preparing to leave 💔 What are 3 gifts Ramadan is leaving for you as a parting gift until we meet it again (inshallah) next year. It could be habits

Day 30 / BONUS DAY: If you were given an extra day to live, what would you do on that day?

EID: Eid Mubarak! Post a 3x3 or a 3x2 photoset of your eid celebrations! (Optional)

[cinnbar-bun]

Important Message

So... haha... been almost a month since I really did anything on this blog...

Listen, I'm gonna keep it straight to you guys, the months leading up to my hiatus were, to put it mildly, some of the most disgusting I've seen in my years as a fanfic writer and fandom enjoyer. This is a bit of a vent post, because, well, genuinely, I really hope the fandom can get better. I'm assuming most of the bad experiences I've had came through people a bit younger/newer to fandom or tumblr/fanfic culture in general. If you want just an update on the blog, I will be posting that shortly after this one.

I'm going to list out some of the shit I had to go through (that I am sure many fanfic writers, but more specifically, POC fandom creators go through). This is a long post. Yeah, also, this is obvious but TW FOR: Racism (including slurs), Islamaphobia, sexism, death threats, suicide threats, harassment, and just flat out horrible behavior.

I'm gonna go list some of the slurs I've been messaged or called, I'll even rate them for you guys <3:

Camel jockey: oooo, haven't heard that one before. get more creative, 3/10

camel fucker: nice, bit more crass, still not original. 3.5/10, just a bit funny

Terrorist: wow, dude, oh my gosh, I can't believe I've never heard that one living in post 9/11 America! Wow! 0/10 try harder

I also don't know where the assumption came from that I was a hijabi... I am not. Calling me a BMO? Pretty unique but sadly does not fit me. :(/10

This barely scratches the surface of what I have dealt with after having been open about my heritage. I'm sorry my very existence offends you and requires you to come out and send me shit about hoping my family dies or that my favorite character brutally hurts me. I have read your messages, and after long consideration, I have decided to no longer be Middle Eastern. Yep, that's right, guys, I am no longer MENA! Don't worry about my family history or anything, I just choose not to be that anymore. There, now you don't have to send me messages about hoping my family gets killed <3

Let's see what else we should tackle.

Should I tackle the fact that I've gotten messages from others to update a fic or answer a request or they will try to self harm or commit suicide?

Should I tackle the fact that some have tried to pressure or guess my sexuality (dude, what the fuck)?

Should I tackle how I got messages from others assuming my place because of my religion?

Should I tackle how I've gotten weird ass messages from people getting mad at me because how DARE I not write certain things during Ramadan?

Should I tackle those things?

I'll save you the hassle, no, I really shouldn't have had to, but fact is, the One Piece fandom has to be some of the worst I've seen and interacted with purposefully in a long time. And I was in the Hetalia fandom way back when. I should not have dumb shit about "liberating" me or oh, oh, oh, I love this one! People asking me if I have 'full armament haki' (I hope you genuinely, genuinely, get the fuck off your phone and go outside. Maybe have a walk and go talk to actual people.)

I've met some genuinely lovely, beautiful, and kind people. They truly are some of the most talented creators I've seen, and I'm grateful they chose to befriend me. The good does outweigh the bad. But the bad? Oh lord, I think you guys are genuinely some of the most disgusting pieces of shits I've ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Fanfic writers are not your slaves. I have a full time job, I have a full time life outside of my tumblr and my writing. I write when I want to because I like to write, and fanfic is a good creative outlet. You sending dumb messages crying about no updates after four days of me posting a new chapter, or threatening to harm yourself because of this is disgusting.

POC creators, especially, are not your fucking tokens. I'm not here to break down every racial stereotype for you. I'm not here to be sitting there mocked with crap I already hear in my outside life. And I sure as HELL am not here for fake support only to be called slurs and mocked the minute I don't do something for you. You are gross, you are not funny, you are genuinely a horrible person and if your ideal vision of humor boils down to the Instagram comments section, all I'm saying is, I'm not wishing you anything positive.

If you read this far, thank you. Truly. This was difficult to place and write down, but it needed to be said, because even to this day I still get messages similar to before.

Do better, One Piece fandom. Do better. Because you are only going to lose the fans who really care and who put effort into making things. How far can you harass fanfic creators, and especially POC ones, with your bullshit before you lose out on things?

I don't need to 'move on'. My identity and my existence is on a completely separate wave than so and so idk, liking a ship or a character. One is fake, and one is literally who I am. Putting false equivalencies to the issues within fandom because it makes you 'sad' is shitty.

I've only given you an idea of what I had to deal with. Now imagine this constantly by random people, both on tumblr and AO3, and then imagine that also in your daily life, on the media, in the news, in the music, on the radio, in the books- fucking everywhere. It's exhausting.

Just... fucking do better. Actually fucking listen to POC. I got nothing else to add that wouldn't just be me repeating the same shit I and others have tried to say.

Just be kind, for gods sake, and remember that creators are human, not the silly avatars we choose.

[httpsdana]

could you write an imagine about Hakim Ziyech during Ramadan they are at the family in Hakim for the end of Ramadan where he is unbearable he always comes to the kitchen to annoy his wife in front of his sisters and his mother in Hakim asking him all the time what she prepares and when she puts a meal on the table each time he grabs her in his arms and doesn't want to let her go until one of Hakim's sisters comes to save her

Clingy~Hakim Ziyech

*GIF isn't mine. credits to the owner*

I got so many Hakim request although the two ones that I wrote didn't get many likes

keep sending in your requests <3

you can request from my prompt list

this is my master list

players/drivers I write for

ps: I did my researches and found out he has 1 sister. I'm not sure about that but we'll say he has one sister only. I also saw that he has 9 brothers? Not sure about this too but we'll ignore it.

y/n and Hakim were spending the last days of Ramadan at his family's house in the Netherlands. They have been married for a few years, but it was the first time that they spend this holy month at his parents house. It was always his parents that visited them in London

His mother was the sweetest person. She loved y/n from the bottom of her heart and made sure to make her feel at home. She tried to let y/n rest during the day, but y/n herself wanted to help in making the food they'd be eating at the end of the day

y/n always had energy, even when fasting. It felt like a normal day to her. However, Hakim was quite the opposite. He would get needy and whiny all day. So when y/n, his mother, and his sister are preapring the food, he was always in the kitchen annoying his wife

"what you doingg" he asked, walking to where his wife was standing. He watched her cut some vegtables, wondering what she's cooking

"oh I'm just cutting some vegtables for the soup" she said, not looking up from what was in front of her

"soup? what do you put other than the vegtables?" he asked, putting his arms around her waist from behind, laying his head on her shoulder, to peek over what she's cutting

"why? you plan to surprise me with some home-cooked dinner when we go back home?" she teased, knowing he can't make an egg without burning it

"oh shut up. I'm just showing some interest in what my wife is cooking" he pressed a kiss on her neck, not moving away.

"so your wife is the only one cooking now is she?" his sister said, from the other side of the kitchen.

y/n chuckled and looked up at her husband.

"well her food is definitely better than yours" he stuck his tongue out at his sister, like the little child he becomes while fasting

"is it now? Is better than mama's though?" she teased, knowing he won't answer that

He huffed and kissed his wife's head, before walking out of the kitchen

They all laughed at his childish behaviour.

"Is he this whiny the whole time?" his mother asked, moving to grab a plate from the cupboard next to y/n

She shrugged with a smile at the thought of her husband

"He usually comes home from training and sleeps till its time for Iftar. But when he has a day off he would get a little bit annoying. Nothing I can't handle though" she helped her by getting her the plate she needed

Just as she handed her the plate, Hakim walked into the kitchen again. He walked straight to his wife. He pulled her away from his mother and scooped her in his arms.

She tried to get out of his embrace, which caused him to tighten his grip around her waist

"what's wrong?" y/n asked, scratching the back of his head with her nails

He hummed in satisfaction burying his head in her neck

"I just miss you so much" his muffled voice said, making his sister chuckle

y/n smiled and pressed a kiss on the side of his head, before removing his head from her neck. He whined and tried putting it in her neck again

"Hakim. leave your wife alone" his sister warned.

He shook his head and tightened his grip more, making it impossible to slip out of his arms

His sister laughed and grabbed y/n's hand, trying to pull her away from him. He slapped his sister's hand away and turned around so his back was to his sister and his wife was still buried in his arms.

His sister came from from y/n and pulled her quickly away from Hakim, placing her behind her

Hakim groaned and tried grabbing his wife, in which his sister only blocked his way

"you go and I'll follow you when I'm done yeah?" y/n laughed slightly at his annoyed face

He let out a sigh but nodded nonetheless. She kissed his cheek and ushered him out of the kitchen

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 Footage from the Zionist bombing of a residential neighborhood in central Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip on Tuesday, opening Ramadan with the mass slaughter of civilians.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

DEATH AND DESTRUCTION EVERYWHERE ON THE 157TH DAY OF ISRAEL'S ONGOING GENOCIDE IN THE GAZA STRIP

Opening the first day of Ramadan, on the 157th day of Israel's ongoing war of genocide against the Palestinian population of the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 7 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of 67 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, and wounding another 106 others over the previous 24-hours.

In what has become a daily atrocity, Israeli occupation soldiers opened fire on hungry civilians waiting for food aid at the Al-Kuwaiti roundabout in Gaza City, shooting starving people in the street and resulting in the deaths of no less than 9 civilians, while wounding another 20 others.

In the north of Gaza, Zionist atrocities continued when occupation warplanes bombed a civilian home belonging to the Al-Saqqa family in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood of Gaza City, killing at least seven civilians, including five children, and wounding another six others.

Similarly, Zionist fighter jets bombarded the Abu Shamala family home, also in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, slaughtering 16 civilians, including the wife of journalist Mufid Abu Shamala, along with all his children.

Occupation artillery fire also concentrated on several areas across the northern Gaza Strip, including the Al-Sabra, Tal al-Hawa, and Sheikh Ajlin neighborhoods of Gaza City, murdering three Palestinians who were transported to Al-Shifa Medical Complex.

Meanwhile, in central Gaza, intense bombardment and artillery shelling targeted several areas, including various refugee camps while targeting civilian residences and town squares.

Zionist forces also detonated another residential town square in the Al-Maghazi Refugee Camp after forcefully evacuating local residents, while Israeli artillery forces shelled several other targets across central Gaza, including the Al-Nuseirat Refugee Camp, Al-Bureij, Deir al-Balah and Al-Maghazi.

At the same time, IOF warplanes bombed the Abu Sinjar family home in Deir al-Balah, resulting in the martyrdom of eight civilians, while several others remain missing under the rubble, according to local medical sources.

In another atrocity, Israeli occupation aircraft bombed a civilian home in the village of Bani Suhaila, east of Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip, with a simultaneous bombing in the city center, killing and wounding a number of Palestinians.

In a similar crime, north of Khan Yunis, in south-central Gaza, occupation warplanes flattened an entire residential square in the center of the town of Al-Qarara with an intense bombardment, resulting in the martyrdom of no less than 11 civilians.

In two separate Zionist airstrikes, occupation warplanes targeted local residents in the town of Al-Qarara, killing at least five civilians, some of whom were taken to Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in Deir al-Balah, while others were taken to the European Gaza Hospital.

IOF artillery shelling also targeted the Abasan Al-Kabira neighborhood of Khan Yunis, as well as the Khuza'a neighborhood, east of Khan Yunis.

The slaughter continued with the Zionist bombing of a civilian residence in the El Geneina neighborhood in the city of Rafah, in addition to bombings targeting the vicinity of local shelters and civilian tents belonging to displaced families.

Occupation aircraft also bombed a civilian residence belonging to the Saleh family in the Al-Saudi neighborhood of Rafah city, wounding three Palestinians, while a second bombing targeting the Abu Taha family home luckily resulted in no reported injuries.

As a result of Israel's ongoing war of genocide in the Gaza Strip, the infinitely rising death toll now exceeds 31'112 Palestinian civilians killed, more than 25'000 of which, or over 70%, were among women and children according the United States Pentagon, while another 72'760 others have been wounded in Zionist strikes since Israel's aggression in Gaza began on October 7th, 2023.

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@WorkerSolidarityNews