baby doll baran

19 - Dua Lipa Fan - RO

[baranarchives]

Master List

Baran Al-Hashimi x Reader:

The Sound of Your Voice

Sunburn

Purple

_

Mcshimi (Baran Al-Hashimi x Cassie Mckay) :

Don’t Drive Home

_

Cassie Mckay x Reader:

[thinkviolets]

[baranarchives]

i just screamed wth jump scare

[scariffs]

you’re under arrest!   ( 0.9k / sfw ) poison ivy!baran al-hashimi and batman!jack abbot x fem harley quinn!reader. your girlfriend loves when you commit crimes. your boyfriend? not so much. cws: animal abuse (vaguely implied, done by an unnamed party), general violence. + masterlist.

✦ committing crimes should count as foreplay between you and your partners, the infamous poison ivy and the mysterious batman. of course, it’s a bit more complicated than that. baran is overjoyed to see you around blackgate penitentiary, sporting an orange jumpsuit that matches her own. jack is the one you have to appease afterwards, the one you have to explain yourself to and ask forgiveness from.

✦ goodness, does it break your heart to see him frowning at you from the other side of the glass. “you were doing so good,” he mutters, standing stiffly rather than sitting. “you know how hard it is to keep the press off my back when my wife suddenly disappears?”

“i know, i know, baby-sweetie-honey,” you coo, brows furrowing together as you fidget with your sleeve, “i’m sorry. that guy, he just—”

“you are not the law,” abbot cuts you off, huffing. “you’re lucky he’s recovering at all. otherwise your sentence would’ve been much longer. you should be grateful.” he pauses, then adds, “i’m holding an investigation of his property. all of his dogs have been removed and sheltered for the time being.”

“thank you, thank you, thank you,” you rattle off, a small smile slipping onto your lips. then, you get an idea. “i want one, jackie— please? just one? since i saved them and all, just one?”

you can tell he’s hiding his amusement. his tells are scarce, but you’ve taken the time to learn them, slowly but surely. after a moment or two of staring, he shakes his head and replies, “only if you behave in here.”

“absolutely, i will! i’ll be the best, i’ll be the most behaved criminal you’ve ever met!” you promise, clasping your hands together before leaning towards the glass. “kiss before you go, baby?”

silently, jack presses two fingers to his lips. then, he puts those fingers along the glass, watching as you do the same with a loving grin. “i’ll be back,” he vows before taking his leave, ending the visitation session.

✦ baran makes it hard to be behaved, however, while you’re inside. you’re not roommates (cellmates, technically, but roommates is cuter, isn’t it?), but she still finds ways to linger around you. her hand’s found permanent residency in the small of your back, thumb brushing gingerly through orange fabric as the two of you walk. you’ll be rambling a mile a minute while she’s busy glaring at anyone who looks too curious about you.

✦ “you did so good,” al-hashimi compliments you over breakfast one day, referring to your crime. “explosions have always been your style, haven’t they? been a long time since you’ve done anything that big, though.”

“it was fun,” you admit, “but i can’t do it again. you know me, baran-baby, you know my heart. i’m a good girl, really.”

“my good girl,” she corrects you, chuckling, “and i know. i do love it when you’re a little bad, though.”

you take another bite of your food, ignoring how it tasted like dirt from a racetrack. breakfast is never good; lunch is where it’s at. “don’t tempt me, red.”

“we could make it a date. a break out date. an explosive break out of prison date,” baran teases, “you’d like that. i know you would.”

of course, you would! the thought of snuggling up to your girlfriend while crawling through some tight, poorly dug tunnel or running away, hand in hand with her while the penitentiary’s mechanically locked door goes kaput in the background…

“ugh,” you groan, covering your face with your hands, “you’re making this so hard, babe!”

✦ sometimes, the guards skip cell checks. laziness seems to be the reasoning more than insanity, but regardless, al-hashimi doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of this. “baby,” she coos as she slips out of the night and into your tiny bed, pressing close.

“red?” you murmur, half-asleep, “what’re you doing in my cell? where’s that cat lady?”

“enjoying some… catnip,” she replies dryly, “don’t worry about it. sleep.”

you give a hum before settling back down, letting your body wrap around hers as you fall back asleep. the nights are always better when you share them with baran.

✦ and when you’re finally released— with noted good behavior, mind you!— abbot’s there to pick you up in one of his secretive, black suvs. he waits until you’re settled into the passenger seat, already gabbing about how surprisingly nice prison was outside of the food, before reaching towards the backseat and picking up a small mutt. “for you,” he says simply as he holds it out towards you.

“for me?” you gasp, “oh, jackie, you shouldn’t have!” never mind that you asked for the dog. excitedly, you take the puppy from his arms, carefully cradling it the whole ride home. “aren’t you the cutest?” you dote on the dog, petting it.

“how’s baran?” jack asks, his gaze focused on the road.

“oh, you know… still beautiful, still an eco-terrorist. she sends her kisses.”

he nods. “we’ll have to convince her to lay off crime for a while. it would be nice to receive those kisses in person.”

you open your mouth but quickly shut it, opting to nod quickly in agreement instead. you don’t have the heart to tell him you received plenty of her kisses while serving your sentence. without her loving, you’re not sure you would’ve made it through your sentence at all!

you would not guess how much the word penitentiary kicked my ass while writing this. anyways, i need to make a harley quinn reader post and prob a jack abbot batman post to match the baran poison ivy post… only if ppl gaf though. i kind of like the world im building here but im willing to drop it if no one gafs.

tagging! @nozhdyved, @dynamitehacke, @voidsuites, @girlmadeofavocados, @bye-bye-gremlings. @kaiparkerwife, @sheriff-bodecker, @dumbchaos134, @liuralibrar, @chronic-fangirl-222, @hello-emma, @the-fandom-queen, @neve-naoki, @harbouredsoulss, @skagelynn, @generation-zero, @mynameisbaby9, @cyberv0dka, @yoitisaj, @holybatflapexpert, @jiji2827, @bluberrychampagne, @futuremrscameron, @thursdayygrrrl, @pascalsryissa, @hisfavoriteweepingangel, @fangpires, @idkmaybeitskhloe, @arrtiee, @azishimi, @kneelforloki, @serenitys0iphone, @willowcried, @veronicawinters444, @ohshesamonet, @shesoperfectt, @withlovetospring, @sxmnc, @straykids1011, @darkgkgf, @cocoacouture, @yuno1170, @solielleilos, & @bcbkat ✩ click here to be added!

[scariffs]

✦    DANCE WITH ME!

( 1.1k / sfw ) kara zor-el (supergirl) x gn reader. your girlfriend’s always so spontaneous, you never know what she’ll rope you into next! cws: none. + masterlist.

✦   LOVING KARA HAS lifted you up to heights unknown— literally. life’s dealt you an unpredictable hand of cards, but out of all the wildcards you’ve been given, your girlfriend’s definitely your favorite. she’s kind, attentive, and delightfully spontaneous. yesterday, it was surprising you in your apartment with dinner. a week before that, it was bringing you back a few items from other planets, essentially gifting you the alien versions of tacky tourist trinkets. today, it’s something completely different from that: coaxing you into dancing with her.

“i love this song,” she’d exclaimed when you first turned on your playlist. you’d originally wanted background noise while you worked, but the blonde had forced the music to the front of your mind by pointing out her fondness of it. she moved by herself for a moment, shaking her hips and jerking her head, before turning to you, grinning, “dance with me!”

you were on your feet before you even knew it. so much for getting work done!

dancing with kara is clunky but not awkward. you’ve held her waist plenty of times; your fingers have no issue settling against the familiar landscape of her hips. still, her toes tread lightly onto yours every so often, eliciting chuckles from the both of you, and you keep forgetting whether you’re leading or following, sometimes guiding her into moves and sometimes waiting passively for her to take the reigns. it’s strange, how dancing slowly makes your apartment feel ten times bigger than it is. all the walls disappear as you continue to sway, leaving you and kara alone in the illusion of an open space.

“watch out,” she warns abruptly, albeit too late. by the time the words leave her lips, you’ve already bumped your leg against the edge of your coffee table. the table shakes from the impact, some of the objects on it moving before settling again.

“ow!” you hiss, interrupting the dance to lift your leg and graze the impacted skin. a huff leaves your lips as you test probe the area. while the area’s definitely sensitive, the edge hadn’t managed to scratch any skin and the collision didn’t leave you with a limp; with this in mind, you conclude that it’ll be fine. at most, the area might bruise. “i’m okay, kara,” you reassure your girlfriend, noting how intensely she was watching you.

blonde hair rests over and around her shoulders as kara keeps her head tilted, staring. “are you sure?”

you nod. “i’m positive.”

she takes a moment to look around your apartment, suddenly aware of how small it really is. “maybe we need a change of scenery. it’s a shoebox in here,” she thinks aloud, continuing to survey the space. once she gets an idea, however, she starts sporting that adorable, excited grin again. “c’mon.” her hand finds yours without hesitation, pulling you towards the nearest window. “through here,” she says.

“kara, i’m not crawling through my window,” you reply, letting go of her hands in order to cross your arms. “where are we going, anyways?”

“outside,” she answers vaguely— truly, she hadn’t thought it through more than that— “and i crawl through your window all the time. i’m pretty sure you can fit through. it’ll be fine. look, we need more space to dance, right? why not dance outside?”

“i’ll fall,” you counter, “there’s no fire escape by that window.”

“i’ll catch you,” she shoots back, “kryptonian strength and flight, remember? c’mon. you trust me, right?” kara’s unlocks the window with one hand while she speaks, turning away from you just for a minute or so in order to slip through the new opening. once outside, she hovers by the window, her arms crossing. her eyes twinkle mischievously, as if to say ‘we both know you’re going to give in. why are you making me wait?’.

you hate how right that sentiment is.

hesitantly, you walk over to your opened window, crouching down and reaching one hand out for support. the blonde’s quick to interlace your fingers, using her other hand to hold onto your waist as you shimmy through. as you crawl all the way out, kara takes you further into her arms, holding you with both hands at your waist even though she really only needs one.

“are we going to a park or something?” you finally ask, your hands resting along her shoulders.

smirking, she responds, “something like that.”

before you know it, she’s moving, flying through the sky with you in tow. air runs against your body as you glide over metropolis, flowing along and around you like river water does with stones and fallen logs. it’s exhilarating, not too fast and certainly not at all slow. your eyes come to a close as your girlfriend continues to fly, and though it’s not the first time you’ve traveled by air in her arms, you feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest. it’s not nerves, not anymore… it’s excitement. no, it’s love. deep in your chest, your heart swells with affection at how fun-loving and adventurous she can be. the thought dwells in your mind as you move your arms to wrap around her neck, burying your face in the crook of her neck and shoulder.

when kara does stop flying, you perk up, glancing around. you’re hovering a couple miles above a small metropolitan park, the trees below nothing more than blotches of green against darker shades and lighter tints of the same color. the people are like ants roaming along the ground, and as you soak in the image, kara begins to sway gently.

“easy,” she murmurs as your grip adjusts to hold her tighter, “i’m not gonna drop you. promise.” after some thought, she adds, “i guess we did end up in a park. over it, at least.”

“yeah,” you laugh out, grinning at kara as she rocks you both back and forth in the air. the dance turns gentle, smooth, and slow. it’s one of the few times in life where she’s decided to be any of those things. “cross your heart, kara?” you ask after a moment, “cross your heart that you won’t drop me?”

“and hope to die,” she croons, pressing her forehead to yours. “i’m never gonna let you go. ever. you’re safe with me.” kara smiles as you sway in the air, nose to nose. then she gives you a small kiss, still grinning. “i love you.”

you smile before returning her kiss with a longer one, grinning even more when you feel her melt into the kiss. “i love you, too,” you whisper afterwards.

“mm.” kara gives a quick hum in acknowledgement, then tilts her head slightly to lean in once more, pressing her lips more firmly against yours. “let’s… go back to the apartment,” she breathes out, cheeks flushed, “we can do a different dance there.”

i sincerely apologize for how long this took to get out, but i’m like 95% satisfied with how it ultimately turned out. i love the new take on kara that was seen in superman (2025) and tend to lean on that for characterization; her convincing you to get up to no good with her is so much fun.

tagging! @nozhdyved, @voidsuites, @jadoremars, @sheriff-bodecker, @chronic-fangirl-222, @neve-naoki, @ft-winnow, @jiji2827, @futuremrscameron, @f4lin3, @hisfavoriteweepingangel, @fangpires ✩ click here to be added!

[sweetlikelace]

JUST BREATHE THAT MOMENT DOWN

wanda maximoff x reader

synopsis: you’re a broke college student who needs to find a way to quickly pay off tuition. wanda enters your life at just the right time with a special offer only a fool would decline.

PARTS

part one, part two, part three, part four

ONE SHOTS — tbd

MOODBOARD — n/a

[baranarchives]

i’m currently writing a cultleader!baran fic guys

[emilys-bangs]

𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐛.𝐡

Tags: babysitter!reader, implied insomnia (baran), yearning, fluff, age gap (but no ages mentioned), reader is a college student, petnames, have I mentioned yearning

Summary: You drive Baran to work and get a little more than you bargained for. Part two of this fic, but you don't have to read it to read this one.

Word count: 1.4k

The ring of the alarm makes you jump. 

It screams shrilly in your ears, sends your heart racing with the fright. You scramble to turn it off, eyes squinted against the sunlight that streams in through the split in the curtains, golden and shiny with the full bloom of summer. It blinds you, shoots up an ache right to your skull. You groan and collapse back on the bed, throwing an arm up to block it, relishing in the relief of closing your eyes again.

The dark does nothing to soothe your exhaustion.

It was nearing 3 AM by the time you forced yourself to bed—or, rather, Baran did. You'd been reluctant but she was adamant, in that soft, needling way of hers, and so you'd pushed yourself up off the couch and left her there, in the semi-dark, with only the glow of the TV keeping her company. You hadn't felt bad for long before sleep took you.

You're pulling the comforter up your chest when you hear a door thud closed across the hall—deep in Baran's room. Guilt bubbles up. 

Sighing, you switch off the rest of your alarms and drag your limp body up in bed. Her warm, ridiculously comfortable bed. You itch to sink back into it. But Baran doesn't waste time and you're not about to make her late, so you force yourself up, into the bathroom, and come out dressed and half-decent looking in record time.

You're still fighting off sleep as you slowly descend the stairs. You rub your eyes, blink rapidly to adjust to the sunlight seeping through and drenching the house. God, if she saw you like this she'd send you right back to bed. 

You give your head a rough shake.

She's already flitting about the kitchen when you go down, screwing the lid on her thermos, slipping a granola bar into her bag. The bags under her eyes are darker than usual, you note, but she smiles when you walk in. Dimples.

"Morning, Ms Al." You mumble, stretching your arms over your head.

"Good morning, Y/N." Her eyes flit over you, linger a little too long. "Regretting your decision?"

"Nah. Ready when you are."

"Just a minute," she says. You take a seat at the island, watch as she briskly moves from end to end of the kitchen. 

She doesn't have a hair out of place. Her clothes are neatly pressed, her curls gathered back—hell, you even catch a faint shimmer on her eyelids. 

It hits in your gut, strangely. She moves light and quick—normal. Like she'd just had a full night's sleep rather than three measly hours.

I've struggled with it on and off since I was a kid.

She must have gotten used to the exhaustion.

"Sweetheart?"

You jolt in your seat. "Yes?"

"Coffee?"

"No, thanks." You say. Slipping out of the stool, you grab a glass and fill it with water. Baran continues spinning around you, slipping more things into her bag, the Tupperware where she stores her lunch.

"I've been thinking," she starts suddenly. You swallow down a gulp of water. "And I want you to take my car. Not just for today—I won't be needing it for the next few months. I'll send you gas money, but the tank's full right now, it should last you a bit." Her tone is casual, as if she's offering to lend you her sweater.

You nearly choke on your water.

"Sorry, wait, what? Take your car?" You sputter. "How do you mean?"

You're pretty sure you know exactly what she means.

Baran is patient, if a little amused. "Take it," she reiterates, slowly. "Drive it. As you typically would a car."

You search her face, but she's entirely serious.

"Baran." You exhale a breath, gaping at her. "I can't take that."

"It's only for a few months, I'm not giving it to you permanently." She frowns slightly, as if you're being unreasonable.

"Wha—" You rub at your temple. 6:23. In the morning. You can barely even feel the cup of water in your hand. "I don't understand. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing is wrong with it, I just can't drive it at the moment." Her jaw sets a little. "It's been sitting out for a couple weeks, you'd have a better use for it, that's all. Just until I can take it back."

Okay, weird. But then again, you can't recall ever seeing her drive the car. It's been stagnant in the driveway, and you never see headlights through the curtains, or hear an engine cut when she comes home.

"I promise you it's perfectly safe."

Your mind still whirs with disastrous possibilities. 

"Okay, but. Still." You wet your lips. "I can't handle that much responsibility, Baran. What if I—what if I crash it or something?"

She mutters something under her breath. You hear the word Allah and don't know if she's praying for you or cursing at you. "You're a good driver. In any case, I have insurance. There's absolutely nothing for you to worry about."

"Except for the fact that you're handing me your car."

"Sweetheart, it's just a car."

You really hope you'll be rich enough in your future to be able to say that same phrase with that much indifference.

Just a car. Says the senior emergency medicine attending.

"I don't know if you'll be saying that once I—"

"Try it for today." She presses the key into your palm. Her hand is warm, eyes just that sweet shade of brown that haunts you on the daily. "Please." Her voice goes soft—lifts a little at the end like she's asking. "For me."

Your heart gives an unsteady jolt in your chest. 

This whole damn thing is for you, isn't it? It's why I'm in this fucking mess.

She squeezes your hand, imploring, and you don't make an effort to hide your sigh. Baran smiles. She kisses the air between you, once—just like she does with Amir.

"Come on." She squeezes your shoulder. "We'll be late."

The key is heavy as you slip it into your pocket. You drain the last of your water, feel it slosh around in your stomach. Sunlight caps over Baran's curls, turning them honeyed, and you follow after her without a word, lift up her bag from the counter and sling it over your shoulder. 

Mom bags. It weighs a million pounds, but you keep your mouth shut. The car is far more polished than anything you've ever driven in your entire life, but you keep your mouth shut. You wonder what possibly could be stopping her from driving it, but you keep your mouth shut. Baran nods off, cheek against the window, her neck tipped down at a painful angle, but you keep your mouth shut. 

You keep your mouth shut and drive as slow as you can, hardly breathing. Still, the hospital looms in view too quick. You want to give her a few minutes—something, anything, her chest rises and falls so evenly—but it's already dangerously close to 7. Exhaling, you lightly touch her shoulder.

"Baran."

She wakes easily for how deeply she'd been sleeping. Your heart twists over on itself as she blinks, just once, the skin scrunching around her eyes, before she unbuckles her seatbelt and runs an absent hand over her hair. You resist the urge to put the car in park and reach for her thousand-pound bag again, slip it over your shoulder, slide an arm around hers, and deliver her in, as safe as you know she could be.

But she does it herself.

She turns to you, her hand hovering above the door handle. There's a faint, red imprint on her temple where she'd been pressed against the window. You want to smooth the spot with your thumb, rub the redness away—

"Thank you again, Y/N," she says softly. "Really."

You wave a dismissive hand, force your voice to be easy. "Don't mention it. Take care, Doc. Kick ass."

Baran smiles, and it pulls at the tired lines around her face. "Goodbye." Before you can react, she leans in over the console and presses the smallest kiss to your cheek. "Let me know when you get home."

Your weak, weak heart. It climbs out of your chest and follows her out, into the saw trap of the Pitt.

taglist: @lotties-ashwagandha, @professorsapphic, @azishimi, @mourningthewicked, @mimzamo, @geodeprentixx

[as-syllable-from-sound]

both arms cradle you now ✧˖°. ☆

(baran al-hashimi x reader) ✧˖°. ☆ | wc: 3k | hurt/comfort | tw: religious trauma, homophobia, arguing, hurt/comfort, parental issues | baran is ~40, r is early 30s

summary: you come out to your conservative religious parents as gay, and your girlfriend baran is there to witness the fallout (from this request)

The exposed brick was original, but the Edison bulbs weren’t. The bar Baran had chosen had a menu written on a chalkboard in someone’s careful handwriting, and the whole room smelled pleasantly of wood and old beer.

You’d liked Baran’s brothers from almost the first moment. Tonight it was just Cyrus and Babak, the other two caught up with their own lives and unable to make it, and so the four of you had claimed a corner booth. Baran with her brothers was softer around the edges, quicker to tease, more likely to let a real laugh escape without catching it first. She became the girl she must have been before she became the woman she was now, laughing louder and more unreserved, no careful posture, no careful attention to her diction.

The evening was winding down reluctantly. Cyrus was already pulling out his card to settle the tab before anyone had agreed the night was over. Babak was in the middle of a story about Arash and Darius brawling in their youth when your girlfriend turned to you with an easy smile, tilting her head just slightly. “When am I going to get to meet your family?”

“Oh, you know,” you said casually, but your hands began to sweat so you busied them by grabbing the last piece of bread from the basket. “I don’t have any cool brothers to act as buffers. It’s really just me and my parents. You sure you’re ready for that?”

“I’ve met your mother on the phone,” Baran said, easy, unbothered. “She seems wonderful.”

You carefully kept the easy smile on your face. Baran had met your mother on the phone, but you hadn’t told your mom that Baran was your girlfriend—instead, that she was a friend from college. That was the only reason your mom had been pleasant. You would hardly call her wonderful.

“She’s polite. She’s also a lot.” You tore the bread in half and handed her a piece without thinking about it. “They both are. Very involved, with a lot of opinions. And they’re very keen on sharing them.”

“That sounds familiar,” Cyrus said from across the table, gesturing at Baran with his drink.

“Different flavor,” you said, grinning at him. “Your father is at least poised when sharing his dissatisfactions with you guys. Which are rare. Mine’s more of a town crier.”

Babak laughed at that, and Baran smiled, and you felt the warmth of having made the table laugh settle over you like a coat. Safe. Familiar.

“I’d love to meet them,” Baran said. She meant it so plainly, so simply, that it almost undid you. She was looking at you with that open expression, the one she mostly kept at home, and she added, “Whenever you think the time is right.”

“Soon,” you said. “I just want to do it properly. We’re not a drop-in type of family, so I’ll have to coordinate it.”

Baran shrugged, leaning into you. “Well, you know when I’m free.”

—

Two weeks later, after not-so-subtle cues from Baran, you decided, fuck it. Fine.

You’d given your parents a short call to say you were bringing someone home, which they received with the exact level of skepticism you were anticipating, your mom’s voice dry and unimpressed.

"I hope he has manners,” she’d quipped. "Tell him not to show up empty handed.”

Yeah, so. You were already shitting your pants.

You’d told Baran a few days after that dinner about your parents. Mostly just the broad strokes: religious upbringing, pretty strict parents, love shown rarely through action but mostly through claims of it, firm expectations put on you from the beginning of what to pursue in life and what to avoid—but above all, they didn’t know you were gay and were unlikely to be accepting about it.

Baran hadn’t flinched.

Now she sat in your car as you drove the forty minutes to where you’d grown up. She’d dressed carefully, settling on a soft sweater the color of strong tea, her curls pulled back in a half-up-half-down with a bun she usually wore for hospital board meetings. She looked like someone built to be approved of. You loved her for trying and hated, a little, that trying was necessary at all.

Baran reached over and pried one of your hands off the steering wheel, lacing her fingers through yours despite the awkward angle. “Eyes on the road, azizam, please. I’d like for us to arrive in one piece, ideally before they have time to talk themselves into hating me on principle.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” She squeezed your hand. “I’ve survived worse rooms than your parents’ dining room. I once had a patient’s husband try to punch me because I told him smoking was, in fact, bad for his lungs. I think I can handle some pointed silence over a pot roast.”

You frowned. “This isn’t the same.”

“I know it isn’t,” she said, voice silky and sure. “But I’m not fragile. I can take a hit if it comes to that. What I need you to focus on is not disappearing into the upholstery the second your mother raises an eyebrow. Can you do that for me?”

You exhaled, long and slow, hands tightening on the wheel. “It’s messed up that you’re having to give me a pep talk right now.”

“It’s not messed up,” Baran said immediately. “Tonight, respectfully, isn’t about you. It’s about me. It’s me getting tested, so let me handle it.” Her thumb moved slow over your knuckles, grounding, the same rhythm she used on you in the dark when you couldn’t sleep. “I’ve got you, azizam. Whether this is a breeze or a nightmare, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t need you to perform calm for me. I’m not assessing you.”

“Everyone’s always assessing something in my house.”

“Okay.” Her voice gentled further. “And you know I’ll play the part—I’m pretty good with parents—but it doesn’t really matter to me if they think I’m not right for you, if they don’t like me. I’d prefer they do, sure, but it’s not the thing I’m protecting in there.”

You looked at her carefully arranged curls, the sweater she’d picked specifically to be inoffensive to people who would find a reason to be offended regardless, and felt the burn in your throat. “Alright. Fine.”

“Fine?”

You smiled, small and a little crooked. “I suppose we’ve got this. Let’s go disappoint my mother together.”

—

You exhaled through your nose and didn’t say anything else until the house came into view, porch light on, your mother’s silhouette already visible behind the curtain.

Your mother answered the door before you’d finished knocking. “Finally. I thought you’d conveniently forgotten about dinner again,” she remarked, already looking past you to Baran, eyes sliding over her. “And this is your friend.”

“Baran,” Baran said warmly, offering her hand. “It’s lovely to finally meet you in person.”

“Likewise, I’m sure.” Your mother’s hand found Baran’s briefly, politely, and let go. “Come in. You’re letting the cold in.”

Your father was in the living room in his usual chair, the television muted but on, some news anchor mouthing silently about politics. He stood when you came in—that much, at least, was a courtesy—and shook Baran’s hand firmly.

“Doctor,” he said, once introductions were done and you’d all settled into the dining room, your mother’s roast already plated. “Y/N mentioned you’re an ER physician.”

“That’s right,” Baran said. “Chief attending, at the moment, at a hospital in the city.”

“Impressive,” your father said, taking a long sip of his drink. “Long hours, I imagine. Hard on a personal life.”

“It can be,” Baran agreed easily. “I’ve made peace with it. The work matters to me.”

“Mm.” Your father cut into his roast. “And how exactly do you two know each other?”

You felt your pulse pick up before you’d even decided how to answer. Baran, beside you, didn’t miss a beat.

“We met about a year and a half ago,” she said. “Through mutual friends. We’ve been together for most of that time.”

The word sat in the room for a second. Together. Your mother’s fork paused, very briefly, over her plate.

“Together,” she repeated, light, testing the word’s weight. “How nice. Friends who became close.”

“Girlfriends,” you corrected, voice shaking, and felt Baran’s hand find yours under the table when she saw your knee begin to bounce. “I should have said. We’re girlfriends.”

Your father’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He set it down. Picked it up again. Set it down.

Your father stared at you. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Girlfriends?” your mother repeated, and the word came out strange, as if she was gagging on it.

“Yes,” you said, squeezing Baran’s hand tighter. “Um, I’m gay. I should have told you sooner, I'm sorry."

Your mother’s voice went high and thin. “What, you think sooner would have made it better? How long have you—is this—”

“Since I was a teenager,” you said, shrinking into your chair. “Um, we’ve been seeing each other for about a year...?”

Your father stood up. The chair scraped loud against the floor and he just stood there, staring at you like he’d never seen you before in his life.

“You better be pulling a sick joke, Y/N, you better not have dared to lie to us for an entire year."

“I wasn’t lying, I just—”

“What do you call it then?” His voice was rising now, getting louder with every word. “You come into this house every Sunday, you sit at this table, you let us ask about your life, and the whole time you’re—” He gestured at Baran, at you, his hand shaking. “Who even are you? I don’t—I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“Dad, I’m the same person I’ve always—”

“No.” He shook his head, hard. “No, you’re not. The daughter I raised wouldn’t do this. Wouldn’t bring this into our home. Wouldn’t—” He stopped, his face twisting. “You knew. You knew what this would do to us and you did it anyway.”

“I think maybe we should all take a breath,” Baran said carefully.

“I didn’t ask you.” Your father’s eyes snapped to her. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you’ve done to her, but she wasn’t like this before.”

“She’s exactly who she’s always been,” Baran said, and there was an edge in her voice now.

"Don't." Your father pointed at her. "Don't you dare. Don't tell me about my own daughter, you don't know the first thing about her."

“I know she’s been terrified to tell you this,” Baran said.

"Good," your mother said, and her voice was so cold it made you flinch. "She should have been. She should have been scared enough to stop herself." She was looking at you now, and her eyes were wet but her face was stone. "I prayed for you. Every single day since you left for college, I prayed you'd find a good man, that you'd settle down, that you'd give us grandchildren. And the whole time you were commiting abominations."

She stopped. Swallowed. "I should have been praying against this. I should have known something was wrong."

“Mom, there’s nothing wrong with me—”

“Then why did you hide it?” your father said. “If there’s nothing wrong, why lie to us for a year? Why bring her here and pretend—” He laughed, bitter and sharp. “You knew. You knew exactly what we’d say, and you knew it was because this is an abomination. In this house, we don’t—we don’t allow this.”

“Dad—”

“I knew you’d think it was wrong!” you said, and you were crying now, hot and humiliating. “I knew exactly what this would be!”

“Then you shouldn’t have—” your mother started, then stopped, then started again. “You shouldn’t have done this.”

“Done what?” you said. “Existed?”

“Don’t twist my words,” she said, but her voice wavered.

“I’m not twisting anything! I’m just telling you the truth!”

“The truth,” your father said, and he laughed, bitter and sharp. “The truth. You want to talk about truth? The truth is you brought this—this sin into our home, and you—”

You bit your lip, willing the tears away. “This was a terrible idea. Baran, we should go.”

“Yeah,” Baran said, already pushing back her chair, the legs scraping loud against the floor. Her hands weren’t quite steady when she grabbed her coat off the back of it, slinging it over her arm so she could rest her hand on your back. “Yeah, eshgham, we’re going.”

But she didn’t move toward the door. She was looking at your father, and her jaw was tight, a muscle working in her cheek.

“Actually, I’m sorry, you know what’s actually insane to me?” she said, and it came out faster than she probably meant it to. “She has spent—I honestly don’t even know how long—being scared out of her mind to tell you something that isn’t even a choice, and the second she finally does, you’re standing up from the table like she set the house on fire.”

“I don’t see how this concerns you,” your father spat.

“Because I love her,” Baran snapped, and her voice cracked audibly on the word love, raw in a way you’d never heard from her before, not once in a year and a half. Her hand had found yours again, gripping too hard.

“Baran,” you begged.

“No, I will not sit here and eat—what is this, pot roast? I’m not eating fucking pot roast while they say these things to you like you’re wrong somehow.”

Your mother’s voice rose from its repulsed silence into something rude and righteous. “You don’t get to come into my house and tell me how to feel about my own child!”

"Then feel it!" Baran's voice went sharp and loud and then broke again. "Be devastated, I don't care, be confused, whatever you need, but she's—" She gestured at you, her hand trembling. "Do you even realize that you made someone so gentle it actually—I don't understand how she came from this. From you."

“Baran—”

She turned to you then, and her hands weren’t steady at all when they found your face, thumbs swiping under your eyes, her own jaw trembling.

“Hey. Hey, look at me. We’re leaving, okay? Right now. You don’t owe them one more second of this.”

You nodded, unable to speak, and let her pull you up from the chair, her arm coming hard around your waist. The two of you left.

—

Baran didn’t let go of you once—not crossing the dining room, not in the hallway, not while she grabbed your coat off the hook by the door because your hands weren’t steady enough to manage the zipper. She got you into the passenger seat first, buckled you in herself when your fingers fumbled the clasp, and only then went around to the driver’s side.

She sat there for a second, both hands on the wheel, clutching it, chest heaving like she’d just walked out of a trauma bay instead of a dining room. You rarely saw her so upset.

“Baran,” you whispered, voice wrecked. “Oh, baby.”

Her eyes were red-rimmed when they turned to you, her mouth trembling at the corner.

She let out a breath that shook on the way out. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I said I’d be diplomatic.”

“Don’t apologize.” You reached over, took her hand off the wheel, laced your fingers through hers the way she always did to you. “Don’t. I have never had anyone talk to them like that in my entire life, it was really cathartic for me.”

That got a small laugh out of Baran. “Well, I'm glad for that, I suppose, but I shouldn’t have sworn at your father.”

“I genuinely could not care less.” A wet, disbelieving laugh broke out of you, half sob. “No, that was by far the highlight of the otherwise completely, entirely shitty evening.”

She wiped at her face with the back of her free hand, rough, like she was angry at the tears. Took another breath, this one deeper, more controlled.

She turned in her seat to face you fully, brought both hands up to your face, thumbs brushing under your eyes the way she always did. “That was, unfortunately, a very shitty evening. What are you feeling? Talk to me.”

“I’m—” Your voice broke. “I don’t know, right now. I don't think. I don't think I've really processed it yet, if that makes sense?”

“It does.” Her jaw was still tight, her eyes still irritated, but her touch was so gentle. “I know, azizam. That was—” She stopped herself, shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what that was. What matters is you. Are you okay?”

No, not really, but you were much too tired to verbalize why not right then. So you simply leaned forward, and she met you halfway, pulling you in with both hands cupping your face. You grabbed her wrists, held on tight, then slid your hands up her arms to her shoulders and pulled her closer. Her forehead pressed hard against yours and you pressed back just as hard, your thumbs moving against her collarbones, grounding yourself in the feel of her.

"I've got you, sweet girl," she whispered, and then she kissed your forehead, lingering there. You turned your face into her neck and buried yourself there, your arms wrapping tight around her back, fisting the fabric of her sweater. She pulled you fully against her chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you clung to her like she was the only solid thing left.

Her hand moved through your hair, slow and careful, and you reached up to thread your fingers through hers where it rested against your head, holding her hand there. Your other hand stayed twisted in her sweater, gripping hard.

"I've got you," she said again, quieter, into your hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," you managed, muffled against her neck. You pulled back just enough to look at her, your hand sliding up to cup her face the way she always did to you, and she leaned into your palm. You stayed like that for a long moment, parked at the curb outside the house you grew up in, porch light still on, your mother's silhouette gone now from behind the curtain. Your hand moved from her face to her hair, fingers combing through the loosened curls, then back down to her shoulder. She held you and you held her back.

Eventually she pulled back just enough to look at you, her hand sliding from your hair to cup your jaw. Her thumb traced along your cheekbone one more time.

“We should go home,” she said softly.

“Yeah.”

She nodded, but her hand lingered on your face for another moment before trailing down your jaw, across your shoulder, reluctant to break contact. Then she turned and started the car, and the second she’d shifted into drive, her hand found yours again, fingers lacing tight and steady. She didn’t let go the whole way back.

• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

masterlist | come talk to me on ao3 @lieutanttrouble!!!

[baranarchives]

Purple

(baran al-hashimi x fem!reader)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None really just angst, self-deprecation, insecurity, crying, kissing, noted age difference, caretaking, soft baran al-hashimi, protective r

Summary: After a rough shift leaves Baran questioning every part of herself she’s ever been called “too much” for, she comes home expecting to be alone with her thoughts. Instead, she finds you waiting with dinner, open arms, and a reminder that the things she hates about herself are the very things you love most.

(i didn’t fully proof read so hopefully there aren’t many mistakes!)

Inspired by Purple by Olivia Rodrigo.

Baran Al-Hashimi has always known she’s different. Not in the dramatic, life-altering sort of way people write books about, at least she thinks. Just different enough to be noticed. Different enough to become a joke. Enough that people remembered it about her. Most days, she doesn’t mind. In fact, she likes being the person who remembers things, or is “thoughtful.”

The person who keeps color-coded calendars and reminder notes tucked into her phone. The person who arrives twenty minutes early because arriving exactly on time feels dangerously irresponsible. The person who carries backup pens. Backup chargers, back up everything. She likes order, certainty, and she likes knowing where things belong. Usually, those things make her a better doctor. Today, they just make her tired.

The emergency department is quieter than normal when she finally steps into the physician workroom. Not silent, never silent. But quieter. Enough that conversations drift farther than they’re supposed to, enough that people forget how thin the walls are. Enough that Baran hears things she probably wasn’t meant to hear.

“I swear she reorganized the supply cabinet again.” A laugh, someone else snorts. “Of course she did.”

“She’s like a tiny HR violation waiting to happen.” More laughter. Not cruel laughter, not really. The worst kind, the kind that isn’t intended to hurt, the kind that hurts anyway. Baran stares down at the chart in front of her, pretending she didn’t hear it. Pretends she isn’t suddenly aware of every little thing she does, every habit, quirk, every tendency to double-check things, triple-check things. Every reminder email, every note, correction, every color-coded spreadsheet. The laughter fades, and the conversation moves on; nobody notices or knows. But something in her chest twists anyway, because they’re right. That’s the awful part. They are right.

She does reorganize cabinets, she does relabel things, she sends reminder emails, she cares about things nobody else seems to care about, sometimes she wishes she could stop just for a day, a shift. She wishes she could walk into work and be effortless, easygoing, normal. The way everyone else seems to be.

Instead, she’s Baran.

Forty years old and still somehow worrying about whether people think she’s weird. Ridiculous. Yet the thought follows her for the rest of the shift, settling into the corners of her mind, growing heavier, patient after patient, hour after hour. By the time evening arrives, she’s exhausted- not physically; physically, she can handle.

It’s the other kind of exhaustion. The kind that comes from constantly trying to make yourself smaller, that comes from pretending comments don’t bother you, or that comes from laughing along when somebody teases you because explaining why it hurts would somehow feel even worse.

Hours later, she finally makes it back to the attending lounge. The door clicks shut behind her; the room is empty. For the first time all day, she’s alone. Baran drops into a chair, lets her shoulders sag, lets the mask. slip. The silence settles around her. Her eyes burn; she blinks hard, then harder. She already knows she’s tired; she already knows she’s emotional, that this is stupid. None of those things stop the tears.

The first one catches her completely off guard. Sliding down her cheek before she even realizes she’s crying. “Oh, come on,” she nutters. Embarrassed despite being completely alone. Another tear follows, then another. Soon she’s scrubbing furiously at her face, annoyed and frustrated. Over what? A few comments? A couple of jokes? Nothing serious. Nothing malicious, yet here she is. Sitting alone after a twelve-hour shift, trying desperately to pull herself together.

The truth is she doesn’t even know why it hurts so much, maybe because she spends all day taking care of people, making sure everyone else is okay, making sure mistakes don’t happen, making sure things run smoothly. And somehow all anyone notices are the parts that make her strange. The thought makes fresh tears sting behind her eyes. She hates herself for it, how sensitive she’s being, how much she cares. Most of all, she hates that if you were here, you’d immediately know something was wrong; you always know. Every time. You’d take one look at her face and figure it out before she even spoke.

The thought should comfort her; instead, it makes her cry harder. Because she knows exactly what she’ll find when she gets home. The porch light is on, dinner is waiting, a plate carefully set aside because you never know when her shifts will run late. The kitchen is clean, leftovers labeled how she likes. Probably with one of your little sticky notes that make her smile every time.

She loves you so much it feels impossible sometimes. Loves you in a way that settles into every corner of her life. You, with your messy energy, your loud laugh. Your inability to put things back where they belong, your habit of leaving cabinet doors open. You who somehow look at all the things she hates about herself and love them. As if they’re treasure, as if they’re precious. As if they were made specifically for you, because somehow they make you better, which is what you claim. Baran doesn’t understand it, never will. She only knows that when you look at her, she feels seen. Not tolerated. Not humored. Seen.

The problem is that tonight she doesn’t want you to see her, not like this, red-eyed, exhausted, not crying over something so stupid. Because you’re younger, because she is supposed to be the composed one, the responsible one. The one who reminds you to eat breakfast, who keeps spare umbrellas in the car, the one who knows what she’s doing. She’s supposed to take care of you, not the other way around.

The clock on the wall reads almost ten- too late; you should be asleep, but she knows you aren’t. You’ll be waiting up; you always wait up. A fresh ache settles in her chest, soft this time, warm. Like the color purple behind closed eyelids. Like twilight. Like something beautiful that hurts to look at directly.

Baran gathers her things, checks her bag twice, then a third time. Maybe everyone at work is right, maybe she is ridiculous. The tears threaten again. She swallows them down. Collects herself pulls on her coat. By the time she reaches the parking lot, the sky is dark, and the city lights blur through tired eyes. She grips the steering wheel tighter than necessary. The drive home feels longer than usual. Every red light gives her another opportunity to think, which is exactly the problem. Because the more she thinks about the comments, the worse they become. What started as harmless teasing transforms into something sharper, crueler. Something bigger than it actually was

By the time she turns onto your street, she’s fighting tears all over again. The porch light is already glowing, waiting for her. Just like she knew it would be. Home. The sight nearly undoes her; her vision blurs instantly, and all she can think is how unfair it is. How unfair that the world gets this version of her, the anxious one, the meticulous one, the weird one. While you somehow look at the same woman the world sees, and you see someone worth loving. Someone worth waiting up for, worth making dinner for, someone worth choosing. Every day. Baran pulls into the driveway; the engine clicks softly as it cools. She doesn’t move, doesn’t get out. Just sits there staring at the warm lights shining from the house, trying desperately to pull herself together before she walks inside, trying desperately to become the version of herself she wants you to see.

The tears come anyway, and somewhere inside the house, completely unaware of the storm sitting in the driveway, you’re probably checking the microwave one last time, making sure dinner is still warm. Waiting for your girl to come home.

_________

The front door opens quietly, and you look up immediately, not because of the sound. Because after months of loving Baran Al-Hashimi, you’ve learned the language of her footsteps. Usually, she comes home exhausted but steady. Tonight she looks fragile. The realization settles in your chest before she even fully steps inside. Something happened. Baran gives you a tired smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Your heart breaks, not because she sounds upset, but because she sounds like she’s trying not to. You don’t ask what’s wrong, not yet. Baran has always been careful with herself when she’s hurting. Like a wounded animal trying to decide if it’s safe to limp. So instead, you stand.

“Hi.” Her shoulders drop the slightest bit at the sound of your voice. You walk over, no questions, no pressure, just reaching for her bag. Baran hands it over automatically. You hang it on the hook beside the door, exactly where she always puts it. Her keys go into the ceramic dish, her coat onto the hanger. Her work badge onto the little tray by the entryway, everything in its place, the way she likes. The way she’d do it herself. When you turn back around, she’s watching you. Something soft and broken in her eyes, you smile.

“Food’s in the microwave.” Baran swallows. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Still no questions, no prying. Just you moving around her carefully, loving her quietly. The way she needs. You step closer, slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted. She doesn’t. Your arms slide around her waist. The second they do, Baran completely falls apart. Not dramatically or loudly. She just melts. Like she’s been holding herself together with tape all day, and you’ve finally given her permission to stop. A shaky breath leaves her; her forehead drops onto your shoulder. The weight of it nearly crushes you, not physically. Emotionally. Because Baran never lets herself lean, never lets herself be carried. She’s always the one carrying everyone else. You tighten your arms. Holding her, anchoring her.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The kitchen clock ticks softly, the microwave hums. Somewhere outside, a car drives past, but inside the house, there’s only this. Only her, only you. Only the feeling of Baran slowly unraveling against your chest. Your hand moves up and down her back. Gentle, patient. You don’t ask; you wait. Eventually, she speaks first. Her voice is muffled by your shoulder.

“It’s stupid.” Immediately, as if she’s trying to dismiss it, as if she’s apologizing for hurting, you press a kiss into her hair.

“No.” A weak laugh escapes her. “It is.”

“It isn’t.” “It really is.”

You pull back just enough to look at her; her eyes are red. God. You hate seeing her cry, not because it makes her weak, but because it reminds you that people have somehow convinced her she shouldn’t.


“Talk to me.” Baran looks away, toward the kitchen, the microwave, toward literally anything except you.

“They were joking.” Your stomach sinks.

“At work?” A small nod.

“They always joke.”


You already know; you’ve heard enough stories. The comments about her lists, reminders, the way she organizes things, the way she notices details everyone else misses. The way she needs things done correctly. The way she’s “different.”

“They don’t mean anything by it,” Baran says quickly, like she’s defending them, defending the people who hurt her.

“They were just laughing.” You stay quiet, letting her continue. Baran’s eyes drop to the floor. “I don’t know why it got to me.” Another shrug, another attempt to make herself smaller. “They’re right.”

No. You can practically feel your heart crack.

“No.”

“They are.”

“Baran—“

“I am weird.. or different or whatever.” The words come out so small, so vulnerable. You don’t think she’s even aware of it. “I reorganize cabinets.”

“So?”

"I make lists for everything."

"So?"

"I check things three times."

"So?"

A frustrated laugh escapes her. “Normal people don’t do that.” You reach up and cup her face. Immediately, without hesitation, as if the thought itself offends you.

“Good.”

Baran blinks. “What?”

Your thumb brushes beneath her eye. “I don’t want normal.” A fresh wave of tears gathers in her eyes. You continue before she can stop you. “I love your lists.”

“Sweetheart—“

“I love your labels.” Baran lets out a watery laugh. “I’m serious.” You are. God, you’re so serious.

“I love that you remember everything.” Your hand settles over hers. "I love that you always know where things are." Another tear escapes; you wipe it away. "I love that you check things three times."

"Why?" The question is genuine, like she truly can't imagine why anyone would. You smile softly.

"Because that's you.” Baran's face crumples just a little. Enough, enough that you know you've found the wound.

"Baby," you whisper. "Those things aren't flaws."

She shakes her head. "They make me difficult."

"No."

"They make me annoying."

"No."

"They make me—"

"They make you Baran." Your voice cracks. Because somehow this hurts you too. The idea of her hating pieces of herself that you adore. The idea of her trying to carve herself smaller for people who don't take the time to understand her.

"They make you thoughtful." You brush another tear away. "They make you caring." Another. "They make you reliable." Another. "They make you you." Baran stares at you. Silent, listening. You don't think she realizes how beautiful she is like this, not because she's crying. Because she's letting herself be seen. Because she's trusting you with the parts of herself she usually hides. "You know what I think?"

Her lips twitch. "What?"

"I think everyone else is stubborn."

That earns a real laugh, small, but real. You continue anyway. "I think if people actually stopped and paid attention, they'd love those things too."

Baran shakes her head immediately. You grin.

"No, seriously."

"You're biased."

"I am."

"Hopelessly."

"Absolutely."

Another tiny smile appears. “There it is."

"What?"

"That smile." You kiss her forehead. "My favorite thing in the world."

Baran closes her eyes, leaning into you. And suddenly the words you've been carrying around for months spill out, because she needs to hear them, needs to know.

"You know what I see when I look at you?" Her eyes open. "What?"

You smile.

"Purple."

Confusion flickers across her face. You laugh softly.

"You're blue." Baran raises an eyebrow. "Blue?"

"You are." Your fingers trace her cheek.

"You're careful." Blue.

"Thoughtful." Blue.

"Quiet." Blue.

"Steady." Blue.

"You're every calm thing in the world." Her eyes shine.

"And you?"

You grin. "I'm red." That gets another laugh, a bigger one.

"You're definitely red.”

"I know." Loud, messy, passionate, impulsive.

Everything Baran isn’t, everything she somehow loves anyway. You rest your forehead against hers.

"And when I'm with you..." Your voice softens.

"When I look at you..." Baran's breath catches. "...all I see is purple." The tears come again, but these aren't the same; these aren't lonely tears. These aren't hurt tears. These are the kind that happen when someone loves you so completely that it becomes impossible to hide from it. Baran's hands finally come up to hold your face. Tender, careful, like you're something precious.

"You really mean that?” You almost laugh. The question is absurd, impossible, heartbreaking. Because after all this time, she still doesn't understand. Still doesn't realize, there has never been a single thing about her you wished was different. Not one. You kiss her gently, slowly. The kind of kiss that feels like coming home.

When you pull away, your foreheads remain touching. "I love every weird little thing about you." Baran's eyes close. A shaky breath escapes her. "And nobody in the world is ever going to love those things more than me."

A smile finally appears. Real this time, warm, safe.

Purple.

"That's a little possessive."

You grin.

"Good."

And for the first time all day, Baran laughs, really laughs. The sound filling the kitchen, the house, your chest. And suddenly the world feels a little less blue and red.

[baranarchives]

The Sound of Your Voice

(baran al-hashimi x streamerfem!reader)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings (18+ MDNI) : perverted baran al-hashimi, masturbation, vaginal fingering, guilt, age gap, baran touching herself to you without your knowledge

Summary: Baran discovers a young streamer girl. She can’t seem to keep herself in check when you’re just so pretty on her screen so late at night.

Baran first discovers you because of her son. Honestly, she doesn't think much of it at first. One evening after a particularly long shift, she'd walked into the living room to find him sitting on the couch, headset on, laughing so hard he was nearly crying. Which immediately made her suspicious.

"What are you watching?"

"Nobody.”

"That answer has never reassured a parent in the history of parenting."

Her son groaned dramatically before spinning his laptop around. "A streamer."

Baran expected something obnoxious. Instead, she found herself staring at a Twitch stream with barely six thousand followers. You were playing Fortnite with two friends. Nothing remarkable. At least, that's what she thought for the first thirty seconds. Then one of your teammates accidentally launched themselves off a cliff. You laughed. Not a polite laugh.Not an influencer’s laugh. A genuine, loud, wheezing laugh that made you nearly fall out of your chair. The kind of laugh that forced everyone else on the call to start laughing too. Baran rolled her eyes. "Seriously?" "What?"

"You're watching this?"

Her son looked offended. "She's funny."

Funny.

Sure.

Baran left it at that. Until a few days later. Because then she heard that laugh again. From her son's room. And then again. And again. Every time she passed by, there you were. Playing Roblox. Fortnite. Some random horror game. Talking absolute nonsense with your friends. Making jokes every five seconds. And somehow maintaining an audience that seemed entirely dedicated to watching you fail at video games. One night, curiosity finally got the better of her. Her son was asleep. The apartment was quiet. And before she could stop herself, Baran opened Twitch. Just to see what the appeal was. Five minutes. That was all. Five minutes and she'd go to bed. Instead, an hour disappeared. Then another. Then another. By the end of the stream, she found herself smiling at her laptop screen. Which was embarrassing. You weren't even doing anything.

You were building a house in Minecraft while arguing with your friends about whether or not Supergirl was a better character than Superman.

Yet somehow she couldn't click away. Maybe it was your energy. Maybe it was how unapologetically yourself you seemed. Maybe it was because after spending twelve hours surrounded by sick patients, stressed coworkers, and constant tragedy, listening to you ramble about absolutely nothing felt... nice. That was all. Just nice. At least that's what Baran told herself. Then she started showing up every stream. Then she subscribed. Then she created an account specifically so she could participate in chat without her son discovering it. The username was completely anonymous. Carefully chosen. Nothing that could be traced back to her. Not that you'd know who she was anyway. You lived on the internet. Baran lived in Pittsburgh. Your worlds couldn't have been farther apart. Still. Night after night, she found herself opening Twitch after work. Sometimes she watched while making dinner. Sometimes while folding laundry. Sometimes from bed when she was too exhausted to do anything else.

And eventually, you started recognizing her. At first, it was just a casual acknowledgment.

"Oh, hey, Baranbaby! Good to see you."Baran nearly dropped her phone.

You knew her username.

Then it became a regular thing.

"Baranbaby is here, guys. Now the stream can start."

“Baranbaby, did you survive work today?"

"Wait, where's Baranbaby? She's usually here by now."

Every single time, something ridiculous happened to Baran's chest. Something she'd rather not examine. It certainly didn't help that you smiled whenever you read her messages. Or laughed.

Or occasionally singled her out from hundreds of other comments. It definitely didn't help. Not at all. And yet, despite knowing better, Baran found herself staying up later and later each night.

Watching, listening, waiting for your stream notification to appear. Like some teenager with a crush. Which was absurd. Completely absurd. She was an adult, a mother, a doctor.

She should know better. She was probably twice the girl’s age. Instead, she found herself opening Twitch at two in the morning after another exhausting shift. The stream title immediately appeared.

"FORTNITE : just me babyyy 💔"

Baran sighed.

Then clicked it without hesitation. Tonight, Baran was more on edge than on previous nights when she would stay up late watching you. She had a rough shift at the ER, people giving her lots of attitude on the way she handled her business, and she just needed an outlet. Even if it meant going against the usual morals that she held for herself, when she logged on to your stream and saw you perched up in your pink gamer chair, close to the camera because you were whispering something stupid into the mic while looking into the camera, she couldn’t help herself.

Especially when you started playing the game. You would get so locked in, she loved seeing how you looked when you were concentrated, she imagined that would be how you looked when you were on your knees, looking up at her with determination to make her feel good. This was bad. She knew she should shut off her computer and go to sleep, but she couldn’t. You were down to the last few people left in the match, chewing the inside of your cheek nervously as you scoped out the area while simultaneously reloading your gun, til someone came out and jumped on your character skin. A curse slipped out from under your breath, and a frustrated groan followed shortly after, and that’s all Baran needed to slip her hand underneath her old gym shorts in the privacy of her own room.

Baran’s breath hitched as she watched your face contort with frustration on screen, her own pulse thundering in her ears. She bit down hard on her lower lip, fingers trembling slightly beneath the waistband of those loose gym shorts. She hated this. Hated how weak you made her feel with just a pout or a scowl over some stupid video game. A doctor didn’t get flustered like this during emergency surgeries - but here she was, heart racing because you looked cute when mad. The bed creaked softly as Baran shifted under the blanket draped over her lap, not that it helped hide anything anymore anyway; and without thinking twice (because God knows rational thought had left hours ago), two fingertips slipped further inward…

Baran exhaled sharply through her nose, the sound muffled by how tightly she was pressing her lips together. Her dark brown eyes stayed glued to the screen, watching your every micro-expression as you tried desperately to recover from that ambush. "Come on," she whispered under her breath, not even sure if she meant it for you or herself right now.

The game didn't matter anymore; all that mattered was keeping those pretty eyes of yours in view while they scanned across their pixelated battlefield with such intense focus. Her free hand unconsciously reached up to twist a curl around one finger, an old nervous habit from med school days resurfacing after years of discipline and control being eroded away by late-night streams and forbidden fantasies about someone half her age.

Baran’s breath came quicker now, uneven and shallow. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, loud and insistent like a traitorous drumbeat.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered to no one, eyes wide as they tracked your movements on the screen. The way you leaned forward slightly when concentrating made that tank top ride up just a little at the waist... Her fingers stilled for half a second before resuming their slow, teasing motions beneath fabric, because even this guilty pleasure needed some semblance of self-control (old habits die hard). She couldn’t help herself, letting herself slip two fingers inside without any struggle because of how slick she already was.

Baran shifted again beneath the covers, the back of her head sinking into her pillow as she tried to keep her breaths steady. It was ridiculous how much power you held over her, even though you were just sitting there, unaware of her current circumstances. But every muscle tension, every furrow of your brow, every click of the mouse, it had all become a source of perverse fascination for the older woman...

"Good girl," she murmured, almost involuntarily, as you managed to take down another opponent off-screen.

Baran's lips parted slightly as she watched your character finally land a decisive headshot, the killcam replaying in slow motion. "There you go," she breathed out, voice low and warm like honey even though no one could hear her. Her free hand lifted to press against her own chest unconsciously, fingertips brushing over the thin fabric of her sleep shirt where her heart pounded visibly beneath.

"God, look at you," Baran whispered with something dangerously close to adoration creeping into that usually composed physician's tone.

The way your shoulders relaxed just slightly after securing that victory... it did things to people who definitely shouldn't be feeling them right now. She shifted again on the bed, this time more deliberately adjusting herself under those covers while keeping her eyes locked onto every pixel of your face on screen while you set down your controller, taking a break to just talk without playing a game. Baran's fingers picked up the pace a bit as you started to read the chat, answering people's questions about your life, little details that only made Baran get off more.

Her free hand did something unexpected; she started typing in the chat, just to see if maybe you'd see her comment.

"You're such a pretty girl...."

She typed, it was risky, but she doubted you'd see it through the streams of comments coming through, and it was an innocent enough sentence.

Baran’s fingers hovered over the keyboard after sending that comment, suddenly feeling way too exposed despite it being anonymous. Her stomach flipped as she watched your eyes scan the chatbox for replies. She held her breath when you paused mid-sentence about something else entirely, had you seen it? Was that little hitch in your voice just now because of her?

Then came the worst part: waiting. The seconds stretched like hours while Baran chewed on her bottom lip hard enough to nearly draw blood, her heart slamming against ribs with each passing moment where nothing happened yet. Her thighs pressed together tighter under covers as anticipation coiled hot and heavy low in belly…

Suddenly, you leaned closer to your monitor to read better, quietly mouthing the words of the comment she had just sent. She watched as a small, shy smile formed on your face.

"Baran, thank you!" You said timidly, "You're always so nice to me... I love you, babe." It came from your mouth so casually, Baran almost made a mess between her thighs that second.

That was it.

It was like a switch had been thrown inside Baran upon hearing your words through the screen. Hearing you return that innocent praise, even if you were just being polite, thinking the person sending it was some other anonymous fan, had an unexpected effect on her. Her chest rose and fell visibly with each shaky breath that left her lips. The heat building inside her was almost unbearable now. There was no more self-restraint left, just pure and simple need. And hearing you say "I love you" so effortlessly...That was the breaking point.

Baran's free hand grasped at the sheets on either side of her body, knuckles going white while she arched up off the mattress just enough for you to see the outline of her taut stomach through a thinly veiled sleep shirt.

"God, you have no idea," she muttered under her breath, eyes fixed intently on your face on the screen. Her thighs widened a little bit more as she found a better angle, fingers dipping deeper in response to the sounds leaving her mouth, soft little gasps and moans that no viewer could hear, but she knew you could somehow. It was all so wrong. So incredibly wrong.

Baran suddenly sat up straighter in bed, pressing her back against the headboard as she finally allowed herself to fully indulge.

"Fuck," she whispered loudly into the quiet of her room.

Her legs fell open wider now, making space for what came next - no longer hesitant or shy about this private moment with just you on screen and your sweet voice still echoing through speakers from earlier. One hand left your chat to grip a pillow tightly while the other stayed busy between her thighs, moving faster now... the wet noises filled the room alongside your almost muted voice from her computer. Baran groaned again, head tilting back as she finally crossed that threshold. The way you shifted in your chair at home and read another stream comment, seemingly oblivious to the effect you had on your older viewer, only added fuel to the fire. Her eyes darkened with desire as she watched you, imagining what you might look like if instead of sitting there on your desk, you were above her, making those same noises in person..

She was so close, right on the edge as she rocked against her fingers, her head thrown back…Baran’s entire body tensed up like a coiled spring, her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over her.

"Oh my god," she gasped out loud, fingers stuttering but not stopping, chasing that high even as it already overwhelmed her. Her lips parted in a silent cry for just one second before sounds finally escaped, soft little whimpers and moans spilling freely now that she was completely lost to sensation. And through it all...she kept watching you. Your face on stream became the only thing anchoring her to reality right then. Baran collapsed back onto the mattress, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. Her skin was flushed, her hair slightly messy from how much she'd moved.

For a few quiet moments after that intense high faded...she just lay there staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.

Then slowly, almost reluctantly, Baran turned her head to glance back at your stream still running on screen. You were now doing something different in-game, laughing about some joke chat said while typing responses with one hand, casually holding a soda can. She smiled softly without meaning to.

"How are you so goddamn clueless?" She muttered quietly, knowing full well you couldn't hear her, but still shaking her head fondly at your ability to be oblivious to her shameless obsession.

The afterglow was starting to wear off now, leaving behind a mess of tangled sheets, sweat, and self-loathing. With a heavy sigh, Baran forced herself to get up from the bed, grabbing her clothes and heading into the bathroom for a much-needed clean up.

[baranarchives]

Don’t Drive Home

(Baran Al-hashimi x Cassie Mckay)

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings (18+ MDNI) : brat tamer baran, whiny cassie, teasing, grinding, desperation, cunnilingus (baran receiving) , fingering (cassie receiving) , begging.

Summary: After months of working together in the ER, Cassie knows exactly what Baran looks like on a bad day, and today's shift might be her worst yet. Determined to help in more ways than one, Cassie refuses to leave Baran alone with her thoughts, leading to a late-night conversation that blurs the line between friendship and something more.

______

(note from author: Just wanted to mention that cassie wasn’t planning on going into the nightclub until she saw Baran! She is still sober obvii. Hope you enjoy and I apologize for any mistakes I didn’t catch!)

Following the night of possibly one of Baran’s worst shifts of her life at work, instead of going straight home to her warm bed, somehow she finds herself in a small club just a few minutes away from the ER. The overhead lights were dimmed low, hues of purple and red lights washing over the room in slow pulses. Music rattled through the floor beneath her shoes. People laughed. Danced. Shouted over one another.

Baran sat at the bar, occupying the seat farthest from everyone else. She wasn’t even sure why she’d come. The first drink had been an excuse to sit somewhere that wasn’t her apartment. The second had been an attempt to stop replaying the shift in her head.

Neither had worked. Every time she blinked, she was back in that ER. Back in the noise, the disappointment. Back in the feeling that she’d somehow managed to fail everyone all at once.

Her fingers tightened around the sweating glass. The ice clinked softly. Pathetic.

The word surfaced before she could stop it. Baran let out a humorless laugh and looked down at the amber liquid. She knew better than this. She knew exactly what alcohol did to grief. To guilt. To exhaustion. It didn’t solve anything. It just made you sit with it longer.

Around her, strangers moved in clusters. Friends with their arms around one another. Couples leaning close enough to hear each other speak. Baran had spent fifteen hours surrounded by people and somehow had never felt more alone.

The realization stung. She swallowed hard and stared at the bottles lining the shelves behind the bar. For a moment, she considered calling someone.

Her ex-husband even. Anyone.

But the thought alone made embarrassment curl hot in her stomach. What would she even say? Hi, it’s me. I’m sitting alone in a nightclub after crying in the hospital parking lot.

She could practically hear how ridiculous it sounded. So instead she ordered another drink. The bartender slid it toward her without question. Baran accepted it with a small nod. Maybe she’d stay another ten minutes. Maybe twenty. Then she’d go home. Sleep. Pretend tomorrow would somehow feel different.

The entrance door opened. A gust of cool air slipped inside. Baran didn’t look up at first. She barely registered another person entering the club. Then she heard a familiar voice.

“Baran?”

Her entire body went rigid. No. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned.

Of all people.

Cassie McKay stood a few feet away, wearing a black tank top and a pair of baggy pants. Her red hair was messier than usual, dark circles shadowing her eyes after the shift. She looked equally exhausted.

And equally surprised. For a second, neither of them spoke. Baran wished the floor would open beneath her. Because this wasn’t just anyone finding her here. It was Cassie. Cassie, who had spent the entire shift watching everyone unravel. Cassie, who somehow always noticed when people were struggling, no matter how hard they tried to hide it.

Cassie’s gaze flickers to the drink in front of Baran. Then to the empty glass beside it. Then back to Baran. Not judgmental. Just concerned. Which somehow felt worse. Baran immediately looked away.

“Cassie.” Her voice came out quieter than intended. “What are you doing here?”

Cassie let out a tired laugh. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

Baran stared stubbornly at her glass. “ I wanted a drink.”

“Hmm.” The response was so unmistakably Cassie that Baran almost rolled her eyes. A beat of silence passed. Then, without asking, Cassie slid into the empty seat beside her. Baran felt heat crawl up the back of her neck.

“You don’t have to do that,” she muttered.

“Do what?”

“Sit here.”

Cassie leaned one arm against the bar. “You look like you’ve been having a pretty terrible night.”

Baran let out a short laugh. “Observant.”

“I’m serious.” “I know.”

The gentleness in her own voice surprised her. Another silence settled between them. Not awkward. Not exactly comfortable either. Just…there.

Cassie glanced at the drink in front of her. “How many have you had?”

Baran immediately narrowed her eyes. “You’re a cop now?”

“That’s not an answer.” “It’s enough.”

Casie groaned dramatically. “Baran.” The resident finally looked over. Cassie was already staring at her. Tired. Concerned. Annoyingly persistent. Baran sighed. “Three.” Cassie’s eyebrows lifted. “Three?” “They weren’t very strong.” “Still.” Baran rolled her eyes and reached for her glass.

“Don’t.”
The word came out before Cassie could stop herself. Baran paused. “What?”

Cassie leaned forward slightly. “Don’t drive home.” Baran stared at her. “Cassie.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been drinking.” "I'm not drunk."

"That's not the point.”

Baran let out a long breath through her nose. God. This woman was impossible.
"Cassie, I appreciate the concern, but I am perfectly capable of getting myself home."

"Okay." Cassie nodded. Then immediately added, "No."

Baran blinked. "No?"

"No." A smile tugged at Cassie's mouth despite herself. "You look exhausted, you've been crying—"

"I was not crying." "You absolutely were."

"I wasn't."

"You had mascara on your cheek."

Baran groaned and covered her face with one hand. Cassie looked far too pleased with herself.
"Anyway," Cassie continued, "you've been drinking, and you're exhausted. I'm driving you home."
The statement was so confident that Baran actually laughed. "You?"

"Yes, me."

"You realize you don't have a car." Cassie's confidence vanished. For half a second. Then she pointed a finger at Baran. "That's not important." "It feels pretty important."

"I'll drive your car."

"No." "Why not?"

"Because it's my car." Cassie looked genuinely offended. "You think I'd crash it?" "I think you'd put sticky notes on the dashboard."

"I would not." "You absolutely would."

"I'd only do one.”

Baran couldn't stop the smile threatening at the corner of her mouth. Cassie immediately noticed. Of course, she did.

"There she is."

The smile vanished. Cassie looked even more pleased. "I knew you were in there somewhere."

"You're insufferable."

"I've been told that." By you, mostly. The words remained unspoken. Something shifted in the space between them. Not enough to be dangerous. Just enough for Baran to notice. Cassie's eyes were warm. Steady. Focused entirely on her. And after the day she'd had, after everything that had happened, being looked at with that much uncomplicated care felt almost overwhelming.

Baran looked away first. "Why do you care so much?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. Cassie's expression softened. The teasing disappeared instantly.
Because despite all her stubbornness, Cassie always seemed to know when something mattered.

"Because you're my friend."

Baran swallowed. Friend. Such a simple word. Such a safe one. Cassie continued before she could respond. "And because you looked miserable when you left work."

Baran stared at the bottles behind the bar. "Cassie..."

And because nobody should have to sit alone after a day like today." The sincerity in her voice made Baran's chest ache. She hated that. Hated how easily Cassie could say something kind and make every wall she'd spent years building feel a little less solid. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Cassie bumped her shoulder lightly. "So."

"No."

"I haven't even said anything yet."

"I know where this is going." "I'm driving you home."
"No."

"Baran."

"Cassie."

"Baran."

The younger woman groaned dramatically and let her head fall back. "You are impossible." "And yet you're still sitting here with me." Baran shot her a look. Cassie's grin widened. Challenge accepted. "Cassie, how exactly are you planning on getting home afterward?"

"I'll Uber."

Baran blinked. "What?"

Cassie shrugged.

"I was taking public transportation home anyway. Didn't bring my car. Trying to save gas."

"You were going to take a bus after a twelve-hour shift?" "It builds character." "It builds resentment." Cassie laughed. The sound caught Baran off guard. Warm. Easy. Entirely too pleasant.

"So I'll drive you home," Cassie continued. "Then I'll call an Uber from your place."

"That's ridiculous."

"It's practical."

"It's not."

"It is."

"Cassie."

"Baran."

The way she said her name made something twist in Baran's stomach.
Not uncomfortable. Just dangerous. Cassie was looking at her again. That same infuriatingly gentle look. Like she wasn't a senior resident. Like she wasn't someone who always had to hold herself together. Like she was simply a person who had a bad day. A person worth taking care of.

"You don't have to do this," Baran said quietly. Cassie's expression softened further. "I know."
The answer landed harder than Baran expected. No obligation. Not pity. Choice. Cassie was choosing to do this for Baran.

Baran suddenly found the condensation on her glass very interesting. "You know," she muttered, "you're incredibly stubborn."

"I've heard that too."

"It's not a compliment."

"I know."

_________________________________

The drive across the city had been surprisingly easy. Maybe because neither of them had the energy left to argue. Maybe because every time the silence threatened to become awkward, Cassie filled it with some ridiculous story from work. By the time they pulled into Baran's apartment complex, the knot in Baran's chest had loosened enough for her to notice. Cassie parked carefully between the lines and immediately reached for her phone.

"Alright."

Baran glanced over. Cassie was already opening her Uber app.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Calling an Uber."

"Correct.”

Baran stared at her. Cassie stared back. The streetlights illuminated the tiredness in her face. The dark circles beneath her eyes. The way she was clearly running on fumes. And yet she'd spent the last hour making sure Baran got home safely. Before she could think better of it, the words slipped out.

"You could come upstairs." Cassie froze. Baran froze. For one horrifying second, neither of them moved.

"...What?"

Baran immediately regretted opening her mouth.

"I just mean—" Wonderful. Great start. "You don't have to leave immediately."

Cassie's expression softened.

"Oh."

"It would be stupid to spend money on an Uber right now."
"Right."

"And it's late." "Very late."

"And..." Baran trailed off. God. Why was this so difficult? Cassie watched her struggle for another second before a small smile appeared.

"You want to hang out with me."

Baran narrowed her eyes. "Don't make this weird." "You invited me into your apartment."

"Because you're exhausted."

"You like me." "I tolerate you."

Cassie's grin widened. "There she is."

Baran rolled her eyes and opened the car door. The ride up in the elevator was somehow worse.
Not because anything happened. Because nothing happened. Cassie stood beside her with her hands in her pockets, occasionally glancing over with a smile she was clearly trying—and failing—to suppress. Baran could practically feel it. The second they stepped into her apartment, Cassie stopped. The space was clean. Organized. Almost aggressively so. Everything had a place. Everything except, apparently, Baran herself.

"Huh."

Baran dropped her keys onto the counter.

"What?"

"This is exactly what I imagined."

"What does that mean?" Cassie shrugged. "It means if I open one of those cabinets, I'm probably going to find labels."

"There are labels."

"I knew it." Baran groaned. Cassie's laughter filled the apartment. Warm. Comfortable. Dangerously easy. For a moment, Baran simply watched her. The way her shoulders relaxed.
The way she looked completely at home despite having never been here before. Most people made Baran feel like she had to perform. Like she had to be impressive.

Cassie never seemed interested in any of that. She just wanted Baran. Messy parts included.
The realization was unsettling. "So." Cassie flopped onto the couch without invitation.

"How many people have actually been in this apartment?" Baran crossed her arms. "A normal amount."

"That's not a number."

"It's enough."

"So three." Baran fought the urge to smile. "You're incredibly annoying."

"And yet you invited me upstairs." Cassie looked entirely too pleased with herself.

Baran shook her head. "You know, for someone who spent the whole night worrying about me, you're awfully smug." "Because I won."

"You didn't win anything."

"I got invited into the secret Baran apartment."

"That's not a thing."

"It absolutely is." Cassie stretched out on the couch. Like she belonged there. Like she wasn't intimidated by Baran in the slightest. It should have irritated her. Instead, Baran found herself smiling despite herself. The sight clearly caught Cassie off guard. Her teasing faltered.
Just for a second. And suddenly the air felt different. Quieter.
More intimate. Cassie looked at her for a moment longer than necessary.

"So..."

Her voice was softer now. "Feeling any better?" The question caught Baran off guard.
Because beneath all the teasing, that had always been the point. Cassie cared. Simple as that.
Baran looked away first.

"A little."

Cassie's smile returned. Smaller this time. More genuine. "Good."

The apartment fell quiet after that. Not awkward. Just... still. Cassie remained curled into the corner of the couch, one arm draped across the back cushion. For once, she wasn't filling every silence with a joke. She simply watched Baran. Baran hated how aware she was of it. Of Cassie.
Of the way she always seemed to take up space without demanding it. Of the way she'd spent the entire evening refusing to leave Baran alone with her thoughts.

Nobody had asked her to do that. She'd just stayed.

Baran leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing her arms.

"You know," she said after a moment, "most people would've gone home already.”

Cassie smiled. "Probably."

"You should have."

"Probably."

Baran narrowed her eyes. Cassie only looked more amused.

"You always this stubborn?”

"Only when I care about something." The answer came easily.

The smile slipped from Baran's face. For a moment, neither of them looked away. Cassie seemed to realize what she'd said at the same time Baran did. The teasing disappeared.
Leaving behind something quieter. More honest.The city lights filtered through the apartment windows, painting soft shadows across the room. Baran suddenly became aware of how close they actually were. Not physically. Just... emotionally. Closer than she'd intended. Closer than was probably smart.

She should've ended the night. Told Cassie to call her an Uber. Thanked her for the ride. That would've been the responsible thing to do. Instead, she found herself walking toward the couch.
Cassie's attention followed her immediately. Always attentive. Always watching. Baran stopped in front of her. Close enough now that she could see the faint freckles across Cassie's nose. The exhaustion in her eyes. The concern that still hadn't fully left.

"You worry too much."

Cassie's lips twitched. "So I've been told."

"You're impossible."

"Also been told."

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Baran's mouth. Cassie's expression softened immediately at the sight of it. Like she'd accomplished something. Like getting Baran to smile mattered. The realization made something warm settle in Baran's chest. Something she wasn't entirely prepared to examine. For once, Cassie didn't make a joke.

Didn't tease. Didn't push. She just looked at her.

And somehow that felt more dangerous than anything else. Baran's gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before she could stop herself. When she looked back up, Cassie's expression had changed.
Not dramatically. Just enough. Enough for Baran to know she'd noticed. The air between them seemed to tighten. Neither moved. Neither spoke.

"Baran," Cassie said quietly.

The sound of her name in Cassie's voice did something unfortunate to her ability to think. Baran let out a slow breath. This was a bad idea. A complicated idea. An idea she should absolutely walk away from.

Instead, she stepped closer.

Cassie's eyes widened slightly. Giving Baran every opportunity to stop. Every opportunity to change her mind.

She didn't. Cassie met her halfway. The kiss was soft. Tentative. Brief. More a question than an answer.

When they finally pulled apart, neither of them moved very far. Baran could still feel the warmth of her. Could still see the surprise lingering in Cassie's expression. For the first time all night, Cassie seemed completely speechless. Which, honestly, was impressive. Baran swallowed. Cassie blinked
once. Twice. Then a slow smile began to appear.

“Fuck you.” Baran breathed out before crashing her lips into Cassie’s again. This time, they could practically feel the need and hunger dripping off of each other.

The kiss was messy. Desperate. All teeth and breath and no grace at all.

Cassie made a soft, surprised noise against Baran’s mouth before melting into it, hands flying up to tangle in her hair like she’d been waiting forever for this exact moment.

She kissed Baran like she wanted to devour her whole; one hand gripping tight at the base of her neck while the other slid down to pull their bodies flush together.

A quiet whimper escaped Cassie when Baran bit gently on her lower lip before soothing it with a slow drag of tongue over skin.

This wasn’t careful or sweet anymore. This was hunger unleashed; four months’ worth of tension snapping between them in seconds under flickering hospital lights that did nothing but cast shadows across their feverish faces.

Their breathing mingled together, ragged and uneven. Cassie shifted forward, almost on instinct, seeking more contact without breaking the connection between their lips. It was messy and urgent and desperate, and Cassie had never wanted anything more in her life. The faint press of Baran's body against her own sent chills up Cassie's spine. She pressed back, hands roaming lower, almost possessive. Baran's fingers threaded up through her hair, tugging lightly, pulling her impossibly closer. Cassie made a strangled sound in her mouth.

Baran only parted for a moment so she could easily straddle Cassie's lap, looking down at her, how pathetic Cassie looked, her lips swollen and shiny from shared saliva. "You look so pretty, baby.."

A whimper escaped Cassie’s mouth at Baran’s words. Her condescending tone. It was all too much. Cassie was sure she soaked through her panties at this point.

“Who knew you’d be so whiny.” Baran smirked, tugging her tank top off quickly, throwing it across the room along with her bra.

A strangled sound escaped Cassie’s mouth as she took in the sight. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to touch her instantly. Not yet. God, not yet. Her gaze lingered on the expanse of skin before her. Cassie wanted desperately to reach out. Run her hands over her body. Memorize the planes and shapes. But Baran seemed content to just sit there. Watching her. Taunting her.

"Open your mouth."

Cassie’s lips parted instantly, obedient before she even thought about it. Her pulse pounded in her throat. Baran tangled her free hand in Cassie's messy hair, guiding her mouth to suck on her tit. Baran's head fell back as she felt the warmth of Cassie's mouth around her. Humming as Cassie devoured her.

"Greedy girl.."

Cassie didn't answer. She couldn't. Her mouth stayed busy, worshiping every inch of Baran's skin within reach. The taste of her was intoxicating; warm and salty with the faintest hint of perfume lingering on her collarbone. She switched to the other breast without asking, without hesitation. Just pure need driving each movement, as she lavished attention there, too, with equal fervor.

“You like that, don’t you, baby?”

Cassie moaned around her mouthful, the vibration sending a shiver through Baran’s body. She pulled back just enough to speak, lips glistening.

“Mmm… yeah,” she admitted shamelessly, voice thick with want. Her hands finally moved, sliding up Baran’s bare sides before cupping her breasts again like they were something sacred.

"Can you help me with something, honey?" Baran practically whispered as she brushed Cassie's hair out of her face. Cassie lifted her head with some difficulty, gaze drifting to Baran's. She looked wrecked already.

"Yeah?" She murmured, shifting underneath her, hips rolling against nothing. "Anything."

Baran smiled at that. She crawled off Cassie’s lap, back pressed against the couch cushion. She didn’t hesitate to grasp Cassie's hands and guide them, hooking her fingers into the waistband of her scrub pants, encouraging her to pull them off. Cassie's hands immediately went to the waistband of her scrubs, fumbling with the drawstring. Her fingers were clumsy from nerves and arousal.
She tugged them down Baran’s hips along with whatever she was wearing underneath - not even bothering to be careful about it. The fabric pooled at Baran’s thighs as Cassie stared up at her now fully exposed body, mouth dry.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Cassie breathed out. Her hands hovered over Baran's thighs for a second before she finally touched - fingers brushing the soft skin there. Her palms slid upward slowly, mapping every curve like she was memorizing her. She leaned forward then and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Baran’s stomach.

“You’re helpless.” Cassie didn't even try to deny it.

"I know," she admitted shamelessly, pressing another kiss lower on Baran's stomach.

Her hands squeezed her thighs again before sliding around to grip the cheeks of her ass. Cassie had never been this turned on in her life. Baran could probably do anything right now, and Cassie would let her. Baran guided Cassie down on her knees in front of her on the couch so that her heat was eye level with Cassie, legs spread enough for Cassie to fit perfectly. Cassie didn’t hesitate.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to the warmth between Baran's legs. Her hands tightened on her thighs as she kissed slowly - testing, tasting.

The first real contact made Cassie shudder with need. She opened her mouth slightly and dragged the flat of her tongue upward in one long stroke. A soft noise escaped Baran. Her hips lifted slightly, pushing against Cassie’s tongue. Her tongue explored properly now - circling, licking, teasing. She didn’t rush. Not yet. One hand slid up to grip Baran’s hip while the other stayed anchored on her thigh. Every flick of Cassie's tongue was deliberate - trying to learn what made Baran twitch or gasp.

Baran's hands tangled in Cassie’s hair again, and her hands gripped the locks hard. There was something so satisfying about seeing Cassie like this. Down on her knees, between her legs, completely desperate for a taste. Baran tugged harshly, forcing Cassie's face against her. "Keep going." She ordered in a low growl. She felt Cassie shiver against her. A small, pitiful whine escaped Cassie in response. The sharp sting of her grip only fueled the heat coiling in her gut. She pressed her face closer, letting her mouth work hungrily - licking and sucking. The taste of Baran was all she could process. She needed more. She wanted more.

Cassie whined again, hips rocking against nothing. She was so close already. Just from this. Just from being at Baran's mercy. Just as Cassie felt herself teetering on the edge, Baran pulled away suddenly, tugging her back by the hair. A frustrated whine left Cassie. She stared up at her, mouth wet, chest heaving, eyes begging. Baran smirked, tugging a little harder until Cassie was forced to look up at her.

"Not yet," she said, tone mocking. "Not until I say you're allowed." Cassie made a small, helpless sound deep in her throat. She hated how much she wanted to obey. How good it felt to listen to the command in Baran's voice.

Cassie didn’t need to be told twice. She dove back in, mouth sealing over Baran with renewed hunger. Her tongue worked faster now; less careful, more desperate. Every flick was meant to draw out a reaction. Her hands gripped tighter as she sucked lightly on her clit before swirling around it again and again.

“Oh fuck Cassie.. I-”

Cassie moaned against her at the words - the confirmation that she was bringing her close. The thought of making her lose all control, just like this.

"Please," she mumbled the word against her skin, like a prayer. Her tongue kept working even as she spoke. "Please. Let me -"

Cassie didn't even know what she was asking for. Just that it was important. She hadn't let up for a second. She could feel Baran tensing under her, the way her thighs trembled around Cassie's head. The sounds she was making - sharp little breaths and whimpers that made Cassie dizzy with power. Her tongue moved faster, more insistent now as she chased that moment of release for Baran.

"Cassie, I'm gonna-"

Baran's warning came out as a broken gasp. Her fingers tightened painfully in Cassie's hair, not pushing her away but holding on like she might drown. The next second, Baran was coming apart, back arching off the couch, thighs clamping around Cassie’s head as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. Cassie's world shrank down to the feeling of Baran's legs trembling around her head. The sounds she was making, the soft, needy whimpers that echoed around the room. Cassie was drunk on it. On the taste of her. On the knowledge that she was the cause.

She kept licking through her release, wanting to draw it out as long as she could, until Baran was a trembling, boneless mess underneath her. "Enough," Baran gasped out, finally tugging Cassie's head away. She was breathing heavily, still trembling with aftershocks. Cassie pulled back with a final, long lick, relishing in the shiver it caused before she sat back on her heels, wiping her face on the back of her hand. For a moment, they just looked at each other. Both of them panting, flushed, messy.

Then Baran smirked. Baran grabbed Cassie's chin, tilting her face up.
"Did you like that?" she asked, voice low and rough. Cassie blinked rapidly before nodding eagerly. "So much," she admitted immediately. No filter, no shame. Baran grinned then and kissed her hard. Cassie melted against her, the needy whine in her throat turning into a full moan when Baran nipped at her bottom lip. Her body felt like it was on fire. Cassie's hips rocked forward without conscious thought - seeking friction.

"Please," the word escaped her again before she could stop it. "Please. I need -"

Baran pulled back from the kiss, her lips swollen and wet. She reached down between them, fingers brushing over Cassie’s clothed heat through the thin fabric of her pants.

“You need what?” Baran teased softly - already knowing exactly what she needed but wanting to hear it anyway.

"Fuck, Baran," Cassie whined. Her hips bucked into the touch instinctively. She was so wet already - embarrassingly so. Cassie reached down and grabbed Baran’s wrist desperately, trying to guide her hand under the fabric of her pants. Baran didn’t hesitate. She slid her hand under the waistband of Cassie’s pants, fingers brushing against damp fabric beneath.

“Jesus,” she muttered at how soaked Cassie already was.

Without warning, Baran pushed two fingers inside - firm and deliberate. A strangled cry left Cassie's mouth again as she threw her arms around Baran's neck, burying her face in the crook of her shoulder. She was so worked up, body already thrumming with need after everything. Cassie rocked down against her hand, desperate for the friction. Her heart was hammering inside her chest. She was sure Baran could feel it. Baran curled her fingers up just right - aiming for the spot that made Cassie see stars. Her free hand gripped Cassie's hip, nails digging in just enough to keep her steady.

"Is this what you needed?" she asked, voice low in Cassie's ear.

She moved her fingers in tiny little circles, slow and teasing.

"You're so desperate for it, aren't you?" Cassie’s breathing hitched. She clung to Baran like a lifeline, her body burning with every small movement of those fingers inside her.

“Y-yeah,” she stammered out between panting breaths.

Her hips jerked forward again - chasing the pleasure that was building fast and hot in her stomach. "Good girl," Baran purred against her ear, adding a third finger just to hear Cassie whine again.
Cassie felt like she was unraveling. Every nerve was on fire. Her eyes were fluttering shut as she moved against Baran's hand

"Please. Yes. I -"

Her entire body tensed as that familiar heat coiled tighter and tighter in her stomach. Cassie was right there, on the edge, so so close. And then. Baran’s lips curved into a satisfied smile as she felt Cassie tense under her touch. She could see the exact moment it hit; the way Cassie's breath stuttered, how her muscles locked up. Baran leaned in and kissed her hard just as she tipped over the edge, swallowing every broken moan that escaped from between their pressed lips. Baran kept kissing her through the waves of pleasure, fingers still moving gently inside Cassie as she rode it out.

She could feel every shudder, every tremble that ran through Cassie's body.

When they finally broke apart for air, both gasping, Baran pressed their foreheads together.

“You did so well,” she breathed out with a dazed laugh. Cassie was still catching her breath, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her entire body felt like liquid. She didn't want to move. Didn't want Baran to pull away yet. Instead, she nuzzled closer, pressing lazy kisses along Baran's jawline. Each one soft, slow, tender even. Baran's smile widened at the feeling of those kisses.

She withdrew her hand gently from Cassie's pants, the movement making Cassie shiver again. Baran wrapped her arms around Cassie's waist, pulling her closer. They stayed like that for a few long minutes, Cassie draped across Baran's lap, resting against her shoulder. Baran's fingers traced light patterns across Cassie's spine, drawing invisible lines along her skin.

“So… I’m assuming you’ll be staying the night?” Baran asked lightly. Cassie hummed in response, still feeling like she couldn't quite form words yet. She buried her face in the crook of Baran's neck, breathing in the familiar scent that was slowly becoming comfortingly familiar. It only took her a few more moments to summon up enough energy to actually speak.

"Yeah," she mumbled into soft skin, "Definitely staying."

[womenlovee]

WHY are there jack abbot fics under the pitt women tags?! doesn’t he get enough attention

[baranarchives]

Sunburn

(Baran Al-Hashimi x fem!reader)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: None, just Baran comforting and helping reader after she gets a sunburnnn

You ended up being outside for longer than expected, not just pulling some weeds but repositioning some of the plants to give them each their own space in the sun so that they all would be able to grow to their fullest potential. Sweat dripped down your forehead as the sun beamed overhead. You started to smell yourself, which caused you to push yourself up out of the dirt, placing your hands on your hips, looking out proudly at the progress you made in Baran’s garden.

You retired quickly inside, kicking off your shoes at the front door as you pattered to your bathroom, peeling the now sweaty tank top off your back, your skin felt warm but you assumed it was because you just got back inside after two hours of being knelt over in the heat. You took a quick shower, knowing Baran would be home soon, you were originally going to cook something up for dinner but she texted around 3 to say she was going to pick some thai food up on the way home.

As you awaited Baran’s return home, you lay slumped over on your stomach on the couch. An episode of criminal minds was playing on the tv though you weren’t paying much attention. Finally you hear the keys in the lock of the front door and it being pushed open. You stood up from your spot on the couch, stretching your arms over your head enough for your (technically Baran’s) tank top to ride up a little.

You peek your head around the corner to see Baran still in her scrub pants, her scrub top was pulled off along with her jacket, slung over her purse she carried on her right arm, the thai food in a plastic bag on her left arm. She looked exhausted, her makeup was faded from this morning, her curls loose and tossed over on one side instead of neatly kept in a clip.

“Hi baby.” You said with a smile, announcing your presence as you approached her to take her things from her arms.

“Hi sweet girl.” A smile already appearing on her face as she watched you grab her things.

“I saw what you did with the garden.. It looks amazing sweetheart.”

“It’s nothing.” You wave her compliment off as you turn on your heels to put the food in the kitchen. That’s when she noticed your especially red skin underneath the thin straps of her tank top.

“Honey…”

Her voice lowered a little which made your brows furrow as you hung her jacket up.

“Hmm?”

“Did you happen to put sunscreen on before you went outside today?” She asked almost casually.

“Uh.. no, I must’ve forgot.. why?”

She tsks and takes her bag back from you, setting it down on the ground.

“Maybe because your back is the color of a tomato baby..”

You recoil a little. “You’re kidding.”

She laughs a little. “No, i’m not kidding.. go look in the mirror.” She ushers you to the bathroom so you can see your skin. She moves your hair out of the way as you looked over your shoulder only to see exactly what you were afraid of.

“Fuck.” You huff out.

“It’s okay baby.. i’ll help you put some aloe on it. Go take your shirt off and lay on the couch.. I’ll be out in a second.”

“It’s fine Baran, I can do it myself.” You said not wanting to cause a hassle especially since she looked more tired today than usual.

She caught your chin in her hand “Listen.”

You practically shrunk in her hold. You attempted to nod as you scurry off to the living room right back on the couch you were just laying on. You tugged off your top and laid back down on your stomach, awaiting for Baran’s return. Sure enough she came down the hallway a few minutes later, changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a different tank top then before, her hair was pulled up in a claw clip but a few curls sprung loose anyway. She was holding a bottle of aloe and was already squeezing it out onto the palm of her hand.

“God this looks awful.” Her voice cut through the silence as she knelt down next to the couch. She gently pressed the aloe onto the skin of your shoulders first, the coldness made your skin flinch underneath her which caused her to pause for a moment.

“It’s okay baby.” She soothed you as her hands methodically massaged the aloe across your bare back. Your face was buried into the pillow beneath you, the warmth mixed with the cold, her hands, and her words were making your brain fuzzy. She clocked this right away since you weren’t saying much, usually you were a lot more talkative.

“Honey?”

“Hmm?”

“Holding up?”

“I’m fine.” You try to reassure her.

She didn’t believe you, even though you couldn’t see her, you knew she was smirking. Her hands finally retreated and she got up to wash her hands.

“Mkay, you’re all good to go.”

You sat up, careful not to press your back to the fabric of the couch but you did grab a throw pillow and held it in front of your chest out of instinct.

She came back from the kitchen and paused when she saw you with the pillow in front of yourself. Her hands rested on her hips as she raised her brow at you.

“What? God forbid a girl wants to feel descent.”

She chuckles a little as she approached you, she pushed the pillow down when she got close enough that it was in her way, cupping your face. Your lips were close enough that if either of you moved, they would touch.

“Next time wear sunscreen when you’re trying to help me out, okay sweet girl?”

“Yes ma’am…” You said reluctantly and she smiled.

“Good girl.” With that, she pressed her lips to yours, her hands moving up and down slowly on your waist, feeling your skin as she deepened the kiss.

Eventually she pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you two before you wiped your mouth and she sauntered away into the kitchen.

“Come on, get some food before it gets too cold.”

[tornnup]

Pretty When You Laugh

(Baran Al-Hashimi x fem!reader)

Summary : Baran tries smoking pot with one of her residents and ends up getting a little too close.

Warnings / tags : (18 + !) shotgunning, dry humping, high / messy making out 🙂‍↕️, a few pet names

Notes : #needsomemessyahhhighsexwithBaranyesterdayacyually

The sounds of your and Baran’s collective giggling fill the otherwise quiet roof as smoke wisps between you. When you invited Baran up here after work to smoke with you, you were most definitely expecting a quick “no” and a lecture on why smoking pot was bad for you. Then she agreed. And now, you’re both high in some cheap folding chairs, giggling over some patient from today.

“And— and Doctor Garcia was so angry!”

Baran laughs softly as you roll your head back with uncontrollable laughter. The situation wasn’t all that funny. But now, feeling just slightly hazy, uncontrollably giggly and strangely happy around Baran, it’s the funniest thing in the world. While you’re busy laughing, Baran is just… staring. She watches with a slight smile, her head tilted to the side, examining you as if she could actually see right through you. She speaks up more softly than she intends.

“You’re so beautiful when you laugh.”

It goes quiet almost immediately. The sounds of the city and your slowly dying laughter are all that’s left. Baran straightens up quickly. She didn’t mean to say that. Most definitely not. Not that it wasn’t the truth. Just that she didn’t particularly want you to hear that thought. She doesn’t say anything to defend herself though. What’s the point? She’s aware enough for it to be clear any excuse she makes will sound like a lie. 

Neither of you say anything for a long moment. Baran sits there, turned to face you, waiting for you to say something to tell her if she’ll have to ignore you at work tomorrow or… well, some other outcome. Any other outcome. After a moment, you turn to face her, examining her expression with confused, reddish eyes, as if you’ll be able to sense that she’s lying. All you see is those big brown doe eyes, beautiful and glossy, even in the low lighting. Something about her unwavering gaze, the way everything just shifted with her words makes you have to press your thighs together to believe some of the sudden need. Maybe it’s just thanks to the pot.

“Come here.”

Baran speaks up after a moment, her voice barely a murmur—more of a whispered command. Her eyes never leave yours. She doesn’t know exactly what she wants you close for—she’s too high for any planning like that. She just knows that she needs you closer than the foot of distance between you two.

Her eyes stay fixed on you as you slowly stand and, with only slightly wobbly steps, come to stand in front of her. Baran sits with a straight back, neck craned to look up at you—examining your irises like they are precious and impossibly intricate pieces of art. 

Her hands rise, landing on your hips in a gentle but firm hold. The almost finished joint dangled from her fingers.

“I need to try something.”

She mumbles. It seems all of the doubt Baran had has disappeared. Whether it’s the high or just your reaction to her calling you beautiful is unclear. She’s just… a little more confident.

Before you know what’s happening, her hands are tugging you closer, closer until she’s using her grip to guide you into her lap, straddling her thighs.

“Just like that. So good.”

Baran’s hand rubs over your hip as you settle there, eyes wide and a little confused. When her praise settles with you, she notices your cheeks flush. God, you can’t hide anything from her while high. Maybe she needs to do this more often. Her big brown eyes flicker away from yours for just a moment, going half-lidded as they fix on your lips. She stares at them with unabashed desire.

“You listen so well when you're high.”

She’s not wrong. The way you’re just quietly listening to everything she tells you to do is… well, to call it a turn on for her would be an understatement. And she’s sure that’s not just the weed talking. 

Her hand comes up to gently grab your jaw, guiding your face closer to hers. Her fingers are steady and firm against your skin—not rough, but nearly reverent.

“I want to try something. I need you to hold still.”

She’s already bringing the joint back to her lips as she instructs you to stay there for her. You listen, of course, unable to form the words to either ask what is going on or if she would please just kiss you already. Before she takes a puff of the joint, she leans in and whispers to you:

“Open your mouth.”

When you do, a small grin spreads on her lips—a little more unguarded than her usual, practiced smile. 

“Good girl.”

She mutters, leaving that ache between your thighs even worse. You’re not sure if she’s just simply unaware of how that low, slightly rough tone of her voice while she praises you is affecting you, or if she’s just feeling bold enough to tease. Before you can try to come up with an answer, she’s taking a hit of the joint and guiding your face in closer, her lips brushing yours. She slowly exhales smoke into your mouth, just barely not connecting your lips.

She doesn’t let you go as you inhale the smoke. She holds you there, watching your every minute expression. She wants to kiss you until you can’t breathe. But she doesn’t. Not yet. Not until she knows you’re sure.

You stare back at her, breathing picking up into something heavier, lips twitching like you can’t physically hold back. It’s silent for a long moment, your breath mingling with hers, the smell of the weed wafting around you. You think that Baran will move—she’s usually so quick to take control of a case, why wouldn’t it be the same here? But she doesn’t. She just stares at you and your glossy eyes, waiting. Waiting until you finally lean in, slowly at first, your already parted lips pressing against hers. Then you feel her grin against you, her hands sliding in a slow, lazy movement around your waist, resting just on the curve of your ass. Then you really can’t hold back. You properly lean in. Your arms—feeling as heavy as the rest of your limbs—wrap around her neck as you tug her in, lips moving against hers hungrily. She returns the gesture, kissing you with a messy sort of need.

Her tongue slides against yours after just a few seconds. Her movements are sloppy, almost lazy, like she’s savoring this kiss for as long as she can, lost in the feel of you on her already hazy mind. As her tongue tangles with yours, her hands drift lower, fingers gripping the curve of your ass, pulling you against her. The movement is almost instinctive—like the weed has her on horny autopilot. It’s not any different to you. The second your hips press against hers, you grind down against her slowly, a soft, whiny moan slipping from your lips.

Baran just barely pulls away when she hears that noise, leaving you chasing her lips. She stares at you with wide, reddish eyes, breathing already getting heavier. She needs to hear that noise again. This time, she leans in to kiss you harder, somehow more messily than before. Now, her hands, still gripping your ass, begin guiding your hips. She tugs you down until your pussy—still covered by your scrubs—grinds against her thigh. Another shaky moan escapes your lips. One comes from Baran’s mouth too—needy and soft, unexpectedly whiny for the usually ever-so-steady attending. 

She guides your hips in a slow rhythm at first. Then, when she pulls you just right so that your already throbbing clit grinds against her, a full-fledged moan slips out. Even here, on a public roof, you can’t bring yourself to try and stay quiet. Not when you’re sitting in Baran’s lap, making out with her, cunt soaking just from humping her thigh. That moan just spurs Baran on. With a groan against your lips, her hips start desperately bucking up against yours. The high has you both feeling hazy and, somehow, better than either of you have in ages, just from dry humping each other. 

Baran feels her clit bumping against your hip as she bucks up into you. She’s desperate and needy and already so goddamn close. She never cums this fast. There’s just something about your desperate moans, the still lingering scent of the weed around you, the way your hips stutter as you chase after your release from grinding against her thigh. So, she’s feeling close already.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.”

Baran murmurs against your lips, guiding your hips in rougher movements. Feeling you against her has her feeling more high than the weed. 

“To baraye man khili ali npasti, esh. Khili ali.”

She switches to Farsi on instinct. Her mind is so clouded with how good it feels to grind against you, her tongue against yours, hands on your ass, her words come out strained and rough, different from how you’ve ever heard it before.

Baran hears your moans change into unintelligible whimpers as you get close to the edge. She keeps grinding you against her, hands hiding each desperate buck of your hips while you search for the pressure you need. She mumbles how perfect you are against your lips, as if she’s unable to disconnect herself.

You cum with a loud, needy cry that the night-shift could probably hear the reverberations from inside. Your hips stutter, the pressure of each grind against your clit all of a sudden causing your thighs to twitch and shake. Baran watches you ride it out with a look of reverence—the effects of the weed making it damn near impossible for her to conceal her amazement. Her own orgasm hits without her even realizing it, just from watching you cum in your pants from riding her thigh. 

She keeps guiding you as she rides out her pleasure, causing that feeling of heat in your stomach from the overstimulation—thighs tensing, moans turning to whimpers and your back arching uncontrollably. Baran watches all of it like it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

It’s a long moment before both of your moans die down into heavy, ragged breathing, your lip’s finally disconnecting. Baran breathes heavily against you, her face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You lean your head against hers. If the weed made you feel all hazy, the fucking made you feel absolutely gone. 

“You…”

Baran starts, her words cut off by a heavy puff of air and the dryness of her throat. Her voice comes out a little rough.

“You’re perfect, azizam. So good for me.”

Your limbs are heavy as one of her hands drifts to rub lazy circles against your back, like she can’t possibly separate from you. You feel like you could either fall asleep right here on Baran or keep fucking her in every position possible until the sunrise.

You really don’t remember much of what happened between that moment and the sun rising. All that you know is, somehow, you ended up in Baran’s bed, tangled up with her in her quiet home—her son off at her ex-husband's house. Based on the very faint memory of the events and the dark hickeys you spot immediately littering Baran’s neck, you can make a guess.

When Baran stirs and slowly blinks her eyes open, you just watch her. As a small grin appears on her face, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to her jaw. Maybe you really do need to smoke with her more often.

[mil1an]

LMAOOOO😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭IM FUCKING HORNYYYY😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I MEAN HUNGRYYYYYYYYYYYY😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭WHERE MY PLATE ATTT LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭GIVE ME THAT PUHHHHHH😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[follows-the-life-ahead]

Coffee Dates x Cassie Mckay ⋆˚࿔☆

[mrsmckay]