Part 13 of My Little Sister?! Series <- Part 12 — Part 14 (coming soon) ->
TW: SoftDom!Baran. Voyeurism. Light bondage. Somnophilia. Safe word usage. Praise. Realistic talks of having a kid :) Sunscreen!
Wordcount: 6.1K
——————
You are gently woken up just before 7 AM the next morning. With a foggy brain, you try to figure out what woke you, though it’s too early for you or your partner to be up on her day off.
Your back is turned to Baran, and her left hand is barely holding on to your boob, softly kneading the tender tissue— the warmth of her palm seeping into your skin, the faint scent of the bath soap lingering between you.
You hear soft sighs coming from behind you— her warm breath ghosting against your neck.
You fear Baran may be having a nightmare— she has had a few so far, mostly work/Kabul related— the haunted, distant look in her eyes after you help her wake up from them, still fresh in your mind.
You carefully turn to your girlfriend, your movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to startle her, in case she’s half awake.
As you turn to face her, Baran’s hand fully cups your boob. You feel her blunt nails pressing into your soft flesh— each crescent a delicious contrast against your skin. .
Your gaze first falls to her face, quickly assessing her— without possibly waking her.
Her mouth is barely open, her chest rises and falls quickly, and you can practically feel the puffs of air escaping her lips— each breath warm against your skin.
Her eyes are hooded; you can’t tell whether they’re focused on anything in the dark room. The dim light coming through the blinds doing barely enough to see through the cast shadows.
You carefully exhale, a quiet sigh escaping your lips, relaxing as she doesn’t appear to be having a nightmare.
Only now do you feel her right arm, the one you’re almost pressed up against, moving in a slow, rhythmic pattern.
You subtly look down, your breath held, not trying to wake her or be caught by your love.
You can’t help but let out a small gasp as you realize what is going on.
Beside you, in the curtained darkness of your bedroom, Baran is quietly masturbating. The musky scent of her arousal is thick in the air, finally hitting your nose.
At the mere sight of her index and middle fingers playing with her clit a jolt of arousal shoots through you, shocking you fully awake. You slide your hand up your body to softly hold Baran’s on your breast, your skin prickling with anticipation, letting her know you’re awake without startling her.
Her head snaps to you immediately, her unfocused eyes suddenly locking onto yours. Her fingers still between her thighs. She lets out a labored breath.
Your voice, rough from sleep, can not help the hurt creeping in as you whine: “Baby, why are you doing this on your own?”
She feigns innocence, poorly disguising what she had been up to. “Doing what, Darling?” She murmurs, trying to settle her uneven breath.
You reach your hand across her body. Your hand trails down her stomach, over the dip of her pubic bone, to the apex of her thighs. Your fingers feel the heat radiating from her core as they near.
A sharp breath hisses through her teeth as your fingers brush past her swollen clit. Your fingers slip through her folds with ease, she’s already soaking wet.
“Why did you not wake me, Baby?” You huff, turning onto your side to half-lie on her and find her lips. Before Baran can respond, you tease two fingers along her entrance, your thumb teasingly prodding her clit, making her whine out.
She does her best to stabilize her breathing, knowing she caused this reaction by not involving you right away. “I had a hot dream, and it woke me. Then I saw you— felt you. You were so comfortably sleeping, I couldn’t wake you, but you just looked so pretty. I couldn’t help myself, but then you turned away from me.“
Her fingers release and regrip your boob, a little tighter. “So I decided to hold you and just get it over with.” She admits softly. “I didn’t want to annoy you, Aziz.”
Your lips ghost along her jugular vein, leaving little nips that make her breath catch as you slip two fingers into her dripping cunt. “Lovely, I’d rather you use me while I’m asleep or you just wake me up to please you. Helping you cum will never— and I mean never, be annoying. It’s one of the few things you may actually interrupt me for at any time.” You grin, bringing her in for a toothy kiss.
You curl your fingers into that lovely spongy part inside her, making her toes curl. “Fuck, Khoshgel. Oh my.” She whines out as your thumb nudges her clit a bit more intentionally.
A giant smile takes over your face. Watching your partner; freshly awoken, hair a mess, in the thrall of euphoria at your touch. She was not lying when she said getting herself off would be quick. Her walls are already quivering around your fingers.
You pull back, eyes pitch dark, pupils blown wide as you look at her beautiful face. Your fingers still as your eyes trace along the freckles on her cheeks, the light curve of her lips as she muffles back a whimper, the soft crows' feet by her eyes as they’re nearly squeezed shut in enjoyment.
“You look gorgeous, Baran. You are without a doubt my favorite sight to wake up to.” You confess before effortlessly finding her pulse point with your teeth, your thumb rubbing her clit, and your fingers rubbing her cunt in more than the right way.
She moans softly as her walls clamp down on your fingers, more of her wetness covering your hand and her vulva.
It wasn’t anywhere near the most explosive orgasm she’s had, but it was definitely one she needed. After the long week she’d had, and the lack of emotional intimacy you’d shared during intercourse since.
You gently ease her down, fingers still slowly sliding in and out of her slick heat. “More, Pretty Girl?” You whisper, your voice think with desire, staying in your own little world.
She shakes her head with a soft sigh and pulls you into her chest. “Cuddle.” She whispers, her her strong arms wrapping around you. You carefully slip your fingers back into her warmth, grabbing her hip to ground her.
“I love you, Golam.” Baran mumbles, her voice sleepy, trying to merge your bodies into one. “I love you more, My Love. If you promise to involve me next time, I’ll let you put your baby in me.” You tease, pressing a lingering kiss to her chest.
Baran cards her fingers through your hair, as you feel her breathing slow to match your own. “For real?” “I’d never lie about such things, Baranam.” You say earnestly, your eyelids growing heavy, eyes falling closed with sleep once more.
Her fingers cease their movement in your hair as you, like her, fall back to sleep wrapped in each other’s arms, both of you falling into a comforting, warm slumber
—
You groan as sleep reluctantly leaves your body, a sudden chill sweeping through your upper body as your brain finally registers that your Baran isn’t beside you— pressed against you. You do, however, feel a weighted warmth between your thighs. Maybe Baran is lying diagonally again? You think to yourself, assuming she’s likely drinking tea, but you’re too far from the nightstand for her to be laid comfortably next to you.
So you decide to roll over to her, only to be pulled down by your arm. Just now you notice your arms are stretched out over the pillows. They seem to be tied to the bed, as you can conclude by the rough sisal rope rubbing around your wrists.
Your eyes shoot open, and you look up at your wrists. Yup. Precise knots bind you to the bed frame.
A light tickling touch down south pulls your attention from your wrists. Looking down you understand why you were chilly, yet your legs were warmer— you assumed the duvet was responsible. But, no.
Between your thighs is Baran, hair messily pulled up. You can’t help but smile at the messy mop of perfect curls on her head. The sight of her hair like that; so domestic, unkept, and personal, a total contrast to Baran away from her home.
“Hi, Joonam. I got a little bored while you were sleeping, I hope you don’t mind?” She purrs with a hungry smile, leaning in to nuzzle your folds.
The sight of her bright, dilated eyes, soft yet hungry smile, the feeling of restraint of the rope, and the pressure of her arms around your waist. It is all too much yet nowhere near enough.
Some combination of a coo and a whine escapes you. “Fuck— uhh— yeah.” Your hips buck up to her, making her tighten her hold on them. “Shirin, what’s going on?” You ask, willing your brain to clear the sleep quicker, arms tugging on the rope in question.
“I thought I’d thank you for yesterday, earlier, and all of last week, honestly. But I can’t have you pushing me away or trying to return the favor.” She grins, huffing hot air at your core.
You lightly tug at the rope— likely some of the sisal rope you’d bought to make a scratching post for Mop.
You whine, not knowing what you can do really. “Mommyyyyy” “Hush, Darling, I’ll make you feel so good. But we have to keep it down a bit— Pesar is watching cartoons in the TV room.” She purrs back, going for a leisure lick up your folds, tongue swirling around your clit.
She’s clearly been down there for a while, you’re more worked up than your sleepy brain can explain.
She makes you come on her tongue in what feels like seconds, it could be hours— you have no clue.
The only thing you do know is that you want to touch her— no, you need to. You need your hands on her face, in her hair. So you start tugging on the rope.
You keep tugging at the rope; eventually, it starts to chafe, but you desperately want to touch her.
The rope burns into your skin as Baran forces another orgasm out of you in no time. Her lips wrapped around your clit, expertly knowing how to drive you insane.
You try to stop squirming as she goes to overstimulate you, or at least try to stop using your arms— the rope genuinely hurting now. It does not work.
“Fire!”
You whimper, both your wrists raw, stinging at every small tremble going through your body.
The second the phrase leaves your lips, Baran pulls back: stopping, dropping, and rolling away. Concerned eyes look you up and down, assessing the situation.
“Talk to me, Aziz. What can I do for you?” She snaps into a near-professional mode.
Despite Baran no longer touching you, you continue to jerk your wrists— a fight-or-flight action taking over, trying to rip yourself from the source of your pain.
Tears start welling in your eyes, the pain, overstimulation, and embarrassment all catch up. “Rope. Burns.” You say breathlessly, grinding your teeth to keep from really crying.
The moment Baran knows what you need, she’s quick to untie you. Sitting herself higher up the bed, she pulls you into her arms, whispering soft apologies as she rocks you.
You hiss as the abraded skin of your wrists makes contact with her sides, while wrapping yourself around her. “I’m so sorry, My Love. I should have thought it through better.” She murmurs, brushing your hair.
Your tears wet her chest, where your face is nestled. “I’m sorry for safe-wording, I could have just said something.” You sniffle back.
“No, Princess. I’m so proud that you safe-worded. You did so well for me, Baby. You were clear in telling me when it was too much.” She kisses the top of your head.
“In a bit, when you feel up to it, we’ll take a quick shower to clean you up. Then I’ll put some antibiotic ointment on your wrists and wrap them up, okay? And after that, we will have breakfast in the yard and enjoy the sun all day long. Okay, Lovely?” She shares her plan.
You sigh out, nodding against her chest with a soft hum. “You looked really pretty earlier, I really wanted to touch your face.” You mumble into her collarbone.
She coos at that. “Baby, you could have just said that. I love it when you tell me what you want, even if you may not get it.”
She moves a little so your face is closer to hers. She kisses your cheek. “You took such good care of me this morning, I just knew I needed your divine taste on my tongue. The noises you made when you were in me earlier drove me mad.”
—
After the shower, she did as she said, taking care of your wrists. She then made breakfast as you made tea for the three of you. During which Arya happily recounted what happened on the Power Rangers episodes he’d watched earlier.
You and Arya wae making a puzzle in the living room as Baran is doing something in the kitchen, you think.
“So why can’t we let Mop outside yet?” Arya asks curiously, looking at Mop over by the patio door, wanting to leave. “Because Mop likely doesn’t know this is her home yet. Cats need three weeks to get used to the scent of a house before they can find it. If Mopulent went outside now, she’d probably walk back to my apartment, no matter how far away it is.” You explain before Arya cuts you off.
“But we smell the same as at the apartment, isn’t that enough?” He suggests, looking sadly at the cat desperate to go outside. “Maybe, but I’d rather not risk losing her. And also, Mop has never been an outside kitty. She may get hurt or stuck in a tree, you know. We want to take it slowly.” You further explain, and this placates Arya’s thoughts.
The doorbell rings, and the boy bounces over to open it, greeting his dad, before allowing him to step into the house.
“Baba, I’m almost ready to go. Just need to help clean up and say goodbye.” You hear Arya tell his father as he leaves him behind in the hall.
Arya is quick to help you roll up the puzzle mat and place the box and mat on a shelf, to be made when he returns in a few days.
He then heads to the kitchen to say goodbye to Baran. You hear some animated sounds from the pair before he returns to you. He quickly walks toward the white cat, still by the patio door. “Mîbînamet, Moppie.” He pats her fur softly before marching your way.
Taking your hand, Arya brings you to the foyer to check if he has everything he needs. “Maman is making iced chāi for you. Enjoy.” He smirks, his excitement for the tea clouding his jealousy of not getting any.
“Okay, Bun, you have your favorite bunny in your backpack and To Kill a Mockingbird; I think you have everything you need. Otherwise, your dad will let B know, and we’ll figure it out, alright?” You tell the boy after crouching down to his eye level.
He wraps his arms around your neck. “Okay, Hamsar. I love you and I’ll miss you!” He says, kissing your cheek. “Doostet dāram, Ari. See you in a few days, Sweetie.” You ruffle his hair, pulling away.
His dad gives you both a raised eyebrow, confused by the name Arya called you— apparently, he exclusively refers to you by your name or as his maman’s girlfriend when you’re not around.
You sheepishly look at your partner’s ex-husband. “I’m not— we’re not. Ari just likes calling me Baran’s wife, and it’s kinda endearing.” You wink at the boy, causing him to giggle. The young boy takes his father’s hand and pulls him out of the house. “Love you mostest, Hamsar!” He cheers as they reach the car.
You shake your head and close the door. Curious as to what your girlfriend is getting up to, you make your way to the kitchen.
—
You wrap your arms around the woman, leaning your chin on her shoulder. “Pesar said something about iced chāi. I have no idea what the fuck to imagine with that, honestly. Other than maybe cold tea.” You admit with a giggle.
“Yeah, I thought you’d deserved a treat. It’s black tea with cardamom, honey, and rose water, chilled and with added ice cubes. But it’s definitely no sweet tea, Janeh Delam.” She says, mostly focused on the jug of warm liquid in front of her.
You press a kiss to her neck. “I love you, you know.” You whisper just simply. This makes her turn away from her concoction, giving you a sideways look. “Any reason you remind me, or just because?” She poses, now fully turning to lean in for a kiss.
“No, no real reason. Your son just left, and you’re making me his favorite drink, I think? And he was so happy for me to get it that he didn’t mind any of it being for him.” You speak against her lips with a wide smile.
She tuts at your words. “Our son, Azizam. I need to speak with his baba about it, and I’ll sit Ari down and check in with him. But to me, he’s yours, nearly more than he’s mine, Baby.” She says, wide brown eyes sparkling as they bore into yours with so much love and adoration.
“I want you to be his legal guardian. Legal step-parenting needs us to be married, and while I never intend to separate from you— ever. This could be done tomorrow. It would make you eligible to be considered a parent at school or, god forbid, for emergencies.” She confesses, like it’s a weight off her shoulders.
Your eyes widen at her words, but you can’t help the smile that takes over. You kiss her, happily, cheerfully, and giggly. “Baby, has anyone ever told you, that you may be psychotic? Like, don’t get me wrong, it's hot, so attractive. But I doubt many people have moved in, practically proposed, and adopted a child within two months of dating.” You laugh, but are genuinely happy.
“But are we the average person? No. You’re not average in any front.” Baran charms, turning in your hold to fully face you. “And I’m not psychotic, though it could be a severe side effect while on Keppra. I’m just so in love with you it drives me a little crazy at times.” She stills mid-shake of her head, her eyes bleeding into yours, just enamored by you.
“You know great linguists would write epics about the way you look at me. And I just might start writing too. Your presence and your eyes give me more than enough passion to try my unqualified hand at it. I could write essays about the nations I’d fight for just a single moment with you, Eshgham.” Your thumb brushes her cheek, making her smile brighten even more at your tender touch.
—
Baran had sent you upstairs to grab sunscreen and your book and asked you to grab her iPad from her office. You hadn’t been in the room much— to be fair neither had Baran since you’d been around. But you were astounded by the contrasting aesthetic of the room compared to the rest of the house.
The office had a dark academia style to it. Mahogany wood framed nearly every inch of the room. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, nearly covering all four walls, except for the windows. A solid, likely over 200 kg mahogany table placed centrally. And a few glass tables on metal frames. Yet the room has no shortage of bright colors, in the form of the endless medical books on the shelves.
There was even a fireplace— clearly decommissioned— with a small sofa in front of it, on top of a pretty, yet worn Persian rug.
You’d almost call the office a waste, knowing that Baran couldn’t really work from home, so she rarely used it. But you assume it almost came like this when she bought the house, she’d told you she barely changed anything around the house— due to a lack of time or need to.
You quickly spot the iPad on the desk. Grabbing it, you turn it on to check the charge, 87% should be fine. Her lock screen shows a sleeping you and Arya, taken after her nightshift a few weeks ago. However, the iPad automatically unlocks, of course, the cyber trained doctor would believe she’s too good for a passcode.
The iPad opens on her email, and your eyes can’t help but fall on the subject line: ‘human experimental in vitro gametogenesis and fertilization’, and the email was sent from a University of California, Los Angeles account. Now curious, you read a few sentences, however, much more than the greeting the other person sent goes over your head.
You turn the iPad off, and you’ll just ask Baran later. You never really went deeper into talking about wanting kids, other than during sex and affirming the notions while you were cuddled up after or something of the sort.
—
Walking back to the living room, you see Baran out in the backyard, lugging a second sunbed from the garage. You want to go help her but freeze as she drops the bed onto the grass: she’s topless.
Stepping onto the patio, you hesitantly ask, “Babe, what happened to your shirt?” She looks up, a little startled, a wide smile meeting your gaze. “We’re tanning— or well, enjoying the sun while pretending to read and keep my hands off you— I don’t want tan lines.”
She waves you down to the grass. Only now your eyes land on the side table, overfilled with little bites and bits of fruits and vegetables. Under the table, out of the sun, you see the jug of iced chāi and two glasses with straws, all covered with cling film— to keep the wasps out.
You put the iPad and sunscreen on Baran’s bed, matching blue-purple hibiscus-print towels on the beds. You go to sit on your bed, but before you can lean back, Baran straddles your legs. You look at her challengingly, “I thought you were keeping your hands to yourself?”
She shakes her head. “Never, with you, My Love.” She grins, knowing you called her bluff and were right. “But I need your shirt off.” She continues, hands softly tugging on your shirt. “But I’m not wearing anything underneath this.” You try to explain, but Baran just rolls her eyes playfully.
“So? It’s just me here, not that Ari would care if he were here.” She says, lifting your shirt. “And what about your neighbors? Won’t they see?” You ask in worry as she carefully tugs the shirt over your face.
“Let them. We can do as we please in the privacy of our own home and garden, Khoshgelam. The only part of you I want covered, is your wrists.” She concludes, pressing a kiss to your somewhat stunned face as she drops your shirt to the ground beside your bed.
She makes you lie back, taking her time to cover every inch of the front of your body— she'll do your back when you want to turn around, so the sunscreen doesn’t wipe off on the towel. Her hands thoroughly rub your breasts.
She gets off of you, sitting in front of you in the middle of the chaise. Her hands smear the lotion over your stomach— fingers dipping into your underwear for complete coverage. Her fingers trace your abdomen, it reminds you of the email you saw. “B?” You start, pulling her attention from your thighs, that she’s rubbing.
“I saw something when I grabbed your iPad, and though I liked biology in high school and college, not everything stuck. I saw an email from UCLA, and I think it was about IVF, but most words turned into a jumble as I read it.” You admit to having read her email and not really understanding it.
Baran nods silently and finishes covering the front of your body. “That’s about right, Darling. They’re doing research into making spermatozoa from stem cells and then, through that, with IVF make embryos.” She explains as you take the sunblock and start working on her skin.
“Okay… I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but you work in emergency medicine, Babe. So my mind is only going to one thing, really.” You point out. Baran nods her head proudly at your deduction. “They started trialing with couples willing to try or needing IVG to have genetic children earlier this year. However, it’ll be a few years before its outcome can be considered safe and for public use.” She goes on as you smear cream on her arms.
You lean in for a quick kiss, going on to rub her torso. “So I asked them to look into possibly taking another couple, two women specifically. And if we could do most of the process at a clinic near us rather than fly out to LA for everything.” Baran informs you, a nervous blush covering her cheeks.
Your eyes light up at the idea. This way, you would get to have your own kid while also possibly helping others in the future. Your cheeks turn bright red. “I love you so much, Baranam. And I can’t wait for a Shabnam. But next time, do tell me when you’re planning something like this. I was this close to asking your ex to consider being our sperm donor so our babies would at least be similar to Arya and you in ethnicity.“ You laugh, holding your thumb and index finger millimeters apart.
“Well, I am glad you didn’t. I’d first like to try making a girl that is half you and half me.” Baran whispers, her sunscreen hands sticky on your sides. “Also, how do you know the Persian word for dewdrop?” She asks, proud yet confused.
You grin, pointing to Arya’s bedroom. “He was reading a kids’ book to me. I could follow along with the pictures, but ‘Shabman’ I couldn’t make out. So he told me, and then I concluded that’d be a little Baran: rain taken up by the earth and brought out by the light and spread through the wind.”
Baran grips your jaw, pulling you in for a wet kiss. You don’t hesitate to straddle the brunette, deepening the kiss. You push her down, lying on the foot of the lounger. “And two seconds ago, you were afraid of going topless?” Baran laughs humorously, her hand gripping the base of your head— keeping your lips on hers.
Her other hand slides down your stomach, holding your hip. “Sorry that my morals go out the window the moment the other genetic mother of my future children tells me it’s actually a possibility.” You kiss the edge of her jaw. She plays with the waistband of your panties, you shake your head, pulling back.
“I’m not letting you finger me with sunscreen on your hand, Deldaram. That’s a UTI or irritation waiting to happen.” She throws her head back and groans in frustration. “But Asalam, please.” She almost whines in response.
You just shake your head before bringing your lips to Baran’s neck, leaving soft kisses, barely coloring the canvas that is her throat. Until Baran starts playing with your pussy over your underwear— sneaky thing. You sink your teeth into her skin as a reaction.
Your teeth and tongue worry the section of her neck, as an expression of your overwhelming feelings: love, lust, and, most importantly, excitement.
Baran’s fingers grip your hips as she lets out a small moan at your teeth against her submandibular area. You have a go at her neck for a minute before realizing you are in fact practically naked. You pull away slowly, eyes a little dazed, you sigh out.
Baran holds your head from pulling too far, her smouldering eyes meet yours as they flutter open. Despite the sun blazing down, you can see her pupils dilate a tiny bit. She directs your lips to hers in a soft kiss.
“Asheghetam, Darling.” She murmurs mid-kiss before giggling and helping you back up, needing to finish applying sunscreen.
“Baby.” You say with guilty eyes. “Yes, Dear?” Baran asks, handing you the sunscreen to continue where you left off. “There may or may not be a substantial love bite on your neck…” You fess up, humorous and guiltily.
Baran rolls her eyes with a smile, clearly more amused than annoyed. “Get me an ice cube from the chāi; let’s try to minimise the damage while we still can.” She shakes her head, she should have expected this to happen.
You hand her an ice cube and make quick work of covering her with sunscreen. You give her an awkward smile before she kisses you, telling you it’s fine, and moves to her own lounger.
You turn on music on your phone, some poppy sapphic playlist you occasionally listen to while running. Mindful of wanting to read, the phone is on low volume.
Baran holds out your glass of tea, making you take a sip. “No dehydration, Love.” You take it and place it under your bed after taking a sip.
You take her outstretched hand, struggling to open your book with one hand— yet you manage. Baran closes her eyes, just basking in the sun, music, and your touch.
mi amor/hayati by FOX GUNN starts playing, you softly hum along. Baran’s ears strain, trying to pick up the lyrics of the song.
“That song is scary accurate to us, Baby.” She laughs, opening her eyes to admire you. “But ‘hayati’ is only a term of endearment in Arabic; I don’t speak much of it, my parents taught us more Persian. Its meaning, however, isn’t lost per se in Persian. We just say ‘joonam’, but ‘hayati’ means vital. That describes how essential you are to my life.” Baran cheeses, swinging your hands back and forth between you.
You drop your book beside your head and quickly move over to Baran’s lounger. “I love you, you cheesy fuck.” You kiss her softly before lying on top of her, your head on her shoulder, looking up at her.
Her hand brushes your back. “Just so you know, you proposing would be less cheesy than that just now.” You laugh, joking at how sappy it was. “I promised your sister to wait at least till the new year, Golam.” Baran chuckles, her hands squishing the skin of your back. “We didn’t put lotion on your back; you’re going to burn, Baby.” You can hear the frown in her voice.
“Do you want me to get off of you?” She shakes her head at your question. “Well, then let me enjoy five minutes here; I’ll bear the heightened risk of skin cancer, please.”
Baran holds you like that until Hymn for Her by Ames finishes playing. She then scoots to the side, making a bit more space on the bed, pulling you on your back beside her.
Her hand comes to rest on your sternum, lightly tracing the skin as you both doze off.
——
You and Baran step back into the bedroom, all tired out by the sunlight, eager for a shower together.
Baran softly kisses the nape of your neck. “Your back is indeed a little burned, Golam.” She whispers, fingers tracing the inflamed skin, leaving light streaks in their wake, proving her point. “Worth it.” You declare, knowing that she’ll massage aloe lotion on your back after your shower.
“Baranam, could we invite some guests over for dinner? I feel like having adult company tonight. Otherwise, I may want you to fuck me senseless and skip dinner.” You suggest as you walk into your en-suite to shower.
“Of course, Lovely. But I have to admit, I don't hate the sound of the alternative.” She husks into your ear as she presses her front flush against your back. Her hands are palming your boobs as she mouths along your sternocleidomastoid muscle.
“Watch yourself, Baby.” You say with a serious tone, and Baran just chuckles it off. “Uuh, Trin and Yolo? But I don't want to have them fighting in our house.” You suggest and answer yourself.
Baran shakes her head on your neck. “Nope, they're still keeping it casual. Whatever the fuck they mean by that.” Baran kisses your neck again as you chuckle at her words.
“Mira, Mel, Tori, and Cass are all single. So we either invite a pair over or try to get a double date with Whitsantos.” You offer.
Baran hums in question, “I thought Samira was seeing that attending surgeon, the one who bickers with Abbot whenever they see each other?” Baran points out.
Now it's your turn to shake your head. “No, but Mira has one hell of a crush on Doctor Emery Walsh.” Your hands mime out a rainbow, making Baran snicker at the action. “But good to know there's substance from both sides.”
“We could invite Doctor Ellis or Langdon and their respective partner?” Baran suggests, you can only bark out a laugh at that.
“Baby, Lovey, no. No way in hell are we inviting that man to our house. I'm cool with him at your work, but that's about it. He traumatized and pariahed one of my best friends and got away with multiple crimes. And Parker is way too cool for us. And I know nothing about her girlfriend— wife; maybe the woman has told me nothing over the years. But I'll try to corner them at the staff barbecue, yeah?” You propose while typing out a text on your phone.
Baran just nods at your words. “Are we not cool? Am I not hip enough?” She asks with a hint of insecurity. You immediately turn to face her as the words leave her mouth.
“Eshgham, you're the coolest. Sure, you're a bit geeky and a stickler for rules, but that's also admirable and cute. But I more meant myself. I didn't go to a fancy college, and I'm not a doctor. And I don't have the could-not-care-less-unless-I-care swagger Parker has.”
You hold her face, phone limp in your other hand, looking in her sleep-filled eyes. “No one's cooler than you, Love. But asking if you're hip makes you sound like a boomer, and you're very much a millennial, My Love. And I absolutely love that about you.” You admit, warmth in your stomach growing at the blush and smile on your lover’s face.
Baran leans in for a kiss, and you happily oblige. Keeping it short, however, you still need to shower if you're having guests over for dinner.
Pulling away with a heavy sigh, you text your group chat, knowing it’s easier to just invite all and hope for some to decline.
Funnest Day Residents(+Crash&BetterSister)
Hiiii B and I want to host a dinner party tonight
Lmk if you can make it!!
Come by around 7pm?
(you losers have to get your own booze, we don’t keep any in the house :3)
Count me in!! (S)
Yes please🧡🧡 (M)
Can the twink cum? (T)
Jesus Trin (V)
Free food Ill be there💕 (V)
Yes the twink is welcome
You two are attached at the hip
B even said he's always welcome?!??
Okay, two cars headed to you tonight. Who's in for a beer-wine(?) run with me? (C)
Cool so there's 8 of us 😅
Wine, white preferred! Making risotto :p
“Shirin, we’re having a whole circus over for dinner. I'm so sorry; I was expecting at least two to decline the offer.” You step back into her hold. She gracefully wraps her arms around you. “It's fine, Mama; as long as we have enough to feed them all.”
You look up at her from her shoulder, where you automatically rest your head. “Yeah, I may or may not have thought of this when Ari and I went to do groceries yesterday.” You smirk at the olive-skinned woman, she can't help but give you an amused smile.
——————
Part 13 of My Little Sister?! Series <- Part 12 — Part 14 (coming soon) ->
Author’s note
Most is based on fact, and the UCLA IVG-IVF thing is the most coherent stuff I could find in the USA-academic world, but I have no clue how far they are in said research :)
I promise, I thought of this before I saw this beautiful sketch made by Ed. But they practically brought my mental image to life!
Like, reblog, comment, interact, all that good shit 💕
𓏵 ┊ younger girlfriend squirting with jack abbot . 18+
you tell jack who’s been knuckles deep inside your pussy for the past hour that something feels weirder than usual, as you’re sitting in between his legs — your back pressed against his chest with your thighs parted giving him the perfect amount of access needed to pleasure you.
“what’s wrong, baby?” he murmurs against your temple with a gentle kiss as his calloused digits are rhythmically plunging in and out of your hole. curling his fingers sweet into that spongey spot inside of you, it’s almost cruel the way he knows exactly how to make you lose it. “it feels weird.” you testify, eyes fixated on the recurring disappearance of your boyfriend’s fingers inside of you.
“yeah? tell me what feels weird, hm.” he hums, feeling you shift and squirm against him as he holds one of your legs open by the backside of your knee. and you can barely utter the words from your mouth, “your fingers keep pressing against my bladder, its making me feel like i have to go— go to the bathroom.” you bite down on your bottom lip.
every time jack’s fingers plunge back inside you, it feels as if you’re peeing yourself already. as if the motion of his fingers are forcing that specific release from you. “that so?” you feel his chest rumble against you as he lets out a gruff chuckle, “that’s good then. that’s the feeling you want when it starts feeling good, sweetheart.” he reassures, as your walls pulse around his fingers.
you whine, throwing you head back against his shoulder. each drag of his digits bringing you closer, and closer towards the edge as you let out soft moans.
jack let’s out an impressed whistle once he starts to feel your hips rock into hand. “fuck— it feels good.” you moan warm against the side of his neck, “so good i might actually pee.” which earns a low, amused groan from jack.
“mhmm, you gonna make a mess on my hand?” he lifts his thumb up, before pressing mean against your swollen clit making you jolt. “w—wait!” you stammer, throwing your hands towards jack’s forearm in attempt to halt his movements as he shakes his head in disapproval. “uh-uh, can’t have you telling me to stop now.” he rasps, pressing circles around your nub as it twitches under the pad of this thumb.
“c’mon and show me how messy you can get.” his breath fans warm against your cheek, before your body’s involuntarily letting loose. your body is shaking, and your walls are caving in around jack’s digits as you’re whimpering. “thaat’s it, baby— give it to me.” he groans, targeting that sweet spot inside of you, before you’re making a wet mess all over yourself.
“mmgh, jack— jack.” you’re whimpering as slight humiliation fills your chest, though the pleasure is far too euphoric as he coaxes every last drop out of you. “atta girl.” he nudges his mouth against the side of your head to whisper in your ear. “i love nasty girls.” he groans.
armed and dangerous⋆ 𖤓 ⋆˚࿔ (baran al-hashimi x wife!reader) is it really any surprise that baran goes all out for her son's bring-your-parent arts and crafts day?
the pitt au | established relationship | ~2.7k | divider cred |
notes: all fluff, just baran being a little bit of a control freak!!
FAMILY CREATIVITY DAY! Saturday, October 12th, 10am–12pm. Join us for a morning of art, connection, and fun! All families welcome. Light refreshments provided.
You hum at the flyer that Kaveh's teacher handed to you through the car window while you were waiting in the carline. A Saturday. You weren't on call and neither was Baran.
You take a picture of it right there in the pickup line, the car behind you be damned, and text it to your wife.
you: [image attached]
you: thoughts
The three dots appear immediately. She must be on a break.
🤎: Oh, this is very cute. I wonder what the project is.
🤎: Do you think it's something we bring materials for or they provide everything?
🤎: Also what does "light refreshments" mean?
🤎: Are we talking fruit and crackers or are we talking actual food? Are we expected to bring anything?
🤎: I can stop at Giant Eagle on the way home from work.
🤎: Do you think any of the kids have nut allergies? Would you please ask Kaveh?
You stare at your phone. The car behind you honks. You pull forward six inches.
you: are you fr right now
🤎: What?
you: b, it’s an art event for second graders
🤎: ??
you: "light refreshments" will mean a little bowl of goldfish crackers next to a juice box situation
🤎: I already looked it up on the school website, it says "collaborative mixed media collage" which is actually really fun. Mel was just telling me how collage has such a rich history as an artistic medium—
You put your phone in your cupholder rather than finishing reading because you are in a school zone and you are a responsible adult. Also, you’re grinning so wide at the windshield that an elementary schooler who catches sight of you might shit their pants.
You pick the phone back up at the next red light.
🤎: —and i think i have some good scissors at home so the paper edges will be much cleaner.
you: you are not bringing your good scissors to kaveh's school
🤎: Sure I will. They can go my purse.
you: it’s not a bring your own scissors event, b
🤎: That is why I am going to put them in my purse. 🙂
—
Saturday arrives and Baran is up before you. You find her in the kitchen at eight-fifteen in her Lululemon set, her jug of a water bottle on the counter and a bowl of fruit cut into precise little cubes beside it. Kaveh is in his chair eating cereal. There is already, somehow, a small tote bag by the door, fit to bursting with supplies.
“Oh my god,” you stop walking. "Don’t tell me you packed a bag.”
"Kaveh packed a back," she corrects, without looking up from her phone.
You glance at your son, quirking a brow. He grins toothily and shakes his head.
"Right,” you grin, rounding the table to kiss his curls. “What’s in Kaveh’s bag?”
"Scissors and a bone folder. Oh, we also found some washi tape I had left over,” Baran lists, “Plus a few good magazine pages I pulled last night—"
"Y— Kaveh pulled magazine pages?"
"From the ones we were going to recycle anyway."
"When?”
“Last night?”
“Kaveh went to bed at 7.”
Baran frowns. “Well, I did the magazine part. I couldn't sleep."
Kaveh calmly takes a bite of cereal. "Maman also printed some pictures," he offers helpfully.
You turn to gape at your wife.
"They were reference images," she clarifies, taking large sip from the bucket bottle. "For composition."
"Baby," you say.
"Don't."
"Sweetheart."
"I mean it."
"It’s a second grade—"
"Kaveh, are you done with your cereal?" Baran asks, very loudly, in the direction of your son.
"Almost," says Kaveh.
"Take your time, azizam." She picks up her Hydroflask — truly the size of a small child, you've always thought, a gallon jug with a straw — and takes a long, dignified sip, looking at you over the rim with an expression that communicates, very clearly, that this conversation is over.
You love her so much it's honestly a little embarrassing.
—
Kaveh's school gym has been transformed, sort of. There are round tables covered in butcher paper and each table has a big tray of supplies in the middle, kids magazines, construction paper, tissue paper, glue sticks, safety scissors, stickers. A hand-lettered sign on the wall says CREATE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL TOGETHER and there are, as you predicted, goldfish crackers next to juice boxes on a folding table by the door. Kaveh's teacher greets you both near the entrance.
"Dr. Al-Hashimi, Dr. Y/L/N! So glad you could make it." She crouches to Kaveh's level. "Kaveh, do you want to pick your table?"
Kaveh points immediately at the table closest to the snack station.
"Fantastic choice, buddy," you tell him sincerely.
Ms. Blake straightens up and gestures broadly at the room. "So the project today is totally open, families just work together to make a collage. The theme is 'us,' so whatever that means to your family! There's no wrong way to do it. Just have fun."
"Wonderful," says Baran warmly. "Is there a particular size constraint on the final piece?"
"No constraint!" Ms. Blake says brightly. "Just whatever fits on the paper!"
"Great," says Baran. "And the adhesive provided is just the glue sticks?"
Ms. Blake blinks. "...Yes?"
"Perfect," says Baran, smiling. "Thank you so much."
You wait until Ms. Blake has moved on to the next family, then you turn to tease your wife, but her head is down into her tote back, hands already rummaging through it to pull out her own supplies.
“There she goes,” you whisper to yourself as Kaveh dashes off to greet his friends and their families who are taking their seats. “B, I need you to have fun."
Baran looks up from where she’s rummaging through the bag. "Sorry? I am going to have fun."
You put both hands on her shoulders, look her dead in the eyes, and say: "Baran. Please put the bone folder away."
She holds your gaze for a long moment.
Then she puts the bone folder back in the bag.
"Thank you," you say.
"You're lucky I love you," she frowns. You just laugh and kiss her cheek, leading her to the table by the small of her back.
—
Within ten minutes of sitting down, Baran has organized the supply tray. Not dramatically, just — tidied it. The magazines are stacked by approximate size. The tissue paper is in a small pile off to the side. She has looked through approximately forty pages of a National Geographic with the expression she wears when she's reading a lab result, head slightly tilted, completely still.
She pulls out a page. Blue water, some kind of aerial shot. Holds it up to the construction paper background she's already selected — a deep navy. Nods once, to herself.
"Maman," says Kaveh, who is on his third helping of goldfish and has crushed four capri suns, and has cut out a picture of a golden retriever with the safety scissors. "Can I put the dog on it?"
Baran looks at the dog picture, her navy paper. “Yes, fandogham. Let’s put it in the bottom left corner."
Kaveh slaps the dog picture enthusiastically in the center.
The corner of Baran's mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. You press your lips together.
"What if," Baran says carefully, "we tried it over here—" she nudges it gently toward the left— "just to give the other elements some room?"
"I like it better here," says Kaveh.
"I think the dog could stay," you tell her, rubbing a grounding circle on her back.
"The dog can stay," Baran says with a bit of tension to her voice. YOu watch her distract herself by trimming the edge of the blue water page with a precision that is making the dad at the next table visibly insecure. He has been trying to cut a straight line with the safety scissors for five minutes.
He glances at Baran's scissors.
"She came armed," you tell him, quietly, with great sympathy.
He tsks. “Smart woman. These safety scissors are sh— crap.”
You grin. “Oh man, don’t let her hear you say that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
A warm, amused voice from beside you, without looking up: "I can hear you."
—
Twenty more minutes pass.
"You know," you say conversationally, watching your wife hold a piece of tissue paper up to the light, "Ms. Blake said there's no wrong way to do it."
"Sure, but there is a right way," Baran replies, tilting it again. She notices a crinkle and frowns, placing it down and selecting a new one to inspect.
"Well, so, no. That is exactly the opposite of what she said."
Kaveh ignores you both, tongue sticking out as he sorts through the various little cutouts he’s made. He picks one and brandishes it to you guys.
“Is that a wheel of cheese, baby?” you beam.
"Uh-huh," he nods. “I’m gonna put it on.”
You look at Baran, who is trying so hard to fight back her grimace.
"Where are you thinking?" she asks.
Kaveh points to the upper right corner.
"Next to the moon?" Baran asks. Her task of the past ten minutes has been cutting out planets and stars and asteroids from a cosmology magazine she found in the stack. She’s been planning an elaborate sky.
"No, it is the moon," Kaveh says. “Like the story with the cow where she's playing the fiddle and jumps over the cheese moon.”
You pull a face. “I’m 90% sure that was a different story.”
"Interesting," Baran responds to him, elbowing you in the ribs, but she's smiling now. "Making it a celestial body. Kaveh, that's very creative."
Kaveh accepts this as his due. "I know," he says, and reaches for more goldfish.
—
About forty minutes in, you have, collectively: the aerial water shot, the cheese moon, a golden retriever and two dobermans, Spiderman next to a cutout of red carpet Lady Gaga (Kaveh really liked her outfit,) a cutout of that the tsunami from that one famous panting, some random house from that one realtor show with the twin brothers — all framed by four strips of washi tape that Baran has placed with a level of care that you find both ridiculous and deeply attractive.
You are in charge of the text elements, which means you are cutting letters out of magazine headlines. You are doing this badly. Your hand slipped cutting out the B so it looks like a 3. Your A is missing the crossbar.
Suffice to say, you can feel Baran sweating next to you.
"You can say it," you tell her, very focused on cutting out an H for Kaveh.
"You're doing great," she says, very carefully.
You hold up your jagged P. "I think I nailed this one."
She just hums, eyes not leaving your hands, and you decide to take pity on your wife.
"My love,” you say pleasantly, “Would you like to do the letters?”
Her hand is already out.
You grin “Wow, so you actually think I suck. I didn't even finish the thought.”
"Oh, you were going to offer me the scissors,” Baran teases, wiggling her fingers. “C’mon, we’re on the clock here.”
You put them in her hand. She's already reaching for the magazine before they've fully left your fingers, flipping through with the same focused efficiency she brings to everything, and within about thirty seconds she's found a headline she likes and is cutting clean and even. You try to absorb what it is she’s doing that you obviously were failing at, but aside from the fact she rotates the paper rather than the scissors, it seems just to be her. Naturally composed, completely absorbed, dedicated to the job.
Kaveh has pressed flower stickers up and down her sleeve at some point in the last twenty minutes. She hasn't said a word about it. She finishes the letters, wipes the dried glue off Kaveh's hands before her own, and then holds the collage out to him at arm's length, tilting it slightly.
"What do you think?" she asks him. "Is it good?"
“I think it’s okay,” he nods, “But look at what I found!”
He holds up a children’s magazine from the 1990s that has the three little pigs on the front. “It’s us!”
Your eyes giddily shoot to Baran’s, half expecting her to self-implode, but you’re surprised to find she’s grinning.
“I think you’re right,” she replies warmly, finger tapping the book. “I think that one is Mommy.”
You squint toward the one she’s pointing at. “What, why?”
“Because those two are doing labor,” Baran gestures to them, then lowers her voice to whisper in your hear. “Your piggy isn’t doing shit.”
“Woah!” you grin, “Hey, I’ve been trying to help but I keep getting benched.”
This is true. After Baran took over cutting you suggested adding some pretty little flower stickers on the “grass” (represnted by a thick strip of green paper Kaveh had pasted down) and were met with two resounding, disgusted Nos.
"Mmhm. Excuses, excuses," she tuts, already reaching for the magazine. You watch her carefully cut out the three little pigs with the same scissors she used for the letters, clean around every curve.
She hands the cutout to Kaveh, who immediately glues them down slightly crooked, but Baran just laughs.
You lean in and press your nose to her temple, just for a second, and she tips her head toward you without thinking about it.
"For what it's worth," she murmurs, "I think your piggy is very cute."
“That sounds like a terrible euphemism.”
She pulls back, scandalized, and slaps your arm. “We’re in our son’s second grade classroom.”
“He doesn’t know what that word means,” you defend with a beaming smile, then turn back to your son. She huffs, but she's smiling, and she stays leaning against you.
“Kav,” you prompt. “What do you think, bud? All done?”
He tilts it a full 360 degrees, mimicking his Maman, then nods. “All done.”
—
You carry the collage out to the car. Kaveh runs ahead to press his nose against the car window, which he does every single time, without fail, despite the fact that it is his car and he knows exactly what is inside it.
Baran falls into step beside you. Tote bag over one shoulder, Hydroflask in her other hand. The October air is cool and bright and the trees on the block are just starting to turn.
"Fun?" you ask.
She considers it the way she considers everything, properly, all the way down. "Yes," she says. "Really."
You look at her. The small smile she's not bothering to hide. The flower sticker still on her sleeve, right where Kaveh put it two hours ago.
"You know," you say, "the collage is really beautiful, B."
She glances at you sideways, a little pleased, trying not to show it. "Kaveh did most of it."
"Kaveh did the cheese moon and the three little pigs," you say. "You made it beautiful."
She's quiet for a moment. "It was a good morning," she says, simply, and you can hear everything she means by it.
You take the tank of a bottle from her so you can take her hand instead, and she lets you without comment, fingers finding yours easy and warm. You stop walking. She takes one more step before she realizes, and turns back to look at you, brow lifting slightly in question.
You answer it by stepping forward and kissing her, free hand wrapping around her waist. She makes a small sound against your mouth, warm and soft, tilting her head to make it deeper.
When you pull back she's looking at you with sparkly eyes and a pleased quirk to her lips. "What was that for?”
"You are a very good mom," you tell her. "And I had a really good day."
She holds your gaze for a moment, then pulls you back in by the front of your jacket and kisses you again, slower this time, high on happiness.
Kaveh peels himself off the window and turns around with a smear of grime across his forehead, a toothy grin on his face.
Baran pulls back, smooths your collar down with both hands, and goes to get the keys. She wipes the grime off with her sleeve, the flower-sticker side, and says absolutely nothing about it.
maybe a trinity x f!reader au where trinity is a guitarist 🤭💕
i saw someone make a post about it and i haven’t been the same since so i’d love to see a cassie x femme!reader fic where they’re vacationing in the mountains or something like that @.@
Oh my gosh anon you’re a genius I’ll definitely write something like this later once I’m done with work
sub!pope being so desperate to get off, he’ll use any part of you give him <33 (p!link)
18+ cw: p!link! foot fetish 
no like oh my gawd he becomes such a fucking mess around you. you’ll literally just be sitting on the couch like that together, n you’ll look over and see his needy face, his hips fucking the air because poor baby wants some relief.
you coo, watching before you indulge him but then pressing your foot against his hard cock. he whimpers, throwing his head back as he hisses a, “yes, thank you” grinding his hips into your foot. you don’t respond, just turn back to the tv, letting him get off.
he’s whining, moaning to himself as he grabs your foot, applying more pressure to his cock n you feel him pulse, jerking as he cums in his sweats, still rubbing your arch against himself to get every last drop. ♡
The heavy scent of flour, yeast, and caramelized sugar fills your little Pittsburgh bakery every morning, a scent you built with your own two hands after running away at 18 with nothing but grit. You traded your parents' narrow expectations of a quiet housewife life for early mornings, burned fingers, and real independence. But along the way, the independence came with hard lessons. At 22, Luke felt like a dream a 6'1 dream, coffee-brown curls, and a sweet charm that completely disarmed you. He promised forever, convinced you to throw caution to the wind, and then vanished the absolute second the word "pregnant" left your lips, proving himself to be the ultimate narcissist.Now, at 27, you are a single mother to four-year-old twins: Daniel and Danielle. They are the light of your life, but at four, their minds are working faster than ever, and they are starting to notice the empty space where a father should be.
The brass bell above the door chimed, cutting through the warm, sweet air of the shop. True to form, Daniel’s enthusiastic four-year-old voice rang out, clear as a bell: "Good morning!"You wiped your flour-dusted hands on your apron and stepped out from the kitchen, a smile already forming. Your little place looked exactly like a French bakery from a movie had exploded inside—all pastel accents, rustic wooden displays, and glass cases overflowing with golden croissants and fresh tarts. Over by the sunlit window, Danielle was diligently coloring a picture, looking up just long enough to give a polite little wave alongside her brother.A sea of light blue and navy scrubs filled the ordering line. Being located right by the hospital’s emergency department meant the healthcare crowd practically kept your ovens running, especially on a slow Saturday morning."Morning, John," you called out, immediately recognizing John Shen near the front of the group. "The usual matcha latte and a white chocolate scone for the wife?"John grinned, lifting his badge in a thankful salute. "You read my mind. She’d divorce me if I came home without it."You ring him up seamlessly, moving down the line and taking the orders of the other nurses and residents you’ve come to know by name over the years. You chat about the quiet morning shift, the weather, and how fast the twins are growing. But as the crowd begins to disperse toward the pickup counter, grabbing their iced coffees and pastry bags, the line clears to reveal the last person standing at the register.He isn't just wearing any scrubs. He’s dressed in dark, tailored charcoal scrubs that look crisp compared to the wrinkled ones on the residents, with a stethoscope slung casually around his neck. He has his wallet out, but his eyes aren't on the menu. He’s looking past you, watching Daniel and Danielle by the window with a look of quiet amusement as Daniel tries to explain to a customer why blue is the best color for a dragon.When he realizes it’s his turn, he steps up to the counter, his eyes meeting yours with a friendly, tired warmth that tells you he’s probably just wrapping up a grueling twelve-hour night shift.
“Hello what can I get you started with?”
“Can I do a black coffee and a cheese danish”
“No problem what’s the name for that?”
“Jack abbot”
"No problem, Jack! I'll have that right up for you,"
you say with a warm smile, quickly tapping the order into the register and moving over to pour the black coffee.Jack gives you a grateful nod, pulling a few bills from his wallet. Even though he’s clearly exhausted from a long shift as an attending, he has a grounded, respectful presence that instantly sets him apart from the usual rushed morning crowd. As you slide the freshly baked, golden cheese danish into a pastry bag, you hand it over along with his coffee. "Here you go. Enjoy, and I hope you get some rest today.""Thank you. I have a feeling this danish is going to save my life on the drive home," Jack replies, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes the bag. He glances back over at Daniel and Danielle, giving the twins a polite, encouraging little wave before heading out the door, the brass bell chiming softly behind him.You watch him walk down the sidewalk toward the hospital parking lot, feeling a subtle, lingering warmth in the room. In a neighborhood filled with transient medical residents and busy commuters, you figure he’s just another passing face in the Saturday rush.Little do you know, this brief, simple exchange is about to change the entire rhythm of your Saturdays. Mr. Jack Abbot is about to become a very permanent fixture in your little French bakery—and in the lives of you and your twins.
Comment to be added to the tag list for the fic but I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter!
summary: reader just moved to pittsburgh from a small town to become a doctor but she wasn’t expecting to fall for one of her superior residents
tags/warnings: trinity santos x reader, friends to lovers “slow burn”, joy is readers bsf (eventually), might be a little suggestive at times but not smut, use of y/n and y/ln
authors note: this is my first time doing a smau so wish me luck 🥹🥹 ik this isn’t too much of an x reader with a basis of a fc but i’ll be more than willing to write other races/looks if anyone asks if that’s okay! and i don’t really have a tag list but i can make one if anyone would like
Most people hear Dean Winchester talk so cockily that they would assume he is always dominant in bed. Little do they know, you are actually the one who leaves him whining and completely spent. As you ride him hard, he loses all control until he is shooting blanks, unable to talk about anything except how good your pretty pussy is.
Do you struggle with coming up with ideas to write? I ask cause of your last post. You want requests to branch out into mature topics but if you have some in mind why not just write them?
I have ideas and things i can write but I just like to see what other people have and I’m also really indecisive (hints the polls) but other than that I do write some of my thoughts and I just wanna see what other people think
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
stormborns
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
pixelskylines
baratheonpilled
germansingergirl
jacobvanloon
