He/Him transmasc I'm a genderneutural Yandere writer. Please feel free to request anything, or just stop by to say hello. I will block zionists, terfs and maga.
âą Peaky Blinders ( Esme, May Ada, Polly, Isaiah, Tommy)
âą Any Cillian Murphy character ( not the man, I donât do RPF)
âą Any Micheal B. Jordan Character( see above about RPF)
Fundraisers: Please donate if you can spare anything. I will always leave links in fics to other fundraiser and it would mean the world to be if you donated. To be clear you donât have to donate to request a fic, this is just nice thing to do.
Â
Hello, I'm Ahmed, 23 years old. I was studying computer science at the Islamic University in Gaza before the war. I aspired to build a brigh
https://www.tumblr.com/maliciousessencefortress/804238362613530624/yandere-dark-knight-bruce-wayne-vs-yandere
https://www.tumblr.com/maliciousessencefortress/805498205221601280/what-if-hear-me-out-there-was-a-third-part-to
Requests for Dark knight characters:
https://www.tumblr.com/maliciousessencefortress/805123625249374208/heyyy-so-i-would-love-for-a-sequel-to-the-jon-fic
Bruce Wayne;
https://www.tumblr.com/maliciousessencefortress/816432330407297024/i-have-a-request-for-bruce-wayne-if-you-can-and
Character from the Dark knight dating reader from injustice series:
Hello friends, I'm Ayoush Crochet, and I'm also Ayoush trying to help my family.
Please donate
Hi, I'm Raven, and I'm running this campaign on behalf of my friend Ayoush. Any money raised will go to her in full. Please note the campaig
â vetted by @el-shab-husseinâ click here
â vetted by gaza-evacuation-fund â
I'm here to tell you a few things. There are many haters and liars around, but I want to thank @el-shab-hussein who refuted all these false claims. However, You can follow up on this matter through this link click here
First, I'm the one who makes these crocheted pieces, and this is indeed the business card. You can see it on this page and contact me there as well. Click here
It was under our business name. But I lost the pieces and the business phone when my house was bombed.
That's why I'm here; I need your help and support. There are many hateful people here who wish us harm and genocide, but I'm striving for my dream and trying to help my family. These are some pieces of my work from before the war. I hope you can help and support us so we can continue living and alleviate our suffering.
Also, if you wish, you can follow the page on Instagram and view many more pieces of art.
âthey cant handle gingers! they cant handle people who dye their hair pink! they cant handle people who get nose piercings!â i promise u they can and do as long as those people are white, like i promise u from the bottom of my heart white ppl r a thousand times more accepting of âalternativeâ looks as long as the person doing it is white
In this scorching summer, our tent has become an unbearable place to live. The suffocating heat fills it throughout the day, leaving us with no shade to protect us and no breeze to bring relief. When night falls, another struggle begins as rats and insects spread throughout the tent, stealing our children's sleep and filling their hearts with fear. Every day, we endure the relentless summer heat and the dangers of these harsh conditions. All we hope for is a safe shelter that preserves our dignity and gives our children the chance to live in safety.
"The Alaa family lived a peaceful and stable life in their beautiful home. Alaa and her⊠Ola Moh needs your support for Help Olaâs Family Fi
â Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is (#514)â
Oh my God... that moment still haunts me to this day. I was sitting beside my husband Ahmed in the hospital bed, holding his hand and praying to God to ease his pain, when suddenly he lost consciousness right before my eyes. I completely broke down, crying and begging God to save him.
I cry every day from the weight of this heartbreak. I stand beside my husband with nothing but prayer, watching his pain and feeling my heart shatter because I cannot do more to save him. I try to stay strong for my little girl, but there are moments when I weaken as I imagine her life without her father. All I want is a chance to save Ahmed, a chance for him to remain a father to our daughter and a husband to me, and for us to see a better day after all this pain.
The doctor told me that Ahmedâs condition is critical, that the cancer is spreading rapidly through his body, and that his only hope for treatment is to get him out of Gaza as soon as possible to receive urgent medical care. Since that moment, I have been living in constant fear, terrified that I may lose my husband at any moment.
Getting Ahmed out of Gaza for treatment is extremely costly, and we need to raise more than $25,000 to cover the urgent medical expenses and give him the chance he desperately needs. Every moment matters, and we are racing against time to save his life.
Our little daughter cries every day, calling for her father. She does not understand what cancer means, but she feels his pain and clings to him with all her strength. All she wants is for her father to stay by her side, and for this war and this illness not to take him away from her.
As for me, I am suffering from severe malnutrition because of the famine and the war. My body has become weak, but I keep holding myself together in front of my daughter so she does not feel the full extent of the pain we carry inside.
I say this from the depths of my heart: I will never forget everyone who read my words, saw my familyâs suffering, and chose to turn away without even sharing our story. A simple share may help our voice reach someone who can save Ahmedâs life.
You are our only hope. Every donation, no matter how small, and every share could be the reason our story reaches someone able to help us.
Please, do not leave us alone. Ahmedâs life is in your hands. Help us reach our goal as quickly as possible and save Ahmed before it is too late. Give our little daughter the chance to keep her father by her side.
To donate, please click hereâŹïž
GoFundMe
PayPal
â Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is (#425)â
If my page suddenly stops posting one day, know that my baby Qais has died. I will never forget the people who saw my child bleeding, suffering, and begging for help, yet chose silence and continued scrolling.
My daughter survived months of fear, blood clots, and a pregnancy that nearly took us both. Every heartbeat felt like a miracle, and today I thank God she is finally in my arms.
But survival is only the beginning.
Our family is still fighting every day. We struggle to afford food, medicine, and the most basic necessities while caring for our children We cannot make it through this alone.
Please don't let our story end here. Your kindness can help feed our children, provide lifesaving medicine, and give our family a chance to keep going.
Every donation brings hope. Every share could save a life. Thank you for standing with us. â€ïžđ
Vatted by:
#13 Verified By @ bilal-sala7@nabulsi @ 90-ghost
Im vetted to butterflyeffect.project mynumber is 1181
Please help me feed my children. They are starving, and I fear they may die from hunger. Any donation, no matter how small, would help us buy food. Please don't leave us alone in this difficult time. Thank you for your kindness.đđđđđđ
preview: Annie, marveling at his honesty and clarity, almost allowed a moan to escape her lips. There was something about the way he'd been vulnerable about being a virgin, something about the way he trusted her to control this moment. He gave her a feeling that restored something in her, like this was her first time all over again, and in a few years, she might actually consider this It.
cw: smut, virgin!smoke, experienced!annie, young smoke x annie, first time, unprotected!sex, fluffy!smut
a/n: this was a request and i canât thank you enough, anon!!!!! i didnât expect to write this so fast, but here we areee (iâve posted three days in a row now,,, letâs not jinx it)
masterlist
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Clouds streaked the early morning sky, creeping over the sun that peeked over the horizon. The spring air was fragrant with goldenrod and honeydew, and when the sun glared, water could be seen glistening atop blades of grass.
The pair had fallen asleep in Smoke's bed after staying up all night watching movies. They'd gone back and forth, each picking something that was significant to them, inching closer with each laugh or gasp of shock. Annie had wound up in his arms during a scary movie, and he had ended up with his head tucked into her neck while watching a romcom. It was a simple date, but it was special.
Smoke's arms surrounded Annie as she slept. He held her tight, felt for every shift of her breath and tightened his hold when she tried to move. He craved her closeness, and for the past few monthsâas their relationship flourishedâhe began to feel the absence of something that needed to be filled.
The earliest he could remember The Feeling was three months ago.
That night, he'd taken her out to some concert she'd been begging to go to, and as he watched her, the emotion budded. Her eyes were bright as she looked toward the stage. And the lights illuminated her face in a way that showed off her excitement perfectly. In that moment, his mind dipped off into thoughts that were far from chaste. He decided then that he'd do anything to make her happy enough to make that face again, to have his reaction to it be just that strong.
The Feeling persisted for weeks after that, blooming when she decided to try on a few options for a party she was going to. She couldn't decide what was best, and he was the only person available to give their opinion. Each outfit got skimpier and skimpier, and as he sat on her bed, watching her twirl for him, a pillow found its way into his lap.
He wasn't naive about his feelings, but Smoke had never actually done anything like that before. In 23 years, he'd done nothing sexual with another person; But with Annie, he was finally ready to go that far. He loved the person she was: her personality, her body, her laugh when he said something stupid about how they were both too damn nervous to give this a try when they were back in high school together. He loved her, and he could no longer resist The Feeling.
His body curled into hers, hands smoothing out his shirt that covered her back. She was beautiful like thisâprettiest in the mornin'âhe was known to say. Smelling the side of her neck, he jumped when she shuffled.
âWhy you lookin' at me like that,â she groaned, stretching her over-exhausted body into his. Her fingers sought him out, pulling his body closer so she could bury her face in him to escape the light.
ââCause you sexy in the morninâ,â he drawled. His cadence was slow, the words slurring because he was both tired and turned on. Annie immediately picked up on his state.
âYou betta' stop talkin' to me like that,â she chuckled, clutching onto him tighter. One eye peeked out to take a look at him, and her face flushed with heat from the intensity of his gaze. âIon know if you ready for all this sexiness.â It came out as a joke based on conversations they'd been having for months about The Feeling and how she'd take care of him when he was ready. Recently, he'd been growing bolder. He complimented her body moreâhow he loved her thighs and her ass and how her titties sat just right. He allowed The Feeling to linger longer, pressing his needy body up against hers for momentary relief. Theyâd both been wanting it to the point where it took over their thoughts.
âI'm ready for it,â Smoke groaned, arousal strong. âI can handle all of it.â
Immediately following his declaration, his fingers began dragging along her thighsâbecause he knew just how to get her in a heady mood. His movements were slow and deliberate, and Annie rewarded him with soft moans before her lips met his. Plush lips against plush lips, their bodies fell into a rhythm of give and take.
They took their time, went carefully because it was still too early in the morning to do anything else. Dew still covered the edges of flowers outside, a crispness in the air that aided the moment.
Annie allowed her fingers to explore the man before her. They outlined the plains of his chest. They dipped over the curves of his abs. And when she came to the edge of his boxers, hers fingers toyed with the material, lips leaving his in time to feel the addicting tremble of his breath.
âYou trust me,â she whispered into the quiet air, slow and steady. She held onto him, desperately needing the closeness because something about this was making her feel raw. He responded with a shudder, words broken with need.
âYe-yes,â he breathed, âI'll always trust you.â
Annie, marveling at his honesty and clarity, almost allowed a moan to escape her lips. There was something about the way he'd been vulnerable about being a virgin, something about the way he trusted her to control this moment. He gave her a feeling that restored something in her, like this was her first time all over again, and in a few years, she might actually consider this It.
She rewarded the man was a kiss to the edge of his jaw, and when her hand found its way into his boxers, that same way-too-addictive shuddering breath landed on her cheek. She dragged her fingers down the length of his dick, capturing his arousal on the tip of a finger.
âI ainât never,â Smoke choked out, groaning at the view of Annie sucking that finger into her mouth. âI ainât ever been this turned on before.â And instead of responding with words, the woman simply hummed in acknowledgment before shifting her position on the bed. She pressed the manâs back into the mattress and settled atop his thighs. Unceremoniously, Smokeâs shirt that covered her upper body was pulled over her head, leaving her in nothing but a pair of panties, darkened where they sat against her. âDamn,â he commented, reaching out for her.
His face found comfort between her breasts with practiced ease, and Annie laughed as he held himself there and breathed in her scent.
âYou always end up there,â she laughed heartily. And it was true. Whenever heâd had a hard day or a good day or a boring day, all he wanted was to lay up in her chest for comfort. Warm breath ghosted her skin.
âItâs my favorite spot,â he grumbled against her, hands somehow on her thighs again, pulling her into him.
Flushing, Annie reached down and dragged his chin up. She looked into his eyes, and when he melted at the sight of her, she dove in. When their lips met this time, it wasnât soft and slow and careful; It was sharp and fast and greedy. Smokeâs hands found her hips, and his thumbs wedged found themselves in the groove where hip and thigh met. With ease, motion was made and pace was set. Her clothed pussy grinded against his dick, dragging up the length of him and forcing both of their bodies to shudder.
Smoke had never felt this good in his life. Heâd never felt so consumed by something, and he never wanted to feel anything other than this. His palms found her ass next, taking up as much flesh as he could and keeping her hips in that tempting roll. He wanted her, craved her, but when he flipped their position and was leaned over her heaving body, he had no idea how to move forward.
âBaby,â Annie whispered, noticing the way his eyes darted away in a mix of shame and fear. He didnât look at her straight on, and when her hand came up to his cheek, he jumped in shock. âElijah,â she whispered to gain his full attention. âI told you Iâd take care of you. I got you, and if you wanna stop, we canââ
âI donât want to,â he nearly shouted, frightened that the very thing he wanted, craved, was beginning to slip from his grasp. Annieâs eyebrows were raised and a goofy smirk tilted her lips. âI-I donât wanna stop,â he tried again, voice cracking. âIâm sorry.â
âItâs okay, baby,â she breathed pulling him down on top of her. Naturally, her mouth found the edge of his jaw because she couldnât get enough of that tremble when she did something that felt too good for him to contain it. âTake these off,â she whispered in his ear. Her hands pulled at his boxersâthe only thing on his bodyâand when he moved in a rush to obey her, she removed her own panties.
Kneeling between her open legs, Smoke groaned when he saw her arousal, glistening up at him. His mouth watered. His tip flushed. She was the most beautiful sight, and he made sure she knew that. The man whispered about her beauty into her left ear, how he was addicted to her, how heâd love her the length of his life, how he felt so safe and taken care of. He made sure she knew what she did to him and just how much he needed her in his life.
When the tip of his dick nudged itself between her folds, they both needed a second to collect themselves. Their conjoined warmth and wetness was almost too much to bear, and when Smoke began moving his hips to drag himself across her clit and back down to her entrance, they both wept.
âFuck, you feel so good,â he groaned, breath growing heavier. âHow you feel so good?â The words were slurred, disbelief dripping off of each syllable, and although he asked the question rhetorically, he was beginning to think maybe he did need some explanation.
âYou ainât even got the tip in yet,â Annie laughed from her chest. She threw her head back when Smoke rubbed her clit back and forth. She was wet enough that she could hear it, and with the way Smoke was looking between her legs, she could only imagine the sight he was being met with. âMake sure you go in at an angle,â she instructed, placing a pillow beneath her lower back. They both needed this to be easy and enjoyable. The longer they waited, the more their arousal clawed through them and the more they grew worried about fucking this up.
What surprised Smoke first was how he slipped inside with such ease, but what surprised him most was how he could feel every shudder, ever shift, every vibration from the inside. With nearly half of his length tucked away inside of her, Annie pulled Smoke down so that their chests were flush, so that their breaths mingled.
âCan I move,â he questioned, voice breaking as he contemplated how long heâd be able to last once she gave him the go ahead. The feeling of her surrounding him was glorious, and the normally unflappable man felt anything but calm.
âYeah,â she permitted, eyes dazed and dripping with emotion. Annieâs jaw cranked open as she eyed the man above her. They were both perfectly ruined for each other, so gone over the feeling of their bodies becoming one.
His hips moved timidly as he got a feel for the situation. And successfully delivering the man confidence, he stroked her walls in a slow rhythm when her hands landed on his ass in encouragement. Each thrust made them quake. Each drag made them moan. Each breath passed from one to another had them ready to break apart no matter how early in was in their pursuit.
âYou doinâ so good, âLijah,â Annie cooed, kissing his temple. His hips sped up, and hers rose to chase him every time he dragged out to the tip.
Breathing shakily, Smoke watched as the sun fell over Annieâs face. It floated through the windows, lighting up her eyes the same way the lights did at that concertâwhen he first got The Feeling. He decided in that moment, as her brown eyes revealed every fleck of honey in them, that the sun rose just for this. For her.
âYou perfect,â he breathed, addicted, and butterflies flooded her body.
Neither of them wanted to tap out just yet. Neither of them wanted to let go. But when Smoke would pull out to the tip, Annie would pulse around him in a way he couldnât resist. And when heâd bottom out again, a glorious pressure would form in the base of her stomach.
They continued to meet each other in the middle, arms holding on tight, bodies ready to give up the good fight.
And when they came, it was done simultaneously. They couldnât do anything but surrender together, to each other.
Breaths hot.
Bodies trembling.
Morning dew fading away.
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word count: ~2,200
a/n: i'm still accepting requests! i have one more that i really want to get to, but i'm looking for anything interesting. smut, fluff, angst, whatever you got for me!
Summary: Baran has always kept her personal life separate from work, life is easier that way. Unfortunately for her, PTMCâs annual gala requires an exception and youâre all-too eager to participate.
CW: fluff, established relationship, traditionally fem reader (reader wears makeup and a dress), possessive!Baran, insecure!Baran, kinda pervy!Baran, obsessed wives, coworkers meet the wife, reader is loved by all, smut (explicit sexual content), top!Baran, semi-public sex, fingering (r!receiving), little bit of a praise kink
WC: 4.3k
A/N: celebrating hitting 1k followers last night with this! My first real Baran piece that isnât just headcanons đ Hope you enjoy!
âYouâre going to make us late if you donât stop.â
The scold lacks heat, and you canât even stop yourself from laughing when Baranâs lips find the side of your neck again, your hand pausing hallway through sliding the last pin into your hair.
âMaybe I donât want to go anymore,â she murmurs against your skin as her hands settle on your waist.Â
âYou canât skip,â you snort. âYouâre an attending, it looks bad.â
âIâll call in sick.â
âYouâre a doctor.â
âAnd yet I suddenly feel very unwell.â
That pulls a warm laugh out of you and Baran swears under her breath in Farsi like the sound of it does something to her. Because this right here is why sheâs kept you away from the hospital for so long. Itâs not because sheâs ashamed of you, never that, but rather because she knows what happens to people when they meet you.Â
You finally finish with your hair, setting your products down before turning in her arms to face her. âYouâre being so weird tonight, what gives?â
Baran sighs through her nose, just a hint of annoyance settling on her face as she looks at you. âI do not want to share you with them tonight, azizam.â
âYour coworkers?â
She nods in confirmation.Â
âYou donât want them to meet me?â
Her eyes narrow as her grip on your waist tightens possessively. âI do not want my coworkers looking at my wife.â
The way she says my wife sends heat blooming into your face, and though you try to hide it, you fail miserably. Baran notices immediately and her lips curve up into a smirk, obviously pleased with herself as the tips of your ears tinge.
âYouâre blushing.â
âShut up.â
The drive over is quiet in a comfortable way. The city glows outside the windows of the uber, streaks of gold and white sliding across the glass while music plays through the speakers. Your heels rest against the floorboard, one ankle crossed over the other, and Baranâs hand hasnât left your thigh since the moment the two of you climbed into the backseat together. Not that youâre complaining, of course.
Downtown is alive tonight. Restaurants are crowded and the sidewalks are busy. And somewhere ahead, towering above the traffic, the convention center comes into view.
You canât believe hospitals even have galas.
âYou know,â you say, âwhen you first told me about this, I thought it was going to be in, like, a hotel ballroom or something.â
âIt usually is,â Baran replies casually.
âWait, really?â
âThe hospital is celebrating some anniversary this year.â Her fingers squish the skin of your thigh beneath your dress. âApparently they decided to go all out because of it.â
âThat explains why the invitation looked like a wedding invite.â
The uber eases to a stop beneath the overhang of the convention center, and the driver bids you both a polite goodnight while Baran helps you out onto the curb with a hand at your waist. The night air is cool on your skin, and youâre suddenly jealous of the long sleeves on Baranâs pantsuit keeping her warm.
People crowd the entrance to the building in clusters of black-tie gowns and tailored suits, and you can hear laughter echoing off marble and glass as the hospital staff filter inside. You recognize a few faces from pictures on Baranâs phone or stories over dinner, but most are strangers in a sea of faces.
Baran stays close to you, her hand on the small of your back as the two of you navigate through the lobby together toward a bank of elevators down a small hallway.
âYou okay?â she asks quietly as you wait for an available one.
You turn toward her, your face scrunching in confusion. âWhy are you asking me that?â
âBecause this is a lot of people in one place and I know how you feel about crowds.â
You purse your lips, but in thoughtfulness rather than upset. âIâm okay. Itâll be better once weâre upstairs, Iâm sure.â
The elevator arrives with a soft ding, the doors sliding open. Several other attendees step inside with you, conversations between coworkers overlapping. The fifth floor lights up as you reach it and the doors open to spill the gala out before you in gold.
Chandelier light glitters across floral arrangements and linin-draped cocktail tables. Warm jazz music drift through the massive ballroom beneath towering ceilings, and full-length windows overlook the Pittsburgh skyline. Itâs elegant and expensive in a way that only a for-profit hospital could be.
Youâre busy taking it all in when a voice catches your attention, even though it isnât aimed directly at you.
âDr. Al-Hashimi.â
You can feel Baran sigh next to you.
A woman in an ivory suit approaches with a comfortability that most people donât have when approaching your wife. Sheâs older and polished, with nails manicured and decorated in a way that tells you this is not an emergency room doctor, but likely some sort of administrator.
âGloria,â Baran says politely.
Gloria Underwood, you know that name. Some sort of big wig for the hospital, she interviewed Baran before your wife took the attending position, and youâve heard Baran complain about her at least once a week ever since.
âItâs good to finally see you outside the emergency department,â Gloria says, smiling before her attention turns on you. âAnd you must be the elusive wife.â
Baranâs hand is on your back again, but she isnât urging you forward and you canât tell if itâs to ground you or herself. âMy wife,â she repeats, and you can hear the undertone of pride in her voice.
You offer your hand with a smile, introducing yourself while Gloria shakes it warmly.
âItâs lovely to meet you,â she says. âI was beginning to think Baran had made you up.â
âProbably because she never lets me come to work with her,â you laugh.
âSmart woman,â Gloria says with a knowing look at your wife. âThe ER would probably stop functioning.â
You donât have time to ask what that means before Gloria turns her attention back toward Baran and the conversation drifts into hospital territory. You let yourself fade beside them, listening without really listening as your attention begins to wander.
Thereâs gold ribbon curled around centerpieces and champagne glasses in everyoneâs hands. People are laughing too loudly near the bar already even though itâs barely dark outside, and thereâs a string quartet setting up in a corner of the ballroom.
Eventually, during your trip to outer space, Baran gives Gloria one of those polite smiles youâve only ever seen her use at work during her time at the VA.
âWell,â she says smoothly, âbefore you trap me into discussing staffing ratios for the rest of the evening, I should probably make the rounds.â
Gloria laughs at that. âGo socialize, Doctor. Youâve earned at least one night off.â
Baran nods in farewell before guiding you deeper into the ballroom with a slide of her hand into your own.
âStaffing ratios?â you giggle.
âThis job is as much politics as it is medicine, azizam,â Baran sighs, scanning the room. She snags two flutes of champagne off the tray of a passing waitstaff, handing one to you.
You smile into the glass just another voice cuts through the crowd.
âBaran!â
A group standing around one of the cocktail tables waves her over and you can feel the change in her posture immediately. Itâs not tense, exactly, but you feel the way she straightens up next to you.
These must be the coworkers.
âThis,â she says quietly to you, âis the part I was worried about.â
Still, she leads you over to the table.
The group is an interesting mix, thatâs for sure.
One man stands slightly apart from the others, older than the rest with tired but intelligent eyes and an air of authority about him thatâs hard to deny. Beside him is another man with easier posture and a warm smile, with a drink balanced loosely in one hand. A younger man than the other two lounges against the edge of the table with the restless energy of someone whoâs incapable of standing still, and the redheaded woman standing beside him looks far more composed than he does. And then thereâs another woman watching the room over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip, the look in her eye almost seeming like sheâs above this entire get-together.
Baran stops at the table, her eyes scanning over each of them as she greets everyone. âDr. Robinovich,â she says first, inclining her head towards the older man. âDr. Abbot. And Dr.âs Langdon, McKay, and Garcia.â
You know she isnât greeting them by name because she needs to, but rather for your sake.
The older man immediately tilts his head toward the ceiling and waves a dismissive hand. âAbsolutely not, Baran. If you introduce me like that, I sound old.â
Baran deadpans, âMaybe that was my intention.âÂ
He smiles tightly at that before turning toward you and offering his hand. âMichael Robinovich. You can call me Robby.â
You shake his hand politely, but immediately dislike him. Not because heâs rude, he actually seems very nice. But because this is the man who made your wife cry after her first shift at the hospital.Â
You remember it vividly, Baranâs tear-streaked makeup and exhausted fury as she returned home to you hours later than she was supposed to be off, insisting she was fine while also admitting that sheâd not only had her first seizure in over a year, but two. Youâd held her all night, staying up long after sheâd fallen asleep, both for her comfort and out of fear of a third focal seizure.
So really, you think your dislike of him is justified.
âWow,â the one your wife called Langdon says suddenly as he blinks at you. âYou werenât kidding.â
Langdon ignores her completely, looking at you with intrigue. âHi, Frank Langdon. I was beginning to think she made you up.â
âFrank,â three different people say at once.Â
âWhat? Iâm being respectful!â
You laugh warmly, and the small group seems to relax around you as conversations break into groups. You smile at McKay when she compliments your dress, ask Abbot about the drink heâs holding, you even laugh at one of Langdonâs dumb jokes despite Baran muttering at you to quit encouraging him. And every time you laugh, every time someoneâs attention lingers on you a little too long for her liking, Baranâs hand settles lower against your back. You canât tell if sheâs grounding herself or if sheâs trying to stake claim.
Whichever it is, Robby takes notice right away. The smile he hides behind his glass is downright evil.
âSo, he says to her as your attention is taken by a story McKay is telling. âThis is why youâve kept her hidden for so long.â
âI donât know what you mean,â Baran says dismissively.Â
âSure you donât.â He gestures between her and you. âAfter refusing to introduce her to us, you brought your stunning and charming wife to a party, dressed up to the nines and looking like a walking sin. Pretty irresponsible, donât you think?â
âThatâs what Iâm saying!â Langdon blurts from Robbyâs other side.
âYou werenât invited into this conversation,â Baran says flatly.Â
You laugh at something Garcia says, attracting your wifeâs attention once more as you lean into her side. Her chin rests on your shoulder as she turns toward you, her eyes scanning around the ballroom.
âWhere are the baby ducks?â
McKay laughs.Â
âAt the bar,â Abbot says.
âAll four of them?â Baran asks.
âUnfortunately,â Garcia says. âSomeone spilled the beans to Trinity that they have tequila. We havenât seen them since.â
Baran closes her eyes like sheâs in physical pain. âAnd you left her unattended?â But before she can continue mourning the fate of her unsupervised residents, a burst of loud laughter sounds out from somewhere nearby.
You turn in time to see four younger people approaching the table carrying drinks, all of them mid-conversation as they reach the group.
The woman in front stops as she reaches the table, squeezing between Garcia and McKay and setting down the second drink in her hand in front of the surgeon before turning her eyes on you.
âWhat the hell?â
Baran sighs like this is exactly the reaction she expected. âBehave, Dr. Santos.â
âWhat?â Santos says, looking mildly offended. âYour wife is hot, you didnât say she was hot.â
Dr. Abbot coughs into his drink to hide a laugh, and the only man in this group of baby ducks (as your wife had so eloquently called them) loses the battle and snorts.Â
Your cheeks heat as you laugh, and you arenât sure if itâs from blood rushing or the alcohol. Or both. âThank you.â
âTrinity,â Santos introduces herself with a hand extended to you over the table, which you take. She then turns to Baran. âI get it now.âÂ
âStop that,â Baran scolds her.
âOkay, mom.â
Baran turns to Garcia then, her tone accusatory. âJust how many has she had?â
âThis would be her third,â Garcia replies with a roll of her eyes.Â
Questions fly from the group collectively known as ducklings. How did you meet? How long have you been married? Is Dr. Al this intense at home too? And with each question, your wife looks increasingly perturbed.Â
She knows you donât do this on purpose, and itâs almost never bothered her before, butâŠyou fit too well. Donât get her wrong, she loves your charm. Itâs one of the things that drew her to you first, your ability to get along with everyone, the way you naturally convince people into loving you. And at the VA, it didnât bother her. Maybe thatâs because her coworkers there were older, older than her even, and they werenât -
They werenât a threat.
Does Baran feel threatened by her ER coworkers? She wants to say no, of course not, but as she watches you talk to Trinity, watches you smile at Javadi, laugh at something that Langdon does, or Abbot, or Whitaker -
With every word, your wife looks one compliment away from spontaneously combusting, and you canât help but laugh. And unfortunately for her, youâve become the most interesting person in the ballroom. And through it all, you notice something. Every single time someone else has your attention for too long, Baran touches you. Her hand on your waist, or your elbow. Her lips on your bare shoulder. Itâs not enough for anyone to comment on, but it is constant enough that you take notice.
Especially when Langdon talks to you. Itâs harmless; heâs charming in a sort of cocky way that probably works very well on patients, and he clearly finds you attractive. And at one point you laugh at something he says and Frank grins, a sparkle in his eye at the sound of your laugh.
You can feel Baran tense up next to you and it cuts your laugh short as you turn to her. âAre you okay?â
The concern in your voice makes guilt flicker through her. Because she knows you havenât done anything wrong, youâre just being yourself. Which is, unfortunately for her, the entire problem.
She lets out a heavy sigh and then presses a quick kiss to your temple. âIâm going to get us another drink,â she murmurs in your ear.
You smile at that, tapping your empty champagne flute. âOkay.â
Baranâs hand leaves your back as she makes her way toward the bar at the far side of the room, loosening the tension in her shoulders only once the crowd thins out around her.
âAnother champagne?â the bartender asks, nodding toward the flute still in her hand.
âAnd a whiskey,â Baran says.
She leans one forearm against the edge of the bar while he works, her eyesight drifting back toward your table.
Bad idea.
McKay is talking to you now while Santos is gesturing animatedly beside her, and somehow the entire group has subtly turned towards you like flowers turning towards sunlight. Even from across the room, Baran can tell youâre glowing, beautiful and open, charming in a way sheâs never been immune to herself.
âRough night?â
She recognizes Jackâs voice without even having to turn to look at him. Nevertheless, she does as he settles against the bar at her side.
âYou followed me,â she says.
Jack shrugs as he flags the bartender down with two raised fingers, nodding toward his empty glass in wordless communication.
Neither of them speak for a moment, but as Jack glances back toward the table, following Baranâs line of sight, he smiles a little. âYouâve got a beautiful wife, Baran.â His tone stays easy and casual even as she tenses at his words. âYou had to know this was going to happen eventually.â
Her tongue presses against the inside of her cheek. âI did know.â
âShe seems nice.â
âShe is.â
âAnd everyone likes her.â
She turns to look at him then, but only halfway, like she canât really afford to lose sight of you. âAnd thatâs a problem?â
âYouâre sure acting like it is.â
Baran turns fully back toward the table just in time to catch you throwing your head back laughing at something Santos says, and her expression tightens.Â
Jack notices. âYou know,â he says, âmost people would kill for a marriage where their biggest problem is their wife is too perfect.â
Baran tsks as she glances at him out of her peripheral. âYouâre being very annoying right now.â
He shrugs noncommittally. âHey, Iâm just saying, it seems like the obsession goes both ways.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âShe keeps looking for you.â Jack nods subtly toward the table, and heâs right.
Even while smiling at everyone else, even as you carry on conversation with her coworkers, your eyes are drawn to the crowd in the direction toward the bar. Looking for her.Â
By the time Baran and Jack make their way back across the room to the table, crowds have thickened around tables, conversation louder now beneath the swell of music and alcohol.
Your face softens when your eyes land on your wife again. âThere you are,â you say, reaching for her as she sets the drinks down in front of the two of you.
Baranâs arm wraps around your waist as she reaches you. âMiss me, eshgham?â
Your own arms settle over her shoulders, fingers tangling together behind her head. âOf course I did.â
The group falls back into casual conversation around you as you sip your drink, half-listening and half paying attention to the knowing looks Dr. Abbot seems to be sending your wife, which sheâs pointedly ignoring.
After a while, the ballroom lights dim and the sound of microphone feedback echoes from the speakers overhead, drawing attention towards the stage at the front of the room where a podium now waits beneath a spotlight.
âOh no,â someone mutters from the opposite side of the table. âPolitics.â
âToo late to fake an emergency?â Langdon asks.
âWe work in an emergency department,â Robby says. âThat excuse wonât hold much weight.â
Gloria steps out onto the stage a second later to polite applause from the crowd. The room settles as she begins speaking, her voice echoing through the ballroom as she talks about the hospitalâs anniversary, community outreach, budget expansions, new wings, and a variety of other hospital-speak that sounds like a language you donât know.
Thatâs when you feel Baranâs hand close around your wrist.
Around the room, people nod along politely to Gloriaâs speech while waitstaff weave between tables collecting empty glasses and plates.
âAnd finally,â Gloria says after about twenty minutes, âIâd like to take a moment to acknowledge one department in particular.â She gestures vaguely in the direction of the table that houses most of your wifeâs department. âThe emergency department has seen one of the most significant increases in patient satisfaction scores in the hospital over the last year. The Press Ganey scores alone have risen dramatically, and while every member of the department deserves recognition for their hard work, thereâs one whose compassion, leadership, and dedication to patient care has had remarkable impact.â
Robby groans quietly under his breath. Individual callouts are always a nightmare.
âDr. Baran Al-Hashimi.â
Applause starts up, people turning toward your table, searching for Baran among the cluster of emergency department staff.
âShh,â Baran whispers hotly against your ear. âNot a sound, azizam, you donât want anyone to hear you, do you?â
Her hands are up your dress, which is bunched up against your hips by her impatient hands, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your lace panties. She yanks them down your thighs in one swift motion and you step out of them obediently, the cool air hitting your soaked core and making you shiver. She brings them to her nose for a brief second, inhaling deeply before stuffing the damp lace into the pocket of her pantsuit with a satisfied smirk.
Her fingers immediately return between your legs, sliding through your slick folds with firm pressure that has you whimpering enough for her to press her lips against yours to keep you quiet.
âSo wet already,â she murmurs against your lips.
She slips a finger inside you without warning, her middle finger sliding in to the knuckle easily. A whine catches in your throat, muffled by Baranâs mouth. Her free hand roams, squeezing your ass, pulling you harder onto her hand as a second finger pushes inside you, stretching and curling deep while her thumb finds your clit with delicious pressure.Â
The web, lewd sounds of her fingers pumping into your soaked pussy are the only sounds in the empty coatroom, loud to your heightened senses, and your hips rut to meet her hand.
Baran grinds her thigh between your legs for leverage, her own arousal evident in the way she rocks against you. Her breath comes in hot and shaky pants against your lips, more breathing into each otherâs mouths than actually kissing.
Her hand trails up your back to your hair, gripping at the base of your head to try and not mess up the pins in your hair (lest she feel your wrath) as she tilts your head back. You break from her mouth and she immediately begins kissing down your neck, stopping to suck a mark just below your ear. You feel the faint sting of her teeth and the heat of her mouth almost makes your knees buckle.
âB-ah!-Baran, you couldnât wait?â
âNeed to feel you cum on my fingers,â she pants against your neck. âNeed to know this pretty cunt is only for me.â
The pace of her fingers turns frantic. Her fingers fuck into you faster, deeper, her thumb abandoning your clit in favor of her palm grinding against you with every stroke. You clutch at her shoulders, nails digging into the fabric as the fire in your belly builds, pressure coiling tightly inside of you. The risk, the possessiveness, the whines youâre doing your best to muffle - itâs all overwhelming.
Baran leans in closer, her forehead pressing against yours as her eyes lock onto your own. âCum for me,â she demands. âCum on my fingers, show me who you belong to.â
The orgasm rolls over you like a wave, crashing through your body and Baran has to shove a hand over your mouth in an effort to contain the loud moan you let out. Your walls clench around her thrusting fingers, slick coating her hand as pleasure floods you. You shake against her, whining into her hand while she keeps fucking you through it, drawing out the feeling until youâre boneless and gasping for air against her palm.
Slowly, she withdraws her fingers and brings them to her lips, licking them clean with a low and satisfied moan, her eyes locked on yours the entire time. Then she kisses you deeply, her tongue sliding inside your mouth and over your own, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.
You whimper at the taste, fingers bunched in the top of her pantsuit.
âGood girl,â she whispers against your mouth as she smooths your dress back down with hands that are too tender for what theyâve just done to you.Â
With one final possessive kiss, she straightens, offering you a hand. You take it, allowing her to pull you off the coatroom wall, leading you back toward the gala like nothing happened, though your slick thighs are evidence of your escapades, as are your panties tucked safely in her pocket.
You barely have a second to breathe as you step back into the ballroom, because one of the younger doctors -Â Javadi,you think you heard someone call her - is the first to spot you.
âThere you are,â she says immediately, both relief and confusion mixing together as she looks between you and Baran. âYou missed it, Gloria just called you out during her speech. Like, publicly. In front of everyone.â
Baranâs expression sharpens. âShe did what?â
âYeah,â Javadi says with a roll of her eyes. âIt wasâŠvery flattering. Awkward timing, though, because you werenât here.â
Thereâs a pause then, enough for the group to really take the two of you in.
âNo fucking way,â Trinity says with a smirk, arms crossing in front of her chest as she appraises you. The slightly disheveled state of Baranâs hair, the smudge of your lipstick, the trace of redness at your throat. âOh my god.â
âTrinity,â Garcia warns, but the warning goes ignored.
âWe - we were getting drinks,â you stammer, even as your cheeks heat with the lie.
Trinity looks unconvinced, and your head swivels to your wife, desperately looking for backup.Â
You catch Langdon leaning toward Robby in your peripheral, whispering, âThey werenât getting drinks.â Â
Baran, on the other hand, looks totally unbothered, a stark contrast to the tense woman she was before the two of you disappeared. In fact, youâd dare to say she looks pleased with herself as her fingers wrap around the untouched whiskey glass and she takes a small sip.
âAnyways,â she says calmly, as if the last ten minutes havenât fundamentally changed the light her coworkers see her in. âWhat did I miss?â
Fluff -> Talia loves her bukhoor / dukhoon and clearly she loves you too
- CW: not proofread, suggestive ending, established relationship, heavily insinuated WLW
- I needed to write for the goat, also there isn't many arab characters I can write this for so...
Water trickled down your body as you came out of the shower, more specifically, Taliaâs shower.Â
You step over the shower mat thatâs propped in front of the door and you close the robe over your soaked body, hoping the towel-like fabric will soak up enough water, yet a lift of your eyes gives you a beautiful sight.
Talia stood at her own vanity, but she wasnât looking at her reflection of her natural glower, instead her gaze was turned down to the metallic holder, containing coal paired with strong, pleasantly-scented wood.
The bukhoor burnt with a scent that filled your lungs with kisses along your nose and down your trachea. It was overwhelming but it forced an audible sigh of content at your senses being practically blessed with the divine woody scent.
Talia isnât loud when she notices you, you arenât even aware that she noticed you; her hand raises before she crooks her finger, âCome, beloved.â She called simply, and even though you walked to her, she also took steps towards you. Cupping the holder in one comfortable grip, and once close enough, her hand reached up, to free your hair from the tie.
While lifting the holder containing coal and bukhoor, the mix wasnât visible, but the smoke was as she lifted up the container.
âSee how the scent will last, my dear..â she brags, voice hushed as she combs her fingers through your hair. She quietly admires the curl of the smoke in your locks just like she admires the gentle slither of it in her own hair.
âDo you like it? I had this wood brought to me from the gulf, does it not smell divine?â
âIt does, Talia. But are you sure this will last on me?â
She scoffs, as if you questioning her was unbelievable, though her expression remained neutral as she stared right into your eyes, even sweeping her gaze over your body. âYou doubt my knowledge of the materials I use?â She whispers the question.
Your stomach dropped slightly as you let out an audible gulp, âIâm notâI didnât mean to question you, sweetie!â
At your panicked explanation, Taliaâs smile grew, laced with smugness that you couldnât point out but knew was there. She reached with the hand that combed through your hair and used it to hook you closer by the sash of your bathrobe.
When you stumbled forward, she took it as a sigh to move more, dragging you to her bed. You couldnât help but ask, âAre you mad at me, Talia?â
She chuckled at your nervous question, simply reassuring you with a plain, âNot mad,â as she sat you down, placing down the heavy holder on her bedside table, she crawled over you.
Itâs almost immediate that her lips meet yours, the taste of mint and her scent of rose taif and jasmine felt so palpable in the air that you swore it lingers on your taste buds. Talia mutters against the kiss, âYouâre using the sugar scrub for your lips that I gave youâŠâ she gives a playful bite before sighing, âit tastes divine.â
It wasnât until you were squirming that she pulled away. She did so in a painfully slow manner and when you instinctively chased for the kiss to last longer, you huff in exasperation from her denial.
When leaning in once again, sheâs sure to lean into your neck, sniffing your hair from the hair line. âThe bukhoor has sustained well. Letâs see what else we can do to test its longevity, shall we?â She proposed, before dipping back down once again to lay another deep kiss against your lips.
I noticed recently that there are absolutely no Black people in the avatar the last airbender universe. But I feel like itâs impossible to have a discussion about it because people attach their Egos to their fandoms and will take it as a personal attack on their character that they like the show. And I can already hear the âdefensesâ, that itâs only supposed to focus on Asia (as if Black people didnât migrate to Asian Pacific Islands but alright), or that the water tribe is based on the Inuit.
I mentioned that a couple weeks ago! I'll admit I don't care too too much (ATLA is something that should have had One Run and Done imo), but it was wild that they had them traverse the ENTIRE planet and not a single person darker than Katara. Crazy work đ€Ł it's not even "fantasy Asia" because Asia is a gigantic continent full of different groups. It's just fantasy Japan, China, and the Inuit.
My feelings and problems about atla as a whole comes from the fact itâs a white ass writers room and white created show with pan Asian monoliths As well as erasure and appropriation of south west south and southeast asian cultures A lot of the shows problems could be fixed with accessibility diversity and inclusion This was translated to the live action unfortunately When a yt non native who lied about being Indigenous was casted as Sokka
THESE MAY BE MY LAST WORDS ABOUT MY WIFE.
This could be the last time I write anything while my wife is still alive, and I will never forgive anyone who sees this and scrolls past without caring or even sharing.
Today, my wife's medicine ran out. Since leaving the intensive care unit, her condition has remained critical, and without her treatment, I fear she could stop breathing again. I have no way to afford the medication she urgently needs.
I am begging you from Gaza, watching the woman I love struggle for every breath while I stand helpless beside her. Please donate now and help me get her treatment before it's too late.
Please donate now. GoFundMe.
My grandmother has been urgently admitted to the hospital because I couldn't afford to buy her medication due to the lack of donations.đ đ
My grandmother needs your help.
She urgently needs an expensive treatment that we cannot afford. If we cannot buy her medication, she may be forced to undergo emergency surgery, and there is a serious risk to her life.
Please, I love my grandmother and I want her to stay with us. Every donation, no matter how small, brings us closer to our âŹ600 goal and gives her a better chance of getting the treatment she desperately needs.
Please don't leave us alone. Your kindness, your donation, or even sharing our campaign could help save her life. đđ
