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world on pause | baran x r

there are very few things that can keep baran from her work...and migraines are one of them. but luckily you are an expert at taking care of your wife. ꨄ︎

tags: fem reader, hurt/comfort, baran needs a hug and she gets one, married au, soft baran, lot of fluff (2k)

#~ al hashimis ~#baran al hashimi #the pitt #dr al hashimi #al hashimi #baran x reader #baran al hashimi x reader #lesbian baran #the pitt reader insert #baran x you #wlw reader #wlw fluff #hurt/comfort

From Tapas to the Podium

Alexia Putellas x Reader

She's won Champions Leagues and World Cups, but nothing has ever terrified her like standing in the snow, helpless, as the woman she loves defies gravity.

Milano–Cortina is a cold that feels vertical. It doesn’t just wrap around you. It descends. The air comes off the mountains in clean, cutting sheets, sliding down the face of the Dolomites and into the stadium bowl. Breathing it is like inhaling glass — crisp, thin, startlingly pure.

Milano Cortina 2026 Winter Olympics stretches across the horizon in polished signage and immaculate scaffolding, but the landscape refuses to be softened by branding.

The ski jump rises above it all. It does not look like a slope. It looks like a decision.

A blade of white cutting into the sky, impossibly steep at the start gate, disappearing into the distance before plunging down toward the outrun far below. From the stands, the top seems detached from the earth entirely — suspended in pale air.

It unsettles her immediately. Alexia has played in stadiums that hold ninety thousand people. She has stood under floodlights that hum and roar.

This is different. This is silent in a way that feels vast.

Her coat is dark against the snow — long, insulated, severe in line but undeniably warm. You insisted on it. Sent her links. Made her promise she would not show up to the Olympics dressed like Barcelona in January. It is the right coat.

Still, she looks carved from somewhere sunnier.

The Norwegian flag rests around her shoulders. Not purchased at the gate. Not handed to her by federation staff. She picked it up herself two days ago, slipping away between media obligations to find a small storefront near the cathedral — colors deep and precise. She checked the stitching before buying it.

Folded it herself. Wrapped in it now with care — red aligned over her left shoulder, blue crossing steady at her back.

Intentional.

Wind moves constantly along the hill. Flags flicker and snap, small bursts of color marking invisible currents that shift without warning. She studies them instinctively — measuring direction, gauging rhythm, watching for patterns.

Height has never frightened her. But distance without intervention does.

Her gaze travels upward again. The start gate looks impossibly far from the landing. You will sit up there alone. The thought lands heavier than the cold.

At the base of the hill, skis rest against the barrier, long and impossibly narrow. From here they look fragile. Technical. Unforgiving.

She inhales slowly. The air stings. She keeps her shoulders squared, hands steady against the flag. Because this is your arena. And for the first time in years, she is stepping into a stadium where control does not belong to her.

The stadium settles as your name is announced.

Italian first. Then English. Then Norwegian.

It sounds different in each language — familiar in one, ceremonial in another.

Beside her, Ingrid leans forward immediately. She is unmistakably official — federation jacket zipped high, Norway crest bright against the red, beanie pulled low, gloves patterned in blue and white. She belongs to this cold. To this flag.

Alexia sits directly beside her. Close enough that their sleeves nearly brush. Her coat is darker than the snow, absorbing light instead of reflecting it. The Norwegian flag rests across her shoulders, folded with care — chosen, not issued.

Issued versus intentional.

Ingrid exhales sharply when you appear at the top of the hill.

Alexia’s breathing stays measured. Her gaze lifts. You are small up there. Not fragile — she would never use that word — but distant. Detached from scale. The start gate looks like it’s pinned to the sky, the outrun impossibly far below.

The space between those two points feels cruel.

Ingrid murmurs something under her breath — not to Alexia, not really. A reflex. A habit of athletes watching athletes. That was how this began after all. A warm night in Barcelona, Ingrid insisting you join them for tapas while you were visiting. You two should meet. Snow and sun colliding between shared plates and clinking glasses on a warm Catalan evening.

Alexia does not answer now. Her eyes do not leave you. Her thumb moves once — rubbing along the stitched seam of the flag where it folds over her shoulder. Not fidgeting. Grounding.

She tracks the wind flags. The official’s posture. The minute shift of your weight as you settle into the gate.

She understands stadium pressure. She understands expectations. What she does not understand — what she does not tolerate easily — is distance she cannot close.

You sit at the edge of the sky. She remains in her seat. Still. Watching. The official steps back.

The wind quiets — or maybe it only feels that way. For a moment, the entire hill compresses into stillness.

You lean forward.

There are no dramatics in it. No hesitation. Just commitment.

The push from the gate is clean. Your skis cut into the inrun, gathering speed with a sound thinner than she expected — steel against packed snow, sharp and accelerating. The slope looks steeper from below. Gravity does not feel theoretical anymore.

Her shoulders square. Her hand tightens once on the flag at her neck.

You reach the table. Launch. And then— Nothing. Not falling. Not landing. Suspended.

Your body angles forward into air that cannot be seen but must be trusted. Skis parallel. Arms steady. Chin level. You are no longer attached to anything solid.

The stadium disappears into white blur beneath you.

This is the moment she was not prepared for. On a football pitch, momentum can be chased. A mistake can be pressed. A line can be reorganized. Here, there is only air.

Her lungs forget their rhythm. Her eyes do not blink.

You are suspended between force and faith.

She cannot step onto this field. Cannot call out. Cannot absorb impact.

All she can do is watch you exist in the space between control and gravity.

It lasts less than two seconds.

It feels endless.

The landing returns everything to earth. Skis meet snow. A clean spray of white lifts behind you — steady, controlled through the outrun. No stumble. No correction.

You glide to a stop.

The stadium inhales. There is always a delay.

Distance. Wind compensation. Style points. Numbers assembling somewhere unseen.

Beside her, Ingrid is already leaning forward, tension wired through her frame. Alexia does not move. Not yet.

Your name appears. The score settles beneath it. A fraction of a second. Then— The number locks. First. Gold.

The stadium explodes. And so does she.

She is on her feet before she registers standing. The Norwegian flag slips from one shoulder entirely as she throws both arms into the air — unguarded, instinctive.

“¡Vamos!”

It tears out of her before she can temper it.

She turns, grabbing Ingrid in a fierce half-embrace, laughing — not the measured kind, but bright and reckless. Her hands come down hard against Ingrid’s shoulders, then back to her own head, disbelief and pride crashing together.

She looks back to the scoreboard.

Still first. Still gold.

Her face breaks open. No calculation. No control.

Pure joy.

She claps once, sharp and decisive, then points toward the hill — toward you — as if the entire stadium needs confirmation of what she already knows.

That’s mine. Not possession. Recognition.

You flew. You conquered gravity. And she does not care who sees how proud she is.

You step onto the highest platform. Snow compresses beneath your boots with a dry, deliberate sound. An official stands in front of you, white gloves stark against the gold medal resting in their hands.

For a moment, everything narrows. The ribbon lifts. Slides over your head. Brushes your collar. The medal settles against your chest. It is heavier than you imagined. Cold at first. Then warming quickly where it rests against you.

The stadium rises in a swell of sound. Then the anthem begins.

The first notes hit harder than the landing did.

Your chin lifts instinctively — not to search the stands, but to keep yourself steady. Your throat tightens almost immediately. You inhale carefully through your nose, measured, controlled. The medal shifts slightly with your breath, the weight grounding and unreal at the same time.

You blink. Once. Twice.

You fix your gaze somewhere above the floodlights, where mountain meets night.

You close your eyes for a brief second — not long enough to lose composure, just long enough to keep from losing it entirely.

When you open them again, you let yourself look.

You find them together. Ingrid stands in full federation colors, singing now — voice steady, proud, unmistakably national. Beside her, Alexia stands with the Norwegian flag slightly crooked across her shoulders from her earlier eruption. She hasn’t fixed it. She isn’t singing, but she is smiling in a way that makes no attempt at restraint.

Bright. Open. Almost disbelieving.

Her eyes shine — not fragile, not spilling — just overwhelmed in a way she rarely allows.

When she sees you looking, her expression softens further. Not smaller. Just deeper.

Her hand lifts briefly, pressing against the flag at her collarbone as if she needs something solid to anchor her to the moment.

No nod. No signal. Just pride.

You don’t hold her gaze long. The anthem swells again and pulls you back into it — into country, into history, into the sound that shaped you.

You face forward. Jaw set. Breathing through it.

Gold hangs heavy at your chest.

And in the stands, she remains there — smiling without apology, celebrating you more fiercely than she ever celebrated herself. Even in stillness.

The anthem fades into applause that echoes against the mountains.

Then the stillness breaks.

Officials step forward. Gloves brush your elbow. A microphone grazes too close to your cheek. Snow churns under boots, turning from pristine white to uneven ridges of gray.

“Look here.” “Just one more.”

You smile because you have to. Lift the medal when prompted.

The gold catches the light again — blinding for a second — before settling back heavy against your sternum. The ribbon presses faintly into the back of your neck, warm now from your skin.

Your pulse hasn’t fully slowed. You can feel it in your fingertips.

In the stands, the cold carries sound strangely — sharp, directional. Applause snaps. Laughter cuts clean through the air.

Alexia is still standing. The Norwegian flag rests unevenly across her shoulders, one corner sliding slightly down her arm where it loosened when she threw her arms up earlier. She hasn’t corrected it. She claps as you step down from the podium — firm, rhythmic, unmistakably proud. The sound of it carries.

A few people nearby hesitate mid-cheer. A murmur travels sideways through the row. A phone lifts. Another. “Is that—” “It is.” La Reina wrapped in Norwegian colors.

Snow dusts the shoulders of her dark coat. Her breath fogs in soft bursts when she laughs — bright, unguarded. Beside her, Ingrid nudges her lightly with an elbow, grin wide, as if to say I told you so.

Alexia barely registers it. Her eyes are locked on you.

When you finally break from the press cluster, boots sinking slightly into churned snow, the noise dulls — not because it fades, but because you’re moving toward her.

She steps forward.

The first thing you feel is fabric — the flag brushing your arm as she reaches you.

Then her hands firm at your shoulders. The medal presses hard between you when she pulls you in. Metal against fabric. Cold edge against warm skin.

Her coat smells faintly of clean wool and winter air.

Her forehead dips to your temple, and her breath is warm where it touches the side of your face, a sharp contrast to the sting of the alpine wind.

“I hated that.”

It’s low enough that only you hear it. The words vibrate against your skin.

She pulls back just slightly, enough to look at you properly. Snow catches in her hair near her temple. Her hands remain at your arms, thumbs pressing into the fabric of your sleeves as if she needs to feel resistance.

“I have never felt that helpless.”

Around you, Norway is still roaring. Cameras are still flashing — white bursts reflecting off the medal at your chest. Somewhere behind you, people are still whispering about the image of her cheering.

But here— There’s only the sound of your breathing. The weight of gold. The warmth of her hands through layers of fabric. And the quiet way she holds you like gravity might try something again.

The hotel room is warmer than it should be. After hours in the alpine cold, the air feels dense, unfamiliar against skin still carrying mountain chill. The door shuts behind you. Silence settles in layers.

She reaches for the Norwegian flag first. It slips from her shoulders, fabric sliding softly against the dark wool of her coat. She holds it for a moment, thumb brushing once along the edge like she’s making sure it’s real.

Then she folds it carefully. Precise. Deliberate. She places it on the desk. Red and blue aligned perfectly. Only then does she remove her coat. She hangs it over the back of a chair, smoothing the lapel once before letting it rest.

You’re still wearing the medal. It presses against your chest, heavy and warm now. You reach up slowly, fingers brushing the ribbon at the back of your neck. Lift it over your head. The absence of weight feels almost stranger than the weight itself.You step toward the desk and place the gold gently on top of the folded flag.

Metal against fabric. No ceremony. Just certainty.

She watches you do it. Something in her expression softens further.

You pace once across the carpet without meaning to — adrenaline still humming faintly in your bloodstream — then stop.

She studies you.

“I keep thinking about Barcelona," Her voice is softer here. “That night Ingrid insisted you come out with us.”

Tapas on a narrow street. Warm air pressing against your shoulders. Glasses clinking. Laughter spilling into the pavement.

“She said we should meet like it was nothing.”

Like snow and sun weren’t about to collide years later.

You remember the heat of that evening. The hum of the city. The way the world felt open and uncomplicated.

She exhales slowly.

“I didn’t think it would look like this.”

You step closer standing between her knees.

Her hands rise to your hips automatically — but instead of stopping there, they slide under your open jacket, palms pressing flat against your sides, warmth through thin fabric. Then she leans forward. Her forehead rests gently against your stomach, just below your ribs.

Closer now. Unarmored.

Her arms wrap more fully around you beneath your jacket, holding you there.

“I don’t like not being able to protect the person I love.”

It isn’t possessive. It isn’t dramatic. It’s almost frustrated.

You rest your hand at the back of her neck, fingers sliding into her hair.

“That night was a good one.”

It’s simple, but she understands.

You tilt your head down. Press a slow kiss to the crown of her head.

Not hurried. Not celebratory. Just there.

A thank you. An I hear you. An I love you for loving me like that.

“You don’t have to protect me from gravity.”

The words are steady when you say them. Not dismissing. Not teasing. Just certain.

She exhales softly against you. Stays there for a moment longer. Then her cheek settles against your stomach again, arms tightening just slightly.

When she speaks, it's almost against your skin.

"I am so proud of you."

Whispered. Certain.

Outside, snow continues to fall over the Dolomites. Inside, gold rests quietly on red and blue.

She holds you closer than she did in the stands. Not because she’s afraid, but because she doesn’t have to be strong here.

Where Champions Stand (Winter Olympics Series)

Can I get some Al-Hashimi x f reader? 🩷🫶

Everything You Could Want

〚 Notes - wrote most of this at 4am when my little gecko was flinging himself around his enclosure and making very loud ‘splat’ sounds lmfao 〛

〚 Pairing - Baran Al-Hashimi x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Baran had only just taken over for Robby. She didn't have time to slow down. Everything was fine - until it all catches up with her. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 2300 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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“hHh’ATTshhiew!” Baran bent forwards as she curled into her elbow with a damp, throat-scraping sneeze. 

She looked up just in time to see several pairs of eyes on her before they quickly darted away upon being noticed. Great. Just what she needed. Another reason to be the talking point of the ER.

Only two weeks had passed since Robby had left to go on his sabbatical and Baran was still going full-force. Everyone had expected it in the first few days, the high-impact energy, but that drive hadn’t let up. The attending wanted to make the transition as smooth as possible, to make the best impression possible on the higher-ups. Especially after she suggested the idea of two attendings being on shift upon Robby’s return. She’d been going above and beyond, often not leaving until the late evening despite her shift finishing at 7.

“Doctor Al-Hashimi?” A familiar voice called from somewhere behind her, the doctor turned around to see a worried frown pulling at the charge nurses' lips from across the ER.

“G’bless you doc’. Hell of a sneeze you got there. Didn’t think you were capable of such a thing.” Dana’s voice carried with ease, handing over a file of lab results.

The attending felt her cheeks burn, her eyes darting to the floor as she fought the sudden embarrassment as she tried to decide what to say, “They’re a nuisance.” 

“Better out than in,” Dana chimed, waving her off with a chuckle, “You should hear McKay, Christ Almighty she could blow your socks off with one of those. Scared us half to death the first time she caught a cold.” 

Baran gave a faint, breathy huff that might have passed for a laugh on a better day, it snagged halfway through her throat and dissolved into a rough, dry cough. She turned her face slightly away as it lingered, pressing her knuckles briefly to her lips, as if she could muffle the irritation scratching up from her chest. Dana leaned down, trying to meet her gaze as her earlier amusement softening into something more observant. “Speaking of, are you feeling alright yourself? You’re looking a bit peaky there.”

The doctor nodded as she straightened her posture and pretended to busy herself with looking over a chart. She cleared her throat, “I’m just fine.” She said simply, choosing to ignore the slight rasp at the edge of her words.

If the nurse didn’t believe her, she said nothing. Baran sniffed, quick and reflexive, only to wince faintly at the way it seemed to do absolutely nothing. If anything, it made the congestion more apparent, a dull, heaviness having settled in her sinuses. She dragged in a careful breath through her mouth instead, but that only stirred the dryness in her throat, coaxing another faint cough that she muffled against her sleeve.

Get it together.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the pen she’d been fidgeting with, knuckles paling for just a moment before she forced them to relax. She could feel it now, the subtle tremor running beneath her composure, the kind that came from pushing just a little too hard, for just a little too long. She’d been too distracted to notice Dana slipping away quietly, pulling out her phone and walking away as she spoke into it.

The doctor somehow managed to finish typing up a couple of charts, granted it took twice her usual time. Somewhere to her left there was a growing volume of hushed murmurs. Baran didn’t consciously register it at first. Her instincts prickled with that subtle, creeping awareness of being watched again.

Her shoulders stiffened slightly, and she stepped away from the desk just in time to make direct eye-contact. Baran’s heart dropped a little as she recognised the figure standing next to Dana. The chief medical director, and more importantly her boss.

Gloria stood with the kind of stillness that commanded attention without asking for it, arms folded neatly across her chest, her expression unreadable but unmistakably firm. Dana muttered something to her, just out of earshot, and Gloria gave a small, decisive nod.

“Dr Al-Hashimi,” She called out suddenly in a no-nonsense tone, “A moment of your time please.”

Shit.

***

“Not well enough to work.” That was such… such- absolute bullshit. The doctor was still grumbling to herself about it as she fumbled with the lock of her front door.

Sent home? What was she, a child? Such an utter embarrassment. She opened the door with a little more force than necessary, making herself jump as the door handle thudded against the wall.

“Baran?” A confused voice came from somewhere down the hall as the doctor let her bags fall to the floor, not bothering to neatly hang it up like usual. She rubbed her eyes, trying to find the strength to act like her usual self.

“It’s me.” She called back after a beat. The doctor had been taking off her shoes when the scuttle of little paws approached. The two of you had recently taken in a small, black cat and the little guy never failed to make her smile.

The doctor exhaled slowly and crouched, one hand bracing briefly against her knee for balance as she gently stroked the top of his head as he meowed at her. The little thing pressed into her touch, purring faintly, completely unaware of the way her fingers trembled just slightly against his head.

“Is everything okay? I thought you had work today?”

It had only just turned noon. You were often lucky if Baran was ever home for the time her shift actually finished. She never got off early, especially this early. Something had to be up.

You’d just been getting up from the spot on the sofa where you’d been curled up with a book when the sound of sudden, desperate sneeze came from down the hall.

Ah.

The kitten came skittering back into the living room, clearly spooked from the sudden sound. Close behind, Baran followed in a slow shuffle, pinching the bridge of her nose with a small groan. She gave you a look, somewhere between exhaustion and defeat. It looked like she had been about to say something, but a thick, chesty cough rippled up her throat, leaving her a little dizzy afterwards.

Things were starting to make more sense now. She hadn’t been feeling her best the previous night. But Baran being Baran, she had insisted that it wasn’t that bad. She very rarely got sick, and truthfully you had no reason not to believe her when she claimed she felt well enough to work. But even if she wasn’t, she never would have admitted it. You recalled the conversation the pair of you had the night before she had officially taken over.

“Nothing can go wrong; this will reflect completely on my abilities.”

A little bit of guilt began to pool in your stomach. You should’ve seen the warning signs of this happening. The late nights, the growing exhaustion in her eyes. It was inevitable that her body would give in eventually.

“Oh, my love.” You were at her side in an instant, a soft pout playing on your lips. She looked absolutely spent, her usually neat curls sticking out whilst her baby hairs stuck to her clammy forehead, “Let’s get you sat down.” 

The Persian made a half dismissive sound, but she didn’t resist when you gently guided her toward the sofa. That alone told you everything you needed to know.

She let her head fall back against the sofa; eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if even keeping them open was too much effort. You quickly went to retrieve a bottle of water and tissue box before taking the empty spot beside her, wrapping a hand over her shoulder when she shuffled up close.

You pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, lips lingering just a second longer than necessary, “I’m surprised you actually came back.” You said after trying to silently gauge her temperature. In the meantime, your kitten had returned and had jumped up onto the sofa, settling into her lap.

 Baran’s head was nestled against your side, her spare hand rhythmically stroking the purring animal, "Dana had me sent home," She mumbled against your shirt, her voice thick and frustrated. "I told her I was fine, that I could finish my shift, but it didn’t change her mind.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her; your brow furrowed in genuine surprise. Baran was the type of doctor who had to be dragged away from her charts; the idea of her being dismissed mid-shift by anyone else but herself was unheard of.

You tilted your head as you tried to wrap your mind around the situation, “I didn’t think Dana was your boss though? How would she-“

“Dana told Gloria, and then Gloria came down and said she agreed that I needed to leave. Didn’t leave me much room to argue.” Baran clarified noticing your confusion. She sniffled softly, unconsciously rubbing the back of her knuckle against the underside of her nose as she tried to quell whatever itch was creeping down her sinuses.

It didn’t work, and she’d barely pulled her head out of your shoulder enough to clasp a hand in front of her face as her body went rigid with a barely stifled sneeze. The cat on her lap seemed to sense her discomfort, meowing as he nudged further into her side.

She barely had time to recover, her breath falling into a desperate hitch before another followed. It was louder this time, breaking cleanly through whatever composure she’d been clinging to.

The sound was muffled into her hand, but the force of it made her shoulders tense beneath your arm. A quiet whine slipped from her afterward, her head dropping back against you as if even that small exertion had drained what little energy she had left. Her cheeks flushed a little deeper as she sniffled damply.

“Bless you.” You murmured softly, brushing your fingers back through her hair, trying to smooth the curls that had long since lost their usual order.  It felt strange seeing her like this, so tired and out of it.

She mumbled what you assumed was meant to be a thank you but was interrupted by a wide yawn halfway through. 

“How about we take a nap?” You suggested as she blinked slowly, clearly struggling to keep herself awake. She had to be exhausted, just workload by itself was enough to make anyone tired, never mind adding being sick on top of it.

The doctor shifted slightly, as if trying and failing to think of an excuse to stay awake. “Maybe…” She muttered after a moment, her mind too foggy to make something up.

“Definitely.” You corrected her lightly 

You didn’t give her much room to negotiate, and frankly, she didn’t have the stamina to try. With a gentle squeeze of her shoulder, you stood up, offering out a hand to help her up.

The kitten, sensing the shift in gravity, let out a disgruntled chirp before hopping down to follow at your heels like a tiny, fuzzy shadow. The walk to the bedroom was slow. Baran leaned heavily into your side, her steps sluggish and slightly uncoordinated. When you finally reached the edge of the bed, she didn't collapse immediately. Instead, she paused, her fingers fumbling clumsily with the hem of her scrub shirt.

“Do you want one of my t-shirts?” You asked. She usually liked to sleep in something baggy. But this time she shook her head, taking off her shirt, then tugging on yours. So that was what she wanted, you nodded, “Okay then, you lay down. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Whilst Baran got herself into bed, you grabbed a few supplies that you thought would be useful. Water, tissues, thermometer. You debated bringing her a snack, but she never seemed to have an appetite when she was ill – instead you settled on the idea of making her something warm for dinner later.

You made quick work of placing everything on her bedside. The curtains had already been drawn closed, making the room notably darker. Baran’s head was already against the pillow, waiting for you to return with sleepy eyes. You’d been about to get into bed beside her when you remembered her unspoken request and took your shirt off.

Baran had already done the same. Skin to skin was something she loved whenever she wasn’t feeling her best. Once you were laying down, she let her head fall on your chest as she nestled into your side. Despite how warm she felt, you could feel the goosebumps running down her arms.

A heavy, congested sniffle escaped her, her face pressing firmer into your chest. "I hate this." She mumbled, her voice sounding small and far away, stripped of the professional authority she carried at the hospital.

"I've got you," You whispered, your voice low and grounding. "Just close your eyes, love. You’ll feel better after some rest."

She didn't need to be told twice. She gave a small, congested hum of agreement, her forehead burning against your skin as she tried to find a comfortable spot. Her hand, still slightly clumsy, curled into the mattress beside your hip, while her legs tangled with yours under the covers.

The kitten, unwilling to be left out of the huddle, managed to find a gap near her feet and burrowed into the duvet, forming a small, purring lump. This wasn’t exactly how you’d planned to spend your day off, and it wasn’t to say you were glad Baran was sick. But right here, right now, you had everything you could want and more.

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#baran al-hashimi #baran al-hashimi x reader #baran al-hashimi x you #baran al hashimi #the pitt #dr al hashimi #al hashimi #baran x reader #baran al hashimi x reader #lesbian baran #the pitt reader insert #baran x you #wlw reader #wlw fluff #hurt/comfort #baran al-hashimi sickfic #sickfic #fluff #caretaking

Kinktober Day 4 - Padmé Amidala

Summary: One too many boring senate meetings and a persistent Togruta leads to your wife punishing you for your bratiness.

Kinks: Power play, body worship, WLW sex.

#Angels Kinktober 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Ѽ #˚₊‧꒰ა Angel writes! ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#kinktober 2025 #anisangeldust #padmé amidala #padmé naberrie #padme amidala x reader #padme amidala smut #Padmé Amidala x fem reader #Wlw reader #Padmé Amidala wlw #padme amidala #Padmé Amidala fanfiction #padme my love #wlw smut #wlw #padme naberrie

PLEASE write more streamer jinx😩🙏🙏 I only ever see other characters. it was so funny reading it and imagining what out of pocket things jinx would say

“Long night” | Gf!Jinx doing streaming marathons.

A/N: This is just meant to be a rough draft, putting some thoughts into words. I’m aware it’s not my best work, I just really wanted to give it a shot. Reader wears glasses btw! | thank you a ton for giving me an excuse to write more of this. I love streamer!jinx. I hope this is alright!

WC: 400(?), CC: 2,155 | CW: Gunshot mentions. Jinx is a Fortnite lover. | Pairing: Streamer!Jinx x F!Reader.

She throws my leg over her shoulder

“I just want a quick taste babe.”

“You said that last time.” She doesn’t care, I know she doesn’t in fact I love that she doesn’t.

She kisses me through my undergarments, her breathing gets heavier as if she’s the one being pleasured. She all but is.

“I love this pussy so much baby.” She pulls my underwear to the side, kisses my hip, the crease of my thigh, everywhere but where I need her.”

“Please baby. Come on don’t tease.” She chuckles and the air of it makes me shiver. Fuck she’s so sexy like this.

“You know I like to take my time..” She kisses me once and I gasp. “You like it too.”

My hand finds the back of her head. “Eat me how I like baby..please? Don’t make me beg.”

“But I love when you beg.” She bats her eyes innocently.

“I’m done playing nice.” I force her head where I need her as I grind my pussy into her face. “Fuck.”

I shudder, my pace slowing the more that tight feeling in my stomach creeps up on me. A slap to my thigh shocks me. “Unt unt, don’t stop now. You wanted this.”

She grabs me by my ass, thrusting me into her face, I grind in a desperate attempt to keep up.

She hums on my pussy, the vibrations sending shockwaves through my body. “so close baby, so close.”

She flattens her tongue and slurps me up in long, slow, strides. My legs shake as strings of whimpers leave me.

“I know baby I know, you sound so pretty when you get like this.” She inserts two fingers into my soaking cunt at once, “Let mommy take care of you.”

My eyes roll as my body stills, she coos and coax’s me with praises in my ear, her long fingers pumping me just right.

“Faster. Harder, please mommy.”

She smirks before obliging, speeding up her tempo, one leg interlocked in her hold on me while she pounces.

“Like this? Tell mommy she’s doing well.”

“S-so good ohmygod.”

My body erupts in a violent shake as my orgasm rushes through me, her pace never halting.

“Fuck fuck fuck, don’t stop don’t-” The air leaves my body as I squirt all over her.

“Oh look at your mess.” She cooed. “You made my pussy all messy too.. you’ll have to clean it up yea?”

I nod as I watch her strip from her clothing and scoot back onto bed. She beckons me over and I oblige, crawling in between her legs and intertwining ours.

She finds her holding, one hand on my hip the other on my waist. I press ever so lightly, tapping once then twice. Each time applying more and more pressure until I can’t help it and I have to grind my pussy into hers.

She bites her lip watching me, “Yea. Just like that baby.”

I sigh the more I find my rhythm, the more the pleasure builds. Soon we’re whimpering messes, taking turns coaxing each other on.

“F-fuck. Don’t give up on me now.”

I drop down harder, faster. Whimpering louder as my thrust become more and more erratic.

“I’m so close, I can’t hold it-”

“Don’t cum yet princess wait on mommy.”

I try to slow but she slaps my thigh as she thrust into me from underneath, “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

My stomach turns as I grind harder trying to hold back the crushing wave threatening to release.

Our pussies mesh together, the noise sloppier and sloppier the closer we get, she slaps my thigh over and over and I know then she’s close.

I muster everything in me to fuck back, lowering until I was moaning right up against her ear, cooing her to cum with me.

“I know you’re close.” I gasp as she slaps me again. “Come on baby.” My voice hitch. “I can’t hold it anymore I need you-”

My body jolted before I could finish my sentence as my orgasm rushed through me. The force thrusted me, triggering her orgasm, her moans following mine. Still she slapped my ass, grinding into me until I was squirting, she slid her hand between my folds rubbing me through it.

“Fuck, you just don’t stop.”

She flipped us, interlocking our legs once more. “I can’t help it, your pussy drives me insane baby.”

She pushes my legs back and angels them to where she’s ridding my pussy so good, hitting my clit just right.

I can’t help the immediate moans falling from my lips, through my teary, hazy, sight her sexy face peering down on me sends my eyes rolling.

“This pussy so fucking good,” She whines as she tosses her head back, coming down on me harder, faster.

“Uh..uh..uh” With every bounce, every thrust incoherent babbles follow and she smirks before grinding harder.

My stomach tightens, breathing hitches.

“I’m cumming,” I scream as my orgasm suddenly hits me.

“Did mommy tell you to cum? Huh?”

“Noimsorryfuck” I slurred, her pace never letting up.

“Well cum again. Now.”

She slapped me. “I said cum.” She slapped me again.

“Fuck I-” The sound of splashing interrupted my plea as i squirted all over us once more. She smirked, still not satisfied with her work.

“You don’t look fucked enough. I think you can cum again for mommy. Come on baby you can do it.” She whined this time.

I thrusted my hips, between her whimpers and whines, it was just the right friction to send me over the edge.

“Just like that.” She moaned, grinding through her high.

We collapsed together, legs intertwined, bodies sweaty, breathing heavy.

(I got lazy at the end, not proofread.)

#black writers #black reader #black wlw #x black reader #wlw reader #black sapphic #black lesbian #multi x reader

Yandere Vixen/Mari McCabe x Fem! Reader

Author's Note: MY WIFEEEE. I lied ya'll, Mari was actually my first female hero love. This scene of her and the one where she's staring at John when he aims his ring at her changed my brain chemistry.

Warning: Suggestive themes/mentions of sex/yandere behavior obviously.

- Mari would be such a charismatic yandere, she knows how to hide her fangs from her pretty little darling so she doesn't accidentally scare them off. In fact, she'd be really hard to pin down as a yandere because she'd already have her darling wrapped around her finger completely with just her charm, wit, and beauty alone.

- I don't really see her as being a jealous yandere because, like, she's a successful business woman and famous model. Not in a conceited or arrogant way but she knows her darling puts her on a pedestal, so she can only laugh when others dare to try and sway her darling away from her. However she is protective of what's hers. Territorial. She won't outright kill people because being so renowned comes with its limitations but in general, her moral compass (although corrupt) could never allow her to do so. Scaring them off with her power and influence, however? That's more up her alley.

- Leaving lipstick kisses upon your skin and "accidentally" forgetting to remind you to get rid of them. Accidentally "forgetting" her designer bags, earrings, and jewelry at your home so that everyone that enters at least know that you two are very "close friends", and constantly cuddling next to you during stuffy galas and events while draping her arms around you to keep her close and nearby. Whispering sweet nothings in your ears and making you giggle and blush so hard while she sends a smirk at the person who tried to take you away from her. A reminder that they can never have you because Mari has worked hard to become the only apple of your eye.

- In current canon, she does design her own clothes so you becoming her muse in her future designs. No matter your body type, she'd absolutely adore every part of you. Her designs are lovingly drawn with all of your curves in her mind, she bites her lip as her fingers delicately run over the fabric to smooth it out over the mannequin because she knows the color would look absolutely perfect on you. If you ever complain about ill-fitting clothes or want to improve your outfits, don't worry your cute little head about it♡ Mari will be more than happy to do so, especially because it gives her an opportunity to see what kind of clothes you like, and what style preferences you have♡

- The reason why Mari is so obsessed with you is because you make her feel safe. She may protect people but whose there to protect her? She was forced to leave her home, her romances have ended in either tragedy or failure (B'wana Beast fucking dying, her and Bronze Tiger not working out, and John Stewart being a HOMEWRECKER/j), but despite all of that, she stayed strong and never let it get in the way of her duties as a hero.

- But then you came into her life. You became her friend and close confidant. She told you everything and you were so...kind, compassionate. You put your hand over hers and told her how much you admired her for being so strong...but that you also felt so bad that she had no one to lean on, no one she felt that she could depend on, that she always had to be the one to keep the brave face. Maybe its because you understood what it was like to feel that way, maybe it was out of extreme empathy but you smiled up at her.

- "Mari, I might not be able to fly or save the world like you do, but....I want to be there for you. I admire you, not just for your strength or your bravery, but because your heart is so big and has gone through so much. Please, let me help you the same way you help everyone else!"

- And once she felt her heart skip a beat, she realized that she could never let you go. Because she finally had someone who she could come home to, someone who she felt safe enough to not be Vixen or renowned supermodel/ fashion designer. But Mari McCabe, the woman who helps people because she wasn't able to help the ones she loved. But not you, she'll be ready this time.

- After all, she's not oblivious to the risks of what happens to civilians who date heroes. She's seen it again and again with her coworkers and friends. So while she won't kill villains, she will give them a message they will never forget. Scratch it into their minds with her perfectly manicured and sharp nails that you are not be touched and that she will happily give them reasons not too.

- She really isn't that bad of a yandere. She would love to spoil you but she would have enough empathy to not straight up rob you of your independence. Not to mention that unlike traditional yanderes who want to lock their darlings away, Mari would love to flaunt you at her side. Showing you off in cute outfits that she bought/made you herself, taking you with her to different countries where she has a photoshoot at so you two can make a vacation of it, and having everyone gawk at you and her the moment you two walk into the room knowing they can look at you but they can't touch.

- She tries her best to keep you out of her work but if you notice her stressed or upset, you beg her for the chance to make her feel better. That can either mean having a nice relaxing bath with rose petals and soothing salts with her, massaging her tense muscles and aching body from a hard night of fighting and acrobatics, or maybe something a bit more physical. Maybe even all three. Either way, it will always end with her using her fingers to draw various shapes and patterns on your bare skin as she purrs softly into your comforting kisses and sweet praise. Her grip on you tightening and a small playful whine pulled from her lips whenever you stop for even a second.

- SHE WOULD TOTALLY RECOGNIZE YOU FROM SCENT ALONE AS WELL and her heightened senses are HIGHLY tuned to every detail about you. When she's halfway at the door of the luxury apartment she convinced you to live with her in, she smiles at the sounds of your scurrying feet as you excitedly anticipate the return of your lovely girlfriend. The way that she loves to sniff your hair and during sex, would so have a thing for pressing her nose against your body and letting herself get dizzy and drunk off your delicious scent♡ She savors every touch and intimate moment you two share like a fine meal, worshipping every part of your body and letting you do the same to hers, she will have every aspect of you memorized like the back of her hand.

- When she feels insecure or unconfident, she needs you. She lays her head on your lap and wants you to tell her that it will all be better. As prideful of a woman as she is, she can't deny the fact that she feels herself get soft around you. But that doesn't make you her weakness. Quite the opposite actually. Because even when the odds are against her, even when it seems like the villains have the upper hand, Mari will keep pressing on. Her urge to fight and protect stronger than ever and its all because of you. She fights so hard to get back home to you, she will gladly take every hit and injury if it means you'll be back home to kiss it better. She refuses to go down because you'll be by yourself, your beautiful eyes teary eyed, and your poor sweet heart broken because of her. The thought alone drives her insane with determination and anger because Mari will always be there to wipe away your tears, just like you have hers, and she will push herself above and beyond to get back to you.

- In terms of her being aware of her own yandere tendencies, she is aware that the feelings she has for you are wrong. That her dark thoughts aren't the normal jealous/possessiveness that people typically feel for their partners. But she will also justify to herself that its for your own good and besides...you love her, right? You'd totally accept her and the ugly side of her affections but there's no need to reveal all of that to you now. Instead just focus on her distractions and flirtations.

- Because they keep you from seeing that you foolishly wandered into the lioness's den and that there's no way to escape it now♡

betty x reader contents: brief mention of nudity. wlw. Poly Betty briefly mentioned,but this is a one on one fic. a/n: This was requested by no one. I daydreamed it last night while studying and I decided to write it. This is part of my Holiday Spirit fic event

Betty loved winter. How could she not? The snow,the quiet...the early nights where you tumble into bed right after work. And then you stay in her arms for hours,not daring to move too far away from her or else risk freezing. she loved it all....excluding the AWFUL themed bed spreads you insisted on .Of course,they were very soft. And they were very warm. Comfortable,for both you and Betty. But ...she kinda thought they were ugly. Betty was...a little vain. And she wasn't ashamed to say so. She took pride in her appearance. She loved to dress up,and she loved the flush that her particularly stylish looks brought to her partners faces. She was pacing around your room when you arrived home from the store,humming to herself. You'd been out later than you'd told Dorian you would be. She wasn't worried per se...just a bit concerned. But that's not the same thing. You walked into your room,and she instinctively went to great you,before realizing you weren't wearing the Dateviators. Odd...had you forgotten to charge them?

she watched you unpack some of the things you'd bought. Her face scrunched up as she realized you had bought more Christmas themed sheets. It was covered in Holly berries and bows and gingerbread cookies... not the ugliest print you'd gotten. The colors still clashed. You began stripping the sheets off the bed,and Betty began to understand why you hadn't worn the glasses. She crossed her arms over her now bare chest,huffing a little. "Bed bug, please not flannel sheets. What about the pink snowflakes,uh? Those are at least a little better" She begged. You couldn't hear her,of course and so you swapped for the warm winter sheets. She looked over her new dress. "Kitschy" She mumbled. She wasn't paying attention when you did don the Dateviators. "Oh,you look so pretty!" You cooed. She rolled her eyes. "Babygirl,I've already told you how I feel about cluttered prints..." She grumbled. Betty usually wasn't so sour. She wasn't sure why she was letting it get to her tonight. "I know,I know,but looked what else I got" you said. You dug throught your bags until pulling out a pair of...pajamas? And they matched the sheets! "Ohhh" Betty said. You smiled shyly. "Yeah...I mean,most girlfriends do matching jammies for the holidays,or so I hear...but uh...I was having some trouble figuring out how we'd do it. But then I saw theeese..." you held the pajamas against your body. Betty laughed "Oh lover...that's so romantic" She said. She instantly drug you down to cuddle with her,kissing you anywhere she could easily reach. You giggled and tried to squirm out of her hold,with very little success. "Betty....Betty,can I put them on please?" You managed to get out despite being smothered by affection. Betty sat up. "Oh...but of course. Oh I can't wait to see how they look on you...and take them off of you..." Betty hummed,trailing her hand up your arm. You scampered off to another room so that you could change and surprise her. When you returned to the bedroom,Betty gasped. "Ohhh....you look so adorable" She said. She pulled you into her arms,hugging you tightly as she took in all the details of your look. The print was still tacky...but you could make almost anything look good,couldn't you? She started kissing you again,leaving sparkly smears of lip gloss across your cheeks. "Oh,my darling lover. This was such a sweet little gift...and so creative..." She cooed as she looked over you.

#moonblossom writes #fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #date everything #date everything x reader #Betty x reader date everything #Betty the bed #Betty the bed x reader #betty date everything #wlw #wlw fanfic #wlw reader