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okay imagine this.. reader x baran again from me.. they start dating towards the end of baran’s time at the ptmc and they agree that once it’s over they’ll become official and then baran takes a permanent job there and ends things with readers and it’s a whole bunch of angst, yearning, and arguing and what not..
nothingman, pt. 1 (baran al hashimi x reader) ˚₊· ͟͟❥ wc: 3.7k
tags: heavy heavy heavy angst, fighting, reader is PISSSSSED, hurt no comfort, nurse!reader, boss!baran, age gap but its legal obv, medical inaccuracies, baran's son mentioned!
note: we are so back. this was such a yummy request thank you thank you thank you for sending it!! this also isn’t beta read so if you see errors just scroll🥹
Technically, you and Baran Al-Hashimi are nothing. She is not your girlfriend. You are not hers. You would be reaching, probably, to even call her a friend.
But you have had a grand total of seven dinners together since Baran first came to PTMC. All of them were at restaurants on the far periphery of the city alternating between Uzbek, Ethiopian, Vietnamese, Szechuan, and once—out of some perverse sense of irony—a French-Vietnamese bistro in a strip mall wedged between a tanning salon and a place that only serves bubble tea.
Each restaurant was chosen by the older attending. At first, you kinda just assumed she was just a really big foodie, or just had a taste for the kind of garish decor and laminated menus those kinds of restaurants always had.
It took you until the third dinner, in a Kurdish place lit only by tea candles, to finally understand why Baran had never suggested anywhere closer to the hospital, or her neighborhood, or even central Pittsburgh: Baran is the acting department head; you are her employee.
Come March, you'll no longer be her direct report. But for now, even the implication of fraternization is enough to set off the rumor mill, not to mention the inexorable march of the Title IX committee armed with a constitution of policies, some of which you have memorized.
Suffice to say, you're content with the arangment. You can play the part of the pretty little secret if it means getting seated across from Baran in a family-run restaurant where no one knows your last name, let alone what you’re doing there together.
Maybe it’s cowardice. You never ask for more than what Baran offers. When she cancels, you say “of course,” and when she texts you at midnight after three weeks of silence, you take an Uber across town without asking why. You have only spent the night together once, and even then, Baran was up before you, fully dressed, drinking coffee at the window and writing something long and complicated in a small, battered notebook. She did not try to explain. You did not try to understand.
Despite all the secretiveness, dinners with Baran are a truly lovely affair. She's attentive and never checks her phone, lets you order whatever you want, entertains your performative bicker over the check before picking it up with a firm glance. She walks you to your car after and waits for the text that you made it home, and in October, in the stairwell of the parking structure on the north side of the hospital, on a completely ordinary Wednesday night, she kissed you and then stood there afterward with her forehead against yours, eyes closed, not saying anything, just breathing.
You have been waiting for March since October. You're three weeks out.
She texts you on a Wednesday afternoon: Are you free Sunday? There's somewhere I'd like to take you.
Of course you're typing out and sending yes before you've finished reading it. The attention to punctuation and capitalization would make you shit your pants if the message was from anyone else, but that's just how Baran talks, and by extension, types. You've gotten used to the formality of it all by now.
Sunday comes and she's at your door in dark trousers and a coat that probably cost more than your rent, and she smiles when she sees you.
"Hi," you breathe, a giddy smile on your face. "Sorry, I just have to grab my shoes and we're good to go."
"Take your time," she encourages easily, but she doesn't step into the threshold of your doorway. You shoot her a look.
"I'm not diseased, I promise," you joke, still light, still high on the anticipation of spending an evening with the beautiful doctor, but your smile fades when she just tilts her head and doesn't enter.
You pause, give her a chance to come in. She doesn’t.
"Okayyy," you say slowly, slipping on your slides. "Well, nevermind. I'm ready. Let's go."
She takes you to a wine bar twenty minutes from the hospital. You sit across from each other in low lighting and dutifully do the first-fifteen-minutes-of-a-date thing, the catching up, the small careful questions. A server comes. Baran orders sparkling waters for you both.
You look at her, tracking those careful hands once the bottle comes and she’s pouring it into two glasses for you both. She'd ordered you a glass of something you hadn't even known you wanted in September and gotten it exactly right, and tonight she is ordering sparkling water?
You feel a wave of nerves crash over you and it’s then you notice how weird the restaurant she’s chosen is. It can hardly qualify as such, it’s more of a bar. Every other patron is in a suit, but not a date night suit, business attire. They all look like lawyers and bankers. There’s not a couple in sight, no candle-lit intimacy. People seem like they’re coming here for deals.
You swallow. "No drinking tonight?”
"Early morning tomorrow."
Her fingers press white against the glass, the knuckles bloodless, and you watch her look at the table instead of you. The nothing taste of having not eaten enough today sits at the back of your throat, sharp and hollow as your tongue finds the inside of your cheek nervously.
"Baran—" you start.
"There's something I need to tell you," she says, at the same time.
Baran wraps both hands around the glass and you watch her do it.
"They've offered me the permanent position," she says. "Full-time department head. I accepted on Friday."
The chair beneath you is the kind that looks comfortable and completely isn’t, the hard edge of the seat digging into the backs of your thighs, your vertebrae, sending a painful twinge up your back.
You blink. “I’m sorry?”
"I wanted to tell you in person. I thought—" She stops, looking down at her hands. "I thought we should talk about it."
"When did they come to you?"
She pauses and takes a deep breath. "There had been some preliminary conversations. Back in October."
Your brain helpfully supplies a mental calendar of October: the forehead against yours, her eyes closed, one minute, two minutes, the promise of March was in October, the first dates, if that’s even what you can call them.
"Preliminary conversations?" you repeat, voice rising.
"Nothing was decided then," she says quickly, and there's something almost pleading in it. "I swear, Y/N, it was just conversations. Feeling things out. I didn't know if I was even going to take it."
"But you knew it was a possibility."
"Yes." She looks pained. "Yes, I knew it was a possibility."
"Regardless, did you think I didn't need to know that?"
"I didn't know what to say." She leans forward, and you can see the tension in her shoulders. "I was trying to figure it out. The job, us, all of it. I didn't want to worry you about something that might not even happen."
"Worry me?" You stare at her. "Baran, we were—I thought we were—"
"I know." She reaches across the table like she might take your hand, then stops. "I know what you thought. What we both thought. But this position—it's permanent. It's stability for me and for my son. I can't just—" She stops, frustrated. "You don't understand the pressure I'm under."
"Then help me understand, Baran."
"You're young," she says, and it lands wrong immediately. You watch her realize it, watch her try to backtrack. "I don't mean that as—I just mean you're in a different place. You don't have a child depending on you. You don't have—" She stops. "This job is everything. It's my career. My son's tuition. Our health insurance. I can't risk that for—"
She doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't say for you. But you both hear it.
"So what was I, then?" Your voice comes out smaller than you want it to. "Just something you were trying out until you got what you actually wanted?"
"No." She looks genuinely distressed now. "No, that's not it. Y/N, I care about you. I do. But I have to be realistic about what I can afford to lose."
"And I'm not worth losing anything for?”
"That's not what I'm saying." Her voice rises slightly, defensive. "You're twisting this into something it's not. I made a career decision, a good one at that, one I had to make. The fact that it affects us doesn't mean I was trying to hurt you."
"But you knew it would,” you reply. “You had to know it would.”
She's quiet for a moment. "I knew it would complicate things."
"Complicate." You laugh, and it sounds bitter even to your own ears. "Yeah, okay.”
"I said if circumstances changed—"
"But you knew they weren't going to change!" Your voice breaks. "You knew in October that they weren't going to change, so why the fuck would you dangle that in front of me to begin with?”
"I wasn’t certain!" She's getting frustrated now, you can hear it. "I was trying to see if there was a way to make both things work. I didn't lie to you, Y/N. I just—I didn't know what to do."
"So you did nothing."
"I did what I had to do." There's an edge to her voice now. "I made the choice that made sense for my life. I'm sorry if that hurts you, but I can't—" She stops, takes a breath. "I can't put my entire future on hold for a relationship that might not even work out."
You gape at her. “Do you really — do you seriously have that little faith in me? Do you trust me that little?”
“Can you let me talk? You’re not being fair.”
"I'm not being fair?" You stare at her. "Baran, I have been waiting for you since October. Don’t pretend you don’t know that’s true because I’ve told you that, and you’ve kept taking me out on dates, and—" Your voice cracks. "And you've known the entire time that it was never going to happen."
“I was trying to figure out if there was a way—"
"There wasn't." You pick up your bag. "And you knew that. You just didn't want to tell me."
"Y/N, please—" She reaches for you, and you pull back.
"I need to go."
"Can we talk about this?" she huffs. “Y/N, come on.”
"I think you've said everything you needed to say." You stand up, and your hands are shaking. "Congratulations on the position."
You watch something in her face go through a door and shut. She doesn't try to stop you and doesn’t follow you out.
When you glance back through the window, she's still sitting there, staring at her untouched water.
—
You show up Monday because you have to show up Monday, because Baran Al-Hashimi is your department head now, permanently, indefinitely, and the department doesn't know what happened in a wine bar on Sunday. The department just needs you there, so you are there.
She doesn't treat you differently. She keeps with your last name in briefings, first name in the hallway, she defers to your clinical judgment when it's relevant, and you have no idea what it costs her and you are not going to ask. You have learned how to stop asking things. You should be given something for it.
Three weeks in she falls into step beside you between the supply room and the east corridor and says how are you doing.
"Fine," you say.
"You don't seem fine."
You completely ignore that, turning toward the nursing station where you can see Trinity and Dennis talking to Robby. You know Baran won’t do anything with an audience.
Predictably, she stops several feet away, grabbing your arm to get you to stop too.
"I'm not trying to—" She stops. "I'm asking because I want to know."
"I frankly don’t care what you want,” you reply face intentionally void of emotion. “Please let go of my arm.”
"Y/N, I know you’re upset," she says, all quiet, big eyes trailing over your face. She drops your arm cautiously as if testing to see if you’ll dart. "I don’t want you hurting.”
"That’s not how it works,” you shoot back, “I’m trying to do my job without letting this get in the way, so how about you grow the fuck up and do yours.”
Baran’s eyes go a bit wide at that, plush lips dropping open as she scans your face in shock. “You're being entirely unfair."
You bark out a laugh. "That’s rich.”
"I never promised you a relationship, Y/N."
You stare at her. "Seriously?"
"I promised you that if circumstances changed, we could explore one."
"And are those oh-so different to you?”
Baran straightens up. “Yes, Y/N! Those are two very different things!”
"So what line are you drawing between them? What, you'd keep me on a leash? Just far away enough so you could test out if you were actually willing to be with me? What was I to you, Baran, a free trial?"
Baran's expression sharpens immediately.
"No," she says. "And you know that's not what this was.”
"Don't tell me what I know." Your voice rises despite yourself. "You don't get to decide what this feels like from my side. You don't get to spend months building something with me and then act shocked when I have a reaction to finding out you've been making plans I wasn't even aware existed!”
"I’m more surprised by how determined you are to interpret everything in the worst possible faith!"
"The worst possible faith?" you repeat. "You sat across from me in that bar and told me you'd known since October there was a possibility you'd stay. October. Do you understand how insane that sounds to me now?"
"You are an adult," Baran says, voice clipped now. "With your own agency. I did not manipulate you into developing expectations."
You take a step closer before you can stop yourself. "Oh, sure, you just conveniently benefited from them, right?"
“Y/N—”
“Fuck all the way, off, Baran,” you snap. “You’re my boss permanently now, remember? So unless it’s for work, leave me the hell alone.”
—
April arrives, March bleeds out. The two of you are still in the same building, in the same department, wearing the same laminate badges in the same fluorescent light, and all the waiting was for nothing, has soured into a cold-hard nothing, and will stay that way. It sits in a lump in the corner and rots, rots, rots.
—
It’s Lena Handzo, the night shift’s charge nurse, who tells you that Dr. Al-Hashimi turned down a conference in Boston last month.
"Said she couldn't leave the department for that long," Lena says, eyebrows raised and smirking, and you make a noncommittal sound go back to your work.
Lena frowns. “What’s up with you? You love gossiping with me.”
“Long week,” you reply sympathetically, not looking up from your computer. “I’m behind on my logs, too, and if I hear one more Attending bark up my ass I think I’ll just have to quit.”
Lena tsks. “Let’s not do that.”
“I won’t, if I can get these done,” you say. “Thanks for the update, Handzo.”
She nods, patting your shoulder. “Honey, you know it’s my pleasure. I’ll see if I can keep everyone off your back.”
You are still thinking about it three hours later when Baran spawns right behind your swivel chair. You smell her before you see her, something deep and earthy and vaguely antiseptic and painfully recognizable.
"Do you have a patient in bay seven?" she asks.
"Doctor Mohan has a patient in bay seven," you reply shortly. “I’m just assisting.”
"Do you want me to take a look?"
"Suit yourself.”
You hear the sharp intake of breath behind you. You imagine her power stance, hands clasped behind the lululemon, the curls that couldn’t quite be contained with the claw clip. You fight every animal instinct that begs you to turn around and snarl. You imagine you must look like an animal on edge, ears perked up in attention, waiting for a sign that she’s gone—
"I heard you covered the Delgado case this morning," she says.
Your eyes stay trained on the keyboard, fingers pressing the keys, clicking one, then another, then another. "I did."
"That was above and beyond. You didn't have to stay for that."
“Well, I did.”
"I believe it turned into a twelve-hour shift," she says. "You were only scheduled for eight."
"Mhm.”
She is quiet for a moment. "Are you sleeping?”
“Are you meant to be asking me that, Dr. Al-Hashimi?”
"I'm asking as someone who—" She stops. Recalibrates. "Yes. As your department head. Who notices when staff are working themselves into the ground."
"Then I appreciate your concern for my wellness." The words come out flat, professional, empty. "I'll make sure to log my hours appropriately."
"That's not what I—"
"Perlah," you call out, louder than necessary, swiveling your chair just enough to address the nursing station without looking at Baran. "Would you pass along the updated labs for bay seven when you get a chance?"
Perlah glances up, then past you to where Baran is standing. Her eyes flicker with confusion before she nods. "Sure thing."
You turn back to your screen. Baran hasn't moved.
"You look exhausted," she says quietly. Too quietly for anyone else to hear over the ambient noise of the station—Dennis on the phone, Trinity’s keyboard clicking, the distant beep of monitors.
"I'm fine."
"You're not. You look exhausted."
"With respect, Dr. Al-Hashimi, I don't think my appearance is really—"
"Y/N." Her voice has an edge now. "Stop.”
"Stop what?"
Her jaw tightens. "This little pity party. As your department head—"
"Already pulling rank? How's that working out for you, by the way? The career move, I mean. Worth it?"
"That's not—"
"Because you look tired too, if we're doing wellness checks." You tilt your head, examining her with clinical detachment. "Actually, while we’re on topic, when's the last time you slept?"
Something flashes across her face. Hurt, maybe. Good.
"We are not doing this here," she says, ice chilling her voice.
"Doing what? Having a conversation? Isn't that what you wanted?" You turn back to your screen. "Or did you just want me to say 'yes ma'am, thank you ma'am' and make you feel better about—"
"Watch yourself." Her voice drops, sharpens. "I understand you're tired, but you need to watch your tone right now."
"Or what?" You spin around. "You’re gonna put something in my file?" You're talking faster now, the words tumbling out. "You already have access to that anyway, so—"
"I said that's enough." Her voice is quiet. Deadly quiet. Samira has definitely stopped typing. "You're not in a state to be here right now. Go home."
That catches your attention. You gape at her.
"I have four hours left on my—"
"I'm aware of your schedule." Each word is precisely placed. "As your boss, I am telling you to go home. Clock out. Leave."
"On what grounds?"
"Because you're exhausted, acting immature, and you're disrespecting your superior in front of the entire station. This is not a discussion. Go home before I have to make this official.”
The worst part is she's right, to some degree. But what cuts is the way she is using the position, the authority, the thing she chose over you—to send you away. To protect herself. To prove that she can.
"Fine." You stand up too fast, chair rolling backward. "Anything else, Dr. Al-Hashimi?"
Something flickers across her face. But her voice stays steady. "No. That's all, Y/N."
You grab your bag. You don't look at Perlah. You don't look at anyone.
You definitely don't look at Baran as you walk past her toward the exit.
But you feel her watching you leave.
—
"Dr. Al-Hashimi? Can I borrow you for a second?"
"Of course." Baran doesn't look up immediately. She finishes the lab she's reviewing, hands it off to Langdon, sets down her pen. Baran follows the woman who she is slowly recognizing as Melissa from HR three steps away from the station, just far enough that the noise covers their voices.
"We received a resignation letter this afternoon," Marissa says. "Effective immediately. I wanted to let you know before processing it."
"Who?"
Marissa says your name.
Baran goes very still. "What?"
"It was submitted about two hours ago,” Melissa supplies. "It surprised me too. But I just wanted to check if there were any performance issues we should document, or if—"
"No." Too fast. "No, nothing like that. She’s—she’s an excellent nurse."
Marissa nods slowly. "Okay. Then I'll process it. We'll need to arrange an exit interview, but given the circumstances—"
"Yes. Fine. Whatever the protocol is."
Marissa hesitates, blinking at the tone. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Thank you for letting me know." Baran's already turning back toward the nursing station. “Excuse me."
She beelines down the east corridor, past the supply room, into the medication room at the end. It's empty. She closes the door.
Her hands are shaking. She presses her palms flat against the counter and tries to breathe.
She pulls out her phone, fingers hovering over your name in her contacts. She hasn't texted you in weeks, the most recent message still the invitation for dinner, and your eager response with its exclamation points and little beaming emojis.
She types: What are you doing? You're throwing your career away over this? You worked so hard to get here.
She stares at the words, thinks about nursing school, the late nights you told her about, the clinical rotations, the NCLEX. How proud you were when PTMC hired you. How much this job means to you.
Warnings (18+ MDNI) : perverted baran al-hashimi, masturbation, vaginal fingering, guilt, age gap, baran touching herself to you without your knowledge
Summary: Baran discovers a young streamer girl. She can’t seem to keep herself in check when you’re just so pretty on her screen so late at night.
Baran first discovers you because of her son. Honestly, she doesn't think much of it at first. One evening after a particularly long shift, she'd walked into the living room to find him sitting on the couch, headset on, laughing so hard he was nearly crying. Which immediately made her suspicious.
"What are you watching?"
"Nobody.”
"That answer has never reassured a parent in the history of parenting."
Her son groaned dramatically before spinning his laptop around. "A streamer."
Baran expected something obnoxious. Instead, she found herself staring at a Twitch stream with barely six thousand followers. You were playing Fortnite with two friends. Nothing remarkable. At least, that's what she thought for the first thirty seconds. Then one of your teammates accidentally launched themselves off a cliff. You laughed. Not a polite laugh.Not an influencer’s laugh. A genuine, loud, wheezing laugh that made you nearly fall out of your chair. The kind of laugh that forced everyone else on the call to start laughing too. Baran rolled her eyes. "Seriously?" "What?"
"You're watching this?"
Her son looked offended. "She's funny."
Funny.
Sure.
Baran left it at that. Until a few days later. Because then she heard that laugh again. From her son's room. And then again. And again. Every time she passed by, there you were. Playing Roblox. Fortnite. Some random horror game. Talking absolute nonsense with your friends. Making jokes every five seconds. And somehow maintaining an audience that seemed entirely dedicated to watching you fail at video games. One night, curiosity finally got the better of her. Her son was asleep. The apartment was quiet. And before she could stop herself, Baran opened Twitch. Just to see what the appeal was. Five minutes. That was all. Five minutes and she'd go to bed. Instead, an hour disappeared. Then another. Then another. By the end of the stream, she found herself smiling at her laptop screen. Which was embarrassing. You weren't even doing anything.
You were building a house in Minecraft while arguing with your friends about whether or not Supergirl was a better character than Superman.
Yet somehow she couldn't click away. Maybe it was your energy. Maybe it was how unapologetically yourself you seemed. Maybe it was because after spending twelve hours surrounded by sick patients, stressed coworkers, and constant tragedy, listening to you ramble about absolutely nothing felt... nice. That was all. Just nice. At least that's what Baran told herself. Then she started showing up every stream. Then she subscribed. Then she created an account specifically so she could participate in chat without her son discovering it. The username was completely anonymous. Carefully chosen. Nothing that could be traced back to her. Not that you'd know who she was anyway. You lived on the internet. Baran lived in Pittsburgh. Your worlds couldn't have been farther apart. Still. Night after night, she found herself opening Twitch after work. Sometimes she watched while making dinner. Sometimes while folding laundry. Sometimes from bed when she was too exhausted to do anything else.
And eventually, you started recognizing her. At first, it was just a casual acknowledgment.
"Oh, hey, Baranbaby! Good to see you."Baran nearly dropped her phone.
You knew her username.
Then it became a regular thing.
"Baranbaby is here, guys. Now the stream can start."
“Baranbaby, did you survive work today?"
"Wait, where's Baranbaby? She's usually here by now."
Every single time, something ridiculous happened to Baran's chest. Something she'd rather not examine. It certainly didn't help that you smiled whenever you read her messages. Or laughed.
Or occasionally singled her out from hundreds of other comments. It definitely didn't help. Not at all. And yet, despite knowing better, Baran found herself staying up later and later each night.
Watching, listening, waiting for your stream notification to appear. Like some teenager with a crush. Which was absurd. Completely absurd. She was an adult, a mother, a doctor.
She should know better. She was probably twice the girl’s age. Instead, she found herself opening Twitch at two in the morning after another exhausting shift. The stream title immediately appeared.
"FORTNITE : just me babyyy 💔"
Baran sighed.
Then clicked it without hesitation. Tonight, Baran was more on edge than on previous nights when she would stay up late watching you. She had a rough shift at the ER, people giving her lots of attitude on the way she handled her business, and she just needed an outlet. Even if it meant going against the usual morals that she held for herself, when she logged on to your stream and saw you perched up in your pink gamer chair, close to the camera because you were whispering something stupid into the mic while looking into the camera, she couldn’t help herself.
Especially when you started playing the game. You would get so locked in, she loved seeing how you looked when you were concentrated, she imagined that would be how you looked when you were on your knees, looking up at her with determination to make her feel good. This was bad. She knew she should shut off her computer and go to sleep, but she couldn’t. You were down to the last few people left in the match, chewing the inside of your cheek nervously as you scoped out the area while simultaneously reloading your gun, til someone came out and jumped on your character skin. A curse slipped out from under your breath, and a frustrated groan followed shortly after, and that’s all Baran needed to slip her hand underneath her old gym shorts in the privacy of her own room.
Baran’s breath hitched as she watched your face contort with frustration on screen, her own pulse thundering in her ears. She bit down hard on her lower lip, fingers trembling slightly beneath the waistband of those loose gym shorts. She hated this. Hated how weak you made her feel with just a pout or a scowl over some stupid video game. A doctor didn’t get flustered like this during emergency surgeries - but here she was, heart racing because you looked cute when mad. The bed creaked softly as Baran shifted under the blanket draped over her lap, not that it helped hide anything anymore anyway; and without thinking twice (because God knows rational thought had left hours ago), two fingertips slipped further inward…
Baran exhaled sharply through her nose, the sound muffled by how tightly she was pressing her lips together. Her dark brown eyes stayed glued to the screen, watching your every micro-expression as you tried desperately to recover from that ambush. "Come on," she whispered under her breath, not even sure if she meant it for you or herself right now.
The game didn't matter anymore; all that mattered was keeping those pretty eyes of yours in view while they scanned across their pixelated battlefield with such intense focus. Her free hand unconsciously reached up to twist a curl around one finger, an old nervous habit from med school days resurfacing after years of discipline and control being eroded away by late-night streams and forbidden fantasies about someone half her age.
Baran’s breath came quicker now, uneven and shallow. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, loud and insistent like a traitorous drumbeat.
"Jesus Christ," she muttered to no one, eyes wide as they tracked your movements on the screen. The way you leaned forward slightly when concentrating made that tank top ride up just a little at the waist... Her fingers stilled for half a second before resuming their slow, teasing motions beneath fabric, because even this guilty pleasure needed some semblance of self-control (old habits die hard). She couldn’t help herself, letting herself slip two fingers inside without any struggle because of how slick she already was.
Baran shifted again beneath the covers, the back of her head sinking into her pillow as she tried to keep her breaths steady. It was ridiculous how much power you held over her, even though you were just sitting there, unaware of her current circumstances. But every muscle tension, every furrow of your brow, every click of the mouse, it had all become a source of perverse fascination for the older woman...
"Good girl," she murmured, almost involuntarily, as you managed to take down another opponent off-screen.
Baran's lips parted slightly as she watched your character finally land a decisive headshot, the killcam replaying in slow motion. "There you go," she breathed out, voice low and warm like honey even though no one could hear her. Her free hand lifted to press against her own chest unconsciously, fingertips brushing over the thin fabric of her sleep shirt where her heart pounded visibly beneath.
"God, look at you," Baran whispered with something dangerously close to adoration creeping into that usually composed physician's tone.
The way your shoulders relaxed just slightly after securing that victory... it did things to people who definitely shouldn't be feeling them right now. She shifted again on the bed, this time more deliberately adjusting herself under those covers while keeping her eyes locked onto every pixel of your face on screen while you set down your controller, taking a break to just talk without playing a game. Baran's fingers picked up the pace a bit as you started to read the chat, answering people's questions about your life, little details that only made Baran get off more.
Her free hand did something unexpected; she started typing in the chat, just to see if maybe you'd see her comment.
"You're such a pretty girl...."
She typed, it was risky, but she doubted you'd see it through the streams of comments coming through, and it was an innocent enough sentence.
Baran’s fingers hovered over the keyboard after sending that comment, suddenly feeling way too exposed despite it being anonymous. Her stomach flipped as she watched your eyes scan the chatbox for replies. She held her breath when you paused mid-sentence about something else entirely, had you seen it? Was that little hitch in your voice just now because of her?
Then came the worst part: waiting. The seconds stretched like hours while Baran chewed on her bottom lip hard enough to nearly draw blood, her heart slamming against ribs with each passing moment where nothing happened yet. Her thighs pressed together tighter under covers as anticipation coiled hot and heavy low in belly…
Suddenly, you leaned closer to your monitor to read better, quietly mouthing the words of the comment she had just sent. She watched as a small, shy smile formed on your face.
"Baran, thank you!" You said timidly, "You're always so nice to me... I love you, babe." It came from your mouth so casually, Baran almost made a mess between her thighs that second.
That was it.
It was like a switch had been thrown inside Baran upon hearing your words through the screen. Hearing you return that innocent praise, even if you were just being polite, thinking the person sending it was some other anonymous fan, had an unexpected effect on her. Her chest rose and fell visibly with each shaky breath that left her lips. The heat building inside her was almost unbearable now. There was no more self-restraint left, just pure and simple need. And hearing you say "I love you" so effortlessly...That was the breaking point.
Baran's free hand grasped at the sheets on either side of her body, knuckles going white while she arched up off the mattress just enough for you to see the outline of her taut stomach through a thinly veiled sleep shirt.
"God, you have no idea," she muttered under her breath, eyes fixed intently on your face on the screen. Her thighs widened a little bit more as she found a better angle, fingers dipping deeper in response to the sounds leaving her mouth, soft little gasps and moans that no viewer could hear, but she knew you could somehow. It was all so wrong. So incredibly wrong.
Baran suddenly sat up straighter in bed, pressing her back against the headboard as she finally allowed herself to fully indulge.
"Fuck," she whispered loudly into the quiet of her room.
Her legs fell open wider now, making space for what came next - no longer hesitant or shy about this private moment with just you on screen and your sweet voice still echoing through speakers from earlier. One hand left your chat to grip a pillow tightly while the other stayed busy between her thighs, moving faster now... the wet noises filled the room alongside your almost muted voice from her computer. Baran groaned again, head tilting back as she finally crossed that threshold. The way you shifted in your chair at home and read another stream comment, seemingly oblivious to the effect you had on your older viewer, only added fuel to the fire. Her eyes darkened with desire as she watched you, imagining what you might look like if instead of sitting there on your desk, you were above her, making those same noises in person..
She was so close, right on the edge as she rocked against her fingers, her head thrown back…Baran’s entire body tensed up like a coiled spring, her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over her.
"Oh my god," she gasped out loud, fingers stuttering but not stopping, chasing that high even as it already overwhelmed her. Her lips parted in a silent cry for just one second before sounds finally escaped, soft little whimpers and moans spilling freely now that she was completely lost to sensation. And through it all...she kept watching you. Your face on stream became the only thing anchoring her to reality right then. Baran collapsed back onto the mattress, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. Her skin was flushed, her hair slightly messy from how much she'd moved.
For a few quiet moments after that intense high faded...she just lay there staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.
Then slowly, almost reluctantly, Baran turned her head to glance back at your stream still running on screen. You were now doing something different in-game, laughing about some joke chat said while typing responses with one hand, casually holding a soda can. She smiled softly without meaning to.
"How are you so goddamn clueless?" She muttered quietly, knowing full well you couldn't hear her, but still shaking her head fondly at your ability to be oblivious to her shameless obsession.
The afterglow was starting to wear off now, leaving behind a mess of tangled sheets, sweat, and self-loathing. With a heavy sigh, Baran forced herself to get up from the bed, grabbing her clothes and heading into the bathroom for a much-needed clean up.
you hear the screams before you enter the house. before you even make it through the door, zahra is already there in front of you, hair wild from playing outside and chocolate all over her face. “mommy!” she squeals excitedly. you smile and squat down in front of her, opening your arms for a hug which she gladly accepts.
“how was your day with mama jan?” you ask her, you’re little confused about the chocolate that’s all over her face but you don’t question. maybe baran’s mom gave her some chocolate for being good? but she also knows zahra is not allowed to have sweets.
“so good! she made yummy soup and we played outside. also maman’s here!” she tells you excitedly. your smile is wiped off of your face. what? “maman?” you question. she nods with a smile. the chocolate on her face had made sense.
you sigh as you stand back up. baran’s mom walked up, “ah! you’re home.” she smiles, “baran’s here.” she wiggles her eyebrows as she smirks. of course she would let baran in, she’s her mother. “i hear.” you tell her as you walk up to the kitchen counter. you drop your birken bag that baran bought you as an apology for being late to your anniversary dinner on the counter and make your way towards the window that overlooked the backyard.
there you see baran kneeling on the grass with arman, looking confused with a screwdriver in hand and a paper in the other. you couldn’t see what they were building so you decided to step out of the house and move closer to them. “hell no.” you say as you get a closer look at the box.
baran and arman are both startled, baran looks up and smiles when she sees that you’re standing in front of her looking beautiful as always. “c’mon azizam…” she gets up from the grass and walks closer to you. “baran, i barely have space back here.” you tell her, voice annoyed already. she moves in closer towards you, her doe eyes never breaking eye contact with yours.
“azizam. the divorce on them is hard already, please my love.” she whispers sweetly, her breath on your skin, feeling too good to think. “fine.” is all you can say, too lost into her doe eyes. she smiles like if she won a bet. she moves away and walks closer toward arman, “c’mon buddy, we gotta figure out what part this goes to.” she tell your son.
you walk back inside, hot and frustrated. you bump into baran’s mom, she gives you a knowing look with a small little smirk, almost like she knows what you’re thinking. “i’m going to make baran some lemonade, care to help?” she asks. you nod and walk closer to the counter. you start cutting the lemons, silence overtaking the kitchen until baran’s mom cuts it. “you know…” here she goes, you think.
“baran is very sorry how she treated you.” she tells you. “she misses you.” all you do is nod. your attention only on the lemons that are in front of you. “i think you should give her another chance.” she says, carefully. almost like she doesn’t want to tick you off. you give her a look, not today.
she sighs as she pours the sugar in the jug. “think about it, asal.” then she leaves the kitchen to grab ice from the garage, leaving you with your thoughts but unfortunately when you’re a mother of a clingy 4 your old that’s when your quiet is thrown out the window. “mommy!”
couple hours later the trampoline was up, the kids had been too excited to wait until tomorrow to try it out so now they were jumping around as the sun set behind them. since baran’s mom doesn’t like being out late she left a while ago. now it was just you and baran inside the house, “they’re gonna be pretty tired by bedtime.” she points out. you nod, you look outside the window to see them having the time of their lives. “yeah. they are.” you tell her.
she rinses her hands with water before moving closer to you. “azizam..” she starts off. you gulp and walk backwards until you feel your back hit the counter. “thank you for today. for letting me do this for the kids.” she says. she looked so beautiful, so domestic. she was in her black scrubs, the ones that drove you crazy.
her body close to yours, her face a few inches from you. “baran..” you whisper. her eyes trailing down to your lips, “azizam.” she lets out. she leans in, your guys nose touching. “mommy! arman doesn’t let me play with the ball!” you hear from outside. it startles you both, pulling away from each other.
“fucking hell.” baran curses.
a/n: hello! so sorry for the long wait lol :) i wanna write a samira mohan oneshot but i have no ideas bro
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Pt. 1 - Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Woman After Midnight)
cassie mckay x f!reader (au)
summary: after a shitty past couple of weeks, your best friend trinity santos drags you along to a bar with her coworkers. there you unexpectedly meet someone, an older woman and one of trinity’s coworkers, cassie mckay. the night ends with cassie giving you a proposition beyond your wildest dreams.
warnings: 18+ age gap (reader is in mid 20’s, cassie is 43), smut, butchfemme, smoking, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!recieving), dry humping (cassie!recieving), top!cassie, butch!cassie
“C’mon,” your best friend Trinity says as she tugs your hand, bringing you further into the club.
She invited you out since you recently got laid off from work. On top of that, your girlfriend broke up with you just a week before you found out you no longer had a job. Since then, you’ve been spiraling. You’ve made no effort to find a new job, and instead have been wallowing at home.
It’s approaching the second week of your slump, and you know you need to get it together and look for work. Trinity does as well, so in an attempt to cheer you up, she wanted to bring you along to a bar tonight. She’s a doctor, and she told you that her along with a few of her coworkers were going out for drinks, and asked if you wanted to tag along.
The only other person you know is Dennis, Trinity’s roommate. You don’t feel like coming out of your shell tonight, but you’ll try to make an effort. For the first time in weeks you did your makeup and wore something other than sweats and a t-shirt. You’re wearing a black mini skirt, a lace red tank top, and a black leather jacket Trinity lent you, paired with black boots.
While you may look put together, you feel anything but. Hopefully, you won’t be a mood killer tonight. You aren’t planning on drinking much as you tend to be a sad drunk who makes impulsive decisions. Plus, you hate hangovers. Although, not getting drunk will probably end in you being miserable anyways.
At least Trinity said that you’ll get along with a handful of her coworkers. Maybe you’ll make new friends. That is if you can hold a conversation tonight.
Trinity comes to a stop in front of a booth, you stumbling into an abrupt stop from behind her. There’s a mix of people at this table — some older men and women, some younger men and women, and everyone has a unique distinction.
“This is y/n,” Trinity tells the group.
“Hi,” you say, lifting up a hand awkwardly.
A few others at the table introduce themselves. You doubt you’ll remember everyone's names.
Just then, Yolanda, Trinity’s situationship, comes up. “Trin, let’s do some shots,” she tells her, not addressing anyone else.
Dennis looks at you, sensing your unease. “Hey, y/n. Do you want to get something to drink?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Trinity looks to you and sees Dennis at your side. “Is that okay?” Trinity asks you, not wanting to leave if you’re going to be uncomfortable.
You offer her a small smile. “It’s fine, go ahead. I’ll stick with Dennis for now.”
“Okay. Come find me if you need me.” She then looks to Dennis. “Get her drunk,” Trinity mouths to her roommate. He rolls his eyes in response as he stands.
The two duos part ways, Trinity and Yolanda going to the bar where Yolanda already ordered shots, while you and Dennis head to the opposite side since there’s less people. When you get to the end of the bar, there’s one empty stool.
“Do you wanna sit?” Dennis asks, pointing to the single seat.
“Do you want to? You’ve been on your feet all day, you should take it.”
He shakes his head and leans his elbows on the counter. “I’m good.” Dennis sees the hesitation in your expression and gives you a reassuring smile. “Really. You take it.”
“Okay, thanks,” you reply as you sit down.
For a minute neither of you talk, just simply being close to one another so you’re not alone. You rack your brain for conversation topics but come up empty. Luckily for you, Dennis breaks the silence between you.
“So how’s it going?”
You let out a dry chuckle. “Just peachy.”
“Sorry,” Dennis tells you with genuine sympathy. “I hope something good happens to you soon.”
“Thanks,” you say, feeling touched by the sentiment. “I hope so too.”
Then, the bartender comes. He looks to be in his mid 30’s and his arms are littered in tattoos. “What’cha drinking?”
“Um… can I just get a strawberry daiquiri?”
He nods and looks to Dennis. “And you?”
“Nothing for me, thanks.”
The bartender walks away to make your drink, and you turn to Dennis. “Are you the designated driver again?”
He lets out a small laugh. “Courtesy of Trinity. But, I honestly don’t mind, I don’t drink much.”
From the corner of your eye, you see the person sitting on the stool next to you leaving, and someone else comes up to replace them. Your focus stays on Dennis though as you make small talk.
But then his phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and sighs. “I have to take this. It’s my friend, it could be about her kid since it’s this late.”
You raise an eyebrow teasingly. “Your farm friend?”
Dennis awkwardly chuckles and nods. “Trinity told you, huh?”
“Yup,” you reply, popping the p. You then wave him off. “Go, I’m fine.”
“Okay, thanks,” Dennis tells you before walking away to take the call.
The bartender comes back with your drink, sliding the fruity cocktail to you. You take a sip and then sigh, not even realizing you were holding a breath.
“You know him?”
Your head jerks to the left to the voice talking to you. It’s a woman who appears to be in her early 40’s. A hint of exhaustion is written across her face. She has auburn hair that’s a bit messy with bangs falling on her forehead. You don’t mean to check her out, but you kind of do. You look down her body quickly, taking in her outfit — a loosely fitted black t-shirt tucked into black jeans with black work boots, and a gold chain dangles from her neck.
She seems to do the same to you, although, the leather jacket you’re wearing hides your top. You find it somewhat funny that you’re both dressed in all black — besides your red lace tank that’s hidden.
“Uh, yeah. He’s my friend’s roommate.”
The woman’s face lights up slightly, like she’s connecting dots you can’t see. “Oh, you know Santos?”
“Trinity? Yeah, she’s my best friend.”
The woman nods, her lips upturned into a small smile. “Cool, cool.”
“Do you know her?”
“I work with her,” the woman replies as you take another sip of your drink.
“So you’re a doctor?”
“I am a doctor.”
“Doctor…” you trail off, waiting for the woman to give you her name.
“McKay. Cassie McKay.”
“Nice to meet you Dr. McKay,” you say with a small smirk.
You then give her your name and swirl your drink before taking another sip. You already know you aren’t going to finish it.
“That’s your drink of choice?” Cassie asks, nodding to your strawberry daiquiri.
Your eyebrows raise in question, more playful than offended. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“It’s way too sweet.”
“Maybe I like it sweet,” you reply, taking another drink with a flirty glimmer in your eyes.
You look to the drink Cassie’s nursing. She has a hand wrapped around a rocks glass with a clear, fizzy liquid inside.
“Club soda?”
“Tonic water.”
“Ah.” You mentally chuckle to yourself — of course she chose tonic water over club soda since tonic water is a tad more bitter. “Not drinking?”
“I’m sober.”
“Oh,” you reply in surprise without even thinking about it. You hope it didn’t come off as judgmental. “Good for you, that’s something to be proud of.”
Cassie smiles warmly at you, and you take notice of her dimples. Her simple smile gives you butterflies in your stomach, and you hope you don’t appear flustered.
“Thank you, I am,” she replies, genuinely appreciative of your comment.
You force your eyes away from her and instead look at your drink. You tap your nails against the glass, realizing you’re now alone in this bar. Cassie, however, stays right where she is and keeps her sparkling blue eyes on you.
“Where’s Santos?”
You look to Cassie then and turn your body to better face her. She can now see your top under your jacket. You notice her gaze dropping to your chest before shooting back up to your eyes. Cassie doesn’t seem to be embarrassed at all by her obvious ogle.
“She’s off with her girlfriend? Friends with benefits? I dunno what they’re calling themselves at the moment.”
“Sorry she left you.”
“It’s okay,” you say as you exhale, your shoulders relaxing slightly. “I told her it was fine. Without her I might just leave soon.”
“Did you not want to come out tonight?”
“Definitely not. I’ve been hermiting at my place. I’ve had a shitty couple of weeks.”
Cassie hums softly. “Sorry.”
“It’s whatever,” you reply, your gaze going back down to your drink.
“So are you going to leave then?”
Your bottom lip rises, creating something similar to a pout as you contemplate. “Probably. I need to call a ride though. Trin drove me and she and Dennis were going to be my ride back.”
“That’s too bad,” Cassie tells you before taking a drink of her tonic water. When she places it back down onto the counter, she looks at you and leans in slightly. “That means that I can’t ask you to dance.”
Your eyes shoot to Cassie’s, taken by surprise by her sudden boldness. You weren’t expecting to get hit on tonight, and especially not by the woman in front of you. You aren’t complaining though.
Cassie’s smile slowly drops at your silence. She leans back into her seat, giving you more space. “Sorry,” she says as she draws in a breath. “I shouldn’t have assumed that you’re into women, or if you even saw me like that, I know I’m older, and I’m sorry if that came across as creepy, I just thought you were— are pretty and—”
“Cassie,” you say firmly, cutting off her rambling. “It’s okay. We can dance.”
She lets out a relieved sigh that’s a half laugh. Her cheeks turn into a faint pink, but enough that you notice. “Okay.”
“Let me just pay for this drink.”
You reach around to fish out your wallet from your purse. As soon as find it, you turn back to the bar counter and flip through your wallet, looking for dollar bills.
But a hand slaps down cash in front of you. Pausing your wallet search, you look to Cassie. Her face is stern, almost like she’s communicating to you that this is nonnegotiable.
“Cassie—”
This time she cuts you off.
“Did you like the bartender?” Cassie asks you as she opens her wallet again.
“Yeah, he was fine.”
“He didn’t try and hit on you or anything?”
“No.”
Then, without saying anything, she grabs more cash from her purse. Cassie sets it down with the rest, now totaling $30. Your drink wasn’t even $10.
“Let’s go,” Cassie tells you.
“But you don’t need to—”
Not caring about your protests, Cassie grabs your wrist, yanking you off the stool. You quickly throw your wallet back into your purse before speed walking up to her side as she guides you to the dance floor.
As you approach, there’s more people around, so Cassie keeps a hand on your lower back. Laughter scatters throughout the crowd, and you pass by a few couples making out. Now closer to the music, the bass is heavy enough that you can feel the vibrations on the floor.
Cassie comes to a stop, and her hands immediately find your waist. Slowly, you wrap your arms around her neck, making sure she doesn’t pull back. Cassie then lowers her face to your ear, so she can talk to you over the loud music.
“Is this okay?”
Her hot breath hitting your ear shoots a chill down your spine. You can smell her cologne. It’s more on the feminine side and smells like cedar wood and vanilla. You’re actually embarrassed by the effect this woman seems to have on you.
You nod before whispering back, “yeah.”
“Speak up for me, baby,” she murmurs against the side of your head.
Your arms wrap tighter around Cassie. You turn your head slightly then, now closer to Cassie. “It’s okay,” you say louder this time.
Nodding, Cassie pulls back. Her hands are still on your hips, but now she can see you again. Cassie’s lips are parted slightly as she closely examines your face.
You can feel yourself blushing under her gaze, so you look away and let out a soft laugh. In response, Cassie laughs too and draws you closer to her.
“You’re cute,” she teases, aware of and clearly liking the effect she has on you.
Playfully, you roll your eyes and look back to Cassie, trying to hold back a smile. “Do you say that to a lot of girls?”
“Only the cute ones.”
Chuckling, you shake your head. “Are there many of us out there?”
Cassie doesn’t even hesitate to say, “none like you.”
Your breath hitches, and you feel yourself subconsciously moving closer to Cassie. Looking up to her, you sway both in sync with the music and Cassie. Her eyes drop to your lips, holding her stare there for a few seconds before flicking back up to your eyes. Cassie leans in, squinting at you, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
“Can I kiss you?”
Your brain switches to autopilot. Without thinking or saying anything, you close the distance between the two of you and press your lips against hers. Cassie lets out a little sound of surprise at the contact, but sinks into your touch. Your hands on the back of her neck draw her even closer to you while Cassie grips your hips harder.
After a few moments, Cassie breaks the kiss. Her face is only a few inches away from yours. Cassie’s eyes examine your expression, trying to figure out what you’re thinking.
After a beat, Cassie chuckles. “I asked if I could kiss you.”
“Oh. Sorry,” you reply with an abashed smile.
But then you see the way Cassie’s looking at you, her eyes beginning to darken.
“You still can you know,” you say barely loud enough for Cassie to hear.
You gasp as Cassie pulls you flush her against her, her face even closer now. Her fingers press into your hips. “Do you want me to?”
All you can manage to do is nod. Right after you give permission, Cassie crashes her lips against yours.
The kiss starts out softer like before, but she quickly deepens it. When her tongue comes out, wanting to explore your mouth, you let her. A soft moan leaves you that Cassie swallows.
Her hands leave your hips, sliding to your lower back while yours comb through her hair with a tight grip. Cassie’s hands drop down to your ass, making you arch into her. Without meaning to, your hips twitch up to Cassie, and you can feel her smile against your swollen lips.
When Cassie breaks the kiss, she keeps her hands secure around your waist. Your lipstick is now smeared onto her lips and around her mouth. You bring a thumb up to her face, trying to rub it off.
“Sorry,” you murmur, concentrating on getting your lipstick off of Cassie’s face.
“S’okay.”
Your thumb brushes over the corner of Cassie’s mouth, and she turns to kiss it. She then leans in closer again, giving you a quick peck pulling back enough to speak.
“Do you want to stay or get out of here?”
“Out. I-I mean, yes, I want to get out of here,” you stammer, Cassie’s stare and touch making it hard for you to think.
A satisfied smirk grows on Cassie’s face, and you instinctively bite your lip at the sight of it. Cassie winks. “Mkay. Let’s go.”
You didn’t give Cassie your address. Instead, you told her to go to her place. With a pleased smirk, she obliged.
The area Cassie lives is nicer than where you live. Based on her apartment complex, you assumed that her place would be huge. It is definitely bigger than yours, but not as big as you were expecting, although, it’s still insanely nice. You can tell it’s expensive — luxurious even.
Despite that, it still feels like a home rather than a bland place to live. There’s muted pops of color — lots of green and orange — and she has a lot of personal touches scattered throughout her apartment.
You don’t get to look around much because Cassie’s on you not too long after you enter. She took your purse from you, hanging it up on a hook by the entryway while you took your shoes off. You then followed Cassie further into her apartment where you looked around briefly until her lips locked onto yours.
Cassie breaks the kiss and grabs your hand, leading you to her bedroom. The hallway has three doors, and she takes you to one at the end. When you enter, Cassie cups your face and kisses you again.
You grab ahold of her waist, pulling her closer to you until there’s no more space. Cassie begins to slide of the jacket you’re wearing, and you help shrug it off.
“You look good in leather,” she murmurs between kisses.
Once the jacket is discarded, you untuck Cassie’s shirt from her jeans. Your hands wander underneath the fabric, sliding over her bare back
“It’s Trinity’s.”
Cassie hums against your lips and walks you backwards. Her kisses trail down your jaw to your neck, and she tilts your head for better access.
“You can borrow mine next time,” Cassie mumbles against your skin.
Next time.
The back of your knees hit the bed, and Cassie guides you down onto the mattress. She climbs over you as you scoot to the headboard. Your hands are holding her head as she suckles on your neck.
You let out a sigh of pleasure that Cassie moans at. She kisses her way back up to your face, and then captures your mouth with hers. Cassie’s left hand supports her on the mattress beside you while the other slides under the tight fabric of your top. Her flat palm on your stomach sends chills down your spine and heat in your core.
“Can I take this off, baby?” Cassie softly asks as she tugs on the hem on the lace tank top clinging to your torso.
“Yes,” you breathe out.
Cassie lifts your top over your head, you helping her. She then throws it somewhere on the floor. Cassie leans back down to kiss you while she cups one of your breasts through your bra. Naturally, you arch into her touch.
“What about this?” Cassie mumbles in between kisses as her hand follows your bra, teasingly sliding to the back where the clasp is.
“Go ahead.”
You arch your back so Cassie can undo your bra. As she does so, you start to pull Cassie’s shirt up over her head.
She tugs it the rest of the way up while you slide your bra off your shoulders. Both of you throw your garments on the floor at the same time. Cassie then turns to you, taking your bare chest in. Her eyes are dark, and her tongue peeks out, licking her lips as she eyes you like you’re a snack she’s about to eat.
You grab ahold of Cassie’s face and pull her to yours. This kiss is sloppier than before, both of you hungry and eager. You grip Cassie’s hips, and she bucks them down with a groan.
Cassie’s mouth leaves yours, now trailing wet kisses down your throat. She kisses your collarbone before moving lower. Your hands run wild over Cassie’s back, and one hand settles on the back of her head. When she takes one of your breasts into her mouth, you grip onto her scalp and shoulder with a moan.
Your body squirms as Cassie moves lower, leaving feather-light kisses on your stomach. Cassie hooks her fingers in the waistband of your skirt. She slowly starts lowering it, giving you an opportunity to stop her if you want. Instead, you help her, eagerly pulling your skirt down.
Once it’s off, Cassie leans down and presses a soft kiss over the wet fabric of your underwear. You shudder at the feeling, needing more. Cassie gives you one more peck before sitting up.
“Take it off for me.”
You look up to Cassie through lust filled eyes. Slowly, you move so you’re holding yourself up on your elbows. Cassie’s staring at you, her gaze unwavering.
Cassie watches you as you bring a hand down, gradually revealing more and more skin. When your underwear reaches past the middle of your thighs, Cassie groans at the sight of you. She then grabs your panties, and impatiently tugs them down until they’re at your ankles.
You kick them off and look to Cassie expectantly. Without breaking eye contact, Cassie unbuttons her jeans. Your eyes drop to her lower half, and your breathing grows heavier as you watch Cassie take her jeans off. She’s left in blue striped boxers. She looks so hot in them that you almost want the boxers to stay on.
Biting your lower lip, you crawl towards Cassie. You place your hands on her stomach, planting a few soft kisses on her skin. You kiss your way up to your chest and rise on your knees to reach her. One of your hands slides up her body, and you hook a finger around the gold chain dangling from her neck. You tug Cassie forward, capturing her lips in a searing kiss.
Your hands then slide down to Cassie’s hips, your touch both grounding and heated. Cassie grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you even closer to her. You swear her tongue is only an inch away from the back of your throat.
Cassie puts her hands on your shoulders and pushes you down, not forcefully but more than gentle. You start to crawl backwards to the head of the bed. Cassie’s dark eyes never leave yours, and she tugs her boxers down. The second they’re off, she’s practically pouncing on you.
One of Cassie’s knees slots between your legs, pushing them apart. She leans down to your face and hovers over your lips. Cassie kisses the corner of your mouth, and then finds your ear. She bites your earlobe, and your fingers curl into the hair on the nape of her neck.
“Tell me what you want,” Cassie rasps, her breath hot against your ear.
“Fuck,” you gasp. “You. I-I don’t care, just you. Please.”
“Fingers or mouth?”
Cassie’s heated voice shoots straight to your core. You close your eyes, willing thoughts to form in your fuzzy mind.
“Both,” you breathe.
You can feel Cassie smirk against your skin. She presses a kiss below your ear followed by one on your jaw.
“Good answer.”
Then, Cassie’s moving down your body again. She grips the flesh of your thighs, pulling your legs apart. When she lets go, there’s red handprints on your skin, but they quickly fade as Cassie’s hands find your hips instead.
“Tell me what feels good,” Cassie murmurs sweetly, her voice still husky, as she dives down between your thighs.
Cassie’s tongue finds your center. You gasp and grip the sheets beside you. She licks a stripe bottom to top, her tongue darting out to lightly flick your clit. Cassie then moves back down your cunt, parting your folds with her tongue as she explores you.
“This all for me?” Cassie asks, licking some stickiness off of your inner thigh where it meets with the bottom of your heat.
“Yeah,” you moan.
Cassie hums, pleased. Her mouth is warm and hot against you. Every little tiny, breathy whimper and sigh that escapes you turns Cassie on more. In one smooth motion, she attaches her mouth onto your clit, her tongue swirling over it.
“Right there.”
“Yeah?” Cassie hums against you.
She bites down ever so softly, making you groan in pleasure. Cassie alters between sucking and kissing with the occasional tongue flick, learning what affects you most. Once she’s found a rhythm, one of her hands leaves your hip and travels to your cunt, joining her mouth.
Cassie inserts a finger, testing and cautious. You push down into her touch as she sinks in deeper. Cassie’s mouth keeps moving over your clit as her wide finger thrusts in and out of your pussy.
“More,” you whine.
You feel Cassie smile against you. She slips her middle finger inside of you, joining her pointer. She gives you a moment to adjust to the fullness before curling her fingers.
Cassie can tell when she finds your g-spot because of the satisfied sound that escapes you on top of your hips rolling against her face. Her being a doctor is really coming in handy for you right now.
Cassie moves with precision and confidence. There’s no hesitation anymore. She knows exactly what you need, and she gives it to you without question.
You glance down at Cassie, your eyes barely even open. Seeing her bob her head between your legs is almost enough to make you cum on its own.
But as you watch her work, you notice something.
Cassie’s hips are grinding down into the mattress. Her focus is still on you, and her rhythm never falters, but she’s getting off too. You moan in realization, and grab Cassie’s head, her matted red hair tangling between your fingers.
Your legs are practically trembling by now as you feel your release building. Cassie moves faster and harder, probably being able to tell your orgasm is close. Her tongue and fingers work relentlessly as your hips rapidly mirror her movements.
You let out a low, pleasured groan. “Fuck, Cassie. R-right there.”
The hand she has on your hip grips you tighter, her fingernails creating a delicious burning sensation on your skin there. Cassie’s lost in giving you pleasure, the bed frame hitting the wall as she continues.
“You gonna cum, baby?” Cassie asks with a rasp in her voice. The way she says it is how you’d imagine her asking a patient if they’re okay — soft and steady. There’s something so attractive about it.
“Uh, huh,” you whine.
Cassie curls her fingers inside of you, your pulsing walls shuddering. “Let me see you.”
You look down and make eye contact with her, and that breaks you. Cassie watches every detail of your face as your orgasm surfaces. She groans into your cunt when she feels you clench down on her fingers. Cassie keeps going, her pace still strong and not slowing.
The aftershocks still flowing through you, you notice how Cassie’s moving more erratically now. She lets out a moan, the sound vibrating against your clit, and your legs instinctively press together. Cassie finishes then with a sound mixed with a groan and a whimper, her hips grinding down hard into the mattress. You even felt another tiny orgasm pass through you.
Once both your bodies are exhausted and satisfied, Cassie removes her fingers from you and lifts her head. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Cassie then puts her fingers inside her mouth, licking them clean, as she crawls to the head of the bed.
There’s really nothing sexual about the way she so casually cleans her fingers off, and that’s what makes it so hot. It’s casual, something she doesn’t even think about doing, but clearly something she enjoys.
Cassie flops beside you, her hair wild and knatted. She’s lying on her back like you, and she turns her head towards you. She smirks a tad upon seeing how fucked out you look.
“God,” you mutter as you stare up at the ceiling.
Smugly, Cassie reaches over and playfully pinches your arm. “That good, huh?”
A tired, hoarse chuckle spills out. “Was that not obvious?”
“Oh, it was.” You look to Cassie then and gently smack her shoulder. “But I like hearing it.”
“Fine,” you say with a smile and an eye roll. “You were fucking fantastic. You blew my world. You’ve ruined me. Happy?”
Cassie laughs and leans closer to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before pulling back into her own space. “Was that so hard?”
You give Cassie a side eye, but the smile on your face gives it no real power. The grin on Cassie’s face softens under your gaze. It slowly begins to thin out, and her brows knit together, almost like she’s deep in thought. Cassie opens her mouth to speak, but closes it a half second later.
“What?”
The corners of Cassie’s lips rise as she hears your voice and sees the smile still plastered across your face. She takes a deep breath and looks straight ahead for a moment before turning back to you.
“Do you want to go to Paris this summer?” Your eyes narrow as you try to figure out what Cassie means by that. “With me?” Cassie adds.
Your face is still for a moment as you stare blankly at her. Then, a laugh comes out. Cassie smiles in response, but the look she has in her eyes is unwavering.
“I’m serious,” Cassie tells you.
Your laughter fades, but a small smile remains on your face. Confused, you look to her. “What?”
“I have a place there,” Cassie explains. “I’m taking a sabbatical over the summer. Tonight was my last shift which is why we all went out.”
“If they’re supposed to be celebrating you, why were you alone at the bar? And why did you leave early?”
Cassie scoffs in amusement. “First of all, going out was not my idea. Secondly, I came up to the bar on my own to sit next to you. Would you rather have be brought a whole gang of doctors and nurses too? Lastly, I would much rather be at home than a club. I’m old and sober.”
Grinning, you shake your head. “Okay, but I’m still confused. You’re… not working for a few months? And you have a Paris house?”
“Paris apartment,” Cassie corrects, “and yes, I will have time off work. I’m going to France for the summer.”
“And you’re…” you pause for a moment, carefully asking, “inviting me?”
“Yeah,” Cassie replies with a shrug like it’s no big deal. “I was just going to go on my own, but it would be nice to have some company.”
In disbelief, you blink at her a few times. “I-I could never afford that.”
“I’ll pay for you.”
Your brows drop in thought, and then a faint smirk grows on your face. “Like a sugar mommy?”
Cassie laughs then. “If you want to call it that, sure. But I’m not paying for you like a sex worker or anything. Just think of it as a friend way.”
You raise a brow. “A friend?”
“A friend who I might have sex with on occasion.” You both erupt in laughter, and you subconsciously inch a little closer to Cassie. “But seriously,” Cassie starts as her laughter settles, “I wouldn’t want you to feel any pressure. It would be no strings attached and completely casual.”
“You’re seriously inviting me to Europe right now?” You point to yourself, still wrapping your head around this. “A stranger who you just met tonight?”
“I mean, you’re friends with Santos. It’s not like I just picked you off the street.”
“But what if you get sick of me? You don’t even know me.”
“I can learn,” Cassie says, flashing you an attractive grin.
“I got fired recently. I have no income, and I would still need to pay rent here. I can’t swing that.”
“I’ll cover it,” Cassie replies immediately.
“I can’t let you do that. You would already be giving me a free trip to fucking France.”
Cassie chuckles and sits up. “I can afford it. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me,” you reply as Cassie leans down and picks her jeans off the floor. She reaches in her front pocket and pulls something out.
“Then say thank you and move on.”
Cassie lays back down on the bed, a cigarette and lighter in hand. You stare at her, completely ambushed by this generous offer.
After Cassie lights the cigarette, she takes a drag and looks at you again. “Do you smoke, honey?”
You nod. “Yes, uh, I do.”
Cassie smiles, more so to herself, at your speechlessness. Without saying anything, she passes you the cigarette.
You inhale deeply, holding the smoke in your lungs for a few seconds before exhaling. You take another puff before handing the cigarette back to Cassie.
She takes it from you, your fingers momentarily brushing. “So do you want to go?” Cassie asks, then taking another hit.
“How do you afford to have a Paris apartment and be able to pay some rando’s rent and for them to stay in Paris on a single doctor’s salary.”
“I have my ways,” Cassie replies, a mischievous smirk on her face.
You don’t question any further, it’s not your business and the last thing you want is to be rude. Instead, you just nod, your eyes still glued onto Cassie’s.
You mull over your options in your head. If you decided to go with Cassie, you could put off looking for another job for a while. Your bills would still get paid, and you’d be in a whole other country with no responsibilities. You’ve always wanted to go to France, specifically Paris, and now you have the opportunity to go for free.
On the flip side, you don’t know Cassie. You only met her tonight. This woman has been in your life for less than 3 hours, and you’re considering on going on a trip with her for a couple months. There are so many reasons why that’s a bad idea.
But then again, Cassie is Trinity’s coworker. She’s a doctor who’s saving people everyday, so she must be safe. Clearly she’s liked enough at work for her coworkers to have a whole night out to celebrate before her departure. Plus, there’s something about Cassie that just makes you feel safe. You can’t place why, but you feel it so deeply from within you.
You look to Cassie and raise a brow, a joking expression forming. “You’re not a serial killer?”
“Definitely not. Though, people have died under my hands.”
With a small laugh, you roll your eyes.
You know how hard Cassie’s job is because of Trinity. Even so, you can’t imagine being a healthcare worker, and you don’t think you can comprehend just how taxing it is. Trinity often makes jokes to ease the burden of the job, and you see that same glimmer of pain in Cassie’s eyes Trinity gets when she makes a joke like Cassie did.
Cassie needs a break. You may barely know her, but you can put the pieces together to see that. And here she is, offering you to accompany her. Maybe she needs someone else to tag along. Cassie wouldn’t have asked you to join her if she didn’t genuinely want your company.
“Okay,” you tell Cassie, slightly unsure.
She places the cigarette between her lips and turns on her side, propping herself up on an elbow. Cassie rests her head on her hand, and takes a drag of the cigarette, then passing it to you.
“Okay?” Cassie repeats in questioning.
You take a puff of the cigarette and nod. When the smoke’s in your lungs, you murmur, “I’ll go with you.”
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to say yes.”
“I know,” you say as smoke flies out of your mouth. “I want to go.”
A quiet smile grows on Cassie’s face. You hand her back the cigarette, and she takes a hit. She exhales the smoke through her nose, her bedroom clouding with the smell of tobacco.
“I’m leaving next Monday,” Cassie tells you. “I can add you to my flight if you’re sure.”
Without hesitating, you give a sure nod. If you have more time to really think about this, you might back out. But right now, you want to go on this trip with Cassie.
“Great, thanks,” you say.
Cassie passes you the cigarette once more. You take a quick drag, and then hand it back to her. Her fingers brush against yours, her touch lingering a little longer than necessary.
“How long are you planning on staying?”
“Until the beginning of August. I don’t have a specific return flight yet, but I need to be back by the ninth.” Cassie takes a puff before continuing. “You can leave whenever you want though.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Cassie smiles, finding your demeanor cute. She can tell you’re tiptoeing around her now, trying to be extra considerate. No one speaks for a few seconds as you stare at each other, your faces becoming familiar with one another.
Your phone dings, interrupting the silent moment.
You recognize the ringtone. You roll over and try to figure out where the sound came from since you don’t even remember where you left your phone. As you scan the floor, you spot Trinity’s leather jacket.
You stand up, and the cool air circling through Cassie’s bedroom hits your naked body. You bend down, pick up the jacket, and check the pockets. Sure enough, your phone is there.
Your side is to Cassie as you unlock your phone. You can feel her eyes on you, admiring your side profile.
When you open your texts, you see one from Trinity. You had texted her when you left the bar, and now she’s full of questions.
Trinity: did you just go home without having any fun?
Trinity: wait…
Trinity: DID YOU LEAVE WITH SOMEONE
Trinity: bitch you had to have gone home with someone. you usually find me before you leave but you left with an abrupt text!
You chuckle as you read your friend’s text. She’s always been very observant. One thing about Trinity is that she’ll get to the bottom of whatever she wants to know.
“Hm?”
You look up at Cassie. She nods to your phone in hand, curious about what you are smiling at.
“Oh, just Trinity. She asked me if went home with someone.”
“What are you gonna tell her?”
“What do you want me to do tell her?”
“Well, seeing as we’re going to go to a whole other country together for a couple months, you’re going to eventually have to tell her it’s me.”
You nod in agreement and look back down to your phone. “I’m going to tell her it’s one of her coworkers and she has to guess.”
“This will be fun,” Cassie says before taking a long drag of the cigarette. She passes it to you as she exhales, the lit edge almost at the base now.
You take it from her and put it between your lips as you type out your response to Trinity. After you’re done, you hand the cigarette back to Cassie, exhaling as you do so.
You sit on the edge of the bed, one leg dangling off. A few seconds later, you get a text back from Trinity.
“She says Abbot. I don’t even know who that is.”
Cassie cackles, coughing a little as she does so from the smoke in her throat. “He’s the night shift attending. He’s also like 50.”
“Ah,” you say as you text your friend back.
You: guess again
Trinity: ellis?
You: still no
“Now she’s guessing Ellis.”
Cassie raises her eyebrows, and her eyes narrow as she stares at you. “Well I’m glad I got to you before she did.”
“Me too,” you say through a chuckle as you look back down to your phone.
You: do you have a lucky guess number three?
Trinity: ugh
Trinity: …mckay?
You: ding ding ding!
Your face lights up as Trinity finally guesses correctly. Cassie seems to clock it because she laughs softly upon seeing your smile.
“She got it,” you tell Cassie as you look up from your phone. She’s taking a hit of the cigarette, a crooked smile still hanging from her mouth.
You then put your phone on do not disturb, you’ll get to Trinity’s hysterics of you and Cassie later. You rise off the bed again and start to gather your clothes. Your underwear is at the foot of the bed where Cassie threw it earlier.
As you put it back on, the fabric is still slightly damp and sticky. Memories of what you and Cassie were doing just minutes earlier flood your mind. A faint blush creeps up on your cheeks.
You walk back over to the side of the bed where you skirt is. You pick it up and peek inside, looking for the tag to indicate which side is the back.
“Do you need a ride home?”
Your eyes shoot to Cassie’s, and you’re met with a warm gaze. Her head tilts in consideration as she waits for your answer.
“I’m okay, I can just call a ride.”
“No need,” Cassie replies. She reaches down to the floor again and grabs her phone out of her back pocket of her jeans this time. “I’ll arrange one now.”
“Cass—”
“I’m already doing it.”
With a sigh, you decide to let it go. After all, this woman has the means to pay for it. She’s generously taking you with her to Paris for the summer with her money.
As you slide your skirt back over your underwear, you spot a framed picture of Kurt Cobain on Cassie’s right nightstand. It’s the B&W picture of him smoking with a guitar in hand. You bend down to grab your top and jacket, and as you’re coming up, you spot something on the photo.
“Holy shit,” you exclaim.
Cassie rolls onto her side, now facing you. “What?”
“This is signed,” you say, pointing at the frame.
With a chuckle, Cassie looks at your shocked face. “Yeah,” she says before bringing the cigarette in her hand between her lips, the end flickering orange as she takes a drag. “My dad got it.”
“What?!” Your head whips to Cassie, the clothes in your hand forgotten.
A hint of amusement is etched into Cassie’s expression, and a half-smile hangs from her lips. “It was after a concert back in the day.” She takes another drag before continuing. “It was my first concert actually. I think I was 12? I dunno, but after the show we got to go backstage. My dad hooked us up somehow, and Kurt signed that for us.”
Your mouth is open, and your eyes are wide. Your gaze flickers to the picture, and then back to Cassie. She’s still smiling, clearly finding your reaction entertaining.
“What the fuck,” is all you manage to breathe out.
Cassie laughs — really laughs — and her shoulders shake. When she finally calms, she turns to you and sees that you’re still frozen in disbelief.
“So you met him?”
“Yeah,” Cassie replies like it’s not a big deal.
“That’s insane.”
Cassie points to the clothes in your hand and gives a nod. “Are you gonna get dressed, baby?”
You glance down to the clothes in your hand, suddenly remembering your upper half is bare. Cassie leans down to grab your bra off of the floor, and then tosses it in your direction. You put your tank top on, not caring about wearing a bra.
“I-I,” you stammer as you pick your bra off the bed, “Cassie, that’s crazy.”
“I can tell you think so,” she says through a chuckle. “It was a crazy time.”
Cassie takes one more hit of the cigarette before putting it out in a glass of water on her nightstand. The fact that she doesn’t have an ashtray there makes you wonder if she usually smokes inside her house. There was no lingering scent of cigarettes in any of the rooms you’ve been in so far. Maybe Cassie only smokes indoors after having sex, you’re not sure.
“I fucking loved Nirvana as a teenager,” you tell Cassie. “Kurt is one of my favorite artists ever.”
“I’m surprised he was such a big influence on you. I’ve always assumed most people your age wouldn’t have listened to Nirvana growing up.”
“You’d assume correct, but my dad listened to Nirvana, and I got really into them because of him.”
You fold your bra as best as you can and attempt to shove it into your purse. The purse you chose to use tonight is small since you were just planning on going to a club. Cassie watches as you try and fail to stuff it in.
“You know,” Cassie says as she sits up. “If you want you can just leave it here, and I’ll pack it for you.”
“Really?”
“Not a problem,” Cassie replies, extending a hand out.
You hand her your bra. “Thanks. I hate wearing bras,” you tell Cassie. “Since I’ve been hiding in my apartment these last couple of weeks, I got so used to not wearing them.”
“I don’t either,” Cassie admits.
“Then, I guess we’ll both be braless at your place in Paris,” you say with a small chuckle as you zipper your purse closed.
“Good.” Cassie leans her head against the headboard of her bed. “Less to take off,” Cassie says as her eyes drop down your body. Her tongue darts out before pressing her lips together and looking up to you.
“I like your thought process,” you half joke.
Cassie tilts her head, her eyes falling to your chest again before rising back to your face. “It shows more too,” she tells you through a crooked smile.
You look down and see your nipples poking through. Your eyes dart back to Cassie, and you lift a brow, a playful grin tugging at your lips.
“Yeah?” You climb onto the bed, crawling over to Cassie until you’re inches away.
“Yeah,” she affirms, her voice lower now.
You then put your mouth onto hers. Cassie cradles your head with one hand while the other finds your hip. You rest your hands on her neck, your thumbs on her jaw.
When you break the kiss, you rest your forehead on hers. “I need your number,” you whisper.
Cassie stares up at you for a moment, not registering what you just said as she looks into your eyes. But when it hits her, she begins to pull back to reach for her phone.
“Yeah, of course.”
Cassie opens her phone and hands it to you. She’s already opened her contacts, ready to input your information. You type your number and name into her phone, adding a heart emoji at the end of your name. You hand Cassie her phone back and climb off the bed.
“I just texted you my name.”
“I’ll save your contact,” you reply.
“Do you need anything before you go? Water? The bathroom?”
“No, I’m okay. Thanks though.”
“Your ride will be here in 10. I already pre-tipped in the app, so this guy better be worth it,” Cassie tells you with a grin.
You chuckle and put your purse on your shoulder. “If you tipped good, I’m sure there will be no problems.”
Cassie’s sitting up, still naked. The sheets have been pulled up to cover her lower half, but her chest is still bare and on display. Her knatty hair falls on her shoulders, ending right above her breasts.
Cassie seems to notice you staring, but she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she says, “you can sit here and wait if you want. You don’t have to stay standing.”
Sheepishly, you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear as you take a seat. “Sorry, I just don’t want to disrupt your space.”
“You’re not, baby. Promise.” Cassie’s voice is sweet, and she eyes you affectionately.
Cassie shifts on the bed, grabbing her phone again. She’s typing something, but you’re not sure what. You don’t ask, but you watch her from where you’re sitting.
“You’re sure you want to come?” Cassie asks, looking up at you now.
“Yes. I’m sure.”
Cassie nods and examines your face for any uncertainty. After she’s sure she doesn’t see a trace of doubt, she looks back to her phone. A minute later, Cassie sets her phone back and turns back to you.
“I got your ticket. I’ll text you the details later.”
“Wow, thank you. I still can’t believe you’d drop that kind of money on me.”
Whether intentional or not, Cassie notices how you refer to yourself instead of as a stranger. Your statement was “I still can’t believe you’d drop that kind of money on me”, not “I still can’t believe you’d drop that kind of money on a stranger/someone you don’t know.” Cassie acknowledges that it probably wasn’t something you said on purpose, and that it doesn’t mean anything, but the thought of you possibly thinking that you don’t deserve nice things still tugs at her heartstrings.
“Happy too,” Cassie replies plainly, a genuine smile on her face.
You let out a sigh of disbelief as you realize that you’re going to a different country next week with someone who’s practically a stranger. You’ll get to spend your whole summer there without any obligations or money worries. Life doesn’t feel real.
“I can’t believe I — we’re going to Paris.”
Softly, Cassie chuckles and looks at you with adoration. Your face is lit up as you mentally go over all the possibilities of what you’re going to do there.
summary and warning/s: baran headcanon/canon, some fluff, some smut, marking kink, praise, degradation, cunnilingus, strap-on mention, relationship with arash; very light headcanons
author’s note: last half not proof-read
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baran is a bad cook. the only reason she survived med school was thanks to cup noodles, takeouts, and group dinners with her other med student friends, and her sturdy starbucks order that withstood far too many all nighters. she only learned to cook for arash, well aware of the importance of feeding your child well. at year one, she was a decent cook. stale, most times, but decently edible. she only grew better when arash challenged her, asking for the taste to be better, sweeter, yummier. mama baran, as caring and perfectionist as she is, delivered; and now even she grew accustomed to liking vegetables and fruits in her plate.
speaking of med school days, baran hosts an annual gathering with her med school friends, usually somewhere tropical and beach-y. she’d have a whole itinerary planned, has an extensive list of all her friends likes and dislikes, preferences, bucket lists, catering to their quality of a good time. she loves the steady and unshakable connection she still have with her closest peers. she’s contagiously grateful to hear stories from her friends about a complication and innovative procedure from different places in the world, their resilience, her resilience, and how to this day they haven’t turned their back on their oath and the people.
baran who is passionate with her profession, naturally solicitude of all people regardless of what they look and what happened to them. all she sees is a person who deserves a good life. of course, until a lousy citizen walks her way. a restrained treatment, practiced attitude, a little less caring, and then she’s out of their sight. baran is glued to her morals and principles but she also opens space for her beliefs to be challenged.
and you have challenged her beliefs, graciously walking into her life like someone to disorganize (lack of better word) her life. she was drawn to you without a clear reason and this has happened before. a stranger that becomes her favorite colleague, her person for when her old car tires breaks, but you, you’re the personification of all her desires—her unreached desires. you opened baran to the enlightenment that she’s here in this world not only as a helper but also someone to be helped. as if she had been living on this earth without an actual anchor—until you.
baran is a natural flirt. you’re well aware, everyone she encounters does. they have been victim to her big, brown doe eyes; consistently leaving men and women flustered, most times to the point of asking her out for coffee (more or less). you’ve witnessed it on more than one occasion, gritting your teeth and bearing it, hindered by the status of your relationship. you wait til you get her alone, recounting your perspective of the exchange, irritated by the smug grin on baran’s face as you do. your jealousy is apparently one of her favorite traits, not holding you back when you pounce on her, mouth and tongue and teeth occupied with marking your territory.
speaking of marking, baran relishes on how you lose control over her. you have wanted to point out on multiple occasions that baran flirts back with her patients (you’re not there, but you’re sure when your right eye begins to twitch) and strangers just to rile you up, but you can’t really call it proof as she only gives them small talk. but when you do the same, oh boy, you’re in trouble the moment you give them a handshake. baran isn’t a jealous person, no, she’s far from it. she’s territorial. baran would mark every inch of your body if she has to.
she would draw out your moans, sucking on your neck, telling you she’ll pretend it's your clit, sucking and licking and nipping at the skin, and it could have been your clit, two fingers on your aching hole, but no, you just had to be a brat and rile her up. you just had to give the stranger a twirl when they complimented your dress, low cut and thin, outlining every curve and swell. you just had to be so greedy for compliments, baran’s own not enough, her hold on your waist not tight enough.
“you belong to me,” she growled, grazing her teeth in the valley of your shoulder as she pulled your hair back, panting at the sight of your arched back, bent over for the taking. she bit your flesh as you screamed, feeling the blinding pain of her fingers forcing themselves inside of you. “you belong to me,” she would chant until she’s forcing you to say it as well, threatening to pull out and leave you aching and needy and dry.
baran has never called you degrading names, it doesn’t seem to be in her vocabulary, but baby girl, princess, my liver, my love. she alternates between those, always saying it with pure affection and softness, putting clouds to shame. she says it with pure adoration in her eyes, sometimes twinkling under a good light, eyes fluttering in delight of your precious face.
and god, her eyes, precariously precious and simply a sight for sore eyes. sometimes her gaze turns very intense, spilling out of the confines of her sockets. her brown eyes just have that twinkle in it that makes you even more in love. you could build a shrine just of them. you wouldn’t be surprised if one of her coworkers, usually nosy, figures out she’s dating her son's babysitter, with how baran can’t help but form hearts with her doctor doe eyes. you try your best to avoid her in the break room.
it’s not really easy keeping it a secret, you’re mostly figuring out how to navigate through the beginning stages of your relationship. it’s not official, not yet, amicably. you’re both two busy individuals, only seeing each other when baran comes home from the hospital, as she rarely visits the clinic you volunteer at. it’s about time you exit the facility as well, having enough hours for the scholarship application, leaving weight from your shoulders.
baran loves sharing stories. she meticulously digs into the details, broadcasting her astuteness, dubbing her as a security camera. her eyes turned into slits, terrifyingly crawling on top of you after you made the joke, turning you into fits of giggles as she tickled you. she then mentioned how you’d suck the insides of your cheeks when you’re nervous, covering up your face with your shirt when you’re frustrated, and coughing up a lie you tell with gritted teeth. she could also tell when arash keeps secrets from her. she knew you’ve been buying those pancakes she ill-advised weeks ago.
her relationship with arash has exponentially grown your love for motherhood. your mother was present in your life but with an established divided attention between labor, to get both your needs met. you’d never admit it, at least not yet, knowing you have a few more secrets to keep before baran uncovers every single one of them: vicariously living through the mother-and-son relationship. realizing that being a mother isn’t a means to pause your dreams until they’re independent, but the need for a proper foundation to sustain roles in your own life.
baran loves routine. her left eye twitches when thighs don’t go according to plan (her finger tapping doesn’t go unnoticed); hence, the dislike for camping. you just never know, she huffed in farsi as you both participate in arash’s toy story marathon, with the weather and the optics of the environment. she can adapt, it’s in her career as an attending (of an attending), but if she could be in complete control, it’d never be an option.
she pinned your hands above your head that very same night, assuring that her son’s in deep sleep, demonstrating her dominance, giving you a reminder that the boss doesn’t stay in the ED. baran relishes at your loss of control, your primal urges taking over. she loved it when you pulled her hair as she was tongue deep inside you, the pull and scratch combination against her scalp fueling her received praise, “please, you’re so good, you feel so good,” furthering her to press deeper into your hole. she could hump the air from it and come undone.
you know baran is a sucker for hickeys, but her marking kink in general keeps her gripping your hips with no abandon, as if if she kept her hands to herself a second longer you’d disappear. she compensates by peppering kisses all over the blues and purples, mumbling how you were so able and angelic and good, giving it one good suck to push a whine out of you. she giggled and melted as you kissed her forehead, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, reassuring her you will never leave. baran relished in your pain, although sometimes. she adores the fact that she can do these things to you and still you’d stay.
baran who gets soaking wet, drenched through her panties, humping the air with no shame the first time you called her a slut. it was a joke, it wasn’t something you tried, at least not with her, not yet. the reaction was blistering, leaving your senses completely and falling into your primal urges, slapping her soaked pussy and watched it twitched and sputtered, baran whining like a cat in heat.
she whined your name, “i-i…”
“i, what, baran?”
she shook her head as if you said the wrong thing. “no, i-i need-“
you grazed a finger along her inner thigh and bit your lip as her entire body shook. “call me-call me that again!”
“call you what?”
“a s-slut!”
“is that what you are?”
she nodded her head vigorously. you showed skepticism. “hmmm…show me.”
her brown eyes almost bulged out of her eye sockets. she stuttered.
“i’m not repeating myself again,” moaning as she immediately obeyed, pulling her panties aside and playing with her clit. her cum was staining the sheets.
“your cum’s staining the sheets, you freak.”
she adored that title.
“you know you’re doomed once you’re done with me,” she threatened weakly, gritting her teeth to stop a moan from coming out. your eyes turned dark. “is that so?”
your enthusiasm lasted hours that night, just watching her writhe in pleasure under you, doing anything and everything you said, coming apart as she begged to suck you dry as you called her degrading names. it’s something that hasn’t happened again, not yet. but baran does shudder at praises as well.
the ones that particularly get her are ones that propels her deeper into concentration, for example, customizing a silly cake for her son, focus pulled into a flow state considering how she youtubed her way into that responsibility.
“you’re such a pro at this,” with a dirty promise at the end of the night if she makes no mistake. and knowing baran, she never does.
“as long as i want to?” she challenged, pinning the promise that she can put you on all fours on the kitchen counter with her strap-on bottoming inside of your hot, tight pussy. you hummed.
inspired by this request. gigi is convinced you will never be able to win the approval of her kids. you make it your mission to prove her wrong. set during season one/nat and alice are still together.
“Candy isn’t going to be enough,” Gigi tells you. “Really, I don’t think anything will.”
“Everyone loves candy,” you say. “And everyone loves people who buy it for them.”
She shakes her head, smiling softly. “You aren’t going to win them over. They’re harsh judges, Alice still hasn’t made any progress with them.”
“Alice doesn’t try,” you say bluntly. “She doesn’t want to be in their lives.”
“And you do?”
You lean back against the kitchen counter, shrugging. You hope the response you give is the right one. “I want to be in your life. That includes being in their lives, and I’m happy with that as long as you are.”
“I am,” she says. Gigi comes over and places her hands on either side of you on the counter, effectively boxing you in. “Of course I am.”
You catch a hint of her perfume, sweet and citrusy and always prone to making your head spin, and her curls brush against your front when she leans in to kiss you.
Her hands find your hips and she takes a small step forward, pressing into you. Her touch is soft, her hands are warm sneaking up your shirt, and she breaks the kiss to meet your eyes just to see the love that blooms in them.
“I won you over,” you say. “I don’t know exactly how I managed it, but I did. Your kids will be easy work.”
Gigi rolls her eyes. She steps back, reaches for her mug of tea and holds it as she considers you. “You’re going to regret underestimating them.”
—
It’s not that the candy doesn’t work, but you don’t quite get the reception you hoped for. When Nat drops the kids off at Gigi’s after school and they pad into the house to see you standing there with two giant candy bars, your hopes are crushed when Olive looks right at you and says, ‘Alice gave us candy when she first met us, too.’
You give them the candy anyway, of course. Then you look behind you and find Gigi standing in the doorway to the kitchen with her arms crossed and an expression that reads, ‘I told you so’.
The kids sit on the couch now. They have their homework in their laps and they try to be sneaky with the appraising glances they give you, but you notice.
You sit in an armchair on one side of the couch, and Gigi sits in another on the other side with her kindle in her hands and a fresh mug of tea in front of her on the coffee table.
You study her for a moment. She looks so at ease like this, legs folded under her and a heavy crocheted blanket over her, hair pulled up in a claw clip. Black tank top, shorts, a rose-scented candle lit on the accent table beside her. This is home. This is what she has always wanted.
She looks up briefly and catches your gaze. She raises a brow as if to ask what you’re looking at, and you quickly look down at the paperback you’re meant to be reading.
You don’t see her reach for her phone, but yours pings with a new notification after a second and you see that the message you’ve received is from her.
Gigi
Are you still okay with this? I can call Nat.
Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You’re not sure exactly what to respond with, but you know you don’t want to ruin your chances of getting what you’re on the precipice of: being fully accepted into her family, taking your relationship to a new level.
You
I’m fine with this. Are you fine with this?
You sound anxious over text. You feel anxious, too.
Gigi
You’re nervous.
You
I want everything to work out.
Gigi
I know, but they can sense when you’re nervous.
You
The kids?
As if on cue, Eli looks up from his homework. “Are you two texting each other?”
You set your phone down on the armrest of your chair and look down at your book. “I was looking at a pizzeria online, actually.”
From across the living room, Gigi stares you down. You know that if you looked up at her then she wouldn’t need to text you to say, ‘Really? A fucking pizzeria? That’s the best you could come up with?’
But Eli’s face lights up. He sits forward on his cushion and says, “Are we having pizza tonight?”
You look up at Gigi. Gigi looks at you. The two of you were planning on cooking tonight, but now that it’s been brought up… neither of you are averse to a night free from cooking.
“Yes,” Gigi answers eventually, picking up her phone again. “We’re having pizza.”
You send her another text.
You
Sorry. I’ll pay, I promise.
Gigi
You better.
—
The four of you are sitting at the table with the pizza — Gigi tells you she always makes the kids eat at the table even when she usually doesn’t when they’re absent — when the first line of questioning begins.
Olive is going to be the harshest critic when it comes to you, you think. Eli has proven easy to impress with candy and pizza and a quiet afternoon where you’ve intervened minimally, but Olive is different. She is older and has a better understanding of the world, and her disapproval of Nat’s girlfriend has already soured the idea of her other parent having a partner, too.
“How long have you been with my mom?” she asks suddenly, staring you down over her plate of pizza in a way that uncannily resembles the look Gigi gave you a little while ago in the living room. You suppose you know where she learned it from.
“A couple months,” you say. “Your mom was waiting for the right time to tell you.”
“And you think that you love her?”
You feel like you’ve been put on trial. This girl is going to grow up to be a lawyer someday.
“I do,” you say. “I do love her.”
“Then why haven’t you gotten married yet?”
You glance over at Gigi for a bit of help, but she only shrugs as if it’s a valid question to ask. She isn’t bailing you out this time.
“I haven’t found the right ring yet,” you say, and not just because you think it’s the right answer.
“Why?” Olive asks. “Do you not have her ring size or something? Because I can tell you if you want it.”
“Olive,” Gigi warns, “eat your food.”
“No, that might be helpful,” you say. And while it still seems like you’re speaking to Olive, you turn your gaze to Gigi when you next speak. “I’ll ask you someday. I really will.”
—
You’re cleaning the dishes at the sink, alone while you work, when light footsteps sound behind you.
You look back to see Olive in the doorway.
“Hey,” you smile. “Do you need something?”
She crosses her arms. “You’re not our mom, you know.”
You sigh and pick up another dish. “I know.”
“Alice isn’t our mom, either.”
“She knows that, too.”
“She’s always reminding us,” Olive says softly. She sounds sadder than you might have expected, and you look back to see her frowning.
You wipe your hands on the towel at the sink and walk over to her, looking down. She acts so grown up, but she is still a child and she is still only a little over half your height.
“Do you think I’m like Alice?” you ask.
“I did when I first saw you,” she says. “I’m not so sure anymore.”
You nod, trying not to look like you want her to think of you in one light or another.
“You’re going to keep coming around, aren’t you?” Olive asks.
“I am.”
She nods, taking this in. Then she offers you a small smile, a truce of sorts, and steps out of the kitchen. “See you around.”
—
When you get into bed that night, you immediately ask Gigi: “How do you think it went?”
She lies down beside you, slipping beneath the covers and nestling herself as close to you as possible. “How do you think it went?”
You consider the progress you’ve made so far. You need more time with Olive, but you think you might have impressed Eli. “I think it went well. Better than it could have, at least.”
Gigi shifts back a little so she can meet your eyes. You find so much love in hers, and when one of her hands reaches up to cup your face you press into it. “You were really good with them.”
“I did okay?”
She shifts again, closer so that she can lean in and kiss you. It’s tired, slow, and so gentle. Her hand is warm on your face still and one of her legs hooks over both of yours.
“You did fucking amazing,” she murmurs once you pull back, “like I knew you would.”
And she doesn’t say it, but part of her thinks she has just fallen in love with you all over again. She can see herself living with you, parenting with you, spending lazy nights and rushed school mornings with you trying to get the kids ready for class. She can see you helping Eli with his math homework at the kitchen table and Olive with her history presentations, and she can see the two of you lounging with glasses of wine while the kids are at Nat’s and making plans for family-inclusive summer vacations.
It’s the beginning of something new, she thinks. It is the beginning of everything.
lorraine who always looks devastating while praying after investigations. knees pressed into the motel carpet. silk nightgown slipping up her thighs while candlelight flickers against her skin and that tiny cross necklace rests between her breasts. meanwhile you’re sitting on the bed trying desperately not to stare while your pussy throbs between your legs hard enough to ache. lorraine notices the second your breathing changes and absolutely loves how obvious your need for her becomes.
lorraine who catches your hand slipping beneath the blankets one night while she’s praying quietly beside the bed. instead of stopping, she calmly keeps speaking while glancing at you over her shoulder, asking whether touching yourself while she prays makes your pussy wet. the embarrassment alone nearly makes you cum. especially when she tells you to keep your fingers there and not stop until she says so.
lorraine who deliberately drags her prayers out once she realizes how badly they affect you. she’ll kneel there speaking softly while you squirm beside her with your thighs pressed together because your pussy is soaking through your underwear from nothing but her voice. sometimes she pauses just to ask if you’re dripping for her already. the second you whimper yes, lorraine smiles so sweetly before continuing like nothing happened.
lorraine who absolutely loves sitting at the edge of the bed with you kneeling between her thighs while she slowly pets your hair and makes you confess every filthy thought running through your head. she’ll ask whether you were imagining her fingers inside your pussy while she prayed. whether you thought about her mouth on your tits while she held her rosary beads. every shaky answer makes her wetter too.
lorraine who gets addicted to the way your body reacts when she starts dirty talking in that calm voice of hers. she’ll slowly spread your thighs apart and hum at the sight of how wet your pussy already is before whispering “look at this mess, sweetheart… all from watching me pray?” meanwhile her fingers are rubbing slow circles over your clit just to watch your hips jerk helplessly against her hand.
lorraine who loves playing with your boobs while kissing you senseless against motel pillows after rough investigations. she’ll squeeze them slowly through your shirt first, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they harden for her before she finally pulls the fabric down with this hungry little look in her eyes. she adores hearing the pathetic noises you make when she sucks bruises against your tits while rubbing your clit at the same time.
lorraine who loves when you cum with her cross necklace wrapped loosely around your fist. she thinks the image of you trembling beneath her while whining her name and clutching onto something holy is unbelievably filthy. she’ll keep rubbing your clit through every pulse of your orgasm too, watching your pussy clench around her fingers while she softly praises how pretty you look cumming for her.
you who can barely sit still whenever lorraine starts praying after cases now because your brain immediately goes somewhere filthy. the second she kneels beside the bed your pussy starts throbbing and you catch yourself staring at her mouth instead of listening to a single word she says. lorraine notices every single time. she always notices.
you who completely lose composure the first time lorraine gently pushes you onto your knees for her. your hands are shaking. your thighs are slick already. and the second she cups your face while softly asking “can you be good for me tonight?” you feel yourself clench embarrassingly hard around nothing. lorraine thinks it’s adorable.
lorraine who absolutely loves fingering you while still half dressed after investigations. silk nightgown bunched around her thighs while she presses you into the mattress and slowly works her fingers into your soaked pussy. she keeps eye contact the entire time too, whispering filthy praise about how easily you fall apart for her while your legs shake around her wrist.
lorraine who secretly enjoys overstimulating you because she’s fascinated by how sensitive your body becomes after the first orgasm. she’ll keep two fingers buried deep inside your pussy while rubbing your clit slow enough to torture you, calmly telling you “one more, sweetheart… i know you can give me one more.” meanwhile you’re crying and squirming beneath her because your body physically can’t stop cumming for her.
lorraine who gets unbelievably turned on hearing you beg. especially desperate little “please let me cum” whines whispered against her throat while she’s grinding her thigh between your legs. she’ll deliberately slow down just to hear more of those pathetic sounds before finally giving you permission and feeling your pussy soak against her leg while you come apart on top of her.
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Summary: You were battle-hardened. Coming back to The Pitt was the only thing that kept you going, but what happens when your old love from across the seas ends up in your ED?
word count: 1.8K
Warnings: Exes to lovers, exes forced to work together, emotional hurt/comfort, past combat medic, war trauma, mention of seizures, light angst, fluff, slow burn tension
Authors note: Here is part 2 :3
The shift had been a nightmare from start to finish. The cyber attack took the computers offline for hours, forcing everyone to scramble with paper charts, runners, and shouted orders. Fireworks casualties kept rolling in, kids with burns, adults with alcohol-fueled injuries. Your residents, your ducklings, looked like they’d been dragged through hell by the time the systems finally came back up. They were slumped over their compuuters now, dead-eyed and muttering as they transferred every last note from scribbled pages into the electronic records.
You were about to tell them to wrap it up and go home when you heard raised voices from one of the side rooms.
Baran.
You moved before you even registered it, storming down the hall. Through the cracked door you saw Robby looming over her, red-faced, while she stood rigid, arms crossed tight like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will.
“Hey, hey!” You shoved the door open and pushed between them, planting yourself squarely in front of Baran. “Robby, knock it the fuck off.”
“You knew!?” Robby exploded, jabbing a finger toward her. “You knew she had these seizures and you allowed her into my ED!?”
Your blood boiled. You reached back and yanked the privacy curtain across the glass door with a sharp metallic scrape, sealing the three of you off from the rest of the department.
“Michael Robinavitch,” you snapped, voice low and venomous, “if you think for one goddamn second this is your ED and not ours, you have another thing coming. I think you need to get off your high horse and go on this journey of yours. Take the time away to really reflect on yourself. I’m handling things now. Goodnight.”
Robby stared at you, mouth opening like he wanted to argue, but you didn’t give him the chance. You turned, took Baran by the elbow, and steered her out the other side of the room before he could say another word. She moved with you, silent and stiff, the exhaustion and humiliation radiating off her in waves.
The two of you slipped through the back hallways toward the attendings’ lounge, avoiding the main pit. The department was finally quieting down, the night crew starting to filter in. You grabbed your bags from your lockers in silence, the weight of the day, of everything, pressing down on both of you.
Baran shrugged out of her scrub top first, revealing a deep red tank underneath that clung to her frame. The familiar sight hit you harder than it should have. You followed suit, peeling off your own scrubs to reveal a simple black tank, the cool air of the lounge brushing against your skin.
For a moment you just stood there, bags in hand, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Baran’s eyes met yours, they were tired, guarded, but with that old spark underneath. The one that said the professional wall you’d both tried to keep up today had already started to crumble.
You didn’t say anything. Not yet. You just nodded toward the door, and she fell into step beside you as you headed out into the night.
The parking garage was quiet this late, the kind of heavy silence that pressed in after a brutal shift. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting long shadows between the concrete pillars. Your footsteps echoed in sync as you walked beside her, the weight of the day of Robby’s blow-up, the cyber chaos, her second seizure still clinging to both of you like damp scrubs.
Baran stopped beside a dark SUV, keys already in her hand. You halted too, turning to face her. You didn’t need to speak. The worry was written all over your face: the tight set of your jaw, the way your eyes tracked every small movement she made, searching for any sign she wasn’t steady.
She met your gaze for half a second before looking away.
“You know you-” she started, voice rough.
“Please don’t say it. I know.” Her shoulders started to wobble, the strong line of them cracking under the pressure. She looked down at the keys in her hand like they might ground her. “I just got my freedom...” Her voice cracked on the last word, and it tore through you like a bullet sharp, hot, devastating.
You felt it lodge somewhere deep in your chest, right next to all the old wounds you’d never quite let heal. The surgery had been her shot at normal. At driving again. At working without that sword hanging over her head. And now, on day one back in your orbit, it was already slipping.
“Baran…” You stepped closer, the bags dropping from your shoulder to the ground with a soft thud. You reached out, slow enough that she could pull away, and cupped the side of her face. Your thumb brushed across her cheek, catching the first hint of wetness there.
“I’m not saying you can’t do this,” you murmured, voice low and steady even though your heart was hammering. “But I’m also not pretending I’m okay watching you push through another seizure in the middle of our ED. Not after everything.”
She leaned into your touch, eyes squeezing shut. That small surrender undid you. You pulled her in, wrapping your arms around her the way you had earlier in the trauma bay. Her arms came around you tightly, face buried against your neck. You felt the way she trembled, the way she tried to hold it together and failed. You rubbed slow circles between her shoulder blades, breathing her in.
“I’m scared,” she whispered against your skin, so quietly you almost missed it.
“I know.” You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than you should have. “Me too. But you’re not doing this alone. Not while I’m here.”
You held her until the worst of the shaking eased, then gently eased back. Your hands stayed on her arms for a moment, grounding. Part of you wanted to push—wanted to tell her to come home with you, to not be alone after a day like this. But the other part, the one still carrying the scar from when she’d been the one to walk away, held you back.
You cleared your throat softly.
“I’ll follow you home,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Make sure you get there okay. Then you should rest.”
Baran searched your face, something unreadable flickering in her eyes maybe surprise, maybe relief, maybe disappointment. She didn’t argue. Just nodded once.
The drive was short and quiet. You kept close the whole way, hands tight on the wheel. When she pulled into the driveway of a modest house a few miles from the hospital, you parked behind her and waited while she got out.
She walked back to your window. You rolled it down, the cool night air rushing in.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For today. For… everything.”
You gave her a small, tired smile. “Anytime. Get some sleep, Baran. And call your neurologist again first thing. If you need anything, anything at all you know where to find me.”
She lingered by the car for a second, fingers brushing the edge of your window like she might say more. But she didn’t. She just nodded, that familiar guarded look settling back over her features.
“Goodnight,” she murmured.
You watched her walk inside, waited until the lights came on and the door shut behind her. Only then did you pull away, the quiet hum of your engine the only sound as you drove off into the night.
You kept some distance tonight. You gave her the space and the choice to come to you this time. After all, she was the one who had ended things before. You weren’t going to be the one pushing for more than the fragile pieces you’d reclaimed today. Not yet.
☤⋆⭒˚｡⋆
The drive home blurred by in a haze of streetlights and quiet streets. You kept the radio off, the silence louder than any siren from the shift. By the time you pulled into your penthouse building, your hands were aching from how tightly you’d gripped the wheel.
Inside, you moved on autopilot keys on the hook, bag dropped by the door, scrubs peeled off and left in a trail toward the bathroom. The shower hissed to life, steam filling the small space almost instantly. You stepped under the hot spray, letting the water beat down on your shoulders, your neck, your face.
For a minute, maybe two, you just stood there. Letting it wash away the sweat, the antiseptic smell, the ghost of Baran’s shampoo still clinging to your tank top from the hug in the garage.
Then it hit.
A sob tore out of you without warning. It was raw, ugly, the kind you’d swallowed all day while running the pit, reassuring residents, staring down Robby, holding Baran together in that trauma bay and the parking garage. You pressed your forehead against the cool tile, shoulders shaking as the tears came hard and fast, mixing with the water streaming down your cheeks.
“Fuck,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Fuck, Baran…”
You missed her. God, you missed her with a bone-deep ache that no amount of professional distance could touch. You wanted her to be yours again the way she had been overseas, when the world was simpler and smaller and narrowed down to the two of you between mortar fire and saving lives. Back then it had felt inevitable. Her laugh in the dark, her hand finding yours in the dust, the way she looked at you like you were the only steady thing in the chaos.
You wanted that back. The easy intimacy. The certainty.
But here, in Pittsburgh, outside the warzone… everything was complicated. The hospital politics. Her surgery and the seizures that still haunted her. The way she’d been the one to end things last time, leaving you with wounds that had never fully closed. You’d held it together all day cool, steady, professional, but now, alone under the scalding water, the dam broke.
You slid down the wall until you were sitting on the shower floor, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around yourself as the sobs kept coming. You wanted her here. Wanted to pull her into this shower with you, wanted to kiss the fear out of her eyes and tell her you’d fight the whole damn world to keep her safe and steady. But you hadn’t pushed. You’d dropped her off. Given her the choice this time.
Because she was the one who walked away before.
The water eventually started to run cold, but you stayed there a while longer, letting the tears exhaust themselves. When you finally stood up, legs shaky, you shut off the faucet and pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes.
“Get it together,” you whispered to the empty bathroom, voice hoarse.
Tomorrow was another day in the ED. Another day of pretending the history between you was just background noise. Another day of giving Baran the space to decide if she wanted to cross that line again.
But tonight, in the quiet of your apartment, you let yourself feel it all. The missing. The wanting. The complicated, aching love that refused to die no matter how hard you tried to keep your distance.
genre(s) - one-shot, lesbian erotica, age-gap, established relationship
description - baran has to deal with being away from you for a little bit. the two of you missing each other, you decide to fix that problem; showing off your new tattoo and new pretty undergarments. teasing your girlfriend more than you should.
warning(s) - profanity, mutual masturbation, implied age gap, vibrator usage, nipple/breast play, pet names (baby, pretty girl, good girl), teasing, praise kink, dirty talk. 18+ only, minors & men dni.
word count - 1.5k
my letter - song: touch myself by kwn
rules | the pitt | taglist
BARAN’S CURSOR CLICKS ON the accept button, her left fingers resting on her bottom lip while her back pressed somewhat against the headboard. The sheets lie low against her laced black bra; she fixes her hair a little as you slowly appear on screen. She smiles at the sight of you, lying comfortably on your stomach in the middle of your shared bed.
You have on a new black bra with pink peaking through, your black lace thong showing as your legs stay up.
Your black Louboutins glint in the light, catching her attention. Baran’s eyes move down from your heels to your body, then back to your face.
You were sin galore to her.
You smirk and lean on your left side, allowing Baran to get a good look at you. “Hi, baby.” You tease, your eyes gleaming at the sight of her.
Baran’s lips curve into a smile before she giggles, “How’s my pretty girl doing?” Her tone is smooth like honey, drizzling all over your skin and down to your pussy.
Resting your hand on your thigh, your fingertips rub up and down your hipbone, making sure her eyes recognize that.
“I could be better, need you here, in bed with me.” You complain, Baran licks her bottom lip and laughs again. “I miss you more, miss your scent, your smile, your lips, your thighs squeezing every inch of my body.” She whispers the last part, you hum and hook the hem of your thong, stretching it up.
Baran shakes her head while biting her bottom lip.
“Think I miss you more, baby. This bed is so lonely without you.” You sigh and stretch yourself on the bed, purposely making the thong slide down a little.
Baran gulps and rubs her lips, missing the way she stuffed her face against your pussy. The tip of her tongue curling up in your hole as her lips suck hard over your folds. She missed her favorite meal so much.
Her eyes squint as her brows furrow, seeing the black ink on your skin. “Wait.” She pauses, you look at it in the camera, and giggle.
Pushing your hip back and forth as you laugh again.
“You see it now?” You question, and your index finger rubs it gently.
Baran nods, “Fuck, baby, when did you get it done? It looks so sexy on you.” She whispers, her breath shortening as she stares at it longer.
“A week ago, honestly, it was kinda impulsive. I mean, I did always want a tattoo, you know that, but I guess placement-wise, I wasn’t sure.” You shrug, and Baran bites her lip, still staring at the tattoo, her body feeling hot from the sight.
“Perfect place to put it.” She whispers, reading off the ‘bite me’ words and imagining herself tracing her fingers over the tattoo as she fucks you with her strap.
You smile wider and drag your thong further down to your knees, keeping it there.
Baran moves her fingers to her bra straps, letting one drop to her arm, her breast ready to spill out of her bra.
“So, how’s California treating you?” You ask, ignoring the small whimpers that leave her mouth as you make your thong reach to your heels, letting it get somewhat tangled against it before taking it off and tossing it on the ground.
Baran’s heart races as her hands move her bra strap off fully, turning the bra around to see the hooks better. She takes it off and places it beside her on the bed. “It’s been good, would be so much better with you here. Missed waking you up with my kisses.” Baran licks her lips as you sit facing the computer, your back pressing the headboard, as your pillow has been pushed against the back of your waist.
Your legs had been spread open, and your knees pushed up to the sides of your stomach, your stretch marks showing better. The glisten on your pussy appears on camera as your fingers go over to your clit, tapping on it before your middle finger rubs it slowly.
Clearing her throat, she sighs and watches you while bringing her fingers up to her nipples, squeezing and twisting them a little.
“You’ve been such a bad, bad girl for me, baby.” Baran breathily states, her eyes widen a little at the way you insert your ring and middle finger in your dripping cunt. Your lips pressed against your curled fingers as you pump them inside you.
You whimper and sigh, biting your bottom lip as you groan. “Yeah?” You let out, still going.
Baran licks her lips and nods, “Yeah.” Eyes staring at the way you keep your fingers curved, stretching yourself out.
“Slow down, baby, need to see that pretty pussy aching.” She whispers while teasing her nipples, her cunt dripping for attention.
You whine and slow your thrusts, your soft walls squeezing your fingers for more.
You watch as Baran places her computer at the end of the bed, coming out from under the sheets, she’s now only in her panties, looking so beautiful in the way they ride up on her ass.
Turning her body to the left, Baran opens the bedside drawer and pulls her vibrator out, checking the charge.
You smile while your thumb flicks at your clit a little. You let out whimpers and stare at Baran as she takes her panties off and keeps her legs open in front of the camera, mirroring your position.
The low sounds of her vibrator being turned on make her cunt pulsate hard as her mouth salivates at the sight of you and her.
“Need your pretty body so bad, baby, look at what you do to me.” Baran moans as she places her vibrator against her folds, brushing it up to her clit and squirming a little. “Fuck.” You both say in unison.
Whines take over from both of you as you slide your fingers back in and out of your twitched pussy.
“Baran, baby.” You whine and lean your head back, your fingers hit your g-spot, and your legs begin to shake.
Baran moans and sighs as she pushes her vibrator against her pussy, visualizing your lips sucking her folds like the good girl you are.
“That’s it, pretty girl, like that, touch yourself just like that.” She pants out, and her free hand grabs her breast, squeezing it.
“Mngh– so cl-close.” You stutter out, thrusting deeper into yourself. Baran closes her eyes and breathes out heavily.
“That’s okay, baby, I’m right here.” She gasps, driving her vibrator up and down, her arousal soaking the device and bedsheets.
You roll your hips up, and Baran does the same, moaning at the same time as you. “Shit, that was sexy.” She chuckles, sweat appearing on her forehead.
You open your eyes and look at her, seeing the way she keeps pushing her hips up, her pussy soaked.
You nod and swallow down your saliva hard. “Yeah.” You let out breathlessly.
“Look at yourself in the camera, see how pretty you are.” Baran coos, her tone making your legs shake, almost closing. “Yeah.” Being the only word you can get out.
The built-up feeling in your stomach comes back, harder now. “Shit, Baran.” You whine and ride your fingers out.
The ache in them became stronger, but you were so close.
She sees it in your face, Baran nods and lazily rubs her vibrator over her clit. “Such a good girl for me, look at you, all fucked out.”
You squeal as you pull your fingers out, only to shove them back in, mimicking Baran’s thrusts. You weep out moans and whimpers, Baran’s eyes darker at the sight as her body jerks forward many times.
You’re covered in sweat as you do one last thrust into yourself, your cum spilling out from your pretty pussy. Your fingers are covered, and so are the bedsheets.
Baran squirms and squeezes her legs at the sight. “Oh fuck!” She moans and rides her vibrator.
“Shit, baby, you make me feel so good.” Baran moans out as she orgasms, her pace getting slower. Your fingers still deep inside your hole, you lay your head against the headboard.
Your eyes stare at the ceiling, finally reaching the peak you’ve been dreaming about ever since Baran left.
Baran slows down and looks at you, admiring the way your cum spills out of you. Wishing she could suck it up and tongue it back into your hole.
“Damn.” She says breathlessly. You blink a couple of times and look back at her on the computer.
You laugh with her and sigh. Seeing the way her cum covers her, her clit swollen, deserving of being sucked at.
“So beautiful, so so beautiful. I can’t wait to get home.” Baran rasps, and you smile shyly.
“Me too, we should do more of this.” You state, covering yourself with the bedsheets, feeling cold now. Baran nods and licks her lips, “Promise, we definitely will in the near future.” You laugh with her and blow her a kiss.
“Later, baby.” You respond, and she blows you a kiss back. “Love you.” Baran finishes and ends the call.
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