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PAG-IBIG AY KANIBALISMO | LOVE IS CONSUMING | PART ONE

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

fic playlist

synopsis: the act of loving someone is consuming. if you’re not careful with it, it will swallow you whole. and yet, you crave it, unable to resist its sweet, addictive nature.

pairing: baran al-hashimi x f!reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, angst, c*nn*b*lism, teeny tiny amount of fluff, light smut, toxic love, a little bit of gore, blood, a brief 3some moment, ooc baran but hey…, mc is also attracted to the opposite sex for story purposes

word count: 15.2k

the song's title translates to love is c*nn*b*lism in english. i really got carried away for with this and even made a playlist for it. the other half of this will most likely be out on tuesday. i'd love to hear your thoughts abt this one so don't be shy to spam my inbox :)))))

Drinking is something you frowned upon; you always thought that it was an easy way to escape your feelings and emotions, problems, or a poor excuse to blow off some steam. Its flavour is atrocious too: bitter, and it lingers in your palate and hangs in the back of your throat. Some say that it’s an acquired taste, but then again, you’ve never agreed with those people. The avid drinkers that you’ve met are all brash and simple-minded; they were the ones to run away from complex situations, not realising that the outcomes of it are always rewarding and unique in their own way. It also clouds your judgement, paving the way for risky behaviours as well as lowering your sexual performance, and don’t forget about the hangover the next day. You’ve seen many atrocities caused by intoxicated individuals and have been on the receiving end of it; hence, your massive dislike of the beverage.

But despite all that, you’ve never strayed away from bars or nightclubs of sorts- call it some form of exposure therapy or a neurotic trend, always opting to order a plate of pub potatoes- if they have some– and a can of soda to accompany you while people watching. You never could avoid these places; it’s as if they called to you, or you’re always surrounded by people who always frequent bars, which more often than not, is the actual reason you’re here.

Rock Bottom is the name of the bar; it’s quite ironic, and oftentimes you’re left wondering how many people are at their rock bottom visiting this place and getting wasted themselves. It’s old-fashioned with its wooden counters and floorboards, rickety stools, and leather upholstery chairs in the booths. For a slightly run-down place like this, they have a good selection of liquor behind the bar, and the warm lights give off this comforting feeling alongside the easy-going bartender whom you could easily see yourself confiding in after a rough day. Most of the people here are regulars, so it’s easy to spot a new face in the crowd, and surprisingly, you and your friend are one of them, and the barman knows that the two of you only linger around for hours and chat like friends who haven’t seen each other in years.

Tonight, you’re dragged out here by your dear friend, Eman, who also shares the same sentiment as you- because he’s been concerned about your well-being after being assigned to write an article about a serial raper who’s been found dead with more stab wounds in his body than Julius Caesar and his penis cut off. You suddenly went m.i.a for a couple of days after interviewing a few of his victims: all women around your age, and Eman had come knocking on your door earlier this Friday night and practically begged you to go out with him. He has a lithe yet muscular figure, slightly hollowed-out cheeks, an impeccable jawline, and enchanting green irises that are so attractive that people are scared to approach him and ask him out.

Well, maybe it’s because they think that you two are together since the two of you look inseparable, and the way he’s leaning in to you whilst having a conversation feels intimate to the onlookers’ eyes. The people would be correct if they assumed that something had gone on between the two of you since you were a thing for a good while and certainly had a few unforgettable escapades with each other until you mutually agreed to stay as friends.

Eman cheekily smiles as he takes one of your potatoes and throws it in his mouth as he sees another pair of women stare at him from behind your back; he sends them a wink before returning his attention to you. As Eman would say, you look like the personification of both heaven and hell based on your looks and personality. Heaven because of your kindhearted nature, and always having a hard time saying no to other people, and hell for your stoic expression that’s incredibly difficult to read after a rough day, and that certain glint in your eyes that only he has seen.

“I would’ve gutted that guy out like a fish,” he says, about the man in your news story. He’s always been the one to have no remorse between the two of you- always cracking out dark jokes like it’s what he does for a living. It must be one of the side effects of working at a hospital’s morgue, turning gruesome things into humour so it doesn’t eat your psyche alive.

You take your time to watch the smirk grow in his face while he’s chewing, he’s waiting for your reply, and he stays silent after swallowing. He knows that you don’t tend to take these jokes lightly, especially when the victims are still out there suffering, but he also knows that you tolerate it when criminals have done despicably heinous acts that they don’t deserve to have an ounce of humanity shed upon them when all they’ve been is a monster during their lifetime.

Amused, you raise your brows at him, “and leave a mess for the police to clean up?-”

“--since when were you an advocate in making police’s lives easier?” his jab earns him a deadpan stare from you, which he ignores and grabs another potato from your plate.

“I’m just saying, that’s what he deserves,” you watch as he tosses the cube up into his mouth. It’s subtle, but he begrudgingly chews it as he keeps his sight on you, seemingly forgetting about the girls a few booths away, of which you’re still clueless about. You sigh as you decide not to press on the topic further before it devolves into a conversation that would send weird looks towards your table.

The last piece of the pub potato stares back mockingly at you before you take it, watching Eman as he stares directly in your eyes, trying to gauge your mood for the night. He usually could read whatever is going on in that brain of yours, but he’s stumped tonight, despite knowing you like the back of his hand. Your gaze is empty and cold- colder than they are usually when you’re exposed to cases like this, and it makes him think that you need more than these potatoes to at least liven up your mood, even just for a short while.

“What’s wrong?” There’s no teasing lilt to his voice; he keeps it firm, stable, just in case you need to lean against him if you’re starting to unravel.

You look away from him, watching Dylan, the bartender, fixing up drinks from behind the bar, and a group of office workers leaving their coats behind to play some pool and make bets. They all look okay- content, like they’re capable of leaving their problems behind and not letting it interfere with their hours after work- except for Dylan, of course– but he does seem quite well put together. Then, your eyes lock with a dark-eyed woman, whose stare is dreamy yet calculating, observing all your features and mannerisms from a few tables away. You immediately break the brief eye contact to instead look at a drunken man in the corner of the room, and you silently hope that Eman didn’t catch on with that momentary glance.

“One of the girls had their index finger bitten off,” you start without looking back at him, but you can feel his eyes on you. “He carried it around like some kind of lucky charm in his car keys,” you finally look back at Eman, his soft gaze a contrast to the storm swirling in your irises.

“He’s a sick fuck that didn’t like it when they put up a fight prolly ‘cause it reminded him that he’s a monster forcing himself on to others,” Eman isn’t far with his assumption, and frankly, he’s correct. The statements of the victims all had a common ground: the man quickly scurried off after, as if he was terrified of what he had done upon realising it. But that wasn’t enough for him to stop his actions; he kept going until he was cornered by three of his victims, who decided that justice is better served with a hunting knife than letting him spend his entire life behind bars.

Once Eman saw the clouds of contrition dissipate from your eyes, he immediately knew where your mind had gone. You never did know how to put your emotions out into words, despite being a journalist; it’s one of your weaknesses and sometimes a strength when put into certain situations. You aren’t interested in entertaining your feelings and emotions either, thinking that they’re merely distractions in your line of work, where objectivity is of the utmost importance. Yet, your co-workers would argue that you’re the most empathetic person they know, which is why they often drag you into working with victims of unspeakable crimes, regardless of whether you’re working on that case or not.

You give Eman a look closely resembling a non-verbal thank you, and he lets his lips curve up into a small smile in return. Approximately an hour later, the two of you never broached the subject about your respective works again, and he bought you another plate of pub potatoes and a can of your favourite soda to make up for finishing your first one.

"Look, see those two women over there?" he points out behind you, and you see two blonde women whispering and giggling to each other while occasionally looking back at your table. Relief suddenly washes over you when you don’t see the woman from earlier anywhere near your field of vision.

You look back at him, confused, "what?" he gives you a look, one that you decipher instantly as you see the familiar gleam of mischief mixed in with persuasion in his eyes, and it causes you to sigh at his antics.

"What?" he echoes with a defensive tone.

"No," you utter only one word, and he stops. It only takes him a second to reflect on his prior suggestion and quickly understands why you declined him; it's a foolish suggestion after all, and one that would backfire immediately.

He rapidly drifts his focus back to you from the women a few metres away when you started to gather the plate and cans, eyeing your gentle movements before speaking up: "Leaving so soon?"

You shake your head no, "gonna get another round of diabetes in a can, want one?" he too shakes his head.

"I'm gonna head out now. It's late," you eye him to check for any hints of his shenanigans: his green eyes are calm, his lips are sitting straight, and his fingers don't twitch from excitement. He's all clear, and you raise your eyebrows in slight amusement.

"I'll see you whenever, I guess," you bid him farewell while walking away with the plate and empty cans.

An amused smile plays on Eman's lips. "I’ll miss you too!” you couldn’t fight the smile trying to break out as you reached the bar, sitting down on the stool with practised ease.

Dylan notices you immediately and sidles up to you after giving a man his beer, "another one?" you nod.

You place a 20-dollar bill on the countertop, but he shakes his head. "It's on the house. You look like you need it," you shoot him a quick 'thanks' before he goes to serve another customer. You aren’t sure if you should be flattered because of the free soda or be offended since it's implied that you look more tired than usual.

Your fingers start to fiddle with the plastic straw that Dylan had put in the can, and your mind drifts away on how you and Eman first met while watching the straw slowly float back up every time you push down on it. That day was most likely the worst day you've ever experienced during the long 27 years of your life, with your birth being the close second- you’d give anything to forget that particular day, but trauma unfortunately, prevents it like a cruel joke; you could still remember every single detail that happened like it was just yesterday: the kettle wasn’t on the burner, the TV was turned off, everything was disturbingly silent when it-

“You don’t drink alcohol?” a voice rips you away from your thoughts, and you’re grateful for whoever this person is because you don’t know how the night would end if you’d got in your head. You turn your head to look at the owner of the voice- it’s the woman from earlier, and my god is she pretty up close: her messy dark curls are tied up in a ponytail- a testament to her busy day, she’s wearing a tank top, and you can see her toned arms flexing slightly with her elbows placed on the counter, and her eyes… those dark irises could start and end wars if she wanted to, they’re gentle, yet they’ve already deduced who you are based on your looks and movements from when she was watching you across the room.

A small gasp erupts from your lips as you didn’t initially register how close she is to your proximity; you can smell the hints of her perfume that she sprayed on before she started her day: it’s deep, a woody yet floral scent, with a tinge of sweetness, and the musk of her sweat breaks through, making the primal desire of need burn in your veins. There’s no doubt that she heard the sound you made as an amused smirk dances around her kissable lips.

You look back down at your soda, feeling the heat surge in your cheeks, and it spreads throughout your body. Watching a droplet of condensation slowly trickle down and merge with other tiny droplets, it eventually drips down fully, creating a ring around the paper coaster. A hand swoops in, its tendons flexing as three fingers gently grip the aluminium ring, and you catch sight of her clean, stubby fingernails that are cut neatly to the edge of her nail bed- you can tell she uses her hands a lot in her work. She slowly slides the can towards her, and you follow the action with your eyes. She carefully wraps her lips around the straw and takes a long sip while connecting her gaze with yours, her eyelashes fluttering as she blinks. Your breath stutters, and your eyes flit down to her throat, watching her Adam’s apple bob up and down. You aren’t aware of how your breathing has turned slightly laboured, so you stick your tongue out to wet your drying lips, and her dark irises drift down to see the muscle briefly before thoroughly observing the colour and plumpness of your lips.

The stranger pushes the can back towards you, and the motion snaps you out of your stupor, causing you to blink and take a deep breath. But her intense gaze on you never falters, taking in your suddenly shy demeanour in place of your usual quiet confidence. You don’t look back at her, afraid of how your knees might become weak once you see her predatory stare at you; you can already feel its intensity, and you can picture her once soft irises now turn harsh with hunger written all over them. She taps her fingers against the wooden counter two times before retrieving them as she steps back. You feel relieved, but only for a millisecond, as she leans close to your ear, you can feel her warm breath graze your skin.

“Follow me.”

The air surrounding you suddenly feels cold as you watch her figure retreat into the small hallway to the bathrooms. It takes you a second to fully comprehend what’s happening, and you can feel your heart start to quicken its pace with anticipation. You quickly down the rest of your soda for a boost of confidence before following the beautiful stranger to the bathrooms. You’ve never done this before: willingly going after someone whose name you don’t even know, and letting her take your reins of control. Usually, you’d let this thing play out, let them kiss you and grope you all they want, making them think that they’ve got you for the rest of the night, until you leave them hanging, watching as you leave with Eman’s arm draped over your shoulders as if nothing had happened. But there’s something in her gaze that makes you want to be manipulated by her; she can destroy you and rebuild you anew to her liking, and you would happily let her. It’s like she can see through you and recognise all your flaws, and become the medicine that could mend you.

Everything sounds like they’re underwater as you trudge through a small group of tipsy people; your senses are heightened, but all you can focus on is the mysterious woman waiting for you. You can hear the faint sound of a man laughing behind you when you turn the corner- there she is. Leaning against the wall with her hands inside the pockets of her comfortable pants, like the ones your friend wears for work, only in a different colour; she, too, must work at a hospital. Her gaze immediately finds yours, the hunger in her stare is so apparent that it makes you swallow nothing, and your heart skips a beat in your chest. You’ve seen that look before; you should be afraid, you should leave, you should listen to the sirens going off in your head, but you don’t. The desire to be touched by her, to be healed by her, overpowers the rationality in your mind, and you take the steps closer to her until you’re right in front of her. She isn’t much taller than you, yet you can feel her control radiating from her, and you’ve already given in to her without having her hands on you, and she’s completely aware of it. She revels in your complete surrender, watching as your eyes have become hazy, waiting for her to make her move.

She carefully takes her index finger and gently tilts your head up by your chin, her soft touch ignites the fire burning deep in your belly, and you feel your nerve endings start to tingle. The sight of you looking through your lashes causes her own heart to beat faster, and she isn’t able to restrain herself any more as she finally leans down and crashes her lips to yours. The kiss starts slow, your mouth feels pillowy soft against hers, and she savours the taste of your lips. She swipes her tongue along the underside of your lower lip, and the sensation of the wet muscle makes you gasp. Like a switch that’s suddenly flicked, her demeanour changes as she takes advantage of your surprise and shoves her tongue inside your mouth. A soft moan escapes your throat when her tongue collides harshly against yours. Her hand comes up and holds your jaw open for you to take the assault on your mouth. Her other hand finds your waist and grips it harshly, enough for it to bruise, forcing you to move, and she slams your back against the wall. The breath gets knocked out of your lungs, and she nudges your legs open, fingers immediately flying to the button of your pants. Once she unzips your zip, and you can feel the tips of her fingers playing with the hem of your underwear, your mind clears a little, stopping her wrist that’s in between your bodies.

You manage to pull away from her kiss, “not here. Your place, please.” your broken whisper also breaks her out of her lust-filled haze, your hot breath mingling with hers as you both recover from the intensity of the kiss. She nods in agreement to your plea. You feel her curls brush against your cheeks when she looks down to button your pants before taking your hand and pulling you with her, making you stumble as you forget how your legs worked for a second before going along with her. No one bats an eye at the two of you; only Dylan spots you two, and a knowing smile breaks out on his face while serving a customer.

Everything felt like a blur, yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret anything that had happened last night. The bed feels warm around you as it engulfs your naked figure; you also notice that the sheets are slightly damp, most likely from sweat since last night’s activities literally kept you both up until dawn. The sunlight that bled through the gaps of the curtains is the culprit that woke you up. You groan as it temporarily blinds you, turning your body so it lands on the pillows instead of directly on your face. It is then that you notice the woman from last night right beside you, with her smooth back turned towards you, her dark curls are splayed out on the pillows, her breathing slow and deep, still governed by sleep. You should feel ashamed because you let this woman consume you without even knowing her name, but something in the depths of your mind tells you that this is precisely where you want to be. You let your eyes rest for five more minutes before eventually getting up, being careful not to wake up the beautiful stranger beside you.

You threw on her baggy Stanford sweater that’s hanging over the back of a chair near a desk since you didn’t see any of your clothing on the floor. Her apartment is spacious, but you didn’t get to see it properly last night, as you only got acquainted with her couch and her bed. As you expected, both yours and her clothing are strewn around the living room, and you even stopped halfway into a step, almost stepping on your shredded underwear near the coffee table, before deciding to gather all the clothing and throw it in a semi-neat heap on the couch, and place your purse that was all the way near the front door, on the coffee table. Only then do you notice the diplomas hanging on her walls. The writing on top reads: ‘Stanford School of Medicine’ and underneath:

Baran Al-Hashimi

“Baran…” you whisper to yourself, and her name rolls off your tongue nicely. So she is a doctor; your hunch was correct last night.

Not knowing what else to do, you decide to snoop in her kitchen, finding her fridge stocked with various meats, fruits, vegetables, and some leftover protein shakes. Her cupboard is also filled to the brim with spices, each properly labelled and organised just like the rest of her home. You hum, choosing to whip up a simple scrambled eggs for you and Baran, so she doesn't have to worry about breakfast when she wakes up. You certainly hope that she’s okay with you messing around in her kitchen, or else it’s going to be an awkward meal to start the day.

You don’t notice the sounds of her incoming footsteps until you feel her arms wrap around your waist, and she places a lingering kiss on your exposed shoulder, right next to a red mark of her own doing. You can feel your stomach do a backflip, and a smile teases the corners of your lips.

“Good morning,” you greet her and place your empty hand on top of hers, while the other turns off the heat and places the eggs on a nearby plate.

“G’morng,” her voice is muffled as she murmurs against the skin connecting your neck to your shoulders. She finally lifts her head a few seconds later, placing a quick peck right on the red mark on your shoulder before scooting to stand right next to you.

Baran looks angelic in the late morning; her hair is unkempt yet very appealing, her skin is glowing, her lips are still a little bit swollen from last night, and the hunger in her eyes from the bar is long gone, replaced by one of warmth and appreciation as she stares at you.

“I never got your name last night,” she states while grabbing a fork from a nearby drawer and helping herself with the still steaming hot eggs. You look at Baran briefly before saying your name.

The two of you settle on a small, rounded dining table, just enough to seat at least three people. You aren’t sure which side of Baran you prefer more: her commanding behaviour from last night was certainly thrilling, but this unplanned domesticity of hers tugs at your heart’s strings; it’s something you’ve always wanted to experience with other people since you’ve lived alone most of your life. It’s quite surprising how there’s a stark difference within her; it stirs your curiosity alive as to why she’s even controlling in the first place, and that’s something you’d be willing to figure out even if it takes months or years for her to open up to you. You find yourself unconsciously smiling while talking to her; your mind feels more at peace than it usually is, even more than when you’re with Eman. The sensation is strange; you should be on guard, but all you feel is comfort, and… safety. Her glow is definitely rubbing off on you.

As far as normal conversations go, the topic lands on your current work as the two of you start to get to know each other after exploring your bodies first. You lean back comfortably on the chair as Baran gets the last piece of apple, waiting patiently for you to reveal more about yourself as she chews with a visible smile on her lips.

“I’m an investigative journalist at CIR… Centre for Investigative Reporting,” you can see her eyes drift down to your mouth briefly, and you choose to ignore it, thinking that it’s a reflex rather than an obvious display of her distraction.

Her eyes widen like a kid opening presents during Christmas. “Really?”

You shrug, “I’m still a baby compared to my co-workers. I still have a lot to learn,” and you won’t forget it because how can you when you’re literally getting yelled at almost every day by your superiors? Thankfully, you have a thick skin, or you’ll be behind the steering wheel, crying before heading home.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of investigative reporting do you do?” her gaze lingers on each of your features, your eyes, your nose, your cheeks.

“They have me on crimes right now.”

“What kind?” the sound of your sigh makes her stare flicker back to your eyes.

“I interviewed three of his victims… Michael Davis…” you sigh once again, turning your head to the side to look at the sunlight spilling into her living room.

“You?” Baran looks at you, confused. “What do you do for work?” Baran takes your sudden coldness as a defence mechanism, avoiding the topic so you don’t open the box of feelings you’ve kept locked and hidden at the depths of your mind.

“I’m a doctor,” you can see the concern reflected in her eyes, but she still entertains your question.

“What kind?”

“I’m planning to specialise in emergency medicine,” you hum, and she keeps her eyes on you, following your movements as you stand up and round the table to sit on her lap, your legs dangling on the side of the chair as she instinctively wraps an arm around your waist.

“What?” she notices the way you’re staring at her, eyelids a little bit hooded as you take in the sharp curve of her nose while gently tracing the outlines of her lips with your fingertips.

“You’d look hot saving someone’s life,” you whisper, and she laughs at your words. You stop the movement of your finger, settling your hand to cup her jaw. Time seems to stand still as you lean in and press a kiss right on top of the left lobe of her head. You feel her momentarily stiffen underneath you before she relaxes into your arms.

“I need to go,” you whisper into her hair, causing goosebumps to erupt in her arms and her spine to tingle due to the vibrations of your voice.

That was the only moment of domesticity that Baran had shown you these past two months, and sometimes you feel like you’re her sex toy, playing around with you to relieve some pent-up stress and toss you aside after she’s had her fill of you. She’d call or text you to come over after stressful shifts and fuck you until your brain turns into mush on nearly every surface in her apartment, depending on her mood, and the next day, when you wake up, she’s gone. You’ve tried ignoring her, but you can’t stay away from Baran for too long. You simply can't. Her touch is so addicting, and it makes your body burn with the sweetest pleasure you’ve ever felt. You’ve tried to self-regulate by yourself, finding healthy ways to cope and trying to, but nothing could ever beat the feeling of Baran’s hands roaming around your body. There have been times when you’ve noticed a crack in her facade, and it usually happens when somebody else takes a visible interest in you. You’d see her eye twitch, and her grip on her drink would tighten. It makes you think that she’d maybe finally make a move on you, but it never happens.

After telling all of this to Eman because the two of you made a small pact to never keep secrets from each other, he had the great idea of taking you to the club to distract you for a while, for you to focus your energy on him instead of her. Admittedly, you do have a strange relationship with him, as you have done everything together ever since you two first met when you were 17. He would often describe you two as the two sides of the same coin, different yet similar, and inseparable, like one can not exist without the other. There is no more line to be crossed between the two of you, as your boundaries have already merged long ago; there’s no hiding from one another. So when times like this come along, the two of you have no qualms or issues about blurring the thin line between friendship and romance.

His hands are already familiar with the curves of your body, as he had already learned it a long time ago. He knows exactly where the dips of your waist are after having explored it in the dark more times than you can count. You let your arms hang around his shoulders, occasionally letting your fingers run over the back of his neck while his hands dance around the waistband of your jeans, and he palms your ass before grabbing them roughly, causing you to let out an involuntary gasp. As you look up to see his bewitching eyes, you can tell that he’s staring directly at someone from across the room, as if challenging them to join you two. A knowing smile appears on your face, and you tilt your head up to try whispering in his ear.

“Who is it?” he pulls you closer to him, his eyes still on the person.

“A man, late 20s, I think. He’s very fit… and cute,” you giggle as you place your head against his chest, playfully nipping at the base of his neck.

“I wanna see him,” you immediately spot the man as soon as you turn around. He’s tall, around six feet- maybe more. You can already tell that he has a muscular build from his shirt; he definitely chose that to get laid tonight. He has a stubble, and his hair is a little messy from running his hand through it several times because of his nerves. You lock eyes with him, and you can already tell that he’s excited about how his night is going to turn out.

You hum in approval before tilting your head towards the doors of the club, signalling for him to follow you and Eman.

“Come on, let’s not keep him waiting.”

Not drinking any alcohol has its own benefits: one, you don’t wake up with a hangover that makes you swear to never consume any alcohol ever again; two, you’re completely aware of the choices you made of the night prior; and three, you know the exact reasons why you’re in your current situation. So, you’re not surprised that you woke up with your body well-spent, aching, covered in love bites and bruises from tightly gripping your skin, and with Baran’s arm slung over your torso, keeping your figure close to her even when she’s asleep.

To your surprise, at around 03:06 last night, she was waiting for you and Eman to come out of the motel at the car park. She patiently waited for roughly four hours outside in her car until you came stumbling out of the room with your hair dishevelled and slightly damp, and your clothes hastily put on because she had called your phone asking for you. You don’t know how she knew you were in that motel- you aren’t even sure if you want to know how, but all you knew was that she was extremely pissed, and she had grown tired of waiting for you. She had no trouble reminding you of your place and who you belonged to once you had reached her apartment. She was ‘punishing’ you, but all you could think of was how hot she looked while angry and jealous. You had the hunch that Baran was possessive, as she liked to mark you as hers and kept reminding you of it, but you’d never thought that it was to this extent. You’d definitely try deliberately to make her jealous if this is how it ends up all the time.

You can hear her groan beside you when you shift to face her. It never fails to surprise you how alluring Baran looks in the mornings- well, afternoons. You never get tired of observing the creases in her lips, the arch of her eyebrows, her long eyelashes, the faint discolouration of her eye bags that you find oh so endearing, her nose that you always poke when you have the chance to, and her lips - god you’re addicted to her soft lips, every time she kisses you it feels like you’re finally alive for the first time, and it makes you want to thank every god that’s out there for letting you have the chance to experience kissing her.

“Sleep,” she mumbles with her eyes still closed.

“I can feel you staring.” There’s a love-drunken smile present on your lips, and it makes Baran smile too when she half-opens her eyes. You stay silent, opting to nuzzle your face into the crook of her neck before letting sleep overtake you once again.

You let out a sigh of relief when you feel the hot water cascade down your body. You have your eyes closed as you run your hand over your hair to wet it properly, getting rid of the tangles as your fingers go through your locks. When you open your eyes, you can see the blood that has dried on your skin, sticky and congealed, easily getting carried away by the water. You watch as the essence of life flows down your legs and turns into ribbons, swirling around the drain, before disappearing into the darkness.

Running your hands over your body, your skin is already spotless, not a speck of blood in sight, until you see the dark crimson stuck underneath your nails. You put your finger in your mouth, licking and sucking the remnants away, tasting the faint tang of iron on your tongue. You turn your body towards the bathroom door that’s left open, swapping the digit in your mouth for another as you watch him still feasting on the body.

His luscious hair is stained red as it falls every so often down his face as he leans to take another mouthful of flesh. He looks up and stares at you; the precious liquid obscures his faint smile, and you can see the state of the body underneath him: most of the meat from his arms and legs is gone, and some parts of his ribs are exposed, only barely visible due to the blood that poured out. His bottom lip is gone, already being digested in the acids of your stomach alongside his fingers that were once playing with the slick in between your legs. His eyes are still open, but his life is already far gone, death holding his hand as it leads him to the afterlife; his blank eyes are staring back at you, his eyebrows are still slightly furrowed by the pleasure of you sucking his cock before getting his throat slit.

The sight reignites your carnal desire, and your saliva starts to drip down on the corners of your mouth. You bite down, feeling your bones crack with the pressure of your teeth, and the coppery taste of your own blood invades your taste buds. Closing your eyes, you savour the taste of your own flesh, using your molars as you grind the bone down until you can swallow it. You don't notice the presence behind you until you feel his erection press against your lower back, his hands land on the sides of your ribs, cupping your chest. You turn around, looking at his green eyes before offering your hand up to him, he takes your middle finger in his mouth and-

Suddenly, you jolt awake. Your chest is heaving up and down as you desperately expel the carbon dioxide that has built up in your lungs. It feels like someone is lying on top of your chest, and the comforter covering your bare body feels suffocating, causing you to throw it to the side.

You look down at your hands, and your fingers are still fully intact, but the nerves in your fingertips are tingling like you’ve forgotten they existed. There’s no dried blood underneath your fingernails either, and you’re suddenly aware of how parched your throat is. You try your best to anchor yourself back to reality: ‘you’re in Baran’s, you keep repeating in your mind like a mantra to help control your breathing, and your eyes drift around the room, seeing her Stanford sweatshirt hanging on the back of a chair, your clothes scattered around various parts of the room, and the collection of medical books in the corner. Gently, you lie back down, chest still heavy. The horrific images keep flashing back when you close your eyes, and you hope that Baran is still here to provide you with her company to at least regain some of your sanity as you stare at the empty ceiling.

It has been a long week, and all you want is to lie in bed, eat ice cream, and watch the new season of your favourite show. The editors had assigned you multiple articles all at once, and gave you the end of the week as the deadline, so you were on the move and typing with each chance you got. It also didn’t help that Baran is most likely ignoring you or has already forgotten about you.

You texted her asking if she was okay after she admitted to having a particularly hard shift, and she still hasn’t replied to you. That was on Tuesday; it’s now Saturday, early evening. You already anticipated this from her; she has already done this several times before, but never this long. Usually, she’d call you a day later, telling you she was busy and would say that she’d make it up to you, and she would, giving you orgasms after orgasms, but now she’s radio silent.

It worries you a little: what if something had happened to her, but that’s highly unlikely. Your stomach twists at the thought that she’d finally get tired of you. Others might think that you’re an idiot for hoping on someone you’re engaging casual sex in, but you don’t really care what they think.

Everything in your apartment building looks normal, it’s quiet, none of your neighbours is having a screaming match with their partners, and your front door appears to be untouched until you slide your key in the lock to find it turns easily with little effort. For others, it usually means that someone has broken into their apartment, but that isn’t the case with you, and you already know what’s waiting for you on the other side of the door.

“This is why I need to change my locks,” you immediately state while closing your door and locking it behind you.

There, lying down comfortably on your couch, is Eman, flipping through the TV channels like it’s his job to find a decent enough station to keep him entertained for hours until he knocks himself out. His shirt isn’t even on; he tossed it on the other end of the couch along with his pants, acting like he’s in his own apartment. He turns his head and looks at you with the same unimpressed expression you have.

“I know how to pick locks,” he says as if it’s common knowledge.

“I’ll move and not tell you,” you start doing your little routine every time you come home. You take your shoes off and place them on the rack near the door, you hang your keys on the hook above the shoe rack, you unbutton your shirt and unbuckle your belt while walking towards your couch, and you place your bag on top of the coffee table right next to Eman’s leg, which you nudge for him to cross his legs one over the other.

“You won't be able to live without me,” he reasons, looking up at you with an innocent stare.

“Try me,” you counter, only for him to give you a small, pitiful-looking smile. “I’d rather not.”

The couch cushions bounce when you drop next to him. He gives you a judgmental stare when your knee touches his feet as you man spread while stretching your arms and neck, and he gets a good view of your bra as your shirt shifts to the side.

“Why are you here anyways?” he shrugs, his focus is fixated on the random advert on the TV.

“Figured you wanted some company,” once again, you give him an unimpressed look that he sees in his peripheral.

“I made some smoked brisket,” he points backwards to your dining table. You crane your head to look back and see an aluminium tray covered with foil.

You look back at Eman, wondering what the special occasion is for him to cook beef. “Did you get promoted or something?” Tucking your legs under you, he once again switches the channel.

“Kinda. The old man finally hired me as an embalmer for his morgue.” You adjust your leg to feel more comfortable.

“You quit the hospital?” After adjusting your position for the second time, you gave up and instead decided to lie down almost completely on top of him, and his hand that isn’t busy fiddling with the remote goes to rub up and down your back.

“Nope. Working two jobs now.”

“I thought you were doing fine?” briefly, you look up at him, seeing his messy hair start to get in the way of his eyes, and you instinctively reach up to move the hair out of his face.

“I am.”

“Then why are you working a double?” he visibly pauses, but still keeps his gaze on the rerun of a crime show.

“Y’know, I came here to tell you something, not to be interrogated,” you scoff at him, yet you don’t move but instead sink further into him to feel his warmth.

“Just talk already. Whaddya want?”

“It’s about your doctor booty call.”

“What?” you finally lift your head to look at him, and he looks back at you. The dialogue on the show becomes background noise as Eman tries to decipher the look you have: you only seem slightly unbothered, but he feels your heart beat pick up with your chest against his side.

“You do know that whatever you two have is unhealthy, right?”

“I noticed that you’re trying to be a better person. I’ve never seen you go out of your way to check up on me and other people you used to not give a fuck about, but now you are. And it’s been happening since you met that girl… If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you’re into me again.”

You chortle, amused at his words, “yeah, sure. The only time I’ll be thinking of that is when I’m considering the tax benefits of marriage.”

It scares you a little bit just how Eman knows you. You’ve been by his side for 10 years now, and things are certainly not better than before when compared to the present. It was a miracle that you two graduated from college, and now, despite all your student loan debt, you’re living quite comfortably, which is something you never thought was possible. Even though you and he could’ve gone your separate ways, especially after you two decided to stay as friends, your life would feel empty without him.

“But seriously, I’ve never seen that girl, so I don’t know what’s gotten you all hung up over her, but it’s like you’re intentionally fixing yourself only to let her destroy you over and over again. And you keep letting her, why?”

He’s aware that you’re wary about relationships since you’re used to putting yourself first because you’ve never had the privilege to go after other people when you were barely surviving all by yourself. When you wanted to let go and crave the warmth of other people in your bed, you never had to look far because you took care of each other. So it surprised him when you told him that you were sleeping with somebody else, mostly because he knew that you only show your body to people you trust, not strangers.

“... I don’t know,” you confess. “I really don’t. But all I know is that she’s the only person that I’ve been having…” you pause with bated breath. “Second thoughts about.” You hear Eman say your name sympathetically while looking at you, and you stare off into the distance.

“Okay… just… promise me you won’t lose yourself because of her.”

You look back at him, seeing his soft gaze at you. “I promise.” The two of you lie down in silence for a minute before he breaks it.

“You starving?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s eat.”

You have ditched your button-up shirt and slacks for a comfier oversized shirt that you have most likely stolen from Eman, and opted to go bottomless with only your underwear on, copying your lovely friend. The two of you are eating the brisket in comfortable silence while watching the TV, completely invested in the drama between the main characters. Eman didn’t want to get his hands dirty and was too lazy to get up and grab himself a fork, so you’re also feeding him while he lets you lie down on top of him.

This is how you usually spend your weekends with each other when you’re not out at the Rock Bottom or dragged into a club by your colleagues to celebrate something. The two of you are highly aware that whatever you have is unusual or unconventional, as it doesn’t seem very friend-like, but you two can’t ignore the bond you have of each other. Occasionally, when Eman’s out visiting his family in other states, you feel sick both emotionally and physically, and it’s the same for him when you’re away due to your work. This bond is the reason why you started out as a couple, but it eventually fizzled out. It’s how you found out that you were only meant to be around each other but not together.

Eman has his arms wrapped around you when you go back to your previous spot after rinsing off the aluminium tray, his eyes barely open as he tries to fight sleep to keep watching the show. The way you’re stroking his hair isn’t helping him either, as the comforting feeling starts to lull him to sleep. You’re about to drift off as well as the clock has already hit past 11, and the exhaustion from the week is finally catching up to you. But the sudden ringing of your phone jumps you both awake making him grumble under his breath. You quickly say your apologies to him as you reach over to the coffee table for your phone. Your heart skips a beat when you finally see who’s calling you. Baran. Of course, who else would call you in the middle of the night except for her? Eman immediately notices the nerves that briefly appeared on your face when you looked at him as if you were asking him whether you should take the call or not. He nods.

You accept the call, “come over.” She ends the call immediately. You only give Eman an apologetic look before he once again lies back down on your couch and closes his eyes while you go to your bedroom to find yourself some pants. Even though Baran might pull away from you for reasons you don’t know, you’ll always come running to her when she requests you.

It’s quiet when you arrive at Baran’s apartment. The lights are dim, and her curtains are drawn open despite only seeing darkness outside. It’s strange. Most of the time, you don’t even make it to her living room because she’s already on you, yet as you step further into her home, it feels like there’s no one there. But as you get closer to the living room, you spot her familiar figure lying down on the couch.

“Baran?” you call out to her.

She’s looking up at the ceiling, the neckline of her loose-fitting shirt askew, exposing the skin of her shoulder, her right hand is dangling on the side, and her eyes are glassy with the remnants of tears still present around them. She only tilted her head to glance at you before she went back to staring into thin air. Your heart sinks at this sight; you’ve known Baran to be confident, an advocate to those who are failed by the system. You can’t stand seeing her like this, and you’re unsure if she wants to talk it out with you, afraid that you might cross the line and make her uncomfortable. You kneel on the floor, placing your bag down right next to you. Your fingers instinctively reach out to tuck the loose strand out of her face to the back of her ear. You let your fingertips linger on her skin before cupping her jaw and caressing her cheekbone using your thumb. She lets out a breath, her tired eyes locking with yours as she lifts her right hand to place above yours.

“Do you want to talk?” your voice is low, afraid that if you talk any louder, she’d scuttle away. She blinks at you, contemplating your question.

“Just… stay with me… please?” you can feel your chest tighten upon hearing her voice break. She grips your hand tighter, and she closes her eyes. She wants to feel your warmth, for you to be closer to her, so she can feel the blood pumping in your veins. Her eyes flutter open when you stand up.

“Let’s get you in your bed, okay?” She nods, letting you help her stand up.

Baran holds your hand during the short walk to her bedroom, and you let her lie down on her bed, tucking her in. She looks up at you with a puzzled expression as you do so, “I’ll clean up first, then I’ll stay with you, hm?” You lean down to press a soft kiss on her forehead. You can clearly see how disheartened she is through her eyes, they’re one of your favourite features on her, her dark brow eyes that can unravel you with just one look. But currently, they’re devoid of that fire that you’re always hypnotised by, and it makes you wonder exactly what had happened to her.

You had spotted the clutter on her coffee table and in her kitchen when you initially walked in. It reminded you of the times when you had gotten into your mind and couldn’t stop the haunting memories from replaying over and over again. Her white coat along with her bag, was just thrown onto the coffee table, there’s empty take-out bags and styrofoam containers scattered all over her countertop. Closing the curtains is the last chore on your list; you figured that it was an interesting order to do things, as it lets you finish it off properly.

When you return to her bedroom, you find that she’s still awake, with her sights on the door, waiting for you to come back. It feels endearing for her to patiently wait for you, and you feel a little bad about making her wait, even if it’s just for a short while. She immediately buries her face into the crook of your neck once you lie down next to her, inhaling your scent as she places her nose directly against your pulse. You wrap your arms around her, your hand immediately finding its way to her scalp, softly massaging it with your fingertips.

Baran lets out a small sigh, “you smell different. Were you with somebody else?” You can feel the vibrations of her voice against your skin.

“Mhm, my friend visited me earlier.” She hums when you massage a spot on the left side of her head.

“What’d you do?” she replies with her eyes closed, still taking her sweet time breathing you in.

“He got another job, and we ate the brisket he made. Then we watched some TV. It was some rerun of a show- I don’t know what it’s called.”

She pulls her head away from your neck, and you halt your movements on her scalp. Her eyes still look dull, yet some of that fire had already come back, one that you’re most familiar with. You let your hand drag down from her hair to her nape as she slowly leans in towards you. She pauses with your lips an inch away, her eyes staring at your mouth as if she’s contemplating whether you’ll let her kiss you. She tilts her head to the side, your noses brushing against each other briefly, and she pauses again.

Her dark irises flicker up to yours, “can I?” This is the very first time she asks you for verbal consent; she always assumes that you’re ok with it because you keep on encouraging her to do whatever she wants with you.

Baran’s eyes drift back down to your lips before letting them touch softly. You’ve missed the feeling of her lips against yours, soft and warm. You let your arms come up to hold her face, pulling her closer to you. She releases a satisfied sigh through her nose as she guides the two of you to lie down on your sides. You can feel the tip of her tongue touch the bottom of your lip, and you let her in; she takes the lead, guiding you gently as you slowly stroke her jawline.

You pull away, seeing her looking at you with gentle adoration, “we don’t have to do anything.” She carefully grips the wrist of your hand that’s still caressing her jaw.

“I want to… I want to feel all of you.”

Baran has a way with her hands. Perhaps it’s because she’s a doctor, and she knows how to use them in different ways, but you’ve never felt love from someone’s touch. Her hands delicately roamed around your body like you were made from porcelain, giving each part of you her full attention until you felt sensitive. Her tongue traced intricate patterns in your skin that had you curling your toes and whimpering out her name, whispering praises into your ears. She easily made you see stars despite taking her time with you, yet you could feel everything. Every little touch, the small differences in her thrusts, the heat of her body against yours, and her hidden affection for you. She doesn’t even realise that she’s starting to feel something for you, yet it already shows. If this is what it feels like to be loved by Baran Al-Hashimi, then you’d start to pray and start giving offerings to all the gods and wish for her to love you.

You and Baran are lying side by side with your backs against the bed. She’d raised your arm to the moonlight, inspecting the way your fingers move and the contrasts of the shadows against your skin. When you brought your hand down, you felt her move. She’s now lying on her side, head propped up on her hand as she anchors her elbow against her bed. You turn your head to the side to see her: she’s staring down at you with a faint smile on her face, her curls freely flowing down her shoulders, her dark, disarming eyes filled with her utmost devotion for you; it makes your heart stutter, and you fear that she might be able to hear your heartbeat with how close you are to each other.

The muscles of her neck connecting it to her shoulders catch your attention, your eyes linger on the mole on the side of her neck, feeling the urge to pepper the sharp line of her jaw with kisses until you start to nose its underneath, dragging your touch over to her chin, you start to imagine feeling her pulse beating rapidly against your lips, and you can feel your mouth start to salivate. Your breathing starts to get deeper, your eyes become hazy, and you unconsciously swallow. The sensation of your throat moving brings you back to reality, and you notice that Baran is still staring down at you. She finally moves, placing a soft, lingering kiss on your temple before whispering goodnight and wrapping her arms around your waist to keep you close to her.

In an unusual turn of events, Baran wakes up to see that you aren’t sleeping beside her. The sheets are already cold, devoid of your presence, yet your scent on her sheets lingers. She thought that she’d see you in the kitchen, humming to yourself while cooking breakfast, but no. You aren’t in her apartment any more. Her lips curve downwards into a frown, already missing your presence. When she steps into her kitchen, she sees a full array of breakfast waiting for her: a couple of pieces of toast alongside scrambled eggs, fruits cut into bite-sized pieces, and tea made in the way she likes it. She has already bitten into a toast before she notices the small note tucked beneath the plate. It reads: Sorry B but something urgent came up. I hope this breakfast can serve as my apology. I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t miss me too much! You signed it off with your nickname with a heart and a smiley face on the side. This small gesture made her heart swell, and she finds herself eating the breakfast you made with a constant grin on her face. Now, Baran’s suddenly anticipating your return back into her arms.

The clock had barely hit 11 o’clock when Baran heard the distinct knocking on her door, three knocks, just like you always do. She’s been lounging around after taking a shower, catching up on her charting, waiting for you to arrive. There’s a genuine smile plastered on Baran’s face when she opens the door, seeing you wear her college sweater. A sudden burst of possession fills her veins, feeling proud to see her clothing on your body.

“Hi,” you greet her happily, and she immediately pulls you inside her apartment by your waist, peppering kisses all over your face before finally placing one on your lips.

She can feel your smile in the kiss before she pulls away. “I missed you.” Baran places her forehead on your shoulder, causing you to giggle.

“I was only gone for a little bit.”

“Felt like forever,” she groans, and you let her sulk for a bit, knowing that she isn’t actually upset by you. She eventually led the two of you to her couch, closing her laptop since her charting can wait until later.

Baran has you perched on her lap with your pants already tossed away to the side, her hands slipping underneath her sweater to feel the warm skin of your waist while delicately shoving her tongue in your mouth. Hearing your soft moans spurs her on, encouraging you to rock your hips against her. You couldn’t help but let out a louder moan when your clothing starts to rub on your sensitive bundle of nerves, and it excites the doctor underneath you further. The sudden, sharp pain that erupts on your bottom lip makes you yelp in surprise. She sinks her teeth into your lip and pulls away, and you start to taste the savoury yet metallic liquid in your mouth.

Baran had bitten your lip hard enough to draw blood. It takes a while for you two to pull away from each other, but once you do, you can see the remnants of your crimson liquid spread around her lips, and some had started to dry at the corner of her mouth. She made a show of licking your blood off her lips, deliberately running her tongue along her mouth slowly, and she sees you watch her intently. Your eyes start to dilate, and you can smell the coppery hint beneath your nose, feeling the warm liquid from your lip drip down to your chin. Baran notices how you’ve gotten quiet, your breathing has visibly slowed, and your pupils have almost taken over the colour of your irises. A sudden rush of heat courses through her body as she realises you’ve entered a headspace of some kind. Your senses suddenly feel hyperreactive, instantly missing the warmth of her hand that was splayed across your waist, yet your head feels cloudy.

She takes her index finger and swipes at the still-warm blood on your chin. You watch as her finger stills in the air for a second before you grab her wrist and place her finger in your mouth. Baran starts to breathe through her mouth, her lips slightly agape as your tongue swirls around her finger, sucking the liquid off and tracing the creases of her digit, letting the muscle drag along the underside of her nail as you lock eyes with her. You release her finger with a pop, and there’s drool on the corners of your mouth, the back of your hand instantly wipes the saliva off, and you feel her hands slide back underneath the sweater to run her thumbs across your nipples.

Unable to control your impulses any more, you take Baran’s face in your hands and smash your lips together harshly. Your tongues and teeth clashing as you taste your own blood in her mouth, pulling away, you place wet kisses and gently nibble on her skin as you go down to her neck. Taking a deep inhale, you breathe her in, smelling the faint scent of her lotion mixed with her body wash as you put your nose against her pulse point. You start to trail kisses down her shoulder before briefly pausing, quickly swallowing your saliva before biting down on the flesh of her upper arm just beneath her joint. You barely hear her moan out in both pain and pleasure as the sounds around you feel muted. You manage to stop quickly, only making a shallow bite mark, pulling back, you trace your tongue around the ridges of the mark of your teeth on her skin, you muttered a quick apology, but you’re immediately shut up by Baran as she grabs your hair and tugs on it roughly causing for a moan to erupt out of your throat as she bares your throat to her, before she leans into your ear.

“You’re a fucking freak,” the sound of her deep voice made the pulsing in between your legs more noticeable, and you started to shift, feeling your wetness soak through your underwear and into the fabric of her shorts. She chuckles, hearing the small whimper you made as she tightened her grip on your hair before once again kissing you like she wants to eat you whole. She stares at your lust-blown pupils for a moment before she attacks your neck, biting and suckling harshly on the thin skin as she tugs on your hair harder like she’s enacting revenge after your little stunt. The dull pain that covers the span of your neck causes the slick in between your legs to start to drip, making the dark patch of wetness on Baran’s cotton shorts more prominent.

Her free hand palms your stomach, slowly inching down your underwear, fingers swiping against your dripping wet slit. “This all for me?” she questions you, yet she doesn’t let you answer. “Of course it is.” There’s a smug smile present on her lips, and you can feel your head spin at the sight of it.

Your phone immediately rings after you ride out your high as if it knew that you had just orgasmed. The incessant ringing makes you groan internally as Baran reaches for it on the coffee table. You thank her as she hands the device to you. Eman’s frantic voice immediately floods your ears, asking for your assistance. You mutter a quick ‘okay’ to him before ending the call. Baran lets out a breathy giggle when you nuzzle your face deeper into her neck and wrap your arms around her tightly.

“I don’t want to go, can you keep me here?” you whisper into her ear like a child not wanting to sleep.

“You’re free to see other people. I’m only asking for your company, not commitment.”

You and Eman had always thought that celebrating birthdays was a waste of time and money. But when things had become financially stable a few years ago, he had brought you your first-ever birthday cake; the two of you ate the whole cake in one sitting. It’s become a small tradition for you to bake him his favourite fudgy brownies, and you’d wait for him outside the hospital, sitting on the boot of your car with the freshly made brownies and ice cream next to you. He used to hate this because he felt like a little kid with his parents waiting for him outside his school, but he warmed up to the idea after his colleagues had confessed to him that they were jealous of him because he had a girl waiting for him outside with his favourite chocolate dessert.

Since it’s his birthday today, you’re parked near the exit of the hospital for him to immediately spot you when he clocks out. The sun is out, and the skies are clear this late summer afternoon, and you’re hanging around near the shade, already helping yourself with the brownies you made. You didn’t need to wait long as Eman exited the hospital a few minutes later. He’s ditched his scrub top and put on a loose-fitting shirt since he knows you’ll be waiting for him, and he didn’t want you to smell the formaldehyde in his scrubs. There’s a wide grin present in his features as soon as he sees you, and it grows wider upon seeing the fudgy dessert in your hand.

As soon as he reaches you, he immediately leans down to take a huge bite out of the brownie in your grasp. “Hey!” you complain, but he waves you off.

“I get a free pass ‘cause it’s my birthday,” he says with a smirk, making you roll your eyes at him.

“Still not a good reason to act like an asshole.” He shrugs, getting his own brownie from the Tupperware, while you give him his tub of ice cream along with a plastic spoon.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” there’s a teasing lilt to his voice, yet there’s a genuine glint in his eyes.

“Plenty of times, I’m pretty sure,” you say after taking a spoonful of ice cream. He sits down next to you, your legs touching.

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

You look at him with teasing wonder,“ you getting all sappy on me now?”

“No. I’m just trying to appeal to your sympathy to get more brownies.” Once again, you roll your eyes at him.

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“It got me to where I am now.” It took every ounce of your control not to smack the smirk off his face, and he laughs, seeing your restraint.

“Thank you for this, by the way,” he finally drops his teasing act.

“As much as I hate saying this, but I’m glad you’re around,” you avoid making eye contact with him as you distract yourself by eating. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you finally look back at him to see his green eyes already staring back at you.

You lean in to him, “happy birthday.” You whisper near his ear before placing a quick, appreciative peck on his cheek.

The sweet moment doesn’t last long as a familiar voice calls out your name. Looking towards the direction of the sound, you see Baran walking towards you and Eman. Despite the distance, the stone-cold glare present in her eyes makes your palms sweat and causes your heart to beat faster. You’ve seen that look in her irises before. During the night she fetched you from the motel. You can’t hide the fact that you’re very attracted to her when she’s angry, but there’s something swirling in her eyes that is akin to a murderous look; you can feel her anger even when she’s metres away, and it terrifies you.

But next to you, Eman’s perplexed, as seen by his furrowed brows and the slight tilt of his head. “Dr. Al?” hearing her shortened last name come out from his lips makes you freeze.

“You know her?”

“A little.”

Baran tries to reel in her anger so as not to make a scene when she nears the two of you. She saw how close the boy from the morgue had gotten to you, along with the stupid longing look in his eyes, and the way you kissed his cheek certainly did not help quell her rage. She takes a couple of deep breaths before stopping in front of you.

“Can I talk to you real quick?” she ignores Eman, staring directly at you instead.

“Oh uh, sure,” you and Eman lock eyes, before you drop from your seat at the boot, patting your outfit down so you at least look a bit presentable.

Before you could say anything else, Baran was already walking away from you, making you jog up so you could catch up to her. You’re still a bit mad and disappointed in yourself for hoping that she might have feelings for you too, but seeing her act like this puzzles you. She was the one to say that you’re free to see other people, so what is she upset about?

She leads you to her car, she stays silent, clenching her jaw while she opens her car door with excessive force and assumes the driver’s seat, tossing her bag to the back. You stand still, confused, not knowing what to do because you didn’t expect her to say nothing and just hop in her car. She quickly glances at you while turning her ignition, the engine roaring to life.

“Get in,”

“But-”

“I said. Get. In.”

Swallowing your nerves, you silently thank yourself that you left your keys inside your purse in your car so Eman could drive it home if you don’t come back. You almost trip over your own feet as you obediently follow her orders like a trained dog. The interior smells exactly like Baran, deep, with a small hint of sweetness and her signature musk. She doesn’t spare you another look as she pulls out from her parking spot, her dark irises entirely focused on the road ahead while you fidget nervously at the passenger’s seat.

The air is thick, filled to the brim with unspoken tension as Baran’s rage practically buzzed off her figure. Her grip on the steering wheel is tight, and her jaw has started to hurt from grinding her teeth. The car ride feels too short yet too long at the same time; you dread what is about to happen once you arrive at her place.

The loud bang of the apartment’s door as she slammed it shut made you flinch. She saw you jump at the noise, but didn’t care whether you were afraid of her or not. The image of you cosying up with a man and kissing his cheek is burned in her retina. She wanted to rip you away from him, to show him who you belonged to as she took you from behind for him to see how she could fuck you mindless without hearing any complaints from you. You are hers, no one else’s. Especially not morgue boy’s.

“Are you that desperate of a slut to be fucking around with that boy?” the tone of her voice startles you.

“He’s only a friend, Baran,” you calmly explain, following her to the kitchen.

“Really? You kissed him. Is that what friends do? Do friends fuck each other now, too?” your frustration starts to bubble up, yet you try not to let it show.

“On the cheek-”

She cuts you off, “so you didn’t fuck him in that disgusting motel?” Baran faces you, her sharp stare pierces through you as if she has seen everything you’ve done. You’re surprised by her gall, making your jaw drop in amusement.

“What the hell is this, Baran? This,” you gesture your finger back and forth towards you and her, “is just sex! You made that clear a few days ago!” She takes a step and backs you off to the fridge.

“You’re mine! How many times do I have to fuck you to make that clear in your head?!” Her hand flies up to your jaw, gripping it tightly, her fingers digging into the hollows of your cheeks. You can clearly see the fire burning in her eyes, looking down at you like you’re an object to own instead of a human being.

You take her wrist and harshly pull her hand away. “You fuck me and you tell me that this is not commitment, but you stop me from seeing anyone else!” She takes a step closer to you, leaning down as if she’s about to kiss you.

“Fine.” Her voice drops, and the eerie calmness of her tone causes the little hairs on your nape to contract.

Baran tilts her head to whisper in your ear, “I’ll let you play around with whoever you want. But don’t forget that you belong to me.”

With one last thrust of her hand, the pressure in your lower abdomen finally releases, your hips bucking up uncontrollably as Baran drags out your orgasm. You whine when you feel her fingers slowly slip out of you. Your eyes are struggling to stay open, becoming heavy after three back-to-back orgasms as Baran tests your limit.

“You can give me another one, right?” with your eyes closed, you still nod your head in response.

Baran smiles, “Good girl.”

Her fingers return to your sex, your hips instinctively pulling away from her due to overstimulation; she tsks, pinning your lower half down to the bed, she circles your clit before drifting down to tease your hole, causing it to involuntarily flutter.

“So greedy,” she whispers against your ear, pushing three of her digits back in your cunt. The pleasurable burn of the stretch causes a broken moan to erupt from your lips and a devilish grin to appear on her lips.

Baran drags her lips from your temple to your jaw, nibbling gently where she can feel the subtle yet quick thumping of your pulse. flattening her tongue against your skin, she licks a stripe from the base of your neck to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, a whimper spills from your lips as she times it with a hard thrust. She breathes in your scent deeply before sinking her teeth on the spot where your shoulder connects with your neck, effectively drawing blood, ripping your flesh away as you stay still, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. She pulls away from you, seeing your blood staining her teeth, dripping down from her mouth to the length of her neck, watching the crimson droplets slide down the curves of her breasts.

Her eyes hold a look of pure hunger, the desire to eat you whole swirls in her bewitching dark irises. She leans back down, drinking and sucking blood directly from the gaping wound. You feel her tongue poke into the hole and tries to dig down to feel your bone, excruciating pain floods your nerves, the gut-wrenching scream you let out doesn’t deter Baran as she slides down your body, removing her fingers from your cunt, head descending directly above your heart. You grip her hair tightly in your hands, her teeth sinking into the fat at the side of your breast. her fingers that were previously deep inside your cunt hooks against the broken skin, your slick still dripping down her hand. You can feel her nails scratch against your ribs, trying to reach your heart to feel it beating in her palms.

She comes up, the lower parts of her face completely drenched in blood, and she kisses you with hunger-filled fervour, clashing her tongue to yours, forcing you to taste your own blood and flesh as she leans her body weight onto the hand that’s trying to pry your ribs open. You feel your ribs crack, screaming into Baran’s ravenous mouth as she explores the insides of your chest cavity, caressing you in places that should never be touched.

Your scream wakes you from your sleep, taking a tumble off the bed, the dull pain that erupts on the side that you landed on knocks the lingering sleep off you. You’re drenched in your own sweat, your chest feels tight as the phantom pain from your nightmare makes you panic, causing your hands to fly to the areas that Baran had feasted on you.

A long, exhausted sigh escapes your lips as you try to grasp reality. Everything had felt real- too real. From her fingers buried in your cunt to her trying to claw your heart and lungs out, and you feel too exposed, like your whole body was splayed out for her to study anatomy on. These dreams- nightmares have been too vivid, and it all consists of Baran.

She doesn’t come across your mind too often during your waking moments, but when you finally close your eyes, it’s a different story. It’s during times like this that you fully realise how much you truly desire her, to the point where you’re letting her consume you whole just to sate her hunger for you, even though she’s fucking with your head, giving mixed signals. You love Baran with your whole being, flesh, blood, bones- everything. It doesn’t bother you to have these dreams when all it represents is your willingness to give your life for her. It’s the truth, your love, in its rawest, visceral form; you won’t run away from it nor turn a blind eye to it because if you do so, you’ll only be lying to yourself, hiding from your true nature.

His lips feel different compared to what you’re used to; the angles of his face are much sharper, and his jawline is more defined. His hands are a little bit rough, and they spread wider on your back, almost reaching both ends of your torso. But her hands are softer, touch precise and controlled, her palms feel warmer when they touch your bare skin. You feel breathless every time she’s kissed you like she’s physically stealing your breath away, his just feels familiar, unchanging even after years later.

The heat that’s trapped in your body is becoming unbearable after days of seeing her in your sleep. You’re settling for what’s convenient for you to have a release, so you won’t be walking around with drenched underwear, reminiscing about her, but nothing will beat Baran’s presence. She’s naturally commanding, and it makes you want to kiss the ground she’s walking on as you’re always in awe at her; Eman’s the opposite, he’s gentle and will only do something if you requested for him to.

Usually, you hate clubs. They’re loud, it’s dark, yet sometimes the lights are blinding, and the strong scent of alcohol that’s stuck to other people makes your nose hurt. Overall, it’s an overstimulating experience, yet it’s your idea to drag Eman out and into one of the clubs in SoMa, far away from your apartments, especially the doctor’s who keeps starring in your dreams. You felt like you were starting to go insane without seeing her, and it’s a perfect distraction for the two of you to go out, even though you don’t drink; watching intoxicated people is already entertaining enough to watch.

The night had started out innocently, you and Eman telling stories of the absurd things that had happened in your week, until he led you to the dance floor. The crowded bodies had forced the two of you to get closer to each other, hands playfully dancing across your skin, slowly letting his fingers apply more pressure and linger longer, then it turns into unashamed groping. Eman noticed how tense your shoulders appeared from a distance away, so naturally, he does what he’s always been doing: trying to give you comfort and the opportunity to clear your mind, even for only a couple of hours.

Once you curl your fingers around his hair to pull him closer to you, an unsettling sensation flutters in your stomach, and you feel the temperature in the room start to change, like the thermostat has turned down a few degrees. You open your eyes, looking through the empty space between the sea of bodies. There, sitting down on a stool at the bar, is the woman torturing you in your dreams, her legs are crossed, leaning her elbow against the countertop and her gaze is directed at you. Watching you play around with Eman, seeing his hands wander down to your bottom, and giving them a teasing squeeze.

“You wanna leave?” he whispers in your ear when he pulls away. He doesn’t notice that your attention is laid elsewhere, busy placing wet, open kisses along your neck.

Baran locks eyes with you. She stays still, patiently waiting for your next move. Your stomach churns with unease; the blatant display of a cruel power move renders you unable to make a rational decision. You want to stay with Eman so that you can hang on to his stability, where your night wouldn’t end up in a whirlwind of emotional disasters. But everything in you is screaming to walk over to her.

“She’s here,” your voice comes out in a hush.

But Eman hears it. “What? Dr. Al?” He assumes that the answer is yes as he sees you looking over his shoulder, mentally debating with yourself on what to do.

“I won't stop you if you go to her,” he says with a genuine tone, even though he’s already warned you not to lose yourself over her.

It’s silly that you even considered not paying attention to Baran when you’re only going to listen to your desires. By the time you separate yourself from Eman, she’s already disappeared from the bar. You check the bathrooms first, but there are no signs of her there. If you were to make a guess, she’s most likely gone outside, seeing as she’s not exactly fond of mingling in crowds, yet you still scan the people on the dance floor just to make sure. There are no direct indications of her presence once you step outside, but the sight of her car parked right across the club catches your eye. She’s already in the driver’s seat, with the engine turned on. Baran already knew that you were going to follow her; she just wanted to see the extent of her control over you with her own eyes. She can feel the corners of her mouth threaten to lift, clearly satisfied.

No words are exchanged when you enter her car and assume the passenger seat next to her. You couldn’t look her in the eyes, feeling embarrassed that you thought you could defy her and let other people touch you when she’s evidently already put her claim on you. Watching the streetlights pass through the window, the buildings start to become sparse when she exits San Francisco, driving south. She breaks the silence when nearing her apartment building.

“How long have you known each other?” You didn’t expect her calm questioning, expecting her to assert her dominance over you.

“Eman? About 10 years,” you answer, a little wary of what she’s going to do next. She briefly looks at you when she enters a turn.

“That’s a long time.” You hum at her, resting your head against the glass, looking at her side profile. The lustre in her eyes shifted quickly; you almost didn’t see it. Baran felt her heart wrench upon learning that you and Eman have a long history; knowing she can’t compete with someone you’ve already known for a long time and someone who intricately knows you.

There are a thousand words you want to say to her, to let her know that there’s nothing even close to romantic happening between you and him, but you decide to remain silent, giving her the chance to say something- anything. Instead, she becomes distant, not sparing a glance towards you when she exits the car after parking. The silence continues after entering her apartment. She takes her time taking off her shoes and places them inside the shoe rack near the front door. You do the same, following right behind her.

When the two of you enter her bedroom, she starts to unbutton her shirt but leaves it on and sits on the bed, her back against the wooden headboard: she’s offering for you to sit on her lap, and you obey her silent order. She slips her hands underneath your shirt, tracing mindless circles on your skin with her thumb, her gaze is focused on anything but you, purposefully avoiding looking at your eyes to not see the expression on your face. You can see the tangled mess of her thoughts in her dark irises. Carefully, you raise your hand to gently caress the left side of her head, burrowing your fingers into her hair. She closes your eyes and releases a sigh through her nose upon feeling you gently massaging her scalp.

Baran knows exactly when she started falling for you after several days of reflection. It was during the late morning after your first time sleeping with each other. She immediately knew that you were going to be trouble for her when she saw you cooking breakfast with only her college sweater on, and when you softly told her that you needed to go, while caressing her head as you are doing so currently. She fell even harder when you came over after she had a rough week, when she was vulnerable, and you stayed right by her side, never pushing, only giving her comfort.

Despite her contradicting acts and intentionally using your affections for her as a leverage to control you and have you wrapped around her finger, what she feels for you is genuine, even primal in nature. She knows it to be true because she can’t imagine living her future without you, and if you somehow disappear during her lifetime, she’ll dedicate the rest of her living moments to you. Baran has to have you in her short existence in this world; she’ll go through heaven and hell just to have you by her side.

It’s quite easy to tell why Baran needs to have control to stay sane when all her life she’s felt powerless against herself. Only in recent years had she started to feel like she actually has jurisdiction over her life, leading her to do everything in her own terms; from deciding what to pursue for her education, managing activities and inanimate objects, and extending to her interactions with other people. Baran isn’t conscienceless; she isn’t numb emotionally, she knows that the way she’s treating you is wrong, but she can't help it. It makes her feel fulfilled when she sees you bend to her liking. She desires to have control over you, like it’s a cardinal sin she can’t help but commit over and over again. How can she not when you’re so obedient to her? Completely willing to do anything she wants without forcing you to. Baran isn’t blind either; she can see that you want to give her everything you can, including letting her devour you just to satisfy her hunger.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Baran finally looks at you, seeing your brows furrow in mild concern due to her silence. You look gorgeous underneath the dim lighting of her bedroom, the shadows accentuating your features, and your lips look extremely kissable at this moment. She couldn’t restrain herself; she let herself lean into you and claim your lips with hers, moving slowly to savour the taste of your lips and pour her love into the kiss. Heat crawls up into your cheeks; the intimacy of her actions makes you shy. She doesn’t let her hands wander away from your waist, only tightening her hold on you to pull you closer to her.

No words can describe the depth of Baran’s love for you, but she will try her best to express them for you. If that still isn’t enough, she’ll physically and mentally put in the effort to change for you, for her to let go of her need for control. No one on this Earth can stop her from loving you; she’ll even spit in the face of gods if they forbid her to. Baran’s willing to do anything for you, just as you are to her.

Both of you are unaware of it now, but this is the exact moment where things start to change for the better.

...to be continued in the other half

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