bitch

human: here is birds in water

But anime and video game boob jiggling is like. The most uncanny valley shit I've ever seen nine times out of ten. You would think people this horny about tits would have actually looked at some but I guess not.

featuring :: baran X reader-whos-a-bit-emotionally-costipated(?)

tags & warning/s :: established marriage, angst, fluff question mark? Not proofread

synopsis :: you expected your wife to come back tired but content, however it doesn't seem that way when you see the weight in her eyes when she comes home.

notes :: This was originally supposed to be a oneshot for my Pittsona and her, but I decided to tweak a few things and post this as some sort of filler while polling about Baran and readers wedding! And this is more of a drabble than anything just to get my hands moving.

word count :: ~1k

Baran had gotten up early this morning- a valid statement if you counted her waking up every hour in the night. Being anxious about your first day in a new medical center does that to you. She has told you, her wife, about the promotion she had been given. A huge opportunity, but one that weighted responsibility on her shoulders.

So at crack 4 in the morning when Baran finally kicked off the sheets after multiple failures of trying to actually fall asleep and a muttered apology for keeping you awake, you got up with her no matter how much your body protested.

Even if Baran did insist that you should stay in bed, you wanted to support your wife every step of the way, knowing how big of a step this is for her. After politely forcing Baran to atleast eat a banana, you packed her lunch- nothing extravagant, just enough to fill, handed it to Baran and sent her off with a good luck kiss.

Everything was going swell for you during the day- dealing with your job, coming home to organise your shared place, then making dinner. That was until Baran came home later than expected- something you've grown accustomed to.

"Kitchen!" Your voice traveled across the place, your ears strained as you listened to your wife's footsteps approach the area. "How was your first- day.." Your usually welcoming gaze (If you count your eyes doing the smiling when your lips remained flat) immediately wavered at the sight of your wife.

It was worse than any chronic joint pain you had to go through every winter.

Hair untied and wild in its own beautiful form, yet her eyes were the heaviest they've been. It was an easy tell that she'd been crying on her way home. Black tank top- presumably she threw her scrubs in her bag.

".. Cariño.." You called quietly called, immediately lowering youe voice as she sets the plates down on the table, your footsteps silent as she padded slowly towards Baran with a tilted head and a precarious expression, as if approaching a wounded puppy.

Baran didn't move from her spot- a few feet away from the island counter, arms limp on her sides and eyes glassy with lack of focus. Her chest rose too fast- short, shallow breaths that betrayed how hard she's was trying to not cry again. But slowly started to fail doing so.

At the sound of her wife- you, emotionally constipated but doing your best, in all your glory, called to her, Baran sucked a large breath in, bottom lip trembling before she bit down on it hard.

She didn't speak. Couldn't. A single tear escaped before Baran could stop it, slipping down her cheek.

"Díos.. Baran..." You cooed, straightening herself up not to appear larger, but to offer herself as a safety net with open arms (albeit hesitantly, unsure whether or not if your actions rendered rude or warm. You're trying.)

Baran didn't hesitate. The moment your arms opened for her- however hesitant, she folded, collapsing into the your arms. She buried her face in the curve of your shoulder, one hand clutching shakily at the back of your thin button down, the other pressed flat against your spine- as if attempting to fuse you two together.

"Ah." You huffed in quiet surprise as Baran enveloped your smaller frame, arms hovering hesitantly before eventually finding purchase on Baran's lower back, rubbing slow circles with your fingers.

Carefully, with one hand, you raised it to gently slide off the strap of Baran's bag off her shoulder, the attending making no resistance as she lets her arm limp uselessly as the it fell and the weight lifted off her shoulder, before immediately latching back onto you.

The weight of Baran's bag sliding off her shoulder felt like a monumetal release- like boulders finally rolling off her shoulders. From carrying everything, it felt like she wasn't carrying anything for a fraction. You kept the steady rhythm of rubbing Baran's back as the attending's breath began to slow but remained uneven.

"Ouf.. easy, love." You whispered as you rubbed your other hand higher, between Baran's shoulder blades, feeling the dampness accumulate on the crook of your neck. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, yet you decided to let the matter be- your wife's current state was much more important than how the your skin screamed at the tears staining your shirt.

A quiet hum went through the your lips, briefly pressing your slightly chapped lips against the top of the attending's head.

You didn’t speak, allowing Baran the moment of silence she knew (more-so assumed, but knew enough) she needed. Every nerve in your body was focused on offering security and reassure, the careful circles being traced between Baran's shoulder blades carefully measured.

The touch was gentle. Methodical in its care, and it undid something in Baran. It felt like coming home after being lost for hours without realizing she was wandering.

"Come on." You pulled back a fraction, only to grasp Baran's hand while allowing the older woman to lean her weight onto you, taking both of you into the kitchen where plated pasta laid, lightly steaming as the smoke curled against the overhead light.

"Here." You pulled a chair from beneath the island counter, allowing Baran to slowly slide herself on top of the wooden seat, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

You padded towards the fridge, taking out a cool pitcher of water, closing the frame with a quiet thump before moving towards the cabinet of utensils and other dinnerware. You opened one, the soft creak echoing in the small kitchen as you pulled out two glass cups and forks for the meal.

Baran stared blankly at the pristine surface that she assumed in the back of her mind that you cleaned earlier, barely registering how you poured both glasses with water before setting both glasswares on either side of the plates.

The steam from the pasta curled upward like ghosts rising. The scent of garlic and tomatoes filled the small kitchen; comforting, familiar, home.

Baran stared at her plate as if seeing food for the first time today. She hadn’t eaten since lunch- the packed food you had given to her the only thing that pushed her through the rest of the day. Baran wanted to somehow give a quiet thanks, some sort of response to your care.

But no words came out yet. Her throat felt thick as her mind brought her back: Robby’s cruel comments about “medical risks,” how he’d used her seizures against her, and how she’d almost walked out three times before the end of her shift..