I’m back (tentatively) after what was a long depressing attempt to feel like myself again 😭
I would love to write again (I never finished my wip for the Patti secret Santa which I still feel terrible about) but I have started shifts on top of my studies so it’s not really on the cards right now!
My first priority would be that wip and once that is done I want to start writing for the ladies of the pitt! Is that something people would be interested in? You’re welcome to send me requests for headcanons in the meantime because I can do those pretty quickly compared to fics
in which baran has been picturing you in very non-platonic situations with her.
warnings: very suggestive towards the end, baran’s obsessed, masturbation
"I'm too scared to say half of the things i do when i picture you" "Do you picture me like i picture you?" picture you, chappell roan 1k celebration
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It stars as something simple, though she doesn’t know how or why.
Baran remembers seeing you walk into work one random day, paying too much attention to the way the shirt you wear under your scrubs hugs your arms.
And from then on, her heart skips a bit at the sight of your fingers tying your shoe laces. Or the sweet but confident smile you throw her everytime you cross paths in the ER.
You infiltrate yourself into her mind like an ivy, corrupting her every thought like spreading some kind of poison. And the worst part is that it is all her own doing.
She gets to the point of questioning her own health, all too confused when results show her heart and blood pressure are doing just fine. Because it couldn’t possibly mean anything, you’re her colleague, friend at most.
And as a friend it’s normal to feel like wrapping you in hug every time you’re upset over a patient, to pay too much attention to your hands and lips when you apply lip balm, to look at you like you’re the bane of her existence in the best way possible.
She finds herself doing extra to get to see you pleased, too aware that she shouldn’t be bold but complimenting your work more than she would her residents’.
“Good job earlier, you handled the situation very well.” It’s something she’s now too used to telling you, leaning her elbows on the counter as you’re typing away on the computer.
“Thanks, Doc.” Your wink is enough to bring a smile to her face, doe eyes shining under the bright hospital lights.
And as much as she tells herself that her compliments are getting too much and obvious, she does it again just to get to have your attention.
If it were any other person, she would have already asked them out for a drink ages ago. God knows she’s never been one to shy away from her feelings. If she likes someone, she likes someone. But she’d never risk being wrong with you, not when she’s never felt like this for a woman. Not this strongly towards anyone.
Baran lingers after work sometimes, when she doesn’t feel like it’s too much and she can’t seem to go home just yet without speaking to you. Conversation flows easily between you, drink in her hand quickly forgotten once she starts telling you about whatever while you listen like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever heard.
She thinks of how domesticity would feel like with you, this type of conversation but in her apartment late at night with you pressed close to her as you share a drink. It’s something she could get used to.
On one specific night, the doctor finds herself eager to go home. Her hair is messy after ripping the claw clip from it in the least gentle way, bag slung over her shoulder with unusual clumsiness. Your call for her name is enough to make her stop in her tracks to her car.
“You okay?” You ask a little out of breath, easy smile on your lips as you try to figure out what she’s feeling.
She wishes you’d realize she’d tell you anything if you asked.
“Yes. Just really tired.” Her shoulders slump a little more as she speaks, cold night breeze brushing her naked shoulders.
Your answer is a simple hum, fingers tapping the strap of your bag as you think of what to say. She finds it endearing even in her tired state.
“Are you cold?” You snap her out of the daydream, frowning at the goosebumps that have form on her arms that are not covered due to her choice of tank top.
“I’m okay, don’t worry.” But it’s no use because you’re already pulling your jacket off, throwing it over her shoulders and pulling her hair from under it after.
The interaction is as brief as that, and after it she takes your jacket home with her — your orders. But she isn’t complaining, because your smell envelopes in her in a dizzying way.
That night she lays in bed restless, surely not for lack of sleepiness. Her mind is thorn with possibilities, all that she knows would ruin the image she has of your forever.
Still, she thinks of you as she slips her sleeping dress down her chest. Her mind fills up on things she’s been wanting to do while thinking of you and has been too scared to.
But now, with your jacket pressed to her nose, she thinks of you as she melts into her own fingers while imagining it’s you touching her. It happens like a dream, blissful feeling overtaking her as she touches what she’s been neglecting for way too long by now.
She thinks about how her fingers probably don’t feel half as good as yours when she slides into them, picturing how she would want you to kiss and nip at her neck and how you would know just how to angle your wrist to have her squirming beneath you.
Your smell.
Your smile.
It’s all she can think about as your name falls from her lips like a prayer, heat rushing up her spine.
Baran never thought about herself as lustful until she finds herself in a situation like this, naked if not for the jacket that belongs to you and that she presses as close to her as possible.
She reaches her edge with a sound that’s muffled by her palm that comes to press against her mouth, sweaty and breathless.
She does it again in the next days.
What she has yet to find out is that this has been your plan all along.
