The latest chapter of sugar sweet was so relatable cause I'm in the same position as the reader, overwhelmed with deadlines and I don't know what to do anymore. I'm glad I took a short break to read it cause it felt good for a bit and it took down some of my cortisol levels. Lol. I'm yapping. Thank u for the update.
Aww yay I’m so glad you liked it!! Good luck with everything you’ve got going on! 🩷 never apologize for yapping lol
PS everyone: I am working on the next chapter of sugar sweet! My writing has just been very slow lately 🐢
Tags: babysitter!reader, baran is exhausted :( reader just wants to take care of her!, age gap (but no ages mentioned), reader is a college student, fluff, comfort, petnames (maternal? erm...sure), mentions of food, one use of yn
Summary: For the first time since her divorce, Baran doesn’t go home to an empty house.
Word count: 1.3k
Her key misses the lock an embarrassing amount of times, but Baran finally manages to slot it in around the third try. She shoves the door open too hard with it still in, nearly stumbles face-first into the house. The dark doesn't greet her like she expected it would.
She blinks into the warm glow of the living room, only remembering, when you sit up on the couch, that you're here.
Oh. Right. (Even more embarrassing, perhaps, is your car in the driveway.)
"Hi, Ms Al-Hashimi." You greet as she drops her keys in the key bowl.
A low sigh filters from her mouth. "Please, azizam. We can't keep having this conversation again."
You're suddenly very close, and not chastised in the slightest. "Sorry," you say, lips pressed together into a smile as you reach for the bag on her shoulder, "Baran."
"That's better," she mumbles, frowning at you when she realizes what's going on. "What are you—?"
"How was your shift?"
Baran blinks. Her shift. Looking back, she can't grasp on to a single thing, other than the fact that it stretched too long, took too much.
"Long." She finally says, belatedly realizing that you're pulling her stethoscope from her thigh pocket, carefully winding it around the straps of her bag. Her bag, now hitched on your shoulder. She frowns a little. "I'm sorry, I've kept you."
"It's okay," you say easily. "Got some studying done. Are you hungry? There's leftover spaghetti, I made a big batch."
You're steering her to the kitchen before she can answer. Baran feels strangely like a new hire being ushered into place by Dana. You pull out a stool at the island, lightly nudge her, and she takes a seat.
"You with me, Doc?"
"Yeah." She startles. "Yeah, yes. I'm sorry."
You make a sound in your throat. "They worked you to the bone, didn't they?"
"It's the job," she says tiredly, glancing around the kitchen. The mess she'd left this morning is gone. Her bag is…off your shoulder. Not on the counter.
Baran massages her temples.
"It's inhumane," you frown, flicking the stove top on. "I don't care how many days you get off, 12 hour shifts are fucking crazy. Oh—" You cringe. "I mean—"
Baran feels herself laugh. It's a little haggard but probably—definitely, she thinks as she looks back on it—her first one all day. She takes out the clip from her hair, runs her fingers through the tangle of curls at her scalp.
"How was Amir today?"
"A perfect prince," you say, scooping the pasta into a bowl. Baran smiles at your wording. "We went to the park, studied a bit. Then he saw a cat."
Her nose scrunches. "Please tell me he didn't kiss it."
"I caught him just as he was trying to sneak one in." You say, setting the bowl down in front of her. The steam wafts over Baran's face, fogging her skin. Her stomach gives a weak growl.
"Thank you, sweetheart." She mumbles.
"What's the—what's the thing you say? When you're giving someone food?"
Baran's chest warms. "Nooshe jan," she says softly.
"Nooshe jan," you parrot back at her, smiling. You spin around and grab a glass, start filling it with water. "Want something to drink?"
"I'm fine."
You set the glass of water down by her side. To her surprise, you also sit. You tap the surface of the counter, waiting until she's had a few bites before you speak.
"Is it really normal for you to come home this late?"
Something twists in her gut. Her next mouthful is hard to swallow, suddenly dry. Baran pushes it back with a drink of water.
"It happens from time to time," she says quietly. "Again, I'm very—"
"Doesn't it get exhausting?" You interrupt. You don't seem upset, more…troubled. You're so young, she suddenly thinks, barely even any creases in your frown.
Baran toys with a forkful of her food. "It does, yes. Often, even. But it's also very rewarding." On the off chance. She catches the worried gleam in your eyes, so unflinchingly earnest. "I must look like the dead." She says dryly.
Your eyes go wide. "No, not at all!" You rush out.
Baran's smile cracks. "It's okay." She pats your arm. "I'm okay, I've gotten used to it. I've been doing this a long time."
You don't seem convinced. She must really look like shit, then.
"Can I draw you a bath?" You ask genuinely. "Would that help?"
Baran goes hot. She shifts in her seat, shame warming her cheeks. "I—" She wets her lips, "I appreciate the thought, Y/N, but you're here for my son."
You shrug. "I'm here anyway. I really don't mind, Ms Al-Hashimi."
She shoves more pasta into her mouth. "Baran."
"Baran."
She chews slowly, letting the silence drag. Her ears ring around it. Sometimes, just its presence is too much. All that empty space with nothing to fill the rush in her head.
"It's late," she says eventually, setting her fork down. "Why don't you spend the night?"
You hesitate, surprise washing over your face. "Um—"
"Do you have classes tomorrow?" She presses.
"Only in the afternoon."
"Then you can sleep comfortably." Baran's smile is small. "Don't worry, I won't have you get up with Amir in the morning," she tries to joke. You smile a little, still hovering on the edge. She squeezes your hand. "Please. It's late now, I'd hate to think of you going home at this time." You're so young. You've got a car, but Baran knows well the horrors stirred by the dead of night. Too well. "If I'm not mistaken, it's a shorter drive from here to your campus?"
You gnaw on your lip. "It is, yeah. Are you—" You lean forward against the counter, "Are you sure it's not any trouble?"
"None at all." She promises. "The guest room is available. I can give you a change of clothes, and you can take off whenever you'd like in the morning. You've got all your materials, your electronics?"
College kids don't really do textbooks anymore, she's noticed.
"Yeah." You nod.
"Perfect."
You go limp against the counter. "Thank you so much, Ms—Baran. Honestly, the streets can get kinda creepy at this time." Your face folds into a wince.
Baran hums in understanding. "You're more than welcome to sleep over, any time. It's my fault you're staying so late, anyway."
"Aw, no, don't do that, boss." You wave a dismissive hand.
Baran smiles into a sip of water. She'd felt the weight of her exhaustion ever since she clocked out of the hospital, a bone-deep heaviness that continued sinking down deeper all throughout her commute. She doesn't know if it's the simple miracle of food and water on an empty stomach, or your unexpected company, but she feels farther from death's doorstep.
"There's more if you'd like." You gesture to her empty bowl, lips pressed into a pleased smile.
"No, thank you, sweetheart." She says gently. "It's very good, though. You're an excellent cook."
You give a humble shrug, your smile breaking free. "Pasta and stir fry are my two specialties. You don't wanna see me anywhere near a chicken breast, though."
Baran laughs, endeared. You push your chair back and pick up her bowl, spinning to the sink before she can stop you.
"Hey, leave that, please."
"I've got it," you say easily. "See? Almost done. You head on up, Ms Al—sorry, Baran. Get me something cute to wear." You send her a sideways smile, eyes bright.
Baran sighs and squeezes your shoulder. You're a good kid. "Thank you," she says softly.
She sees the pulse race in your neck as you tip out the rest of the water in the bowl and set it on the drying rack.
Summary: You have a chronic illness that wrecks havoc on your body. This means spending time in the ED, but it's not so bad when the love of your life is the attending.
word count: 929
Warnings: chronic illness flare, hospital setting, medical procedures, IV insertion, blood draw mention, pain episode, hospitalization themes, medical anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort, caregiving dynamics
Authors note: Here is the first chapter of my series that you guys voted for! I'll be getting it set up so Fridays is when the chapters will post! Also I'm a chronic illness girl but I will be keeping things vague so everyone can enjoy
7:00 a.m. – 8:00 a.m.
The Pitt was already awake and snarling by the time you arrived.
You’d come in with Baran for her 7:00 a.m. shift, the two of you walking through the sliding doors together. She was in fresh scrubs, you were leaning heavily on her arm as she called out for someone to help her. Another flare. Same unpredictable beast that had lived in your body for years. Baran hadn’t even hesitated when you told her you needed to come in this morning; she’d simply grabbed her keys, helped you into the car, and driven you here herself.
“Hey sweetheart. Another flare?” Cassie came up with that sympathetic look on her face. You nodded in response as you sat at one of the triage chairs. McKay pulled up your file, Baran next to her giving the orders to her senior resident.
Your head lulled a bit as Cassie had Mateo get your IV in. They took blood and you whined out, “Noooo my blood…Mateo how could you?” You joked, making him laugh.
“Even when you feel like shit you’re here cracking jokes.” He set the vials down on the tray before getting your drip going.
Baran and Cassie talked quietly about what to do next and about trying to get you a room upstairs,
“Last night was bad. We’re still dealing with the same ones. I’ve still got patients from the past three days waiting for beds in the ICU.” Cassie told her. Baran made a tsk noise and whispered a curse in Farsi under her breath.
You gave a soft smile, reaching for her hand and brushing your thumb over the back of her hand. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
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Now you were tucked into Bay 8, curtain half-pulled, monitors already singing their familiar tune. Baran stood beside your gurney, one hand resting on your leg while she reviewed the intake notes on the computer.
“Labs are still processing,” she murmured, glancing at you. “Pain?”
“Six out of ten and climbing,” you admitted. “The ride over didn’t help.”
She nodded once, already typing in an order for IV fluids and pain medication. Her shift hadn’t even officially started yet, but she moved with the quiet authority of someone who knew every inch of this department.
Whitaker poked his head in. “Dr. Al-Hashimi, they’re asking for you at the desk—”
“Thank you Doctor Whitaker, give me five minutes,” she said without looking up, tone leaving no room for argument. The resident vanished.
Baran turned back to you, softening immediately. She brushed her fingers along your cheek, she could feel the flush from the pain, then leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead.
“I hate that we’re starting the day like this,” she whispered against your skin. “But I’ve got you. Same as always.”
You caught her hand and held it against your chest, right above your heart. “I know. I’m sorry I ruined your morning.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” Her thumb stroked your skin. “You’re exactly where I want you to be when you’re not feeling well, somewhere I can keep an eye on you. You and I both know if I had left you alone like this you’d try to drive yourself here eventually.”
“I would-” You tried but she cut you off,
“You’re right darling you would.” She smirks, joking with you before kissing your forehead once more. “I’ll be back when I can. If you need something, hit your call button.”
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The morning rush was building outside the curtain, ambulances pulling up, the overhead paging doctors, Trinity Santos’s voice already barking orders somewhere nearby, but inside your space it was just the two of you. Baran adjusted your blanket, checked your vitals herself, and stayed close while the meds started dripping in.
Around 7:40 Princess came by talking with Baran about the situation upstairs and trying to get you a bed, but this is the PTMC and with the conversation you heard earlier a bed could take hours or even days if you’re unlucky.
“Still no beds,” she said quietly, reading the look on your face. “But I’m already on it. You’re not spending the whole day down here if I can help it.”
You smiled tiredly, squeezing her hand. “I get to watch you work for a while. That’s not the worst thing.”
Baran’s lips curved, tired but fond. She stole a quick, soft kiss making sure to be careful, aware of the open curtain and the growing noise of the department.
“Behave,” she teased gently. “Or at least pretend to while I go sign in and check the board. I’ll be back before 8. Let me or Princess know if the pain gets worse.”
“I will.”
She lingered another moment, forehead resting against yours, then straightened her scrubs and stepped back into attending mode. Before she slipped out, she glanced back at you once more, she was putting on a brave face, but you saw it behind her eyes even if no one else did. She was worried for you, her wife.
Once you were alone you looked down at your left hand, the thick band made of tungsten, Your wedding ring. Those vows felt like forever ago, but Baran had taken to those vows long before they were official.
The Pitt was picking up speed around you, but at least for the first hour you’ve been here, your wife has made sure you felt safe, seen, and loved through it all as she has since your first encounter.
I just wanna say that I really appreciate your works. I love fluff fics and you write those sooo well. I always hoped to see more fluff baran fics coz all I see is smut T__T hopefully you continue writing more fluff fics!!
Aww thank you so much, sweet anon! 😭🩷 I love writing Baran fluff fics and I’m glad you’ve enjoyed them!
I’m definitely planning on writing more, I think I’m just on a bit of a semi-hiatus right now while my creative brain rests, but I’ll get back to it eventually! 💕
Summary : Baran comes to work trying to play off being sick, and there is no way in hell her girlfriend, Dana would let that happen <3
Warnings / tags : non-sexual nudity, mentions of being sick ofc, (implied) brief anxiety attack, established relationship, Dana comforting Baran, pet names (baby, my love, love, honey), FLUFF <33
Notes : Dr. doe eyes getting some very much deserved comfort from probably the best person in the whole ED… yes pls
request here !
Baran comes into work looking like shit. The tip of her nose is a little reddened from relentless rubbing with tissues… along with the general flush of her face. Her skin’s a little clammy, with less of that warm glow that she always emanates shining through. The first person to notice? Dana. Because Dana would notice if her girlfriend so much as sneezed in proximity to her. The alarm bells go off so fast.
Dana pauses the conversation she was having with Emma while she watches Baran walk past the nurse’s station a little too fast, eyes fixed very stubbornly on the floor. Dana’s eyes narrow, watching Baran like she’d just grown a second head. Baran never passes the nurse’s station without trying to catch Dana’s eyes—even just for a fleeting moment and a quick smile. She would never look away so blatantly unless something was up.
About an hour later, Dana spots Baran passing the station with that same fixed stare. Not this time. Dana quickly moves, making her way over to where Baran is passing with slightly furrowed brows and a concerned look. Her voice is low and muttered as Baran passes so that their coworkers don’t overhear.
“Al, baby, is everything—“
“I’m fine, love. Princess was looking for you, you should go find her.
Baran is gone as fast as she came. That makes Dana pause. Uh-uh. Not in her ED. Her girlfriend can’t come to work looking like the walking dead and get away with it that easily.
Baran buries herself in cases for as long as she can stand on her own two feet. Which isn’t very long. She ends up having to step out mid- procedure and let Javadi take over because she’s beginning to feel dizzy. The nausea mixed with the panic that this might be another seizure? Even Baran can’t hide this level of being out of it. She beelines for the staircase leading to the main hospital—a quiet refuge to hide while she catches her breath.
“Alright, enough.” Dana’s voice is the only noise in the staircase other than Baran’s heavy, panicked breathing. She turns quickly. Of course it’s Dana who found her here. No one knows her hiding spots like Dana does.
“I’m fine, Dana, please just—“ Baran is interrupted with a steady, firm tone from Dana.
“Don’t pull that bullshit with me. C’mon, you know I'm not falling for it.” Dana scoffs in slight frustration, slight concern, stepping closer to Baran. Her expression softens in a way it does for very, very few people. She reaches out, one hand gently holding Baran’s jaw, the other resting on her forehead, feeling her temperature. “Tell me what’s wrong, honey.” Dana mutters, even softer this time. More concerned than she has been in months. Baran’s forehead is, unsurprisingly, way too hot for her to be anywhere but in bed.
While Baran tries muttering some excuse about allergies, Dana drops her hand, giving her girlfriend a glare.
“Uh-uh. You’re going home.” Dana says without hesitation when Baran says she’s good to stay.
“What? I can’t leave work.” Baran argues back. Even she knows her voice sounds more scratchy, more weak than usual.
“Yes you can. C'mon, baby. We’re leaving. Get the keys.”
Dana escorts Baran out of the building like she’s sure the attending will slip away and get on some case when she looks away. Every time someone glances at them weird, Dana just gives them that signature look back, daring them to ask why her hand is resting on the small of Dr. Al-Hashimi’s back, guiding her to the door.
As soon as they’re out, Baran actually lets out a breath, looking at Dana with those big brown doe eyes.
“Thank you.” She says softly, finally not fighting against Dana pointing out the haltingly obvious fact that she’s not okay.
Dana rubs her back soothingly, leaning in to press a kiss on her forehead.
“Are you kidding? How could I let my girl stay at work with a fever hotter than a Pittsburgh summer?” Now, Dana’s tone is back to that almost uncharacteristically soft one. This loving, warmth that she exudes? She reserves it for only Baran, really. Especially when she knows that Baran is willing to run herself ragged if it means helping someone else. Not today. Not under Dana’s watch.
Dana drives them back, hand reaching over the console to hold Baran’s the entire time. Baran is… well, sort of barely staying awake. But still holding on tight like she just needs Dana close.
Once they arrive back at Baran’s place, everything is finally just quiet. As soon as the door clicks shut, Baran pulls Dana into a hug, face pressing into her blonde hair, breathing her in. A small, soft smile forms on Dana’s face as she pulls Baran in closer, one hand pressing between her shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of her head, fingers pressed into her dark curls. They just stand there for a long moment, in Baran’s entryway, holding each other tightly.
“Okay. Let’s get you showered and in bed.” Dana mutters as she finally manages to pull away. With a small smile, she leans in and kisses Baran quickly. Baran kisses back almost immediately, melting into her as she takes her hands.
“You shouldn’t do that. I’ll get you sick.” Baran argues when they break apart, although very weakly so.
Dana just scoffs, giving Baran the same look she gives patients who are so very obviously lying to her. Maybe just to spite Baran, she leans in and leaves a quick peck on her lips. “I’ll live.”
When they make it back to Baran’s bedroom, Dana’s already got her fingers under the hem of Baran’s top.
“Arms up, love.” She mutters, coaxing Baran’s arms into the air as she slowly guides her top off.
“I can take off my own clothes, Dana.” Baran mutters with a small, barely-there smile, her voice still scratchy and a little worn out. When her top drops onto the floor beside her, leaving her in just her bra and leggings, she doesn’t try to cover herself at all. She never feels like she has to with Dana.
“I know you can.” Dana says simply, already hooking her fingers into the waistband of the leggings. “But I'm here. And I want to do it for you.”
Dana slowly tugs her leggings down, pulling a soft laugh from Baran. She’s never been used to receiving affection like this. She’s always the one taking care, never the one taken care of. Dana helps her out of her leggings with a glance up at Baran as she presses a single kiss against her thigh. Baran really can’t help but smile, even if she feels like shit.
Dana taking off Baran’s bra and panties is, usually, the start of a night that will inevitably end in them both panting, falling asleep, tangled with each other. Now? It just feels so, so caring. Dana goes slow, mumbling instructions like she does with her patients as she guides the straps of Baran’s bra off, she’s flickering from her chest to her face. Her panties come next, in the same fashion—slow, intimate… but not sexual. Just comforting. Baran lets her do everything slowly, relaxing into the careful care of it all—for once accepting that she kind of needs this. Dana hums when Baran is bare in front of her, eyes fixed on Dana’s, sealing them in this quiet moment.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful.” Dana murmurs, hands gliding over Baran’s sides soothingly. “Even when you’re sick. And annoyingly stubborn.” Dana could never lose her sarcastic, dry edge. Not even when her voice is all low and soft while she stands here with her girlfriend in a perfect moment.
It takes a good while for them to pull away. Dana has to literally guide Baran to the bathroom, both of them laughing softly at Baran’s admitted clinginess while sick. Dana leaves one more kiss on her forehead as she brushes Baran’s curls, leaving her in the bathroom.
“Get cleaned up. I’ll make tea when you come out, kay?”
She says softly as Baran turns on the shower. She glances over her shoulder, smiling softly.
“Thank you, my love.”
Baran comes out of the shower with dripping wet hair, a towel held loosely around her chest, eyes feeling heavier with the relaxation of a warm shower. As she steps into her bedroom, she spots Dana, smoothing out Baran’s favorite silk pajamas, a warm cup of chamomile and honey set on the bedside dresser. Baran immediately lets out a soft breath, looking totally lovestruck. When Dana hears her, she turns around, ready to say something… before Baran hugs her again. Dana laughs softly as she looks down at the wet mess of curls pressed into her neck.
“Alright, alright, you’re gettin’ me all wet—just get in bed, baby”
Baran makes a small noise against Dana’s neck, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin there.
“I’m going.” She murmurs, reluctantly letting go to change into her pajamas and slide into bed. Dana watches with an expression of both slight concern and affection.
Once Baran is in bed, settled, she basically sinks into the sheets, curling up as her eyes close, hair sprawling over the pillow. Dana, for a moment, considers just staying where she stands so as to not get sick. But how foul she stay away from her girlfriend, looking so adorable, so rarely vulnerable in bed like that?
She climbs in silently a minute later, arms wrapping around Baran from behind. She presses her face against Baran’s shoulder, taking a deep breath against her.
“Love you, baby.” She murmurs, earning a soft, unintelligible mumble from Baran… who is already drifting to sleep. Dana scoffs affectionately and kisses Baran’s shoulder. It’s only a few minutes before they’re both asleep, curled up with each other.
I’ve seen a few posts criticizing Baran fanfics, saying she wouldn’t do something or act in a certain way. I just want to remind people that fiction is fiction and that we write for fun, not to necessarily make everything accurate to how it would/should be in real life.
All this policing around fanfics makes it a lot less enjoyable to write. I’m literally just having fun, not trying to get every aspect of her character 100% “correct” all the time. Each fanfic writer will have their own take on her character and that’s totally fine and ok!! I even write her differently between my own fics!
You’re determined to hide how sick you are from Baran. But fate has another plan… one that lands you right in her ER.
wc: 4.8k // tags: sickfic, fem reader, protective baran, illness symptoms, lots of pet names, fluffff
a/n: I can't seem to stop writing sickfics w baran...hope you enjoy!! 🤭💗
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As the automatic doors slide open, a blast of air conditioning hits you head-on, making you shiver violently and tuck deeper into the coat that it’s definitely too warm outside for you to be wearing.
But despite the sunny spring weather outside, you’re absolutely freezing and you are not taking off your fuzzy jacket anytime soon. Walking into the medical building, you grab a mask from the dispenser up front and also sanitize your hands for good measure. You know you probably look like a walking biohazard, what with your red nose, flushed cheeks, and obvious fever chills, and you’d like to do your best to keep anyone else from catching whatever bug from hell you have.
You affix the mask to your face and wearily walk down the tiled hallway, squinting at the signs through your watery eyes. You’ve been to this building of PTMC before, where you see your usual doctor, but it’s your first time going to urgent care.
You steadfastly ignore the bright red “EMERGENCY” sign pointing in the opposite direction. No way you’re going over there today. Your mission is simple: find urgent care, get meds, go home – all without running into Baran.
A small wave of guilt coils in your stomach as you follow the signs to urgent care. You normally love dropping by to see Baran while she’s on shift, you often bring her lunches when she forgets to pack one, or pick up a box of donuts for all the staff to cheer them up. You love to see her smiling at you, the tension easing between her eyebrows as she wraps you in a warm hug.
But not today. You’ve been hiding this cold – well, you’re not sure it’s just a cold at this point – from her for four days now, which is longer than you thought you’d be able to get away with. But she’s been extra busy and stressed from work, pulling some overtime to catch up on charting, and it was easy enough to postpone your nightly video calls until things calmed down a bit.
You planned to just ride the cold out and have her be none the wiser. You have no intention of being yet another source of stress in her life, and you can take care of yourself just fine. The only problem is…your body doesn’t seem to be quite on the same page. You’ve been running a 102 fever for three days straight and your throat is so sore that you’re barely able to drink water. This morning, when the room spun after you stood up and you almost blacked out, you decided maybe it was time to consult a doctor. Not your girlfriend. But urgent care should work.
You shuffle around the corner into the urgent care waiting room, and your heart drops. There’s a handwritten sign taped to the front desk, written in all caps: URGENT CARE CLOSED. GO TO EMERGENCY ROOM FOR CARE.
You stand stock still, staring at the sign and feeling a bit like you want to cry. Right. Closed. You’ll just have to go to a different hospital. Sure, this is the one closest to you and the only place you know your insurance covers, but you can find another urgent care. You’ll just have to drive home, research in-network places, then drive out to another place, wait to see someone, and…
Even just the thought of it all is exhausting. Without really deciding to, you drop into one of the vinyl chairs in the lobby of the deserted urgent care. You just need a minute to rest and then you’ll get it together and go home.
A middle-aged, brown haired woman in scrubs standing behind the front desk looks over at you. She puts her hand on her hips, frowning at you. “You okay, hon?” she calls.
“Fine,” you try to say, but your voice is gravelly and you dissolve into a coughing fit instead.
The woman clucks her tongue but you’re too distracted trying to breathe to pay attention. When the coughing finally eases, you wipe irritated tears out of your eyes to clear your vision, and realize that the nurse is now in front of you, holding out a paper cup of water.
“Here you go, hon, small sips,” she says, giving you a sympathetic look. “That’s some cough you’ve got there.”
You nod silently, not wanting to risk another coughing fit, and pull down your mask to take a few sips of water. The nurse’s frown deepens when she gets a good look at your face.
“Stay right there sweetie, I’ll be right back,” she says, striding away. You’re too exhausted to question where she’s going.
The nurse returns with a blood pressure machine and a thermometer. Before you really can muster up a protest, the cuff is around your arm and the thermometer under your tongue. The nurse frowns at the machine when it finishes, tutting again.
“Ah, yep, thought so,” she says, unwrapping the cuff. “Your pressure’s low and your temp’s way too high. I’ll call over to the ER. They need to see you ASAP.”
“No – I’m fine,” you croak, sitting up a little straighter. You cannot go to the ER, not while your girlfriend is there. “I’ll just go to a different urgent care.”
But the nurse has already returned to her position at the desk and is on the phone with someone. She gives you a stern look and points to the seat, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she wants you to stay put.
You’re not going to impose on Baran like this. You clumsily get to your feet, intending to head back the way you came. But as soon as you stand, your vision starts going spotty. You sway on your feet, blinking rapidly and trying to get your balance. Suddenly everything sounds far away, muffled, and you can’t quite think straight.
Before you realize what’s happening, someone is pushing you down into a wheelchair and telling you to put your head between your knees.
Only halfway conscious, you do just that.
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Baran takes a sip of tea, relishing the floral, jasmine taste. The tea has long since gone cold but it’s the first moment she’s had all day to drink any. The emergency room has been nonstop today, as it often is, and she’s been flitting from one urgent case to another, barely having a moment to breathe.
Dana, a few paces away, hangs up the red telephone and nods to her. “Got a fresh one for ya, doc,” she says. Baran sighs slightly and Dana gives her a sympathetic smirk. “You chose this life, remember?”
“So I did,” Baran says, smiling a little. She nods for Dana to continue. “Details?”
“Just got a call from urgent care, they’re still closed from being short-staffed, so they’re diverting everyone to us.”
“Lovely,” Baran sighs, taking another sip of tea.
“Isn’t it?” Dana grins. “Anyway they’ve got a female, late twenties, febrile, tachy and hypotensive. She almost fainted in the waiting room, one of the nurses is bringing her over.”
Baran nods, a list of tests and diagnoses already taking shape in her mind. “Which room?”
“I’ve got North 8 open,” Dana says, glancing up at the patient board.
“Sounds good. Assign her to Samira and I’ll supervise,” Baran says, putting her cup away in the corner of the desk where she usually leaves it. “I’ll want vitals right away, please.”
“You got it,” Dana says, already striding away to find Samira.
Baran takes a steadying breath and heads over to check on her pediatric patient with a leg laceration.
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The bright lights of the emergency room bring you around. You’ve been in a daze, your eyelids heavy and your thoughts sluggish as you were wheeled down here from urgent care. But now you’re resting in a hospital bed, fluorescent lights beating down on you, and your head is starting to clear.
You haven’t seen Baran yet, which seems like a minor miracle. Maybe you’ll actually be able to get in and out of here without her noticing? It seems like a longshot, but hey, you can hope. One thing’s for sure: she will definitely not be happy to find you here.
A woman with dark hair and kind eyes pulls aside the curtain, coming over to your bedside. You’ve met a lot of the doctors in the ER but she’s one that you haven’t run into before.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Mohan and I’ll be treating you today,” she says, giving you a friendly smile. She glances down at the tablet in her hands. “I heard you gave Martha over at urgent care a bit of a scare.”
You wince. “I didn’t think it was that bad,” you say croakily, coughing a little into the mask you’re still wearing. “Just a sore throat and a fever.”
Dr. Mohan gives you a sympathetic look. “These things can escalate quickly. We’re going to give you some fluids and something to bring down your fever, and also run a panel to see what kind of virus this is, okay? And we’ll do a rapid strep test as well.”
You nod, still feeling like this is all overkill for a bad cold, but knowing that you’d probably risk fainting again if you tried to get up.
“Try to get some rest,” Dr. Mohan continues. “I’ll have my attending come take a look at you, and a nurse will get your IV started.”
Your stomach drops. “I don’t need an attending,” you rush to say, eyes going wide. “I’m fine with just you.”
Dr. Mohan’s lips curve up, her eyes crinkling with slight amusement. “While I appreciate that, I’m a resident and it’s standard procedure to have my attending consult with me on patients. She’s plenty friendly, I promise. I’ll be back soon.”
You start to protest again but Dr. Mohan has already slipped out of the room. You sink back against the pillows, defeated. Something tells you Baran won’t be feeling so friendly when she gets wind of you being here.
Five minutes later, a familiar voice calls out from behind the curtain. “Knock, knock,” Baran says good-naturedly, pushing aside the curtain with her eyes fixed on a tablet. “How are you feeling, Ms…?”
You see the exact moment she reads the name on the chart. Her eyes go comically wide and she immediately snaps her head up, her mouth dropping open with shock.
“Azizam? What –?” The tablet is forgotten somewhere on the bed as Baran rushes to your side. She looks more panicked than you’ve ever seen her, and guilt settles like a stone in your stomach. This is exactly what you’ve been trying to avoid all week, worrying her like this.
“Are you alright?” Baran cups your face, taking your mask off so she can see you properly. “Oh sweetheart,” she says when she sees your face, frowning deeply. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? How long have you been sick? You should have told me.”
“I’m okay,” you try to reassure, but your raw, congested voice isn’t helping your case much. You reach for Baran’s hand, rubbing your thumb over the back of it in the way that soothes her. “Babe. I’m okay. Just breathe.”
“This is not okay,” Baran retorts, but she lets out a long breath and closes her eyes for a second, seeming to gather herself.
“Alright. First things first,” she says, slipping into that familiar doctor tone you know so well. She frowns up at the monitor you’re attached to, then reaches for the discarded tablet. “Your pressure is low, sweetheart. No wonder you fainted.”
“Almost fainted,” you correct with a small grumble.
“So very reassuring,” Baran says dryly. She taps on the tablet, her eyes quickly scanning your chart. “102 degrees for three days, azizam? And you didn’t say anything?”
She looks up at you, hurt clearly shining in her chestnut brown eyes.
A lump rises in your throat that has nothing to do with your cold. “I’m sorry,” you say honestly, reaching for her again. “I was just…” you sigh, which unfortunately triggers a coughing fit.
Baran sits next to you while you work through it, rubbing your back in broad, soothing strokes. “Oh, eshgham,” she murmurs when the coughing dies down, stroking your hair away from your face and kissing your forehead. “Sweet girl. You are so sick. I’m going to take care of you now, alright?”
You blink up at her, scrubbing a few tears off your face. You’re not sure if they’re from the cough, emotions, or both. “You’re not mad?”
Baran sighs, pressing her lips to your temple again. She gets up to fill a plastic cup with water and brings it back to you, resuming her spot at your side.
“I’m very worried, and I want to know why you felt like you couldn’t tell me you weren’t well,” Baran says, stroking your hair while you sip the water. “But no, sweetheart. I’m not mad. I have a feeling you thought you were protecting me.” She raises a knowing eyebrow.
You feel your cheeks heat guiltily. “You’ve just had so much going on this week,” you rasp, taking another sip of water. “I thought maybe it would just pass and you wouldn’t have to deal with me. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”
Baran looks at you for a long moment, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and affection. Then she shakes her head and murmurs something in Farsi that you don’t understand, kissing both your cheeks.
“What?” you ask, looking up at her in confusion.
Baran rubs her thumb over your cheek, giving you a soft look. “I said, you are my life, darling, and you don’t even realize it. I’d do anything for you, azizam. Taking care of you isn’t some burden you need to protect me from. I’m your partner. I want to take care of you,” Baran says earnestly, holding your gaze so you’ll read the honesty in her words.
Your eyes fill with tears again. “...I’m sorry,” you mumble. You really don’t know what else to say. Now that Baran is here, looking at you with nothing but love in her eyes, all your reasons for hiding this from her seem completely ridiculous.
“Dooset daram,” Baran murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love you. No more sorries, joonam. We can talk more later. Right now, let me just focus on taking care of you.”
She flips her hand over and presses the back of it to your forehead, frowning with concentration as she feels your temperature.
Your lips twitch. “Isn’t the thermometer more accurate?”
Baran gives you a quelling look. “The thermometer is helpful medically. My hand is helpful as your girlfriend who wants to know how you really feel.”
You decide not to argue with that logic, since you’ve put her through enough already.
Baran’s hand moves to your wrist next and she looks at her watch, taking your pulse. She counts for a little while, then glances at the monitor. If her nod is any indication, she agrees with the pulse showing on screen. Your heart warms at her thoroughness.
“When did the symptoms start?” Baran asks, looking at you closely. You can tell she’s watching to make sure you don’t hide anything.
“Four days ago,” you answer honestly. “Sore throat first, then congestion, then fever.”
“And the dizziness? When did that start?”
“Started this morning,” you grimace. “When I got up.”
Baran sighs, that concerned look back on her face. “Have you been eating, sweetheart? Drinking enough?”
“It’s been hard with my throat,” you admit.
Baran lets out another long breath, leaning in to give you another kiss. “Alright. You need IV fluids and a strep test. And also a viral panel and some acetaminophen.”
You nod, smiling a little. “That’s what Dr. Mohan said.”
“She’s a good doctor,” Baran says. She runs a hand up and down your arm. “But I’ll be keeping an eye on you. You’re not leaving until my shift is over.”
You make a face. “That’s like five hours from now.”
“Mhm,” Baran hums, giving you a no-nonsense look. “Just enough time for you to get plenty of fluids and rest, and for me to drive you home.”
You start to open your mouth to protest but Baran holds up a hand. “Sweetheart. Don’t argue. You’re not going to win, and you already barely have a voice.”
You snap your mouth shut.
Baran chuckles softly, bringing the blankets up to your shoulders and tucking you in. “Just rest, azizam,” she says warmly. “That’s your only job right now, okay? I need to check in on some other patients, but I’ll make sure they get that IV started right away and I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just ask anyone for me if you need anything, alright?”
You nod, your eyes already starting to feel heavy. Baran stands and watches you for a moment, looking reluctant to leave.
“You can go,” you croak, your eyes already falling shut. “I’m fine, babe.”
“You’re not fine,” Baran murmurs, and you feel her lips press to your forehead. “But I’m here now.”
You hold that comforting thought in your mind as you drift off to sleep.
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You’re woken a short time later by someone pushing back the curtain and entering your room.
“Hi, I’m Perlah,” says a petite woman you vaguely recognize, giving you a friendly smile. “I’ll be your nurse for today. I need to get an IV started on you, okay?”
“Sure,” you croak, coughing a little and sitting up straight. “I’m a tough stick though.”
Perlah grins at you like she appreciates the challenge. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
True to her word, she gets your vein on the first try and inserts the IV. You can feel cool fluid running into your arm, which makes you shiver again. Perlah frowns at you.
“I’ll get you a warm blanket,” she says, giving you a critical once-over. “And check on the orders for the acetaminophen, it’ll help your fever.”
“Thank you,” you reply, sinking down into your pillows. There’s something so relieving about being somewhere where you’re not managing your illness on your own anymore. Everyone in the Pitt is taking such good care of you.
After Perlah leaves, it isn’t long before Baran returns. She checks your IV site first, tilting your arm this way and that until she seems satisfied that it’s been inserted correctly. Then she goes over to the infusion pump and examines the settings, frowning slightly.
“Am I gonna live, doc?” you try to joke, although you cough right afterwards.
Baran turns to look at you, seeming to surface out of her medical musings. “Just checking that everything’s correct,” Baran says mildly, sitting down at your bedside and feeling your forehead again. “Can’t be too careful.”
“Perlah knows what she’s doing.”
Baran gives a vague hum, then strokes some of your hair away from your eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Marginally better?” you offer, shrugging a shoulder.
Baran gives you a dubious look. “I don’t believe you.”
“Well then why did you ask?” you huff, crossing your arms. You’re not actually mad at her, though, she’s always like this when you’re sick. Overprotective and endlessly worried.
“My apologies, azizam,” Baran murmurs and kisses your forehead. She fusses with your blankets, smoothing them out. “I just wish I could get you feeling better already.”
“Being here is helping a lot, actually.”
“Because you shouldn’t be alone when you have a fever this high,” Baran chides gently, her brown eyes soft as she gazes down at you. “You must have been miserable, all alone in your apartment, feeling like this.”
She looks genuinely pained by the thought, so you reach for her hand and squeeze gently. “I’m okay, babe. I survived,” you try to reassure her. “I’ve taken care of myself alone before.”
“Well that stops now,” Baran says, a hint of firmness creeping into her voice. She strokes your cheek, her fingers soft against your skin. “No more hiding things, alright sweetheart? If you don’t feel well – even if it’s something small – you tell me, right away.”
You hesitate, looking up at her. “...Even with all your work stress?”
“Absolutely,” Baran confirms, nodding. “You are my priority. I’m never too tired to take care of you.”
Your stomach does a funny little swoop. You already knew how much Baran cares about you, of course, but it’s another thing to have all that love and attention directed at you, and to see the fierceness in her eyes.
“Dooset daram,” you say. You lift her hand and kiss the back of it.
“I love you too, eshgham. More than anything,” Baran smiles, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to both of your cheeks. She smells like her familiar combination of green tea and rosewater curl cream, and the scent makes you feel instantly comforted.
Perlah enters the room, carrying a small plastic cup with two pills in it and a blanket. “Got your meds,” she says, refilling your water cup and bringing it over to you. “Bottoms up, please.”
Baran watches eagle-eyed as you swallow the pills, then stares at Perlah as the nurse adjusts the settings on the IV pump.
Perlah turns to Baran, chuckling a little. “Geez, you got me feeling like I’m back in nursing school. Think I’ll pass clinicals?”
Baran’s cheeks flush and she drags a hand through her hair. “Sorry, I don’t mean to hover. You’re doing great, Perlah, thank you.”
You give Perlah a knowing look. “Don’t take it personally. She’s overprotective,” you explain with a grin.
“It’s hard not to be when you show up at my ER unannounced, hypotensive and only half-concious,” Baran retorts, her voice dry.
You shrug, cough-laughing. “Fair enough.”
Perlah and Baran step away, and you return to resting. A little while later, Trinity Santos pops around the curtain. She’s carrying a cafeteria tray with several items on it.
“Hey, I heard our favorite goddess of the donuts was here and not feeling too hot,” Trinity says, walking into the room. She pulls up the table next to your bed and sets the tray on it. “Mohan says you need to eat, so I got you the good stuff. No tuna salad, and the chicken noodle soup, not the minestrone. I don’t know what’s in that minestrone but I can tell you it isn’t good.”
“Thanks, Trin,” you smile, feeling touched. Even though Trinity would never outright admit she cares about you, gestures like this lets you know that she really does.
Trinity shrugs, eyeing you. “Don’t mention it. Just get better, ‘kay? You’re still super pale.”
“I’ve been told my blood pressure is low,” you say. You start to sort through the food, trying to figure out what will hurt least on your still-painful throat.
“It is,” Trinity confirms, glancing up at the monitor. “You’re a little tachy too. You need rest and fluids.”
You hold up your arm with the IV in it. “Working on it.”
“Good,” Trinity nods. She watches you for a moment, then adds, “Need anything?” Her tone is nonchalant but you know it’s a big deal for her to ask.
“I’m fine,” you smile, and gesture at the food. “This is great. Thanks again.”
Trinity heads out of the room, checking on you one last time before leaving. You stare at the food on the tray warily. You haven’t had anything to eat for what must be almost a day now. Everything hurts too much to swallow, even broth, so you just gave up on trying.
You tentatively pick up a container of red jello and a spoon. It tastes good in your mouth, but the second you swallow, you immediately regret it. It feels like you’re swallowing knives, not soft goo. You cough afterwards and massage your throat, pushing the tray away. Yeah, food is definitely still a no.
You end up dozing off. Your headache is improving, but you’re still exhausted, so it’s not hard to fall asleep.
When you wake, Baran is at your side again. She’s holding your hand, looking down at you with a mixture of love and concern.
“Hi, sleepyhead,” she smiles when you blink your eyes open. She cups your cheek fondly. “You got a good nap in.”
You rub your eyes and sit up a little, glancing at the wall clock. “How long was I out?”
“About an hour,” Baran says, tucking hair behind your ear. “That’s good, you need the rest, azizam.”
You nod, then cough and take a sip of water. Baran looks at the tray of food pointedly. “Sweetheart. You haven’t eaten anything,” she says carefully, raising her eyebrows.
You make a face, touching your throat. “It hurts to eat.”
She frowns, concern flashing in her dark eyes. “Even the jello?”
You nod unhappily.
Baran sighs, but she sounds more worried than exasperated. She smooths your hair again. “Eshgham, if you have a sore throat so bad that you can’t eat, that is a big deal. That means you tell me or you go to the doctor right away, not in a day or two. Yes?”
“Got it,” you croak, wincing slightly.
“Alright.” Baran kisses the top of your head and stands. “I’m going to do your strep test and I’ll prescribe you something for your throat. Be right back, sweetheart.”
The strep test is deeply unpleasant but Baran is quick about it, thankfully. After she swabs your throat, she hands you a cup filled with clear syrup and a small pink basin.
“Swish this around in your mouth and gargle,” she instructs, taking off her gloves. “It’ll numb your throat to help with the pain. Hopefully we’ll be able to get some food in you afterward.”
You look at the cup warily. “Or I could just…not eat?”
Baran gives you a firm look. “Azizam.”
“Fine,” you sigh, taking the medicine and the basin. The syrup tastes awful and has a strange numbing effect, but you have to admit that your throat immediately feels better as soon as you spit it out.
“Better?” Baran asks, taking the cup and basin from you and setting them aside.
“Much,” you admit.
“Good,” Baran says, then peers at the rapid test on the counter. “Well, you definitely have strep, sweetheart,” she sighs. “It’s already positive. No wonder you’ve been in so much pain, poor thing.”
It’s just then that Dr. Mohan enters the room again. “Strep was positive?” she asks, coming over to Baran’s side.
Baran nods, showing her the test.
“Well you also tested positive for influenza A,” Dr. Mohan says, turning and giving you a sympathetic look. “I was just coming in to tell you the results. That’s a miserable combination.”
Baran looks up sharply at the news. “She’ll need to start oseltamivir phosphate,” she tells Dr. Mohan, who nods in agreement.
“Already put in the order. The pharmacy should have it ready soon.”
“Thank you, Samira,” Baran says, her shoulders dropping an inch with relief.
Samira puts a friendly hand on her shoulder. “Of course, Dr. Al. I told you I’d take good care of her. Let me go put in an order for amoxicillin as well.” She ducks out of the room.
Baran gives her a grateful smile and returns to your bedside. “Azizam, we’re going to start you on Tamiflu and an antibiotic,” she explains, holding your hand. “Hopefully both will have you feeling better in a few days.”
“A few days?” you groan, slumping a little. “I was hoping this would be a quick fix.”
“I know, sweetheart,” Baran hums. She gives you a small, sad smile. “If I could fix it right away, I would, I promise.”
“I know you would,” you say with a sigh and a cough, squeezing her hand. “Sorry I got so sick.”
“Shh, no.” Baran shakes her head. “You don’t apologize for being unwell, not with me. The only thing you need to do is let me take care of you.”
Your chest fills with warmth. You look up at her, your eyes going a little watery. “You really are the best, you know that?”
Baran grins and kisses your cheek. “Glad you think so, eshgham.”
You know you’re in for a few more days of misery. But as long as you have Baran taking care of you, you’ll definitely be just fine.
(fluff and more fluff! fem reader. thx for the ask!)
❤️🩹 Baran always knows you’re getting sick before you realize it yourself. All it takes is for you to clear your throat a few more times than usual, or for you to ask to borrow her jacket on an otherwise warm night and she’s frowning at you, cupping your jaw and asking, “Azizam, are you feeling alright? Does your throat hurt?” with a worried look.
❤️🩹 The first time you caught a cold since being with her, you thought that she’d probably not pay that much attention. After all, she deals with literal life and death situations every time she’s at work, and she sometimes complains to you about having to spend her time treating minor complaints in the ER that really should be handled by a primary care provider.
❤️🩹 But you were dead wrong. The moment you say “I think I might be coming down with something…” she is in full doctor mode. She wants to know all of your symptoms, how long you’ve had them, what medicine did you take — no detail is too small. You’re honestly shocked by how much attention she pays to your minor cold, but it also makes you feel very loved.
❤️🩹 That being said, Baran takes your health very seriously and you will not be getting away with not resting. Even if it’s just the sniffles, Baran wants you in bed with a big mug of honeyed tea and she’s keeping an eye on you. To someone else it might come off as overprotective (which she is, a bit) but you know it’s just that this is how she shows her love for you and she loves being able to take care of you.
❤️🩹 Baran is great at collaborating with other doctors at work. But when it comes to you? She only trusts her own opinion. If you’re sick enough to need a doctor or ER visit, she is sticking by your side the whole time, piping up (often) when she disagrees with the treatment plan or when she thinks you’re being dismissed. She questions your doctor often and without a hint of shame. Her girl is getting the gold star treatment and nothing less, thank you very much.
❤️🩹 She’s a big believer in the healing power of tea and soup. She’ll give you all the medication you need of course, but she insists that the real healing comes from good food and rest. She makes you different Persian comfort foods, the things her mom would make for her when she was sick, and you love them all.
❤️🩹 Baran takes comfort in objective data. She’s always been a data-oriented person, and that also applies to you being sick. Your temperature is getting tracked. Your fluid intake observed. If you have a cough, she’s definitely going to be taking out her stethoscope and listening to your lungs. Logically, she knows you’ll be fine, it’s nothing major, but she likes to have all the facts anyway. It helps calm that slight anxiety she gets whenever she sees her favorite person in the world unwell.
❤️🩹 Baran rarely gets sick herself. She’s careful about germs at work but when you’re sick she doesn’t care, she’ll still kiss you and cuddle you even when you try to stay away. You always insist she’s going to get sick too and yet somehow (somewhat annoyingly) she never does.
(When Baran finally does get sick, though? That’s a whole other post😉)
Summary : Baran finds her girlfriend sick at work. How could she not take the day off to help?
Warnings / Tags : fluff <3, brief mentions of throwing up (food poisioning), terms of endearment (my love), js a whole lot of Baran taking care of reader :)
Notes : anything soft with Baran??? give me 20k words and a paperback copy on my desk in an hour pls
When you came into work today with a tired look and steps that seemed just the slightest bit unbalanced, Baran Al-Hashimi was the first to notice. She always did. Especially when it comes to you. She never let your relationship affect her work or how she treated you… but today was different.
In a trauma case with her, she noticed your hand almost shaking as you made an incision. Her steady brown eyes flickered from your hand, back up to the bags under your eyes and the ever-so-slightly-present downturn of your lips. Without thinking she crossed the examination table to you, coming up close behind you until you could feel the warmth of her body—even through the scrubs—right there.
“I’ve got you.”
Is all she said. Her voice was just a low murmur in your ear—quiet, steady, only for you to hear. When she saw your shoulders relax just the slightest bit with a shaky sigh, a soft smile formed on her face. She watched as you finished the incision. Her hand came up to brush against your waist. Just subtly enough that no one would notice.
“Perfect.”
That same murmured tone was audible from where her lips lingered just beside your ear. She gave your waist a small squeeze, as if to remind you that she’s here, before pulling away and resuming the case like any other. She figured everything would be fine.
It was. Until something shifted. The case went well, but, suddenly, as everyone was moving to check on their patients, Baran caught you beelining for the bathroom. There was some instinct telling her that something was wrong. And she could never have the will to ignore that.
The bathroom door opened slowly. Baran hesitated like she was preparing to see a particularly gruesome case. Then she heard what was coming from the large stall at the end. Someone throwing up. You.
She was there within a second, steps quick and determined. When she spotted you, knelt over the toilet with your head dangling like it was hard to keep it upright, something in her heart clenched.
She darted to be by your side. One warm hand landed on your back, the other already guiding your cheek in that familiar way to have you look at her.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick? Is this food poisoning?”
Baran is in full doctor mode as she caresses the side of your face with a gentle, careful hand. The only difference is the softness in both her tone and her expression. She sounds more worried than she does with even the hardest cases. Her brows are just barely furrowed. It’s enough of a tell for her.
When you grumble “food poisoning” while leaning into her hand, she legs out a breath, as if she’s careful it isn’t something worse. She was already making up nightmare diagnoses in her head.
“I’m taking you home.”
She mutters after a stretch of silence, considering what favors she could cash in to get you both covered. Baran’s grip shifts on you so the hand on your back rests on the curve of your waist, already guiding you up to stand.
“I have work to do, I can’t just—“
Baran cuts off your protest by pulling you just slightly closer into her arms, almost pressing your forehead against hers.
“You’re going home, my love. End of story. Go pack your things.”
She brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead and leaves a gentle kiss there. She can feel that you’re clammy. And she doesn’t care less. All she cares about is getting her girl home and in bed and feeling okay. Everything else has just faded away.
The drive back to your small Pittsburgh apartment is quiet. The entire time, Baran’s hand rests on your thigh, thumb rubbing gently as if she’s reassuring you that you’ll be alright. Even though you seem at least 75% less stressed about this than she is. She can’t help but worry when you come into question.
As her car pulls up outside your apartment, you both unbuckle and Baran is almost immediately by your side. She places her hands on your sides to steady you, as if you’ll fall just walking up to your place. She murmurs a barely-there:
“To khob mishi.”
Even though she knows you don’t fully understand Farsi from the few Persian words you’ve picked up from her. It seems as if she’s reassuring herself more than you.
When the door of your apartment clicks shut, Baran’s hands are back on you. She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek like she’s afraid anything more would break you.
“Go lay down.”
She motions down the hall to your bedroom. Her tone is laced with a slightly, affectionate command.
“I’ll be right there, okay?”
Her voice is just barely a whisper as she lets go of you to let you walk to your room. She doesn’t even want to be apart from you for a moment, but she’s in doctor mode.
You hear faint noises from your kitchen as you lay in bed, curling up to try and stave off the lingering pain in your stomach. Water running, dishes clattering as they’re moved, and Baran’s faint mutters as she goes through her mental checklist of everything she can do to make you feel better. She loves nothing more than taking care of you and now, with this opportunity, she’s ready to pull out all the stops.
The bedroom door creaks open a few minutes later. You glance up to see Baran there with both arms full. She takes slow steps as she crosses into the room and kneels by your bedside. You begin sitting up to face her, to say something to thank her, and are met with a hand on your shoulder, guiding you back to lying down.
“Shh, my love. Just let me take care of you.”
She actually whispers, as if anything more than that would break this moment of calm—a rare one in the lives of two ED doctors.
“I brought you a cold compress to help with the fever. And ginger tea for when your stomach has settled. And a bin—just in case.”
She begins, setting each item down precisely, as if she had already thought out exactly where everything was meant to be. As she leans in to press the cold compress to your forehead, her expression softens. She sees the soft smile on your face when the cold sensation hits your skin. She feels as if she could melt.
“Tell me what you need and you’ll have it. Anything.”
Baran says ever so softly, the hand that was holding the compress trailing down to your cheek, caressing you like she can’t help herself.
“I don’t need anything.”
When you say it, Baran almost lets out a scoff. Like she can just tell that you’re only saying that so she doesn’t feel obligated to look after you like this. The look on her face actually makes you crack a small laugh, despite everything.
“Just… lay with me. Please.”
You answer almost reluctantly. Seeming needy was always something that you’d assume would push a doctor who has to deal with that every day at work away. With Baran? That kind of request is what shows up in her dreams with you. She smiles and presses another kiss to your cheek.
She doesn’t say anything as she lets go of you to climb into bed behind you. She slides under the covers and wraps her arms around you like it’s exactly where she’s meant to be, like her body is meant to mold this perfectly against yours. Her face nuzzles into your shoulder, breathing in your scent like she needed this even more than you did.
You both end up closing your eyes as you lay like that. You can’t help drifting off when Baran is nuzzled against you, lips leaving barely-there kisses along your neck while she murmurs:
“my beautiful girl.”
and a varied assortment of her many terms of endearment for you.
You fall asleep with her breath fanning gently along your skin, her arms pulling you close. She really can just make anything better.
literally what would we do without gif makers thank you gif makers THANK YOU GIFMAKERS i love nothing more than to watch a tiny moment of a scene loop over and over and over the world is so beautiful
summary: a quiet evening at baran's house, and some unexpected comfort...
part 3 of ? | wc: 1.6k | tags: fluff, sugar baby au, protective baran, femme reader, no y/n, anxiety attack, hurt/comfort
part 1 ⊹ part 2
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Baran’s home is absolutely gorgeous, as you expected it to be. She lives in the penthouse of a high-rise apartment building, and huge windows give a stunning view of the city below. The floors are polished hardwood, not a speck of dirt on them, and the furniture is a mix of tasteful and cozy, making the place feel lived-in and warm.
Baran gently guides you toward a plush, cream-colored couch with her hand on the small of your back. The touch makes your pulse race, but you try to pretend to be unaffected. She’s carrying your backpack for you, and sets it down next to the couch once you’re settled.
That’s when you notice what’s on the glass coffee table in front of you. There’s a small reading lamp, several small bowls filled with snacks like pretzels and goldfish, a few different types of canned drinks sitting on coasters, and also a vase filled with a gorgeous bouquet of assorted flowers.
You turn to look at Baran, a question in your eyes. She smiles.
“Yes, that’s all for you, sweetheart,” Baran says, coming over and fluffing the flowers a little. “I thought I’d go ahead and put the flowers in water for you, but you can take them home. And let me know if you need anything else. I’d like this to be a comfortable place for you to study.”
You swallow hard against a sudden lump that rises in your throat. It’s really nothing to get emotional over, just some snacks and a nice place for you to study, but it still feels like a big deal to you. The fact that Baran thought ahead about what you might need and did her best to make sure you would be comfortable, makes something in your chest feel soft.
“Thank you,” you say quietly, and she smiles at you again, warmth in her eyes.
“Of course. Like I said, please do let me know if there’s anything you need. Now, I’ll start on dinner and feel free to make yourself at home,” Baran says, heading back to the kitchen.
You nod and pull your laptop and some books out of your backpack, settling in to start working on a paper.
The apartment gradually starts filling with the enticing aroma of fresh herbs and spices as Baran cooks. You occasionally look up from your laptop to watch her move around the kitchen, dicing things, frying meat in a pan. She looks so natural and comfortable, and the moment feels oddly domestic, as if the two of you have done this before. As if this is a place you’re meant to be.
It’s temporary, you remind yourself. You shouldn’t get attached or too comfortable, it’ll just end up with heartbreak, and that’s the last thing you need. Baran is just a kind woman helping you out, nothing more than that.
The two of you eat around a small circular dining table. Baran fills your plate with fluffy basmati rice, layered with a generous spoonful of some kind of stew on top, with a yogurt dip and fresh vegetables on the side.
You take a bite and immediately groan with pleasure. “Oh my god, this is amazing,” you say, savoring the taste in your mouth. “What is it?”
“It’s called ghormeh sabzi,” Baran explains, her lips curved in a pleased grin as she watches you devour the food. “It’s a traditional Persian stew. I’m glad you like it.”
“You can cook like this, you’re gorgeous, and you’re still single? The world makes no sense,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. Then your brain catches up to your mouth and you blush, realizing what you just said.
But thankfully, Baran just chuckles softly. “Thank you, azizam.”
“Azizam?” you repeat, curious.
“It’s a term of endearment,” Baran explains, giving you a fond look. “Eat your stew.”
After dinner, Baran insists on handling the clean-up by herself while you return to your laptop. You feel pleasantly full and warm from the hearty dinner, but there’s a growing tightness in your chest as you plug through your work.
You just have so much work to do, and you don’t know how you’re going to get everything finished in time. There’s the paper due by Friday evening that you only have a rough outline for, and another due on Monday, not to mention the research you’re behind on for your thesis project.
Your head spins as you think about it all, and soon you’re frozen, your hands hovering uselessly over your keyboard as you feel paralyzed with indecision. Your breath is short and your thoughts are racing, an impossible swirl of deadlines and grades and student loans and –
“Hey, sweetheart.” Suddenly, Baran is at your side, her hand on your back. You’re still frozen, your throat constricted and your heart hammering, feeling a bit like you’re drowning at sea.
“Okay, azizam, it’s okay,” Baran says, her voice nothing but calm and steady. She starts rubbing slow, soothing circles between your shoulder blades, and with her free hand, she tips your face to meet hers.
“Look at me, hm?” she coaxes gently, waiting until your eyes land on hers before continuing. “You’re okay, honey. Take a deep breath with me, ready?”
She takes a deep breath in and you follow, albeit shakily. She beams afterwards as if you’ve done something amazing, not simply breathing – which, theoretically, you already know how to do.
“Afarin, azizam, good job,” Baran murmurs, still rubbing your back. “Let’s do another.”
You follow her lead and take in another shuddering breath. Your mind is starting to clear and your thoughts are slowing from their rabbit-like pace. But as the anxiety calms, another heavy, painful feeling takes its place.
You’re mortified.
Tears start to gather in your eyes and your face burns hot. You never break down like this in front of anyone. Sure, you’ve had anxiety attacks before, but you always dealt with it alone in your room, only coming out to be around other people when you were sure you were in control again. You can’t believe Baran is seeing you like this.
You duck your head, pulling your knees to your chest and looking away. “I – I’m sorry,” you say, your voice wobbling with unshed tears. You scrub hastily at your eyes, trying to get the feeling to go away. The last thing you need is to be a sobbing mess on top of what just happened. Baran probably wants nothing to do with you right now.
But Baran doesn’t move away from you. Instead, she cups your cheek, her hand soft and warm. Tenderly, she coaxes you to look at her. You’re hesitant to meet her eyes, sure you’ll see pity or annoyance there. But when you do finally look into the deep brown of her eyes, you find nothing there but gentle concern.
“Sweetheart,” Baran says softly, and there’s so much care infused into that one word that it makes a tear slip down your cheek. She thumbs it away gently, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. “What’s wrong?”
You shake your head, too choked up to speak, pulling up the cuffs of your sleeves to wipe harshly at your damp cheeks. Baran gets up and you think maybe she’s just going to leave you be, maybe she’s had enough of your dramatics, but no – she returns with a tissue box. Her touch is endlessly gentle as she tugs your hands away from your face and hands you a tissue instead.
Baran sits close to you again, that warm hand back on your back, and she studies you with quiet concern. You look away, cleaning up your face.
“I’m going to say something,” Baran murmurs, resuming slow circles on your back. “Because I think it might be what you need to hear right now, and I’d like to say it.”
You swallow down more tears, not quite sure you’re ready to hear whatever she wants to say.
But Baran continues anyway. “I think you’re feeling overwhelmed, and I also think you’re feeling ashamed of letting me see you like this,” she says, gently wiping another tear off your cheek. She smiles at you, soft and a little sad. “But hear me when I say: you don’t need to be. This is okay. You’re stressed, it’s been a hard week, and that’s all coming out right now, and none of that bothers me, alright? I can handle a few tears, sweetheart. I’m glad that if you’re feeling like this, that I can be here to help. You have nothing to worry about, understand?”
You let out a shaky breath, finally looking up at her. You can hear the compassion and honesty in her voice, and it floors you. It’s as if she can see straight past all the walls you try so hard to curate, all the ways you try to be strong and self-sufficient. No one’s ever seen you like this, and it’s terrifying and comforting in the same measure.
“You should mind,” you say eventually, shaking your head at yourself. “You barely know me, and now I’m a mess in the middle of your living room.”
“I decide what I mind, azizam,” Baran says, her voice soft but with a hint of firmness. “And I want you here. So that’s that, okay?”
You look at her for a moment, then slowly nod. If the fierce conviction in her eyes is any indication, there’s no use arguing with her on this subject.
“Good,” Baran smiles, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and holding you close. “Now, just stay here and catch your breath for a moment, and then we’ll work out a plan to tackle these deadlines.”
Too exhausted to resist, you lean against her, letting her take your weight. You’re not sure that you deserve Baran’s kindness. But for some reason, you have it anyway.
everything you said is soso perfect!! i’m spiralling
like YES she would totally use persian pet names just to see you blush or get flustered cause it just sounds so good coming out of her mouth with that little accent she has and reader using it back or saying one she doesn’t really use or never did & surprising her…& she’s just flustered blushing and stumbling over her words
she’d definitely use eshgham (my love) or jan/joonam (my life/soul) as casual ones!!!! her using azizam and/or aziz e delam (dear/my dear used like babe or sweetheart!) instead of readers name OOORRR saying readers name then adding jan AAAHHHHH & i know she’s the type to say ghorbounet beghardam (which means id die for you its used for when you see something/one being or is just so cute and adorable) im going crazy i NEED her to talk in persian to a patient or SOMEONE in the upcoming episodes 😵💫😵💫
i’m sorry for the little rant 😓😓 i’m SO happy to see iranian rep on mainstream
i actually really really adore this and don't have a lot to add ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
buttt + i'm weak for baran using persian to butter you up whenever you're frustrated with her. she lets you cool off for a bit, before trying to drag you into her embrace, kissing over the bare skin of your arm, as you do your best to look away. if you'd look into her eyes, you'd give in. her calling you aziz- e delam all muffled,, looking up to you. it's so mean!!! since it's exactlllyy what tugs on your heart strings.
