౨ৎ hi, lovelies!! my name is cami, welcome to my blog!! ⋆˙⟡
"In a room the size of loneliness, my heart's the size of love. It contemplates its simple pretexts for happiness: the beauty of the flowers' wilting in a vase, the sapling you planted in our garden, and the canaries' song—the size of a window." -- Forugh Farrokhzad
⤷ all works are sapphic/wlw • i usually write for fem!reader but if you include a preference in your ask, i’ll adjust! • i don’t write smut and that's a real good thing bc it would be terribly written if i did • ADDRESSING AI • reblogs/requests are always appreciated!! ゛ ˎˊ˗
𓏲ּ𝄢 fluff ⛰︎slow burn ➴angst ☀︎series ❀ family fic
THE PITT:
baran al-hashimi ⋆ ౨ৎ˚⟡˖
⛰︎➴☀︎ the wound (is the place where the light enters you)baran al-hashimi accepts a new attending position at pittsburgh trauma medical center, hoping for a fresh start after years of hard choices and an uneasy divorce. she does not expect. to run into the woman she once loved with a depth that shaped her early adulthood.
𓏲ּ𝄢☀︎ let my love keep you safe now | part one | part two| part three | part four | part five (coming eventually!)
you have been dating your girlfriend, baran, for about 6 months when she asks you to come with her to celebrate nowruz and meet her family. suffice to say, you’re scared shitless. med!school au
𓏲ּ𝄢❀ sick days kaveh's school calls the hospital: your five-year-old son is a little sick. you and baran compete for who gets to leave work early to pick him up.
𓏲ּ𝄢❀ time and attention (love without measure) this time, baran is sick. you step up to the plate to take care of your wife.
𓏲𝄢 first, do no harm everyone at PTMC knows chief emergency attending baran al-hashimi does not play about strict adherence to medical procedure. but when her wife is injured in a car accident, she has to decide whether she's willing to compromise on the rules.
➴ you come around, i'm ruined this is the part of loving a doctor nobody warns you about: the missed dinners, the late nights, the absence. you miss your wife even when she's around you. you miss her more when she's not.
𓏲ּ𝄢 persuadeable age gap (r is late 20s, baran is 40) - you and baran have been hooking up for a few months, never really going beyond that. one satruday you run into her at your favorite museum, and she has a guest...
𓏲ּ𝄢❀ armed and dangerous is it really any surprise that baran goes all out for her son's bring-your-parent arts and crafts day?
➴ nothingman part 1 | part 2 you had baran had agreed to not start officially dating until she is no longer your boss at PTMC. but when she accepts a permanent position there, the plan falls apart, and so does your relationship.
➴ both arms cradle you now you come out to your conservative religious parents as gay, and your girlfriend baran is there to witness the fallout.
➴❀ my angel two years after kaveh, you and baran decide to try again for a child, but it ends before it really begins.
𓏲ּ𝄢❀ you can't always get what you want (but sometimes...) baran thought it would be a fun, 'cool' mom moment to take kaveh to the park late at night because a special pokemon got released. when it starts monsooning, there's really only person she can think to call
𓏲ּ𝄢❀ the doc is in! on a lazy weekend morning, your 5 year old son decides he wants to roleyplay you and your wife's job... kinda
cassie mckay ౨ৎ˚⟡˖
𓏲ּ𝄢 stop the world for a minute your period is an extra bitch this time around, so it's a damn good thing you have an angel of a girlfriend who’s more than willing to dote on you
𓏲ּ𝄢 the worst possible way to get her number working in PTMC, you have occasionally seen a bright-smiled, kind-eyed, very hot woman in the hallways, but the only thing you know about her is that her id has the "doctor" tag. you haven't had the chance to meet her properly until today. sucks that it's a meet cute from your deepest nightmares.
𓏲ּ𝄢i'll rewrite this whole life (and this time, there'll be so much love) cassie mckay reconnects with you, her estranged friend from high school, through a two-decades long misunderstanding that leads to something more
MARVEL:
natasha romanoff ⋆ ౨ৎ˚⟡
➴𓏲ּ𝄢 clumsy you are an absolute klutz, but natasha is there for you nontheless.
yet another banger guys. “i’ve got a crick from my overthinking” YEAH she does!!!! baran stretching herself thin in every part of her life and then wondering why she feels so exhausted 😔😔🤙🤙
Cami i had an 8 hour flight yesterday (hell) and my first thought was to download the full pdf of the wound and it DID NOT disappoint!! My 4th reread btw
HELP i am so touched that you chose my fic (and that you’ve read it 4 times through??? my god???) but also what a canon event. i once downloaded a 200k blackhill marvel fic coming back from france and a time was had so i see you
while playing with her son, baran sprains her ankle. in taking care of the aftermath, you get to be doctor for a change and take care of the worst patient in pittsburgh: your wife. baran’s son/r’s stepson referred to as kaveh.
happy birthday to @sepidehswife ,, i hope it’s been an amazing one <3
Kaveh has been into soccer for weeks on end.
You’re not sure when it started. One day he was obsessed with dinosaurs, running around in that green t-Rex hoodie of his with the scales on the back while he played with his action figures, and the next he was carrying around an old ball he found in the garage and proclaiming to anyone within range that he was going to become a world-famous sports star someday. It’s a new phase, one that you can see lasting, and so far you’ve done well at encouraging it.
Maybe a little too well.
“Please,” he cries, stomping his feet on the ground. “Just five minutes!”
Baran sighs, looking down at the ball in her son’s hands. “I played with you this morning, azizam.”
“But that was this morning! It’s almost time for dinner now!”
She glances at you, trying for an out that you won’t give her. You think it’s sweet when she plays with him, especially soccer since she’s so dramatically terrible at it, and you enjoy evenings like these where you can sit out on the back patio and glance up from your book every so often to watch them kick the ball around.
Plus, you played with him yesterday. You’ve done your time.
“Okay,” she relents, finally standing up. “But only for five minutes. I have an early shift tomorrow, I can't have sore legs.”
Kaveh squeals in excitement, shoving the ball into her hands before running into the yard.
“You’re a lot of help,” Baran says quietly, looking down at where you still sit. “Seriously, do you know how sore my legs get after playing soccer with him? It’s worse than after pilates.”
“Maybe if you didn’t put so much into it every time you went out—”
“And what, walk around barely kicking the ball like a loser? Let him win like you do? No, that’s not how it’s going to work.”
You raise a brow. “Then you’d better get out there.”
“We need to get him some friends his own age.”
You wave her away with a smile. “Go on, go play. It’ll be good for you.”
Baran disagrees, but she goes out into the yard anyway and sets the ball down. She gives it a kick that sends it across the yard to her son, and she starts reminding him of the rules: past the tree near the back of the yard is his goal, the space by the bushes near the patio is her goal, and both of them have to try their best not to hit you with the ball.
You listen to them play while you read. You hear Kaveh’s laughter, Baran’s accusations that he never plays by the rules, and the occasional cheers when one of them actually manages to score a goal. The sounds accent your reading, and occasionally you look up to catch a few moments of their game before you focus on your book again.
What you don’t notice as you hit an admittedly excellent part of your book is the sound of Baran falling, the dull, heavy thud as she hits the ground. The yard is damp from rain, the ground not as dry as she originally thought, and turning too sharply to avoid Kaveh ended up sending her down.
What you do hear: Kaveh’s laughter, his subsequent gasp when he realizes she’s actually not okay, and the furious stream of curses Baran cries out in Farsi that she never says around her son.
You’re on your feet in an instant. Your book is abandoned on the patio chair where you sat and you’re jogging out into the yard, crouching down next to her where she sits with a knee to her chest and hands on her ankle. She has already taken off her shoe and sock.
“What happened?” you ask worriedly, pushing her hands away so you can look at her ankle — it’s already beginning to swell.
“What happened,” she says breathlessly, “is that I just learned to question the logistics of how Messi is a year younger than me and still playing this fucking game.”
“Okay, but can I have a real answer now?”
“Māmān fell!” Kaveh answers for you. “She spun like this,” he dramatically imitates her, “and then she went down like wham!”
Under better circumstances, you might have laughed. But looking down at the way Baran’s ankle is swelling makes you feel a little nauseous, and you can’t help but wince when Kaveh hits the ground while imitating her.
“That is what happened,” Baran says to you, voice light like she’s trying to get you to lighten up as well, but you can hear the pain in her voice despite how she tries to hide it. “He got the spin down and everything.”
You ignore her and try to think of questions Baran would ask if it were you on the ground in place of her. You aren’t a doctor, not even close, but you’d say that being married to one has taught you some of the basics.
“Can you bend it?” you ask. “Is the pain sharp or dull? Did you hear a snap?”
Baran meets your eyes briefly. She looks proud of your instincts, and she’s about to comment on them when Kaveh throws himself at her in a hug and a fresh wave of pain shoots through her ankle at the impact.
“Are you gonna be okay?!” he exclaims, throwing his arms around her neck and clinging to her — he’s six years old and a sprained ankle is like the end of the world.
“I’m going to be fine,” she tells him, running a hand up and down his back soothingly. “I’ve gone through much worse. This will heal in a week, honey.”
He pulls back with tears in his eyes. “It’ll last a whole week?!”
“A week isn’t that long,” she says gently, wincing when you brush away some of the grass that stuck to her skin when she fell. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”
“Baran,” you say, keeping your voice level. You try to take on the clinical tone she takes with you when you have an injury, but it doesn’t quite sound the same. You have taken on, not unfittingly, the role of worried spouse. “What do you need me to do? I can drive you to the hospital—”
“No,” she shakes her head. “Absolutely not. It’s just a sprain.”
“Can you walk?”
She hesitates. She looks down at her ankle and frowns at the sight, feeling her chest begin to tighten with worry — she would have no reaction to a patient at work with an injury like this, but it’s different when it’s herself.
“I can’t stay in the yard all night,” she says eventually. “Get Kaveh inside before we try, though.”
Kaveh doesn’t like the sound of that. His voice is thick and teary. “But I wanna stay with you!”
“Kaveh,” you try, “I have a job for you. A really important job that will help out a ton.”
He considers this, wiping away his tears. “What is it?”
“Well, your Māmān needs to be comfortable, doesn’t she? How about you go pick out one of your bears for her to have on the couch with her while she rests?”
His expression lights up and he nods like that is indeed a mission of great importance, and then he starts off toward the house. “I’m on it!”
Baran waits until he’s out of earshot. “That was a good idea.”
“Thank you. And now that he’s gone, are you still sure it’s a minor injury?”
She runs a hand over it, assessing different angles and parts of her foot. She winces a couple of times, you tally the exact number, and she tests the mobility of her foot before coming to a conclusion.
“Just a sprain,” she says. She brings a hand up to your chin, guiding your gaze away from her ankle and to her eyes.
“Are you completely sure?”
As sure as I can be without an x-ray, she thinks. But she has already decided that on her one day away from the PTMC, she is not going anywhere near it. “Like I told Kaveh, injuries like this heal within a week.”
Maybe two weeks, she thinks, but she knows better than to say that.
“Okay,” you nod, comforted. You place a hand on her shoulder and run it up and down her arm, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her temple. “Should we try to get you inside?”
—
Once you’ve got her on the couch, you elevate her foot and get some ice for it. You get her some ibuprofen and a cup of water, a blanket for her lap, and you’re turning something on TV for her when Kaveh comes into the living room and places a stuffed bear in her lap.
“For you,” he says, smiling up at her. “He’ll keep you company.”
“He’s perfect,” she says. “Thank you so much.”
She makes a show of settling the bear into the space beside her on the couch, and she leans down to kiss her son’s head before gesturing for him to take a seat on the other side of the couch.
“What else do you need?” you ask Baran, making Kaveh scoot over a little so you can squeeze onto the far cushion with him — Baran has taken up two out of three with how she has to rest her foot, but neither you nor her son want to sit anywhere but close to her.
“A pedicure,” she sighs. “Do you see how ugly my foot looks?”
“It’s not so bad,” you lie. You lean over as if giving it a thorough examination, switching from doctor to pedicurist. “I’ll paint your toenails if you want me to, though.”
“Really?”
You nod. “For twenty dollars. I’m not touching that for free.”
“I should kick you,” she says, trying and failing to suppress a smile. “I should kick you hard.”
“Careful, you might hurt yourself.”
—
“What are you doing in here?!”
Baran jumps when she hears your voice from the doorway of the kitchen. She looks over her shoulder at you guiltily, then down at the glass of water in her hands. “I was thirsty.”
“You should have told me,” you say. “You need to keep weight off that foot.”
“I thought I was the doctor of the family,” she jokes, or tries to while standing on one foot at the kitchen sink and trying to keep her balance. “You were in the shower. You take long showers.”
“I was gone for ten minutes.”
Baran’s eyes are trained on her glass of water. She doesn’t have a good response to that, so she doesn’t say anything at all.
You grab a stool from behind the kitchen island and help her ease onto it at the sink. You stand with one hand on her shoulder as if to steady her while she sits, even though she’s fine now that she’s sitting down.
“It’s just a sprain,” she reminds you. “You don’t have to baby me.”
“Do you want me to put the stool back?”
“No,” she says quickly, reaching out and grabbing your arm even though you haven’t moved. Then she realizes the corner she’s backed herself into, and the way you’ve tricked her. “I mean, sure. You should. This isn’t where the stool belongs.”
You raise a hand to trace the line of her jaw with your finger, considering her. You wonder how you’re going to manage getting her to actually care for an injury like this. “How are you feeling? Has the ibuprofen started kicking in?”
“A little. I still feel like shit.”
You lean in and press a kiss to her temple, lingering there for a couple of beats. “I’m sorry.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to surrender to the softness. It feels so nice in contrast with the pain.
“Are you going to be okay going to work tomorrow?”
Baran swallows hard. She opens her eyes, studying the glass of water in her hands.
“Baran,” you try. “It’s okay to stay home.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can’t be on your feet all day running around or you’ll make your ankle worse. You need to let yourself rest.”
Her voice is small. “I’m not used to doing that.”
“I know,” you say. Your hand finds her knee, thumb tracing soothing patterns against her skin. “Will you try, though?”
She looks hesitant. She lays a hand over yours and holds it tight.
“If not for your sake,” you continue, “then for mine? I don’t feel good about you going tomorrow. I’ll spend the whole day worrying and texting and calling. You won’t get anything done because you’ll have another security breach and it’ll be me hacking into the hospital’s cameras.”
“Don’t do that,” she says. A smile ghosts over her lips. “Hacking a hospital’s security system to spy on your wife is a stupid thing to go to prison for.”
“Then don’t make me.”
Baran sighs, but in the end she relents. She nods and sets her water down on the counter and reaches for her phone, dialing Abbot’s number and calling to ask if he’d be able to cover for her.
When she gets off the phone, she looks relieved. Sometimes she doesn’t realize how much she needs rest until her body forces her to.
“You’re clear to stay home?” you ask, making sure.
“I’m all yours. It’s your day off tomorrow, right?”
You nod. “You’re stuck with me.”
“Good.”
You lean in and kiss her, feeling lighter now that you know Baran will be home tomorrow. Selfishly, you want to keep an eye on her — you get the feeling she would be much better at ignoring her injury than caring for it if left to her own devices.
“Thank you,” she says once you pull back. Her hand comes up to cup your face and she gives you another quick peck. “Best nurse I could ask for.”
“I’ve had good training. My wife is a doctor, you know.”
She smiles at that. “She sounds like a good one.”
“Nah, she’s kind of a rookie.”
Baran furrows her brows. “A rookie? Really? After all these years?”
“Take care of yourself this week and maybe I’ll change my mind.”
—
Baran is still awake at midnight, and you are still awake because of her.
You pretend not to notice the way she shifts every couple of minutes. The turning a little to the left, a little to the right, the heavy sighs she releases when she realizes she has to sleep on her back if she’s going to keep her ankle properly elevated.
She doesn’t like sleeping on her back — it makes her feel too exposed.
You don’t say anything at first. You don’t want to make her feel bad or to make her discomfort worse, so you lie there in the dark and listen to the sheets crinkle as she shifts beside you.
But when she angrily kicks away the pillows stacked under her ankle with her good foot and sits up to fling them off the bed entirely, you finally intervene.
“Can you please put those back?” you ask, trying to be nice, but your voice has an edge to it. “Those were there to help you. And they’re our good pillows, they don’t belong on the floor.”
Baran stills. She hadn’t realized you were still awake. “They were making it hard for me to fall asleep.”
“You’re making it hard for me to fall asleep.”
“Sorry for the inconvenience,” she snaps.
You sit up and turn on the lamp on the bedside table. “Baran…”
“Don’t start,” she interrupts. “I’m a doctor. I know what it needs and I know I’m not giving it that, but I can’t stand the feeling of the damn pillows crinkling against my skin every time I move.”
“Do you want the pillows from the living room?”
She considers it for a second, then shakes her head.
“Is there anything I can do?”
She frowns, lying down again and turning on her side to look at you. Her silky purple pajama shirt has become wrinkled with all the tossing and turning, and it’s ridden up her stomach a little.
“What can I do?” you ask again, softer this time. You lay down beside her, reaching out a hand to rest on her waist. “Give me something to do for you. Anything you want.”
“Will you hold me?”
You move over to her, opening your arms and letting her shift to rest her head on your chest. You wrap your arms around her and the two of you lay there, awake and irritable but together.
“I don’t like feeling helpless,” Baran murmurs eventually. “It makes me feel like something bad is about to happen.”
You lean down to press a kiss to the top of her head. You’ve witnessed this fear of hers before. “I know you don’t. I’m sorry this happened, I wish I could change it.”
“What if there’s some sort of emergency? What if I can’t run, can’t get out? What if I can’t get to you or Kaveh?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“But it could.”
You start to realize what she needs now. Baran has never done well with simple reassurances, debating the odds of if something will or won’t happen. She has lived a life of so many extremes that a fear isn’t about if something will happen, but when.
“If an emergency takes place,” you say, “we’ll be prepared. We’ve already talked through a fire emergency plan with Kaveh, both of us will be at home tomorrow to look out for each other while he’s at school, and we’ll work around your injury if we ever need to.”
She grows heavier on top of you, a sign that she’s relaxing a little. “Okay.”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Or to him, or to myself. We’ll be okay.”
Baran nods. She takes a deep breath, releases it shakily.
“Just don’t play any more soccer,” you say with a small smile, “and we shouldn’t have any emergencies.”
She huffs out something of a laugh. She sounds exhausted, like she might actually be able to sleep now. “Trust me, I won’t.”
“My lazy ‘walk around barely kicking the ball like a loser’ approach doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?”
She hums disapprovingly, not at all planning on admitting you have a point. “Your bedside manner could use some work.”
“Sure, doctor.”
She presses a kiss to the base of your neck. “Turn the light out?”
You reach over and turn off the lamp, pulling her closer once the light dissipates. You lay there and force yourself to stay awake until you know Baran is asleep, then let yourself drift away with her.
the doc is in! ⋆˚࿔ (baran al-hashimi x wife!reader blurb)
summary: tooth-rotting flufff .ᐟ on a lazy weekend morning, your 5 year old son decides he wants to roleplay you and your wife's job... kinda .ᐟ wk 1k
notes: credit where credit is due, this was 1000% inspired by this adorable tik tok i saw with this lil family playing hospital. but more importantly: happiest of happy birthday to the endlessly lovely @sepidehswife 𑣲🧁 this one is for you!! also this is a part of my ongoing mom!baran collection, and you can find other fics with these lovely ladies here! this hasn't been proofread and i'm sure there are errors but just pretend you don't see those!
divider cred!!
You don't make it to 8 before Kaveh comes barreling into your room already brandishing his very favorite navy Fisher-Price medicine kit, banging it against his knee with every step, gap-toothed and still warm from sleep in his dinosaur pajamas.
"Wake up!" he calls, dropping the case onto the mattress between you and Baran with a clatter that makes you both flinch awake at once. "I wanna play emergency room."
Baran rolls over, tucking her pillow under one cheek. “Baba, it’s still super early.”
"You said I have to stay in my room until 7:30 on Sunday." Kaveh is already hoisting himself up onto the bed, little legs flailing a bit with the effort. "But It’s 7:35 so it's my turn to play."
You sit up on one elbow, blinking. He’s already unfastening the velcro of the bag and lining up the kid stethoscope, yellow otoscope, and blood-pressure cuff in a perfect row, just like his Māmān does when she brings out this kit to play.
"Okay, okay," you yawn. "Why don't we play hospital? You could—"
"No." Kaveh doesn't even look up, laying the stethoscope and the little yellow otoscope and the blood pressure cuff out in a neat row. "That's not as cool, Mommy. I wanna play emergency room."
"I work in the same hospital as Māmān, Kav," you remind him, yawning again. You’re so outrageously tired.
Kaveh flops forward on his stomach. "But you only work with hearts Mommy, Māmān works in the emergency room."
"Yeah, khoshgelam," Baran sits up, hair tousled and cheeks warmed from a deep sleep. "When you're significantly cooler than your spouse this is just how it goes. Kav, what is your plan for this patient today?"
"Don't encourage the specialty bias," you grin. "He gets it from you."
"He just knows I’m awe-inspiring," Baran says, and swats your hand away when you reach over to pinch her.
"Māmān, you're helper doctor today," Kaveh pipes up. "I’m the big doctor. Mommy's the patient."
"Why do I have to be the patient?" you ask, allowing him to nudge you back onto the pillows. "I'm a doctor too!"
"’Cause you’re Doctor Heart Doctor, Mommy, and this is an Emergency Room."
"Totally agree," Baran nods, and doesn't dodge the pillow you chuck fast enough as it sails into her face, though she just picks the pillow up off her lap and wedges it behind her own back and gets comfortable as Kaveh immediately starts his eval.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
Kaveh clears his throat, very seriously, and kneels beside you, stethoscope swinging. "Okay, Mommy. What's wrong?"
You press a hand to your forehead and moan for effect. "Ohhhh owww, I can’t see out of my left eye!"
He gasps, loud, grabs the stethoscope off his own neck and whacks the little red disc onto the crown of your head.
"Fu– ow!"
"Responsive to pain," Baran calls from the headboard, arms crossed. "Good catch, Kav."
Kaveh’s grin split his round face that he shoves to close to yours that your noses nearly brush, his warm breath fanning out. Two small, unsteady fingers inched toward your right eyelid, ruffling the lashes. "Let me see it, Mommy."
You squinted. "No, honey, it’s my left eye." Your eye twitches in primal fear of getting your eye gouged out by your clumsy child.
"No it’s this one," he insists, pointing, his finger getting increasingly closer to the pupil. "It's all gunky and gross, Mommy, I know it's this one."
"Okay so now I'm getting bodyshamed? Those are just crusty eyes because I was just torn from sleep," You whine, looking to Baran for backup, who just shrugs. "It’s Doctor Kaveh’s case, Ma'am. Chain of command. Let him do what he needs to do."
"Aren’t you the attending? You should be watching for medical malpractice."
"I'm off duty, in case you forgot?" Baran teases. "I'm helper doctor. This is his case."
Kaveh plunges his small hand into a neon-green play kit, emerging with a teensy-tiny plastic syringe. He uncaps it with a dramatic pop and presses the blunt tip against the soft skin of your inner elbow.
“Woah woah woah,” you beam, watching him push the plunger. “What’s happening now? Is this medicine?”
"Nuh uh."
You lean forward, eyebrows raising in amusemnt. "What is it, then?"
Kaveh doesn't answer, tongue poked out the side of his mouth like his Māmān. You turn to your wife instead.
"What is he giving me, Doctor?" Baran ignores you, fighting a smile. "Hey. Doctor."
Baran leans toward your son, hand coming up to cover her mouth as she feigns a serious whisper. "Doctor Kaveh, is that lidocaine?"
"Um…. it’s three... four... five!"
Your eyes snap to Baran, gleeful. "Wait, hold on, what was that? Five of what?"
Baran picks up the little clipboard from the case and squints at it. "Doctor Heart Doctor, please calm down. Doctor Kaveh made an excellent call and gave you five."
“Five Milliliters? Liters? What is happening here?”
Baran taps Kaveh, whose little head pops up from where he’s rummaging for new tools in his play kit. “Um. Five.... kinds, Mommy.”
You laugh so hard the bed shakes enough that Kaveh has to brace a hand on your shoulder to keep his balance.
"It's not funny," he says, syringe still aloft, and his lip trembles in embarassment. "Māmān tell Mommy to stoppit. It's not funny!"
"Ma'am," Baran lifts a brow, "No harassing the medical staff."
"Harassing? I'm being harassed!! I’ve been given ‘five’ of multiple unknown substances!" you exclaim, still giggling despite yourself.
"Five is the standard dose."
"This hospital royally sucks, why can’t you tell me what you've injected into my bloodstream?"
"Our hands are tied. We have HIPAA."
"But I'm the patient in concern here–"
"Doctor Kaveh,” Baran says warmly, swiveling back to your son, "Walk us through your clinical reasoning."
Kaveh perks up once more at being taken seriously again, he's so cute you could gobble him up in two bites, and he holds up the empty syringe. "She's gonna feel a lot better."
“Outstanding differential,” Baran praises, leaning over to plant a loud kiss on his forehead.
"I’m gonna sue this hospital," you giggle, settling back down against the pillow. "This is so ridiculous. One of the doctors just kissed the other. You don’t even know my name. I can already feel the adverse effects from the ‘five.’"
"Mommy," Kaveh admonishes, "No more talking, we’re working."
"Yeah, Mommy," Baran echoes, reaching over without looking to find your knee under the blanket, subtly squeezing it lovingly. "Head down."
⊹ ࣪ ˖
Kaveh reaches for the blood-pressure cuff next, dragging it out from under the stethoscope and knocking the little pack of bandaids of the bed. He gets the velcro around your arm on the third try and pumps the little bulb with both fists, watching the gauge with enormous eyes. "Almost done, Mommy, almost done."
"Thank goodness, I think I'm starting to see the light."
The cuff deflates with a soft hiss and you really put on a show, pretending to minorly hyperventilate and fidget nervously. "Alright, Give it to me straight, Doc."
He taps his chin with a finger and looks from you to Baran for approval, who nods in encouragement. "You’re going to live!"
"Oh, what a relief." You exhale, collapsing back against the pillow. " Any idea what happened to me?"
Kaveh's face goes adorably and entirely blank. "Um… no."
"Fantastic."
"It's definietly idiopathic," Baran in smirking, "You should be thanking him, Doctor Heart Doctor, he probably just saved your life by catching this."
"I'm so grateful. What an amazing team I have. Oh, wait, no, I almost lost an eye, witnessed some sort of workplace indecency ,got injected with some mysterious liquid, got told I'm not allowed to sue—"
Baran ignores you cheerfully. "Kaveh, what's Mommy's prognosis? What should she do to feel better?"
"You have to stay in bed. For, uh, five minutes, then you have to eat breakfast."
Baran grins, "Five minutes, Doctor's orders," laughing as she reels him in under one arm, and he lets himself be reeled, still holding the deflated cuff. She looks at you over the floral-scented mess of his hair with a smile solely for her wife.
You smile at the sight of your little family, safe and happy and cuddly in your soft bed on a Sunday. "I want a second opinion."
Lady Jeyne Arryn refusing to stop lesbian aura farming on the throne just because daemon targaryen barged into her house with a gun again many could learn from this
i’m lowkey getting sick rn so all i can think of is sunbathing + cuddling on a warm summer day with cassie 😔🥲
beach!cassie headcannons 𖤓˚࿔
beach!cassie!!!!!!!!! beach!cassie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i am so sorry this has been in my inbox for ages but god. can you picture it.
i am rocketing between cassie "i am so bored out of my mind why are we just laying in the sun" mckay and cassie "this is so relaxing no one ever talk to me again" mckay at the beach.
part of me sees cassie as the type who hauls an egregiously large beach cooler with you. she's pulling up with a massive blanket, drinks, bread to make sandwhiches, spreads, olives, you name it, because if you insist the two of you just lounge on the sand and not go swimming then she's at least going to have something to feast on yk?? i'm going to project here and say that cassie is the type that when food is in front of her she's devouring it until it's gone, no sips of water, hardly breathing between bites. like, no, she's not going to start her sandwhich, take a break, go walk along the beach, then finish it. fuck that?? she's hungry and her sandwhich is delicious. and so are the chips. and the sodas she brought!!
cassie who gets bored twenty minutes in. cassie who cannot get comfortable, who is wriggling around and grunting and groaning, squinting against the sun because she forgot her sunglasses, who lays on her stomach because she's getting a headache because it's so bright that her back starts to fry to a crisp and gets all whiney about it.
ALTERNATIVELY: cassie mckay in a gorg black two piece (happy trail visible maybe HELLO!!!) and a cap over her eyes who is gone to the world. asleep within 40 seconds of laying down, perhaps snoring, literally on cloud nine. groaning and being a big ass baby when she gets roused awake because that woman will burn to kingdom come if she doesn't apply sunscreen but she's just so comfortable let her ressssst ughhhhhh. cassie mckay who loves a good slow beach day, who could stay there for hours. give her a shitty romance book and put some music on and she could move there permanently.
