Yes I think that Baran Al-Hashimi has the most gorgeous cursive you have ever seen in your entire life but her actual handwriting is chicken scartch. Fully illegible. Yes I think she is a Do Not Disturb warrior and only has three tabs open at any given time and they're ALL for a research article. If she wants to buy something online or Google a fact or quote she is opening that tab, doing her business, and immediately deleting it. Yes I think she has one of those privacy screen protectors that turns black when you tilt the phone and yes I think her phone brightness is always at 0% and Trinity launches some crazy rumors about what she's doing on that phone because why tf is it so locked down. And also I firmly believe she can type 130 wpm and is definitely smug about it and it most certainly sounds like rain pummeling a metal tin when Dr. Al-Hashimi gets near a keyboard because she's smashing the fuck out of those keys and yes I believe the med students come up with some kickass nicknames for her because of that
notes: baran x fem!reader, dom!baran, mommy kink, strap-ons (r!receiving)
baran being a stickler for good posture. she's not overbearing about it with other people, but if you're her girl, she will definitely make a little comment about it when she notices you slouching. only because she knows behind your eye-roll and snarky, "yes, mom" you secretly enjoy the little correction. it makes you feel seen and you know she does it because she cares.
plus, the little whispered, "that's mommy to you." after your comment makes you shiver
baran starts doing something new one day. instead of her gentle reminder to, "sit up straight, honey." you feel a slow stroke straight up your back, right along your spine. baran's fingers brushing against you with such delicate precision makes your whole body shudder, and, without thinking, you straighten up as a reaction.
you look up at her as she comes into your view, and she has a very amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
it's baran's new favorite thing to do to you. a little way for her to remind you of her casual dominance over you. teasing and caring and powerful feeling all at once, perfect for baran.
then one night, you're in bed together. baran is behind you, wearing that thick strap that hits you so deep and stretches you right on that edge of pain and pleasure. you've slumped down into the mattress, drooling and moaning into the expensive silk sheets.
and then you feel it. soft fingers running down the length of your spine, the same motion she does when she straightens your posture. just in reverse. you moan, hiding your face.
"arch your back," baran mumbles, repeating the motion. you obey, arching your spine to give her what she wants to see. baran groans above you, biting her lip at the sight. her hands fall to your waist, and she starts fucking into you faster, the wet noise of your cunt paired with the slapping of skin against skin. "there she is. good girl."
summary and warning/s: baran headcanon/canon, some fluff, some smut, marking kink, praise, degradation, cunnilingus, strap-on mention, relationship with arash; very light headcanons
author’s note: last half not proof-read
series masterlist | navigation | masterlist
baran is a bad cook. the only reason she survived med school was thanks to cup noodles, takeouts, and group dinners with her other med student friends, and her sturdy starbucks order that withstood far too many all nighters. she only learned to cook for arash, well aware of the importance of feeding your child well. at year one, she was a decent cook. stale, most times, but decently edible. she only grew better when arash challenged her, asking for the taste to be better, sweeter, yummier. mama baran, as caring and perfectionist as she is, delivered; and now even she grew accustomed to liking vegetables and fruits in her plate.
speaking of med school days, baran hosts an annual gathering with her med school friends, usually somewhere tropical and beach-y. she’d have a whole itinerary planned, has an extensive list of all her friends likes and dislikes, preferences, bucket lists, catering to their quality of a good time. she loves the steady and unshakable connection she still have with her closest peers. she’s contagiously grateful to hear stories from her friends about a complication and innovative procedure from different places in the world, their resilience, her resilience, and how to this day they haven’t turned their back on their oath and the people.
baran who is passionate with her profession, naturally solicitude of all people regardless of what they look and what happened to them. all she sees is a person who deserves a good life. of course, until a lousy citizen walks her way. a restrained treatment, practiced attitude, a little less caring, and then she’s out of their sight. baran is glued to her morals and principles but she also opens space for her beliefs to be challenged.
and you have challenged her beliefs, graciously walking into her life like someone to disorganize (lack of better word) her life. she was drawn to you without a clear reason and this has happened before. a stranger that becomes her favorite colleague, her person for when her old car tires breaks, but you, you’re the personification of all her desires—her unreached desires. you opened baran to the enlightenment that she’s here in this world not only as a helper but also someone to be helped. as if she had been living on this earth without an actual anchor—until you.
baran is a natural flirt. you’re well aware, everyone she encounters does. they have been victim to her big, brown doe eyes; consistently leaving men and women flustered, most times to the point of asking her out for coffee (more or less). you’ve witnessed it on more than one occasion, gritting your teeth and bearing it, hindered by the status of your relationship. you wait til you get her alone, recounting your perspective of the exchange, irritated by the smug grin on baran’s face as you do. your jealousy is apparently one of her favorite traits, not holding you back when you pounce on her, mouth and tongue and teeth occupied with marking your territory.
speaking of marking, baran relishes on how you lose control over her. you have wanted to point out on multiple occasions that baran flirts back with her patients (you’re not there, but you’re sure when your right eye begins to twitch) and strangers just to rile you up, but you can’t really call it proof as she only gives them small talk. but when you do the same, oh boy, you’re in trouble the moment you give them a handshake. baran isn’t a jealous person, no, she’s far from it. she’s territorial. baran would mark every inch of your body if she has to.
she would draw out your moans, sucking on your neck, telling you she’ll pretend it's your clit, sucking and licking and nipping at the skin, and it could have been your clit, two fingers on your aching hole, but no, you just had to be a brat and rile her up. you just had to give the stranger a twirl when they complimented your dress, low cut and thin, outlining every curve and swell. you just had to be so greedy for compliments, baran’s own not enough, her hold on your waist not tight enough.
“you belong to me,” she growled, grazing her teeth in the valley of your shoulder as she pulled your hair back, panting at the sight of your arched back, bent over for the taking. she bit your flesh as you screamed, feeling the blinding pain of her fingers forcing themselves inside of you. “you belong to me,” she would chant until she’s forcing you to say it as well, threatening to pull out and leave you aching and needy and dry.
baran has never called you degrading names, it doesn’t seem to be in her vocabulary, but baby girl, princess, my liver, my love. she alternates between those, always saying it with pure affection and softness, putting clouds to shame. she says it with pure adoration in her eyes, sometimes twinkling under a good light, eyes fluttering in delight of your precious face.
and god, her eyes, precariously precious and simply a sight for sore eyes. sometimes her gaze turns very intense, spilling out of the confines of her sockets. her brown eyes just have that twinkle in it that makes you even more in love. you could build a shrine just of them. you wouldn’t be surprised if one of her coworkers, usually nosy, figures out she’s dating her son's babysitter, with how baran can’t help but form hearts with her doctor doe eyes. you try your best to avoid her in the break room.
it’s not really easy keeping it a secret, you’re mostly figuring out how to navigate through the beginning stages of your relationship. it’s not official, not yet, amicably. you’re both two busy individuals, only seeing each other when baran comes home from the hospital, as she rarely visits the clinic you volunteer at. it’s about time you exit the facility as well, having enough hours for the scholarship application, leaving weight from your shoulders.
baran loves sharing stories. she meticulously digs into the details, broadcasting her astuteness, dubbing her as a security camera. her eyes turned into slits, terrifyingly crawling on top of you after you made the joke, turning you into fits of giggles as she tickled you. she then mentioned how you’d suck the insides of your cheeks when you’re nervous, covering up your face with your shirt when you’re frustrated, and coughing up a lie you tell with gritted teeth. she could also tell when arash keeps secrets from her. she knew you’ve been buying those pancakes she ill-advised weeks ago.
her relationship with arash has exponentially grown your love for motherhood. your mother was present in your life but with an established divided attention between labor, to get both your needs met. you’d never admit it, at least not yet, knowing you have a few more secrets to keep before baran uncovers every single one of them: vicariously living through the mother-and-son relationship. realizing that being a mother isn’t a means to pause your dreams until they’re independent, but the need for a proper foundation to sustain roles in your own life.
baran loves routine. her left eye twitches when thighs don’t go according to plan (her finger tapping doesn’t go unnoticed); hence, the dislike for camping. you just never know, she huffed in farsi as you both participate in arash’s toy story marathon, with the weather and the optics of the environment. she can adapt, it’s in her career as an attending (of an attending), but if she could be in complete control, it’d never be an option.
she pinned your hands above your head that very same night, assuring that her son’s in deep sleep, demonstrating her dominance, giving you a reminder that the boss doesn’t stay in the ED. baran relishes at your loss of control, your primal urges taking over. she loved it when you pulled her hair as she was tongue deep inside you, the pull and scratch combination against her scalp fueling her received praise, “please, you’re so good, you feel so good,” furthering her to press deeper into your hole. she could hump the air from it and come undone.
you know baran is a sucker for hickeys, but her marking kink in general keeps her gripping your hips with no abandon, as if if she kept her hands to herself a second longer you’d disappear. she compensates by peppering kisses all over the blues and purples, mumbling how you were so able and angelic and good, giving it one good suck to push a whine out of you. she giggled and melted as you kissed her forehead, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, reassuring her you will never leave. baran relished in your pain, although sometimes. she adores the fact that she can do these things to you and still you’d stay.
baran who gets soaking wet, drenched through her panties, humping the air with no shame the first time you called her a slut. it was a joke, it wasn’t something you tried, at least not with her, not yet. the reaction was blistering, leaving your senses completely and falling into your primal urges, slapping her soaked pussy and watched it twitched and sputtered, baran whining like a cat in heat.
she whined your name, “i-i…”
“i, what, baran?”
she shook her head as if you said the wrong thing. “no, i-i need-“
you grazed a finger along her inner thigh and bit your lip as her entire body shook. “call me-call me that again!”
“call you what?”
“a s-slut!”
“is that what you are?”
she nodded her head vigorously. you showed skepticism. “hmmm…show me.”
her brown eyes almost bulged out of her eye sockets. she stuttered.
“i’m not repeating myself again,” moaning as she immediately obeyed, pulling her panties aside and playing with her clit. her cum was staining the sheets.
“your cum’s staining the sheets, you freak.”
she adored that title.
“you know you’re doomed once you’re done with me,” she threatened weakly, gritting her teeth to stop a moan from coming out. your eyes turned dark. “is that so?”
your enthusiasm lasted hours that night, just watching her writhe in pleasure under you, doing anything and everything you said, coming apart as she begged to suck you dry as you called her degrading names. it’s something that hasn’t happened again, not yet. but baran does shudder at praises as well.
the ones that particularly get her are ones that propels her deeper into concentration, for example, customizing a silly cake for her son, focus pulled into a flow state considering how she youtubed her way into that responsibility.
“you’re such a pro at this,” with a dirty promise at the end of the night if she makes no mistake. and knowing baran, she never does.
“as long as i want to?” she challenged, pinning the promise that she can put you on all fours on the kitchen counter with her strap-on bottoming inside of your hot, tight pussy. you hummed.
was supposed to make a 1K celebration and open requests but i had a surge of followers from 900 to 1000+ in one night??? a month ago???? i’m not sure that’s normal but i’ll def do it when i’m close to 2K.
an eater baran headcanons soon. another one-shot for singer baran. another an eater baran part underway. :)
I need to see it again to pinpoint the details but I really like how the opening scene of obsession (2026) is Bear practicing his confession with a diner waitress... like already you have a woman (who is not Nikki) fulfilling the role for her, saying the response she thinks Bear would like to hear, but the moment this woman gives her own opinion, offering genuine advice to Bear (something along the lines of buying Nikki something she likes, like her favorite candy, flowers, etc)... Bear disregards it... but then ends up using Ian's recommendation from this same conversation (calling Nikki "Freaky Nikki")... like god its all already right there
has someone made a baran fic/wanda fic based on obsession? if not PWEAAAAASEEEEEE dooooooo. please please please someone write please idc if it’s wish baran or wish wanda or them being tangled with a wish nikki/other character or whatever just put them in the obsession cinematic universe pleaseeeee 🙏 i want it so so so so so bad
was supposed to make a 1K celebration and open requests but i had a surge of followers from 900 to 1000+ in one night??? a month ago???? i’m not sure that’s normal but i’ll def do it when i’m close to 2K.
an eater baran headcanons soon. another one-shot for singer baran. another an eater baran part underway. :)
I genuinely appreciate how obsession doesn't try to frame bear as morally grey but just fully leans into how deplorable he is. a lesser movie would have tried to give him redeeming moments along the way but no, at every single crossroads bear makes the wrong choice. when the customer service rep asks him if he wants to cancel his wish, he says no, and asks to alter it. when nikki, the real one, begs him to kill her, he asks her "if it would be so bad to love him", and right at the end, backs out of killing himself and tries to throw the pills up. he is the villain, not another victim, not a confused, cowardly boy, the villain.
i absolutely love how nikki is nearly always bathed in shadow (whether it’s fully in the dark or with a single light behind her with her as the faceless darkness). she’s quite literally become a shadow of her former self. no autonomy, no personal thoughts or emotions, just a carved image of what bear desired.
pairing: college student!baran al-hashimi x AFAB!reader
summary: “you're my favourite friend. i'm sorry that i want you like a lover.”
warning/s: angst, hurt no comfort, drug use, talks about motherhood and marriage.
word count: 1, 905
author’s note: happy priDE MONth! i present you, your average lesbian experience. whether out or not, you have a place in the community. not proofread, just raw and unsoftened.
navigation | masterlist
baran batted her eyes at you with a playful smile.
mature today, honed over the years. it was wider then, sharp teeth and all, jubilance waning over the treacherous months of senior year.
you stared back with vigor, quaintly robust in the wee hours of the night, silently requesting again, cautious about who’s in on the secret.
“i thought you’d never ask,” she frisked, disappearing into the main suite, sighing as the click of the door locked. the shuffling through her tote bag rang through the room, turning her head at you for a second as you settled at the doorframe, aware it would take her a while.
“aha!”
baran whipped out a half-burnt stick with a proud look on her face, throwing you the lighter, retrieving it from the ziplock. she unlocked the bay window and jumped on the other side of the wall. you followed, laughing in amusement.
it’s two-something in the morning and you’re supposed to be asleep for the move out tomorrow. instead you both post-watched a shitty movie with a marinated skincare, indulging in a bad not-so-habit, originating from those days in college.
past tense. as if you’ve already graduated.
it’s surreal getting something you’ve anticipated for as long as you remember, finally on the way to your lap, the days compressed into one singular moment.
you closed the bay halfway and passed the lighter to baran who immediately lit the stick, puffing out smoke with puckered lips, the outline of her face illuminated by the flicker. you grin when she sucked at the stick, warmth and satisfaction spreading through your chest. she fluttered her eyelashes as she passed it to you, fingers brushing at a familiar pace.
you inhaled, lips wrapped around the stick, taking you there. you exhaled out, humming, missing the smell of the drug.
“i’ve been meaning to steal you from them since after dinner, but i knew diego would be looking for you,” you admitted.
baran kept silent.
it’s obvious, you both know this, that they both want each other. you don’t know what’s holding them back.
you met baran the summer before junior year, daisy duked to the nines, president of center of medical futures, the highest donated college organization of your university. she showed up to the pool party with her friends, mingling around the area, leaving her to your care.
you wanted her the moment you met her. and her the same, or so you thought. batted doe eyes and a touch on your arm here and there, wishing she could see you wet in the pool. it turned out she didn’t swerve that way, blabbing about a sweet guy named jeremy and why they’re most likely to work out in the long run. “he’s pretty okay with my busy schedule,” she quoted.
somehow it always ends with a man, you think, her silence and/or your hope. baran is a natural at giving people that, hence, you’re certain she’ll be an amazing doctor.
there’s nothing much to talk about but allowing the silence to linger. you’re still buzzed from the numerous shots from dinner, the exhaustion of cosplaying as nomads for the entire day in the city for the last time, the wee hours of the night, and the growing tension between you and your next step as a graduate.
it’s surreally confusing.
you might never see baran again.
or you might, but it’ll never be the same.
but it hasn’t been the same, not really, not since the group’s second vacation together, both crammed in the lower bunk bed, a small cabin rented a few miles away from the sequoia national park, roommates by choice. you struggled to bring yourself to the upper bunk, drunk off your bones. baran couldn’t prop you up either, so as a result, you ended up giggling at each other—two girls who can’t keep their hands off each other—the brunette ultimately finding her way on top of you. straddling your lap all the while steadying your posture, drunk with liquor and merit.
“you always smelled so good,” she whispered like it’s a secret unburied. you sniffed yourself; then her. she giggled.
“i did it for you,” you quipped.
baran grinned, bunny teeth on full display. she hugged you close, burying her face in your neck for a second before coming up for air.
“i’m so happy you’re my best friend,” she said.
which is kind of unfair.
because then she pecked your lips and thought you can’t kiss her back.
you don’t, too stunned at the drunken gesture, which is why you’re still here; a best friend, wasted with a shared stick between fingers. it’s better than nothing. this is better than a sobering confrontation and a great divide. this way you can coat her saliva with your own and drag it to your lungs, eventually sending it away with the lingering feeling you’ve learned to tame over the years.
“how many kids do you want?”
she laughed quietly. you both share the same ache for motherhood. in a decade or so you’d finally master how to raise a child of your own, pumped with passion and worry.
“right now? none,” baran sucked in a breath, “i refuse to contribute to SIDS,” she responded, eyes trained in the abyss.
you chuckled.
“but seriously?”
she straightened her posture, in her thinking pose, “two. four max,” deciding with finality. and then, after a pause, laughed, shaking her head in amusement. she presented a smile, sheepish and peculiar.
you hummed. “t’was eight last time, correct?”
“i was having the time of my life then,” she conceded, taking the stick from you.
“you’re not, today?” you asked, scanning her face and then landing on her curls. you wished to tangle your fingers through it. comfort her hidden troubles.
baran nodded her head, looked around the backyard, and then finally met your gaze.
exhausted and yet alive, she grazed her hand to yours. you shivered, her warm touch sparking the contrast of the cold in your surroundings.
“with you i can think straight,” she started, “i know i can confide in you without fear of judgement,” bringing her lips to a thin smile, like this acknowledgement is the brink of her collapse. “i’m your practical friend…”
“my most practical, genuine, genius, best friend, yes,” she exclaimed, moaning as you snatched the stick back. “i didn’t even–!”
“who i occasionally do crimes with,” you cutted her off, dragging a puff.
she tamed. “you? still 10?”
you hummed.
“i want a loud house,” you declared, gesticulating a wide space.
baran deadpanned, “you want 10 children to take care of you.”
nodding your head, you pinched her cheek, grinning as she squinted. “yes, i want 10 children to fight over my will,” you humored, passing her the remaining joint.
silence enveloped the both of you, cocooned in the smoke of repose, mastering the familiarity of yourselves before the world tries to drain your character.
the joint is almost done. three drags away. you’re about to lose her altogether.
“i’ll get married one day,” you blurted out, eyes watering at the cold. the temperature dropped suddenly. you both shivered.
“can i be the maid of honor?” baran asked, genuine, her pitch higher, childlike.
you could have been more than that.
you hummed, pretending to think, the string of words you curated coming out playful and calculated. “depends. would you stir my future wife in the right direction? influence the choosing of the ring for me?”
“wouldn’t she already know that then?” baran scoffed, “when she proposes, wouldn’t she know everything about you by then?” bewildered, ‘cause today she knows you more than your future spouse, and that was just unacceptable.
you thought about it, but all you drew was a blank. you haven’t really thought that far, you just wanted to hear baran’s opinion. “i was only kidding. i guess if you win the nobel peace prize in the next five years…” you challenged, leaning your head further against the cement.
“is that a bet?”
“yeah,” you uttered.
baran took another drag, body fully relaxed. she pouted.
“wouldn’t you want to give it to me because you want it for me? because you love me?”
you mimicked her doe-eyed stare, batting eyelashes, and deepening pout. your heart raced.
“of course i love you,” you said, “you’re my best friend.”
“and your future maid of honor?”
you shook your head. the grin was permanent there. you opened your palm and she handed you the stick, barely an inch.
“i’ll think about it,”
the brunette made a sound of disapproval. “you and your stupid remarks,” she grumbled, brows furrowed. you moved a feet towards her, bumping her shoulder in provocation. “maybe when you get married first,” you decided.
“hah!” baran exclaimed, as if you were saying a joke. then she frowned, crossing her arms together. “i don’t know if i’ll ever get to that point, to be honest.”
“still?”
“yeah it’s just…the world changes a lot i…i’m still learning about myself…”
you hummed. baran gets like this, unsteady in her declarations of devotion, an ever-changing channel of passion and persuasion, a lust for effect but a fear of commitment. she couldn’t be more beautiful than this, but then again, it seemed this is the final version of her you could know.
“what have you learned so far?”
baran liked radiohead, how they were so abstract yet so personally in her. she was secretly training for the LA marathon as she waited for her acceptance at standford, nothing but anxiety and pride in her quivering bones. she was beginning to like pineapple on pizza after an italian woman fed her a slice with sexy bare hands. baran said she thinks her preferences have grown.
your eyes widened.
you posed a question, walking delicately through the subject, watching as she inched farther from you as the words left your mouth.
“how are you navigating through that? liking girls?”
baran didn’t answer, mouth occupied, finishing the life of the stick. she dropped and stomped on it.
“i don’t know yet,” she shrugged, tapping her foot on the ground. she combed through her hair, unable to meet your gaze.
“i’m proud of you.”
for a minute, she didn’t move. she stayed stiffened in her stance. only her hair showed life, dancing with the wind. and then, her shoulders quivered.
baran looked at you with water in her eyes.
just like the first time she stared at you in need of acceptance, failing her physics test for the first time.
or when jeremy ended things, unsure if he wanted to live his life on her terms.
or when you surprised her with a birthday party, with everyone she loved dressed up as their favorite version of baran al-hashimi.
you placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her for an embrace. it knocked her off-balance, and yet she held onto you, arms hooked in your armpits, digging her face in your neck as she does, mumbling her gratitude. you can’t pull away and face her, not yet, not when you’ve been waiting for this for so long.
graduation is in two days.
it seemed a little too late.
you finally understood why baran and diego were holding back. it’s just the same with your partnership, almost. just friends by proximity. a convenient relation. a pit stop in the middle of a winding road. a quiet relief in preparation for the real thing.
pairing: college student!baran al-hashimi x AFAB!reader
summary: “you're my favourite friend. i'm sorry that i want you like a lover.”
warning/s: angst, hurt no comfort, drug use, talks about motherhood and marriage.
word count: 1, 905
author’s note: happy priDE MONth! i present you, your average lesbian experience. whether out or not, you have a place in the community. not proofread, just raw and unsoftened.
navigation | masterlist
baran batted her eyes at you with a playful smile.
mature today, honed over the years. it was wider then, sharp teeth and all, jubilance waning over the treacherous months of senior year.
you stared back with vigor, quaintly robust in the wee hours of the night, silently requesting again, cautious about who’s in on the secret.
“i thought you’d never ask,” she frisked, disappearing into the main suite, sighing as the click of the door locked. the shuffling through her tote bag rang through the room, turning her head at you for a second as you settled at the doorframe, aware it would take her a while.
“aha!”
baran whipped out a half-burnt stick with a proud look on her face, throwing you the lighter, retrieving it from the ziplock. she unlocked the bay window and jumped on the other side of the wall. you followed, laughing in amusement.
it’s two-something in the morning and you’re supposed to be asleep for the move out tomorrow. instead you both post-watched a shitty movie with a marinated skincare, indulging in a bad not-so-habit, originating from those days in college.
past tense. as if you’ve already graduated.
it’s surreal getting something you’ve anticipated for as long as you remember, finally on the way to your lap, the days compressed into one singular moment.
you closed the bay halfway and passed the lighter to baran who immediately lit the stick, puffing out smoke with puckered lips, the outline of her face illuminated by the flicker. you grin when she sucked at the stick, warmth and satisfaction spreading through your chest. she fluttered her eyelashes as she passed it to you, fingers brushing at a familiar pace.
you inhaled, lips wrapped around the stick, taking you there. you exhaled out, humming, missing the smell of the drug.
“i’ve been meaning to steal you from them since after dinner, but i knew diego would be looking for you,” you admitted.
baran kept silent.
it’s obvious, you both know this, that they both want each other. you don’t know what’s holding them back.
you met baran the summer before junior year, daisy duked to the nines, president of center of medical futures, the highest donated college organization of your university. she showed up to the pool party with her friends, mingling around the area, leaving her to your care.
you wanted her the moment you met her. and her the same, or so you thought. batted doe eyes and a touch on your arm here and there, wishing she could see you wet in the pool. it turned out she didn’t swerve that way, blabbing about a sweet guy named jeremy and why they’re most likely to work out in the long run. “he’s pretty okay with my busy schedule,” she quoted.
somehow it always ends with a man, you think, her silence and/or your hope. baran is a natural at giving people that, hence, you’re certain she’ll be an amazing doctor.
there’s nothing much to talk about but allowing the silence to linger. you’re still buzzed from the numerous shots from dinner, the exhaustion of cosplaying as nomads for the entire day in the city for the last time, the wee hours of the night, and the growing tension between you and your next step as a graduate.
it’s surreally confusing.
you might never see baran again.
or you might, but it’ll never be the same.
but it hasn’t been the same, not really, not since the group’s second vacation together, both crammed in the lower bunk bed, a small cabin rented a few miles away from the sequoia national park, roommates by choice. you struggled to bring yourself to the upper bunk, drunk off your bones. baran couldn’t prop you up either, so as a result, you ended up giggling at each other—two girls who can’t keep their hands off each other—the brunette ultimately finding her way on top of you. straddling your lap all the while steadying your posture, drunk with liquor and merit.
“you always smelled so good,” she whispered like it’s a secret unburied. you sniffed yourself; then her. she giggled.
“i did it for you,” you quipped.
baran grinned, bunny teeth on full display. she hugged you close, burying her face in your neck for a second before coming up for air.
“i’m so happy you’re my best friend,” she said.
which is kind of unfair.
because then she pecked your lips and thought you can’t kiss her back.
you don’t, too stunned at the drunken gesture, which is why you’re still here; a best friend, wasted with a shared stick between fingers. it’s better than nothing. this is better than a sobering confrontation and a great divide. this way you can coat her saliva with your own and drag it to your lungs, eventually sending it away with the lingering feeling you’ve learned to tame over the years.
“how many kids do you want?”
she laughed quietly. you both share the same ache for motherhood. in a decade or so you’d finally master how to raise a child of your own, pumped with passion and worry.
“right now? none,” baran sucked in a breath, “i refuse to contribute to SIDS,” she responded, eyes trained in the abyss.
you chuckled.
“but seriously?”
she straightened her posture, in her thinking pose, “two. four max,” deciding with finality. and then, after a pause, laughed, shaking her head in amusement. she presented a smile, sheepish and peculiar.
you hummed. “t’was eight last time, correct?”
“i was having the time of my life then,” she conceded, taking the stick from you.
“you’re not, today?” you asked, scanning her face and then landing on her curls. you wished to tangle your fingers through it. comfort her hidden troubles.
baran nodded her head, looked around the backyard, and then finally met your gaze.
exhausted and yet alive, she grazed her hand to yours. you shivered, her warm touch sparking the contrast of the cold in your surroundings.
“with you i can think straight,” she started, “i know i can confide in you without fear of judgement,” bringing her lips to a thin smile, like this acknowledgement is the brink of her collapse. “i’m your practical friend…”
“my most practical, genuine, genius, best friend, yes,” she exclaimed, moaning as you snatched the stick back. “i didn’t even–!”
“who i occasionally do crimes with,” you cutted her off, dragging a puff.
she tamed. “you? still 10?”
you hummed.
“i want a loud house,” you declared, gesticulating a wide space.
baran deadpanned, “you want 10 children to take care of you.”
nodding your head, you pinched her cheek, grinning as she squinted. “yes, i want 10 children to fight over my will,” you humored, passing her the remaining joint.
silence enveloped the both of you, cocooned in the smoke of repose, mastering the familiarity of yourselves before the world tries to drain your character.
the joint is almost done. three drags away. you’re about to lose her altogether.
“i’ll get married one day,” you blurted out, eyes watering at the cold. the temperature dropped suddenly. you both shivered.
“can i be the maid of honor?” baran asked, genuine, her pitch higher, childlike.
you could have been more than that.
you hummed, pretending to think, the string of words you curated coming out playful and calculated. “depends. would you stir my future wife in the right direction? influence the choosing of the ring for me?”
“wouldn’t she already know that then?” baran scoffed, “when she proposes, wouldn’t she know everything about you by then?” bewildered, ‘cause today she knows you more than your future spouse, and that was just unacceptable.
you thought about it, but all you drew was a blank. you haven’t really thought that far, you just wanted to hear baran’s opinion. “i was only kidding. i guess if you win the nobel peace prize in the next five years…” you challenged, leaning your head further against the cement.
“is that a bet?”
“yeah,” you uttered.
baran took another drag, body fully relaxed. she pouted.
“wouldn’t you want to give it to me because you want it for me? because you love me?”
you mimicked her doe-eyed stare, batting eyelashes, and deepening pout. your heart raced.
“of course i love you,” you said, “you’re my best friend.”
“and your future maid of honor?”
you shook your head. the grin was permanent there. you opened your palm and she handed you the stick, barely an inch.
“i’ll think about it,”
the brunette made a sound of disapproval. “you and your stupid remarks,” she grumbled, brows furrowed. you moved a feet towards her, bumping her shoulder in provocation. “maybe when you get married first,” you decided.
“hah!” baran exclaimed, as if you were saying a joke. then she frowned, crossing her arms together. “i don’t know if i’ll ever get to that point, to be honest.”
“still?”
“yeah it’s just…the world changes a lot i…i’m still learning about myself…”
you hummed. baran gets like this, unsteady in her declarations of devotion, an ever-changing channel of passion and persuasion, a lust for effect but a fear of commitment. she couldn’t be more beautiful than this, but then again, it seemed this is the final version of her you could know.
“what have you learned so far?”
baran liked radiohead, how they were so abstract yet so personally in her. she was secretly training for the LA marathon as she waited for her acceptance at standford, nothing but anxiety and pride in her quivering bones. she was beginning to like pineapple on pizza after an italian woman fed her a slice with sexy bare hands. baran said she thinks her preferences have grown.
your eyes widened.
you posed a question, walking delicately through the subject, watching as she inched farther from you as the words left your mouth.
“how are you navigating through that? liking girls?”
baran didn’t answer, mouth occupied, finishing the life of the stick. she dropped and stomped on it.
“i don’t know yet,” she shrugged, tapping her foot on the ground. she combed through her hair, unable to meet your gaze.
“i’m proud of you.”
for a minute, she didn’t move. she stayed stiffened in her stance. only her hair showed life, dancing with the wind. and then, her shoulders quivered.
baran looked at you with water in her eyes.
just like the first time she stared at you in need of acceptance, failing her physics test for the first time.
or when jeremy ended things, unsure if he wanted to live his life on her terms.
or when you surprised her with a birthday party, with everyone she loved dressed up as their favorite version of baran al-hashimi.
you placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her for an embrace. it knocked her off-balance, and yet she held onto you, arms hooked in your armpits, digging her face in your neck as she does, mumbling her gratitude. you can’t pull away and face her, not yet, not when you’ve been waiting for this for so long.
graduation is in two days.
it seemed a little too late.
you finally understood why baran and diego were holding back. it’s just the same with your partnership, almost. just friends by proximity. a convenient relation. a pit stop in the middle of a winding road. a quiet relief in preparation for the real thing.
turnnoffyourmind
amandla
origamiaround
andulkaphoto
discoholicmusic
theartofmadeline
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
