kira

🟢For starters, I think Baran absolutely has an oral fixation. She needs her mouth on her partner’s everything — sucking on their tongue, lapping in their mouth, licking and tugging the soft skin of their ears, mouthing at their neck, chest, tummy, thighs, clit. Sucking her partner’s fingers or having her fingers in their mouth (especially with other fingers inside her) turns her on so much. 

🟢With that comes a spit kink. Spitting onto her fingers or her partner’s before they plunge inside them or her. Leaving sloppy wet trails of tongue across flushed skin. Spitting into her partner’s waiting mouth, eager and open. Or her, eyes half-lidded, tongue out, waiting for it and swallowing greedily. Spitting onto their cunt, her cunt. And in the right heat of the right moment, spitting onto their skin — chest, stomach, back, ass, but never face. 

🟢Goes without saying, but Baran eats pussy like it’s her last meal every damn time. She’s moaning into their cunt just because it tastes good, because she loves feeling and tasting and smelling them get wetter. Baran could stay between her partner’s legs for hours, and she eventually comes up (at least two orgasms later) with her chin, her mouth, her cheeks and her nose covered in them, and she loves every moment of it. Even more if they squirt on her. 

🟢Face sitting plays into a couple of Baran’s kinks. She loves, loves, loves eating her partner out, regardless of the position (and she’s tried many). She also likes — sometimes, with the right person, in the right setting — breathplay. Usually, this means someone’s hand squeezing in the medically correct place around her throat, the illusion of breathplay. But face sitting (suffocating in pussy) is one of the few times she’ll enjoy true discomfort in bed. 

🟢Baran, of course, loves fingering. One, two, three fingers curling and thrusting. Four if she’s lucky. If she’s really lucky and patient and willing to put in the effort, she likes taking the time to work a whole hand into her partner. Watching her hand disappear around tight, wet walls — slow and careful up to the wrist — is exhilarating. Her eyes flickering from face to cunt to face to cunt, careful and adoring, and oh god she loves feeling her partner flutter around her. In fact, she’s probably leaving a sticky mess on the sheets as she sits between their legs. The stretch alone enough to make them cum. Even more so, though, she loves getting fisted, feeling the delicious, painful stretch herself. Hearing her partner whisper awed words of praise at how well she’s taking it. How tight she’s stretching around their hand. It doesn’t take much, once they’ve worked her up enough to fit it. Maybe three times (again, if she’s lucky) in and out before she’s cumming, gushing around their hand. Half the time she’s cumming just as they fit the widest part of their palm in, unexpected and sharp and loud. Even though in that headspace (because it takes a while), Baran’s usually doing full on breathing exercises to stave off an orgasm. 

🟢She’ll stick a finger or two in her partner’s ass if they ask, but she won’t suggest it unprompted (Baran doesn’t eat ass, but she might with a dental dam!). She is, however, inclined to use plugs and dildos. When used on a partner, it’s more about enjoying that they’re enjoying it, rather than it arousing her. Though, if she’s fucking them in the ass, she does like sticking a couple fingers in their cunt, too, just to feel the outline of the strap pushing in and out against the wet, clenching walls of their pussy. That’ll have her moaning right along with them. Baran can’t cum from ass play, so a dildo isn’t usually something she wants. But a plug gets her so wet and sensitive. She cannot relax with something in her ass, clenching around it uselessly over and over. So, if her partner wants to tease Baran for a long time with little effort, they can stick a plug in her and just wait. She’ll get desperate eventually. And then it doesn’t even take much, just a few swipes against her clit, and she’s cumming. 

🟡🟢She’s not big into double penetration. It’s a sensory thing (I will die on the hill that Baran has sensory issues). She likes her cunt or her ass filled, not both. But she’s happy to provide that sensation for her partner. Like fisting, she loves watching the stretch of it, loves praising her partner for it.

🟢I do think Baran likes blowing straps. I don’t think it does much for her on the receiving end, but I think she’d just love to get on her knees and look up at her partner with those doe eyes and bob her head and suck and moan and drag her tongue around it until her partner is twitching and gasping, pushing her down into the bed and slamming into her. So, yeah, maybe it’s a little selfish. 

🟢Mutual masturbation is one of those things she’ll do early on with someone so she can see how they like to touch themselves. She’s cataloging, remembering for later. Though, sometimes it’s really fucking hot to kneel over her partner lying back on the bed and touch herself, have their hands bump together rubbing tight circles over their own clits. Pant into each other’s mouths and cum individually, together.

🟢As far as threesomes, Baran likes them on occasion. She won’t take two strangers home, but she will go home with a couple. In that case, she expects mostly to just be along for the ride, happy to be told what to do or passed back and forth (This’ll send Baran straight into subspace if she’s not careful, something she doesn’t like to do with strangers. Gasping out a please, yes, please, as one of them fingers her and the other moves to sit on her face). She’s okay being someone else’s fantasy for a night, so long as there’s a clear discussion beforehand. This turns some people off, ruins the “magic” of it, and to them she says good riddance. Or, she’ll pick someone up with her partner, take them home and turn them into the fantasy of the night. She loves the connection it forges with her partner, the wordless conversation over a squirming body below them. The kiss they share over a stranger’s shoulder as her fingers find a brutal rhythm inside someone whose name she barely remembers. 

🟡🔴Baran doesn’t do group sex. She gets overwhelmed easily when it’s more than two others, finds it difficult to wrap her head around the complicated dynamics of it. It’s not that she needs control, she just needs firm footing. She feels safe when she understands the expectations and likes/dislikes of everyone who’s touching her. More than a threesome and her head starts spinning uselessly, wide eyed and blank and dry. It’s too unpredictable, and Baran will get panicky (Baran Al-Hashimi is autistic. Again, I will die on this hill). 

🔴Baran has a complicated relationship with restraints — real or psychological (sometimes she still wakes up from nightmares about being tied down and helpless in the PICU). So, she hates being cucked with any restraints or any aspect of humiliation. She will have a panic attack. It’s not about what her partner(s) are doing without her. It’s that she hates the idea of even pretending to want out and not being able to free herself. Of someone taunting her with freedom, or with access to them, and then demeaning her for wanting it. She went from green to yellow to red, red, red in a matter of three minutes the first and only time she tried it. Almost too triggered to accept aftercare, she twitched away when her partner tried to soothe and then immediately burst into tears. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry tumbling from her. It was a long, slow night of aftercare. 

🟢On the other hand, if she’s the one in control, she’s happy to sit back and watch her partner(s) fuck (Funny enough, it’s only outside the bedroom that Baran gets jealous). Offering words of praise or prompting or, oh, baby, you can do better than that with her head cocked, lip between her teeth. She’s a maestro conducting a beautiful, sticky, sweaty orchestra. So long as there’s no power imbalance in the scene, she’ll switch roles with her partner. And while she’s happy to fuck the other person in her bed, her real pleasure comes from stealing looks with her partner, watching them watch her. Watching them watch her eat someone else out. Watching them watch her get railed into the bed. And she loves moaning her partner’s name when it’s someone else making her cum. Afterward, though, she needs her partner to make her cum or vice versa. She can’t bear to end the night on an orgasm someone else can claim. 

🟢Baran isn’t anti-restraints in general. She’s actually pro-restraints with the right person, the right setting, the right negotiation. For someone who craves control in her everyday life, it’s liberating to have that control taken from her by delicate, loving hands. For someone to give her everything she wants at the pace they set and entirely prevent her from lifting a damn finger to direct things along. It takes so much trust and love. She won’t do it with a casual partner or a hookup. And Baran can stand a little teasing when she’s in physical restraints. A little, so needy and desperate for me, or oh, that made you wet, huh, or you are so cute trying to grind on me. But no degradation, no cruelty of any kind. If Baran pulls at handcuffs and whines, she expects her partner to coo and soothe. And it’s this certainty that she plays into, that allows her to get just a little bratty when she needs care, knowing, without fail, that it will come. 

🟢It’s not something she always intends to happen, but it can send her so far into subspace, too. Baran gets breathy, whiny, incoherent when she’s there. She’s no stranger to begging — playfully and even desperately sometimes — but in that headspace it’s so pathetic the way she pleads. Baran loves to be kissed out of it, held and soothed and spoken so softly to. You did so well. You back with me, my love? And Baran will whine and kiss them and latch on, tangling limbs and lips. 

🟢Speaking of restraints, Baran has tried a spreader bar. She doesn’t mind a spreader bar, but she much prefers her partner forcing her legs back open when she can’t stop herself from closing them. When she’s so overstimulated she’s crying and incoherent (I can’t, fuck, please, too much, and dissolving into babbling Farsi) and there are strong, loving hands on her and a gentle, decisive voice saying, You’re doing so well, honey. Just a little more. Come on, you can take it. I know you can. Until she’s just a boneless puddle on the bed (or in a puddle), gasping and shaking and pushed and pushed until she really, truly can’t anymore. This is probably the only time Baran can handle a little consensual non-consent. 

🟢Dacryphilia, dacryphilia, dacryphilia. Baran is so emotional and sensitive. She’s controlled — sometimes too much — but she ultimately wears her heart on her sleeve, too big and bleeding to do anything else. And she loves emotional sex. Almost more than any other sexual desire, she needs this to feel fulfilled. So, when her partner overstimulates her (something she really enjoys), the tears well, and that helps her tolerate another five seconds, ten. When she’s had a particularly bad day, she’ll rut desperately onto her partner’s thigh, wrap her arms around them tight, and let hot tears drip onto their shoulder, their neck. Gasping, wet-mouthed, into them. And when they ask if she’s okay, if she wants to stop, Baran whines. Fuck, I need this. Need to feel it. So, maybe instead of a bubble bath and a sad movie she needs teary sex. Sue her. Even if the sex is so joyful, laughing and rolling around all tangled together, Baran can get emotional. Choking up and holding their face and saying I love you over and over, tears dripping down her cheeks as two fingers curl inside her (Baran’s just a crier in general). She’s a little more embarrassed about this, but she loves it when her partner laps up her tears, tongue flat and wet against her cheek bones. Loves when they kiss her fluttering, wet eyes as her breathing hitches. 

🟡🔴Dacryphilia part 2 (I have more to say). Sometimes — especially if she’s already tearing up — when Baran cums particularly hard, all screaming and writhing, the tears turn to sobs. This is when she starts needing more intense aftercare. It’s not always an unpleasant thing. Sometimes she really needs to fucking cry, and a good orgasm breaks the dam. But it also usually means Baran needs to talk about it, not just fuck her way into a cathartic release. There’s very rarely a time where crying is bad for Baran. Impact play is the blurry line. If Baran starts crying more than a couple stray tears, that’s a warning, a yellow. And she’ll usually say so. There have been a few rare times she’s wanted to push herself, but her body betrayed her before she could consciously find the line herself, suddenly crying in earnest. And, if she’s crying when she’s fucking her partner, something is terribly wrong, and they need to stop. 

🟡🟢Dacryphilia part 3 (phew…). Baran is more hesitant about making her partner cry (If that’s something they like). She knows how good it can feel, how cathartic, but she worries about the emotional toll. The last thing she ever wants to do is hurt her baby, physically or emotionally. In this sense, she can take it, but she has trouble dishing it out. Make no mistake, she’ll do it, but it’s heavily discussed beforehand. If her partner is even close to approaching a negotiated limit, Baran goes hypervigilant, leaning down to kiss every inch of skin, to kiss each tear. Lick her salty lips and just watch. And, fuck, it does turn her on to see them so emotionally wrecked yet trusting her to care for them in an incredibly vulnerable and physical way. It’s one of those things she doesn’t tell her partner leaves her more wanting than before because crying is usually the end of a scene. In the rare moments it’s not, Baran cums so hard she sees stars. 

🔴🟡🟢Now that I’ve brought it up: impact play. Baran has some hard limits here. She loves the possessiveness of scratching (more pain play than impact play) and being scratched and the shiver it sends down her spine while she’s bottomed out in her partner, sweaty and sort of feral. Baran’s not a fan of drawing blood, doesn’t like the sting (and wound care) she has to deal with long after the moment’s over. Even if unintentional, that will end a scene. She does, however, enjoy spanking. A palm to her ass, or the back of her thighs, or her pussy. That one gets her so wet so quickly, but she can only take a couple of those before she’s crying out and jerking away. On her ass and her thighs, she can stand to be pushed a little more, can better tolerate her skin getting red and hot and raw. Occasionally, she’ll push herself right to the edge. Breathe deep and even before the hand lands on a fresh welt, cry out and whimper and duck her head, spread on her hands and knees. Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh god, azizam, stop. And if it’s a stop but still a green (or sometimes a yellow), she’ll get three fingers curling inside her sopping wet pussy instead. Yeah, it’s a little masochistic. 

🟢🔴Impact play part 2. Baran doesn’t like impact toys, generally. It feels too much like a punishment, and Baran doesn’t like punishments in bed, doesn’t like the degradation of it. The one thing she found she likes is floggers. She enjoys the feel of the leather tassels on her skin, light and dragging or hard and sudden — the crack of it. The hundred little individual pains. It’s the one impact she does like low on her belly over sensitive stretch marks before it trails down through the hair between her legs and flicked light over her clit. This impact she’ll only take on her thighs or her ass or her belly, but the slow, gentle sensation of it she’ll take anywhere. Her hardest impact limit is her face. Her partner was willing but hesitant that she’d like it, and Baran insisted, thinking only of the sensitivity of the area, not of the fact that it was her face. The slap landed, her head jerked, and the silence between them was horrible as Baran reflexively held her cheek. Her eyes welled immediately, mouth wobbling as she tried to parse through the humiliation and indignity that surged through her. I don’t ever want to do that again, she managed, voice breaking. She cried, hot and embarrassingly ugly about it as her partner reassured her it was not embarrassing at all. You’re okay. You’re safe. I love you. We won’t do it again. 

🟢Impact play part 3. Coming down from impact play is such a crash of adrenaline and endorphins for Baran, and she needs a lot of aftercare — the most out of any kink she engages with. She gets so emotional and clingy and needy. It’s probably the closest she’ll ever get to ageplay (which Baran is not willing to try). In these moments, she needs to curl up under her partner’s ribs and live there for a while, needs to be held tightly for a long time and whispered loving affirmations. Mostly, she needs a safe body to collapse on top of and just be until she stops feeling floaty and empty and disoriented. Needs her hair stroked, needs to be in comfy clothes and fuzzy socks (this is a necessity always), needs to be told what to do. Drink some water. Let’s take a bath, hm? We’re going to go downstairs and lay on the couch together, okay? And she won’t stop touching them all evening afterward, needing to be grounded. She’ll just lay on top of her partner while they watch tv or read, grinding slow and lazy if they soothe their hands over her sore skin. Sometimes there’ll be frozen peas on her ass, and Baran will ask very shyly if her partner can kiss it better. Sometimes (rarely) she’ll hiss when she sits down or find dark, blooming bruises the next day and get pouty (these are always times she makes sure she’s not working the next day).

🟢Impact play part 4 (last one I promise). Baran is willing to use toys during impact play on her partner. Unlike crying, Baran enjoys inflicting pleasurable physical pain. She likes hearing the resounding slap, feels it in her own cunt every time, likes the effect it has on her partner, groaning or gasping or crying out. Maybe it is a little sadistic, but it’s only fun if her partner’s enthusiastically enjoying it. She gets uncomfortable if the pain is just pain or if it’s pain solely for her pleasure and not her partner’s. And she likes soothing and pushing along the way, Good job, sweetheart, can you take another for me? Please, I know you can. It would make me feel so good, eshgham. And when they’re done, Baran kisses every mark, dotes and soothes and is so, so good at aftercare here (and always). 

🟢🟡On a related note, Baran is very into sensory play (once again, I present autistic Baran Al-Hashimi). When she’s wearing a blindfold, she needs her partner to start slow, build up a rhythm, something Baran can anticipate before introducing small elements of surprise. A light slap, a pinch of a nipple, a mouth abruptly on her neck. Baran has to be placed in a very specific headspace to want a blindfold and handcuffs. But when she’s there, it’s so fucking delicious. She’ll arch and whimper and gasp into every sensation, praised after every one. And only once did she want that plus noise cancelling headphones. It was a yellow, and she didn’t end up cumming, but she’d be willing to try again. More readily, she loves incorporating ice cubes or wax play or warm massage oils. The shock of the temperature goes straight to her cunt, and it’s something she prefers without restraints so she can touch the cold or hot skin afterward when there’s a mouth on her clit. 

🟢Location: car. Yes. Baran is so pro-car sex, in fact, that she keeps body wipes in her glove box. It’s probably the most public sex she’s willing to have. The desperation it requires to maneuver around a cramped space with windows on all sides and no sound proofing is so hot to her. If Baran wants her partner in a car, she needs them right fucking now. She feels half-crazed about it sometimes, dragging them out of a store while running errands and shoving them in the back seat, unbuttoning their pants and latching onto their neck with a I need you so bad you have no idea. It’s quick and dirty and absolutely charges the rest of the day with sexual tension. 

🟢Location: bathroom/locker room. Baran has to be even more than car-desperate to fuck her partner in a bathroom. It will give her the ick if she thinks about it too hard. Good thing is, if she’s horny enough, she doesn’t care. She will be vigilant for onlookers though. As public as it is, she doesn’t actually want to get caught (and will take thorough precautions against it). Just the thought of it is more than enough of a thrill to get her wet and wanting. 

🟢Location: somewhere private, other than a bed. Enthusiastically yes! Push her against a wall, sit her on a countertop, spread her legs on the couch (over the couch), take her against the stairs, sling her leg up in the shower. The idea of not making it to the bed gets Baran giddy. She can be so fucking loud when she wants to be, too, and hearing herself reverberate through an empty house is such a turn on for her and her partner. 

🟢Baran loves possessive and commanding dirty talk, and narrating a scene for her partner is so sexy to her. Your pussy is so wet, aziz, all for me. Oh, yes, moan for me, baby, louder. Say my name when you cum. God, you are so pretty all spread open like this. I love watching you take my strap. Fuck, ride me harder. She gets off on it just as much as her partner, just as much as hearing it. In that vein, she has a lot of fun controlling her partner’s orgasms. One of her favorite ways to do this is edge them for hours right into overstimulation, stop completely, and tell them to cum. And when they do — so easy and quick and untouched — Baran sometimes cums right along with them.

you look up and smile the second your eyes locks on hers. “the food is almost already, just need to get the guacamole and finish these eggs.”

she hums, eyes drifting over your form slowly. “not very hungry, if i’m being honest.”

you let out a small chuckle. “don’t be silly, you’re going to complain later and i’m not dealing with that. i’m not letting you sleep hungr-.”

she cuts you off by stepping right behind you, one hand sliding around your waist, fingers pressing firm through the thin fabric of your top. “leave the food.” her mouth brushes the shell of your ear. “i can eat later.”

your hand still on the spatula. you feel her other palm settle on your hip, tugging you back against her. “em, at least let me-“

“nope.” she clicks the stove off and turns you around easy, backing you up until your ass hits the counter edge. up close you can see the faint shadows under her eyes, the way her jaw’s a little tight. she needs this.

“been stuck in the OR for hours,” she mutters, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. “thinking about coming home to you.” you part your lips without thinking and she slips her thumb inside, pressing down on your tongue just enough. your eyes flutter. she watches it like it’s the best thing she’s seen. “yeah? that what you want too?”

you nod, sucking lightly.

emery pulls her thumb free and kisses you instead. her hand bunches up the back of your skirt, gripping your ass and lifting you just a little so you’re pressed tighter to her. you make a small needy sound against her mouth and she smiles into the kiss, all smug.

“bedroom,” she says when she pulls back. she walks you backward down the hall, hands never leaving your body, steering you exactly where she wants. when the back of your knees hit the mattress you sit automatically. emery stands over you for a second, eyes dragging down over the apron you forgot you were still wearing. she reaches out and tugs the tie loose with one finger.

“take it off. slow, for me.”

you take your top off slowly, eyes locked on hers the whole time. then drag your skirt down until it pools around your feet. she watches every inch like she’s memorizing it. then she hooks her fingers in the waistband of your panties and tugs them down your thighs. you lift your hips to help, kicking them off along with your skirt when they reach your ankles. the bra stays for now. she likes unwrapping you piece by piece.

instead of pushing you down she sits on the edge of the bed and pats her lap. “c’mere, baby.”

you climb on, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of her thighs. her hands settle heavy on your waist, sliding up your ribs and back down. the tank top she’s wearing is thin, you can feel the heat of her skin underneath. you lean in and kiss her again, slower this time, hands cupping her face. “your shift was that bad?” you whisper against her lips.

“you have no idea.” she nips your bottom lip. one hand moves down between your legs, fingers sliding through how wet you already are. “fuck, you’re soaked. been thinking about me too, huh?”

you rock against her hand, breath catching. “mmhm, been thinking about you, coming home.” you bite your lip, leaning in to whisper against her ear. “fucking me so hard that i can’t use my legs.”

emery groans quietly and pushes two fingers inside you, deep and sudden. you gasp, forehead dropping to her shoulder. she curls them perfect, thumb circling your clit while her other arm wraps around your back to hold you steady. “that’s it,” she murmurs, voice low right by your ear. “use my fingers, baby. get yourself off.”

you roll your hips for a few minutes, grinding down on her hand while she mouths at your neck, sucking a mark just under your jaw. the wet sounds fill the room and your thighs are already starting to shake.

“em- fuck, right there…”

“yeah? gonna come already?” her voice is teasing but rough. she speeds up her thumb and you come embarrassingly fast, clenching around her fingers, moaning into her neck. she keeps moving them, drawing it out until you’re lifting your hips, trying to ease yourself off her fingers.

she pulls her hand free and holds her fingers up to your mouth. “clean them up.” you wrap your fingers around them, tasting yourself, sucking slow while she watches with dark eyes. her free hand squeezes your ass appreciatively.

then she stands, lifting you with her just enough to flip you onto your back on the bed. you watch as she peels her tank top off, then her shorts and boxers, tossing them aside. she opens the bedside drawer and pulls out the strap. you bite your lip as you watch her step into it, adjusting the buckles around her hips before lubing it up. the sight alone makes you clench around nothing.

“you want it?” she asks, climbing back between your legs. she drags the tip of the strap through your folds, teasing your clit until you’re squirming and reaching for her.

“please, baby. need you inside me.”

she pushes in slow, inch by inch, one hand holding your hip down so you can’t rush it. you moan loud when she bottoms out, so full and deep. emery stays there for a second, breathing against your collarbone, letting you adjust.

“good?” she checks, voice quieter.

“so good. move, please.” you whimper.

she starts fucking you, steady and hard, hips snapping in a rhythm that has the bed creaking. every thrust hits your spot, making sparks shoot up your spine. you grab at her back, nails digging in. “harder- fuck, like that.”

emery leans down, bracing on her forearms so she can kiss you, biting your lip and sucking on your tongue while she pounds into you. “all mine,” she groans against your mouth. “this pussy. mine to use.”

you nod frantically, legs wrapping tighter around her waist.

she reaches between you and rubs your clit and you come again, harder, back arching off the bed, crying out. she fucks you through it, slowing but not pulling out, grinding deep while you shake and pulse around the strap.

after a minute she eases out, flips you onto your stomach, and tugs your hips up. “ass up for me.” you do, knees spread, cheek pressed to the pillow. she spreads you open with both hands, then her mouth is on you, tongue licking broad and greedy through your soaked folds. you moan into the pillow as she eats you out from behind, tongue pushing inside while one hand reaches around to play with your clit.

“tastes so fucking good,” she mutters, voice muffled. you push back against her face and she lets you, humming approval that vibrates right through you. it’s overwhelming, too much in the best way, and you come again with her tongue buried in you, thighs trembling.

you’re boneless when she finally pulls back, body heavy and buzzing, face half-buried in the pillow. emery climbs up the bed behind you, the mattress dipping under her weight as she slots herself against your back. she pulls you up with her, arm locking tight around your waist as she sit behind you. her skin’s warm and a little sticky, heart still thumping hard against your spine. for a minute it’s just the two of you breathing, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip, slow and absent like she’s not even thinking about it.

you turn your head enough to kiss along her jaw, tasting salt on her skin. she hums low, the sound vibrating through her chest into yours. her hand keeps moving, drifting lower, until her fingertips brush between your legs again. the second she circles your swollen clit you jump a little, hips twitching away on instinct because everything’s so sensitive it almost hurts.

“easy,” she murmurs right against your ear, voice rough and quiet. she doesn’t stop though. just keeps those slow, deliberate strokes, feather-light at first, letting you get used to it again. “you can give me one more.”

your eyes are already watering, every nerve ending on fire. you nod anyway, breath shaky. “okay...”

emery bites down lightly on your shoulder while she keeps working your clit with patient little circles, sometimes dipping lower to drag through the mess between before coming back up. her breath is hot against the back of your neck, steady but getting a little shorter every time you whimper.

“that’s my girl,” she whispers, lips brushing your skin. “still so fucking wet for me. you love when i use you like this, don’t you?”

you press back against her, nodding. “yes, baby-” you mumble, voice cracking a little on the last word because she’s pressing firmer now, two fingers sliding over your clit in tight, slick strokes. you’re trembling already, thighs trying to close but she quickly pull them back apart, using strength.

“please-“ you gasp, reaching back to grab at her hip, fingers digging in.

she makes this low, satisfied noise in her throat, like your begging is doing it for her. her hand settles back on your hip and grips you harder, pulling you back as she starts grinding the strap against your ass in slow rolls, like she can’t help herself.

“yeah? you gonna come again for me?” her fingers speed up just a fraction, steady and relentless. “wanna hear you. let it out, baby.”

you whine, overwhelmed and strung tight, hips rocking between her hand. “shit, i’m close, i’m so close.” you blabber.

she bites down harder on your shoulder when you cry out, hips pressing firmer against your ass as she works you faster. she makes a small sound, her breathing getting rough. she’s getting off on this. “good fucking girl. come on. let me feel it.”

it hits you slow and deep, rolling through your whole body in heavy waves instead of a sharp snap. your thighs shake hard, a broken moan tearing out of you as you clench around nothing, soaking her fingers. emery doesn’t let up right away. she keeps stroking you until the orgasm drags out so long your vision goes fuzzy at the edges.

only when you start whimpering from the overstimulation does she finally ease off, sliding her hand up to rest on your stomach instead. she kisses the bite mark she left on your shoulder, soft and lazy, arm tightening around you again.

“there you go,” she breathes against your skin, voice low and satisfied. “did so good for me.”

The first time Dr.Walsh saw the patient’s face, her stomach dropped so violently she almost missed the diagnosis entirely.

“Thirty-two-year-old female,” the paramedic rattled off while they rushed beside the stretcher. “MVC. Driver-side impact. Hypotensive en route, possible splenic rupture—”

Emery barely heard him because the woman on the gurney looked exactly like you. Not remotely similar. She had the same soft mouth. Same nose. Same eyelashes resting against pale cheeks. Even the same little crease between the brows you got when you were annoyed at her.

For one impossible, horrifying second, Emery thought someone had dragged you into her ER and that made her heart stop.

“Dr.Walsh?” Nurse Ramirez says sharply, snapping Emery out of her trance blinking hard and shaking her head as the trauma bay comes back into focus.

‘It’s not you’ she thought and repeated it in her mind like a mantra but even though that wasn’t you it was still close enough to make her chest hurt.

“Pressure’s tanking” someone called out getting away at the patient’s clothes to get them out of the way.

Emery stepped forward taking over “we need to do a FAST ultrasound to see if there’s any internal bleeding.”

“What happens if there’s any internal bleeding?” One of the surgical residents asks.” As they wheel the ultrasound machine over to the side of the patient’s bed?”

Emery turned on the machine and squirted gel onto Jane Doe's stomach and used the wand “well if there’s internal bleeding then we need to prep for surgery and the OR for surgery” she explains checking the computer looking for any signs of bleeding.

The second the image appeared on the screen, Emery’s expression changed. Dark fluid bloomed across the ultrasound like spilled ink.

“There,” she said quietly, jaw tightening. “Positive FAST. She’s bleeding into her abdomen.”

The resident beside her went pale. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that if we stand here talking about it, she dies.” Emery handed the probe off sharply. “Page trauma surgery. Prep OR two now. Massive transfusion protocol.”

Nurses rushed around the room, someone hanging blood while another pushed meds. The cardiac monitor screamed with every drop in the woman’s pressure, the frantic beeping drilling straight into Emery’s skull.

“Looks like we’re scrubbing in.” Emery says taking her gloves off, tossing them into the trash can and following the patient to the OR and all she could see was you, not the Jane Doe.

You laughing in her kitchen while stealing fries off her plate. You half asleep in one of her sweatshirts. You rolling your eyes whenever she came home after a thirty-hour shift and insisted she was “fine.”

It made her sick.

“Pressure’s seventy over forty,” Ramirez called.

“Starting another unit.”

“Move,” Emery ordered, already pushing the stretcher toward the elevator herself. “Come on, stay with me.”

The patient didn’t respond. Her face stayed limp and pale beneath the fluorescent lights and Emery hated how much it looked like you were unconscious.

By the time they burst into the OR, Emery’s hands were already regloved. One of the attendings looked over. “Walsh, you’ve been on shift for twelve hours already. I can take this.”

“I’m fine.”

It came out too fast and too dismissive because she wasn’t fine. The attending paused but didn’t argue when Emery stepped up to the table. Because this was what she did. She saved people. She cut them open and fixed what the world had broken.

Except two hours later, the monitor flatlined.

The sound hollowed the room out.

“No pulse.”

“Start compressions.”

Blood coated Emery’s gloves to the wrists as she searched desperately through the cavity, trying to clamp the bleeding vessel she couldn’t seem to control.

“Come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Come on…”

Another round of epi.

Another rhythm check.

Nothing.

The trauma surgeon across from her looked at the clock first.

Emery already knew.

She could feel it.

“Time of death, 3:17 AM.”

Silence.

The words hit her like a physical blow. For a second, nobody moved. Then the room shifted into practiced aftermath machines shutting off, instruments counted, nurses speaking softly but Emery just stared at the woman’s face.

The surgical mask suddenly felt too tight against Emery’s face. Everyone else moved first. The scrub nurse began quietly covering the body. Someone shut off the monitor, finally silencing the flatline that still echoed inside Emery’s skull. The residents drifted toward cleanup, subdued in the way doctors became after losing someone young.

Emery didn’t move because all she could see was you.

This woman had your face.

And now she was dead.

“Walsh.”

The trauma attending’s voice came carefully this time.

Emery blinked once.

“You okay?”

No she wasn’t okay. She wasn’t even close to being okay , but she nodded automatically anyway because that was what doctors did. They compartmentalized. Buried it. Moved onto the next patient.

“I’m fine,” she said again, quieter this time.

The attending looked unconvinced but didn’t push. “Go take ten.”

Emery stripped off her gloves with more force than necessary. Blood smeared across the stainless steel edge of the table before she tossed them away.

Her hands were shaking but none of the other attending’s said anything. She stepped out of the OR and the hallway lights hit her like a freight train.

A nurse rushed past with labs. Someone laughed down the corridor. A monitor alarmed from another room. Life continued around her like someone hadn’t just died under her hands but that was the thing with hospital’s everything must go on.

Emery made her way to the locker room she needed to hear your voice

Emery made her way to the locker room because she needed to hear your voice.

Needed it in the same way people needed oxygen.

The second the door shut behind her, the silence crashed over her all at once. The adrenaline that had kept her moving through surgery drained from her body so fast it made her dizzy.

Her hands were still shaking.

She stared at them for a second like they belonged to someone else.

Those same hands had cracked open a chest thirty minutes ago. Had tried to save a woman who looked so much like you it made her feel haunted.

And they’d failed.

Emery braced both palms against the metal lockers and lowered her head.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

Her phone was already in her hand before she consciously decided to grab it. She opened your contact immediately.

A photo of you smiled back at her.

You were sitting on the kitchen counter in one of her hoodies, grinning at whoever had taken the picture probably her. There was flour on your cheek from the disastrous attempt the two of you had made at baking cookies after one of her overnight shifts.

Emery felt her throat tighten painfully.

“Come on,” she whispered to herself.

She hit the call button The phone rang four times before it went straight to voicemail and her stomach dropped.

“Hey, you’ve reached Y/N. I’m probably asleep or ignoring my phone again—”

Emery hung up before the message finished. You probably were asleep. That was all. It was almost four in the morning. Normal people slept at four in the morning.

But the unease in her chest only got worse.

She texted you immediately.

baby call me when you wake up

A second later:

please

Emery stared at the screen.

Nothing.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly. Somewhere down the hallway a trauma pager went off again followed by hurried footsteps.

Usually those sounds grounded her.

Tonight they just made her feel sick.

The image of that woman’s face kept flashing behind her eyes.

Dead on the table.

Looking like you.

Her phone remained silent.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face.

You were fine.

You had to be fine.

Maybe your phone died. Maybe you fell asleep on the couch again with one of your comfort movies playing too loud.

A knock sounded against the locker room door bringing her back to the present.

“Walsh?”

Ramirez poked her head inside carefully.

Emery straightened automatically, shoving every emotion back down where it belonged.

“What?”

“There’s coffee in the lounge.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Ramirez studied her for a moment. “Nobody said anything about food.”

Emery exhaled sharply through her nose.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve said that four times in the last hour.”

“Because I am.”

It wasn’t convincing Not with the dark circles under her eyes or the blood still smeared faintly near the cuff of her scrub top.

Ramirez leaned against the doorway. “That patient got to you.”

“No,” Emery answered too quickly.

The nurse raised an eyebrow.

Emery looked away first.

“She looked like someone,” she admitted quietly.

Ramirez’s expression softened immediately. “Y/N?” Pop

Emery didn’t answer she didn't need to because Ramirez has been on the job long enough to know the signs.

“Oh.”

The silence stretched between them. Neither of them knew what to say. The only saving grace was Emery’s phone buzzing violently in her hand. Both of them looked down instantly. Relief hit so fast Emery almost felt weak.

“See?” Ramirez said gently. “Probably just—”

But the second Emery looked at the screen, every ounce of relief vanished.

Unknown Number.

Her stomach twisted.

She answered immediately. “Hello?”

Static crackled through the speaker followed by chaos in the background.

“Is this Dr. Emery Walsh?”

Every muscle in her body locked.

“Yes.”

“This is Pittsburgh EMS. We have your number listed as emergency contact for Y/N Y/L/N.”

The world stopped. Ramirez’s face changed instantly at whatever she saw in Emery’s expression.

“What happened?” Emery demanded.

Her voice no longer sounded like hers.

“Motor vehicle collision occurred approximately ten minutes ago,” the paramedic said quickly. “She was found unconscious at the scene and—”

“No.”

The word tore itself out of her.

No.

Not you.

Not after tonight.

“We’re en route to County General now—”

“I’m already here,” Emery snapped.

The paramedic paused briefly. “She’s critical, Doctor.”

Emery’s knees nearly buckled

Around her, the hospital suddenly felt too suffocating. The exact same words from earlier echoed through her skull.

Driver-side impact.

Hypotensive.

Possible internal bleeding.

Like something cruel had decided to repeat itself.

“ETA two minutes,” the paramedic continued. “Possible abdominal hemorrhage and chest trauma. BP is unstable.”

Emery was already moving before the call ended.

Locker room door slamming open.

Ramirez immediately followed behind her. “Emery—”

“That’s my girlfriend.”

The words cracked apart on the way out.

It stopped Ramirez cold for half a second because Dr. Emery Walsh never sounded afraid. The Emery she knew was cocky and confident but this Emery looked terrified.

They burst into the ER just as the ambulance bay doors flew open.

“Move!”

The stretcher came barreling through the doors surrounded by paramedics and there you were.Blood in your hair. Skin pale beneath the trauma room lights and Motionless.

Emery physically stumbled when she saw you. For one horrible second she couldn’t breathe. Because suddenly the dead woman from earlier was gone and this was real.

This was not some Jane Doe who looks like you.

“Y/N,” she whispered.

Nobody heard her over the noise.

“BP dropping!”

“She was cardiac arrested once in transport!”

“Possible splenic rupture!”

The words hit Emery like punches to the ribs Like the universe had decided to torture her personally.

“Dr. Walsh?” one of the residents asked nervously.

Emery snapped back to life instantly.

“Trauma one. NOW.”

The team moved.

You didn’t.

Your head rolled weakly with the movement of the stretcher and Emery reached for you automatically, blood immediately smearing across her hands.

You were cold.

“Baby,” she breathed shakily, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Hey, look at me.”

Nothing.

The monitor screamed again.

“Pressure’s crashing!”

Fear unlike anything Emery had ever experienced ripped through her chest.

Not this. Please not this. she thought

“Get blood ready,” she barked. “Call OR two. Move!”

Someone hesitated.

Hospital policy.

No treating family.

No operating on people you loved.

Emery looked at them with tears already gathering in her eyes and something in her expression made the entire room go silent.

“She is dying,” Emery said.

Not Dr. Walsh.

Not the brilliant trauma surgeon everybody feared and respected.

Just Emery.

Just a woman watching the love of her life bleed out in front of her.

“Somebody help me save her.”

Your fingers twitched weakly against the sheets. It was tiny and barely noticeable but Emery caught it immediately.

“There you are,” she whispered desperately, gripping your hand. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me.”

Your eyelashes fluttered faintly and a broken sound left your throat.

Thank God.

Emery bent forward until her forehead rested shakily against yours for half a second despite the chaos exploding around her.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, voice breaking completely. “I’ve got you, baby. I swear to God, I’ve got you.”

“Walsh, you know that you can’t operate on a loved one right?” Dr.Espinoza the head of surgery (bare with me I can’t remember who is head of surgery in the Pitt) says softly.

Emery sniffles and nods her head “I know I know” she admits looking back at the doctor.

“She’ll be in good hands so why don’t you clock out and we’ll let you know when she’s out of surgery.” Dr.Espinoza says as you begin to get wheeled up into the OR.

Emery’s entire body moved on instinct.

“No.”

It came out harsher than she intended, cracking apart under the weight of panic clawing up her throat. She followed the stretcher automatically as they pushed you toward the elevators.

“I’m going with her.”

“Emery—” Dr. Espinoza started carefully.

“I said I’m going with her.”

The doors to the elevator opened with a sharp ding and the surgical team rolled you inside. Emery walked in beside the stretcher before anyone could stop her. Ramirez squeezed in behind her at the last second, probably because she knew Emery was one bad sentence away from completely unraveling.

The elevator doors shut. Silence.Or at least silence compared to the chaos downstairs. Your hand looked so small wrapped in oxygen tubing and dried blood. Emery reached for it anyway. Your skin was freezing.

“Baby,” she whispered shakily, thumb brushing weakly over your knuckles. “Hey. Stay with me.”

Your eyelids fluttered faintly again.

Not fully conscious.

Not really there.

But enough that Emery saw the tiny movement and nearly broke apart from relief.

“There she is,” Ramirez murmured quietly from the corner.

Emery swallowed hard.

Your lips parted around a strained little breath and Emery leaned closer immediately, desperate enough to hear anything.

“…Em…”

The sound barely existed.

But it destroyed her.

“Oh God.”

Her eyes burned instantly.

“I’m right here,” she said quickly, voice trembling now. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Don’t try to talk, okay? Just breathe for me.”

Your face pinched faintly like you were trying to focus on her voice through the pain.

Then the monitor shrieked.

“Pressure’s dropping again,” one of the nurses warned.

Emery’s head snapped up immediately. “How much?”

“Sixty systolic.”

“Shit.”

The elevator couldn’t move fast enough.

Every second felt stolen.

Emery looked back down at you and suddenly all she could see was every ordinary moment she might lose.

You stealing her hoodies.

You dancing barefoot in the kitchen at two in the morning.

You asleep against her chest after she came home from impossible shifts.

The way you always mumbled, “you’re late,” even when you were half unconscious.

All of it threatened to disappear in one terrible night.

The elevator doors finally opened onto the surgical floor.

“Move!”

The team rushed forward again.

OR staff shoved open double doors while another nurse rattled off your vitals to anesthesia. Emery stayed glued to your side until the bright lights of the operating room hit her square in the face.

And then she stopped because this was it. The line. The one line she couldn’t cross.

Dr. Espinoza turned toward her gently. “Emery.”

Her chest heaved once.

You looked so pale on that table.

Too still.

Too much like the woman from earlier.

Except this time Emery loved you.

This time it was your blood covering her hands.

“She needs surgery now,” the attending surgeon said firmly while scrubbing in. “We’re losing time.”

Emery nodded automatically but her feet wouldn’t move.

You made another weak sound somewhere beneath the oxygen mask.

Her composure shattered completely.

She crossed the room in two steps and grabbed your hand again before they could wheel you fully beneath the surgical lights.

“Hey,” she whispered frantically. “Hey, look at me.”

Your eyes opened barely a sliver.

Confused.

Glassy with pain.

But they found hers.

And Emery almost collapsed from the sheer relief of it.

“There you are,” she breathed.

A tear slipped down before she could stop it.

You looked terrified.

That hurt worse than anything.

“Em…” you slurred weakly.

“I know, baby. I know.”

Your fingers twitched against hers, trying to hold on. Emery bent down fast, pressing a trembling kiss against your forehead despite the blood and the noise and the people moving around you.

“I love you,” she whispered fiercely. “You hear me? I love you so much.”

Your lashes fluttered again.

Then your eyes started slipping shut.

“No, no, no— stay awake for me.”

“Emery.” Dr. Espinoza’s voice was firmer now.

She looked up.

The entire OR had gone quiet around them.

Because every person in that room could see it.

The terror in Emery’s face.

The way her hand shook holding yours.

The way she looked less like a surgeon and more like someone standing on the edge of losing everything.

“You need to let us work,” Dr. Espinoza said softly.

Emery’s breathing turned uneven.

For the first time in years, she felt completely helpless. Ramirez stepped closer carefully. “I’ll stay with her,” she promised quietly.

Emery looked back at you one last time. Your heartbeat stuttered across the monitor. Her thumb brushed across your cheek gently, wiping away a streak of blood near your temple.

“Please,” she whispered so quietly nobody else could hear it. “Please don’t leave me.”

Then she finally let go.

And the second they pulled your stretcher away from her, Emery felt like someone had ripped her heart directly out of her chest.

One hour passed.

Then two.

Emery stayed exactly where she was outside the OR.

Someone brought her coffee at some point. It went cold untouched beside her chair.

Residents and nurses drifted quietly around the surgical floor, speaking in hushed voices whenever they looked her way. Nobody had ever seen Emery Walsh like this before.

Not cold.

Not composed.

Not untouchable.

Just terrified.

Every time the OR doors moved, her head snapped up instantly.

Every single time.

At one point Ramirez tried to convince her to change out of her bloodstained scrubs.

Emery looked down at them blankly like she hadn’t even noticed.

Your blood.

Still on her hands.

Still on her clothes.

She couldn’t bring herself to take them off.

At 6:12 AM, the doors finally opened again.

Everyone in the hallway seemed to freeze simultaneously.

Dr. Espinoza stepped out first, removing his surgical cap slowly.

Emery was on her feet before he even spoke.

The expression on his face nearly stopped her heart.

No no no—

“She’s alive.”

The breath Emery let out sounded almost painful.

Espinoza held up a hand quickly before she collapsed from relief completely.

“She’s critical,” he continued carefully. “Massive blood loss. We repaired the splenic rupture and controlled the liver bleed, but the next twenty-four hours are going to matter.”

Emery nodded rapidly, tears already spilling again.

Alive.

You were alive.

“She’s intubated and headed to ICU now,” he said softly. “But she made it through surgery.”

Emery’s knees finally gave out.

Ramirez caught her before she hit the floor completely.

A broken sound tore out of Emery’s chest as she covered her face with both hands. Not grief this time.

Relief.

Pure, overwhelming relief.

For several seconds she couldn’t speak at all.

Espinoza crouched slightly in front of her. “Hey.”

Emery looked up.

“She fought hard,” he told her gently. “Really hard.”

That undid her completely.

Because of course you did.

You always did.

“She asked for you before anesthesia fully took her under,” he added quietly.

Emery started crying harder.

Ramirez squeezed her shoulder firmly while Espinoza stood again, giving her a second to breathe through it.

Finally Emery dragged a shaking hand down her face.

“Can I see her?”

Espinoza nodded immediately. “ICU’s getting her settled now. Give them ten minutes.”

Ten minutes felt unbearable.

note: we need to see her more in season 3 💔

You moved away from your hometown as soon as you finished your residency because you always knew you were meant to go somewhere else. It didn’t matter where exactly, as long as it was far from the place where you grew up, and you applied to plenty of hospitals to make sure you got out. Good Dominion Hospital, Westbridge Hospital, and St. Mary’s Hospital all sent acceptance letters, but you chose Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center instead. The first week was rough because you worked the day shift under Dr. Robinavitch, and he was way too hot-headed for your liking. You felt tense every time you were near him because he snapped at the doctors around him, so you spent a lot of time trying to talk Gloria Underwood into moving you.

It took a lot of persuasion and reasoning, but she eventually let you switch to the night shift. The work is still stressful, and the hospital is always busy, but it actually feels much better to work under Dr. Abbot's leadership. It’s also easy to get along with the other doctors, like Dr. Chen and Dr. Ellis, but you’ve gotten especially close with Dr. Walsh. It’s because you have the same habit of heading straight to the cafeteria once the shift ends, even though the food is total shit. You just need fuel after being exhausted for many hours, and she seems to feel the same way because you always see her sitting at her usual spot.

You two never shared a table at first, but you just nodded at each other from across the room. It eventually led to you looking for her around the room until you finally asked if you could join her, and it became a regular thing for the two of you to eat together after a long shift, whether you’re sitting in the cafeteria or grabbing cheap snacks from the convenience store down the street. That closeness doesn’t go unnoticed by people at the hospital, but how can’t they when you and Emery clock in at the same time? Not because you two share a place together, it’s more about you waiting for each other at a nearby cafe to start your shift with a caffeine to pump your energy, and walking in together at work is just a bonus.

You’re never late, so it’s rare to see one of you without the other, since you’ve gotten so close, and you even try to clock out together if you aren’t both too exhausted. The nurses and other doctors have noticed how you always check whether she’s available to help with a procedure, and she does the same for you. You could remember that Dr. Ellis even asked if the two of you were dating, and you just told her that you’re friends, but she mentioned that Dr. Walsh dates women anyway, which surprised you when you heard that. You acted like that wasn’t news to you, but you actually had no idea until she said it.

It became some kind of weird assurance for you after hearing that piece of information because you can’t help finding Emery attractive to the point you considered asking her out way before you even learned she dates women. Part of you wishes Dr. Ellis hadn’t said anything at all because you’ve started noticing every little thing she does, and it frustrates you how casual she seems about everything. It’s more frustrating when you can feel her eyes on you every time the two of you spend time together doing an emergency operation, but it’s hard to focus, even though you try your best. It’s more confusing when she gives you those compliments after a successful surgery, but her actions still feel completely professional and platonic.

Yet all that time of wondering about her intentions just disappeared the moment you’re struggling to catch your breath in the hallway. It’s all because you lost a patient on the table, and usually, you can hide your emotions, but this case is just too emotional to handle, which made your chest clench while you leaned against the cold wall. Emery must’ve seen the panic in your eyes since she grabs your arm and leads you into the stock room before anyone else notices. She takes your hands once the two of you are inside and puts them on her own chest. Her skin is warm beneath her scrubs, and she instructs you to match the pace of her breathing.

She waits for you to inhale when she does, and she doesn’t remove her hand from yours while she explains how to hold your breath before letting it go. The tightness in your chest starts to fade as she talks you through doing it again, and she watches your face to ensure you aren’t gasping anymore. She explains that the feeling will pass while she keeps her thumb brushing against the back of your hand. She isn’t usually the type to initiate physical touch, but she doesn’t pull away when you lean forward and wrap your arms around her the moment you finally calm down. She just lets you hold her, and you bury your face against her shoulder.

Her hands come up to rest on your back, and she caresses them as a form of comforting you through what you’re feeling right now. “Are you okay now?” Emery asks as she pulls away from the hug. Her hands move from your back to your shoulders while she looks you over to check if you’re good to work again. You just hum and nod, but she doesn’t look convinced. “You look like a mess. You should go home,” she says while she keeps her grip on you. You shake your head and try to step back. “I’m fine, I can finish my work,” you say before you wipe your face. She frowns and blocks the door. “I don’t need you deciding when I’m done with my shift,” you add when you saw her not wanting to let you go, and the frustration finally makes you boil over.

Emery looks at you like you’re being completely unbelievable while she crosses her arms. “I’m your friend and your co-worker, so I’m just giving you an advice,” she says while she matches your tone. You just nod and look away because that word makes your jaw tighten. “What’s your problem?” she asks while she stays right in front of you. “It’s five in the morning, and you’re acting like this,” she says while she sighs. She blocks your path while she keeps her back against the door. “You need to go home because you’re clearly not on your game today,” she tells you while she stands her ground.

You’re being too obvious right now, and you know it. You didn’t want to react when she said the friend thing because that’s the truth, but you can’t help but get affected. It’s impossible not to when she spends so much time acting like you’re actually together. She’s usually closed off, but she always runs to you after a bad shift in surgery. She has her own way of showing that she needs you, like making you ride around in her car after work or taking you to the rooftop for some fresh air. You can’t just ignore it when your colleagues tease the two of you, while she just brushes it off or rolls her eyes. She acts like she doesn’t even hear them, so you’re the one who has to dismiss everyone.

It’s hard to keep your cool when she notices you’re not okay before anyone else does. “Get your shit together,” Emery says and her words snaps you out of your thoughts. You look at her and scowl because she’s still blocking your way out of the supply room. “I do have my shit together,” you say as you take a step toward her. She doesn’t move while she looks back at you with her arms crossed over her chest. “I know you’re a good doctor and you do your job well,” she says while she sighs. “But your ego and your pride won’t bring you anywhere when you can’t just admit you’re exhausted after losing that patient,” she adds while she steps closer to you.

You feel the heat on your face as you glare at her. “I’m telling you that you need rest,” she says while she keeps her voice steady. You shake your head and step into her space until your bodies are almost touching. “I don’t need that,” you say while you look at her. “That’s not what I need,” you mutter as you feel your pulse quicken. Emery doesn’t flinch while she looks up at you. “What do you need then?” she asks while she lets her gaze wander over your face. “I don’t know,” you say while you look away to avoid her stare. You try to step back, but the supply room feels smaller with her standing so close. “It’s nothing, just forget it,” you mutter as you feel the heat in your face.

Emery tilts her head and steps right into your personal space. “You don’t know?” she asks while she watches you. You know exactly what you need, but it’s not something you can say out loud. You can’t admit that you just want her to hold you again or that you need her to stay right here. “I need coffee,” you say while you try to divert her attention. Emery hums and nods her head while she lets her gaze drop to your lips for a second. You don’t notice the way she looks at you because you’re too busy trying to keep your hands from shaking. “Coffee,” she repeats while she stands close against you. “Yeah, coffee sounds good,” you say while you nod and try to find your breath.

Emery hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her scrubs, but she doesn’t move an inch away from you. “Then we should go get some,” she says while she waits for you to lead the way. You stay exactly where you are as you realize neither of you is actually heading for the door. You almost tell her that she’s the one you actually need, but you stop yourself. You take a deep breath while you force the words down and keep your mouth shut. “Just coffee later?” you ask once you finally find your voice again. Emery nods and takes a slow step back to give you some space. “Later,” she says while she opens the door and walks out into the hall. You follow her out as you try to ignore how much you want to reach for her.

That awareness stays with you because you feel her checking you out at least four times during the rest of your shift. She doesn’t stop to ask if you’re okay, but she raises an eyebrow whenever you catch her looking at you between her own cases. You see her every time she comes down from surgery to the ER after you finish with your own patients. You two just nod at each other when your paths cross at the nurses’ station or before she heads back upstairs. You try to focus on your rounds, but you still know she’s tracking how you’re holding up. You don’t say anything to her, but the way she keeps noticing you makes it impossible to forget what happened earlier.

You keep your head down for the rest of your shift, but your plan to avoid her fails when she catches you in the locker room. You’re already pulling your bag over your shoulder before you hear the door click shut. “Wanting to go home so quickly? Without me?” Emery asks while she leans against the lockers. You stop what you’re doing and look at where the voice came from. “I’m just tired,” you say as you try to keep your voice from shaking. Emery shakes her head and steps closer until you can see the way she’s watching you. “I told you earlier that you should’ve gone home,” she says while she stops just inches away from you.

You don’t want her to think you’re running away from her, so you force yourself to meet her gaze. “Do you still want that coffee?” you ask while you feel the tension building between you again. “I’ll take you home,” Emery says while she stands right in front of you. You keep your eyes on her, and you don’t expect the offer after such a long shift. “We can just grab a cup from that place near your apartment,” she adds, but you can see that she isn’t going to let you walk away by yourself. You think about saying no while you adjust the strap on your shoulder. “I’m serious,” she says as she nudges her shoulder against yours before she turns to open her own locker.

You wait while she quickly grabs her things and shuts the locker door. “Fine, but your coffee is on me,” you say and walk beside her once she’s ready to head toward the exit. She doesn’t say anything else, but she leads the way out to the parking lot. Emery gets into the driver’s seat first while you walk around to sit in the passenger side. You both sit in silence for the first few minutes of the drive, but the silence feels like it’s saying everything you aren’t. She keeps her eyes on the road until she finally decides to break the ice between the two of you. “The others were talking again today,” Emery says while she turns the wheel. You look at her and try to act confused.

“About what?” you ask, even though you already have an idea. She glances at you for a second before looking back at the windshield. “That thing they always say,” she says and taps her fingers against the leather. You shift in your seat as you pretend you don’t get it. “What thing?” you ask while you feel your pulse speed up. You know exactly what she’s talking about because the coworkers won’t stop calling you her work wife. Emery doesn’t look away from the road this time. “The wife thing,” she says, and the way she says it makes the car feel smaller. “Well, you tell me. You’ve been working at the hospital way longer than I have,” you say while you watch the morning traffic start to build up.

Emery grips the steering wheel and keeps her eyes on the road ahead. “It’s not my fault they talk,” she says and sounds defensive about the rumors. You look back at her because you don’t want to be the only one blamed for the gossip. “It’s not my fault either,” you say as you feel the heat in the car starting to rise. You wait a second, then decide to ask the question that’s been stuck in your head. “Did you have a work wife before me? Or do you have another one right now?” you ask while you try to sound like you’re just curious instead of jealous. Emery doesn’t hesitate for even a second before she answers. “No,” she says, and her voice is firm while she keeps driving toward your apartment.

“Not even Yolanda?” you ask as you try to push for more while she makes a turn. Emery scoffs and shakes her head at the road. “Why would you even suggest that ever happened?” she asks, and you can’t come up with a good reason to back it up. You just shrug as you watch her profile. “The two of you look like you have history,” you say, but she just scoffs again. “Yeah, and who exactly told you I have a thing with women?” she asks while she glances at you. You chuckle nervously and shake your head because you don’t want to snitch on Dr. Ellis. “I don’t know. People just talk,” you say, but you can tell she isn’t buying your excuse.

“Tell me who told you that,” she says while she keeps her eyes on the road and waits for you to talk. You look out the window as you realize you can’t get out of this. “Fine, Dr. Ellis mentioned it,” you say, and you hope Emery doesn’t actually go and confront Parker about it. “I don’t mind, but I honestly thought Parker would’ve been the one to tell you,” Emery says while she keeps one hand on the steering wheel. You look down at her other hand, where it rests on her thigh, and you find yourself completely out of it. You can’t focus on the conversation because the way she drives is so easy to look at, and it's hard to ignore.

“Yeah, I guess,” you mutter as you keep your eyes glued to her fingers against her leg. You aren’t even thinking about Dr. Ellis or the rumors anymore while you watch her grip the steering wheel. Emery glances over at you, but you don’t look up to check her face. “You still with me?” she asks, and you just nod without saying another word. Emery notices where you’re looking and moves her hand from her own leg to yours. You flinch when her palm lands on your thigh, but you don’t try to move away. She knows exactly how you feel about her, and she doesn’t seem to mind the attention at all. You look away toward the side window while you take a deep breath to try to calm down.

“Abbot saw you earlier, and he thought you were hypoventilating,” Emery says while she starts to caress your thigh with her thumb. You don’t look back at her because you’re trying to focus on anything besides her hand on your thigh. “You really had us worried there since you could barely breathe,” she adds and sighs while she keeps her eyes on the road. You’re still quiet and listen to her talk about the shift. “Abbot actually thinks you did a great job getting through the rest of the day,” she says while her hand sits against your thigh. This isn’t like Emery at all because she usually avoids any physical contact, but she clearly finds it fun to tease you after catching that look you gave her hand earlier.

She saw the way your eyes were glued to her fingers, and she’s using that knowledge to mess with you while she keeps her other hand on the wheel. “I think you did a good job too,” she says as she sneaks her fingers higher toward your inner thigh. You finally speak up, although you’re still looking away. “I don’t think you really believe that,” you mutter because you’re sure she’s just trying to be nice. Emery scoffs at your doubt and keeps her eyes on the road. “I do believe it, even if I think it was for the best that you ended your shift early,” she argues while her thumb presses into the fabric over your inner leg. You can’t even focus on her defending your work when her hand is so high up.

“You could barely breathe, and you still tried to stay,” she adds, and you feel her grip tighten. “You should stop kissing my ass just because we’re friends,” you mutter while you lean your head back against the seat. Emery shakes her head as she sneaks her hand even higher until her fingers are pressing right against your inner thigh. You let out a soft sigh and subconsciously open your legs wider to give her more room. “I’m not saying it because we’re friends,” she says before she stops talking to squeeze your leg hard. You squirm in your seat as she keeps both eyes on the road. “I’m saying it because you’re a good doctor and most people would’ve just walked out if they felt that overwhelmed,” she adds while she uses her other hand to guide the steering wheel around a turn.

You reach down and put your hand over hers, but you don’t pull her away. “You finished your shift because you’re a good girl who cares about her patients more than herself,” she says as she rubs her thumb over the fabric of your scrubs. Emery uses the tips of her index and middle fingers to rub against you between your clothed folds while she keeps her eyes on the road. Your mouth parts as you let out a gasp, and you close your eyes. “H-hah... what do you mean by doing nothing?” you manage to ask while your fingers grip the seat. Emery lets out a low grunt as she feels you reacting to her touch. “I was already planning to get my tongue inside you before you started acting so bold,” she says while she circles her fingers over your clit through the fabric.

You look out the side window and see a familiar run-down building coming up. “There’s an abandoned gas station just a few blocks away,” you suggest as you tilt your head back against the door. Emery glances toward the building and speeds up. “Yeah? You can’t wait until we get to your place?” she asks while she tightens her hold on the steering wheel. You nod your head and let out a shaky breath. “Yes,” you answer because you can’t think about anything except her hand. Emery leans in and presses her face against the side of your neck while her fingers keep working inside your scrubs. “You’re so fucking wet,” she whispers as she uses her thumb to put more pressure against your clit.

Your mouth is right against her ear while she kisses your skin, and you let out a ragged moan. “Nnngh... hahh... Emery,” you whimper as you tilt your head to give her more access. She grunts and continues rubbing you through your panties while she uses her other hand to grip the back of your seat. You bite your lip when she sucks your neck, and you pull back just enough to look at her. “The back... can we go to the back of the car?” you ask while you struggle to get the words out. Emery lets out a low breath and pulls her hand out of your pants. “Get back there,” she says before she unbuckles her seatbelt.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and push the passenger door open to step out into the empty lot. You quickly open the back door and climb inside while Emery follows right behind you. It feels embarrassing to do this in the car during broad daylight, but you need her too much to care about who might see. You scramble onto the seat as she shuts the door and looms over you. She immediately pulls you toward her and grabs the waistband of your scrubs. You feel her knuckles brush against your skin while she starts to pull the fabric down over your hips. Emery pulls your scrubs down all the way and tosses them onto the car floor.

She leaves you in just your top and panties while she taps her lap to signal for you to sit there. You don’t listen to her command; instead, you grab the fabric of her clothes. You pull her toward you until she’s hovering over you, and you press your lips against hers. You spread your legs to let her get closer as you wrap your arms around her neck. Your tongue slides into her mouth while you guide her body against yours. You keep your arms wrapped around her neck as you kiss her, and your tongues swipe against each other. She playfully sucks on your tongue while her hands move all over your body because she can’t get enough of you.

One of her hands rubs the back of your head while the other slides down your arm to squeeze your waist. You tilt your head to deepen the kiss as her palm caresses your side and then moves further down to your thigh. She rubs the skin of your leg before she gives your thigh a firm squeeze while her mouth is busy against yours. You feel her hands wander and caress everywhere they can reach while you keep pulling her closer against your body. Emery breaks the kiss and starts trailing her mouth down your jaw toward your neck. You bite your lip to suppress a moan as her teeth graze against your skin. “I want to hear you,” she whispers while her hot breath hits your ear.

“Don’t be shy because nobody else can hear you except me,” she adds as she sucks on a spot just below your ear. You let out a muffled groan and shake your head while you grip her shoulders. Emery pulls away from your neck and slides her hand inside your panties to rub your wet clit. “I’ve got my fingers right on your cunt, and you’re still trying to be quiet?” she asks while she increases the pressure. “H-hah... nnngh- Emery, please,” you whimper as you arch your back against the seat. Emery slides her fingers inside your cunt, and she makes sure to thrust them deep to get a moan out of your mouth.

“You’re acting so prideful today,” she mutters while she feels your walls tighten around her. “Haaah... n-nothing... mmf,” you gasp as you close your eyes and clench around her hand because it’s too much to handle. You feel your face get warm while she continues to move her fingers in and out of you. Emery watches you squirm, and she doesn’t stop the motion. “Is it that embarrassing for you?” she asks as she thrusts even harder. “Having your work wife’s fingers buried deep inside you while we’re parked in the middle of nowhere?” she adds while she waits for you to answer. You can’t find the words, and you just tilt your head back as you let out a long breath.

“Nnngh... mmn... f-fuck,” you whimper while you feel her knuckles rubbing against your clit. Emery pulls your panties to the side with her free hand so she can see how your cunt takes her fingers. She stops thrusting and keeps her hand inside you while she waits for you to move. You grind your hips against her lap to get her deeper, but she just smirks at how you struggle. “Nnngh... haaah... mmn,” you moan as you move your hips against her. Emery lets out a low grunt while she looks at the way you desperately try to get what you want. “You’re so fucking needy for me,” she mutters as she uses her thumb to press against your clit.

You whimper and hide your face in the crook of her neck while you keep grinding because the sensation is too much. “Mmf- Emery... hngh- please move,” you beg as you clench around her knuckles. You bite her neck when she doesn’t move her fingers, and she just presses her thumb harder against your clit. You keep moving your hips against her hand, but you let out a ragged breath. “H-hah... ahhn- don’t you think this is a bad idea?” you mutter when she finally starts to thrust into your cunt again. Emery chuckles, and she picks up the pace as she looks at you. “Nobody’s going to find out,” she says while she watches you struggle to keep your voice down.

“They’ll just think everything is normal between us,” she adds before her fingers move deeper inside you. You grip her shoulders after you feel yourself slip slightly on her lap. “Oh god... nnngh- you’re way too into this work wife thing,” you gasp while you arch your back against her. She just grunts and keeps working her fingers inside you because she wants to hear you get even louder. Emery lets go of your panties, and she moves her hand behind you to squeeze your ass. Your mouth stays parted against her neck before you pull back so you can look at her. She keeps thrusting her fingers inside your cunt while she watches your expression.

“Haaah... mmf- oh god,” you pant after you lean in to press a kiss against her lips. Emery grunts, and she keeps her fingers moving deep inside you. “What was that for?” she asks when you pull away again. You just shake your head, but you don’t say anything, and you go back to resting your face against her shoulder. “Nn- it’s nothing,” you whisper while you feel her knuckles rubbing against your clit. She chuckles, and she uses her grip on your ass to guide your hips into a faster pace. Emery keeps her hand on your ass, and she uses that grip to keep guiding your hips while she thrusts her fingers deep into your cunt.

You hide your face against her neck again as the sensation starts to build up. “Mmn... hngh- Emery... I think I’m almost there,” you whisper before you feel her fingers hook inside you. She grunts, and she keeps her fingers moving fast even though you won’t pull away. “Look at me,” she commands, but you just shake your head because you’re too embarrassed. “N-no... hngh- you just want to see me when I cum,” you mutter while you cling to her shoulders. Emery chuckles, and she picks up the pace when she feels your inner walls clench around her knuckles. “You’re damn right I do,” she says while she keeps working her hand inside you to finish you off.

She lets go of your ass, and she uses that hand to tilt your head back so you have to face her. You close your eyes tight because you can’t handle the way she’s staring, but her fingers keep working inside your cunt. “Why won’t you let me see you?” she asks when she keeps up the pace. You lean your head back, and you struggle to find a good excuse. “Hngh- it’s just... mmph- too much when you look at me like that,” you whisper after you feel her thumb circle your clit again. Emery chuckles because she knows you’re just being shy. “Would you prefer it if I just watched your cunt take my fingers while you cum instead?” she teases before she thrusts even deeper.

You let out a long groan before you hide your face again. “No-! mm... haaah- that’s way worse,” you moan as you clench around her hand. Emery keeps her fingers buried deep when she leans in to talk you through it. “It’s not way worse. I just want to see how pretty you are,” she whispers after she watches you struggle to catch your breath. Her bottom lip gets caught between her teeth as she bites down without thinking because the view of you is too good while you straddle her lap. “That’s it... doing so well for me,” she adds before she picks up the pace. You feel her knuckles rubbing against your clit, and your clit is pulsing against her fingers.

“I know that feels good,” she tells you while she thrusts her fingers into your cunt. The pleasure is almost too much to handle, but she doesn’t stop. “I’m going to be thinking about this all day tomorrow,” she mutters while she watches you struggle to breathe. “It’s going to be hard to focus at the hospital when I know exactly how you feel around my hand,” she says while your legs shake and your knees squeeze her hips. You shake your head, and you try to keep from whining too loud. “Mmn... hngh- you won’t do anything because you have a reputation to keep,” you gasp after you feel her thumb hook over your clit.

You know she’s not going to risk making the other doctors suspicious of you two, but she just grunts at your words. “Technically, you’re my work wife,” she whispers when she pushes two fingers into your cunt as far as they can go. “That means I get to have all the benefits whenever I want them,” she says before you let out a broken sound and you finally cum around her fingers because of what she said. “Oh god... ahhhn- mmf!” you cry out as your walls clench tightly around her hand. “Mmmn... hngh- don’t stop,” you whimper after you feel your walls squeeze her fingers.

Emery doesn’t stop thrusting her hand inside your cunt until you finally stop cumming, and she keeps her fingers buried deep while she begins to rub your clit. “Look at the mess you made on my lap,” she mutters when she notices the dark wet spot spreading across her pants. You feel your soaked panties clinging to your skin, but the fabric is completely drenched from your slick and cum. “Hah... p-please- it’s so embarrassing,” you gasp as she nudges your legs wider to get a better view of the ruined fabric. She grunts, and she curls her fingers deeper to stretch you out. “You’re so sensitive for me... I can’t believe you’re this wet and still dripping for me,” she teases before she watches the way you try to hide your face.

You tremble against her, and you can’t stop the small sounds from leaving your throat. “I-it’s not... mmmf- shut up,” you cry out because the pressure against your clit is starting to feel like too much. She keeps her hand right there while you struggle to catch your breath. “We still have to go back to your place after this... how are you going to walk inside with your underwear in that state?” she asks as she curls her fingers one more time. Your eyes roll back, and you let out a shaky breath when you realize she’s right about the mess. “Oh god... hahh- I hate you,” you mutter after you slump forward and hide your face in the crook of her neck. Your fingers find her hair, and you play with the strands while your chest heaves against hers.

Emery hums when she feels your touch, and she doesn’t pull away. “Maybe I should just change your name on my phone right now... how does Mrs. Walsh sound to you?” she teases after she gives your clit one last playful rub. You feel heat spread across your face, but you don’t move from her shoulder. “N-no... mmph- I’m not your wife,” you mumble against her skin before she grunts. She finally pulls her hand away from your drenched panties while she withdraws her wet fingers from your cunt, too. “You can say that all you want, but everyone at the hospital already thinks you are,” she says before you press a soft kiss to her neck because a girl like you could only dream of having a wife that’s also a doctor like you.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

everyone is repeatedly telling you that emery and yourself need to settle the dust, hash out your differences.

it sounded easy, nice, but she made it impossible. the moment you made your way from the day crew into the night crew, she scoffed at anything you said, finding an exact moment to press your buttons — it didn’t matter if you were trying to revive a patient, a snarky remark would come from her mouth, straight to you.

the first few months of working with the night shift, you tried to wrap your head around what her exact issue was with you. you tried to be on endless occasions to be civil and respectful, even maintain a safe space, but you realized that would get you nowhere, not with someone like her.

it was like that for a year. a year of torment, rude commentary, and scoffs — you stood on top of it all, knowing you’d find a way to eventually transition to another hospital once abbot could write you a stellar recommendation letter.

you only had about two more hours left of your shift before you could go home for your day off, and be free from emery, at least looking forward to the next night being spent with your friends.

another patient had come through the ambulance bay and into the trauma room, blood seeping out after they’d been brutalized in a car accident.

“we’re going to need to intubate,” you said, abbot and ellis checking out the victim, the nurses inserting ivs into them, attaching them to the heart monitors.

“he’s going to need immediate surgery,” shen stated, and you already knew what he was going to say next. “call walsh, tell her they need to start prepping.”

“i’m not giving the call,” you mumbled, and ellis seemed to be the only one who heard you, taking it on herself to call up the OR.

you wished she’d just stay upstairs, but she somehow found herself trickling down to the trauma bay where the patient was stabilized for the moment, a smug smile hanging on her lips.

“glad to see you didn’t fuck up,” emery spat, glancing at you as you were throwing away your gloves.

she found any reason to come down, any excuse, and it was all to get another jab into you.

“i do much better than you,” you said, standing feet away from her. “i recall you fucking up a suture just the other day.”

“knock it off, both of you,” abbot spoke up, and you and emery looked over at him. “it’s annoying, it’s unprofessional. fix your shit.”

“it’ll start once she transfers somewhere else,” emery hoped, and you flipped her off. “see that? we can’t have that behavior in our hospital.”

“i don’t know what your problem is, but it is one sided at this point. go do your job,” you said, purposely bumping her shoulder as you walked past her and out of the room.

she scoffed, looking over her shoulder, and back at everyone in the room. “can she go back to day shifts?” she wondered, and shen chuckled, shaking his head. “okay, fine. the operating room will be ready for him in five minutes.”

emery moved out of the room, not hesitating to approach you. her feet were basically booming hooves to you, and you inhaled sharply to gather patience before turning around to face her.

she gave you that cruel smile, one that twitched with sarcasm and bitterness. she was coming to get a reaction out of you, anything she could swallow to give her energy for the rest of her shift.

“what can i do for you, dr. walsh?” you asked, turning off the tablet, slipping it in between your arm.

“bringing up a mistake during a procedure was highly inappropriate,” she started, and you hummed. “your incompetence would probably kill a patient.”

you could hit your head against the tablet in front of her, but you knew that’d give her too much pleasure because she’d know she drove you to that point.

“do you realize how ridiculous you sound?” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “being rude and disrespectful as a surgeon is inappropriate.”

“you’re the one who has a mouth on her,” she seethed, and you simply shrugged.

“you and i have nothing further to say to each other,” you said, making sure to get completely out of her eye sight, yet she kept her eyes on your figure until you completely faded away.

you were beyond thankful you had a night off and could be with your friends, who had to endure another endless rant about how much your coworker hated you.

it’s not that it bothered you, but ever since you started working in the night, you tried to come up with any reason why she could dislike you.

but you two worked in different departments and only saw each other when it came to a patient needing immediate surgery — that was it.

“there’s always just going to be someone at work who just has no reason to not like you,” whitaker stated, taking a sip of his bottled beer. “yet, she is being excessive about it.”

“i just don’t get what her problem is,” you said, sipping on your glass of wine. “i steer out of her way, i follow any orders, and i just mind my business. yet, she still hates me.”

“walsh is known for being ruthless,” victoria told you as santos was shuffling the game cards again. “i think she finds any excuse to come terrorize you. have you thought of reporting it?”

“and be classified as a narc? absolutely not,” you answered, shaking your head. “i also don’t think human resources would care.”

“just switch back to the day shift,” whitaker chimed in, and you shrugged. “i know it’s more chaotic, but at least you’ll be away from her.”

“i think walsh would purposely switch to the day shift if she did that,” santos added, laying the cards flat down on the restaurant table. “i don’t think she hates your guts — i think she wants to be in them.”

you choked on your wine, violently coughing and covered your mouth with a napkin. “what are you on about!” you said, and victoria handed you her glass of water. “i don’t think she’s even gay.”

“i thought garcia wasn’t either, and look at how that turned out,” santos reminded, and you rolled your eyes.

“garcia uses you and eats all your ramen,” you added, and santos glared at you. “i don’t think emery wants anything like that — i think she just genuinely hates me.”

“and i think we’re all violating hippa by having sexual contact with our older workers,” whitaker stated, and you amusingly hummed, nodding. “victoria is dating cassie, santos is hooking up with garcia, and for me—”

“you’re hooking up with two older attendings,” you continued, grinning at him. “you’re greedy for that.”

“can you find out, trin?” victoria asked, and santos snorted, stifling a laugh.

“yeah, i’ll ask the next time garcia is in me,” she said, sipping on her beer. “i’ll be like, ‘hey babe, do you know if walsh is gay?,’ while she’s pile driving me.”

“i always wondered who was wearing the strap,” you joked, and she playfully kicked your leg under the table. “i bet you she’s straight, and just likes to torment me. i think i’ll ask abbot to hurry up with that letter.”

“and leave us? we’ll be heartbroken,” whitaker frowned, and the two women looked at him. “i know i’ll be. you only like going to her place to raid her fridge and pantry.”

“she shops at whole foods, how can you not resist!” victoria responded, and you chuckled, watching santos lay out the cards. “listen, i didn’t know that cassie liked girls for the longest time, and look where we are now.”

“she looks like she kisses girls for a living,” you stated, and victoria paused, slowly agreeing with you. “it only took her four months to cave in.”

“guys, a heads up,” santos coughed, clearing her throat, and everyone looked in the direction of the front door.

“i will take a scalpel to my eyes,” you mumbled, seeing emery walk in with a few people from the operating department, and you chugged down your wine. “this has to be some sick joke, right?”

“it’s worse,” victoria mumbled. “i think she’s sitting at a table across from us.”

“i have to go. i have to go before she tells a waitress to put rat poison in my food,” you panicked, grabbing your purse, yet you were a second too late from leaving when emery perfectly noticed you. “i’m going to quit medicine because of her.”

you stayed put in your seat as emery came up next to you, giving you a grin. emery’s grins were never soft or sweet when it came to you; it meant she had an another torture up her sleeve, something mean to say to you because you could never get a break.

“dr. walsh, i didn’t know you had the night off,” you stated, and wish you had a glass of straight vodka for this moment to swallow down.

“i’m surprised you have people to sit with outside of work,” she began, not even wasting a second to make a verbal blow towards you.

“she was on the day shift with us long before helping night,” santos chimed in, and both you and emery looked at her. “c’mon, you need to stop acting like that.”

emery looked back at you, softly utterly your name, “if you’re hungover tomorrow, you’ll be sloppy and commit malpractice.”

“shen literally told me you used the wrong instrument in a surgery last night,” you stated, and had to stifle a laugh when she had nothing more to say. “can’t you just leave me alone? i’ll be out of your hair soon anyways.”

“not soon enough, it seems,” she said, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “have a fun night.”

when she sat back down at her table, you let out a heavy sigh and put your head in your hands, considering taking the butter knife to your eye sockets.

“i’m gonna go back to day shift,” you said, and your friends hummed, agreeing. “and she’s needed in the night shift so there’s no way she’ll switch when i do.”

“is abbot aware of like, everything?” santos asked, and you nodded. “then why doesn’t he do anything?”

“he says it’s for us to handle on our own,” you stated, your eyes flickering at whitaker, and you tilted your head to the side. “has jack said anything to you?”

“he’s annoyed by it, but doesn’t want to get the medical director involved,” whitaker stated, finishing off his beer. “something about it being too much paperwork and stuff.”

“so he just wants me to suffer,” you mumbled, and the moment you looked at the table emery was sitting at her, she was looking at you — precisely and exactly.

she had a luring smile tugging at her lips, taking a sip of her own beer, and went back to talking to her own friends.

“you’ll be back on the day shift anyways,” victoria reminded, but you wish it didn’t have to take switching shifts again to not get tormented by a coworker.

you shouldn’t have to feel the need to quit your passion because you were getting constantly berated.

few hours had past, and you were too tipsy to drive yourself back home, standing outside of the restaurant bar as you smoked a cigarette.

“why are you still here?” you heard emery’s voice come to the side of you, causing you to turn your head and she stood cautiously a few feet away from you. “i thought you’d gone home by now.”

“being responsible by not drinking and driving,” you answered, taking another inhale, and slowly let it go. “why are you still here and talking to me?”

“you don’t need to rude,” she told you, earning a bitter, yet disbelieved chuckle out of you as you nodded to yourself in thought. “what is it now?”

“that’s really humorous coming from you,” you stated, refusing to look away from her. “all you are is rude and disrespectful towards me, and i don’t even know why.”

“you just need to get thicker skin,” she suggested, and you knew you were going to need a second cigarette, trying not to yell at her in this very moment. “not everyone will be sweet to you your whole life, you need to get used to it.”

“i am very used to it,” you said, taking in another hit. “it’s all thanks to you — your snarky comments, your hateful remarks — anything to get under my skin, and for what?”

“it sounds like you hate me,” emery stated, grinning because she was getting some sick amusement out of this interaction.

“i do hate you. i hate you so much,” you clearly stated, not missing a beat, not letting her even make another comment. you said it all with your full chest, and the words hung in the air, emery trying to gather something from it.

“have a good night. see you at work,” is all emery said before walking away, and left you standing there with what you had confessed, the cigarette ashes falling onto your knuckles.

you wanted to chase after her, ask her why she had nothing else to say to you, and why she didn’t make a jab at anything about you.

instead, you threw the cigarette on the ground, stomping it out, and walked back inside the restaurant.

a week has gone by since that night, and emery didn’t come down to the emergency room for that time period, especially when you asked around if she was working.

ellis was confused on what your sudden interest was with emery, but you shrugged it off and told her it was nothing.

but it was something.

you didn’t know why she wouldn’t come down, why she didn’t find a reason to belittle you in front of your shared peers — you assumed that maybe she got what she wanted, and you were in the clear.

you were sitting on santos’ apartment couch, the brunette in the kitchen with whitaker as they were making a late lunch for everybody, and victoria and samira sat on the carpet floor, showing off each other’s pinterest boards.

“hey, did you hear about the hang out tonight?” samira asked, and everyone looked at her, in mere confusion. “i don’t know who’s going, but it’s some people from the day and night shifts.”

“i’ll go. i need a reason for a drink or three,” you said, and you looked at santos. “did you ever find out if walsh liked girls?”

“oh shit,” she said, chuckling to herself as she stepped out of the kitchen, and sat next to you on the couch.

“wait, why do you need to know that?” samira asked.

“because trinity is convinced that she is,” you answered, and she awes in response, nodding.

“i think she is,” samira stated. “garcia and her used to have a small fling during their residency.”

“i can put my face on that hot stove right now, mohan,” santos stated, and samira mumbled a soft apology, going back to comparing with victoria. “and yeah, she does like ‘em. she’s only dated girls her whole life.”

“doesn’t mean she wants to fuck me,” you retorted, and whitaker brought the plates to the coffee table, sitting next to the girls. “i despise her, it makes me nearly sick how much i do.”

“you’ll be back on day shift soon, and i don’t think she’s coming tonight,” he said, and you hummed, nodding.

that’s why you agreed to join your friends on a night out in downtown, where it was more vibrant and busy.

you were on the rooftop of the bar, abbot and whitaker playing pool inside against samira, while you sat outside with santos and shen, almost down the first pitcher of beer.

“i didn’t want to tell you this earlier,” shen said, playing with the ring he had on his finger as he looked at you. “but walsh is coming.”

“we are on the top floor, i can push you off,” you told him, drinking down your cup of alcohol. “why is she coming, anyways? has she been coming up with new ways to insult me?”

“abbot had a whole talk with her the other day,” he explained, refilling your glass. “he said it’s not worth the paperwork, or either of your careers.”

“but i’m not even doing anything—”

“talking about me already?” emery asked, causing you to nearly jump, and you groaned under your breath. “i knew you’d miss me.”

she was wearing dark denim jeans that were baggy and a loose smashing pumpkins shirt, something that you weren’t that used to seeing — but you weren’t exactly complaining.

“the complete opposite,” you said, and she sat directly across from you.

“how about we go get something else from the bar?” shen directly asked santos, and it took her a few seconds to understand his suggestion as she agreed, the two immediately getting up.

“so,” you muttered. “we haven’t seen you down in the emergency department.”

“i didn’t want to deal with your shit,” she stated, grabbing the spare glass that was on the table, and poured beer into it.

“i am just as smart and capable as you,” you reminded her, and she made a certain look, one that told you that she didn’t entirely agree with you. “you got what you wanted, i’m moving shifts — so can you just stop?”

emery took a sip of her drink, taking a few beats to answer as she thought to herself. “i don’t want to stop, i don’t think i will.”

“why not?”

“because you hate me,” she said. “i don’t particularly like you either, but i feel like i’ve barely reached the surface.”

“but why me?” you asked, and it was a question that nearly silenced her as she just stared at you for a few seconds before looking down at her cup.

“you’re easy and pathetic. it’s easy to break you,” she admitted, grinning to herself. “that’s what makes you so special — you’re entirely incapable of stopping me from getting under your skin.”

“i’m very much capable.”

“you’re not,” she shook her head in disagreement, inching closer as her hands were folded on the table, only a few centimeters from yours. “i’m not done until i’ve made you cry.”

you swallowed thickly, your heart in your throat, and there was nerves pounding at your chest. your hands were on your cup, trying to find movement to chug the rest down, and walk out of the bar — but you couldn’t.

was she implying what you thought she was? there wasn’t any possible way that she could do that or she wanted you like that — she made your job a horrible experience every time you clocked in, but was it simply all so she could unravel and bend you beyond your breaking point?

you stayed put, looking at her and let yourself be quiet for once. samira and whitaker came to the table, noticing the heavy tension that hung over you and emery.

“is everything okay?” samira wondered, only looking at you.

“yeah, we’re gonna head to my house right now,” emery said, taking the last sip of her beer, and got up from the table.

it was like a ghost pulled and picked you up too, as you adjusting your denim skirt and looked at samira, grabbing your purse.

“i mean, are you sure?” she asked, an edge of worry in her tone.

“i’ll text you guys later, don’t worry,” you told her, giving a kiss to her cheek, and trailed right behind emery as she guided you two out of the bar.

you saw trinity and shen at the bar on the way out, giving her a look as she gave you a thumbs up, knowing that she was right.

the silence lingered until the two of you were completely out of the bar, and only then was there distant noises of honking and chatter.

“my house is only two blocks away,” emery said, grabbing your hand and dragged you along with her. “you look pretty.”

she actually said something nice — you were going throw up.

“shut up,” you told her, trying to force your hand out of hold, yet it seemed impossible as she only tightened her grip.

“this is why you’re fucking impossible,” she mumbled. “if you’re going to be like that, don’t talk until we’re at my place.”

you happily complied with that, keeping yourself quiet as you walked with her and let her continue to hold your hand.

it took about fifteen minutes to get to her townhouse, that was on the nicer side of pittsburgh and you stared at it in awe as she began to unlock her front door.

emery dropped your hand, opening the door and let you walk in first. you hesitantly careened inside, seeing miscellaneous photos hung up on the walls — it was of her college days, when she graduated, family photos, and random art pieces she must’ve collected over time.

“you have someone who gets these for you?” you asked, emery closing the door and coming to your side. “the artworks, they’re nice.”

“my mom gets them for me,” she stated, putting her keys in the little tray that sat on the walk in table. “she knows i can’t stand bland walls.”

“how much does a surgeon make?” you questioned, putting your purse next to her keys, and she only grinned. “if it’s more than me, i might have to switch careers.”

“you’d suck at being a surgeon,” she said, and you rolled your eyes, feeling a bit dumb that you thought she’d be nice for a few more minutes.

“can you not be sweet for even an hour?” you wondered, and she scoffed. “i’m serious. why are you so fucking mean?”

“don’t act like you don’t like it,” emery stated, and you moved right behind her as she led you both to what you presumed to be her bedroom.

“i don’t like it,” you told her, and you walked into her room, which was insanely organized and clean. a smell of clean linen and pinewood roamed throughout the space, yet there wasn’t a spec of dust anywhere, her bed was perfectly made, and she had only neutral tones.

maybe all surgeons were neat freaks.

she sat down at her computer chair as you stood by her bedroom door, your eyes looking at every part of her room as if you were to memorize it.

“what are you doing right there? come here,” she said, and you gathered the courage to move in her direction, fidgeting with your fingers. her legs moved apart to manspread before you as you stepped in between them and looked down at her. “can i touch you?”

“what?”

“can i touch you?” she asked, and you were taken aback. “need to know if you’re soaking wet all because i bully you.”

“i’m not wet,” you insisted, and she hummed, hitching your skirt up to your stomach. you didn’t stop her, not one bit, and when her fingertips brushed along your mound, you had inhaled sharply, excited yet afraid what she’d do next.

“these are cute,” she complimented your eyelet cotton panties, and was highly amused with herself, bringing them down to your thighs. “you left a mess in your panties, sweetheart. did you know that?”

you were nearly shameful that her taunting you tonight got you to this point, “i…i didn’t know,” you muttered, almost coming out as a whisper, and shyly looked away from her.

“who said you can fucking look away?” emery asked, bringing her spare hand to the side of your face, and gave it a soft, yet demanding slap. “look at how fucking pathetic you are.”

you whimpered from the slap, nodding and made eye contact with her once more. the slap got you going more, and she knew it too, two of her fingers slipping between your slick folds.

“all because i’m so mean to you,” she taunted, and let out a disbelief chuckle. “you bitch about it so much, but you love it.”

you didn’t say anything else, your guilt and shame claiming you, and all you wanted to do was curl into a ball because of how stupid you felt for getting wet over your older coworker being simply mean to you.

“take your clothes off,” emery said, and when you were about to barely turn around to do so, she gave your calf a small kick. “in front of me. are you fucking stupid?”

you nodded, your shaky hands going to each of your clothing as you slowly took them off, removing your shoes last. emery’s eyes gawked at your nude body, her eyes taking in every curve and inch of you, your delicate skin that she had the urge to bruise.

she had cursed under her breath while continuing to look at you, thinking of millions of ways to deprave and ruin you.

“go lay flat on your back on the bed,” she said, and you happily obliged, scurrying over to the neat bed, carefully resting on it. you only stared up at the ceiling, hearing emery go through a nightstand drawer, yet you were too afraid to look at what she was doing.

the room was cold, a cascade of chills creeping over your skin, and you jolted when emery’s hands were on your knees, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed.

you sat up on your elbows, noticing how she was only in her sports bra, yet when you looked down to her lower half, your eyes widened.

“what were you saying about hating me the other week?” she wondered, her hands moving to the back of your thighs and forced your legs entirely back, your knees at both sides of your head. “it doesn’t seem like you hate me.”

“this doesn’t mean anything,” you groaned, holding onto your legs, and knew you had to keep them there. “i do hate you, i always will.”

without any warning or for you to take a breath, you could feel your cunt being ripped and stretched apart with her cock before you could say much else.

“that’s one way to shut you up,” emery said, hovering over you as she didn’t hesitate to fuck into you at a rough, violent pace, and her free hand found the pinnacle of your throat. “can’t bitch or whine anymore now, and i fucking love it.”

“fuck you,” you managed to breathe out, her hand hard on your windpipe.

“your cunt doesn’t seem to fuckin’ hate me,” she spat, her cock nudging itself deeper into your pussy, and you held back your wanton noises.

you spat in her face, and for a singular moment, she held all movements, but she smeared your spit off her face, smudging it back onto yours.

“are you that stupid? don’t tell me you are,” she said, spitting at your face and backhanded you, barely missing your jaw. you yelped out a cry as she continued to fuck into you, and put her hand back onto your throat.

“‘m not stupid, i’m not,” you cried, and she nearly laughed in your face, using her spare hand to smack the back of your thigh.

“you’re disgusting for this — letting your older coworker fuck you, treat you like a fuck doll,” emery groaned, her hand tightening on your throat. “out of all the ways i thought of shutting you up, i knew this was the best one.”

your eyebrows furrowed together as you managed to hold eye contact with her, your moans and whines bouncing off every wall in the bedroom, surely being heard from outside.

“i hate you too, sweetheart — but i love fucking your cunt,” she stated, her hand unclasping from your throat, and replaced your hands with her own onto the back of your thighs, holding them in place.

your own hands grasp at the bed’s comforter, your back arching, and your body was seemingly electric, squirming around with every harsh thrust.

“it feels like i’m gonna cum, em,” you whimpered, pleading with her.

“you’re not gonna cum. give me a kiss, baby,” she said, one of her hand’s going to the back of your head to pick it up, and your lips met hers, the kiss hungry and desperate.

she tasted between spearmint and tobacco, her tongue meeting yours, and she cursed your name, groaning it as her thrusts became brutal and merciless.

the heat kept accumulating in your abdomen, feeling as if it was on fire, and your thighs trembled against her touch.

“i can’t, i can’t, please,” you begged, being too sensitive and were on the brink of tears. it had been a while since you had a proper orgasm, and every burning sensation and desire stacked amongst each other, riveting throughout your body.

“be a good bitch and hold it — you’ve already disappointed me enough,” emery seethed, and you broke into a small sob, the pleasure being beautifully overwhelming. “keep crying, baby. just feels so good, doesn’t it?”

she could tell you were about to let go of your climax, coming to full stop which only earned a symphony of protests from you, and towered back over you again.

another slap to your face.

“be fuckin’ grateful i’m even touching you,” she said, and you whimpered, only nodding. she put her hand near your mouth, and you looked merely confused. “spit.”

you spat into her hand as she inched back and you could feel your saliva being used as a lubricant, giving you only a few seconds to mentally prepare.

“i told you i’d stop once i got you to cry,” emery reminded, and in a single second, she was pushing inside of your bottom, a heavy gasp eliciting from you.

you had minimal strength to keep your legs up, and emery immediately noticed, getting closer to you and had them hung over her shoulders.

you were being torn apart the seams, but you loved it — god, emery fucking into you and stretching you apart to her own satisfaction was all you ever needed.

“tell me you’re sorry,” she said, her necklace dangling in your face and you held profusely eye contact with her. “apologize to me, and i’ll maybe consider letting you cum.”

you shook your head, moaning her name without even realizing it, and it was the sweetest sound to her eyes.

emery loved it — no, she adored it. it was the softest sound with the sickest intentions behind it, and the knowing that the mutual hatred towards one another is what fueled her to fuck you.

“you feel s’good, em,” you mumbled, soft whimpers sewn in between, and your fingernails dug into the comforter, surely ripping the thread. “it feels so, so good, but i—”

“you’re gonna keep fuckin’ taking it until you apologize,” she said, and she was certain on that, knowing that was the only way you could orgasm.

and your orgasm was painful, brutally poking at your abdomen, wanting to be free; but you were too prideful, and she was too egotistical.

your cries were beautiful, and you knew it was helping her in her own depraved ways, getting her off as her cock moved further into you, your ass perfectly sucking it in.

you knew your makeup was ruined, mascara running down your soft cheeks, and emery just adored the sight of you being ruined all because of her.

“you gonna apologize, sweetheart?” she asked.

“you can’t even keep going!”

“i can go on all night until i hear those two words,” she said, giving you a hast kiss, and harshly smacked your swollen cunt, causing you to jolt.

you could say it and not mean it, she wouldn’t be able to tell. your orgasm was too much, pressuring inside of you, and your cries shifted into heavy sobs.

because you finally cracked, and sobbed out, “i’m sorry! i—i’m sorry, fuck!”

“yeah, baby? you’re sorry?” she wondered, and ran her fingers between your puffy cunt before rubbing your bud. “you’re sorry for what exactly?”

“for being mean a—and disrespectful,” you cried, and your climax was at the edge of your cunt, ready to let go of it all. “please, please! i need to cum, i can’t anymore.”

emery’s thrust paced up, and she rode you through your head as your back arched the moment your orgasm flushed out of you.

you cried her name in a practical mantra, and she cursed every word, taking a few more seconds to slowly fuck into you.

it felt like minutes until she came to a halt, and the two of you tried to gather lungfuls of oxygen, seeing stars in your vision.

she gently slipped out of you, and completely took off the harness, patting your leg. you thought maybe she would comfort you a bit, maybe lay next to you or check up on you for a second.

“i’m gonna go shower,” she said, putting her hair up into a ponytail.

no kiss, not a single aftercare.

the second she walked into her bathroom, closing the door, you used every minuscule of muscle and strength to get up from the bed.

you hurriedly changed back into your clothes and tugged on your shoes, storming out of her bedroom.

you remembered your purse being on the walk in table, opening it and grabbed your phone, seeing multiple missed text messages from your friends in a shared chat.

trinity : did she fuck you…. be open and honest!

victoria : WAIT WHAT

victoria : EMERY FUCKED HER???

whitaker : i wouldn’t be surprised and trin did call this.

samira : possibly. they left together and we haven’t heard anything in nearly two hours.

trinity : me and abbot made a bet so please update.

victoria : cass is looking over my shoulders and reading all these btw

trinity : hello beautiful milf :P

whitaker : why are u betting with my boyfriend

trinity : shut up mouse.

victoria : why isn’t she answering her phone !!!!!!!

you : someone pick me up. right now. in under two minutes.

you : i think i have cum running down my thighs i can’t tell.

emery walsh ! who’s whipped for you , and everybody knows it too , she might present a certain persona while at work , because she has to ꣖ otherwise she’d be undermined ꣓ however , once she’s with you her demeanour completely changes , her sharp edges and overconfidence become round corners and smile lines .

emery walsh ! who’s always been very straightforward about your relationship , she enjoys her privacy , of course , she’s also not one for pda but she’s always been comfortable and confident telling people about you when the time was right . plus everybody already knew about you anyway , or that the two of you had something going on long before you made it official , she also doesn’t play games or leave you guessing , she’s a surgeon , she doesn’t have the time to play around , if you’re with her , you’re with her , that’s it , no petty jealousy or mind games with her .

emery walsh ! who is super reassuring , again she doesn’t enjoy mind games or petty childish bullshit , she likes clear communication and she’ll tell you over and over again , no matter how many times you need to hear it , just how much you mean to her , she also refuses to stay mad at you or have any ‘ongoing fight with you’ especially because she worries that it will affect her job performance . also more times than not she’ll just say that you are right and apologise #whipped , except when it’s something she’s passionate about or something that will affect you / endanger you .

emery walsh ! who will try to convince you to change to the night shift so that the two of you can spend more time together , emery walsh ! who will say ꣖ sing ꣓ the night shift mantra out loud , to you , in the privacy of your shared appeartment in the hopes of changing your mind and making you see that the night shift is ‘superior’ .

emery walsh ! who’s subtly possessive of you , she’s not toxic by any means , you’re a big girl you can handle yourself , but once the two of you are out with the rest of your colleagues she’ll have her arm around your waist , or her hand will be holding yours , or her hand will be resting not so subtly on top of your thigh , if the both of you are sitting down , while she makes eye contact with those around you while she has her hands all over you .

emery walsh ! who’s a kisser , she loves kissing you and she loves your mouth , she’ll spend hours kissing you , hard , her tongue evading your mouth while she gets a taste of you . but she won’t just devour your lips . she’ll kiss your face , your thighs ꣖ … ꣓ , if she could have her mouth on your skin at all times , she would .

emery walsh ! who despite not being a very good cook insists on cooking for you , she likes providing for you , and she likes being of use to others ꣖ that’s why she went into medicine , after all ꣓ but she especially likes doing things for you but it’s not only about providing for you , it’s also about being in control .

emery walsh ! who loves it when she gets to boss you around at work , most attendings would try to keep it under wraps that they were dating a resident but not her , no , it gives her a rush , to be able to see you do what she tells you to do the minute she says it , no arguments , no complaints , just pure authority and obedience .

emery walsh ! who’s fiercely protective of you , if for whatever reason one of your shifts overlaps with the other and she catches an attending being a dick to you while ‘teaching’ she will snap back at them , call them out for unprofessionalism and even threaten hr , nobody messes with what’s hers .

emery walsh ! who talks about marrying you often , especially in the morning , on the rare occasion that your days off overlap and you two get to wake up next to each other , there’s nothing she wants more than to be able to wake up next to you in the morning and know that you’re hers , completely .

emery walsh ! who’s good with her hands , she’s a surgeon after all , she’s also a quick study , she studies and observes you like she would a case , or a patient , every sound , every whimper , every breath an indicator that she’s doing something right , and she gets off on knowing that she is doing something right , that she’s as good at this as she is at her job ꣖ even though she definitely enjoys her time with you more than surgery , something that she never thought possible before meeting you ꣓ .

emery walsh ! who’s an eater , she loves eating you out , loves being between your legs , making you cum over and over again until you can’t take it anymore , if she could she’d spend all of her free time in between your thighs making love to you .

emery walsh ! who’s more dominant , she gets off on being in control , on being the one calling the shots and seeing you react to her ministrations . emery walsh ! who will , once in a blue moon , submit to you , even though she gets off more while being on top .

emery walsh ! who’s a giver , she gets off on seeing you get off , she’ll even cum just by watching you fall apart for her while she keeps pumping her digits in and out of your hole , while salivating while looking at your blissful expression .

emery walsh ! who loves edging you , she’ll bring you up until you’re right on the edge and then stop , only to bring you back up again , she’ll spend hours upon hours edging you to the pint of tears if you let her .

emery walsh ! who found out while being with you that she’s into dacryphilia , she adores edging you and seeing your eyes start to water just so that she can make you cum right after and wipe your tears with her thumbs and shush you and telling you that you were such a good girl for her .

emery walsh ! who uses you as a stress relief , she’ll come home after a tough day in the or and put you on all fours and pound into you with her strap until she’s breathless and you are drooling into the sheets .

emery walsh ! who’s not one for quickies , she’ll do them if you want of course or she’s desperate enough , but she prefers taking her time with you , getting you ready for her and doing things properly .

emery walsh ! who’s the queen of aftercare , she’ll clean you up , reassure you while telling you that you were just so good for her , cuddle you and give you just about anything that you could possibly ask for ꣖ just as in any other instance during your relationship ꣓ .

꣓ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 :

@natsguitar ; @turnersx ; @starrbelliedboy ; @dramagodesss ; @userhotd ; to join !﹙ 🥼 ﹚

nibbling on the plush skin of her waist on the way to eat her out. licking the stretch marks on her stomach until she’s pressing your head to go lower. even then her inner thighs are just so so soft you just end up biting them left and right, nibbling on every inch of her skin is the new goal. she has to slap you a little to get you to focus back on what youre supposed to be doing. grabbing you by the hair to leverage you off her thigh, mumbling a little “need you to focus baby, make mommy feel good, i know you can.” pouting at her before grabbing her hips way too roughly with your nails before diving in, gotta leave your mark somehow if not with your mouth!

biting on her bicep lord. especially after she comes back from pilates or hot yoga or whatever and is all sweaty. licking the saltiness off her skin (esp her sternum) while your fingers circle her clit… mostly so that she cant complain about what youre doing with your mouth. literally springing out of bed at 6am when she comes back from the gym to stop her from hopping in the shower. need to get your fill first!

genuinely just needing your mouth on her all the time, even in a non-sexual way? licking her arms while she cooks dinner and sucking on her earlobe when you struggle to get her attention. she doesnt even object anymore. just domestically taking her fingers into your mouth and sucking on them if the opportunity arises. sulking when she hasnt let you have your nibbling time. being grumpy and ignoring her until she remembers to stay still for long enough for you to bite on her forearms et cetera.

cant forget about her boobs either… proposing certain positions with the strap just so you can lick and suck and bite on her chest while she drills it into you. to the point where you just do not even really care about your own pleasure,,, so distracted with how her skin or nipples feel under your lips and on your tongue. just moving your hips back and fourth while riding her as if its just routine, way too locked in on the sounds she lets out when you bite on the right bit of skin.

she gets all mad when you bite on her neck etc… so trying to do so results in a very rough and wordy baran. imagine sneaking up behind her and pressing your teeth to the back of her neck only to be pushed directly against the wall and fucked until you're crying. hence, when shes too focused on a science journal or a stupid book this is the way to get attention. while she obviously doesn't want anyone at work to see bite marks on her its become more like a game. a game about how you never learn so she just has to fuck you even rougher each time.

"Thinking about changing your bet?"

A voice to your left breaks you from your concentration on the homemade betting board on the wall, causing you to glance over and find none other than the ED's newest attending, Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi.

Shifting your attention forward again, you rub your fingers together before responding.

"I'm just...weighing my odds."

In your peripheral vision, you see her look back at the board and then to you before claiming, "Don't worry. I'll...buy you a drink with my winnings."

You barely register what she says before she's walking off and sporting a confident smirk, like she's speaking a fact and not a possibility.

Turning around with a look of curiosity, you watch her disappear down the hallway and think to yourself, What the hell just happened?

—

At the end of that shift, Baran does end up winning the pool, much to everyone's surprise. You briefly think back to her promise when she locks eyes with you across the group but you put it out of your mind as you head to your locker to change and gather your things.

On your way out to your car, you're looking down at your phone, trying to figure out what playlist to listen to when she falls into step beside you.

"Told you I'd win."

Her casual tone pulls your attention as the two of you walk in sync towards the parking lot.

Even in casual street clothes, she still has a confident air about her; hands casually tucked in her pants pockets, a light smirk still playing on her lips.

You purse your lips in response, still trying to figure out what she's getting at. "So you said…"

Nodding in realization, you continue, "Congratulations, by the way. First day and coming home with a wad of cash has to feel good."

Baran chuckles, shaking her head slightly. "Money's not why I played."

Glancing at you sideways, her distractingly long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks from the light pole above. "I just like proving people wrong."

She jerks her head across the parking lot, stating, "I have to get home, but I was serious about taking you out for that drink."

With that clarification lingering in the air, she asserts, "Let me know when you want to collect. And don't take too long—I don't like waiting."

She turns to walk toward her car without waiting for your answer, that same confident smile playing on her lips, clearly enjoying this little game.

You're rooted to your spot, dumbfounded at her forwardness but unable to deny your attraction to it. After a moment, you spin on your heel and make your way to your own car, laughing in disbelief at the turn your night took.

The universe seemed like it decided to toy with you after that, for you and Baran didn't have a matching free night for the next couple of months. Last Friday night, you had both arranged to meet up but her son suddenly got sick and she had to cancel, to which you completely understood and told her you'd see at work the next morning.

Now a week later, you're starting to think you might never get that drink, which disappoints you more than you expected.

The day seems to drag on, and by the time the end of your shift slowly approaches, you're ready to just go home and fall into bed. However, as you're sitting in the break room drinking a cup of coffee, a figure walks through the door and leans against the wall beside you.

Looking up, you find Baran standing there, an enigmatic smile on her face.

"Mind if I join you?"

Too curious to decline, you simply nod, sipping from your cup and waiting to see what she has to say.

Baran pulls out the chair beside yours and sits down, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands in her lap. She regards you for a moment, seeming to gather her thoughts before speaking.

"I think you're avoiding me."

Caught off guard, you nearly choke on your coffee, quickly setting the cup down and clearing your throat. "I wouldn't say that. Last week didn't work out, and really, our schedules just...haven't lined up."

She shakes her head in return.

"That's not what I meant, I know that's out of both of our hands. But even outside of that, it seems like every time I walk in the room, you suddenly have to be somewhere else."

You don't know what to say.

She isn't wrong necessarily—you have been getting pulled away to cases that aren't hers, but subconsciously, you've also been avoiding any that she's already on, and you can't explain why.

"If I came on too strong by telling you I'd buy you a drink, I apologize. My intention was never to make you uncomfortable."

Baran's expression shifts to a softer one, one you haven't been privy to yet, and it slithers through a crack in your carefully crafted facade.

Feeling a bit guilty, now it's your turn to apologize. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry I made you feel like I've been avoiding you, I've just been...distracted, to say the least."

You see a look of intrigue flash across her gaze, but she doesn't comment further.

Shifting to stand, she pushes her chair in before wrapping both hands around the edge of it and staring directly at you. "If you're still interested, I'm free tonight. My son will be at my sister's for a sleepover, so I'll be free of any...distractions."

With that, she leaves the break room and re-enters the chaos of the ED, leaving you with your mind whirling and a tingling feeling in your stomach.

The rest of your shift passes by in a blur, thoughts stuck on an expressive pair of brown eyes and a knowing smile. You don't see Baran as you make your way out of the hospital and you don't want to ask anyone if they've seen her, afraid of drawing any attention or gossip.

Sliding into the driver's seat of your car, you begin tapping into Spotify's search bar to look for a specific song when you pause. Before you can change your mind, you open up your messages app and type out a text to Baran, telling you're free to meet up tonight.

Picking a song and locking your phone, you turn your engine on and shift into reverse when your phone lights up with a notification from her.

You press your foot on the brake, instantly unlocking your phone and reading her reply.

[Baran Al-Hashimi] Perfect. See you at 9:30, I'll send you the address.

The typing bubble pops up for a second before the link to a fancy looking bar appears, and you exhale deeply. Glancing at the clock on your dash, you see it reads 7:32 and realize you have less than two hours to go home, get ready, and head over.

Liking both messages, you put your phone back on its mount and back out of your parking spot, nervously drumming your fingers on the steering wheel the entire drive home.

Once there, you strip out of your work clothes and step into the shower, the hot water hitting your skin and immediately helping you unwind. You wash the day—and the nerves—from your body, mentally going through your wardrobe and trying to think of something that will gain her approval.

When you're sufficiently clean, you step out of the shower and wrap yourself in a towel. In your room, you stand in front of your closet, contemplating what to wear. You want to look good, of course, but you also don't want to seem like you're trying too hard.

Tossing multiple options on your bed and speed testing all of them, you finally settle on a combination you've somehow never worn before. You check yourself in the mirror, loving the way the fabric settles over your figure and decide that this is the one. Checking the time on your phone, you see that you have just enough time to finish getting ready and take a deep breath before heading to the bathroom.

—

You arrive ten minutes early, your nerves getting the better of you and wanting to ensure Baran wouldn't be left waiting. Taking a moment to look around the room, you don't see her and let out a quiet sigh of relief before heading to the bar.

When you give the bartender your order and he turns away to make your drink, it gives you time to actually look around the bar.

It's a classy joint with warm lighting and expensive looking bottles, and the patrons are all your age or older, wearing clothes that you don't have to see the labels of to know they cost a pretty penny—exactly the kind of place you picture Baran frequenting.

The bartender sliding your glass across the counter breaks you from your reverie and you hand him your card before taking a sip, letting the alcohol slip down your throat and settle your nerves.

Watching the clock on the wall in front of you creep closer to 9:30 has your nerves flaring anew, and at the same time the big hand strikes the 6, the bar door opens. Your head whips around to see the woman you've been waiting for walk into the room, and your jaw clenches at the sight.

Baran's curls are loose around her face and her signature scrubs have been replaced with a sleeveless, low cut top that showcase a tasteful amount of cleavage, paired with flowy yet form fitting slacks—much to your approval. The closer she gets, you also notice her makeup is a bit more dramatic and that it emphasizes how beautiful her eyes are.

Eyes that are locked onto you and giving you an appreciative once over when she reaches your place at the bar.

"This seat taken?"

You blink at the question before looking down at the empty chair beside you and cracking a smile, gaze finding her amused one and answering, "All yours."

She slides onto it in one fluid motion before flashing a smile at the bartender and catching his attention. He comes over immediately and takes her order of an espresso martini before disappearing to make it.

You're too busy watching the effortless way she moves to register that she said something until she laughs and shakes her head, causing heat to lick at the back of your neck.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said you clean up nicely. I thought the scrubs were a good look on you but I think I might like this one even more."

You have to look away at the compliment, her unabashed gaze doing nothing to quell the warmth settling in your stomach. Taking another sip from your drink, you set it down before making eye contact with Baran and mentally telling yourself to relax.

"Thank you, I can't remember the last time I had a reason to get this dressed up. But you look…"

Your eyes dip down to rake over her outfit, taking in all of the little details that showcase how much effort she put into it—for you.

"...Incredible."

Looking back up, you clear your throat when you see the knowing look on her face.

"To say the least."

She smiles at your honesty, crossing her legs as the bartender appears with her drink. She thanks him and swiftly pays before turning to give you her full attention once again.

Raising her glass in your direction, you clink it with yours and you both take a sip, keeping eye contact throughout.

"I'm glad we were finally able to do this," she remarks, and you nod in response.

"Yeah, I think we both deserve a night to just…relax."

She cocks her head just slightly, regarding you with a look she's given you plenty of times in the ED, and you swallow lightly.

I'm so screwed.

—

Less than an hour later, both of your glasses sit empty and Baran flags down the bartender again before turning to you.

"What are you drinking?"

You give the man your order and she adds on another espresso martini, to which you tease her for being basic.

"Excuse you, I was ordering these far before they became popular," she laughs. "It's not my fault my palette is so advanced that everyone else decided to copy it."

Raising your hands in surrender, you reply, "Whatever you say."

When the bartender appears again with your glasses in hand, you reach for your wallet before feeling a hand stop you.

Looking up, you find Baran shaking her head before stating, "I said I'd buy you a drink, remember?"

The action shouldn't affect you as much as it does, but your stomach still flips as she shoots you a smile and pulls out her own card to give to the man. Cheersing again, you continue your previous conversation about hobbies and what you both like to do in your minimal free time.

By now, your knee is fully pressed against hers and you can feel her warmth through the fabric of her slacks. You try not to focus on it too much, even when she shifts forward to move further into your personal space.

Without thinking, you match her movement like you're being physically pulled in, and soon, your foot is settling on the bar of her chair and brushing against her calf. Baran hooks her own foot behind your ankle and keeps it there, rubbing against the back of it as your heart stutters in your chest.

She then stares into your eyes before licking her lips and parting them slightly.

"Can I be honest?"

Nodding gingerly, you shift your weight before sitting up a bit straighter as she continues.

"From my first day in the ED, I thought you were…magnetic."

Your breath catches at her admission, fingers tightening around your glass as her words sink in. Baran maintains eye contact, completely unapologetic about laying all of her cards on the table.

A slow smile spreads across your face despite yourself. "Magnetic?"

She hums in confirmation, swirling the remnants of her drink before taking the final sip. "I don't make a habit of going after coworkers, especially ones that work under me," she adds, placing the empty glass down with a soft clink, "but you've made me reconsider that policy."

The way she says it so matter-of-factly makes your pulse kick up another notch.

Deciding it's now or never, you lean in and lower your voice just slightly. "Well, to be honest...I wouldn't mind you making an exception for me."

Baran's lips curl into that smirk you've becoming addicted to as she shifts forward to match your proximity. "Is that so?"

Before you can answer, her phone vibrates loudly against the bar top, breaking the moment. She exhales sharply through her nose but checks it nonetheless and you watch her expression soften slightly before she locks it again.

"Problem?" you ask, trying to mask your disappointment.

She shakes her head. "Just my sister checking in." Setting the phone aside, she redirects her full attention back to you. "Now, where were we?"

You grin, emboldened by your joint confessions and the undeniable chemistry between you. "Discussing workplace policies, I believe."

Baran laughs, a rich sound that makes your stomach swoop. "Right."

Her hand moves to your knee then, lightly tracing shapes over it as her voice drops again. A few moments pass before she speaks, and her tone is nothing short of arousing.

"I've always been the type of person that goes after what I want."

She catches the way your eyes darken before adding, "And I've wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you."

Her admission hits you like a freight train, the heat of her hand on your leg feeling like a brand against your skin. You swallow hard, trying to keep your breathing even as you meet her gaze, the air between you crackling with tension.

Her hand slowly inches higher, dragging lazily along your inner thigh, and your brain nearly shorts out. Your voice comes out huskier than intended when you finally reply, "Is that so?"

She hums in confirmation, fingers stopping just millimeters short of where you really want them.

"Tell me you want this too…"

The demand coupled with the heat in her eyes sends a jolt through your core and whatever resolve you have left crumbles into a million pieces.

You lean in, your breath mingling with hers, and whisper, "I do. I want you."

Gulping, you prepare for the press of her lips against yours and your pulse starts racing.

Something clatters behind the bar then and the both of you are suddenly reminded that you're still in public, Baran dropping her forehead onto your shoulder and giggling softly as your heart pounds in your chest.

When she sits back, her eyes bounce between yours and find whatever it is she's looking for before asking, "Did you drive here?"

Licking your lips distractedly, you reply, "Yeah, I'm parked right outside. Did you?"

She shakes her head. "Would you like to continue this somewhere else?"

You don't even hesitate. Tossing some extra cash onto the bar, you stand and extend your hand to her. She slides hers into your grasp and immediately, your fingers curl around hers with surprising possessiveness.

The walk to your car feels charged, every brush of her hip against yours sending sparks down your spine. When you unlock the doors, Baran wastes no time slipping into the passenger seat and turning toward you. "So, where are you taking me?"

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as you start the engine. "My place. Ten minutes away."

She hums in approval, letting her fingers settle over your upper thigh. "Perfect."

You barely register the drive, every red light feeling like torture as her fingertips trace idle patterns higher and higher along your leg.

By the time you pull along the curb in front of your building, your knuckles are gripping the wheel so tight they've probably left dents. Before you can even turn off the engine, Baran leans over the center console, her lips grazing your ear.

"You're sure about this?"

The question is merely a formality—both of you know the answer already. Turning your head, you catch her mouth in a searing kiss, your hand tangling in her hair as she lets out a breathy laugh against your lips.

"Take me inside," she murmurs, and you don’t need to be told twice.

—

Leading her through your front door, you slam it shut before wrapping an arm around the small of her back and pulling her in for another intense kiss. Her hands snake around your neck as you back her up against the nearest wall, pinning her in place as you devour the little moans falling from her parted lips.

For the next several minutes, the two of you get lost in each other, savoring every noise of passion that spills into the space between your bodies.

You then grab each of her hands and intertwine your fingers before planting them on the wall above her. She rolls her hips against yours in protest, a cocky smile stretching across your lips as you dip your head to begin nipping at her jaw.

Deciding not to torture her for too long, your hands soon move to slide under her thighs and lift her off the hardwood floor. Catching on, she hooks her legs around your waist while you carry her towards your bedroom, mouths never separating.

Just before you reach the bed, Baran suddenly drops down from your grip and causes you to stumble as you try to balance yourself. She cups the back of your head with one hand to rejoin your lips as the other begins fiddling with the waistband of your bottoms.

"Ha! Wait, I wanted—"

"Uh-uh," she cuts you off. "Need to taste you. Now."

Your eyes follow as she drops to her knees and begins dragging the fabric covering your legs down to the floor, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin.

"Baran…" you exhale shakily, her mouth sending you into a trance and scattering your thoughts.

"Yes?" She teases against your hip before curling her fingers into the edge of your underwear.

Whatever you had planned to say dies on your lips when she pulls one side down and exposes your hip, pressing an open mouthed kiss over the bone before sticking her tongue out and dragging it along your pelvis to end just above your twitching clit. *

"Oh f-fuck," you breath, one of your hands shooting out to hold her head in place as your hips buck upwards.

A chuckle vibrates against your skin as she looks up at you through thick lashes, mouth still planted right above where you need her most and driving you insane.

"Impatient?" she asks, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Your fingers curl against her scalp in response. "Fuck, can you just—"

Before you can finish your sentence, her tongue is suddenly circling your pulsing clit, sending a shudder through your limbs.

"Oh my god," you gasp, head dropping back as your eyes squeeze shut.

"Keep your eyes on me or I'll stop," she instructs, and you manage to raise your head and look down to meet her gaze. Your lips part as her eyes lock onto yours, the intensity of it all almost too much to bear.

You feel her tongue drag around the perimeter of your now swollen bud a few times before it dips lower to prod at the fluttering entrance of your pussy. Hissing in response, you don't get a chance to say anything else before her wet muscle makes its way inside you and sharply curls upwards.

"Ah!"

Over the next few minutes, she builds up to a steady pace, holding back just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. You reach down to grip the side of her face, needing to feel her even more.

"God, Baran…faster."

Her hands slide up to hold your hips, keeping you firmly in place and announcing that she has no intention of relenting just yet. The tip of her tongue circles gently around your clit again, just enough to tease and leave you aching for more. She begins to lick you in tight, deliberate circles, occasionally flicking over the most sensitive section at the very base.

You can't help the sharp inhale that escapes you, one hand tangled tightly in her hair and the other gripping hers so hard you might break a bone.

"Shit," you breathe, "Just, just—"

"Just what?"

She raises a brow, lips completely detaching from your cunt and hovering just above where you want her.

Your hand leaves hers to press against the top of her head, and she laughs as you try to push her back down, before declaring, "Come on, use your words like a grown up."

"Don't do that," you huff, voice a little strained. "You're being—Ah!"

The feeling of her teeth quickly dragging over your clit sends a jolt of electricity down your legs and you jerk backwards.

"I said, use your words."

Her fingers dig into your hips as she tilts her head back up to meet your gaze, her lopsided grin downright sinful. The flick of her tongue over her bottom lip—now glistening with you—nearly makes you collapse right then and there.

You bite back a groan before exhaling, "Fine. Will you...will you please fuck me?"

She merely raises a brow, clearly enjoying every second of this power play. Then, just when you think she’ll finally give in, she leans forward and presses a single, chaste kiss to your inner thigh before whispering against your skin.

"Beg for it."

Your knees almost buckle as your fingers tighten in her hair, equal parts frustration and desperation coiling in your gut.

"You're fucking killing me," you complain, but the effect is ruined by the way your hips twitch forward, chasing her mouth.

Her laugh is low, taunting. "And yet here you are."

Staring at her as your chest heaves, you decide to swallow whatever pride you have and groan out, "Please, Baran, can you fuck me with your tongue, I'm begging you!"

You catch the way her pupils blow wider before she surges forward and licks a long, filthy stripe up your dripping cunt.

"There," you whine, arching into it.

She moans against you, the vibration wringing a cry from your throat as she finally—finally—starts to fuck you in earnest.

Your hips roll forward to match the thrusts of her tongue as you shakily gather her hair in a makeshift ponytail as she seems to devour you whole.

"Fuck, god, you feel—you feel so good," you groan.

She lets out a guttural hum of agreement that has you clutching at the back of her neck, the sound reverberating through your body in waves.

Her fingers dig harder into your hips as she doubles down; alternating between deep, purposeful thrusts of her tongue and tight, circling motions around your clit.

You swear you see stars when she suddenly slips two fingers inside, curling them just right as her tongue presses flat against your clit.

"Shit, I'm—"

The rest is lost in a strangled cry as you come apart, her name tumbling from your lips in a broken litany while she drinks up every last drop of your orgasm.

When she pulls back after your last aftershock has subsided, lips and chin glistening with your essence, her smirk is downright predatory.

"Now that was worth waiting for."

You blink at her, completely lost for words, but you don't have time to think of a response because she's rising to her feet and her lips are suddenly back on yours, kissing you fiercely and making you taste yourself on her tongue. You respond with everything you have, one hand cupping the back of her neck and pulling her flush against you while the other slips over her ass and squeezes.

It's not long before you're both panting, foreheads pressed together, struggling to catch your breath.

Feeling the cool air hit the wetness smeared across the bottom half of your face, you're struck with another bout of energy and surge forward to reconnect your mouths as you press Baran into your mattress.

She lets you push her onto her back, sinking into the sheets as she drags you down with her, her hands roaming over whatever part of you she can reach while your lips trail across her jaw.

When your mouth reaches her ear and you bite down, she lets out a hiss that sends a shiver down your spine.

"You're wearing too many clothes," you breathe.

Her eyes lock on your mouth as she raises one eyebrow in response before grabbing the hem of her top and sitting up just enough to pull it over her head, leaving her chest completely bare aside from the long, gold pendant sitting between her breasts.

There's a pause as you rake your gaze over her pert nipples and toned stomach before she prompts, "Staring now, are we?"

Snapping your attention back up to meet brown eyes that are now heavily lidded with arousal, you answer simply, "Trying to decide where to start first."

She leans back on her elbows, tilting her head to the side as she gives you an amused look.

"Take your time."

Your gaze drops to her navel and the small diamond stud nestled inside it before you murmur, "Beautiful."

Baran's answering laugh is breathy, and you slowly bring a hand up to feel it for yourself. She shudders initially before relaxing as your fingers then ghost over the swell of her breasts, her stomach, and eventually trail down to the closure of her slacks.

"You seem to be wearing a lot of clothes too," she comments breezily, her breathing a little less controlled than usual when your eyes meet again.

She sits up to reach for your shirt, but you stop her hand with your own, causing her to raise an eyebrow in question before you explain with a smirk of your own.

"Not yet."

Baran smiles at the hint of authority in your tone, leaning back onto the bed and letting her arm drop away, hands settling on her own stomach in waiting.

"Patience," you tease, eyes raking over the length of her body as you slowly rise to your knees. "It's a virtue, I've heard."

The doctor's thighs are pressed together but you can still see the subtle movement of her muscles as she clenches them in response to the look on your face. Her breath noticeably hitches when you settle your hands on her knees and begin to nudge them apart, doe eyes watching you intently.

Neither of you speak as you slide her pants down toned legs and toss them somewhere behind you to be dealt with later. You keep your touch feather-light as you drag your palms up the insides of her thighs, pushing her legs open and spreading them wider.

Baran's eyes flutter briefly before they fixate on your face again.

Your gaze then drops to the damp spot staining the front of her cream colored underwear, and a satisfied grin spreads across your face.

"Seems like you're not the only one who's getting impatient."

She merely rolls her eyes in response, but the rise and fall of her chest captures your attention. Glancing up, your eyes lock with Baran and stay there as you lean down and take an erect nipple in your mouth before swirling your tongue around it.

Her sharp inhale echoes in your ears as she arches up into your mouth, hands hooking around the back of your neck.

"Ah..."

Letting it go with a quiet pop, you kiss around it until you find a sensitive area just under it and suckle at the skin there.

Baran whimpers at the feeling, and you suck harder for a few moments before pulling back, leaving a cloud shaped bruise behind.

You hum appreciatively against her skin before moving to the other breast and repeating the action, leaving both of them glistening with saliva and littered with hickeys as you sit back up.

Scooting back a bit, you lean down further and begin kissing along her toned stomach until you reach the waistband of her underwear. Peering up through your lashes, you spot her biting her lip as her chest rises and falls quickly.

"You're gorgeous," you murmur against the soft skin of her hipbone before dragging her underwear down and tossing them aside.

Baran lifts her hips to assist you, letting out a soft sigh when you settle between her legs and grip the back of each thigh firmly. She props herself up on her elbows just as you lean in and press an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh, teasingly close to where she wants you.

Her breath catches in her throat, hands fisting the sheets as she watches you intently, waiting for you to put your mouth on her properly. You smirk to yourself before flicking your tongue out to lick a stripe up her dripping slit, and she jolts beneath you with a gasp.

"Oh!"

Grinning, you pull back slightly to admire your handiwork—her wetness glistening against her skin—before diving back in with enthusiasm.

Baran’s fingers immediately tangle in your hair, guiding—not forcing—you exactly where she wants you as your tongue laps at her folds in slow, deliberate strokes. You can feel the tension coiling in her muscles with each pass, her thighs trembling against your palms as you tease her clit with the tip of your tongue before pulling away again, denying her consistent pleasure.

She lets out a frustrated groan, and you glance up at her as you murmur, "Problem?"

Her nail sink into your skin just enough to sting and she glares down at you in irritation before growling, "You know damn well what my problem is."

Eyes widening in faux-innocence, you state, "You'll have to be more specific," and she nearly growls again as she snaps, "Stop teasing me and just—"

You cut her off with a hum before licking into her with renewed resolve. You keep your arms firmly wrapped around her thighs when she whimpers and bucks against you, but you don't hold her as tightly as you would have just to make a point—she's going to get exactly what you want to give her, for as long as you feel like giving it.

"Ugh, you're so—oh shit—"

Your name leaves her mouth on a strangled groan, and you're not sure if she's cursing at you or calling out to the heavens as you suck and lick at her clit with expert precision.

One of her hands scrambles to grip at the pillow above her head before reaching for the one beside it, and you're surprised by how flexible she is when her body arches into you with each motion of your mouth.

Just when she’s about to come undone, you suddenly pull away, ignoring her frustrated whimper, and slide up her body to claim her lips in a bruising kiss. She moans into your mouth at the taste of herself, hips canting up against yours desperately.

"Tell me what you want," you murmur against her lips, fingertips skating down her stomach to hover just above where she’s throbbing.

Her voice is wrecked when she rasps, "You—inside me—"

"Like this?" you whisper, sliding two fingers inside her pussy and feeling the way it clenches around them.

"Oh—"

Her head drops back and you attach your lips to her neck to suck at the hollow of her throat, relishing her whine and the way her body responds instinctively to your touch.

Baran’s breath comes in sharp gasps as you slowly curl your fingers, teasing her inner walls with deliberate strokes. She arches beneath you, nails digging into your shoulders as her hips roll desperately against your hand.

“More,” she demands, voice ragged.

You hum against her pulse point before adding a third finger, stretching her deliciously tight cunt as her thighs tremble against yours. Her gasp is sharp—pleasure bordering on pain—before she melts into the sensation, her body adjusting eagerly.

"Fuck, yes!"

The way she clenches around you is sinful, her slick arousal coating your fingers as you quicken your pace.

You watch as Baran’s back bows off the bed, her moans climbing higher with every thrust of your quick digits. Her thighs clamp around your wrist as her hips jerk erratically, chasing the pleasure building inside her.

“Look at me,” you command, voice rough with want.

Her dark eyes snap open, pupils blown wide as she locks onto your gaze.

“Cum for me,” you husk, pressing your sweaty forehead against hers, curling your fingers just right—

And she shatters.

Baran's cry is raw as her orgasm crashes through her, body seizing around your fingers while you fuck her through it relentlessly. You drink in every twitch, every gasp, until she’s limp beneath you, chest heaving.

Only then do you slow, easing her down with gentle strokes before finally pulling out.

Trying to control her breathing, she watches through hooded eyes as you bring your glistening fingers to your mouth, making a show of sucking them clean one by one. The sight makes her clench around nothing, a shiver running through her oversensitive body.

"Shit," she groans, still catching her breath, "That was..."

You grin down at her, brushing a damp curl from her forehead. "Worth the wait?"

She laughs breathlessly, hands finding your hips as she pulls you down on top of her to bury her face in your neck, inhaling deeply.

"That, and then some," she murmurs against your skin.

Her lips begin to trail lazily along your throat, finding a sensitive spot behind your ear that makes you shudder. Suddenly, her knee nudges your thighs apart to slot her own between them so you can feel her wetness against your own.

Breath hitching, you hear her hum against your skin in a pleased tone.

"Still up for more?" you ask, voice more strained than you expect as you rock against her thigh experimentally.

Her lips graze along your jawline as she huffs in agreement, a hand gliding down your side to squeeze your hip.

"I've been anticipating tonight for some time now," she starts, turning your head with a finger under your chin to look directly at her. A shiver runs down your spine at the intent in her eyes, and you can't help but grind against her leg more firmly.

Her smile is hungry as she rolls the two of you over to press you into the mattress, hovering above you teasingly. She pins your wrists above your head with one of her hands, keeping your chin in place with the other as her plush lips move along your collarbone.

"And I intend on taking full advantage."

You get a little nervous at that. The cut is big, long, stretching across nearly the whole left side of your face. Blood gushes down from it onto your neck, into your scrubs.

Perlah must notice the sudden shift in your expression. “Hey, I’m sure it won’t be too noticeable. Besides, you got it doing a good thing— really, if you hadn’t stepped in back there…” she trails off. “Thank you for what you did for me.”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Perlah leads you into an empty room. You have become a patient now by stepping through these doors, and that doesn’t sit well with you — as a doctor, you are more used to taking care of others.

“I’ll go grab someone to help,” Perlah says.

“No.”

“What?”

“I can take care of myself,” you say. Your words come out a little too harshly, so you try to punctuate them with a smile.

Perlah hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“I can handle it. If you could just—”

“I’ll get you everything you need,” she says. “I’ll hold the mirror for you, too.”

—

You don’t like the idea of stitching yourself up very much. You don’t like pressing a needle through your own skin, even though it’s gone numb by now from an injection, and it makes your stomach churn a little to pull the thread through the wound.

It’s different with other people. You can stitch anyone up, fix dislocations and help realign broken bones without flinching. But when it comes to taking care of yourself in the same way, it feels more… gruesome.

“Are you sure you’ve got this?” Perlah asks. “You look a little out of it.”

“I’m fine,” you say for probably the thousandth time. But you’re sitting down in just your sports bra and scrub pants with your blood-soaked top in the corner of the room and your skin smelling of blood and sweat, and you feel much less than fine.

Before she can respond, the door opens. You look over the mirror and see your new attending, Dr Al-Hashimi, and your stomach drops.

“What’s going on?” she asks. “Robby told me what happened with the patient in twelve.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “They got too ambitious with a scalpel.”

She steps close to you, nods for Perlah to put the mirror down. One of her hands comes to your jaw, turns your head, and she accepts a pair of blue gloves from Perlah before examining the few stitches you’ve already done.

“I can finish them up,” you say, even though she hasn’t spoken yet. “Really, I don’t mind.”

“Let me do it,” she replies, and by the tone of her voice you understand that it’s a command instead of a suggestion. “It’s improper for you to be your own physician.”

“We don’t have to tell anyone.”

She frowns at that, looking down at you disapprovingly. “I’m cleaning this department up, actually, and we’re done doing things off the books. Sit still and let me help you.”

You can’t argue with her now. You nod, hand the other doctor your supplies and thank Perlah as she walks out.

A soft silence settles over the two of you.

You haven’t been alone much with your new attending, to your disappointment. You have handled a few cases with her over the past two weeks or so, but they were more urgent cases that didn’t give you too much time to get acquainted.

You want to know her, though. You think she could bring some good to this department and the people in it — to you, but you try not to be selfish.

She looks down at you. Her gaze is softer now, like now that you have surrendered to her she has let her guard down a little. She handles you gently as she turns your head again, and you hope she can’t feel how your face grows warm and your heart starts beating faster.

That’s another selfish motive that has made you wish you could spend more time on cases with her — you’re a little bit obsessed.

Not in the creepy way, though sometimes you feel as though you might toe the line. But you see the care she puts into her work, you notice the softness in her eyes after a job well done, the empathy she treats people with. It strikes you deeply, as sharply as the scalpel that sliced through your skin today, and you want her near you all the time.

“You’re a good doctor,” she starts. You open your mouth and are about to thank her when she continues. “But not for yourself, it seems.”

Your lips curve downwards. “Why do you say that?”

“These stitches,” she smiles. “It’s a good thing I didn’t let you finish them.”

You look up briefly and meet her eyes. “Thank you for helping me, Dr—”

“Baran,” she interrupts. “Just call me Baran.”

“Okay,” you murmur.

Her hand finds your shoulder then, and you tilt your head a little to look. The gesture feels soothing at first, and then a little self-serving on her end when her touch trails down your arm, and you follow her gaze to the muscled curve of your bicep.

She snaps out of it after a second, clearing her throat and focusing on your wound. “Stay still for me, okay?”

You can’t nod and you don’t want to say anything and mess up her work, so you let out a small hum of agreement.

Even if you allowed yourself to speak, you don’t know what you would say — your skin still feels warm as if her hand were still trailing along it, and you wish that it was.

“I’m sure you’ve already been thanked, but we all appreciate how you intercepted that patient,” she says. She takes advantage of the fact that you can’t reply. “We shouldn’t have to do things like that as doctors, but that’s the way it is right now.”

There’s a small silence. Then she continues quietly: “I want to try changing that here.”

You risk it, open your mouth just a little. “How?”

“I thought I told you to keep quiet.”

“You told me to stay still.”

She smiles softly at that. “You’re a bad patient, you know.”

You shrug. “Most doctors are. Hey, by the way— do you think it’ll scar?”

She pauses. “Do you want my honest answer?”

“Of course.”

“Yes.”

You look down dejectedly.

“But it will be a good look for you,” Baran tries. She is nearing the end of the wound, finishing up the last few stitches. “The look of it will make any other rowdy patients look twice before fucking with you.”

You look up at her briefly again, catch her eye — you don’t think you have ever heard her curse, and it makes you smile until you remember to keep your face neutral for the stitches. “Thanks.”

“I was also going to say that it’ll give you more of an… even look.”

“What does that mean?”

She ties off your stitches and steps back to examine you, trying her best to stumble through an explanation. “Well, I mean that it’s obvious you spend time at the gym. You look a little intimidating from the neck down. But your face…”

“What about my face?”

“It’s just…” she makes a vague gesture, “youthful.”

You blink. You furrow your brows, cross your arms. “Are you telling me that I have a sleeper build?”

“I don’t know what that means, is that something off the internet?”

“I guess so.”

She hums in acknowledgement, eyes sweeping over you. She’s looking shamelessly now, taking in every curve of your muscles and the look of your sports bra, and something hot and wanting creeps up your chest at the way her eyes linger.

She peels off her gloves and throws them in the waste basket by the door. Then she comes back and shrugs out of her purple Lululemon jacket, holding it out for you to take.

“Here,” she says softly. She meets your eyes and you notice her pupils are slightly more dilated than they ought to be — you wonder what she must be thinking about. “You must want to cover up.”

You did, but not anymore. Regardless, you take her jacket and pull it on — but you don’t zip it up all the way, not until you have allowed her a couple of seconds more to fantasize.

“Thank you,” you tell her, “for everything.”

Baran nods. Then she asks, “What gym do you go to?”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “I’ve been looking for a good one.”

You give her the name and location. You tell her you tend to go in the mornings on your days off, and sometimes at night after rough shifts leave you needing a way to let off steam. You give her the exact times you are usually there, hoping she will catch the hint.

“That’s good to know,” Baran says. She looks away, pacing in front of the door. “I might stop by this weekend. Saturday, maybe at noon.”

“You might see me there.”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to say that I hope so.”

“But you do?”

She looks back at the door anxiously as if to make sure no one is listening. Then she turns back to you and nods slightly, lowering her voice. “Of course I do.”

“I’ll be there.”

“You can give me back my jacket then,” she proposes. “That will make it an obligation.”

“I don’t need to be persuaded to go see you.”

She doesn’t respond to that. She assesses you once more before nodding to your cut, tapping her own cheekbone in reference to it. “Take care of that, okay?”

“I will.”

And before either of you can make any more bad decisions, she slips out the door.

—

—

—

THANK YOU FOR READING <3 I’m thinking I’ll write a second part to this and it’ll be their gym date hurhurhurhur lmk if anyone would want to see that!

Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. And you had been around the block a few times. You had been off when she started on the Fourth, but you had heard she was serious and, perhaps, too professional. You knew her type from a mile away.

“Baran Al-Hashimi,” she said shaking your hand. “You can call me Baran.”

“You can call me whatever you want, just don’t call me late for dinner,” you replied with a lazily smile on your face. You knew your accent was your best asset and worst enemy. But it was hard to drop the southern idioms no matter how far from home you’d ended up.

“I’d prefer your name,” Dr. Al-Hashimi said. Her voice was light but there was an unwillingness to joke in her affect. You suspected it was due to a combination of her position, newness, and her personality. Regardless, you looked forward to seeing her reaction to each of your bizarre sayings you’d adopted over the years.

Still, you gave her your name and a bright smile. Based on her expression, you suspected she thought you might be the dumbest brick outta the bunch—not uncommon with your heavy southern accent. It used to grate on you, the assumptions people made. During medical school and most of residency, you’d dropped your accent.

It wasn’t until you treated a patient who had been put at ease when your accent slipped out that you realized it was just as much of an asset as anything else. It took a while, but eventually you came to terms with your roots and how they served you. The south raised you. You mourned her and venerated her; you carried her with you in all the weird idioms you’d adapted from your grandmother.

So it was unsurprising that people in the Northeast were hesitant around you at first, especially those with names like Al-Hashimi.

“Do you mind if I shadow a couple of your cases to get a feel for how you work?” Baran asked you.

“Please. I’m lookin’ forward to having you on board. Your resume was impressive. Not to mention, I’m happy to have another woman as an attending. Gettin’ a bit too testosterone heavy,” you told her. A corner of her lip quirked and you felt a thrill of victory. You could get this serious woman to laugh at something you said.

“I also found your history interesting,” she told you. “Residency in a Houston level one trauma center and a fellowship in disaster and wilderness medicine. Why did you end up in Pittsburgh?”

Your lazily smile tightened a bit. “Age old tale, followed a man and then realized I did not actually like men.”

“Ah,” she said. There was a look on her face you could not quite decipher.

“I think I always assumed I’d end up back in the middle of nowhere workin’ on farmers and rural folk. But God works in mysterious ways. Not to mention, I get plenty of use out of those fellowships—I am part of a FEMA response team for disasters.”

“Dr. Underwood mentioned you’re the MCI coordinator for the ER,” she said.

“Yes ma’am. Though, Dr. Abbot also assists quite often. He’s an odd duck, But he’s got plenty-a sense.”

“So it appears,” Baran replied.

“Anyways, best get a move on. I’ve been slower than molasses in the wintertime. Eventually Dana will be on my ass,” you told her.

“Of course.”

Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi followed you through your first handful of patients for the day. She rarely commented or jumped in, instead opting to watch you interact with patients and make decisions. You had a disarming effect with difficult patients—it’s why Dana often saved them for you. Today was no different.

“Got a character for you in North 5,” Dana said as you finished discharging your stomach flu patient.

“Oooh, fun. What flavor, Miss Dana?” You asked.

“She’s a bitch,” Dana said flatly. You grinned.

“Think I’ll make it better or worse?”

“Dunno, but Jesse’s the nurse,” she told you.

You snorted. “That poor man hates me.”

“And why is that?”

“He dislikes my shenanigans and sayin’s.”

“Talk normally,” Jesse grumbled walking up behind you.

“Ya know, Jesse, opinions are like assholes—everyone’s got one!” You called after him. He flipped you off making you snicker.

“You enjoy bothering him,” Dana said shaking her head.

“Immensely.”

“Do you think that’s appropriate?” Baran asked. You didn’t think she was making a statement, instead, you thought she was genuinely asking.

“It’s all in good fun. Jesse and I work well together even if he rolls his eyes so much I’m on ophthalmology’s ‘Most Wanted’ list.”

Once again, you caught a small quirk on her lips. It was one step closer to an actual laugh. Al-Hashimi had sharp features and carmel colored hair with insanely defined curls. Curls that must take hours to upkeep. Her upright posture and squared stance all suggested that she was no nonsense and unwilling to compromise. And yet, you had also heard through the grapevine about how she and Dana manipulated some readings on an incarcerated patient and how she had wanted to call an attorney for the ICE detainee. You suspected she was not as square as she seemed.

“I’ll go have a looksie at North 5, and let you know,” you said to both women. To Baran you asked, “You are you still planning on shadowin’ me? Happy to have ya along.”

“Sure. I would like to see how you work with difficult patients,” she replied.

Walking into the room with Baran in tow, you immediately felt the shift in energy. The woman angrily waiting on the bed felt poised to attack the next person she spoke to. Despite being in clear pain, she seemed irate and venomous. Instead of letting her get the first word in, you said,

“Hiya, Miss Jenkins. Apologies for the wait, this heat makes the city crazier than a cat being baptized. I cannot thank you enough for your patience. Now, I know that you’ve explained yourself a million times over, but if you could do me a favor and do so one more time. I want to make sure I don’t lose nothin’ in a game of medical telephone. You deserve the best care we can offer ya.”

From behind you Baran watch silently, as the woman who seemed ready to spit and fight, wilted back into the bed and meekly began to explain her symptoms. It wasn’t something Baran herself could pull off, but you had such a strange way with words she couldn’t help but watch impressed as you de-escalated the tense woman.

“Dr. Al-Hashimi, we need you in Trauma One,” Joy announced.

“You go along,” you said. “Miss Jenkins and I are right as rain.”

“Thank you. Excuse me,” Baran said, taking her leave of the room.

You were an interesting character; one she wasn’t sure she had a clear read on yet.

-- -- --

For the rest of the summer, Baran worked with you seamlessly. For all the ribbing and joking you doled out on the others, you seemed to reserve a special kindness for her. She was not spared from your jokes and banter, but it was far softer than other who were more familiar with your antics. More than that, you seemed to be trying to make her laugh.

It took her awhile to figure out that’s what you were doing, but more often than not when you lobbed out a one-liner, you glanced in her direction to see what she did. If she let her composure slip, you built on the joke later. It was interesting. You never repeated anything but instead added to references and call-backs. Sometimes Baran felt like she was sitting at her own personal comedy show.

On a rainy September Tuesday, that indidcated Robby would be back in a few short weeks, Baran found herself up to her eyeballs in paperwork. Despite the morning hour, it was dark outside and thunder rumbled in the distance. The moral in the Pitt was low. The waiting room was overflowing, despite assurances from the C-suite, none of her ideas had even been entertained and without Robby to scapegoat, the blame was falling on her. It was a bad day mirrored by the bad weather.

“—Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, Miss Dana,” you grumbled.

“What does that even mean?” Trinity asked.

Baran had a hard time with Trinity. She was clearly a ferocious advocate for her patients but lacked some of the social niceties that had been bullied into Baran at a young age. Still, you seemed to connect with her in a way few people did. Under your tutelage, she watched at Trinity eased and relaxed, slowly coming to the realization that her coworkers were not her enemy.

“It means, that I hope it works out and nothing else goes awry,” you said. “A real roundabout way to say “hopefully”.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just say ‘hopefully’?”

“Sure, but I’m trying to confuse the universe into being kind to us. I can’t jinx us if no one understands what I’m sayin’.”

“No one does understand what you’re saying,” Dana commented.

You laughed. “Ain’t my fault y’all’s porch lights are on but no one’s home.”

“Oh my god,” Trinity moaned.

You snickered and Baran caught herself letting out a snort. Immediately, you zeroed in on her and exclaimed,

“I made Dr. Al-Hashimi laugh!”

“It was not a laugh,” Baran said quickly, neutralizing her expression.

Dana shook her head good naturedly. “Barely counted as a laugh.”

“Doesn’t matter. I got the most serious woman in the world to crack a smile,” you grinned. “I’m happier than a possum on the fence in the moonlight.”

“What the fuck,” moaned Trinity.

“Your way with words is disarming,” Baran said.

“I’ll tell my grandmother you said so. I got it all from her.”

“You didn’t come out of the womb speaking like a Matlock tribute act?” Santos inquired.

Baran snorted at that, too.

“I have been working to get this woman to laugh for months and I cannot believe you got it in a single one liner,” you complained, nudging Trinity’s rolling chair so she slid away from the desk slightly.

“It was not a laugh,” Trinity and Baran said at the same time. They barely spared a look at each other.

“Hmm, whatever y’all say,” you hummed. “Trinity, wanna help me with a cellulitis case in south something?”

“South Twenty,” Dana said without looking up at the board.

“Magical woman,” you replied in awe.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Dana said, though even Baran could see the sanctification on her face.

“But it will communicate the love and respect I have for the all powerful charge nurse Dana Evans,” you said bowing.

“You’re so odd,” Trinity state, standing with you.

You winked at Baran as you walked off. She felt a bit of heat flare along her chest and neck—well hidden by her undershirt. Although, the way Dana peered at her over the thin readers made her wonder if perhaps she was a bit more transparent than she feared.

“She’s a flirt, you know,” Dana said.

“I’ve noticed.”

“I’ve never seen her follow through.”

“Are you trying to protect me, Dana?”

“I’m just saying that she’s real friendly and not real vulnerable.”

-- -- --

“Can we carve out some time in the next week or so to go over my MCI report?” You asked Baran towards the end of your shift. The rain had not let up since the morning and it was still gloomy outside.

“Do you have time after shift today? My son is with his father this weekend.”

“Yeah, I do. Want to just meet at that bar the next block over? I’m starving.”

“That sounds like a smart idea.”

When Baran caught up with you after shift, you were in the locker room shucking off your scrub top. You had on a sports bra underneath she caught sight of before you slid on an oversized UT Longhorns t-shirt.

“Did you do medical school at Dell?” Baran heard herself asking.

“Nah, just undergrad. Did med school at UChicago. It was a unique place.”

“Unique place?” Baran parroted.

“Let’s just say I met some great people there and also the worst people I’ve ever met in my life.”

Baran nodded and gathered her bag from her locker. The next time she looked over you were pulling on a pair of jeans. She caught sight of your legs and found them covered in tattoos. You had a handful on your arms, but not super visible. It appeared that the way you were at work was not all there was to you.

“Ready?” You asked grabbing a ratty knapsack that seemed like it was hanging by a thread.

“Yes, lead the way.”

You wove out of the Pitt with Baran in tow. Baran couldn’t help but hear Dana’s comments in her head. She hadn’t really thought about you in any romantic way. You were a flirt, sure, but it wasn’t like you had expressed any true interest in her. Not that Baran thought you were unattractive. You were not. In fact, you were beautiful. She had been hesitant at first with your accent—no matter how kind they looked, the skin color they came with, people from the south tended to have a strong reaction to people like her.

You hadn’t mentioned it other than to ask where to emphasize the accent when saying her name—not something many other people had asked. As much as you were funny and irreverent at times, you were also brilliant and clever. More than once, Baran had watched you from the other side of the nurses’ station puzzle over test results until you could put together a differential diagnosis. Your bedside manner was enviable by most. More than that, you loved teaching. You loved working with students and the different patients you encountered every day.

A month or so ago Baran had over heard Joy ask you, “How do you keep yourself from getting burnt out. You care a lot…too much it seems.”

You had snorted and said, “I have really good friends and hobbies. I have a therapist. I have a really specific post-work routine that helps me leave as much as I can here and not take it home with me.”

“What’s that?”

“I pray for my patients.”

“I didn’t know you were religious,” Joy had said.

“I’m really not. But it makes me feel better that if a higher power that exists, it’s watching over people I finished treating and those I did not finish treating. It’s out of my hands at that point. Probably won’t work for everyone, but it works for me. Also helps me convince my grandma I’m still religious so she doesn’t keep harping on about how I’m going to hell all the time.”

So as much as Baran thought she had a good read of you on the first day: lackadaisical and slightly unprofessional. She discovered that you were passionate, clever, and cared very deeply for people. It was around that time Baran started to enjoy your flirting more than she should.

More and more over the past dozen shifts, she began to look forward to the silly things you would say to her, the way you would seek her out, the not-so-subtle winks and touches. She was beginning to mourn the ending of this job, but more than that, she was beginning to mourn not seeing you each shift. So she was more than happy to throw caution to her precarious work life balance and accompany you to a pub and talk about work for a few more minutes if it meant that maybe you would flirt with her one more time.

-- -- --

“How have you liked your time at the Pitt?” you asked her after the two of you sat down in a quiet booth near the bar.

“I really wish people wouldn’t call it that,” Baran sighed.

“You can pry the name out of my cold dead hands, Doctor,” you laughed, taking a sip of your water.

“Words are important,” she protested. “And you can call me Baran.”

“Well then, Baran. Good luck with that. I don’t disagree that words have power, but it’s tongue and cheek, ya know?”

“I think it hurt moral.”

“I think you need to lighten up, just a smidge.”

“Really?”

“Yes ma’am,” you said. “Look, you and I are the main two attendings on day shift. There’s no man we need to compensate for. Have a laugh, let loose.”

“I am…loose.”

“You are absolutely not,” you chuckled.

“Just because I’m professional at work?” She shot back.

“You know my New Year’s resolution is to make you laugh,” you told her.

“I started in July,” Baran commented.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t those normally occur in January?”

“I can change my mind.”

“You’re a smooth talker.”

“Honestly, I’m really not. You’re just easy to talk to,” you said.

“Well,” Baran said with far more confidence than she felt. “So are you.”

 More often than she cared to admit, Baran wondered why you flirted with her so much. She wondered why you cared about making her laugh so much. But as she watched you react to her words, it clicked. The bashful look on your face—even as quick as it was—was intoxicating. Baran found herself wanted to bottle it and save it forever.

“Now who is a smooth talker?” You asked clearing your throat. Baran couldn’t help but smirk just a little.

“Still you. But it was nice to try it on,” she replied. “I am glad you suggested we do this. Today was…a lot.”

“The rain really does make people crazy,” you told her.

“I think you described it once as a ‘cat getting baptized’, I believe?” Baran asked.

You laughed. “I sure did. That was the first day we met, too.”

“You have memorable sayings.”

“Thank ya kindly,” you laughed. “Did you hear about Whittaker’s influencer patient?”

“The one with a broken nose?”

“Hmm-mm,” you confirmed. “Her nose was so high, she would drown in the rain.”

Baran laughed quietly, not missing how your eyes lit up, and said, “My mother used to say, ‘Fekr mikone az damagh-e fil oftade.’ It roughly means they think they fell from an elephant’s nose. Persians also have a few of our own…unique phrases.”

“Are you fluent?” You asked. “I assume you might be with your employment history.”

“I am fluent in Arabic and Farsi. My family speaks Farsi but a lot of my friends spoke Arabic growing up.”

“I speak Spanish and a bit of ASL after a disastrous patient encounter during residency. Not well, but enough to communicate safely. Did you know Princess is learning Igbo?”

“Really? Why?”

“To prove she can to Ahmad. She’s scary good.”

“I’ve really enjoyed my time here,” Baran admitted. “I didn’t think I would…”

“Want to stay?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t think most of us expected that we would want you to. Clearly the board thought they could use you to push out Robby, but frankly, they’ve done such a bad job at it,” you told her shrugging. “I really don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“I feel a bit naïve, I think,” Baran admitted.

“Isn’t Dr. Underwood your friend?” You asked.

There was a pause, before Baran said, “...Yes.”

“I think it’s fair that you’re feeling blindsided. If my friend suggested an interim position with opportunities to exhibit my MCI strategies—well, I would assume it was good faith.”

“You don’t think it was?”

“No idea,” you said honestly. “Understanding the board is like trying to talk to a catfish about knees.”

Baran stared at you for a moment and then couldn’t help but snort. The snort turned into a giggle which turned into a gut-wrenching laugh. You stared a little gob smacked as she seemingly lost all composure.  

“Sorry,” she giggled, wiping moisture from her eye. “Sorry. I think it all just released for me.”

“Apparently,” you replied grinning. “Good see I’ve accomplished my New Year’s Resolution, though. I thought I was going to have to follow you to wherever you ended up after this and keep pelting you with stupid one liners.”

“Very dedicated to this resolution of yours,” Baran commented, a happy smile still sitting on her face.

“I am. Especially one that concerns someone as…interesting as you.”

“Interesting?”

“I’m trying to remain professional here, Baran,” you said with a tighter smile on your face.

“And if we were not trying to remain professional? Hypothetically?”

You blinked at her, perhaps surprised at the boldness in her words. Tapping your fingers on the table you finally said,

“Hypothetically, if you were not my boss. Like you won’t be next week, for instance. I might say that I find you incredibly beautiful. And I might say, hypothetically—”

“Of course,” she whispered just loud enough for you to hear.

“—that I really want to know what it feels like to be the person to make you lose your composure. Also, you smell really nice, like all the time, and I’m jealous of that.”

The intensity of the hypothetical broken by the frankness of the compliment once again made Baran laugh. There was so much stress and darkness in her head. She was worried about her career, she was worried about her son, she was worried that her brain was never going to be screwed on straight again. But when you were sitting across from her the laughter seemed to flow more freely than it had in years. She hadn’t laughed this much in this century, she was pretty sure.

“How about this,” she said. “We spend the rest of tonight finishing the MCI updates, so it’s one less thing Dr. Robinavitch has to deal with when he gets back. And when he returns and I’m no longer your boss, you call me and maybe we can spend dinner talking about something else.”

“Could I ask you another hypothetical question then?”

“You may.”

“At this next dinner, do you think I might hypothetically be able to kiss you?”

“Hypothetically...I might be more than amenable to that.”

“Alrighty then,” you drawled, grinning at the maybe not-so serious woman in front of you.

-- -- --

(Edit 3/22): Originally I had a nickname for Dr. Al-Hashimi as Dr. Al, but thanks to this lovely anon, I have been informed that not quite right and nor would she suggest people call her Dr. Al. I’ve adjusted accordingly!

-- -- --

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✶ you met at work, initially just as colleagues. she called you her favorite nurse, gently resting her hand on your shoulder blades or back. it developed into a work romance rather slowly, because neither of you wanted to rush things. and although you didn't like it, she insisted on keeping things "casual." that was the first time you told her to go to hell, because you wanted a serious relationship, not a situationship!

✶ she'd be distant for a couple of days but then somehow find out your address and show up at your door with flowers and a bottle of expensive wine. and baran waited without a single complaint, even after you refused to open the door for an hour because you were too offended. you eventually let her in anyway.

✶ even though al—hashimi has a son, the thought of seeing you walking around all beautiful and round with her child? she was going crazy. baran insisted that you quit your job from the very beginning of your pregnancy to fully take care of your health. you agreed almost immediately, even though it was unusual at first to adjust to the life of a housewife. but the way she looked at you and the hearty dinner you prepared after a 15-hour shift was the most sincere and loving you'd ever seen.

✶ she's so caring!! she may create the image of a rather cold and unemotional woman but that's far from true. she will always put her girl and her children first. your safety and health are more important to her than work or any other things. if one of you gets sick, you can be sure she'll cling to you and won't leave your side for a second.

✶ when you were pregnant, she went crazy every time something was wrong with you. morning sickness? baran rushes to you faster than any superhero. feeling unwell? you won’t do anything. just lie there and be the most beautiful woman in the world for her.

✶ al—hashimi is very protective. she will always stand up for your children at kindergarten/school (since there is no information about her son, i prefer to think he is the same age as harrison), because she is clearly more strict in her statements with strangers.

✶ the only thing she stands up for more than her children is you. sometimes it's situations at a bar after midnight, where santos dragged you both. you are beautiful, young, in that tiny dress that she hates and adores at the same time? of course you attract attention. and baran doesn't like it. a hand on your waist, sometimes on the jaw of men who don't understand "no."

✶ much more often, she stands up for you in front of your children. her son still had a hard time accepting you for a while, and sometimes he would allow himself to make rude statements, for which he received severe punishment. baran loves him more than anything in the world, but she's set clear boundaries. you're her wife, and he has no right to be rude to you. the same goes for your daughter, whom you gave her a year after your marriage. you play a major role in their upbringing, so they should treat you with due respect.

✶ she's like a kind dad who lets the kids have coca-cola and potato chips until mom notices. mom will notice, of course, and all three will get their asses kicked. but despite this, when your strictness isn't enough to cope with them, it's baran who has the serious conversations.

✶ she loves big, huge straps! and i'll die on this hill. size kink is crazy if you're shorter than her. dress nice and sweet for your wife, oh, you're asking for it! 9 inches, a curved tip, and heavily defined veins so you can feel them every time she slides deep into your throat 😵‍💫😵‍💫

✶ she loves it when you ride her strap after a hard day, letting al—hashimi just watch her perfect wife and the way her tits bounce with every new movement. she'll press on your tummy to see how deep she is inside that greedy pussy.

✶ everyone here talks about a power bottom!hashimi but hear me out, she'd be so good at being a service top. you wanna return the favor? she'll let you and tell you exactly how to touch her. you wanna be her pillow princess, grabbing her biceps when she thrusts into you, scratching her back when she's too deep, and tangling your hand in her hair when she has her face buried between your thighs? damn, she'll give her princess absolutely everything and cum just from you riding her face or that huge strap! ✶ femdoms with daddy kink!!!!! hear me out again. i think she'd feel a little weird if you called her "mommy," considering her kids, and mostly your little daughter call her that. you wouldn't use it regular but if you blurt out "you're so big, daddy," after she tries out that new big strap on you, that femme will destroy you better than any butch!

✶ she has this weird obsession with fishing. you couldn't understand why she preferred spending her weekends by the lake rather than on the cushy sofa in your apartment, but you just accepted it.

✶ baran was a little unsure about your age difference, but once you convinced her you were completely confident in your relationship, all those worries went away.

✶ because of hashimi your ovaries hurt like crazy. and it won't be funny anymore when you log on to instagram and see some girls babysitting their baby. and then you come into the living room and see your wife playing with your kids.

"i thought you said one pregnancy would be enough, baby." "will you shut up and sign me up for the damn IVF procedure?" of course she will.