anness

The crush you had on Dr. Walsh was not something you would ever admit to anyone— ever. It was humiliating to find her attractive when all she did was boss you around. She had awoken something in you that was borderline feral. And you hated it. Of course, you knew you liked women, but this was something different. Everytime she was in the room, you felt like you were going to lose your mind. Her snarky comments, her hands on her hips, it all drove you mad. The way she talked back to everyone like it was nothing, like they were too dumb to see what she could, even though that wasn’t true. It made your brain fuzzy.

You’re dealing with a broken leg when she walks in, nothing serious. They put you on the case alone. The patient is knocked out cold, so you’re able to do your examinations without fuss.

“What’ve we got?” Emery asks, putting on a pair of gloves.

“Um, young female, twenties. She was drinking and got on a table to dance and fell. It looks to be broken in three places and a snapped ACL. She’ll need a workup. Maybe a transplant.” you don’t make eye contact.

The monitor beeps loudly after your statement, sending you and Emery flying into action.

“Fuck, her heart rate is slowing. You said she was stable.” 

“She was, two seconds ago, she was when she came in. I don’t understand.”

She shakes her head and you feel dead dumb. Like you should be laying on the table being assessed for brain injuries. “Did you even assess her chest?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Tell me what it could be.” Emery’s voice quips up at the end of her statement, like you already should've been telling her what was happening.

“Um, maybe it’s the alcohol! Maybe it’s slowing from drinking too much. Blood loss. Uh—”

“What medications is she on?”

“I don’t know, she was out cold when she came in. It could be a drug, we’re still waiting on her tox screen.”

You don’t know why another attending hasn’t come in. Shen must be busy with another code. The nurses are flying around the room, but all you can focus on is the woman in front of you. 

“Um, what if it’s sleep apnea? Nothing wrong with the patient, but she’s been passed out for a while. If she doesn’t have her machine, and she was drinking, it could make it worse. Maybe she just needs to wake up. She might not even know it happens.”

“Good.” Is all Dr. Walsh says, and you can’t stop the smile that spreads onto your face.

“Push atropine, one milligram, it’ll help speed up the heart.” you say, proud of yourself for catching it. 

The medicine works, the patient’s heart speeds back up. 

“Alright, I’ll take her up to ortho.” Emery says, “You know, I think you’re my favorite emergency resident. You always do what I ask.” 

You feel like you just got hit by a truck. You’re sure if they were to hook you up to a heart monitor, the beeping would be so fast they would need to sedate you. She doesn’t even look like it phased her. Just like it was another day. Even though she wasn't an ED specialist, you wanted her approval more than anyone else’s. She was so cool, so smooth. She knew what she had to do, always. She worked like her hands had a brain of their own. She didn’t even have to think before doing a procedure. You couldn’t count the times you had imagined her in your bed. You would go home from your shifts, so frustrated— so needy. 

For her.  

You would walk into your apartment and immediately get into bed, grabbing the small bullet vibrator from your dresser. It was borderline unethical. Every night, you’d see her, and assess cases, and every morning, you would rush into your apartment, replay the moments you saw her, and cum with her name on your lips. 

But, she didn’t need to know that. No one did. It was better to stay a crush. Emery almost existed entirely in your mind. She buzzed on your brain all day long. You even started to look nicer at work, maybe throwing on a little makeup when you knew you’d work a shift with her. You tried to study up on surgical procedures to impress her. But, it might be all for nothing. She was so strict with everything, making a move was probably for nothing. And to be honest, she was far too intimidating for you to do so.

Tonight though, you couldn’t wait to get home. After your broken leg patient was stable. You excused yourself to the bathroom. Luckily, it was a single stall. You pressed your back against the door and sighed, you pushed your hair back, cleaning it off your forehead. You washed your hands, and then got to work.

Your hand slowly sneaked down your underwear, and you were already wet. The praise from her went straight from her mouth to your cunt. It was like you were pavloved. And it was all your fault. Spending the end of every shift masturbating to her has caused a reaction in your brain when you actually see her. And her voice, God, her fucking voice. It was like she owned you. Like you were already her’s. You stood at attention when she spoke. It was different then listening to your boss. It was like listening to a God. Like you needed to worship her. You sharpen your ears when she starts speaking, like if you miss anything, you’ll be sent to hell.

But tonight, you were her favorite. Her favorite, out of everyone. She liked you; she said it. And that was enough to get you going. It felt like you hadn’t come in six years when your hand reaches into your pants. She had you pent up from one sentence. You focus on her voice, so calm and steady. So conniving, so sarcastic. She was a know-it-all in the best of ways. Because she was usually right. She followed the rule book, she didn’t like when people broke it. She especially didn’t like when people didn’t listen to her.

But you wanted to listen. You wanted to be good for her. You wanted to let her do whatever she wanted to you, and take it. You wanted to continue being her favorite. You wanted her to praise you again. You wanted to be hers. You felt like you already were.

Your back is pressed against the door, and you can’t help the small noises that come out of your mouth when you come, and you don’t stop her name from tumbling off your lips. You know it’s risky, but your body has gotten so used to it, you can’t fight it off. You come with a shiver. You take a moment to regain your breath before washing your hands. You try to fix your hair as best as possible. But you can’t hide the fucked out look in your eyes.

The collected version of you is ruined when you open the door and see Emery not even a foot away from the door, with a small smirk on her face. 

You don’t even say anything. You don’t smile. You can’t even break the intense eye contact she’s holding. You feel small– you feel stupid. 

“I’ll see you when the shift is over.” is what she says, below a whisper, so only you can hear it. 

You check the clock, an hour left. Sixty minutes of terrified torture at the hands of Emery Walsh. Doctors were supposed to heal, surgeons were supposed to fix. But you felt like she had broken you apart. 

You spent the rest of the shift reeling, scared out of your mind. You tried to focus on charting, because you didn’t know how you were supposed to speak to anyone after she had heard you. Shen lets you get away with it because a dayshift doctor came in early, so you’re able to get all your work done. 

When it hits 7 A.M., Emery is right downstairs with you. She meets you by the lockers while you’re gathering your stuff.

“We’re gonna go to my place.” she walks away before you can answer.

Obviously, you follow. You didn't know whether it was curiosity, or the need to follow her orders. The walk was silent. You held your hands together in front of you, twisting your fingers together from anxiety. You still felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest.

Emery didn’t live far from work, much like most of the doctors. Her apartment had dark blue walls, marble countertops, a nice black couch with a long sectional. It was spotless, of course. Everything was in order. As if on cue, she toyed with a vase of flowers, moving it slightly to the right so that they faced the sun more. 

You shift on your feet, waiting for her to speak. But she doesn’t, just stares.

She wants you to say it, to tell her what she heard. “I’m so sorry if what you heard was, um, uncomfortable. It was completely out of line to do something like that at work. And it won’t happen again.”

“Do you think I would bring you back here if I was uncomfortable?” 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, suddenly looking away from her.

“What was it that did it for you? That was so enticing that you had to go masturbate in the bathroom." The vulgarness of her words makes you cringe. Even though that is what you were doing, hearing her say it was another story.

“I’m really sorry, Dr. Walsh. I don’t think this is a good idea.” you want to bury yourself in a hole.

“But, we’re here now. So, tell me.”

You still want to impress her— you still need to feel her praise. Deciding it’s better if you sit for this, you go and take a seat on her couch.  “You said I was your favorite.”

She nods, like she already knows. Like she can smell it on you. The need for praise radiates from your chest. You breathe heavy, like you just ran a mile. 

“I mean, I knew you were desperate, but c’mon. In the bathroom?”

You don’t say anything back, you hate that her words still send a wave of arousal through you.

She steps over to the couch; squats down in front of you so you’re forced to meet her eyes. “If you wanted me to fuck you, you should’ve just said so.” 

She stands and you follow her head up. She still has that smirk on her face, the one that never seems to leave. It’s like she finds everything entertaining. She crawls on top of you on the couch, you adjust your body so that you can both lay flat.

She's quick to kiss you. It still takes you a while to kiss back, she goes slow. Emery moves with precision, gives you time to warm up to her on top of you. It’s like she’s slowly pushing in morphine, like the pain killing drug is her lips. Emery’s tongue swipes your bottom lip, asking for permission.

You open your mouth a little wider, giving her the access she wants. She slowly grinds her hips down into yours and your eyes roll back. She moves down to your neck and sucks, hard. You realize it’ll leave a mark, but you don’t know if you care. She’s like a vampire, feasting on you. She doesn’t ask what you want, she just knows. It feels nice to give up control. To not think– just react. 

You make a small noise when she sucks the spot behind your ear. You feel gross and dirty from your shift. Never in your wildest dreams would sex with Walsh be like this. What you imagined was a nice dinner out, maybe a drink at a bar after. But this was raw, and more real. This showed you that she was pent up too, that she didn’t want to wait. 

She pulled herself off of your neck, “Wanna show me how good you can be?”

You nodded before her words even registered in your head.

She got up and so did you, both stripping quickly. She lays down flat on the sectional, spreading her legs. You feel hungry– you feel like you have something to prove. 

You climb on top of her, but she’s still in charge. You start at her chest, sucking gently at her nipples, tugging them lightly. She has a hand cradling the back of your head to stabilize you. She lets out a soft hum and you shiver; excited to make her feel good. You trail down her stomach, peppering soft kisses as you go. She smells clean still, somehow. Not musky, not like she had been doing surgeries all day long. She smells like antibacterial soap. Like hand sanitizer. Clean, surgical– a faint floral smell, like the get well soon flowers her patients received rubbed on her. 

You come face to face with her heat, and you can’t help but peer up at her, waiting for permission, “I’ve had a long day, please don’t waste my time.” her hand is still on the back of your head, anchoring you to Earth.

Her words are all you need before you dive in. You’re nervous, even though you’ve done this before. But this was different, Emery was different. You had always wanted to do a good job with your partners, but you wanted to impress Emery. You needed to, you needed to show her how well you could do. 

“Good, yeah, that’s it.” she says as you lap at her.

It doesn’t even sound strained, it sounds like she’s coaching you through a procedure. She doesn’t moan, just lets out a small huff of air, a soft grunt here and there when you hit her clit just right.

You tease a finger at her entrance, looking up at her again. She gives a stiff nod and a hum, telling you to go ahead. The dominance that leaks off of her is intoxicating. You feel like you took a hit of a blunt. She takes down her hair and shakes it out, still looking down at you. Her movements seem like they’re in slow motion. This is worship, you realize. But Dr. Walsh has granted you access to Heaven instead of Hell. 

You recognize she’s getting close by the way her brows furrow. The noises get more common and you work harder, making sure your pace doesn’t falter, even though you’re getting tired. She makes you feel woozy, you are intoxicated off of her pussy. She tastes so sweet, you can’t get enough.

She cums without warning, like she doesn’t even realize it’s happening until it is. You work her through it, lapping up all that she gives you. Emery finally moans, a long strained out moan, and you feel pride swell in your chest.

She pants as she comes down, “Well, I think you deserve something in return.” she uses her pointer and middle finger to signal you to come on top of the couch with her.

She settles you on her lap, and swipes the same two fingers through your folds. “Didn’t know eating me out would get you so wet.” she looks like she wants to laugh, it makes your face go hot. You feel like a horny teenager, like the second she puts her hands on you you’re gonna come. 

She lines the two fingers up before thrusting them in quickly. Your brows furrow, her’s shoot up. Her mouth is slightly open. She still has that fucking smirk, her teasing look makes you clench around her fingers. Your premonition is correct, you feel a knot in your stomach before you can stop it, and she doesn’t slow. Her hands do know what to do. They know which spots to hit, where to go to send you reeling. You throw your head back and a loud moan comes out without your permission.

“God, you are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” her voice makes you whine, you’ve spent so long imagining her talking to you like this. “You’ve always caught my eye, I could tell you wanted to be bossed around a little. Or, maybe a lot.”

“Please,” you mumble.

“Please, what?”

“Keep talking, let me come, I don’t know. Just please don’t stop.”

She huffs out a laugh. “I can tell I turn your brain to mush when you see me, you get this look in your eyes that you don’t get for anyone else. It’s cute, it made me want to take you. I never would’ve done it in the bathroom at work, though.”

You look out the window instead of at her, embarrassed by your own neediness, “But hearing you moan my name, damn. There’s nothing else like it.”

That’s what does it for you, the knot in your stomach unravels. It feels so good it brings a tear to your eye. You can’t stop making small noises, overstimulated from her fingers still being inside you. 

She pulls them out gently, the most gentle she’s been all day. Emery lets you fall into her, you put your head in the crook of her neck and she runs her hand over the back of your skull again. She shushes you when she gets up, but you realize she’s just grabbing your water bottle you brought with you, she slowly brings it to your lips, urging you to take a sip. 

She doesn’t talk much as she starts the shower and leads you both to it. She shows more than she tells. She knows this is a time to be gentle, and she knows that her snark knows no bounds. She doesn’t want to say something offhand. She needs to be soft, and her mouth is the opposite. But she wants you to know she cares. She washes your body for you, and you do the same for her. Scrubbing her back with a small rag. The hot water feels relaxing, and you suddenly realize how tired you are.

Once you get out of the shower, you rub your eyes and yawn, “C’mere,” Emery whispers.

You follow her lead still. She takes you into her bedroom. She has beige walls, medical books on her dresser. Her comforter is soft. It’s sage green, and fluffy, slightly cold from being unused. She slips one of her old t-shirts over your head, and you both crawl into bed. She lays on her back, you crawl onto her chest. It’s the most peaceful you’ve felt in a long time.

The memories of the day replay in your head, and you become embarrassed. 

“What’s up?” She asks, reading you. Her voice is thick with fatigue, and you feel bad for keeping her up.

“I just still feel embarrassed you heard me.”

She hums, “Well, if I hadn’t heard you, we wouldn’t be here. It’s fine, I know I’m hard to resist.”

You giggle at the cocky words.

“Get some sleep, we’ll talk when we wake up.” she says.