#tornnup

The sounds of your and Baran’s collective giggling fill the otherwise quiet roof as smoke wisps between you. When you invited Baran up here after work to smoke with you, you were most definitely expecting a quick “no” and a lecture on why smoking pot was bad for you. Then she agreed. And now, you’re both high in some cheap folding chairs, giggling over some patient from today.

“And— and Doctor Garcia was so angry!”

Baran laughs softly as you roll your head back with uncontrollable laughter. The situation wasn’t all that funny. But now, feeling just slightly hazy, uncontrollably giggly and strangely happy around Baran, it’s the funniest thing in the world. While you’re busy laughing, Baran is just… staring. She watches with a slight smile, her head tilted to the side, examining you as if she could actually see right through you. She speaks up more softly than she intends.

“You’re so beautiful when you laugh.”

It goes quiet almost immediately. The sounds of the city and your slowly dying laughter are all that’s left. Baran straightens up quickly. She didn’t mean to say that. Most definitely not. Not that it wasn’t the truth. Just that she didn’t particularly want you to hear that thought. She doesn’t say anything to defend herself though. What’s the point? She’s aware enough for it to be clear any excuse she makes will sound like a lie. 

Neither of you say anything for a long moment. Baran sits there, turned to face you, waiting for you to say something to tell her if she’ll have to ignore you at work tomorrow or… well, some other outcome. Any other outcome. After a moment, you turn to face her, examining her expression with confused, reddish eyes, as if you’ll be able to sense that she’s lying. All you see is those big brown doe eyes, beautiful and glossy, even in the low lighting. Something about her unwavering gaze, the way everything just shifted with her words makes you have to press your thighs together to believe some of the sudden need. Maybe it’s just thanks to the pot.

“Come here.”

Baran speaks up after a moment, her voice barely a murmur—more of a whispered command. Her eyes never leave yours. She doesn’t know exactly what she wants you close for—she’s too high for any planning like that. She just knows that she needs you closer than the foot of distance between you two.

Her eyes stay fixed on you as you slowly stand and, with only slightly wobbly steps, come to stand in front of her. Baran sits with a straight back, neck craned to look up at you—examining your irises like they are precious and impossibly intricate pieces of art. 

Her hands rise, landing on your hips in a gentle but firm hold. The almost finished joint dangled from her fingers.

“I need to try something.”

She mumbles. It seems all of the doubt Baran had has disappeared. Whether it’s the high or just your reaction to her calling you beautiful is unclear. She’s just… a little more confident.

Before you know what’s happening, her hands are tugging you closer, closer until she’s using her grip to guide you into her lap, straddling her thighs.

“Just like that. So good.”

Baran’s hand rubs over your hip as you settle there, eyes wide and a little confused. When her praise settles with you, she notices your cheeks flush. God, you can’t hide anything from her while high. Maybe she needs to do this more often. Her big brown eyes flicker away from yours for just a moment, going half-lidded as they fix on your lips. She stares at them with unabashed desire.

“You listen so well when you're high.”

She’s not wrong. The way you’re just quietly listening to everything she tells you to do is… well, to call it a turn on for her would be an understatement. And she’s sure that’s not just the weed talking. 

Her hand comes up to gently grab your jaw, guiding your face closer to hers. Her fingers are steady and firm against your skin—not rough, but nearly reverent.

“I want to try something. I need you to hold still.”

She’s already bringing the joint back to her lips as she instructs you to stay there for her. You listen, of course, unable to form the words to either ask what is going on or if she would please just kiss you already. Before she takes a puff of the joint, she leans in and whispers to you:

“Open your mouth.”

When you do, a small grin spreads on her lips—a little more unguarded than her usual, practiced smile. 

“Good girl.”

She mutters, leaving that ache between your thighs even worse. You’re not sure if she’s just simply unaware of how that low, slightly rough tone of her voice while she praises you is affecting you, or if she’s just feeling bold enough to tease. Before you can try to come up with an answer, she’s taking a hit of the joint and guiding your face in closer, her lips brushing yours. She slowly exhales smoke into your mouth, just barely not connecting your lips.

She doesn’t let you go as you inhale the smoke. She holds you there, watching your every minute expression. She wants to kiss you until you can’t breathe. But she doesn’t. Not yet. Not until she knows you’re sure.

You stare back at her, breathing picking up into something heavier, lips twitching like you can’t physically hold back. It’s silent for a long moment, your breath mingling with hers, the smell of the weed wafting around you. You think that Baran will move—she’s usually so quick to take control of a case, why wouldn’t it be the same here? But she doesn’t. She just stares at you and your glossy eyes, waiting. Waiting until you finally lean in, slowly at first, your already parted lips pressing against hers. Then you feel her grin against you, her hands sliding in a slow, lazy movement around your waist, resting just on the curve of your ass. Then you really can’t hold back. You properly lean in. Your arms—feeling as heavy as the rest of your limbs—wrap around her neck as you tug her in, lips moving against hers hungrily. She returns the gesture, kissing you with a messy sort of need.

Her tongue slides against yours after just a few seconds. Her movements are sloppy, almost lazy, like she’s savoring this kiss for as long as she can, lost in the feel of you on her already hazy mind. As her tongue tangles with yours, her hands drift lower, fingers gripping the curve of your ass, pulling you against her. The movement is almost instinctive—like the weed has her on horny autopilot. It’s not any different to you. The second your hips press against hers, you grind down against her slowly, a soft, whiny moan slipping from your lips.

Baran just barely pulls away when she hears that noise, leaving you chasing her lips. She stares at you with wide, reddish eyes, breathing already getting heavier. She needs to hear that noise again. This time, she leans in to kiss you harder, somehow more messily than before. Now, her hands, still gripping your ass, begin guiding your hips. She tugs you down until your pussy—still covered by your scrubs—grinds against her thigh. Another shaky moan escapes your lips. One comes from Baran’s mouth too—needy and soft, unexpectedly whiny for the usually ever-so-steady attending. 

She guides your hips in a slow rhythm at first. Then, when she pulls you just right so that your already throbbing clit grinds against her, a full-fledged moan slips out. Even here, on a public roof, you can’t bring yourself to try and stay quiet. Not when you’re sitting in Baran’s lap, making out with her, cunt soaking just from humping her thigh. That moan just spurs Baran on. With a groan against your lips, her hips start desperately bucking up against yours. The high has you both feeling hazy and, somehow, better than either of you have in ages, just from dry humping each other. 

Baran feels her clit bumping against your hip as she bucks up into you. She’s desperate and needy and already so goddamn close. She never cums this fast. There’s just something about your desperate moans, the still lingering scent of the weed around you, the way your hips stutter as you chase after your release from grinding against her thigh. So, she’s feeling close already.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.”

Baran murmurs against your lips, guiding your hips in rougher movements. Feeling you against her has her feeling more high than the weed. 

“To baraye man khili ali npasti, esh. Khili ali.”

She switches to Farsi on instinct. Her mind is so clouded with how good it feels to grind against you, her tongue against yours, hands on your ass, her words come out strained and rough, different from how you’ve ever heard it before.

Baran hears your moans change into unintelligible whimpers as you get close to the edge. She keeps grinding you against her, hands hiding each desperate buck of your hips while you search for the pressure you need. She mumbles how perfect you are against your lips, as if she’s unable to disconnect herself.

You cum with a loud, needy cry that the night-shift could probably hear the reverberations from inside. Your hips stutter, the pressure of each grind against your clit all of a sudden causing your thighs to twitch and shake. Baran watches you ride it out with a look of reverence—the effects of the weed making it damn near impossible for her to conceal her amazement. Her own orgasm hits without her even realizing it, just from watching you cum in your pants from riding her thigh. 

She keeps guiding you as she rides out her pleasure, causing that feeling of heat in your stomach from the overstimulation—thighs tensing, moans turning to whimpers and your back arching uncontrollably. Baran watches all of it like it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

It’s a long moment before both of your moans die down into heavy, ragged breathing, your lip’s finally disconnecting. Baran breathes heavily against you, her face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You lean your head against hers. If the weed made you feel all hazy, the fucking made you feel absolutely gone. 

“You…”

Baran starts, her words cut off by a heavy puff of air and the dryness of her throat. Her voice comes out a little rough.

“You’re perfect, azizam. So good for me.”

Your limbs are heavy as one of her hands drifts to rub lazy circles against your back, like she can’t possibly separate from you. You feel like you could either fall asleep right here on Baran or keep fucking her in every position possible until the sunrise.

You really don’t remember much of what happened between that moment and the sun rising. All that you know is, somehow, you ended up in Baran’s bed, tangled up with her in her quiet home—her son off at her ex-husband's house. Based on the very faint memory of the events and the dark hickeys you spot immediately littering Baran’s neck, you can make a guess.

Cassie swallows hard when she sees you. Robby’s young, way-too-beautiful-for-him date, wearing a short black dress with sequin details, fabric dipped so low in the back McKay almost thinks you’re asking for her hands on your skin. She has to clench her drink tighter in her hand just to resist the urge to go over there and pull you away.

She met you for the first time four months ago. When you came into the ED because Robby forgot his badge. He’d pulled you aside, talked in a low voice, barely squeezed your arm as a thank you before darting back to work. Cassie noticed. She noticed how he treated you like a secret until it was convenient for him to show you off. She noticed how, that day, you lingered in the ED for a few minutes too long with a dejected look in your eyes, hoping Dr. Robinavitch might take a break from his patients for five seconds for his… girlfriend? Sugar baby? Whatever. She’d even noticed how your expression immediately shifted back into something calm and collected when Cassie had come over, arms crossed, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Hey… everything okay over here?”

“Hm? Yeah. Fine. Sorry. I’m not a patient.” You’d laughed softly, given her a sheepish smile. Cassie couldn’t have held back the look of amusement on her face if she tried.

“I know. You’re Robby’s…” She paused, eyebrows raising just a bit as she shifted on her heels, waiting for you to fill it in.

“Girlfriend. Or, uh, we’re dating.”

“…Right. Okay. Well, he’s—“ She’d looked around. No Robby in sight. “Busy. But I'm sure he’ll be done soon. Maybe you want to wait in the staff lounge for a bit?”

You paused for a moment. That’s when Cassie had caught the conflicted look in your eyes back again. Like you wanted to wait… but maybe knew he wasn’t coming. “No. It’s fine.” You’d muttered, shaking your head as if you were shaking off the thought. Then you looked at her with a soft, slightly sad smile. “Thank you. It was nice to finally meet one of his colleagues.”

“Yeah. Likewise…” Cassie’s smile had barely widened, her head tilting to the side as she’d slid her hands from being crossed, into the pockets of her hoodie. “You never actually told me your name.” She pointed out, trying to sound casual, like this was just a coworker casually wanting to know more about her friend’s life.

“Oh, yeah, right! I'm Y/n.”

“Cassie McKay.” She nodded to you, taking a moment before speaking again. “You should come around again sometime. I’m sure the ED could use someone who isn’t totally miserable around for a day. Robby could probably use it.”

The way your smile had widened made Cassie’s heart skip a beat. That never happened.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Then you’d waved and walked off. That was it. Just that small interaction and, all of a sudden, Cassie couldn’t get you off her mind.

Alas, those four months passed and Cassie never saw you around the ED. Tonight was the first time since then. And now you’re here, as Michael’s arm candy, looking around while he gets caught up in some conversation about hospital billing or whatever. And Cassie just watches as he totally ignores you. Because of course.

She’s just about ready to give up the staring when you look over your shoulder and catch her eye. Just as a smile begins to spread on your face, Cassie has to fight to keep hers neutral. Then you break away from Robby… and start walking over to her. She can’t keep the small, almost smug grin off of her face. Partially because you’re finally leaving Robby’s side, partially because you’re specifically leaving to come to her.

“Hey, Cassie, right? We met a few months ago when I visited the hospital?” You say with a warm smile, champagne flute in hand.

“Yeah. I remember you.” She says as she takes a sip of her drink, trying to play it casual. “You look nice.” Cassie motions to the dress with a nod. “Nice” is an understatement but she doesn’t particularly want to say “you look incredibly hot” to a girl who she’s only met once and who is probably at least 15 years younger than her.

“Thank you!” You smile even more brightly at her and Cassie catches her own smile widening too. “You look amazing.”

Cassie does in fact, look amazing. Her tailored black suit, the slightly messy red curls, it all makes her look absolutely stunning. But it’s the way you say it, making it somehow so clear that amazing isn’t just some shallow compliment for when you don’t know what to say, gets Cassie’s heart to skip a small beat.

“Thanks.”

Cassie clears her throat, taking a sip of her drink as she tries to reel herself back into acting normal. But then she gets a glance of Robby. Who is still talking? Like he didn’t even notice you were gone. Her jaw tenses. “Robby’s…” She pauses, searching for some way to say this other than “acting like an inattentive dick right now”… “Pretty busy, huh?”

“Yeah. He’s always busy at these things, trying to find donors for the hospital… you know how it is.” There’s a smile on your face as you look over to Robby, yet a very obvious sadness in your tone when you talk about him being busy.

Cassie narrows her eyes, turning to look at you. “That doesn’t mean he has an excuse to ignore his girlfriend.” She sounds more pissed off than she meant to. Oops.

“He’s not ignoring me. He’s just busy.”

“Just busy my ass.” Cassie snorts a laugh as she takes a sip of her drink. “You’re a beautiful girl, you’re sweet. You deserve better treatment than that.”

That slips out before Cassie can really think about it. She says it casually, like it’s the obvious truth that you deserve better than Robby.

“Our relationship works for both of us. We’re not really—I don’t expect that kind of special treatment from him. It’s mutually beneficial.” You try to shrug it off, taking a sip of your own champagne.

“Mutually beneficial?” Now Cassie’s tone is much, much more frustrated than she means. She can’t help it. “What, is he paying you to be his arm candy?”

Cassie, of course, immediately notices the way you pause before answering. Oh. So maybe her sugar baby guess wasn’t far off.

“I need the money. It’s easy.” You shrug, taking a large sip of your drink as if it’ll distract you from the conversation.

Cassie lets the space between you fall silent for a moment, her eyes on you. You’ve opened up to her, given a little piece of information that only makes her inexplicable frustration with Robby more palpable. She doesn’t want to mess this up.

“You could find someone else.” She proposes suddenly, shoving one of her hands into her pocket. “Like maybe someone who wouldn’t treat you like shit.”

Cassie McKay is… jealous? When she says “someone else,” the image of you and her together, her hand resting on the small of your back, rubbing circles against the skin there at a party just like this one, actually paying attention to you, suddenly pops into her head. She is, for some reason, ready to curse Robby out for this girl she’s only known for a few hours at the most.

“It’s not exactly easy to find someone who is willing to help pay your college tuition just for being with them.” You interrupt her thoughts by saying that, eyes fixed on Robby across the room. Like this is your only option.

“I would.”

The words slip out before Cassie even thinks about what she’s saying. That seems to happen a lot around you. But she doesn’t get all embarrassed, doesn’t take it back. She just goes quiet, taking a sip of her drink, eyes fixed on you. When you turn to make eye contact with her, cheeks heating up, eyes wide—clearly you’re picturing it too—Casie just stares back.

“You could leave Robby. Go on a date with me.” She shrugs, finally looking back to the party, playing it totally cool. Like she’s not dropping this bomb on you. “A real date. Just us. No fancy gala.”

“What? I- are you serious?”

“Have I not made it clear that I think you’re too good for Robby yet?” Cassie asks rhetorically, a twinge of sarcasm in her tone as she runs a hand through her hair. “I could treat you better.”

The look on your face actually makes Cassie smile a little. She was trying to be serious, but you look absolutely adorable with that flush blooming across your cheeks. Acting in yet another impulse—maybe she’s just learned to be bold enough to go for what she wants at this point—she reaches up and gently cups your jaw, brushing a thumb over your cheek.

Now it’s your turn to act on an impulse. You lean in quickly, pressing your lips against McKay’s in a gentle, chaste kiss. For the brief moment your lips are against hers… she kisses you back. Then you pull away. Cassie is left with an even bigger smile on her face.

“You know Robby could have seen that, right?

“I don’t care.”

Something flutters in Cassie’s chest at your tone. She lets out a small, almost disbelieving laugh at how fast you’ve switched up—and all it took was her proposing a real date. She feels something she hasn’t felt in a long ass time. Desire. Palpable and warm, stirring low in her stomach already. She takes a deep breath as she sets her drink down on a nearby table. The hand that had been holding it moves up to your waist, fingers brushing the small of your back just like she had imagined when she first saw you tonight. She gently tugs you in closer to her, voice lowering conspicuously.

“I’m going to take that as a yes?” She asks lowly, almost teasingly.

You nod, a smile spreading on your face as you finish off the last of your champagne and set it on the same table as her glass. “Yes.”

Cassie’s smile widens, something rarely unguarded for her. “Good.” She’s about to lean into another kiss when she remembers where they are. In the middle of a gala. Surrounded by her coworkers. Plenty of people who know exactly who you came here with. She glances around, jaw clenching slightly as she thinks. Then an idea flickers in her head. Her eyes light up a little as they snap back to you. “How good are you at keeping quiet?”

Cassie presses you against the bathroom door as it shuts behind you two. Her hands plant on your hips, only letting go to quickly lock the door. She kisses you deeply and desperately, like she’s savoring this moment, savoring the taste of you. One hand slides up to cradle your face, keeping your lips moving against hers with no space between you two. She holds you like Robby never had. Like you’re something precious.

Cassie’s lips begin to trail down your neck with slow, almost needy kisses, covering any of the bare skin of your neck in the faint lipstick she is (was) wearing. It feels as if she’s trying to make it abhorrently clear: you’re hers. Not Robby’s sugar baby. Her date. The thought running through her head causes Cassie to let out a rough groan against your neck, hands tightening where they rest on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to her. She hasn’t done this in years. Probably not even since Harrison was born. It only makes her more desperate to have you.

“I could make you feel… so much better than Robby.”

She mumbles against your neck, breathing heavier and her voice an even lower rasp than usual.

“Can I?”

This time, she pulls away, looking at your flushed face, how your chest heaves. She doesn’t lean in and kiss you again. Not yet. She waits for you to let her take this a step further. Your little nod is her cue.

She kisses you deeply again, both hands coming up to cradle your face now. When she breaks away, she doesn’t waste a single second.

You watch with heavy breaths as Cassie moves, kisses trailing down your neck, hands sliding down to your thighs, pushing your dress up. She couldn’t care less if it wrinkles. She’ll worry about that later. Now, all she wants is to taste you.

Cassie is on her knees before you know it—hands on your thighs, lips leaving desperate kisses against the soft, plush skin. Without forcing or guiding, your hand moves to tangle into her red, messy hair. She glances up at you as she feels the soft tug, you anchoring yourself to her. A grin spreads on her face.

“Good girl. You’ll probably need it.”

She mutters teasingly as she begins pushing your dress up higher, until she sees the lacey fabric of your panties. Expensive looking. Probably a gift from Robby. The thought makes her scoff. Immediately, she hooks her fingers into the waistband and tears them down your thighs, letting them drop to the floor. For a long moment, she just stares. Her eyes fix on your pussy like it’s the most perfect thing she’s seen in months.

Cassie doesn’t start slow. No, her hands anchor on your thighs, keeping the dress pushed up as she licks a stripe from your dripping entrance to your already sensitive clit. Her tongue flicks the sensitive bud, a low moan sending vibrations against you as your hand gently tightens in her hair. Her hands grip your thighs harder, tugging herself against you, giving her a better angle to eat your pussy like a starved woman.

Her tongue works expertly. No matter how long it’s been, it’s a skill Cassie could never forget. She switches from long, flat-tongued licks through your folds, to teasing, deliciously overwhelming licks against your pulsing clit. She eats you out like she’s worshipping your cunt, tongue pushing into you just to taste you more.

Every time you moan, your hand tightens in her hair or your thighs twitch, Cassie responds with a low moan against you and licks against your pussy with even more desperate determination than before. She watches for every little reaction. So, when your hips start bucking up against her face, pushing her nose against your clit perfectly while she licks through your cunt, she knows you’re close.

But she’s not done.

“Don’t cum. Not until I say so.”

Her voice is a rough rumble against you. And she doesn’t even stop licking you to mutter her command. Her lips quirk up into a smile when she hears you whine, feels your hips buck against her face. She responds by grabbing your hips tighter, pinning them to the door.

You feel as if you can barely hold on after just a few moments of trying to hold back your orgasm. You can’t stop your thighs from shaking, hips grinding against her face with desperate intensity. Cassie just continues tasting you, licking up as much as you slick as she can. Her nose nudges your clit—just enough pressure to keep you from cumming, but enough to get you so fucking close—while her tongue pushes into your dripping entrance again. Even when you tug her hair and whine, she doesn’t let up. She stays attached to your cunt, unwilling to stop licking you until you feel so good, you won’t even be able to think about Robby anymore.

“Cassie— I- I need to cum. Please.”

You whine, moans turning even more needy than before. Cassie groans against your pussy, movements ceasing for just a second to look up at you, at your flushed cheeks, your parted, kiss-swollen lips. That’s what gets her. She nods against you as she dives back in.

“Cum on me.”

She murmurs right against your cunt as she goes back to licking with even faster, messier licks and kisses. Not having to hold back your release anymore, you feel yourself reaching your high within a few pushes of her tongue into your sopping pussy. Your head falls back against the door, hand tightening in her hair as she works you though your orgasm, tongue slowing as you cum on her.

She pulls away when you’re done shaking around her, forehead resting against your thigh, lips pressing softly against your skin.

“You’re perfect.” She murmurs, voice low and laced with something almost worshipful.

She stands slowly, guiding your panties back up as she goes. Her eyes remain fixed on yours, a little smile stuck on her lips. As soon as she’s face to face with you, she wipes your slick from her face with the back of her hand—an effortlessly sexy move, because of course—and leans in to kiss you again.

“Break up with Robby.” She mutters against your lips before pulling away just enough to look at you. “Then I'll take you on a proper date, okay?”

Her thumb gently wipes at the faint lipstick marks left on your neck, carefully helping you clean up so no one at the gala suspects anything.

You nod quickly. “Yeah.”

Cassie’s grin widens. “Good.”

And with one more quick kiss, you’re slipping back out to the party, arm in arm with Robby… already planning out how you’ll end things.

Cassie slips out a minute later, casually joining a conversation with Samira and Dana.

“Well, someone looks chipper. What, you finally get laid or something?” Dana asks with teasing sarcasm as Cassie approaches—still with that wide grin.

As the passing period bell rang , signaling the end of your last lecture before the long awaited weekend, everyone in the hall began packing. Everyone but you. While some students rushed out the doors, shoving pencils into their backpacks to run off to some party, you took your time. A few friends tried to get your attention, to which you would simply reply:

“No, it’s fine, I'll catch up with you tomorrow though.”

And watch them walk off.

It wasn’t long before the room was silent, the door clicking shut for the last time. You finally looked up, eyes fixing on the one other person in the room: Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi, your Middle Eastern history professor. Dr. Al-Hashimi was a somewhat short Iranian woman, curly hair half tied up in a bun, wearing black slacks, oxfords, and a half-unbuttoned light purple dress-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing the gold bracelets around her wrists. She was absolutely stunning, always with this air of effortless steadiness and warmth around her. And it drew you in from the second you got stuck with a seat in the first row of her lecture hall in the first semester.

Baran wasn’t looking at you. She was too busy wiping off the whiteboard behind her, pushing a hand through her hair tiredly. It seemed as if she didn’t even know you were there. In a slightly impulsive decision, you stop packing, grab your notebook and clear your throat. Now you have Dr. Al-Hashimi’s attention.

“Hm? Oh. I didn’t think anyone was still here. Can I help you?”

She asks warmly, lips tilting up into a barely-there smile as she sets the whiteboard eraser down. You take a breath and step closer, willing your brain to work for thirty seconds to think of an excuse.

“Yeah, actually, uh, I was just wondering if you could explain that thing about the rise of the Ottoman empire. I know we haven’t really met yet or anything, but I figured now would be a good time. My name is—“

“Y/n.” Baran interrupts you smoothly as you’re walking up to her desk, the smile on her lips widening. Your eyes widen in the same fashion. She knows your name? She obviously notices the look of surprise on your face.

“I know your name. I remember your essay on women’s rights in Iran. It was fascinating.”

As she says it, she focuses her eyes on some papers on her desk, as if this is something that would have been clear to you. She’s playing it down. She’s noticed you before. The essay was great, sure, but you were also clearly participating in her class, offering actual insight. It was refreshing, to say the least.

Baran would never admit to herself or anyone else how her eyes also tended to linger too long on your chest when you’d wear a low cut top. Or on your lips when you applied lip-gloss in the middle of a lecture. Definitely not. You’re her student. She knows better than that.

Anyway. Barn takes a step closer, motioning to your notebook as she pushes one sleeve cleanly over her elbow.

“Let me take a look. I’ll see what you’re missing.”

She mutters, already reaching out to take a hold of your notebook. For a moment, her fingers brush yours, her eyes locking onto your expression—nervousness? confusion? Whatever it is, she slowly takes the book, eyes never leaving yours, examining you like something to be figured out.

If she notices the sudden tension, she hides it well. Your cheek flush when her warm, steady fingers brush against yours, even just under the pretense of grabbing your notebook. You find yourself unable to be as coolly subtle, your cheeks flushing uncontrollably, heat creeping up your neck while she begins to calmly look through the notes.

“These look good—your handwriting is impeccable.”

Baran remarks, just a muttered compliment, almost under her breath. She glances back up at you, her gaze now a bit more suspicious.

“What was it you were confused about, exactly?”

She asks, not mocking… just inspecting. Like the confusion in your expression and these clearly perfectly taken notes are loose strings in the flimsy excuse you presented her with.

“Uhm. It was—uh, that.”

You make a quick decision, pointing to a phrase in your notes. A sentence in Farsi inscribed under some notes.

“I didn’t understand what it meant. I figured it would be better to get a direct translation. Google is… finicky.”

Baran doesn’t look at the words on the page. She knows what it says—it was part of her lesson plan, something easy from a letter between Queen Elizabeth I and Safiye Sultana. It’s not a hard passage. Not by any means. And, if she remembered correctly, she’d explained it in class already. She lets out a huff of a breath, looking back at the notes with an amused expression.

“I translated this in class. Were you not listening?”

She asks with a perfectly calm, even tone. You swallow hard. Is she really that perceptive? Or does she really just not mind you slacking off.

“I was. I just forgot.”

A pause, Baran looks at your notes, back at you.

“You forgot?”

She’s calling bullshit. With a small sigh, she closes your notebook, setting it down on the desk. Then she takes a slow step towards you, that amused look still on her face.

“I highly doubt a student as bright as you thinks I might be naïve enough to believe that.”

She tilts her head, eyes flickering down to just a moment—landing on your lips almost involuntarily—before she looms back up.

“Try again.”

You pause, cornered. She put your notebook on the desk, leaving you without anything else to use as an excuse, and she’s looking at you like that, in the exact way that makes your stomach flip. You couldn’t lie to her if you tried.

“I… just wanted to talk to you. I should be going. I’m sorry.”

You quickly rush to grab your notebook, eyes glued to the ground so as to not have to face your own embarrassment, staring at the woman who called you out on your stupid, desire-driven bullshit. The pages of your notebook seem to slip from your fingers as you fumble to grab it, facing Baran’s desk, then—

A warm presence behind you. A hand landing on your waist, the brush of fabric from where Baran now stands, just barely an inch behind. You go perfectly still. She just smiles, her free hand slowly coming to hold one of yours, urging you to set the notebook down as she slowly laces your fingers together.

“If you wanted to talk to me, you should have just said so. I like honesty.”

She starts, her breath fanning against your neck as her low voice reaches your ear. Then, a new sensation: her lips brushing over the skin of your shoulder just above your collar—not quite kissing, but far too close to be professional. She continues,

“You never shy away from having strong opinions in class. I appreciate that. You have…”

She pauses, lips lingering over the junction of your neck and shoulder, watching your face as she goes on.

“a presence. It draws people in.”

She mutters. This time, she lands a real kiss, right on a sensitive spot of your neck, below your ear. She kisses slowly, savoring this moment, savoring your proximity.

“So why don’t you just be fully honest with me, hm?”

She whispers this time, right into your ear with gentle command, hand caressing almost soothingly along the curve of your waist. Now there’s really nothing to do. No more bullshitting, no half-assed apologies, just Baran pressing up against you from behind, eyes locked on yours, waiting for a real response.

“I wanted an excuse to stay here for a little while longer. To get closer to you.”

You finally mumble, keeping your eyes off her. You immediately figure she’ll think that’s just weird. Baran, very obviously, does not respond that way. A smile curls up on her lips where they’re still pressed against your neck, her hand on your waist slowly moving up, fingers brushing just under the hem of your shirt. She’s careful, slow and calculating.

“You could have just said that.”

She mumbles, her lips beginning to trail kisses along the side of your neck ever so gently, easing you into the embrace. She notices how you shiver, breathing slowly picking up as she takes this further and further from a teacher to student relationship. As her lips pull back from your neck, you most think she’s going to pull away, leaving you breathless and needy… but, instead, both hands pull you back, guiding you to turn, facing her. You end up backed against the desk, heart beating even faster than before. You hadn’t even considered how close she was until you were face to face with her, those big brown eyes staring you down. Waiting.

You think for a moment that she’ll be the one to finally step over the line and kiss you. But she doesn’t. She watches with a calculating gaze—your move.

Slowly, looking at her as if there’s some way in hell you’re misreading all of these signs, you lean in. When you see not even slight hesitation in Baran’s expression, the distance between you two finally dissipates. Her lips are soft against yours, moving tentatively as her body presses against yours. Everything else melts away—every thought of professionalism or your stupid grade in her class, they’re gone. Replaced totally by the sensation of her lips on yours. Your hand comes up to tangle into her dark curls, the other propping you up against the desk.

The kiss becomes heated quickly. Baran’s tongue gently pushes against the seam of your lips, guiding you to parting them so she can get just that little bit closer. Everything she does, she does with such care—paying attention to your every slight reaction before even considering going further. She would never mess this up. She’ll make sure it’s perfect.

Slowly, one of her hands begins to slip beneath the waistline of your skirt. Her fingers guide over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Then they reach just over your panties; careful, teasing, waiting for her moment. She pulls from the kiss for just a moment, breathing heavily, eyes never leaving yours while her fingers move slowly, circling over the fabric of your panties. The look on Baran’s eyes makes the unspoken question clear: “Is this okay?”

You nod without a second thought.You don’t need to think right now, just need her. She smiles. Her fingers slide back up, slowly pushing under your panties. Now she’s just dragging this out to see you shiver.

When her fingers finally slide through your wet folds—even just gently so—you let out a soft moan. Her fingers still, smile widening just enough to give away how much that small sound affects her. When her fingers move again, she presses mid into you, fingers curling through your warmth until they come to circle your clit. Her digits rub slow circles against the sensitive bud, watching as your breathing picks up.

“You look even more beautiful like this.”

She murmurs, sounding so sincere, filled with straight up desire, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Her fingers speed up a bit, pressing into your clit until warmth floods your body, pulling a moan from your lips. She wastes no time, her fingers slipping down through your wetness, until they push into your aching pussy. She’s slow but sure with her movements, fingers moving in until she’s inside of you to the knuckle, curling into that spongy sweet spot like she already knows your body. When you moan, she lets out a low groan of appreciation. The sounds you make only push her further, her body leaning into yours, free hand reaching up to cradle your face like you’re something fragile and precious. Her fingers pump with careful precision, filling you up with every push. Your walls clench around her, getting her more aroused with every movement, as if she could actually feel you around her.

Baran knows you’re getting close when your moans start getting all low and ragged, walls clenching around her fingers, hips bucking up against hers. God, she loves this. Loves watching you fall apart while holding you. The look on your face. She’s realizing that she doesn’t want this to be the last time she sees it. Not by a long shot.

Her fingers move faster, breathing picking up as she leans into you, lips just barely brushing against yours, making you look at her. She watches with rapt attention, making note of the hitch of every breath, the release of every moan while she pumps her fingers in and out of you. She pushes and pushes until you clench around her, forehead pressing against hers as you let out a loud moan. Your release leaves her fingers slick, dripping with your wetness. Her already dark eyes only become darker, her pupils blowing as she feels you cum because of her.

Baran gradually slows, fully leaning her forehead against yours, thumb brushing over your cheekbone soothingly. She guides you through your orgasm, slow and steady, muttering praises under her breath in Farsi. She pulls her fingers out of you carefully, reaching behind you to wipe your slick off with careful cleanliness not unlike a doctor’s. She watches as you laugh softly, taking in the moment. You just let your history professor finger you in the middle of her lecture hall. And liked it so fucking much.

“I want to take you out to dinner.”

Baran says suddenly, voice soft and warm. Your lighter pauses, eyes landing on her again. She just smiles back at you.

“I want to take you on a proper date, I mean. I’ll pay. You can wear something nice. I know a good sushi place nearby.”

She explains as her eyes drift to where her hand is now gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. She seems… a little nervous. Like maybe you’ll suddenly reveal that you are only doing this for the release. She’s too deep in to let this end like that. Your smile just widens before you lean in for a quick, tender kiss.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Baran pulls away with a wider smile—the kind you rarely ever see from her. Her voice comes out relieved, a little shakier than the usual, steady professor you know.

“Yeah? Good. That’s good.”

When you came into work today with a tired look and steps that seemed just the slightest bit unbalanced, Baran Al-Hashimi was the first to notice. She always did. Especially when it comes to you. She never let your relationship affect her work or how she treated you… but today was different.

In a trauma case with her, she noticed your hand almost shaking as you made an incision. Her steady brown eyes flickered from your hand, back up to the bags under your eyes and the ever-so-slightly-present downturn of your lips. Without thinking she crossed the examination table to you, coming up close behind you until you could feel the warmth of her body—even through the scrubs—right there.

“I’ve got you.”

Is all she said. Her voice was just a low murmur in your ear—quiet, steady, only for you to hear. When she saw your shoulders relax just the slightest bit with a shaky sigh, a soft smile formed on her face. She watched as you finished the incision. Her hand came up to brush against your waist. Just subtly enough that no one would notice.

“Perfect.”

That same murmured tone was audible from where her lips lingered just beside your ear. She gave your waist a small squeeze, as if to remind you that she’s here, before pulling away and resuming the case like any other. She figured everything would be fine.

It was. Until something shifted. The case went well, but, suddenly, as everyone was moving to check on their patients, Baran caught you beelining for the bathroom. There was some instinct telling her that something was wrong. And she could never have the will to ignore that.

The bathroom door opened slowly. Baran hesitated like she was preparing to see a particularly gruesome case. Then she heard what was coming from the large stall at the end. Someone throwing up. You. 

She was there within a second, steps quick and determined. When she spotted you, knelt over the toilet with your head dangling like it was hard to keep it upright, something in her heart clenched. 

She darted to be by your side. One warm hand landed on your back, the other already guiding your cheek in that familiar way to have you look at her.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick? Is this food poisoning?”

Baran is in full doctor mode as she caresses the side of your face with a gentle, careful hand. The only difference is the softness in both her tone and her expression. She sounds more worried than she does with even the hardest cases. Her brows are just barely furrowed. It’s enough of a tell for her.

When you grumble “food poisoning” while leaning into her hand, she legs out a breath, as if she’s careful it isn’t something worse. She was already making up nightmare diagnoses in her head.

“I’m taking you home.”

She mutters after a stretch of silence, considering what favors she could cash in to get you both covered. Baran’s grip shifts on you so the hand on your back rests on the curve of your waist, already guiding you up to stand. 

“I have work to do, I can’t just—“

Baran cuts off your protest by pulling you just slightly closer into her arms, almost pressing your forehead against hers. 

“You’re going home, my love. End of story. Go pack your things.”

She brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead and leaves a gentle kiss there. She can feel that you’re clammy. And she doesn’t care less. All she cares about is getting her girl home and in bed and feeling okay. Everything else has just faded away.

The drive back to your small Pittsburgh apartment is quiet. The entire time, Baran’s hand rests on your thigh, thumb rubbing gently as if she’s reassuring you that you’ll be alright. Even though you seem at least 75% less stressed about this than she is. She can’t help but worry when you come into question.

As her car pulls up outside your apartment, you both unbuckle and Baran is almost immediately by your side. She places her hands on your sides to steady you, as if you’ll fall just walking up to your place. She murmurs a barely-there:

“To khob mishi.”

Even though she knows you don’t fully understand Farsi from the few Persian words you’ve picked up from her. It seems as if she’s reassuring herself more than you.

When the door of your apartment clicks shut,  Baran’s hands are back on you. She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek like she’s afraid anything more would break you. 

“Go lay down.”

She motions down the hall to your bedroom. Her tone is laced with a slightly, affectionate command.

“I’ll be right there, okay?”

Her voice is just barely a whisper as she lets go of you to let you walk to your room. She doesn’t even want to be apart from you for a moment, but she’s in doctor mode. 

You hear faint noises from your kitchen as you lay in bed, curling up to try and stave off the lingering pain in your stomach. Water running, dishes clattering as they’re moved, and Baran’s faint mutters as she goes through her mental checklist of everything she can do to make you feel better. She loves nothing more than taking care of you and now, with this opportunity, she’s ready to pull out all the stops.

The bedroom door creaks open a few minutes later. You glance up to see Baran there with both arms full. She takes slow steps as she crosses into the room and kneels by your bedside. You begin sitting up to face her, to say something to thank her, and are met with a hand on your shoulder, guiding you back to lying down. 

“Shh, my love. Just let me take care of you.”

She actually whispers, as if anything more than that would break this moment of calm—a rare one in the lives of two ED doctors. 

“I brought you a cold compress to help with the fever. And ginger tea for when your stomach has settled. And a bin—just in case.”

She begins, setting each item down precisely, as if she had already thought out exactly where everything was meant to be. As she leans in to press the cold compress to your forehead, her expression softens. She sees the soft smile on your face when the cold sensation hits your skin. She feels as if she could melt.

“Tell me what you need and you’ll have it. Anything.”

Baran says ever so softly, the hand that was holding the compress trailing down to your cheek, caressing you like she can’t help herself. 

“I don’t need anything.”

When you say it, Baran almost lets out a scoff. Like she can just tell that you’re only saying that so she doesn’t feel obligated to look after you like this. The look on her face actually makes you crack a small laugh, despite everything.

“Just… lay with me. Please.”

You answer almost reluctantly. Seeming needy was always something that you’d assume would push a doctor who has to deal with that every day at work away. With Baran? That kind of request is what shows up in her dreams with you. She smiles and presses another kiss to your cheek.

She doesn’t say anything as she lets go of you to climb into bed behind you. She slides under the covers and wraps her arms around you like it’s exactly where she’s meant to be, like her body is meant to mold this perfectly against yours. Her face nuzzles into your shoulder, breathing in your scent like she needed this even more than you did.

You both end up closing your eyes as you lay like that. You can’t help drifting off when Baran is nuzzled against you, lips leaving barely-there kisses along your neck while she murmurs:

“my beautiful girl.”

and a varied assortment of her many terms of endearment for you.

When you arrived in the Pittsburgh ED, Baran Al-Hashimi began freaking out in a way none of her coworkers had seen before. She was immediately on your case, insisting she do every piece of the procedure to patch you up just to make sure it was done right.

honestly? it was—in terms of ED cases—not the worst. You came in unconscious, having tripped on the stairs at work and going through a concussion. But Baran treated it like you were one of her highest risk patients. She couldn’t just watch her girlfriend come into her ED and not get the best care possible.

Baran was the first person to come see you when you got moved up to a room in the hospital. She opened the door slowly, taking a quiet step inside, her eyes immediately finding you: drowsy, a little bruised around the face, looking—in her professional opinion—way too fucking adorable for just having to come to the ER.

“Baraaan!”

Her lips curve into a smile as she hears your voice. The puzzle pieces slip into place very, very quickly. The slow blinking, heavy lidded eyes, the dopey smile, the soft voice? They gave you a morphine drip.

“Hi, my love.”

Baran mutters softly as she comes to your bedside, smiling down at you. She wants to pull you into a hug and never let you go.

“How are you feeling? Can I get you anything before they clear you for discharge?”

Baran stays by your bedside until the nurse comes in, holding your hand, listening to the fifth tangent you’ve gone on while trying to explain how you got into this whole mess. As much as she’s still worried, she also thinks seeing you high on the painkillers is absolutely hilarious. When the nurse explains that you’re free to go home with the doctor’s orders for dealing with the concussion, Baran lets out an audible sigh of relief while you grin at her.

The car ride home is, to Baran’s surprise, rather quiet. She was at least expecting you to ask how she got out of work for the rest of the day. Instead, you just watched her. Her hand rested on your thigh, your eyes stayed fixed on her. The morphine had your thoughts all hazy, and staring at Baran while the dim lights of street-lamps lit her face as her eyes flicked from the road, back to you every few seconds? That had your thoughts wandering. Her full lips… her deep brown doe-eyes… a soft ache was already forming between your legs. And that wasn’t escaping Baran. She noticed the way your eyes unfocused when you looked at her lips… and when she caught them wandering lower, to her chest. God, you really had no shame on morphine.

Baran guided you into your apartment with a hand on your back, rubbing gentle circles there. She really tries to ignore how you keep glancing back at her, looking more and more needy seemingly each time. She’s not gonna take advantage. Even though you’re her girlfriend. Even though you look so adorable. Even though she just wants to take care of you—make you feel good.

You end up stumbling into your bedroom with Baran behind you just a minute later. She turns away from you as she closes the door.

“You should get some sleep. That morphine will have worn off by the time you—“

She stops when she turns back around to see you right there, lips slightly parted, breathing heavy with anticipation. Baran’s jaw tenses. Well, shit.

She’s kissing you the next moment, hands on your waist, holding you tightly against her. In all fairness, you started it, having wrapped your arms around her neck and kissed her suddenly. Your boldness got to her. Just as Baran was about to guide you to bed, the intention of taking this slow fully set in her mind, you began guiding her to turn so that she was the one being backed towards the mattress. Before she knew it, you were climbing over her as she slid back into bed, trying to keep up with your hungry kisses.

The making out is messy and perfect. Her tongue mingles with yours as she begins to match your pace—she clearly hadn’t been expecting this much insistence rom you. And now she’s too far in to turn back.

Baran lets out a soft noise when you disconnect from her lips to start trailing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. Her hands remain on your waist, holding on a little harder as you begin sucking the skin on the junction of her neck, until she feels a faint sting and lets out a full-on whine, a dark mark already blooming there when you detach. When she starts feeling your hands sliding up her sides, her eyes dart down to follow the movement of her scrubs—which she never actually had time to change out of—being pushed up slowly.

Your lips are trailing down her collarbones before Baran realizes it. Her scrubs lie somewhere on the floor. When you press slow, sloppy kisses across her chest, she can’t take her eyes off of you. One hand comes to gently tangle into your hair—not pushing or guiding, just anchoring herself. You grin up at her when you feel it. Just then, you finally wrap your lips around one of her already peaked nipples. She—being as sensitive as she is to your touch—lets out a soft sound when you do. Her big brown eyes flutter as you begin to knead the soft weight of one breast while sucking on the other one. You squeeze and kiss her nipple incessantly, like you just can’t get enough of her tits. She wonders how you’re still so good at this while high on morphine. Maybe it’s just the sheer desperation—the need to taste her. You suck on her breast until she’s actually letting out soft moans, her hips already shifting beneath you. As you switch to the other, you let your hand fall from her chest, sliding down until your fingers slip beneath the waistband of her scrubs, already pushing them down slowly.

The next thing you know, you’re holding Baran’s thighs open, lazily lapping at her pussy. Your tongue licks slow, messy stripes along her wet entrance. Her moan—soft, needy, almost whiny—only spur you on. Baran’s hips twitch beneath you as your tongue circles her clit with the need to taste her. She actually becomes reduced to begging when your tongue starts probing her cunt, pushing just barely inside her aching hole.

“Please, my love. Right there, you’re doing so good. So good.”

And you listen. You lick and circle every spot that has her back arching into you, eating her pussy exactly how you know she likes it. Baran is, frankly, still astonished at your ability while on the morphine.

Baran cums while pushing your face into her pussy, her back arching and her head pushing into the pillows with a loud, whimper-like moan. You let out an involuntary moan against her, tongue licking up her leaking juices until she’s writhing, thighs pressing against your head helplessly.

A few minutes later, when you finally let up, Baran finally begins catching her breath in heavy pants. You climb up with a lazy smile, expecting her to be ready to curl up into bed and fall asleep with you now. But no. As soon as you’re at-level with her face, she’s gently tugging you in by the hair and kissing you again. It starts out slow, tasting herself on your lips… then she deepens it. She sits up slowly, guiding you to switch positions and lay on your back while she comes to straddle you.

Baran breaks away after a moment (not without great effort to do so), presses a quick kiss to the side of your mouth and mutters:

“Stay here. Give me a minute.”

In a low voice as she climbs off of you. You look confused for a moment, every reaction apparent on your face because of the haziness in your head. That confusion only lasts for a second. Because you see Baran going through your dresser drawer. The one where you keep the strap-on hidden away. You swear you can feel your own pupils dilate the second you realize what’s going on.

You lay in bed—having slid your jeans off and your panties down as soon as Baran was slipping into the strap-on harness—while Baran gently spreads your legs and kneels between them. She wraps her hand around the silicone cock and slowly pushes it against your pussy, which is, unsurprisingly, soaking already just from giving her head. The tip of her cock slowly slides through your folds, nudging against your clit, pulling a small moan from between your lips. It makes Baran let out a shaky noise, a smile spreading on her lips. She can’t deny that she loves seeing you so pliant. She teases you with the tip, only barely pressing into your entrance before pulling out again to press it against your sensitive clit.

Baran watches with rapt attention as her cock finally slides into your desperate pussy. She moans softly, like she can feel it, biting down on her lip to stifle the noise. Her hands rest on your thighs, keeping you spread, thumbs brushing gentle circles over the skin. She looks up as she pushes in deep—until her tip pushes against your cervix—just to see your face twist while you adjust to her stretching you out. God, the way you moan has her eyes darkening and her pupils widening. She can’t get enough.

Baran fucks you nice and slow, making you take every inch of her, every thrust stretching you out, filling the room with wet sounds and your moans. Every time she bottoms out, the base grinds against her clit, pulling another desperate moan from her lips. Within a few thrusts, she’s grabbing your hips, guiding you against her while leaning down over you, kissing your neck and jaw—whatever skin she can reach. Her cock slides in and out of you with ease, guided by the wetness dripping out of you. Your moans become desperate babbles within a few accidentally rough thrusts into you—she couldn’t help herself!

She can’t help but let out a breathy laugh when you start clawing desperately at her back, moans more needy than ever. Her hips have picked up a rhythm of slow rolls and deep thrusts into you, her breath heavy and labored against your neck. She can tell when you get close. And she knows just how to get you there.

As you’re on the edge of an orgasm, she begins picking up speed, her body fully pressed against yours now, hips thrusting erratically as she chases her own release. Your moans and babbled words turn into a whiny string of “uh, uh, uh” with every snap of her hips. Baran looks like she’s fighting off demons as she keeps up this pace, murmuring unintelligible praise in Farsi against your skin.

Baran’s thrusting continues even after you cum on her cock. She’s too far in to not chase her own release. As she moves, pushing into you over and over again, hard snaps of her hips begin to overwhelm your senses. You have to grab onto her to keep steady, thighs shaking around her. All the while, she’s now mumbling apologies just under your ear, barely holding back moans.

“Mmffh—baby, m’sorry. You feel so good—you’re taking it so well for me, i’m just- I just need a bit more. You can take it, can’t you?”

Her apology comes out with sincere guilt (although not enough to stop herself), despite how good she doesn’t realize she’s making you feel.

This time, as Baran gets close, you’re back to the edge again too. Her pounding into your sensitive pussy has brought you there so quickly. With one last, deep thrust, Baran lets out a moan and finally stills in you. At that same moment, your back arches and you grab tighter onto her, cumming for the second time in a row.

Both of you lay there for at least a minute, just catching your breath, breathing each other in. Baran snakes her arms around you slowly, pulling you tight against her, though not pulling the silicone cock from your cunt just yet. She can’t bring herself to pull away. Her curls brush against your chest where she lays against you (she just loves having her head between your tits), pressing soft, lazy kisses wherever she can reach, holding you like you’re something precious.

After you’re both finally up, Baran seemingly gets back into care mode, gently kissing your forehead as she pulls the blankets over you and slowly climbs out of bed.

“Okay, now, you need to rest. Let the morphine wear off.”

She mutters as she rubs a hand gently over your cheek, a small, affectionate smile on her face.

“See if you remember any of this in the morning, my love.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ she wears these readers at night that she thinks make her look like her mother. she only wears them in front of you regularly after you spot her reading in bed with them once and it results in both of you breathing heavy, limbs tangled together, three orgasms later.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ her entire camera roll is filled with photos of you and her or you, her, and her son together. there’s nothing else. she loves to take photos when you fall asleep on her especially: it’ll be you with your eyes closed, laying on her chest, and her, a grin spread across her face and a hand in your hair.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Baran is NEVERRRR rough without constant checking up on you and constant praise. she’s on top, but never too dominant. sometimes, after a particularly long shift, when she just needs a distraction, she’ll finger you until you’re right at the edge, OBSCENEE sounds filling the room, clit throbbing, pleading with her and crying. even then, she’s murmuring:

“you’re so beautiful.”

“you take it so well, my love.”

“you can do it for just a bit longer, can’t you?”

while wiping your tears with a gentle hand, kissing you softly.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ okay so all of that said, Baran is a switch.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ she’s a service top. she’s constantly praising you and asking before she does anything, murmuring things in Farsi because she’s just so lost in you 💗💗 her favorite thing is fs eating you out but every now and then she pulls out the strap on and fucks you slow and careful

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ she’s a power bottom… and she WHIMPERS !! her moans are all soft and needy and she’s still praising you but is struggling to get the words out. she defaults to Farsi when she’s close. every time you pull out the strap on, she’s hugging you close, pleading in your ear, hands fisted in your hair, breathing against you

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ whenever her son is out for a sleepover, she makes you dinner and sets everything up so you have the most perfect night in. she insists on you dressing up just so she can see you looking all pretty and dolled up <3

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Baran buys you very personalized gifts. she listens SO closely and keeps tabs on everything you ask for.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ she never really buys lingerie for you or anything, but the one time she passed a Victoria’s Secret and saw a light purple set and immediately thought of you, she couldn’t resist. she casually left the bag on the counter when she got back from work and acted all casual about it. when you walked in, wearing the set she bought you, she literally could not peel her eyes off of you. she was staring for a solid minute before coming over to you, grabbing your hips and yanking you into a kiss

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Baran gets surprisingly needy when she’s been without you for too long. after a double covering for someone on the night shift, all she needs is to inhale your scent and be close to you.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ she loves the concept of family movie night but cannot stay awake to save her life. she ends up curled up against you, fading in and out of sleep as she tries to act like she’s paying attention. her son teases her… but falls asleep minutes after her.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Baran takes you on fancy vacations whenever she can—a spare weekend off work and a babysitter for her son and, all of a sudden, you’re flying out to some tropical place for a break. she spends the entire time staring at you in a bikini while pretending to read, unable to keep her eyes or hands to herself

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ she folds so damn easily to teasing. just a few minutes of flirting and she’s clenching her jaw, forcing herself to look away from your lips and bouncing her knee just slightly.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ because of how she reacts to teasing, doing it in public becomes a sort of challenge. by the time you’re leaving a fancy dinner date, she’s guiding you to the car with a hand on the small of your back, fisted into your nice dress, SO tense. the whole car ride back is quiet, her hand gripping your thigh. as soon as you’re back into the house, she’s staring at you with those big, needy eyes, gently pulling you in until your lips brush hers, muttering:

“I can’t wait any longer.”

And she’s already slowly sliding your zipper down…

“Take this off. Please.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Baran loves showering with you. not even in a sexual way half of the time. it’s often just because she wants an excuse to be be close to you, letting her hands run over all the bare skin she can reach.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ studies you like she would a patient. she knows where every single freckle is and she loves tracing her fingers over them. she also knows exactly what you like and how you like it and she loves watching your every little reaction

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Baran rarely ever cries, but when she does, she NEEDS you close. if she has a seizure, she gives you this wet, wide-eyed look, as if silently communicating that she needs to leave. as soon as you’re alone, her arms are around you and she’s crying into your shoulder, arms wrapped around you. her sobs come out choked and muffled against your skin while you mutter affirmations in her ear and rub her back soothingly. she usually doesn’t need words of affirmation, but hearing them from you while she’s breaking down has her feeling so overwhelmed with sheer love for you that it overpowers the fear from having the seizure.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ she loves it when you take her things. if she smells her floral perfume on you, sees you in her sweater or t-shirt, whatever expression is on her face softens immediately. she’ll come up behind you and hug you, whispering in Farsi how beautiful you look

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ speaks Farsi between your legs ! her hands will be planted on your thighs, tongue licking circles around your clit and she’s mumbling about how good you taste in Farsi

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Baran doesn’t often talk about it, but she rarely feels fully safe and comfortable around anyone. you’re one of the few. she tells you everything, sometimes similar to the levels of excitement when her son will rant about his new dinosaur toys, because she’s never been able to open up to someone like this. additionally, she usually never talks about what’s bothering her (especially when it comes to her seizures), but you hear everything. she trusts you more than anyone.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ the first time you say a Persian phrase in front of Baran, she is 75% sure her heart actually skipped two beats. even though it’s clear you just picked up a few words from her, you speaking Farsi is both her new favorite sound and her biggest turn-on.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ she undresses in front of you very casually because she’s just used to doing it at work. when you actually react to her casually grabbing her clothes in front of you while just in her bra and panties, she’s a little shocked. then when you tug her towards your bed, she realizes that she needs to change in front of you more often.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ she knows about her doe eyes because of you. it didn’t take her long to pick up on the fact that one little look could get you to either fold or give her what she wanted immediately. if you try teasing her in bed, she’ll look at you with those beautiful eyes and a pleading expression, her thumb brushing over your cheek as she whispers:

“Come on, koshgel. Don’t be like that.”

with just the barest hint of a command in her voice, even while she’s pleading. and who could ever say no to Dr. doe-eyes like that????

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ on a hard day, Baran texts you almost hourly from work. she just can’t stop thinking about coming home to you and her son whenever work is particularly hard. she’ll just send something quick and sweet:

“I miss you.”

“I wish I was home with you, my love.”

“Work is fucking hell. I can’t wait to see you.”

and even through these few texts, you can hear the affection in her tone.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ texts you whenever you’re out at work or getting back him just to make sure you made it safely. whenever you send her a photo of you and her son as a reply, she has to take a break from work just to make sure she isn’t distracted while working on a patient.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ she sings when she’s at home !! not loudly or full out or anything, but just soft and mumbled, sometimes in Farsi, sometimes just the melody of some song that’s stuck in her head. she sings a lullaby to her son whenever he asks (every night). you watch from the doorway of his room with just the most loving look because of how adorable the sight is.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Baran does more small, subtle things to tease you than obviously doing it. if she takes a sip from the same drink as you, she’ll purposefully press her lips right where you left a lipstick mark. she’ll look at your lips in a way that no one else can see but you, a small, barely perceptible smile tugging at her lips.

The sound of Baran Al-Hashimi’s voice floats through her house as you awaken. Her room—where you lay, barely awake, covered in marks from the previous night’s activities—is quiet. All you can hear is the birds, and her voice: Baran, singing softly along to some quiet, jazzy song.

The floor creaks as you get out of bed and pad towards the noise—covered in your t-shirt and panties that you’d brought last night. Slowly, as you walk downstairs to the kitchen, the music becomes more audible. Norah Jones’ voice comes into focus, singing ‘Don’t Know Why’ with Baran’s low voice along with it, words in Farsi weaving their way into the melody.

“Good morning.” You mutter as you step into the kitchen, watching Baran move as she pours her oat milk into one of the two mugs of coffee in front of her. She turns around the moment she hears your voice, a soft smile on her face as she takes you in. Hair messy, wearing… barely anything, beautiful.

“Morning.” Baran turns to fully face you, taking a few steps closer. She’s already dressed for the day—one of her off days, while her son, Shayan, is, by some miraculous coincidence, at a sleepover. One of the only days she’s not in scrubs at 7 AM. Her hands land on your hips, tugging you in. “How did you sleep?” She asks softly, her lips just barely brushing yours as she pulls you flush against her. Her thumbs trace mindless patterns over your hips while she watches you with the same intensity as she would a strange case—steady, gentle… and vaguely amused.

“Fine.” You reply, although it seems Baran is already distracted, only halfway processing your words as her eyes dip down to your lips… your neck, littered with small, dark marks from last night. She starts kissing down your neck slowly, before you can continue with any sort of explanation. “What are you doing?” 

Baran laughs softly, her hands slowly rubbing up your sides, under your shirt. “Waking you up, eshgham.” She mutters, her lips pressing softly against your jawline. “Seems like you need it.” Her grin only widens when she hears you let out an already breathless laugh. She loves mornings like this. Mornings where she has absolutely nothing to do but you. All she wants right now is the taste of you on her tongue.

“I haven’t even had my coffee yet.” You mutter as she pulls away from your neck to give you a proper look over. Before you can finish speaking, her lips are suddenly on yours. She kisses you like she’s hungry, like she’s trying to savor the taste of you.

“Shhhh.” Baran pulls away just enough to shush you as she takes a step, guiding you backwards. “Just let me take care of you.” She says softly as your back hits the counter. Her hands slide your shirt up, slowly pushing it higher and higher. Her fingers brush just under the swell of your breasts. She pulls away to look at you. She’s smiling. There’s this look in her eyes that is almost reverent. “Take this off.” She mumbles, just slightly commanding, as she presses a kiss to the corner of your lips.

Baran watches with rapt attention as you help her pull the shirt the rest of the way off. As soon as you’re bare in front of her, she’s gripping your waist and kissing you again. It’s just a moment before she’s breaking away to trace a path of kisses down your neck, down your collarbones, until her lips wrap around one of your already peaked nipples. Her tongue presses against the sensitive bud, leaving teasing licks as one of her hands slides up to cup the other breast. It’s like she has your body memorized. Everything you like, every reaction and every sensitive spot, she just knows it. As your hand slides up to tangle into Baran’s hair, she releases your nipple with a grin on her face. She begins gently kissing around your chest.

“Khoshgel” She murmurs against your skin, her eyes closing as she leaves slow kisses wherever she can reach your bare skin. When she hears a little noise slip from your lips, she looks up to you again, like she just can’t keep her eyes off of you. She’d do anything to hear more of those noises. The kind she can get out of you whenever it’s late at night, just the two of you in the house.

“You sound so pretty. Bi-ʿayb.” She glances down at where your panties are still covering you, then back at your eyes. “Can I?” She asks in almost a whispered voice as she hooks her fingers into the fabric of your panties.

Your fervent nod is all the confirmation she needs. She presses kisses down your stomach, her hands moving with her as she sinks down to her knees. Your panties end up fallen on the floor with Baran kneeling, hands on your hips, eyes fixed on your face. She doesn’t look away for a second. Not even as she leans in and presses a kiss right between your legs. Right on your already throbbing clit. She watches for your reaction before doing anything else. When she sees your breath hitch, sees your chest heave just the slightest bit, she leans in again. Her eyes flutter shut as she licks a slow stripe from your entrance of your cunt back to your clit, her tongue pressed flat and gently against you. Another moan. She repeats the motion. She starts a rhythm of slow licks and kisses against your pussy, her hands gripping your hips just to keep you close, tongue licking through your folds lazily, savoring the taste. Every time she hears you moan, it seems she picks up speed or the pressure of her tongue just to keep hearing more. 

Her tongue dips just barely inside of you after a teasing flick to your clit. When your fingers reach out to tangle into Baran’s hair again, she lets out a soft moan of her own. Your hand tugs her dark brown curls, causing her grip to tighten on you again. She can’t help it when one hand lets go of your hip to dip below the waistband of her own sweatpants. 

The kitchen is filled with three sounds: the music still faintly playing in the background, your moans—which have been increasingly in volume not-so-subtly—and Baran’s labored breathing and soft groaning as she presses her fingers against her own clit. Every time she shudders with her own pleasure, her tongue presses against you with more pressure, flicking over your clit with a sort of desperation, like she really is hungry for the taste of you. 

Baran is close to the edge quicker than she had expected. Just from touching herself and watching you moan while she eats your pussy. She can tell that you’re not far off either–the way your thighs tense around her face, your hand tugging at her (now very messy) curls like you need her to anchor yourself down. 

The way her tongue licks desperately through your folds has you cumming in just a few moments. Baran tastes the slick while her fingers circle over herself, her tongue relentless until she feels you shaking and whining and, finally, her own release crashing over her like a goddamn tidal wave. She moans against your pussy as her tongue finally stops. For a long moment, the two of you just… stay there. Heavy panting, both trying to catch your breath, as if you’re the only two people in the world at this moment. 

Baran pulls her hand from between her legs slowly, letting out a shaky breath. She finally looks back up at you and just lets out a soft laugh. You still look so tired. But so goddamn beautiful. Baran’s hair is now just as messy as yours was crawling out of bed. Her eyes are lit up with sheer adoration, her lips and chin coated with your slick. She’s shameless. She couldn’t care less about the mess. She just presses kisses against your thighs and slowly rises to her feet again. As soon as you’re face-to-face, she kisses you slowly and steadily, like she’s making up for the way she nearly made your knees buckle.

Halloween is, apparently, a very big deal to the staff of the Pittsburgh ED. When you decided to host something, a small get together suddenly turned into a full on house party. Most everyone from the Pitt arrived in full costume with either a bottle or a bag of candy in hand. The lights were dim, the music was a little too loud and the kitchen was filled with booze. What could go wrong?

“Y/n. Hi.” Doctor Baran Al-Hashimi walks up to you when she sees you getting a drink alone–the third of the night already. “I see you’re having a good time.” She motions to your drink with a slight grin. Baran is dressed as… a cowboy? Her curly hair is tied halfway up as usual under a brown cowboy hat, she has on a white tank top underneath a tight denim vest and a pair of low-rise, bootcut jeans. She’s even got cowboy boots and a fake gun holster around her waist. She looks unfairly good.

“Baran, hey! I gotta be honest, I wasn’t expecting the cowboy costume from you.” You say with a smile, taking a sip of your drink.

“My son is obsessed with cowboys right now. He wanted us to be matching and ended up going trick or treating with his friends from school anyway.” She shakes her head, although she’s still grinning. “You look…” she very obviously looks you up and down, taking in the short skirt of your costume. It makes a sudden heat rise in your cheeks, but you figure it’s just the alcohol.

“Hot.” Before Baran can finish what she was saying, Doctor Yolanda Garcia appears behind you, a drink already in hand and a smirk on her face. She’s dressed as a female Indiana Jones–loose white tank top, brown cargo pants, combat boots, the hat (in her hand, rather than on her head), a brown jacket, and what looks to be a very fancy knife (one that you can guess probably isn’t even fake) in a belt holster. You look between the two of them, blissfully unaware that they are now staring daggers at each other.

“Thanks. You don’t look half bad yourself.” Yolanda laughs at that and Baran just scoffs.

“High praise, coming from you.” Yolanda replies in a slightly lower tone, leaning in just close enough so that you can feel her breath on the back of your neck. It causes a slight shiver and, clearly, Baran notices.

“Well, aren’t you two a cute couple.” She deadpans as she walks back into the crowd. Before you can even call after her, Emery Walsh–dressed in a ghostface costume–is coming over to talk to Garcia and you’re suddenly sucked into the conversation.

Throughout the night, no matter who you’re talking to, you’re somehow making eye contact with either Garcia or Al-Hashimi. Either one of the two of them is smiling at you from across the room, or simply just watching you while pretending to be engaged in some other conversation. You figure it might just be because everything is so hectic–they could be looking at anyone. It's probably just a coincidence.

By one in the morning, most everyone has left. The final few people to leave are stumbling out the door and wishing you a happy Halloween. The apartment is almost empty. Aside from two people. Garcia had gone to the bathroom just a minute ago and Baran is now standing in front of you, gathering her things.

“You host a good party, y/n. Kudos to you.” She says teasingly. As she zips her purse, her eyes fix on yours. She takes a slow step closer. “Though, there were just so many people. I hardly saw you.”

“Did you want to see more of me?” You ask jokingly, following with her tone.

“Yes.” Baran replies almost too seriously. Her voice is low and smooth, and she's looking at you like she’s trying to analyze your every little reaction. After a moment, she takes another slow step in, until she’s close enough that her hand can land on your waist. “I never actually got to tell you how good you looked tonight.”

You’re left at a loss for words. Her steady hand is on your waist and she’s so close–you open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. She lets out a soft laugh. Slowly, while watching as if to see if this is okay, Baran leans in. She leans in until your faces are just inches apart… and she kisses you. Her lips move against yours slowly, and tentatively. Like she wants to hold this moment in time. At least, for the first few seconds. When you start kissing her back? It changes. She kisses you more insistently, her hand taking a tighter hold on your waist while yours comes up to cradle her face. Your lips part and her tongue slips inside and–

“Wow. I didn’t know you had any game, Baran.” Yolanda’s voice suddenly comes from behind you yet again. You’d entirely forgotten that she was still here. You drop your hands and get a little distance from Baran… but she doesn’t back away. She doesn’t even let go. Just as you’re about to say something to make up for the PDA, Yolanda speaks up again. “I didn’t say you should stop.”

You look between Baran and Yolanda. Suddenly, the air in the apartment feels charged with something hot and electric and entirely inescapable. As Yolanda begins walking closer with that smirk on her face, Baran pulls you back in. You aren’t even expecting it when your lips connect with hers again… but you lean in. The kiss is even more heated now.

Before you know it, you feel another pair of lips on you, pressing against the back of your neck. Garcia’s hand pushes the hair back, her lips leaving a trail of kisses along her neck as she presses against you from behind. Her hand lands on your hip, opposite to where Baran’s hand is still gripping your waist. She moves down, her teeth sinking into a spot that she figures must be sensitive based on the little sound you let out. Baran takes the opportunity to slide her tongue between your parted lips.

It’s not long before you feel a hand sliding up your torso. From behind, Yolanda moves her hand until she finds your chest. She wastes no time, squeezing your breast roughly through the top of your costume. As if on cue, another hand moves. Baran’s hand slides down, under your skirt, between your thighs. This time, it's her movement that elicits a gasp. Garcia grins when your lips break apart from Baran’s because of it.

“You like this, don't you?” She asks almost mockingly with another squeeze. She kisses up until she can whisper in your earlobe. “You didn’t want to pick one, so you’re making us share.”

“Well, it’s not her fault you couldn’t just let me take care of her.” Baran argues, her lips brushing against yours, though not quite connecting.

“It’s not her fault you just don’t know what you’re doing.” Yolanda argues back, eyes flicking down to her hand where it rests, not giving you enough friction, between your legs. “Come on. You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” When Yolanda presses her hips against you from behind, you most definitely feel something hard press against you. You look over your shoulder at her. She just chuckles, “I always come prepared.” Because of course Yolanda Garcia would just casually wear a strap-on to a halloween party.

Baran lets out a scoff, gently grabbing your chin with her free hand and guiding your face back to her. “I think you’re too confident in what y/n wants. How about you let her decide?”

With both women close enough that your breaths are mingling, your brain is simply short circuiting. You’re supposed to pick one? No way.

“Both.” Is all you can manage to say.

You see Baran’s eyes widen and hear Yolanda scoff. But they don’t protest.

“Which way to your bedroom?” Yolanda asks after a moment. It seems both women’s grips tighten on you.

Your bedroom door slams shut as the three of you stumble into the room. Baran is holding you by the hips, tugging you forward, while Garcia has a grip on your wrist so that she can keep you close enough to still messily kiss along your neck. Baran spins you just as Yolanda is leaning in, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed. Yolanda scoffs and gives her a glare, but it only seems to drive the two of them on. As Baran starts tugging at the hem of your costume to pull it off, Yolanda gets onto the bed behind you, pulling you back by the hips easily. You end up in a somewhat awkward position, top halfway off and one leg hanging off the bed.

“You can’t ever be patient, can you, Yolanda?” Baran scoffs as she watches Garcia’s hands slide possessively over your bare torso, pushing your shirt up over her bra. Her hands grip your chest through the fabric. She looks at Baran, kneeling behind you, hands gripping you, and a smirk on her face.

“You’re moving too slow.” Yolanda says almost mockingly. One of her hands slides from your chest, down to the belt buckle of her pants. “Im just trying to give her what she wants.”

Baran scoffs and finally crawls onto the bed. She guides you to a more comfortable position–kneeling in the middle of the bed, legs spread, with Al-Hashimi kneeling in front of you and Garcia behind.

“I doubt it.” Baran mutters, almost glaring at Garcia’s hand grabbing your chest. She leans in close, until you’re face to face and slowly pushes your shirt all the way up and off of your head.

Just then, you feel two sensations at once: a hand pressing against your panties from the front, and silicon rubbing against you from behind. Baran and Yolanda glare at each other for a moment. Then they look at you.

“Is this what you want?” Baran asks lowly as her fingers start circling your already damp panties. You nod in response. She laughs softly, her fingers pressing harder just to hear you gasp. “Use your words.” She murmurs.

“Yes.” You reply quickly. From behind, you hear Yolanda chuckle. Her hips suddenly press against yours, the hand that was still on your chest moving up to lightly wrap around your neck.

“Of course it is.” Yolanda mutters. Her free hand guides the silicon strap-on to press against your core, all while Baran’s fingers circle with just slightly not enough pressure over your clit. A moan slips out uncontrollably from your lips. Yolanda grins just as she presses another kiss to your neck. “Say please.” She says as her fingers slide your panties to the side, the silicon pressing against your wet entrance. It seems, for once, Baran and Yolanda can agree on something, because Baran is watching you expectantly, her fingers now just hovering where you want them.

“Please. Please fuck me.” You manage to get out. Baran grins and Yolanda bites her lip.

“Good girl.” Baran mutters. Her fingers now press down against your clit, suddenly rubbing circles in just the way you need. A surprised moan almost slips out, before Baran is kissing you again, swallowing the sound.

You only pull away from the kiss to gasp when Yolanda shoves into you with one rough thrust. The sudden full feeling of the strap-on and her hand around your next just a little tighter is enough to have you shaking already.

“How does it feel, huh?” Yolanda whispers in your ear as her hips start slowly thrusting, her hand sliding down to grip your hip. Baran watches your expression twist as she does, her fingers briefly stuttering just with how enraptured she is by you.

“So good.” You moan out just as Baran’s fingers press against your clit with more pressure.

Yolanda and Baran are treating fucking you like a competition. Every time you moan at a thrust from Yolanda, Baran flicks your clit and makes you moan louder. Every time Baran leans in for another kiss, Yolanda trails ten down the back of your neck.

This back and forth continues until Yolanda is fucking into you at a pace that has even her grunting from the base of the strap-on pressing against her clit, Baran’s hair is messed up from you tangling your fingers into it to pull her in closer, and you’re a panting, moaning mess.

“I- im gonna cum–” You barely stutter the words out as your thighs shake from another flick to your already sensitive clit.

“Good.” Both women speak at the same time, breathy and labored. The only sounds in the room are your moans, Yolanda's grunting, Baran’s heavy breathing, and the slap of skin on skin as Yolanda doubles her efforts to push you over the edge.

Suddenly, at the same time, Baran rubs your clit just right and Yolanda shoves up so deep you swear you can feel it against your cervix. It makes you see stars. In a second, you’re moaning and shaking and cumming all over Baran’s fingers and Yolanda’s strap on.

No one slows down until your hips are twitching and your moans turn into whimpers from the overstimulation. Your head drops forward, onto Baran’s shoulder, as you try to catch your breath.

“God, you did so good.” Baran mutters as she withdrawals her fingers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before licking them clean.

Yolanda is busy sucking marks into the already sensitive skin on your neck, not yet pulling out, also trying to catch her breath. For a long moment, the room is quiet aside from the sounds of your breathing. You can’t form a coherent thought yet. You’re too caught up in how fucking good these two women just made you feel. You actually let out a soft scoff of a laugh thinking about it. Yolanda perks up.

“Sounds like you’re ready for round two.”