warnings : gn!reader x baran . nsfw / suggestive , mdni . legal age gap . power imbalance . heavy making out . semi-public (hospital bathroom) . jealousy . possessiveness . groping . praising . implicit authority kink . mutual pining .
you’re halfway through what feels like the longest shift of your life, the lights drill straight into your skull and every alarm blends into one endless hum that makes your teeth ache. it’s been like this since you clocked in at six am, now the clock on the wall says it’s pushing four pm.
dr. al-hashimi is posted up at the nurses station, she’s flipping through a chart, pen tapping once against the clipboard before she scribbles something neat and precise. you’ve been shadowing her more than usual these past few weeks, and it’s fucking with your head.
she’s exactly like everyone said she would be when she transferred over from the va. sharp and composed. you’ve watched her implement three new protocols already, and she explains everything calmly and direct which makes you hyper focus on every word that comes out of her.
she never raise her voice, and you admire that. she’s got authority in how she moves, shoulders back, scrubs always somehow still crisp after hours on the floor. but you’ve caught the other side too, the small moments where she lets the professional mask slip just enough. like when she handed you coffee during a brutal trauma last week without a word, or the way her mouth twitched into a smile when you nailed an intubation she’d been coaching you on.
you like her. more than like her, if you’re being honest with yourself. but she’s almost twenty years older than you, your attending, and she’s got a kid, a whole ex husband. all of that should make it impossible and she knows that too. you’ve seen the way she catches herself sometimes, eyes lingering on you a beat too long before she clears her throat and redirects to the next case. she’s ethical, focused on keeping the system running clean.
still, the tension sits there between you. you feel it every time she leans in close to check your work and her voice drops low just for you.
you’re in trauma bay two with her on a guy who flipped his truck on the highway, blood everywhere and monitors screaming. she’s calling out orders in her steady tone without panicking. “keep the pressure right there,” she tells you, stepping in close enough that her shoulder bumps yours as she adjusts the iv line. her jacket brush your arm and you feel it like a live wire. “good compression. you’re steady.”
the praise is soft, almost under her breath, but you hear it enough to make your face heat. you nod, eyes locked on the wound, but your pulse is doing its own thing now. she stays there close while guiding your hands without taking over completely.
when the bleed slows she straightens up and steps back. “nice work,” she says, voice even, like it’s nothing. but her eyes locks on yours before she’s moving on, calling for imaging, and you’re left standing there with your heart hammering against your ribs.
you end up in the supply room together restocking carts later. the door’s cracked open and the hallway hum filters in, distant beeps and muffled voices. she’s reaching for a box of gauze on the top shelf and you’re right there, so you grab it for her without thinking. “thanks,” she says, low. “for uh… not letting me climb the shelf.” you laugh under your breath, the sound small in the cramped space.
“figured i’d save you the trouble. you’ve already pulled two doubles this week.” she takes the box but her eyes stay on you, eyes softening just a fraction. “you noticed that?” you shrug, trying to keep it casual even though your face feels warm. “you sound surprised. you’re kind of hard to miss around here.” she huffs a quiet laugh, and sets the box down. “flattery won’t get you out of charting tonight, doctor.”
there’s no bite in it, just teasing that you rarely hear from her. she lingers another second, like she’s weighing something, then steps back and organize a shelf that doesn’t need organizing. of course, fix the small thing to avoid the big one.
you catch a break in the lounge a little after that and she’s already there, leaning against the counter eating a protein bar standing up. her hair’s pulled back tight but a few strands have escaped around her face. you grab a vending machine sandwich and slide it her way without asking. “you eat yet?” she eyes it, then you, and takes it with a half-smile that feels like it’s just for you. “trying to spoil me now?” she tease, yet again.
you lean next to her, close enough that your elbows touch on the counter. “only fair. you saved me on that intubation. plus you look like you need it.” she unwraps the sandwich in three efficient moves and takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “team effort,” she says after a swallow.
her eyes drop to your mouth for a beat, then back up. “you’re getting better at anticipating orders. i like that.” it’s the closest she’s come to saying anything real. you feel the pull in your chest, that months-long build of everything unsaid, and for a second you think maybe she’s about to say more. but she finishes the sandwich quick, wipes her hands on a napkin, and heads for the door before the moment can go on any longer. “back at it,” she mutters. you watch her go, and tell yourself it’s fine. she’s got control. you both do.
the shift feels slower than ever. waiting room’s packed, walk-ins stacking up like dominoes. you’re triaging at one of the curtained bays when a woman in her thirties comes in limping from a pickup basketball game, sprained ankle, all easy charm and zero filter.
you’re wrapping her foot, keeping it professional, when she leans in with a grin. “so what’s a doctor like you doing in a place like this?” she winks, like it’s the first time anyone’s tried that line. you chuckle, polite, fingers steady on the wrap. “saving ankles, mostly. ice this when you get home and stay off it for a couple days.” she doesn’t let up. “you got any plans after shift? maybe show me how to wrap it right next time? i could use a personal lesson.”
you smile back, friendly enough not to encourage but you don’t shut her down either. it’s just a patient killing time. no big deal. you’ve handled worse.
except baran’s across the bay the whole time. you don’t see her at first because you’re focused on the wrap, but her eyes are boring into you. the way your shoulders ease into the laugh, the quick polite smile you give the woman. her jaw sets tight.
she’s been telling herself for weeks that whatever this is between you two is manageable. she’s an attending. you’re a resident. she’s older, she’s got a son waiting at home some nights, an ex-husband. she knows your dynamic could twist things if not threading carefully. she’s kept every interaction clean, every extra second of eye contact shoved down.
but right now, watching you smile at someone else like that, something inside her fractures clean in half. all the careful reasons she’s stacked up, the lectures she gives herself on the drive home, the way her hand is under her underwear at nights, with you on her mind, your name on her lips. the way she forces her hands to stay professional every time they’re near you.
all the reasons scatter and she straightens, chart forgotten in her grip, and starts toward you with steps that are too measured to be casual.
you catch her approach out of the corner of your eye and you smile at her but she doesn’t give one back. she doesn’t speak, just fixes her gaze on the patient until she mumbles something about waiting for discharge papers. her voice when it comes is even, almost too even. “walk with me for a second.”
you set the wrap down and trail her down the hall, past the supply closet, heart already picking up because you’re confused and somehow feel like a kid in trouble. the staff bathroom door clicks shut behind you and she locks it with a quick twist of her wrist.
she exhales, like she’s still deciding whether to say what’s coming or just let the months of tension do the talking. the space between you feels charged, heavy with everything you’ve both been swallowing down. and for the first time her composure looks like it’s hanging by a thread.
baran’s leaning back against the locked door, arms crossed while she’s staring at you with an intense look. your back’s against the sink, hands awkward at your sides, your face feels warm and you haven’t even said anything yet.
“you can’t do that,” she says, voice low but sharp. “flirting with patients right there in the open bay? we have rules. you’re a resident. you keep it professional, boundaries clear. this isn’t happy hour.” she uncrosses her arms and steps closer, jaw tight. “i’ve drilled it into the team. no personal stuff on the floor. it distracts. it messes with everything.”
your cheeks burn instantly. you look down at the floor tiles for a second, embarrassed heat crawling up your neck. “i wasn’t flirting,” you mutter, shifting your weight. “she was just a patient with a sprained ankle trying to be funny. i smiled because… i don’t know, that’s what you do. keep things light so they don’t freak out. it wasn’t anything serious. i swear.”
she lets out a short breath through her nose and moves even closer. “light,” she repeats, like the word tastes bad. “i’ve been watching you all shift, focused, steady, handling everything perfectly, and then some random walks in and gets that from you?” her voice drops, rougher now. “it’s not about the rules. i’ve been biting my tongue for months trying to keep this professional and you’re out there…”
you swallow, face still hot. “i didn’t know it got to you like that,” you say quietly, voice a little shaky. your hands stay in your pockets because you don’t know what else to do with them. “we’ve both been acting like nothing’s there. i figured you wanted distance, i wasn’t trying to make you jealous or whatever this is.”
her eyes flash and she closes the last inch fast, one hand on your shoulder, gripping the fabric like she needs something to hold onto. “jealous,” she mutters, half under her breath, and then her other hand finds your waist, tugging you forward sharp enough that your hips bump hers. “yeah. fine. call it that.” she doesn’t give you time to respond before she kisses you like she’s been holding it back forever.
you make a small surprised sound and she swallows it, tilting her head to kiss you deeper right away, tongue sliding against yours. her body presses you back against the sink, thigh pushing between your legs as her hand slips under the bottom of your scrub top, palm warm and firm on your bare skin.
you kiss her back just as hard, fingers finally moving to thread through her hair and tug the tie loose so it falls messy around her shoulders. she groans low against your mouth when your tongue meets hers, the sound going straight through you. her hand on your waist slides lower, gripping your hip tight, squeezing and pulling you closer so her thigh presses right where you need it.
heat floods through you fast. you slide your own hands under her top, feeling the smooth skin of her back, the way her muscles shift when she rocks against you. she breaks the kiss for half a second, breathing hard against your lips, then dives back in, nipping your bottom lip before soothing it with her tongue.
her thigh rubs slow and steady between yours and you can’t help the soft moan that slips out. she answers by sliding her hand up your ribs, hand roaming over your chest and scratching her nails down, making you whimper. your hands get bolder too, one squeezing her ass, the other cupping her breast, thumb dragging over her nipple.
she shivers and presses into your touch, sucking on your tongue while her hips grind against you. the months of tension pouring out in every roll of her body, every grip of her fingers. sweat’s starting to bead at your hairline, scrubs feeling way too warm and restrictive, but you keep groping, pressing, breathing each other in like you’re both starving.
she nips at your jaw, then back to your mouth, hand still working your chest while the other keeps your hips tight to hers. the friction from her thigh has you dizzy, every slow grind making your breath catch. you squeeze her breast a little firmer and she makes a quiet wrecked sound into your mouth that sends another rush of heat through you.
a loud page suddenly cuts through and baran pulls back first, chest heaving, lips shiny and swollen. her hair’s a mess, eyes dark and blown. she rests her forehead against yours, one hand still possessively on your hip like she can’t quite let go. “fuck,” she breathes, half laugh, half groan. “we’re still at work.”
you’re breathing just as hard, face flushed, a stupid little grin tugging at your mouth. your hands stay on her waist, thumb absently stroking her skin under her top. “yeah… you definitely started it,” you say, voice rough. “not that i mind, though.”
she huffs another soft laugh and leans in for one more slow kiss, gentler this time. when she pulls away she strokes your cheek, fingers lingering on your jaw. “my son is at his dad’s place tonight,” she says quietly, eyes searching yours. “shift ends at seven if we’re lucky. you want to come over? if you… want to.”
you look at her for a second, heart still racing, then you nod. “yeah,” you say, voice soft but sure. “i’d like that. a lot. i’ll come over.”
she smiles, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she finally steps back and starts fixing her scrubs. her cheeks are still flushed and her hair’s hopeless but she glances at you one last time before unlocking the door. “good,” she murmurs. “and… don’t flirt with patients.” she cracks the door open, “i wasn’t-“ you cut yourself off because you realize she’s mostly just teasing you. she smiles and slips out, leaving you standing there with buzzing skin and the taste of her still on your lips.
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