𝑪𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
AUTHORS NOTE: soooo... I can hear the crickets...I've not written in SO LONG but does reading other ppls fics lowk influence them to write? Yeah THIS IS NOT PROOF READ!! in the slightest and its also pretty bad :p .⋆❀°
WARNINGS: Explicit smut, afab reader, heavy oral (giving & receiving), fingering, scissoring, sex toys, intense edging & orgasm control, overstimulation / forced multiples, hair-pulling, wrist restraint, light spanking, marking, dirty talk with praise + mild degradation, light possessiveness / ownership language, semi-public sex (on-call room, supply closet, trauma bay), attending/resident power imbalance played into heavily, medical setting with blood & trauma (non-graphic), brief mention of absence seizures & divorce, 18+ only. ⋆˚࿔
BLURB: Taking fuck around and find out with your boss too literally?The wanting began in increments so small you could almost pretend they were professional....until neither of you can resist the pull anymore. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━ ꒰ঌ ⊱ ·✦· ⊰ ໒꒱ ━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The first time she touched you it was inside a dying man’s chest.
Blood coated your wrists. Alarms screamed. The trauma bay moved like one desperate animal under the fluorescent lights while you packed the wound. Then her gloved hand slid in beside yours- steady, precise as she murmured low against your ear.
“Higher. You’re missing the intercostal bleed. There. Hold it exactly like that.”
Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi. New attending covering Robby’s sabbatical. Dark hair scraped back. Sharp cheekbones. Eyes that didn't flinch from anything. She held your gaze for half a second too long while the patient’s blood pressure crashed, then looked away and helped save a life with the same controlled intensity she brought to everything.
You did not stop thinking about the heat of her hand against yours for the rest of the shift.
The attraction was immediate and inconvenient.
She was everywhere: leaning over your shoulder during chart review, the clean spice of her perfume cutting through the hospital smell; standing too close at the board while Dana barked numbers and Langdon muttered; catching your eye across a trauma bay while Mel and Samira worked a code. Robby noticed. He clapped you on the shoulder one evening and said, “She’s sharp. Don’t let her eat you alive,” with a look that suggested he already knew it might be too late.
The secrecy started as self-preservation. It quickly became its very own sharp edge.
One night she found you in the med room restocking. She closed the door before stepping hesitantly into your space, and kissing you like she had been starved of proximity for along as her body would allow. Teeth, breath, her thigh sliding between yours until you gasped. She pulled back just enough to speak against your mouth, voice low and precise.
“I’ve been watching your hands all week. The way you stay steady when everyone else starts to fray. It’s becoming a problem. I don’t like problems I can’t control.”
Someone knocked. She stepped away, voice perfectly even as she answered Dana. You were left with swollen lips and the sharp knowledge that this was going to get complicated.
It broke on a Friday that never ended.
Warehouse fire. Mass casualty. You worked beside her for six hours. When the last critical patient was upstairs and the Pitt fell into that hollow quiet, she caught your wrist and pulled you into the on-call room.
She walked you backward until your knees hit the cot and pushed. You went down more than willingly. She followed, stripping her top and sports bra in one efficient motion. Her breasts were full, dark nipples already tight. You sat up and took one into your mouth hard. She let you for three seconds, then fisted your hair and pulled your head back.
“I decide when you get to touch. Hands behind your back. Now.”
You laced your fingers at the small of your back. She rewarded you with a sharp nod, then climbed higher and settled over your face.
“Make me come. Do it properly.”
You gripped her thighs and pulled her down. She was already soaked. You licked into her with focused precision- broad strokes, then pointed attention on her clit, two fingers sliding in while she rocked against your mouth, babbling and cursing in English and soft Farsi. She held your hair tightly, controlling the angle, the pressure, the pace. When you added a third finger and curled them she came hard, thighs shaking, a rush of wetness coating your chin, but she didn't once let up. She kept you there through the aftershocks, voice low and relentless.
“Again. I want another one. Don’t you dare get lazy.”
You gave her a second orgasm that left her breathing hard, that's when she finally released your hair and crawled down your body.
She spread you open and ate you with the same controlled intensity she brought to a difficult airway. Tongue flat, then pointed, three fingers fucking into you while she sucked your clit. Every time your thighs started to shake she pulled back, denied you, waited until the edge receded, then started again. She edged you four times while you begged, wrists still locked behind your back, until tears gathered at the corners of your eyes.
“Please- Baran, please fuck-”
“You come when I say. Not before.” She spanked the inside of your thigh once, sharp enough to sting, then returned to your clit. “Ask nicely.”
“Please let me come. Please.”
She finally allowed it. The orgasm tore through you so hard your vision whited out. She kept going through the overstimulation, forcing a second, then a third that left you shaking and half-sobbing, until you felt yourself gush against her mouth. Only then did she stop, wipe her chin with the back of her hand, and manoeuvre to straddle your thigh.
She hastily lined your clits up and ground down hard, one hand pinning both your wrists above your head, the other gripping your jaw so you had to look at her.
“You’re going to let me ruin you,” she said, voice rough but still controlled. “You’re going to take whatever I give you and thank me for it. Say it.”
“I’ll take it- fuck- thank you-”
She sped up until she came with a quiet, wrecked sound, forehead pressed to yours. The pressure dragged one final, oversensitive orgasm out of you. Afterward she collapsed half on top of you, fingers tracing idle circles on your stomach, both of you listening to the distant sounds of the Pitt still moving outside the door.
The secrecy became a second job, and the kink only intensified it.
She started using the power imbalance deliberately. In the supply closet she would drop to her knees, mouth at you through your underwear until the fabric was soaked, then yank it aside and edge you with her tongue and two fingers while she held your wrists against the shelving. She would pull back every time you got close, praising you in that precise voice for how well you held still, how pretty you looked when you begged, then call you greedy when you whimpered. Only when you were shaking and half-crying would she finally let you come, swallowing every pulse before standing, wiping her mouth, and walking out like nothing had happened.
She liked leaving marks. Dark bruises on your inner thighs that only she would see. A careful series of hickeys low on your collarbone that forced you to check your neckline constantly. Once she used the ties from a spare pair of scrub pants to bind your wrists behind your back in the on-call room and kept you like that while she rode your face, controlling every movement, every breath, until she came twice and only then untied you so you could return the favor with the thick curved toy she had started stashing away in her locker.
One night she texted an address. Her apartment was sparse, one framed photo of a young boy on the shelf. She opened the door in a silk robe and nothing else. You didn't manage to make it to the bedroom. She bent you over the back of the couch, ate you from behind until you were dripping, then fucked you with the toy while she held your wrists at the small of your back and alternated between filthy praise and sharp, controlled degradation.
“Such a good girl for me. Taking it so deep. Look at you, dripping all over my floor like you can’t help it. Greedy thing. Come again. Come on my cock like you mean it or I’ll stop.”
You came hard enough that your knees buckled. She did not stop. She forced two more out of you while you sobbed into the couch cushions, then turned you around, made you watch while she used the same toy on herself, and came with your name in her mouth, free hand fisted tightly in your hair.
But the Pitt had a way of dragging every carefully guarded thing into the light, and this was no exception.
Dana started giving you longer breaks at the same time without comment. Santos caught the two of you in the stairwell once, Baran’s hand still under your scrub top and your wrists still faintly marked from earlier, and only raised an eyebrow before saying, “About time,” and continuing downstairs. Langdon muttered about “attending privileges.” Robby left for his sabbatical with a tired, knowing look that said he would not ask as long as the work stayed clean.
The seizures were the part that scared you most.
The first time you witnessed one - just a few seconds of her staring past you in the break room - you froze. She came back to herself, saw your face, and the careful walls cracked for a moment.
“It’s managed,” she said quietly. “Laser ablation years ago. I don’t drive if I’m tired. Robby knows. The board will know soon. I didn’t want this”-she gestured between you, “to be part of why anyone questions my control.”
You took her hand under the table. “It isn’t.”
She kissed you right there, soft and almost careful, the first time the secrecy felt less like a game and more like something you both might actually want to keep.
The night everything shifted was another long one.
July heat. Full moon. A crashing septic patient that took nearly two hours of coordinated work. When it was over she pulled you into the empty trauma bay, curtains drawn, lights dimmed.
She stripped you both with efficient hands, then pushed you onto the clean gurney. She bound your wrists loosely to the side rail with a soft gauze roll- enough to remind you, not enough to leave real marks- and edged you time and time again, abusing your pussy with her dedicated mouth and unyielding fingers. Every time you got close she pulled back, waited, started again, voice low and relentless.
“You don’t come until I say. You can take more than you think. Prove it.”
She forced four orgasms out of you in succession, the last two overlapping into overstimulation so intense you sobbed and gushed against her mouth. Only then did she climb up, straddle your face, and order you to make her come while she held the gauze and controlled the angle. You did, messy and eager, until she came with a broken moan, thighs clamping around your head.
Still not satiated, she flipped around, lined your bodies up, and started scissoring hard- almost punishing. One hand stayed between you, rubbing both clits in tight circles. The other held your bound wrists. She looked wrecked but still in control: hair escaping, mouth swollen, eyes glassy.
“You’re mine after this,” she said, voice raw. “Not just in here. Not just when the shift ends. I don’t care how complicated it gets with the board or the seizures or anything else. Mine. Say it.”
She came with a broken sound, grinding down hard, and the pressure took you with her one final time. You stayed locked together afterward, sticky and shaking, her forehead against yours.
Outside the curtains the Pitt kept moving.
Inside, something had changed. The secrecy was still necessary, the power imbalance still real, the seizures still a quiet risk she carried with the same precision she brought to everything else. But the way she looked at you now was different- less like a temporary indulgence and more like a decision already made.
Weeks later, after she was fully in charge, she found you in the supply closet again. She locked the door, dropped to her knees, and edged you for a long time with nothing but her mouth and two fingers before pulling back every time you got close, praising you for how well you took it, calling you greedy when you whimpered, until you were shaking and half-sobbing. Only when she decided you had earned it did she finally let you come, swallowing every pulse while she looked up at you with pure filthy satisfaction.
“Next time,” she said, voice low and certain, “I’m taking you home. No more stolen minutes, no more locked doors and half-finished things. I’m going to keep you there until the only thing you know is my hands and my mouth and the sound of your own voice breaking on my name. Clear?”
You smiled, still breathless.
She kissed you once- slow, deliberate, claiming- then straightened her Lulu jacket and stepped back out into the controlled chaos of the Pitt as if she had never left it.
Which, in every way that mattered, she hadn’t.
