𝕽‌𝖒‌𝖎‌𝖚‌𝖘‌𝖊‌𝖎

You groaned, slapping your hand across your couch’s perch in anger. If you were attacked like that, you’d definitely kick him in the balls and shove the knife through his ass. It was that simple!

Night had fallen long ago, and the stars were invisible in the gloom. You were home alone for the time being, especially with your grandma out for her bingo camp. (Even you didn’t know that was a thing.)

So, that meant more free time for you.

It meant more face masks without being called Micheal Myers in them— and certainly more walking around without a bra because it was so relaxing. And here you were, draped on your black loveseat with a fluffy night gown cloaking your figure.

Popcorn and skin serums were littered about, and the TV remote was somewhere lost in the coffee table’s mess. As the movie continued to play, you resorted to painting your nails, keeping them a nice onyx color.

“Please don’t! Please! Please! Aaah—“

Another scream with another kill.

You mocked her scream, laughing to yourself. These movies were so unrealistic and awfully—

Thump.

You snap back immediately, eyes wide as you pause.

“Pip!”

Oh my gosh, that stupid Caleb.

You cap the nail polish, muttering incoherent curses. Caleb was your best friend since so many years, but he rarely comes over. Not that you want him to come over, that is, but he’d usually message you before he does.

You grabbed your crow blanket from the side, wrapping it around you like a make-believe dress. Your door kept thumping with impatient knocks, and you swung it open annoyingly.

“What in the world do you want at this hour?”

There, the brunette was holding a gym bag over his shoulder, his knuckles frozen mid-air in another knock. His smile is enlightening, and you immediately forget why you’re upset.

“Oh! I just wanted to make a pit stop at your place before I head to a party— do you mind?” he digs in his pocket, “Aaand here’s my payment for my stay.”

He opens his palms to reveal a ziploc bag of sliced apples, making you raise a brow in utter disbelief.

“Really…?”

You swipe your nose, accidentally wiping some of the face mask off. Cursing you stood aside, motioning him forward,

“Just get in, and keep those damn apples— I’m in the middle of something important.”

“Gee…” his voice trails, and he notices the television replaying an old favorite, “Watching scary movies at night again? Remember how you got—“

Your glare hushed him instantly, and you slammed the door, pushing past the big brute. Sure, he might be tall and almighty, but you had that swiveling control in you to keep him from getting too big of himself.

“I’m not 13 anymore, let me watch my stuff in peace,” you watch him drop his bag on your seat, “That’s my seat you idiot!”

He doesn’t listen, and takes the spot beside it, stretching out his legs. You noticed his black apparel then; a simple pair of dark jeans and his striped crewneck. The necklace you gave him glinted with the TV’s flashing light, making it sparkle a little more.

He was so fucking hot, but you weren’t that bold to say it. Caleb was almost done with aerospace academy, and graduating top in his class. You were confident that some much prettier girls his type were pining after him, so you didn’t bother.

“You sure do know how to make yourself comfortable,” you mumble, leaning behind him on the couch, “What’s the party you’re going to?”

His eyes are locked on the screen, watching the next victim get brutally stabbed. It should be concerning, but you weren’t the least icked by it— and Caleb wasn’t either.

“Some new freshman party, with drinks and stuff,” he sounded disinterested, “I’m going with a friend so it won’t be too bad.”

“Since when do you hang out with freshman?” you laugh, giving his head a light wack, “And since when did you have friends?”

“Hey!” he turns, frowning, “A guy like me can make friends, thank you very much.”

You shrug, and stand behind him for a while more. His shoulders rose slightly with each breath he took, and you’d glance at him and then the screen every so often. Then, you got a whiff of metal.

Quietly, you lean forward, sniffing his hair lightly. It smelled like dirty mahogany, and then…dirt. You grimaced, poking his cheek,

“You smell like shit y’know.”

You only got a hum in reply. But then again, your friend is stupidly stubborn. You make your way forward, collecting all your serums from the coffee table to take upstairs.

Once you show a horror movie to him, he’s never going to look back. You remembered one time when the both of you were playing outside, he wouldn’t move from behind the tree, and simply watched a snake eat a cute little mouse. Creepy, but you weren’t that different either.

You made your way upstairs, the steps below you creaking with your weight. You shoot one final glance at Caleb, but he’s as still as you found him.

Your room was the biggest in the house, and that was because Grandma insisted you have it. Your closet was somewhat spacious, and your bathroom was about 1/4 the size of your room. You entered it, turning on the buzzing light as you dumped the glass vials on the sink’s top.

You carefully placed each serum back to its spot behind the mirror and then some into your mini fridge. You turned on the water, letting it run warm. Lastly, of your most tiring routine to prevent a mess, you slipped on your fluffy bracelets and handband. You looked silly in the mirror, but beauty costs apparently. You then washed the mask off your face.

A few minutes later, and then some moisturizer, you were done. You still had some annoying bumps on your cheek, and no matter what new cream you used, they never came off. You sighed, getting ready to go downstairs.

“I told you to wait for me, didn’t I?”

You stopped, and then squatted.

“No…you’re fucking insane…I said, no.”

Who in the world was he talking to? You wrapped your blanket a little tighter, and then crawled forward a bit. The stairs railings covered your form, and you’re thankful because Caleb was digging through his bag.

It was actually the first time you’ve seen him angry too. His voice was commanding, and he practically yelled at the small device.

“If you dare, then I will not hesitate to…Sylus!”

You heard a loud beep.

The call must have ended because he threw his phone across the living room. Poor thing must’ve seen better days.

He took a deep breath, and his eyes were closed shut. Right now is definitely not the time to go down…so you took that moment to crawl back up quietly.

Then, footsteps started getting near.

He’s coming upstairs.

You sweared under your breath, racing to your room and pretending to look for something in your closet.

“Pipsqueak? Hello?”

He sees you buried half-waist in your closet. You tossed one old shirt after another, humming a tune to keep yourself at bay. Unfortunately at this moment too, you really needed to clean your closet.

“Oh Caleb!” you pop your head out a bit, “Hey! What’re you doing in my room?”

You playfully throw one of your pants, but it was a poor throw and it barely made it two feet before you. The man was leaned on your doorway, his legs cross as he snickered at you.

“Nothin’ I was just checking up on you since you were up here for a while…”

His gaze follows to the open door of your bathroom, and he grins,

“Say, you don’t mind if I hop in your shower really quick?” he raised his hands before you spoke, “I won’t use your shampoo!”

You grimaced, and looked down at your closet. There were so many pants you’ve never bothered wearing, and they were still new with the price tags. With a sigh you replied,

“Fine, but I better not see your pubes in my drain.”

“Alrighty— wait.”

You shared a laugh with him, but it didn’t take long for it to die down. He left you alone to retrieve some of his clothing downstairs, and you let a long held-in breath out. You plopped back forward onto your heap of clothes, hugging them tight.

Something is definitely up with Caleb, and it simply doesn’t feel right. And who was Sylus? As far as your memory could reach, you’ve never heard that name before. Was he a friend of Caleb as well? Or a coworker?

Or were you just jealous?

But then again, he didn’t seem like a friend. Because…friends wouldn’t yell at each other— would they?

You heard his footsteps climb up again and into your room. He chuckled at your crouched form, and commented slyly,

“I can see your underwear, pipsqueak.”

Immediately, you reach down to cover your ass, your face a furious red. He was lucky to escape your fury and head straight inside the other room.

“Stop staring then!” you growl and bang on the bathroom door, “You pervert!”

From your messy pile, you pick out some pink shorts and slip them on. It was best not to be a temptation anyway, and then made your way downstairs.

You went to play another movie, and was about to reach the remote, but then spotted Caleb’s phone under the couch. You look around for any prying eyes, and then crouch down to grab it.

His phone case was a slick red, and his homescreen was a picture of the both of you during your younger days. Now that left his password to be discovered. Out of curiosity, you put your birthdate— and then nearly grimaced when it unlocked the phone.

“Sylus…?”

You swiped down to see several missed calls, and then some texts. You were tempted to click on the chat, but then last minute, decided otherwise. This was an invasion of privacy—

Ding!

You look down at the screen.

I arrived.

Arrived? Arrived where? Skeptically, you tossed the phone back under the couch, and then focused your gaze on Caleb’s bag. His towel was peeking out, making you sigh. You might as well give it over because there was no way you were letting him borrow yours.

The moment you pulled his towel out, several other articles fell.

“Damn it…”

You kneeled to pick up a black fabric, but you felt plastic attached to it. You turned the item, and saw a ghost-like pattern on its balaclava. Its eyes and mouth looked like they were sunken down, and then painted red.

You grazed the red splotches slightly, still wet and smeared on the white mask. Was that…blood? You reached for the other articles, and saw stains that only furthered your guess.

Whose blood was this?

Swallowing thickly, you placed them all back inside, but your hands still remained soaked in blood. Shit, shit, shit. You sprinted quietly into the kitchen, and ran the water to rinse out the stains.

You felt your heart pound in disbelief. It was like an earthquake happening in your body because you couldn’t even breathe right. Caleb…Caleb is a very nice guy. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, and you knew that.

You literally grew up with him.

You should know that better than anyone.

You raise your gaze up at the window, and saw a pair of sunken black eyes stare back at you.

One blink.

Two blinks.

And then you walk backwards.

Your scream was caught in your throat as you kept your eyes locked on the other. The mask was like the one you saw seconds ago, and it nearly makes you laugh. This must be a sick prank— Halloween is near after all.

The figure raps the window with their knuckles, and you see that his fist holds a long silver knife. His other hand pointed toward the door outside, and you follow the finger, noticing that your door was unlocked.

“No…”

You whisper, and then take off in a sprint. Nearly falling, you scramble to lock the spring door, but it was no use. The figure was already there, one large hand holding it still and the knife cutting the wires agonizingly slow. They were tall, way too tall.

I didn’t watch all those movies for nothing.

You scramble back up and snatch a knife from the countertop, and then run upstairs. Golden light spills from your room, meaning that Caleb must’ve finished showering. You were going to take a step inside, but then stopped yourself.

Caleb is involved in this somehow, you can’t trust him.

So, you make the next best exit.

Your grandma’s room.

You try your best to stay silent, but it’s inevitable in an old house like yours. You quietly close the door behind you, locking it the best you could. Then, you stuck one of her rocking chairs under the knob, being the second step of security you had.

You set your eyes at the window, and you make a sigh of relief. Setting down the knife, you start dismantling the wooden frame. It took several hits before it broke down, and it left the spring frame as the last barrier between you and the outside.

Though, voices from the hallway distracted you. You gaze at the door and then the window— your escape should be easy, so you can just listen in a bit. You crouched down the door, pressing your ear against the thin wood as you eavesdropped into the conversation.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

That was Caleb.

“Oh, I don’t know, perhaps saving you from rats.”

That must be the figure…

“Rats? Okay Sylus, you have gone way too far this week and it’s pissing me the fuck off,” a loud thump was heard, “Leave.”

Several more thumps were heard, and then a crash.

“I was the one to help you with your murder, and you treat me like this? That’s a kind gesture coming from you.”

Sylus was the figure then, but the whole context of the conversation was difficult to understand. Murder? Who murdered who?

“I could care less— we made it clear that we won’t meddle in personal affairs, and yet you come into my life?”

A brief pause.

“Where’s my y/n?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you began to recede from the door. The conversation was still audible, especially with the way Caleb raised his voice.

“What the fuck did you do to her?”

“I don’t know.” a chuckle, “But do tell, she found your stash— and I think she knows now.”

You bit your lip, hard. The spring barrier would not budge open, making you panic internally. It wouldn’t take long for them to start searching for you, so you needed to leave. Now.

“Sweet thing ran upstairs before I could grab her.”

Another thump, and this time it was a clearly loud punch.

“If you touch even a hair on her head, I will personally kill you.”

You reached for the knife on the bed and started cutting out a large circle on the frame. The chirps of crickets witnessed your escape, and wondered if you’d survive the fall.

“Let’s make a wager. First one to find her gets to do whatever they desire, how’s that?”

You really didn’t like this Sylus guy— and hoped that Caleb wasn’t stupid enough to—

“Fine, but if I find her you leave.”

A deep chuckle makes your bones rattle, and you can feel the goosebumps rise on your dewy flesh as Sylus speaks again.

“I personally think, she’s in there.”

Oh my god.

“No…she must be hiding in another room. Pipsqueak!”

You pushed the cut hole out, and began to squeeze yourself outside. The cold breeze hit your bare skin, and it was enough to make your teeth start shattering. You were careful on the tiles, avoiding the possibility of slipping and falling to an embarrassing death.

The feeling of adrenaline ran through your veins, and heightened at the tip of your brain— this, this all felt surreal. Your back was pressed against the brick wall of your home, but you kept a grip on the window sill as you scoured your head for ideas. There must be a way to jump or climb down safely…

“Pip!”

Your gaze shoots down, and you see Caleb several feet below you. His hands cupped his mouth as he shouted again,

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you! Stay there! I’ll—“

“No!” you grit your teeth, “You’re a maniac! I’m not going to bother!”

How he managed to get downstairs so quickly was beyond you, so the escape below was quickly ruined. You couldn’t stay up there all night, the both of you knew that. But the fear of not knowing what he does, when you thought you did…was stronger than anything.

And Caleb?

To say he’s worried is an understatement, because he’s worried and angry. How dare you not trust him? He was bound to tell you one day, just simply not today.

Yet, the fear and uncertainty in your eyes told him that it would take years before you could trust him again. You weren’t safe up there, but neither in the house. His partner was pathetic, but way too awfully sadistic.

And to him, it was better that he got you than the other.

“Pip, please,” his eyes scanned the wall for places of leverage, “I will tell you everything— everything you need to know.”

He dodged a tile from you, and your face was as stern and dark as ever. The next words that slipped from your precious lips just set his limit. He’s had up to here to handle you, and if you didn’t want his help. He didn’t care.

“Fuck off! I don’t love you anymore!”

The words felt foreign leaving you, yet at the same time, exhilarating. Your chest heaved with the urge to sob, but you held it back. You weren’t going to cry in front of a man who killed god knows how many people— and you certainly weren’t going to trust anything coming from his mouth.

His chestnut hair blew softly in the cold breeze as he stood silent below. The dark grass almost embraced him and his glare, sharp and steady to the touch. His once familiar feeling with memories and times shared was dissipated. You watched trembling in the wind, and he tilted his head, letting out a pft.

“Oh come on, you’re lying. Just,” his brows furrowed as he forced a hard smile, “Just, stay there. I’ll come up and get you.”

“No!”

You started moving to the right of the sill, nearly slipping on a tile.

“y/n.”

You turn, ready for another retort until it dies down. The man below didn’t look so happy.

“When I catch you, I’ll make sure you love me again,” he makes a brief pause, his voice like dangerously smooth velvet, “I promise you that.”

“Hm, too late.”

The gruff voice was erupted from below your waist, and you see tufts of white hair tickle your bare legs. In an instant, gloved hands grab your hips, pushing them down hard enough to make you lose your balance. The bricks scraped your hands, causing you to release a sharp painful hiss.

And you knew it was Sylus— because no one else looked at you with such sad pity and handled you with such harsh contempt. His fingertips digged on the plush of your hips as you tried scooping up tiles, desperate to escape.

“Get the fuck away from—

A blade is pressed firmly on your open lips, and it’s all you need to shut up and survive. The cold metal’s tip poked at your nose, ready to pierce the skin and scar you for life. Your throat bobbed slightly as you slowly lifted your gaze at the man, partly from disbelief and the fear of looking any other way.

“Now, that isn’t a very nice mouth you have kitten,” he lifts a brow as he sneers slightly, “I believe we’ll fix that soon enough.”

Your hands throbbed with the scratches of the wall, and it was uncomfortably mixed with the tight pain on your hips. Sylus looked awful. His hair was made of thick white locks parting from the side— which complimented his horrid red orbs.

His tall form wasn’t made believe either. Broad shoulders lifted up with his arms, swinging you over him and humming deeply with the squeak that erupts from your lips. There was something about him now that you were close up, and that “something” convinced you that if you were to even peep another word— you’d be gone from this planet in an instant.

Sylus turned slightly, spotting his partner in the farther distance. He knew that the brunette was upset, but it’s only rational if he lost the game. The corner of his lips turned slightly as he waved at the other,

“Couldn’t win at my own game? That’s just…” he pauses and taps his chin, “Oh yes, sad. In your own home, no less.”

The man below glared daggers above.

You found yourself in a predicament.

Not only with the hateful turmoil and sickening fear, but physically. It took literally your life to be as still as possible from where you were. No begging could get you out of this. And it didn’t matter who you begged to either.

Caleb sat on the other side of the living room, cleaning the stained mask you discovered earlier. His frown was the same as minutes earlier, unrelenting and as dark as ever. He’d spare glances at you every so often, maybe of worry— maybe of promise. For sure, he didn’t like the outcome of this game.

Another horror show played in the background— the infamous Frankenstein in its glorious black and white. It was your favorite, however, it just filled you with dread.

The creep who caught you had you on his lap, his legs spread so that you could sit “comfortably” on his big thigh. What stopped you from moving slightly was the threat of the knife resting in front of your stomach, eager to gut you the moment you made an innocent mistake.

His fingers rapped on the loveseat’s edge, his gaze glued to the television. He didn’t say anything to you after, and you didn’t either. You’ve seen enough tense scenes to know how things usually play out— and you hoped that some protective neighbor was righteous enough to check up on you. But that’s a really far stretch…

“The party starts soon, we should get on the road.”

Your gaze shifts to Caleb, who tosses the mask on the coffee table. He leans forward from his seat, his elbows resting on his knees as he stares at Sylus.

“Leave her and let’s go.”

The thigh below you bounces slightly, making you shift from your center. You hear the man hum again, as if in thought. Yes, leave! Leave!

“I’ve changed my mind.”

You feel his breath tickle your ear, causing the little hairs behind your neck to rise. He’s an expert with how he talks, because it has you fighting internally to fight or flight.

“Excuse me?” Caleb scoffs, his expression in discontent, “We’ve planned this for over a month and you’re going to call it off? Since when do you call the shots?”

“I don’t recall you calling the shots either,” his voice is laced with subtle lust, “Moreover, I’d be rude if I didn’t use my dispensable prize.”

Use?

“She’s not an item,” your ex-friend growled, “And she’s more mine than yours.”

“Ah?” you feel Sylus’s hand trace your legs, his fingertips ghosting your outer thigh, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do remember her saying— what was it sweetie?”

You didn’t know he was referring to you until you felt the blade get closer to your abdomen, and it makes you reply mumblishly,

“I-I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?”

He sounds like he has pity, but you knew that was far from the truth. You looked up at Caleb, defiant and reflecting upon him a teary face. God, you loved him but this was not the moment. It sounded like he really wanted to leave you alone, but the fucking killer wasn’t giving him the light of day to do so.

You wanted to run far, far, far away from here and into the embrace of your Grandma. To feel her warm hugs and hear her sweet soothing voice would be utterly divine right now.

“How about we remind him?”

He whispered it so only you would hear it, but Caleb immediately understood your wide-eyed expression. The white-haired had traveled the knife up towards your sternum, reflecting your quivering eyes below.

“Do you know how it feels to be eaten?” he whispers, lips grazing the shell of your hot ear, “Like a sweet cream dessert?”

“No.”

Your voice is meek and it feels like the world has drowned out with how the knife’s blade glinted in a wicked grin.

“Tsk tsk, your best friend never ate you out?” his palm recedes back to your pelvis, palming it, “Poor thing…I can change that. You only have to say please.”

You didn’t have an option anyway. You felt your sweat trickle down your neck, making you feel sick as you whisper;

“Please.”

It only brings you a moment of relief when the blade is retracted and tossed to the side— but the moment you look up at Caleb, you already realize what you have done.

“She’s mine, and you need to fucking respect that.”

He nearly pounces from where he sat, but the dignity he has allows him to resist a while more.

“She said, please.” Sylus roughly pushes you forward, making you flail as you bend to palm the floor, “And I’m respecting that.”

Your hips are moved up, your knees lifted slightly from its kneel. Blood rushes to your head and breathing alone in this position is difficult to say the least.

The slasher squeezes your ass, massaging its mounds as he teases Caleb once more,

“She’s quite the fortune you’ve been hiding partner, it’s very sad that I’ll have the first taste of it.”

“You’re on thin ice, Sylus,” he spat, “I’m going to—“

“Oh but I’m not going to be rash— you can have her after I’m done. Like a dog fed scraps.”

You didn’t have to see to know Caleb wasn’t very pleased with the analogy. He angrily huffed and leaned back on the couch, his leg bouncing impatiently as he stared back at the television.

“Now, where were we?”

The man behind squeezed your ass once more before reaching the hem of your pink shorts, making you twitch slightly from your position. The gloves made his touch cold on your skin as you felt the cloth be pushed down to your knees, pooled along with your panties.

He didn’t say another word and lazily stroked your folds, taking whatever horrid turn-on you had leaked off you as temporary lube. Hell, it was like he was preparing food— difference is, you’re alive on the dish.

His thumb prodded at your hole, making small circular movements to see what reaction he could evoke from you. When you didn’t say much, he traveled his hand down to your clit. Slight pressure was pressed on the tiny bud, and you bit your lip to suppress any noises that’d accidentally escape.

He hummed, “Well, well. I suppose it takes more than light teasing to please a woman like you, hm?”

Yeah. You dead would please me.

As if hearing your thoughts, he dragged your hips forward harshly— evoking a squeak as you found leverage on the man’s thighs. Your front thighs rested on his shoulders, his hot breath fanning your slick pussy. The thought of being ate in front of Caleb was embarrassing, and you hoped that his love for horror would distract him from seeing you unraveled like this.

Before you could feel the rapture, the familiar cold metal was pressed on your skin yet again. It traced your thighs, making your skin raise slightly at the rifts and turns it delicately made.

“Now this is something worth filming,” he chuckled, “Hey partner, get the camera.”

To your surprise, Caleb didn’t retort. He simply stood up, then left for a brief moment, and returned with an old camera. It was one of those old style ones that were considered the 2000’s aesthetic— but considering the situation, it didn’t look quite attractive.

You slowly lifted your head to see him stand before you, your head at the perfect position before his pelvis. He catches your gaze and gives you a sad smile,

“Don’t want to see me, huh pip?”

He reaches for his cleaned mask and plops it on his persona. His eyes became invisible to you, and only that looming ghost face taunted you as it turned slightly down. The rest of the balaclava covered his head and neck, making his reactions discreet to you.

The click of the camera was heard, and then some buttons pushed, and then a gruff reply,

“Make it quick, I don’t want to see her like this.”

The white-haired grins, his finger motioning Caleb forward,

“I’ll let you take her front, but don’t be so pissed. We can attend that long-awaited party sometime later.”

You feel your heart race, and to your content, not a word is heard from your friend. The camera must’ve been recording, because a foreign wet muscle immediately plunged on your cunt. Your hands instinctively fly to your mouth, covering it with all the strength you had left. Your nails dug into your cheek, but it was no less stressful than the knife still tracing your thighs.

Sylus’s tongue darted across your pussy, teasing your clit softly in contrast to his heated breaths. You tasted divine and musk, the sweat from running away still lingered— and it excited him more. He’d be lying if he said he could’ve had all the pussy he wanted at the party, but discovering your existence and worth to Caleb…well that was just much better.

He does love a friendly rivalry after all.

Your legs shivered below him, getting untensed as you were deceptive to yourself. His gaze even met his partners, whose cock was rock hard and bulging through his jeans. Sylus gave one last lick on your clit, then gave one large lap on your hole— savoring the iridescent slick that dripped slowly from you. He pressed his knife on your cunt, flat and careful as he watched you twitch at the contrasting temperature.

You were way too cute writhing under. He was slow and taunting with you, giving languid licks as your fold parted each time. His saliva was warm and your mind grew fuzzy as you tried to focus on the rationale you tried to keep.

In front of you, Caleb was already riled up. His breathing could be heard from under his mask as he enviously watched the fucker in front of him devour your cunt. It should’ve been him doing that to you.

To lap up your cunt like a hungry dog and eat you the way you actually deserve— not slow and strict like this. He would’ve had you sat on his face, rocking your hips on his nose as you sang sweet melodies to his ears. He would’ve had you begging to go faster, deeper, and harder— but, it remained as fantasies.

Instead, your face was a blushing mess, and you were struggling to moan. He didn’t want you making a single noise for a man undeserving like Sylus, and it was coincidental that his cock was aching to be part of the action.

You felt your hair be tugged slightly, making you lift your head groggily. Your eyes were watery as you stared at Caleb motion you to his crotch,

“I’ll help you, pip, but help me first.”

You instantly refused, trying to dip your head back into Sylus’ lap— however, it didn’t go as you intended. Caleb kept your hair in a fist, keeping you slightly in place, and then he signaled his partner;

“Hold the camera.”

Sylus lifted his red eyes slightly, then hummed. Your pussy thrummed as he kept making slow licks, teasing your aching hole with the tip of his tongue. He was too content to bother, but considering the sake of ruining you— it should be well worth it. You watched as the camera was exchanged, and your friend unbuckle his jeans.

The mask covered any visible pleasure he had, but you didn’t need it to know. Caleb’s cock stood face to face with you, his tip leaking tiny beads of precum. His hair was kempt below, a happy trail making it if not more attractive to see. That is, if you weren’t scared of fitting that entire bulging thing in your mouth.

“Open up kitten,” Sylus pressed the knife tauntingly over your soaked folds, “Can’t keep the pup waiting.”

He watched as the other forced your wet lips open, your held-in saliva stretch as you took his length inch by inch. Your cheeks began to puff and you nearly gagged trying to breathe.

Caleb rocked his hips slowly, still fisting your hair as he grunted through the mask. Your tongue traced the bottom of his cock, your drool escaping your lips, trickling all the way down your chin. The other moved the camera to your pussy, zooming in with the blade’s light movement on parting your folds.

Sylus then stabbed the knife on the edge of the couch, making you flinch slightly. Noticing your fear, he grins,

“Oh don’t worry sweetie, I wouldn’t impale you— with a knife that is.”

Caleb sped up his thrusts, practically fucking himself in your mouth with sloppy noises resounding along with the television. You felt his cock kiss your throat happily, sliding along your wet cavern with ease. You heard his gruff moans through the mesh of the mask, holding himself back from spilling his seed inside you.

Your jaw ached with pain, your nose meeting his lavender-scented happy trail— but you were too far dumb to recognize his pretty lying. Behind you, Sylus chose to slip a finger in your pussy, the camera witnessing his leather gloves get soaked with your slick.

One push, then another, your sweet pussy made tiny pop nosies every time he took out his finger— and then once more as he slipped it in. He curled his index finger downwards, pressing against your squishy insides.

Your throat gurgled with a suppressed moan, making you vibrate around Caleb’s dick pleasurably. Then, the perpetrator decided to slip two fingers, stretching you wide as he finger-fucked you slowly.

It felt like a big build-up, and your friend was growing sloppy with his thrusts, curses spilling from under his mask. You just looked adorable with tears slipping down your beautiful orbs, and you needed something to adorn it.

In one more thrust, he pulled out, then slapped his cock somewhat gently on your lips. Your cheek fell victim to his release as he spurted himself on you, a long languid groan escaping his heaving chest. Your hand trembled as you reached to touch your cheek, and you could barely analyze the sticky mess before Sylus slipped another finger in you.

A sweet cry erupts from you, making you fall face-forward again on Sylus’s lap. The camera watched as he sped up his pace, his three fingers in a curl as he squished your spongey pussy for that incoming squirt. He wasn’t new to a woman’s body, so he already knew you were ready once your hips started fucking themselves on his palm.

“That’s it, chase it.” his voice is tinged with amusement, and he zooms in to your blushing folds, “Show the camera how you squirt for us.”

On command, your cunt squirts onto his black wear, creating a darker wet patch. You’re practically mewling with your raising hips, overstimulated with his unrelenting fingering, keeping you on another edge as he stroked another release.

Caleb’s cum is smeared on the others lap as you stuff your face between the strong thighs, making your final moan muffled and loud as you tremble. The white-haired finally pulls out, his gloves wet with your sticky fluid and beaded release, making him grunt in disapproval.

“If you don’t appreciate the artwork then don’t keep it,” Caleb frowned as Sylus ripped off his glove, ready to toss it aside.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’ll keep it?”

“Even better,” he snatches the wet glove, tossing it perfectly inside his gym bag, “It’ll be my snack.”

“Didn’t know you were…special like that.”

Caleb picks you up from your armpits, folding your arms around him as you still spasm with aftershocks. His hand rubs circles on your back soothingly as he glares from under his mask,

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, and it’s best to keep it that way.”

Sylus grimaces, his red eyes narrowed as he thought of a reasonable argument. It was one thing to be surprised, yet another to be threatened. Both men had their fair share of encounters and killings, yet it didn’t matter because it was so difficult to learn about one another.

So seeing each other “bond” over you was more than necessary for their ever-lasting relationship. With a sigh, Sylus lifted himself from the couch, stretching his arms as he prepared himself for the main course.

“Anywhom, let’s get straight to the point. You want to fuck her and I want to film, how’s that?”

“There’s no benefit in your end.”

The other chuckled as he undressed himself, taking off his blazer and other hunting gear.

“Oh how right you are, I forget you still have a brain in that sick head of yours.”

Caleb sat in Sylus’ place, keeping you on his lap as he positioned you slightly over his cock. Your head lolled around your shoulders, your brain fuzzy as you tried to make out the television’s grey pictures. However, it was soon covered with toned abs, pale and leading down to another weeping cock.

Your chin was lifted slightly, and you were met eye to eye with the horrid man again. Beneath you, your panties and shorts were torn off, and another cock rubbed itself on your glistening folds. Its fat tip pushed slightly in your stretched hole, being gentle as it slipped inside with your tight grip.

“I’m glad we meet again, it’s been a while since we saw eye to eye.”

You didn’t have the energy to laugh at his sick joke, and the night’s events were draining you of your energy and awareness. Your hips were gripped tightly as they were pushed down onto the dick below you, fully engulfing it with a breathy moan. Sylus takes advantage of your open lips, and shoves his cock aggressively into your throat.

Your eyes squeeze shut as he grabs a fistful of your locks, keeping himself in control of you. He was balls deep, his girth hard to take in as your lips fully wrapped around his base. You probably looked pathetic like this, his hips snapping ruthlessly as the camera swung over your face.

The sickos will watch the tape for nights on end, and you knew that. Your consciousness was only maintained with the slam of skin beneath you, Caleb’s moans audibly heard as he used you like a fleshlight. Your pussy was sweet to the thrust, making lewd noises as he sunk himself in your warmth. It felt like absolute heaven to be in you, and in his mind, he still had a million positions to try out with you. You could be passed out or sleeping by the time he did all of them, but it wouldn’t matter— your muffled moans and trembles of your body was enough to know that you found pleasure in them as well.

“You’re doing so good for the camera sweetie.” Sylus gasped, his head tilted back as he felt his release coming in, “Fuck— such a good girl like this.”

Your tits bounced with each slam, roll, and grind of the men, completely disregarding your mewling moans. Another cumshot hit your throat, making you gargle as your hands reached for the waist in front of you. Your strength was simply not enough to push him away, because he kept fucking himself in you, pushing his cum down your throat forcibly.

Your nose burned and your jaw ached with the relentless brutality, but so was your legs. Caleb was like a dog panting over your ear, losing himself as squeezed your breasts and fingers fumbled over your clit.

You felt like you came every second, your legs and mouth adjusted to being wide open to every attempt. You were like a rag doll being manhandled in every position, stuffed and folded to their content. You lost count of the praise they gave you, as well as the subtle threats if you dare let their cum drip out of you.

It was overwhelming.

But. So.

Fucking.

Good.

The sound of television awoke your slumber, and you moved to thrumming aches in your body. It took you awhile before your eyes adjusted to blinking lights, and you turned, seeing the television still on.

It was still playing the slasher movie, making you confused as you stared at your surroundings. Nothing was off— nor was there sight of Caleb.

Your coffee table still had your serums and the slightly-open nail polish. You were enveloped in your crow blanket, nestled on the loveseat of the living room.

“God, I need to stop watching scary movies.” you mumble, slapping yourself on the face with a wince, “Caleb was right, they’re not for me.”

Your brows instantly furrowed as you stared at your hands. The blinking lights made you doubt what you saw for a second, but then it was as clear as day.

Your palms were scratched.

As if you were climbing bricks.

Your eyes widened as you threw the blanket off yourself, your mind running over the not-so-fake dream. It can’t be real, it absolutely can’t. Your thoughts were soon interrupted, and you turn, seeing the vibrating kitchen phone.

Unknown caller ID, receive voicemail? Press 1 to accept. Press 2 to decline.

You sprinted to the kitchen, ignoring the ache in your legs as you frantically pressed 1. The sky was still dark, and you listened to the following beep,

“I never got to ask sweetie, so I’ll leave this message.”

A brief pause.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

He knew this was stupid, plainly a terrible idea. On any other day, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but today wasn’t any ordinary day. Today was his birthday. Fifty-five years old, and he had never felt more lost in his own life. Nothing had turned out the way he’d once imagined it would. If someone had told him, back when he was a resident, that he would still be coming home to an empty apartment at this age, no wife curled up on the couch waiting for him with a tired but loving smile, no chorus of small feet thundering toward the door, shoving drawings into his hands and saying “Look what I made for you today, daddy!” he would have laughed in their face and called it a cruel joke.

Yet here he was. No relationship had ever survived the weight of the hours and the way his mind stayed trapped in the ED long after he left it. He couldn’t be present anymore, not the way a partner deserved. The job had hollowed him out in ways he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

It had been almost a year since he ended things with Noelle, not long after he returned from his sabbatical. He’d told himself it was the right thing to do. Maybe it really was better this way. At this point in his life, trying again felt pointless, almost selfish. He was saving whatever good women were still out there from the inevitable complications of loving Michael Robinavitch.

But today the emptiness hit differently. The apartment felt quieter than usual, and his thoughts were louder, circling like a vulture. He knew it was the birthday doing this to him. Birthdays had a way of dragging the sorrows out into the light, every missed milestone, every abandoned version of the life he thought he’d have. Jack had tried to pull him out of it, offering a beer after shift, but Robby had politely declined. He wasn’t in the mood for forced cheer, for anyone raising a glass to another year of the same.

He’d made it clear to the whole department that he didn’t want any birthday cake, no cards, no presents, nothing. Still, the well-meaning murmurs had followed him all day: “Happy birthday, Dr. Robby,” each one met with a progressively wearier smile until the words blurred together. By the end of the shift, he was only managing quiet nods of acknowledgment, the kind that said thank you and please stop at the same time.

So here he was, in an apartment that was too big for himself, lying on a couch that felt even bigger, downloading Tinder on his phone. He rubbed a hand over his face, he’d tried Tinder once, maybe two years ago. Downloaded it, swiped for a week, then deleted it when the superficial nonsense started bothering him too much.

He started with the basics. Photos. Robby opened his gallery and scrolled slowly through the meager collection. Most of the images were work-related, grainy screenshots of charts, or blurry shots of trees and roads he’d taken during his bike rides. After a long hesitation, he picked a silly selfie he’d sent Jack a few weeks earlier. He was holding up the book the two of them had been texting about, half-smiling at the camera like he felt ridiculous even taking it. It wasn’t terrible, he supposed. He looked… friendly. Approachable, maybe. 

Next, he chose one from the department barbecue he’d actually forced himself to attend last summer. He was wearing the sleeves rolled up on a button-down shirt, and holding a beer in his hand. He didn’t hate it, it showed a version of himself that still showed up for people, even when he didn’t feel like it. The last one was from the hospital fundraiser gala two years ago. He looked elegant in that photo in a black suit, but he had to crop Jack out of the frame, his face was still half-visible over his shoulder. Three photos, not exactly a compelling portfolio, but they were honest, he wasn’t pretending to be anyone other than himself.

He moved on to preferences. Gender: Women. Age range… His thumb froze. At first, he set it to 50–60. Women at the same stage he was, maybe divorced, maybe widowed, or just tired of feeling alone. But then something flickered in his chest, part curiosity and part desperation, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dragged the lower end down. Twenty to sixty. The wider net felt reckless, almost embarrassing. But what if the love of his life existed somewhere in that range? What if he missed her by something as stupid as a single year on a slider?

As if the love of your life was sitting on Tinder on a Sunday night, he thought. Don’t be fucking stupid, Robby.

He stared at the screen for a long moment, and with a quiet sigh that sounded too much like surrender, he tapped confirm. Now it was time for the bio. Robby stared at the blank field for a long minute. What the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t looking for anything specific. Company? Distraction? Someone who wouldn’t mind a man who came home at crazy hours, sometimes covered in blood and whocarried more baggage than he could carry?

He typed slowly what felt the most honest: “ER doctor in Pittsburgh. Love long bike rides to clear my head and 70s rock. Not entirely sure what I’m looking for here, but if you can handle sarcasm and odd hours, we might get along.”

He read it back. It sounded stiff, after all, he wasn’t used to this. But it was him, and so he hit save before he could overthink it more. The app prompted him to start swiping. Robby leaned back against the couch as the profiles began loading, smiling faces, pictures of holiday destinations, and bios full of lists of requirements. He swiped left on most without much thought. 

Left. Left. Left. Some of the women seemed nice, but nothing pulled him in. He kept going until the endless scroll of faces started blurring together. No one stuck, just the same hollow feeling that had driven him to download the damn thing in the first place.

But then your profile appeared. Robby’s entire body froze. The photo loaded first: you, one of his own residents. You were standing in scrubs outside the Pitt with the same smirk you got after a particularly chaotic shift. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as the heat crawled up his neck. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling right now. 

At work you were talented and dedicated, but still green enough that he rode you hard during shifts. And here you were on Tinder, of all places. The thought that you, or anyone else from the department, might stumble across his profile made his stomach twist with embarrassment. He could already imagine the gossip: Dr. Robby on Tinder. How pathetic.

He should swipe left immediately, delete his profile, and pretend this never happened. Instead, curiosity won. Robby tapped on your profile, telling himself it was just… professional concern. Making sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. He cared about his residents. Yeah, that was it.

Your bio loaded beneath the main photo: “If you like girls who will force you to watch her Letterboxd top four and then talk your ear off for hours about the hidden meaning behind her favorite songs, then I’m your girl. Emergency med resident with zero free time. Not looking for anything serious, just fun, meeting people, seeing where it goes.”

Robby let out a chuckle despite himself, the sound was unexpected in the quiet of the moment. He had only ever seen you in the chaos of the ED, running on adrenaline and too little sleep. But this version of you felt… different. He found himself thinking about how little he actually knew you. How little he’d allowed himself to know.

He didn’t know where you were from, or what your family was like, whether you had siblings who called too often or parents you tried to make proud. He didn’t know what you did outside of the hospital besides the occasional beer in the park, or what made you laugh until your sides hurt. All those small and ordinary pieces of a life that existed outside the emergency department.

It felt strangely intimate, seeing you like this. Like stumbling across a part of you he wasn’t supposed to have access to. A version of you that wasn’t filtered through the hierarchy of resident and attending. Up until now, you had been “his resident”, contained within the professional boundaries he’d carefully maintained.

He started swiping through your photos. The second picture was you laughing in what looked like a group hike, with your hair windblown and your eyes bright. You looked undeniably pretty. Objectively, he’d always known you were attractive. The kind of natural attractiveness that turned heads in the hospital corridors even when you were exhausted and covered in sweat. But once again, he’d never thought about it. You were a resident, he’d gone down that path before, and it’d ended badly. That made you off-limits, end of story.

The third photo was of you in a cozy sweater, curled up with a book and a mug of coffee. It was cute, almost sweet. The kind of image that made the loneliness in his chest ache. He kept swiping until the last photo hit him like a defibrillator. You were on a beach somewhere sunny and sandy, wearing a bikini. Your skin was glowing under the sun, and you were smiling at the camera in a confident pose, the kind of effortless beauty that could stop any man cold. Holy fuck, your body barely contained by the fabric of the bikini, the photo capturing the gentle swell and the way the light played across your body. 

Robby’s mouth went dry, the heat flooded his face and then lower down his body. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t let himself imagine you like this, outside the hospital, undeniably a woman and not just one of his residents. His pulse kicked up, the nervousness made his hands shake and his grip slippery. He fumbled the phone, trying to swipe left fast. Swipe left, damn it, he thought.

But he accidentally jerked his thumb the wrong way, to the right, and the screen lit up with that unmistakable animation. 

It’s a Match!

On the other side of Pittsburgh, you had been lying in bed, still trying to unwind after another brutal twelve-hour shift. Sleep felt miles away, so you’d given in to the guilty habit of late-night Tinder scrolling. Sure, swiping at 1 a.m. probably looked desperate to anyone else, but who cared? It wasn’t like you had much of a life outside the hospital anyway.

You swiped left with efficiency. Guy whose entire bio was just a link to his podcast. Left. Gym mirror selfies and nothing else. Left. Self-proclaimed “entrepreneur in the crypto market” with a Lamborghini in the background that probably wasn’t even his. Left.

How was it this difficult to find someone even remotely decent? You weren’t expecting to meet the love of your life in this digital dumpster, but was it really too much to ask for a man with basic social skills and a profile that didn’t scream immediate red flags? Someone whose opening line wasn’t just “u dtf?”

Guy who still clearly lived with his mom. Another left. “No feminists” in the bio, followed by a rant about “high value woman.” Left.

Then your thumb froze mid-swipe. Michael Robinavitch. Your heart slammed against your ribs. There he was, Dr. Robby, looking straight into the camera in one of the photos, that familiar half-smile you’d seen a thousand times in the ED, only now it was on a dating app.

You sat up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake. What the hell was Dr. Robby doing on Tinder? You’d scrolled through this app for weeks and never seen him before. He must have created the profile recently. The man you’d been quietly (and not-so-quietly) thirsting over since your very first day of residency was right here. One match away. 

How could you not like Robby? He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man, strong, steady, impossibly smart, and so damn capable it made your legs weak every single time he gave you a calm and yet authoritative instruction in the middle of a trauma.

You’d lost count of how many times he’d gently reprimanded you for being distracted while charting. He always assumed you were just tired from the long hours. He had no idea that you kept getting lost in vivid daydreams about him: running your fingers through the silver-flecked hair and that coarse, greyish beard, feeling those big hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close.

You loved the way his eyes crinkled warmly behind his glasses when he smiled, the way his voice dropped into that gravelly register when he needed to command attention in the ED… it did things to you. Dangerous, addictive things. Sometimes getting in trouble with him felt more exciting than it had any right to.

His Tinder bio was unexpectedly adorable. He looked a little lost, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged on the app but was willing to put himself out there anyway. That bike is not the only thing I’d like to ride, you thought, as a little smile tugged at your lips.

His pictures made you melt and sigh at the same time. That warm, contagious smil, the glasses that struck the perfect balance between hot and endearingly sweet. The silver threading through his beard that made you press your thighs together at the mere thought of feeling it against your skin, between your legs, specifically. 

You swiped slowly through the rest of his photos. Those wide shoulders, that tall and solid frame, that soft belly under the button-down shirt… you wanted him in a way you had never wanted anyone before. 

It was almost pathetic the way your heart did a little skip every time he complimented your work on a tough case. The way your thighs squeezed together almost involuntarily whenever he stepped in close during a complicated procedure, guiding you step by step, his voice low and patient near your ear. “Yeah, grab the blade like that… make a two-inch incision, softly, very gently.” “Hold the tube with your left hand, tight, don’t move it.”

It made your mind wander to dangerous places. Was he like that in bed too? The kind of man who talked you through it, calm and devastatingly attentive? In your fantasies, he absolutely was. Late at night, alone in this very bed with nothing but your hand and your imagination, you could almost hear his voice murmuring against your skin: “Keep your legs open for me, nice and wide… just like that.” “Look at you… already making such a mess. I’m gonna start with one finger, okay? Think you can be good and take it for me?”

Should you swipe right? It felt like the only logical choice. If he swiped left, which seemed like the most likely outcome, he would never even know you’d swiped on him. But if he did swipe right… then maybe, just maybe, you could end up in Robby’s bed.

Your hopes stayed low. Never in a million years did you actually expect Robby to be attracted to you the way you were to him. You would’ve noticed something by now, maybe in lingering stares, subtle flirting, or any shift in the way he treated you. But he didn’t. He treated you exactly like the rest of the residents: a young doctor he needed to teach, who could sometimes be frustratingly distracted.

Still, you couldn’t contain the tiny, thrilled scream that escaped your lips when the screen lit up:

It’s a Match!

Robby had matched with you. He wanted you too.

“Shit!” Robby dropped the phone onto the couch like it had burned him. It bounced once and landed face-up, the match confirmation still glowing on the screen. He and you had just matched on Tinder. All thanks to that goddamn bikini photo and his clumsy, nervous fingers.

He stared at it, feeling his heart hammering harder than it had during the worst trauma cases. This was mortifying. You’d seen his profile, you’d swiped right, and now you were going to see that he’d swiped right as well. Part of him, the tired and lonely part that had downloaded the app and widened the age range, wondered what you’d think. 

A dozen what-ifs tumbled through his mind. What if you saw his profile and laughed? That disbelieving laugh when something genuinely surprised you. What if you messaged him first? Maybe it had been a mistake on your end too. Maybe your phone had slipped, or you’d been swiping too fast after a long shift, half-asleep and a little buzzed. Or maybe… maybe you’d swiped right on purpose, just to tease him. He could already picture the text popping up on his phone: “Oh my god, Dr. Robby. What are you doing on Tinder? lol.”

Robby ran both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. He picked the phone back up, looking straight at the Send message button. He shouldn’t. The responsible thing would be to delete the app, pretend this night never happened, and go back to being your attending, not your Tinder match. 

Instead, he opened your profile again. Robby tried to move past it, he really did, but his eyes lingered on that last photo far longer than they should have. You in a bikini, your skin glowing under warm sunlight. He couldn’t believe that was what you looked like underneath the baggy scrubs you wore every day in the ED.

It felt wrong. Like he wasn’t allowed to see you like this, like he was intruding on something deeply private, crossing a line that should never even be approached between an attending and his resident. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but it wasn’t enough to make him look away.

His body reacted anyway, a sudden heat stirring unwanted, a throb of arousal he hadn’t felt this sharply in longer than he cared to admit. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hating himself for it even as the reaction deepened. What the hell is wrong with you, Robby? he told himself, but the self-reproach did nothing to dull the pull. What could he do? You were a woman. A beautiful one, and for the first time, he was seeing you not just as his resident, but as someone undeniably, breathtakingly desirable.

Before he could delete his account and go to bed as he should, your message popped up.

You: hii :)

Robby’s breath hitched in his throat. For a split second, he swore his heart actually stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, in his temples, in the tightness of his chest. The little smiley face stared back at him from the screen, innocent and cheerful, as if it hadn’t just flipped his entire night upside down.

You had matched with him. At eleven at night. On his lonely fucking birthday. What the hell was he supposed to say to you at 11 pm. after accidentally matching with her on Tinder? “Hey, funny seeing you” here felt pathetic. “This is wildly inappropriate” felt like a lie because the rush of heat still lingering in his veins said otherwise.

He set the phone down on the coffee table for a moment, dragging a hand over his face for the millionth time. Part of him wanted to delete the match immediately, pretend it never happened, and go to bed like the responsible, professional attending he was supposed to be. But another part, the part that had been sitting alone on his fifty-fifth birthday, couldn’t bring itself to swipe left on this one unexpected connection. So he picked the phone back up and stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.

Another message came through a minute later.

You: robby? it’s me from work... guess you saw my profile too haha

Robby let out a long breath, he couldn’t avoid it now that you’d initiated a conversation with him. It was better to be direct, explain the mistake to you, and shut this down before it got any more awkward.

Robby: hey yeah, I saw it listen, this is embarrassing as hell, i was messing around with the app, dropped my phone and it must have swiped right by accident sorry about that, didn’t mean to make things weird

He hit send and immediately regretted how cold it sounded, but it was the truth. The phone stayed quiet for a moment that stretched too long. He had his eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for your reply so he could shut down this awkward conversation and delete this stupid app before he accidentally matched with anyone else from work. 

You: oh. so it was a mistake? damn, i thought you had swiped right on purpose. bummer.

Robby’s eyes widened. You were being direct, not beating around the bush or deflecting by saying it had been a mistake on your end as well. He could practically hear your voice saying it with a teasing edge.

Robby: Sorry about the confusion  i know it might be awkward finding me on here. probably the last person you expected, i don’t usually do this. 

You: honestly it was surprising. didn’t peg you as the tinder type at all.  but hey, we all have our moments i guess

Robby: i’m not the type this is my second time ever downloading it and i already regret it, should probably delete the whole thing before i make an even bigger fool of myself.

You: yeah i get it. i thought the match was mutual so i figured i’d say hi. sorry for texting if it was just an accident. didn’t mean to make it weirder

Robby read your message twice. Thought the match was mutual. The words echoed in his brain. You had swiped right on purpose, not as a joke, not out of morbid curiosity about your boss’s sad dating life. You had chosen him willingly. The realization of what that meant sent a confusing rush through him. You liked him, that had to be it. The thought of you… having a crush on him made a warm feeling run through his body, one he immediately tried to shove down.

Robby: What do you mean you thought it was mutual?

You: idk... i saw the notification and figured you wanted to match with me since it happened. that’s why i said hi right away. didn’t want to leave it hanging if we were both curious

He stared at the screen, his heart beating a little harder. You were so honest and blunt about your feelings, he found himself almost intimidated by it. Some rational part of his brain was trying to tell him this had to be a big joke, there was no way in hell you could like him. You were… you. What would you see in a man like him?

Robby: you wanted us to match? seriously?

You: lol yeah i did swipe right, didn’t i? your profile was actually really nice. the book pic is cute and the 70s rock mention made me smile. plus... i don’t know,  you’re interesting. figured why not. no pressure though

Robby: i thought maybe you did it out of curiosity or just to see if I’d swiped on you didn’t expect you to actually want that

You: well i did. but if it was an accident on your end then no big deal. we can pretend this never happened and go back to normal tomorrow. i won’t mention it at work or anything. promise

Robby let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes for a long moment as he exhaled heavily. He knew exactly what the responsible Chief of Emergency Medicine should do right now: unmatch immediately, delete his profile, and pretend the entire night had been nothing more than a lonely fever dream.

But tonight… tonight he didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to be Dr. Robinavitch, the attending who had sacrificed nearly every personal connection, every version of a fuller life, on the altar of the ED. For once, he wanted to be Michael. Just Michael. The man who had matched with you on Tinder. The man who was currently staring at his phone with his heart hammering like he was twenty years younger.

Before he could piece together a polite but firm way to end the conversation and retreat back into the safety of professional distance, another message appeared.

You: i think your profile’s part of the reason i swiped right. the book pic’s really nice

He smiled faintly at that, a rare genuine twitch at the corner of his mouth. Robby leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

Robby: your profile’s pretty good too, better than most of the ones i’ve seen tonight

You: aww thanks. your’s so much better than the usual bullshit on here which is not that hard to be but still finding you here is a nice change :)

Robby: you on this app a lot? seems like you’ve got the profile down

You: not really. i’ve been on a couple dates from here but it’s honestly exhausting. hard to find someone decent in this city. most guys are either looking for hookups with zero conversation or they’re boring as hell. you know how it is

Robby: fair enough. your age range must be set pretty high if it pulled me up fifty five isn’t exactly the usual crowd for you or is it?

You: haha yeah well  i like older men

Those four stupid words hit him square in the chest like a defibrillator. “I like older men.” Robby reread them slowly, feeling a dangerous warmth bloom low in his belly and spread outward through his chest. He was an older man, and apparently, that fit exactly into your preferences. Was that flirtation? Were you subtly implying that he was the kind of older man you liked? Or was it just a casual, throwaway comment, something you’d say to any guy on the app who happened to have a few gray hairs?

No. He was spiraling too deep, overthinking it the way he always did. Your words didn’t carry some hidden, special meaning meant just for him. They couldn’t. And yet… No matter how hard he tried to talk himself down, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of validation that lit up inside him. He felt desired, really desired. Not just by anyone, but by you: someone younger, and so strikingly pretty it almost hurt to look at your photos for too long. Someone who, in his mind, was clearly way out of his league.

Robby: It’s okay to have preferences  everyone does.

You: yeah exactly. i just find older guys more attractive than the ones my age. they’re usually more mature, know what they want, have actual life experience. it’s... hotter, i guess. plus the conversations are better

He swallowed hard, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He could practically see your face as you typed those words, maybe biting your lower lip in that teasing way you sometimes did right after nailing a difficult procedure.

Then the bikini photo from earlier flashed unbidden through his mind, and the heat in his body flared hotter. He pictured you exactly as you’d looked in that shot: sun-warmed skin, curves barely contained by the fabric. The thoughts he had no right to entertain came rushing in anyway, pulling him deeper. Thoughts of having you all to himself, of finally being able to run his hands slowly over every inch of that bare skin, tracing the line of your waist, sliding up your ribs, cupping the soft weight of your breasts. Of putting his mouth on you and every sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.

Robby: makes sense i usually go for women closer to my stage of life we have more in common that way

You: do age gaps bother you?

Robby: in what way?

You: like as a concept. are they a problem for you?

Robby: i’m okay with consenting adults doing what they want as long as everyone’s on the same page it’s not my business.

You: have you ever been in an age gap relationship or anything like that?

Robby: i once dated a woman a bit younger than me but usually around my age

He paused before sending the next part, he shouldn’t keep engaging in this deeply unprofessional conversation, but curiosity was getting the better of him. And you were simply so easy to talk to that he couldn’t stop himself from letting his walls down a little.

He typed before he could second-guess himself.

Robby: how much older are we talking anyway? the men you usually like i mean.

Your reply came fast, like you’d been waiting with the phone in hand.

You: usually over fifty up until their sixties or so. around that range. but it’s just a preference, nothing crazy. i feel like older men usually treat you better. they’re more gentlemanly, know how to actually listen, and they tend to understand what a woman wants... in every way, if you know what i mean ;)

Robby read the message twice. Three times. Four. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me. You weren’t just being polite or making casual conversation. That winky face, the implication hanging there about “every way”. You were deliberately flirting with him, there was no other way to see it. He shifted on the couch, suddenly very aware of his own body and the fact that it had been a long damn time since anyone had spoken to him like that.

He took a slow breath and replied, trying to keep some semblance of control.

Robby: do you date men closer to your own age too?  or is it mostly the older crowd?

You: i have tried guys closer to my age. some of them are sweet but a lot are still figuring their shit out. you should try dating a woman younger than you sometime though. maybe it’s exactly what you need.

Robby didn’t know what to say. The words hung there, full of possibilities around them. He was still wrestling with a response when another message from you popped up.

You: anyway sorry again for the confusion earlier. i’ll leave you alone so you can keep scrolling through profiles. i’ll go back to robbing the graves haha (joke, get it? because i like older guys... sorry that was sooo bad)

Robby chuckled despite the whirlwind in his head. The joke was cheesy, so perfectly you that it cut through some of the tension. But it also gave him an out, you were offering to back off and let this weird moment fade into nothing before tomorrow’s shift made everything awkward as hell. Part of him wanted to take the exit ramp, wish you a good night, unmatch, delete the app, and pretend none of this happened. But another part, the one that had been sitting alone on his birthday didn’t want the conversation to end.

He tapped over to your photos again, almost against his will. There it was the last one. You on the beach in that bikini, with the perfect swell of your tits catching the sunlight. Holy fuck. He wanted you, the realization hit him all of a sudden, making him switch back to the chat and move his thumbs almost on autopilot.

Robby: Nothing to apologize for honestly you’ve kept me better company tonight than I expected

You: see? younger women can be good company too :) you shouldn’t close the door so fast. you could meet someone nice if you give it a chance

Robby: you shouldn’t close the door on guys your own age either there are decent ones out there, you’ll find someone who can keep up with you

You: out of all the guys i’ve matched with here... you’re easily the best one. no contest

Robby: Really? that can’t be right  you’re selling yourself short.

You: no i mean it. you’re exactly the kind of man i’d usually go for. tall, older, smart... and hot

The word hot hit him harder than it had any right to. His face flushed deeper, his clothes felt constricting, his pants uncomfortably tight. Robby’s cock was already half-hard, thickening and pulsing insistently against the zipper of his jeans with every new message.

All because you’d called him hot. Just a little cheeky, playful comment, and it was enough to unravel him. The touch starvation wasn’t helping. It had been so damn long since anyone had looked at him with real interest, longer still since he’d felt this fluttering feeling low in his stomach. This rush of ego, this sharp need to be close to someone, to be wanted, to touch and be touched.

Robby: thanks i guess you’ll meet someone worth your time, you’re a good girl 

The message was sent before he could fully reconsider the wording. The second it went through, Robby winced. It sounded weirdly sexually charged, maybe it was because he was feeling sexually charged, painfully so. A Freudian slip at its finest.

You: good girl? 😏

Robby: shit i didn’t mean it to sound weird just a figure of speech i suppose.

You: should i call you daddy then? ;)

Robby nearly dropped the phone again. The winky face, the bold suggestion, the way it played so perfectly into the tension that had been building sent a bolt of pure want through him. He could imagine your voice saying it, teasingly so, with that mischievous glint in your eyes. His mind supplied far too many vivid images: you in nothing but your skin looking up at him, you saying it in person with a flirty smile. He was fully hard. Actually hard, just from a fucking text conversation.

The professional alarm bells were clanging loudly in the back of his head. This was his resident, the age gap, the power dynamic, the fact that you’d have to face each other at the Pitt in a few short hours... it was all wrong. But god, it felt good. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

He glanced down at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, his cock straining against the fabric like a flagpole. He couldn’t believe it. One flirty text from his resident and he was rock hard. Don’t get hard for your fucking resident, he thought. She’s one of your own. Off-limits. This is insane. He adjusted himself uncomfortably, trying to will it down through stubbornness, but the ache only sharpened.

You: too much? sorry i was just messing around lol

Robby exhaled and typed back, trying to sound more composed than he felt.

Robby: Don’t worry about it i know it was a joke, no harm done

You: it was... unless you don’t want it to be a joke 

He let out a surprised laugh, his cock twitched again at the follow-up, you were relentless, and something told him you were noewhere near done.

Robby: you’re funny, i’ll give you that.

You: that’s what i’ve been told. glad you’re having fun with me tonight

Robby: Well, I guess I should let you get some sleep early shift tomorrow and all

You: i don’t mind staying up. i swiped right on you, remember? yk for a minute i really thought you were gonna flirt with me or maybe even ask me to come over to your place or something

The words hung there. You had been excited, you had hoped he would flirt. The image flashed through his mind, you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, stepping inside and… He shifted again, pressing his hand down against his insistent erection through his sweatpants, trying to get some relief even as guilt gnawed at him. This was crossing so many lines he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross after Heather. But the loneliness that had driven him to download the app in the first place was quieter now, replaced by an electric tension.

Robby: that would be very inappropriate i’m your boss and there are lines we can’t cross

You: but you’re not dr. robby my attending in here. you’re michael robinavitch, 55, the guy who loves 70s rock and long bike rides. and i’m not your resident in this chat. i’m just a girl who likes movies and older men... and who is really, really into you right now

You were separating the roles so cleanly, drawing a line between the hospital and this private space. It was tempting, dangerously tempting. 

Robby: you know it doesn’t work like that we can’t just turn it off when the shift starts tomorrow

You: nah i’m pretty sure i can

Robby: No.

You: If we really can’t meet then we can do it over text, you know.

He stared at the screen trying to guess if you really meant what you were saying. 

Robby: what do you mean?

You: sexting, duh

He let out a short breath, Jesus fuck you were actually gonna kill him tonight.

Robby: that’s basically the same thing.

You: no it’s not. technically we’re not doing anything if it’s just messages. no one has to know.

Robby rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind was screaming at him to shut this down, but his fingers were already moving. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering to do this.

This was a terrible idea. What difference did it really make whether it was real sex, his hands on you, feeling your heat around him, or just describing it in detail over text messages? A line was still a line. One he had promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. He didn’t want this to end with you giving up your residency, transferring to another hospital, another city, once things inevitably fell apart.

But fuck, his cock was achingly hard, straining against the front of his pants like a caged animal that desperately needed to be freed. The thought of you right now, maybe lying in your bed in, pressing your thighs together, that sweet slick already soaking through your panties because of him… it made it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t leave you like that, so wet, so needy, aching for him.

Robby: what do you want me to say?

You: i don’t know… just say something hot. you’re goot at being hot  

He hesitated, he wasn’t sure of what to say. He was scared of seeming naive and old school to you, but he wasn’t used to this whole… sexting thing. The most spicy exchange over texts had been insinuating pictures before asking someone to come over. Okay think Robby, if you can save someone’s life under extreme preassure then you can sext with a woman, just say something typical, he thought

Robby: who’s been a naughty girl?

The second he hit send he regretted it. He winced, already typing another message to backtrack when your reply came through.

You: lmao that was the best you’ve got?

Robby groaned out loud, dropping his head back against the couch. 

Robby: forget it. i’m going to bed

You: nooo wait. let’s try again :(

He should’ve put the phone down. He really should’ve. Instead he waited to see if you had anything else to say.

You: you’re so good at giving orders and guiding me at work. maybe you could do that now too? tell me what to do

You were right, in theory. He was good at instructing, guiding, teaching. It came naturally to him to step into that mentoring role, he had always been the one others looked to for direction.

Robby: i  feel stupid doing this.

You: pleeeease. i’ve always thought you were the kind of guy who talks people through it in bed. it’s the same here, just write it instead of saying it. tell me how you want me to touch myself

Your words hit him hard. He reread the message twice. He had never consciously thought about it before, but yes… that did sound exactly like him. Fragments of memory surfaced unbidden: the commanding tone he’d used with past partners, the way he’d instructed them. “Open your legs for me.” “Turn around.” “Look at me.” He remembered the way their breathing would change, the way they’d tremble under the weight of his voice and his hands.

Robby: you really want me to talk you through it, sweetheart?

You: yessss that was so much better. keep going

If anyone had asked you how it happened, you honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain it. You weren’t even sure yourself. One moment you were typing a slightly embarrassed apology to Robby for matching with him and the next, the conversation had taken a turn and you were the one demanding he sext you so you could get off. It was bold, stupidly reckless, and yet it felt inevitable.

Robby: good girl that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, i want you to get those pretty legs spread nice and wide for me, can you do that?

You whimpered softly and obeyed him instantly, letting your knees fall farther apart on the mattress. The cool air hit your exposed pussy making you shiver. 

You: yes. they’re open

Robby: Perfect i’d be on my knees between them right now if I could run your fingers up the inside of your thighs for me slowly, feel how soft they are

As you trailed your free hand up one thigh, you imagined his callused palms and the scratch of his greying beard following the same path.

You: doing it… feels so good thinking about your hands instead.

Robby: that’s my girl  now slide two fingers through your pussy and ell me how wet you are for me

You did exactly as he says, gasping as two fingers glided easily through your slick heat. You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom as you stroked yourself.

You: So wet… i’m dripping. all because of you.

Robby: fuck i knew you would be i want you to circle your clit for me now Do it slowly and imagine it’s my tongue instead, licking you just the way you need i’d take my time, taste every inch of you

Your mons got louder, tipping your head back against the pillows as your fingers obeyed, traxing circles around your clit that sent sparks up your spine. In your mind, it was Robby’s mouth devouring you while his strong hands pinned your thighs down.

Robby: how does that feel, sweetheart? tell me

You: so good, i’m so sensitive. keep talking please

Robby: Good now slide one finger inside that tight pussy, nice and deep curl it up just like I would, searching for that spot that makes your legs shake i’d be watching your face the whole time, telling you how beautiful you look spread open for me, how good you are for listening

When you pushed a finger inside yourself, you curled it upward as instructed to hit that sensitive spot while your other hand kept working your clit in circles. 

Robby: add another finger and stretch yourself open i’d be so much thicker than your fingers, but we’ll start like this imagine me pumping them in and out while i rub your clit

Adding a second finger, you continued fucking yourself to the rhythm of his words on the screen. It was not enough, it was nowhere near enough to calm the hunger and desperation that was threatening to consume your whole being. You knew nothing would be enough, only feeling him inside of you.

You: wish it was you inside me. can’t get off like this. i need you robby please

Robby: you were the one who told me to do this 

You: i know i did. but it’s not enough send me your address

He was tempted, so tempted that for one second his fingers almost started typing on an impulse. But the reality crashed back in immediately. The risks, the morning after, the way he’d have to look at you during rounds, knowing what you’d done. He was rock hard and aching for you, but the responsible part of him still refused to crumble completely.

Robby: what for?  you’re not seriously thinking about coming over right now, are you?

You: robby i’m literally only like 2 miles away from you. are you dtf? not as dr. robinavitch and his resident, but as two adults who casually matched on tinder tonight. there’s no title or hospital here. it’s just us.

Two miles. You were so close. He stared at your message, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs. His cock gave another insistent throb, the head already leaking a little against his underwear. The thought of you actually coming over, right now, in the middle of the night, made his mouth go dry.

Robby: Send me your address and I’ll order you a ride. 

You sent your address a moment later. It really was only two miles away. He confirmed the ride, watching the estimated arrival time tick down. Fifteen minutes… only fifteen minutes until you’d be at his door.

You: this is exactly what i meant earlier about older guys. so much more gentlemanly. taking care of the details instead of just telling me to get there

You had no time to get ready, and honestly, you didn’t care. Makeup? Hair? None of that mattered when you were this desperate, this aching for him. You climbed out of bed still wearing the thin tank top and soft sleep shorts you’d worn to bed, and threw an oversized jacket over everything, one that swallowed most of your body and made you look far more put-together than you actually felt.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys and phone. The rideshare arrived sooner than you expected. The drive across the city felt both endless and far too short, but eventually the car pulled up outside his building.

You stood on the sidewalk for a second, staring up at the apartment complex, suddenly hit with the full weight of what you were doing, showing up at your attending’s door in the middle of the night, soaked and trembling with need, because a stupid Tinder match had spiraled completely out of control.

But you didn’t hesitate for long, you took a deep breath, pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, walked toward his door and knocked on it.

Robby opened it right away. He didn’t say a word, the second you were in reach, you had one of his strong hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. It was electric to say the least. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath. His beard was scraping deliciously against your skin as he moved his lips with experienced urgency. You melt into it instantly, fisting your hands in his shirt, tasting the pure, overwhelming taste of him. Finally. Here he was, kissing you like he’d been starving for it just as much as you had.

He kicked the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his taller frame. You felt the warmth of his hands roaming everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, squeezing the curve of your ass through the fabric of your shorts. In your mouth, he groaned, making a vibrating sound that went through you as he explored every inch he could reach, like he was memorizing the feel of you. 

Your breasts were the next to get his attention, he was cupping them with his big hands through your tank top, brushing his thumb over your already hard nipple, while he tangles his other hand in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You pulled back just enough to gasp against his lips, “It took you long enough.”

Robby chuckled, the sound coming out breathless. “Took you long enough. You have any idea what it’s like waiting twenty minutes for you with a hard-on?” He pressed you closer, letting you feel the thick and insistent bulge against your stomach. 

As if they had a mind of their own, his hands couldn’t stop moving, squeezing, caressing, claiming, running down your back, over your thighs, everywhere he’d fantasized about touching. Before you could respond, he bent slightly and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively. 

The strength in his arms, the way his broad chest felt against you, sent a fresh rush of heat between your legs. He carried you through the house with purposeful strides. The door to your room swung open and he layed you gently on the bed, climbing on top of you immediately until his full weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress. 

The kissing resumed instantly, slower now but no less intense. Robby’s mouth was moving from your lips to your neck, sucking lightly and scratching you with his beard in the most perfect way. Now his hands got bolder, continuing their exploration but this time sliding under your tank top, pressing his palms against your bare skin. He lifted the fabric higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room.

“Fuck,” Robby groaned, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you could see his soft brown eyes turning darker as he stared down at you. “Look at you. These tits… so perfect. So fucking pretty.” His voice was rough with want, the same commanding tone. He cupped them reverently, as if they were something precious, circling your nipples until they pebbled tighter under his touch. “They’re made for my hands. For my mouth.”

He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently at first, then harder, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. The wet touch of his tongue made you arch into him with a moan, threading your fingers through his hair as he kept lavishing attention on your breasts. 

From one side to the other, Robby switched sides, licking and sucking the other while his hand massaged the first, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation, the tingly heat of his mouth and the firm squeeze of his callused hand, had you writhing beneath him, making you so wet you were soaking through your shorts.

The humming of his mouth against your skin sends sparks straight to your core. “So responsive,” he murmured, switching back to the first breast and sucking it harder than before. “These tits are going to ruin me. I could spend hours right here.” Sliding his free hand down your side, Robby gripped your hip possessively, continuing with the worshipping of your chest, licking broad stripes, sucking marks into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading until he had you panting and grinding up against the hard line of his cock through his pants.

The age difference between you only heightened everything, his experience was showing in every skilled touch, in every perfect flick of his tongue. He was being patient but hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long. You could feel how hard he was, he was making you feel it, pressing insistently against your thigh. The knowledge that you did this to him made you even wetter.

Robby lifts his head briefly to lock his eyes on yours. His lips were swollen and his beard slightly damp with his saliva. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, but his hands never stopped, squeezing and caressing, teasing your sensitive nipples with his thumbs as he waited for your answer.

You shook your head, pulling him back down. You’d rather die than stop right now. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His mouth trailed a hot path down your sternum, over your stomach, scraping you teasinglywith his beard against your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed strong, sliding down your sides and gripping your hips as he settled between your spread thighs. The weight of him, the sheer size and presence of this man, made your core clench with anticipation.

“These shorts have been teasing me since you walked in,” he murmured with the same steady tone he used in the pitt, but now turned intimate and commanding. Robby hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly peeled them down your legs, taking his time as he revealed more of you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart. Good girl.”

You obeyed instantly, lifting your hips so he could slide the fabric off completely, leaving you in just your thin panties and the tank top. Robby smoothed his hands up your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle but firm pressure. “Keep your legs open like that,” he instructed you. “Nice and wide for me. Don’t close them unless I tell you to.”

You were already moaning softly, and he wasn’t even touching your core yet. Robby dropped his eyes to the damp spot on your panties, making the fabric cling to your pussy lips, and he let out a groan of desire and hunger. He cupped you over the fabric with one hand, pressing his palm firmly against your heated pussy while his thumb found your clit through the material and began rubbing slow circles.

“Oh god,” you moaned, twitching up your hips into his touch, seeking more of the contact. The friction was simply perfect, it was teasing, and it kept building higher and higher. Robby’s callused thumb was applying just the right pressure on your swollen nub. 

He watched your face intently through his hooded and lustful eyes as he worked you higher. “Feel good?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own breathing grew heavier. “You’re so wet already. Soaking through these panties for me. That’s it… rock against my hand, sweetheart. Show me how much you need this.”

Your moans only grew louder and more unrestrained, as he kept rubbing your clit with precision. The fabric added a delicious layer of friction, and every circle sent sparks shooting up your body. He got you gripping the sheets, your thighs already trembling as you fought the urge to close them around his hand.

Robby leaned down to kiss the inside of one thigh, scratching your skin deliciously. “You want my mouth? Want me to taste this pretty pussy? You gonna wrap these gorgeous legs around my neck while I do it?”

“Yes,” you gasped, nodding frantically. “Please, Robby. I need it.”

He hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them down slowly, revealing your glistening, bare pussy to his hungry gaze. “Fuck… look at you. So wet and perfect.” He kissed along your inner thighs, taking his time, brushing his lips and beard against the sensitive skin as he worked his way closer. “Wrap them around me, sweetheart. Lock your ankles behind my head if you need to. I want to feel you holding me right where I belong.”

You did exactly as he said, wrapping your legs around his broad shoulders and pressing your heels into his upper back. The position left you completely open to him, vulnerable and exposed. Robby groaned, the sound vibrating against your core as he finally leaned in.

The first lick of his tongue was broad and slow, dragging from your entrance up to your puffy clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and it made you cry out loudly, threading your fingers into his greying hair as he began to devour you with the same intensity he brought to every procedure at work. He licked and sucked with precision, alternating between long and flat strokes to tight and quick circles around your clit. 

His beard was scratching your inner thighs and outer lips in the most delicious way, adding a kind of texture that made your toes curl. “Robby… Oh fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, rolling your hips against his mouth. 

He hummed in response, pulling back with his lips glistening with your arousal just so he could speak to you. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. I want to hear it.”

“So good… your tongue—oh god, your mouth, Robby. It’s driving me crazy. Don’t stop, please.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, diving back in to suck your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly while applying suction with his lips. 

Before you could register it, he teased your entrance with two thick fingers, slowly sliding them inside you, letting your own greedy hole swallow them. Once he curled them upward to find that perfect spot, the sensation had you moaning loudly and arching off the bed. 

Robby pumped his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue with his digits. A few moments later, he stopped again briefly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes and shiny lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread open for me, taking my fingers so well. This pussy is perfect, made for me. Keep moaning for me. Let me hear how much you love my mouth on you.”

You obeyed, your moans spilling freely as he returned to his task with renewed hunger. The pleasure built fast and faster, making your thighs tremble around his head and your feet dig into his back as you held him exactly where you needed him. Robby gripped your hip with his free hand, holding you steadily while he worked you closer and closer to the edge with expert skill. Every command, every praise, every flick of his tongue pushed you higher. 

Robby didn’t relent, he kept his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking with rhythmic pressure, devouring you like a man starved. “Robby—oh fuck, yes!” The pleasure was overwhelming, every single nerve ending in your body was alight as he worked you higher. 

“Keep those legs open for me, sweetheart,” he growled against your clit. “Don’t you dare close them. I want to feel you squeezing around my fingers while I eat this pretty pussy.” He added a third finger slowly, stretching you wider, the burn blending perfectly with the pleasure. “That’s it… take three for me. Feel how full you are? You’re doing so well. Such a good girl taking everything I give you.”

The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy and his mouth sucking hungrily on your clit filled the air. You were soaking his beard, his chin, his wrist, but he didn’t care. Robby slid a hand under you, grabbing a firm handful of your ass and lifting your hips slightly off the bed. The new angle let him bury his face even deeper, working your clit with more precision while he fingerfucked you harder. “Just like that,” he praised you between licks. “Grind on my tongue, baby. Use my mouth. Show me how bad you need to come.”

You obeyed helplessly once again, rolling your hips and bucking them against him as the coil in your belly tightened unbearably. The pleasure built in powerful waves until your thighs started to shake violently around his head. Robby kept talking you through it, pushing you closer to the edge.

“You’re getting so close, aren’t you? I can feel this tight pussy clenching around my fingers. Come on, let go. Cum all over my tongue. I want to taste it. I want to feel you fall apart for me.”

The orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity, making your back bow off the bed, a loud and broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy spasmed hard around his digits. Your thighs were squeezing his head tightly, your heels digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. Robby didn’t stop though, he kept sucking your clit through the peak, curling and thrusting his fingers to draw out every last shudder.

You came harder than you ever had. So hard that your vision went white for a moment as the pleasure bordered on overwhelming. Your moans turned into whimpers as the orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving you limp and gasping on the bed.

Robby finally eased back, gently lowering your hips and kissing softly along your inner thighs. He looked up at you with dark and satisfied eyes. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So beautiful when you cum for me.”

You lay there panting, your thighs were still twitching, completely wrecked and already aching for more of him. Robby climbed back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He was so close that his hard cock was pressing insistently against your thigh through his pants. 

“That was… amazing,” you whisper with your voice hoarse from moaning. “So much better than I ever imagined.”

Robby chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine against your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Yeah? Better than your hand?” His eyes were sparkling with lust. 

You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “So much better. Your mouth… God, Robby. I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He hummed in satisfaction, grinding his still-clothed erection slowly against your bare, sensitive pussy. The thick ridge of his cock was being pressed perfectly against your clit, giving him some much needed relief while teasing you both. “I loved doing that for you,” he murmured. “You were so good for me, sweetheart. So responsive, so wet. The way you moaned my name and squeezed my head with those pretty thighs… fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Robby rolled his hips deliberately, the friction making you whimper and arch up into him. You could feel how achingly hard he was and how much he’d been holding back. You slid up your hands down his chest, feeling the soft flesh beneath his shirt.

“I want you,” you breathed, looking up at him with need. “Please, Robby.”

He stilled for a moment, as if to pulling himself together. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”

You bit your lip, feeling the warmth invade your cheeks. “Your cock. I want you to fuck me. I need you inside me.”

Robby let out a groan, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, drawing out the anticipation. You sit up slightly, eager to help, moving your fingers to tug his pants down along with his underwear.

“I’ve been dying to see you,” you confessed as you pulled his pants down his hips. He caught your wrists before you could push his boxers down.

Robby looked almost nervous, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Wait… I, uh—” He cleared his throat, flicking his eyes away for a second. “I haven’t trimmed down there in a while. This whole night was… unexpected. I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known we were gonna end up here.”

He said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. Like it might actually make you want him less. It made you soft, you cupped his jaw, turning his face back to yours.

“Robby. Do you honestly think I give a damn about that? It’s just hair.”

He let out a self-conscious breath, still looking a little defensive. “I know. I know it’s just hair. It’s just… it’s probably a fucking jungle down there right now. You don’t have to— I mean, you don’t have to do anything if it’s too much.”

The way he was trying to give you an out was almost painfully endearing. You shook your head. “Just let me see you,” you whispered.

You slid his boxers down his thighs and freed his cock, it sprang out, thick and hard, the head flushed in a dark red with arousal. It was beautiful, so long, girthy, with a slight upward curve, prominent veins running along the shaft. Exactly like he’d warned, there was a thick, dark mat of coarse hair at the base, dense and untrimmed. He looked completely natural, it was so him, deeply masculine and unpolished.

A fresh rush of wetness slipped down your inner thighs. Your fingers twitched with the need to touch him there.

You looked up at him through your lashes “I love it,” you slowly carded your fingers through the thick hair at the base of his member. “You look so fucking hot like this. I like every single inch of you.”

Robby’s whole body shivered under your touch. “God…” he rasped as he stared down at you. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”

Almost with instinct, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking the shaft slowly from base to tip, feeling the heat and weight of his member.

Robby hissed in pleasure, twitching his hips forward into your grip as he watched your hand move up and down his cock. “Fuck, your hand feels good,” he groaned, letting you stroke him for a while, savoring the sight of your smaller hand working his thick length, making a bead of precum leak from the tip.

After a few moments, he gently stopped you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Lay back down for me, sweetheart. Keep those legs open nice and wide. Just like before.”

You obeyed, lying back against the pillows and spreading your thighs for him. Robby reached over toward the nightstand, stretching one arm past you as he pulled open the top drawer. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, before his hand closed around what he was looking for.

A moment later he sat back, a condom held between his fingers. He held it up, searching for your eyes with his. “I’ve got this if you want me to wear it.”

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his arm. “No. I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”

You both knew it might not have been the smartest option, doing it raw, with nothing between you. But there was a deep, unspoken trust between the two of you, forged through long shifts, that made you feel safe. And in that moment, that trust felt solid enough to lean on.

The hunger that had taken over both of you made anything else almost unbearable. The need to feel each other completely bare, skin on skin, heat on heat, with nothing separating you, was overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He tossed the condom aside, leaning down to kiss you deeply again. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”

He groaned, positioning himself between your legs and nudging the thick head of his cock against your slick entrance. The anticipation felt electric, this was the culmination of over a year of longing, of hours of texts, and now all that was left was this desperate connection. Robby gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he looked down at you with hunger.

The night is only beginning, and the way he’s looking at you promises he’s going to take his time ruining you in the best possible way.

As his cockhead was being rubbed up and down your folds, teasing your clit with every pass, coating itself with your juices, the sensation felt maddening, promising everything you’d fantasized about for so long. You whimpered, twitching your hips up instinctively to chase more contact.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Robby commanded you softly, the same authoritative tone that had guided you through countless procedures was now guiding you through this. He cupped your chin gently, tilting your face so your gazes locked. “Keep looking at me the whole time. I want to see you while I fuck you.”

You nodded shakily, unable to look away even if you wanted to. Robby continued rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness, drawing out the anticipation until you were squirming beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your mouth. “So wet for me already. This pussy is going to take me so well. Breathe for me, relax and let me in.” He pressed forward slowly, breaching your entrance with only the tip. The stretch was immediate and intense, opening you up inch by inch as he sank deeper. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, but you forced your eyes open, locking them on his as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Easy, baby,” he cooed, stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braced beside your head. “You’re doing so good. Feel how you’re stretching around me? So tight and warm… fuck, you feel incredible.”

You moaned loudly as he continued sliding in, the deliberate thrust filling you completely until he was buried to the hilt, until his hips were flushed against yours. The fullness was overwhelming, his thick cock stretching your walls like nobody had stretched you before, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Robby stayed still for a moment buried deep, resting his forehead against yours as he looked straight into your eyes. “There you go. All the way in. You took every inch.” He started to thrust with deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls with exquisite friction. “Wrap your legs around me. Hold me close while I fuck you.”

You did as he said, locking your legs around his waist and digging your heels into his lower back. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and you cried out in pleasure, digging your nails into his shoulders. Robby kept talking you through it, just like he knew you liked.

“That’s my girl. Feel that? I’m hitting that spot inside you, huh?” He angled his hips slightly, grinding deep on every stroke. Robby slid one hand up to cup and squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple as he thrusted harder.

Robby moved his hand from your breast to cup your chin. His grip was gentle enough not to hurt, yet firm enough that you felt every one of his fingers pressing against the bones of your jaw. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to see how good my cock feels inside this tight pussy.” He tilted your face up and held it there, leaving you no choice but to meet his eyes.

And God… what a glorious sight he was. This handsome man, with his face flushed, his brow glistening with sweat, devouring you with his gaze as he kept driving his cock into you.

His face was only inches from yours, and he kept fucking you in long strokes while he held your chin like that, as if he were starving for every single expression that crossed your face. He loved watching the way pleasure wrecked you. The way your lips parted around helpless moans, the way you bit down on your lower lip only for it to slip free again with a broken sound. The way your eyes went glassy and pleading, silently begging him for more even as your body trembled around his cock. He drank it all in like a man who had been thirsty for years.

With his free hand, he gripped your waist, holding you in place so he could drive into you with more power. Every slide of his cock stretched you perfectly, dragging the fat tip along your g-spot like that was what it was made for.

“Robby—oh god, yes!” You moaned loudly, raising your hips to meet his thrust and tightening your legs around him. Your tits were bouncing with every powerful stroke, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth again, flicking his tongue as he continued fucking you.

“You feel so good,” he groaned against your skin, switching to the other breast. “So tight and wet around me. This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it? Taking me so deep.” His hand on your waist slid down to grip your ass, lifting your hips slightly to change the angle as he thrusted harder. “Lift your legs higher for me, sweetheart,” he said against your neck,kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there. Ronny held the back of your thigh, helping guide your leg up. “That’s it… over my shoulder. Let me get deeper.”

You whimpered as he assisted you, hooking your leg over his shoulder. He did the same with the other, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, until he was pressing the head firmly against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, grinding against your g-spot relentlessly.

“Fuck—Robby, it’s so deep like this,” you moaned, fluttering your eyes shut for just a moment as the intense sensation washed over you.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided gently but firmly, cupping your jaw with his hand to tilt your face back to his. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Keep them open. I want to watch you while I fuck you like this. Don’t look away.”

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his hungry gaze as he continued hammering into you. The eye contact made everything more intimate and overwhelming. The feeling of his hand leavinf your jaw and sliding down between your bodies made you shiver. Robby found your swollen clit and began rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.

The combined stimulation was devastating. The pleasure was burning higher in your core, so close to finally exploding. Your body was arching and squirming beneath his frame as you scratched down his back and trembled over his shoulders. Every thrust, every rub of his fingers on your clit, every moan and grunt that escaped his mouth pushed you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” Robby groaned, never removing his sight from yours. “Look at you taking my cock so deep. You’re getting close again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you cum all over my cock. Keep your eyes on me when you do.”

You bowed your back off the bed as your climax took over your body. A loud cry tore from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his length. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders and you dug your nails harder into his back when the waves of pleasure crashed through you. Robby sekpt thrusting through it, drawing out your orgasm with deep strokes and continued pressure on your clit.

“You look so beautiful when you cum for me… that’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me. You’re being so good.”

By the time he finally slowed and gently pulled out of you, you were still trembling and gasping. Robby layed back on the bed beside you, with his cock hard and glistening with your release. “Come here, baby,” he said. “Get on top. I want to watch you ride me.”

He helped you shift positions, gripping your hips firmly to guide you as you straddled him. “Easy, sweetheart. Take your time… that’s it. Feel me right there? Let me watch you take every inch.”

You positioned the head at your slick entrance and began to sink down, inch by inch. The stretch was intense all over again, his girth opening you up as you lowered yourself onto him. Robby kept his hands still on your hips to steady you, stroking your skin soothingly while watching every expression on your face.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groaned. “You’re doing so well. Keep going… take a little more. Feel how full you are?”

Louder moans left your mouth as you sank lower, the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. Bracing your hands on his broad chest for balance, you finally took him to the hilt, resting your ass against his thighs. Robby squeezed your hips encouragingly. “Ride me. Roll your hips like that… yes, just like that.”

Whn you started moving, rolling, and grinding your hips in a steady rhythm, the pleasure built quickly. His cock was dragging along your walls as you found a rhythm that made your tits bounce and your clit grind against his pelvis.

Robby kept moving his eyes are everywhere, watching where your pussy stretched around his shaft, sliding up to your bouncing breasts, then locking onto your face. He reaches up with both hands, cupping your tits and rolling your nipples as you ride him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep going… faster if you want. Take what you need from me.”

Without a word, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He sat up just enough to help you pull it off, and the second the fabric cleared his head, your hands were on him.

God, you loved his body. Your moved your palm slowly over his chest, feeling the coarse hair and the thud of his heart beneath your fingertips. You dragged your hands lower, mapping the soft, rounded curve of his belly with desire. It turned you on more than any gym-honed torso ever could. As you pressed your palms into the softness, your fingers dag in gently. Then you smoothed your hands over it again and again, savoring the way it yielded under your touch.

You were mumbling praises and moans between gasps, completely lost in the sensation. “Robby… you feel so good… so deep… fuck, I love your cock inside me…”

At one point, Robby planted his feet firmly on the bed, bent his knees, and started thrusting up to meet you. The change felt devastating, he was now fucking you from below with powerful strokes that made you cry out loudly as he droveinto you. 

The slap of skin on skin grew louder when the slamming into you intensified. “Fuck—Robby!” you moaned, letting your head fall back as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Eyes on me if you can, sweetheart,” he growled, moving his fingers down to rub your clit again. “I’m getting close. You feel too good. You’re gonna make me cum.”

You were a moaning and squirming mess on top of him, riding and grinding as he thrusted up harder. His fingers on your clit and his cock hitting deep pushed you toward another peak, but it was his impending orgasm that had you focused on him.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, snapping his hips up faster. “Fuck—can I cum inside you? Please, I want to fill you up.”

“Yes,” you gasped, riding him desperately. “Cum inside me, Robby. I want it. Fill me up. Please—”

With a deep groan, Robby thrusted up hard one last time and came, pulsing nside you, flooding your pussy with thick and warm ropes of cum. He held you down on him, gripping your hips tightly as he emptied himself completely. The feeling of him cumming inside you, fully claiming you, triggered your own smaller orgasm, making your walls clench rhythmically around his pulsing cock.

You both stayed locked together, panting. Robby stroked your back and thighs as you came down from the high befor pulling you down against his chest, kissing your forehead, keeping his cock still buried deep inside you as his release slowly leaked out around him, so much that you could feel the hot nd sticky evidence of his climax.

There were no more walls, just the two of you, finally giving in to everything you’ve both wanted and repressed for so long. You stayed draped on top of Robby for a long stretch of time, both of you catching your breath as the intensity slowly ebbed. Eventually, you lifted your head and looked at him. “That was… amazing. I wouldn’t even have dreamed that it’d be that good.”

He hummed in agreement, continuing his soothing path along your back. “It was. Better than I let myself imagine. You felt perfect.”

The praise made a warm feeling bloom in your chest. After a few more quiet moments, Robby gently helped you sit up, easing you off his cock with a shared sigh. You both winced slightly at the loss of connection and the feeling of emptiness, but he pulled you down beside him on the bed, wrapping his arms around you again as you cuddled into his side.

“So… you don’t regret it, do you?”

He met your eyes as a small smile began tugging at his lips beneath the beard. “Right now? I can’t regret having amazing sex with you. My mind is still somewhere up in the clouds.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow when reality hits, but tonight… no regrets.”

You nestled closer, throwing one leg over his. The cuddling felt easy, natural, like you’d been doing this for years. For tonight, the outside world, the hospital, the guilt, the what ifs didn’t exist. There was only the two of you, and Robby might be right about reality hitting tomorrow, but right now, in the darkness of his room, everything felt right.

A/N: Two attempts at posting this fic, and two times Tumblr’s stupid AI mistakenly flagged it😭 I’ve spent days trying to figure out what was causing the problem and doing everything I could to finally get this fic posted for all of you. So if you’re reading this, it means it worked. Hopefully.

If you end up enjoying the fic, I’d really appreciate it if you could help me share it with a reblog (only if you enjoyed the fic) cause I’ve put a lot of work on it

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I worked on when inspiration finally struck me. I don’t know if I read it somewhere or if we all collectively decided it, but Robby absolutely feels like the type of guy who talks you through it. You’re telling me the man who spends all day teaching med students and residents how to do procedures wouldn’t also be guiding his girl in bed? It’s literally in his nature!!! This TikTok also got me inspired because, yes, he absolutely looks at you through it too.

I also think Robby’s canon texting style is weirdly inconsistent. In that scene in season one where he’s texting Jake, sometimes he starts messages with capital letters and sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he ends sentences with a period, sometimes he doesn’t. In my head, he has perfect grammar but deliberately tries to sound Gen Z and chill when he’s texting someone younger than him lol. Anyway, I tried to replicate that here too.

Thank you all so much for your patience. I really appreciate it, and I hope I can stick around for good this time🩷

The moment your lunch break starts, Trinity yanks you into an on-call room, where Mel, Victoria, Samira, and Whitaker have all also been dragged during a rare moment during the day when you can all leave the floor at once. It’s dark inside and it feels suspiciously like a gathering of cult members. Ever since you found out the six of you lived in the same building (which, yes, half the staff lives in because it’s the cheapest spot close to the hospital), you’ve been a group, even now that Samira’s off living with her knight in shining scrubs.

Trinity looks between you seriously, her phone screen illuminating her face from below like a horror movie villain about to give you the rules for a torture game. She announces seriously, “Guys, I have crucial intel.”

“Alright, get on with it,” Samira sighs. “Some of us have work to do and waiting in here has already taken up half my break.”

Trinity draws a deep breath and holds up her phone, showing off the screen in an arc to let everyone get a good look. “Dennis’ and my other roommate sent us these screenshots last night. I guess Robby has his settings so nobody who has his number can see it, but she did.”

You huddle around the phone as she swipes through a series of pictures, each one of your attending (and your best friend), Robby. A Tinder profile. As her thumb swipes across the screen, all of you ask questions over each other: He owns a motorcycle? And a real suit? Oh my god, is he shirtless there? Wait, he plays basketball?

While they gawk and laugh, you’re stuck on the bio that makes you smile: I’m a doctor. Not in a hot way. In an ‘I’m in therapy and you probably should be too if you want to date me’ way. Soft spot for puppies, babies, and good beer. My best friend forced me to make this when he got a girlfriend so that I wouldn’t be a third wheel. Guess I’m looking for my fourth wheel. Someone to stabilize me.

Victoria’s been standing there slack-jawed for the longest. As the baby of the group, she’s always surprised by everything. “I just can’t believe Dr. Robby is on dating apps.”

Trying not to get pathetically jealous at the idea, you reason, “I mean, he’s single. He’s attractive.”

Samira snickers, “Don’t they have an age limit on that app to protect seniors or something?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s not that old.”

“And you’re one to talk,” Dennis points out. “Dr. Abbot isn’t exactly young.”

“He’s a decade younger than Robby,” she replies. “Robby’s so old I didn’t think he could even download an app without help. He asked me to convert something to a PDF for him the other day. I find the idea that he’d meet someone from an app…charming. The way a cat trapped in a tree is cute.”

Mel crosses her arms over her chest and physically turns away from Trinity’s phone. She huffs out, “Guys, this is so inappropriate.”

Trinity glares. “You’re no fun.”

“That’s sort of my whole thing,” she cuts back. Then she nudges you and asks for backup, “C’mon, you know this is wrong.”

But you’re way too intrigued to agree with your roommate. You shrug and say, “It’s a public profile. Someone was bound to find it eventually, right?”

Mel scoffs and shakes her head. “Et tu?”

Trinity groans and makes Mel turn back around with a pointed look. She goes on, “Guys, the intel isn’t that he has a Tinder.” She zooms in on the picture of him with Dr. Abbot on a basketball court, Robby jumping to dunk the ball. You want to lick the sweat from his hairy chest. Trinity shoves her finger at the screen. “Look at this hog he’s packing. Dr. Robby has a giant dick.”

You take a closer look at the outline visible in his slinky athletic shorts. No way. You scoff and shake your head; the idea that a human man could have a dick that big seems outright ridiculous. In years of practicing medicine and being a sexually active adult, you’ve never seen one that would compare. So you shrug your shoulders up and awkwardly rush out, “That could be a water bottle or something.”

Victoria, wide eyes locked to the screen, chimes in, “Or- or just a shadow. The lighting.”

“Yeah, sure, or a massive fucking cock.”

Dennis, the reddest of everyone (he once told you about an absolutely mortifying sex dream he had about topping Robby), hisses, “Trinity, he’s our boss!”

“So?”

You step in, too. “So what are we even supposed to do with this information?”

“Well we all know what you’re going to do with it,” she says to you with a knowing, wicked grin. “You’re going to fantasize about how it would feel to take such a-”

“Trinity!” You slap your hand over her mouth. “If you bring up my crush on him one more time, I’m going to start paging you on every single bowel disimpaction that comes into the ER for the next six months. I’m working on getting over it!”

“Here’s what I’m proposing,” Trinity says seriously. She’s such a ringleader it’s not even funny. This is her circus and the rest of you are definitely her monkeys. “I say we all put in some money and the first person to get definitive proof that Dr. Robby’s packing gets the whole pool.”

“Absolutely not,” Mel says right away. She’s so serious that she shoves out of the on-call room and back to work. She never wants to play in the circus.

The rest of you stay put, though. Dennis mutters, “How much money?”

“This is high stakes,” Samira reasons. “A hundred each.”

“You’re only saying that because you have the best chances,” Victoria cuts in. “Dr. Abbot probably sees his dick every time they go to the gym together.”

“No outside interference,” Trinity adds immediately. “I like the sound of $100 each. That’s a pool of $500. Sounds pretty fair for the task at hand.”

Dennis wrinkles his eyebrows. “What if nobody does it?”

“Then we all lose out on $500.”

To a group of poor twenty-somethings, that’s pretty damn convincing.

“I’m definitely in,” Samira starts. If Trinity is the ringleader, Mohan’s the strongman. “Even if Jack can’t help, I’m smarter than the rest of you.”

Dennis punches her on the arm; he’s the group’s contortionist, always able to bend himself into ridiculous situations somehow. “Me too. I’m the only one with access to the men’s showers.”

You argue, “Then you should put up $150. That’s an unfair home field advantage.”

There’s a murmur of agreement from the other girls that makes Whitaker balk.

“Okay, yeah, I may also have a penis, but I have the distinct disadvantage of being scared shitless of Robby, unlike Samira and Santos.” Then he shoves an accusatory finger in your direction. “If anything, you have an advantage because Robby already wants to fuck you.”

You shove him in the chest. “He does not!”

“Ow, first of all.” He shakes his head and says, “How about we go no-holds-barred? Samira can use Abbot, I can use my Y chromosome, you can use your powers of seduction. Whatever.”

Victoria pouts. She’s the tightrope walker, always trying to balance the line of appropriate and otherwise. “And what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Psychological warfare,” Trinity suggests. “That’s what I’m planning.”

Samira offers, “Maybe just beg?”

“Jesus, fine,” Victoria sighs. “I’m in, I guess.”

All eyes turn in your direction. “How about you, Mrs. Robinavitch?”

And your role in this circus of idiot doctors? Well, you’re just the clown who’s been nursing a big fat crush on her attending for two years. The idea of seeing Dr. Robby naked is too appealing for you to resist. So you present your hand to the center of the circle and sigh, “I’m in.”

The bet gets out of hand right away, not that this sort of thing could ever be under control. The six of you – Mel’s invited mostly because she’s your roommate and already knows, though she’s made her disapproval patently clear – meet for beers after a long shift the following Friday. Samira clears her throat and breaks the silence, “Do any of you sure-to-be losers have anything to announce to the group?”

Trinity pulls out her phone and dramatically sighs. “Well, I really thought I had it. I made a Tinder profile of a very respectable, almost-age-appropriate lady and matched with him. Paid for the goddamn Super Like and everything.”

Victoria’s jaw detaches from her maxilla. “You catfished him?”

Trinity looks honestly offended. “Only a little!”

Dennis gawks. “Whose pictures did you use?”

“My mom’s.”

“Seriously?!” Even Samira’s in disbelief over that. “Did you at least tell her?”

“It’s not like she’ll ever find out,” Trinity reasons. “Her and my dad have been together since the Dark Ages. They’d never be on Tinder. And I used a fake name. She’s just the prettiest woman over 40 I know.”

“You’re fucked up for that,” Dennis says with an admonishing shake of his head. Then he sips his beer and presses, “So how did it go between Robby and your not mom? No luck?”

“Obvioulsy not,” she explains. “He told me in, like, the third message that he’s looking for something serious and would only have sex with someone he loves. Like, apropos of nothing. Old people are weird; I don’t get him at all.”

You swallow hard. “That’s sweet, though.”

She scrunches her nose. “Is it?”

Victoria giggles, about one cocktail too deep, “Would you rather find out our boss is a total man whore?”

“Actually, yeah,” Trinity laughs. “It’s kind of sad someone his age is still looking to settle down.”

“Hey,” you stop her, “that’s actually mean, Trin. Robby’s a good man and he deserves to be happy.”

“Sorry, forgot it’s rude to insult someone’s boyfriend right in front of them.”

Samira shakes her head and tuts then, feeling merciful on your behalf, “Poor showing, Santos. I expected better from our leader.”

“Give me another week.”

“Not if I beat you to it,” she replies with a grin. Then she nudges you with her elbow and says, “C’mon, Jack wants us to go to dinner with Robby.”

It’s not an unusual invitation – the four of you get dinner a few times a month – but tonight it catches the attention of everyone else. 

Dennis protests, only half joking, “Woah, woah, you can’t bring her if it’s going to turn into an orgy thing where she gets a quick shot at the win.”

As your cheeks turn pink, you argue, “I thought it was a no-holds-barred game, Whitaker. Your idea, remember?”

Samira gives you a conspiratorial look. “What do you say, babe, wanna go ask our boys to drop their pants in the middle of the restaurant?”

Pretending not to be as embarrassed as you are, you giggle, “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“This is so unfair,” Dennis pouts.

“Start following him into the shower, then.” Samira smiles and links her arm with yours as you get ready to walk away. “Calm down; she’s always our go-to fourth wheel. No special advantage tonight.”

“Tonight, he did that thing where he touched my lower back when he opened the door for me,” you bemoan to Mel late that night, both sitting on her bed as you stare at your laptops. “Have you ever noticed how big his hands are?”

“Can’t say I have.”

You shut your laptop dramatically. “Seriously, how am I supposed to recover from that?”

Mel shrugs like she always does. “Ask him out.”

“I can’t. He’s my boss.”

“He’s probably waiting for you to do it,” she reasons. “It would be inappropriate for him to ask you, but not necessarily the other way around. Provided you aren’t asking in exchange for any benefits in the workplace.” Then she gives you a little mischievous grin that only you and Langon are ever privy to. “Benefits besides making out in on-call rooms, of course.”

The next series of attempts comes from Samira. She decides to use her one trump card, enlisting Jack’s help. He finds the whole thing hysterical because he’s a feral child just like his girlfriend, so he agrees. Trinity insists on adding a caveat to the rules: The picture has to be on the better’s phone, taken by the better, explicitly ruling out Jack’s involvement beyond being a co-conspirator. Samira agrees and insists it’ll be no problem.

So, for two weeks, every time Robby and Jack hang out, Samira comes up with excuses to tag along and shoot her shots. She goes to the gym with them and ‘accidentally’ walks into the men’s locker room on two separate occasions, both times catching Robby after the shower but with his towel already on.

On a Thursday night all have off, you’re unfortunate enough to witness one of the efforts firsthand. Samira invited you over to watch the Penguins game with her and Robby (since the two of you hate sports and she’ll be bored out of her mind otherwise).

After three beers, Robby excuses himself to the bathroom. Only fifteen seconds later, Samira stands up, gives a salute to you both, and whispers, “Wish me luck.”

Jack grins like the dumbass he is. “Good luck, honey.”

As she walks away, you shake your head and turn to him. “It doesn’t bother you that your girlfriend is obsessed with taking a picture of your best friend’s dick?”

“Nope,” he replies confidently. There’s a cool, clear ‘she knows what she has at home’ energy to the reply. Then he puts on a meddling smirk and akss, “Does it bother you that she’s going to see Robby’s dick before you get to when she wins?”

“Jack!” You toss a pillow at him hard, causing him to spill his beer slightly as he laughs. “Y’know, it’s hard enough dealing with the teasing from the other residents. I don’t need it from you.”

“Hey, I have to listen to Robby going on and on about you all the time; it’s not easy for me, either.”

Your eyes widen into planets, but before you can ask the million clarifying questions you need to, Samira’s back, wearing a disappointed grimace. Looking solemn, she glances between you and Jack and shakes her head. “No dice.”

She tucks under Jack’s arm and he kisses her forehead. “You’ll get him next time, slugger.”

Robby emerges from the bathroom two minutes later with his face tomato red, unable to look Samira in the eyes as he takes his spot next to you once more. He mutters, “I miss anything important?”

“I wouldn’t know,” you reply honestly. Pitying his blush, you touch his thigh and ask, “Can I get you another beer?”

“Please.”

Trinity shakes her head in disappointment once Samira recounts her latest attempt in a line of failures. The three of you and Javadi are at the nurse’s station during shift change, making sure charts are in order as the night shift begins to filter in. Trinity sighs, “Maybe I should just pants him. Say it’s a prank or something.”

You snicker, “That would definitely get you sent straight to HR.”

Victoria puts her head in her hands; she hasn’t even come up with a plan yet and it’s getting to her. “This whole thing is going to get us all sent to HR.”

“Not if you never try anything,” Trinity replies.

Victoria glares. “You’re just trying to get me to back down so you get the money.”

Trinity raises her hands and laughs. “Guilty.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Robby’s tugging off his trauma gown with a frown on his lips. He’s splatterned in blood, enough that it’s gone between his mask and gloves and gown. He’ll need a shower. From across the ED, the four of you watch as Dennis rushes through a patient handover and hustles down the hall. Shooting a knowing look over his shoulder at the four of you, Dennis follows Robby into the showers.

You whisper, “Oh, god.”

“I’m gonna miss the little guy,” Trinity says seriously, shaking her head, “especially his share of the rent.”

Victoria sighs, “He made the best coffee.”

When you’re all finished and ready to leave, you and the other girls wait for Dennis by the Pitt’s doors, trying to be inconspicuous as you await his status report.

Dennis emerges, walking fast, expecting you all to meet his brisk pace. You have to practically jog to keep up until you’re a block from the hospital, well out of ear shot of anyone else. Finally, he stops abruptly and swings around to scan his periphery. His eyes are trained on his shoes. He hisses, “Rumor confirmed. Huge.”

Your cheeks burn; blush is becoming a constant state for you thanks to this stupid bet. Trinity’s mouth falls open and she shoves his shoulder hard. “Show us!”

“I didn’t get a picture.”

The whole group groans in disappointment (besides Mel, who sounds relieved). Victoria puts her hand on her hips. “Then you didn’t confirm anything. You could be lying.”

“No way I went through that mortification for nothing. I saw it.”

“Doesn’t count, Dennis,” Trinity replies with an unsympathetic shrug. “We’re talking about $500 here. Hard proof you can share with the class or nothing.”

He frowns and offers, “I can tell you that it’s the size of my goddamn forearm and he has a birthmark the size of a quarter on his hip; that doesn’t count for anything?”

Samira claps him on the back and suppresses her laugh. “You’ll have to try again, Whitaker.”

You aren’t really planning on participating. No matter how much you get annoyed at the amount of crap you get for it, you really do like Robby. In fact, it’s a lot past ‘like.’ It’s love. He’s the person you go to for advice, for jokes, for reassurance. For silence. He’s the first person you text in the morning and the last at night. You don’t know exactly how or when it happened, but you gradually went from ‘Robby’s favorite resident’ to ‘Robby’s favorite person’ over the last few years. And that relationship, whatever it is, matters a hell of a lot to you. You don’t want to damage it, even over that much money.

And then your bank account goes into the negative.

You’d run the numbers wrong on your budget for the month, a handful of bills come through at once, and suddenly you’re staring back at a deficit of more than a hundred dollars. All of a sudden, the $500 your stupid-ass friends have been dangling like a carrot in front of your nose has some real appeal.

You know that, for you, there’s really only one option. You could never, in a million years, get away with any of the sneakiness the rest of them are trying. And, yeah, sure, maybe you could go for seduction the way that everyone is prodding for you to. But you’re way too ashamed to do that for a whole host of reasons.

All you can possibly do is beg.

So you spend the whole day screwing up your courage to nut up and ask. You can’t even look at Robby while you work, terrified of the possible outcomes that could roll out in front of you. Of course, there’s the obvious: A visit to HR, fired, tarred and feathered, stripped of your medical future. Most likely, he’ll be mortified and your friendship will be ruined. Possibly, he’ll be flustered and embarrassed and never speak to you again.

Then, worst of all, there’s the idea that this might start something between the two of you. Something you’ve been dancing around for a very, very long time. Something hot and true and real.

What the hell would you do then?

Robby notices. Because of course he notices. He leaves you alone at first, hoping you’ll just corner him and ask whatever it is you’re stewing on. Then he starts avoiding you, too, because he’s wracking his brain for what he must’ve done wrong for you to be like this. He’d made a joke about pandas that hadn’t landed yesterday, but that couldn’t be it. Could it? Maybe it was how he corrected you when you set that broken nose first thing this morning. He hadn’t had his coffee yet. No. You never made a thing about work stuff.

Finally, when he sees you slip into the locker room at the end of your shift, he can’t take it anymore. After a deep breath, he closes the space between you, touches your lower back, and leans in close. “Can we talk for a second?”

You jolt back from him and stare up into his eyes. Shit, you always forget how tall he is when he isn’t doing that thing where he shrinks down to make others more comfortable. “Um, yeah. Is- What’s, ah, what’s up, Robinavitch?”

Robby scowls. “‘Robinavitch’? I don’t think you’ve ever called me that before.”

“First time for everything.” You grimace, shifting from foot to foot, and snatch your backpack from your locker. “Can we, ah, go somewhere else?”

There are a ton of emotions flashing through his eyes. Concern, curiosity, nerves. But all he says is, “Yeah, of course.”

Robby leads you across the Pitt to his office, which is totally barren except for a stack of paperwork on the desk that he clearly has no intention of doing. He flips on the light, draws the blinds, and turns to you seriously. “Alright, sweetheart, what the hell is going on? You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

You stick close to the door and stare up at the ceiling tiles, wringing your hands. “Look. Okay. This is gonna be so horrifying, alright? So just…just don’t make fun of me too much. You can make fun of me a little, but not that much, because if you make too much of a thing of it I’m never gonna be able to look you in the eye again and-”

“Woah, hey, it’s alright.” Robby reaches out and touches your elbow, stepping closer to you until you look up at him. He cups your face with one of his agonizingly large hands and you’re so embarrassed it’s unbelievable. “Whatever it is, you can trust me.”

“God, please don’t be sincere,” you whine. “You can’t be sweet, sincere, cow-eyed, gorgeous Robby right now, okay? Because I’ll have to go jump off the roof if you look like you care about me when I’m about to say something as stupid as what I’m about to say.”

Carefully, he replies, “But I do care about you.”

“Okay. Fuck. Here goes.” You duck your head, lower your voice, and absolutely ramble out, “Trinity found your Tinder profile a few weeks ago and in one of the pictures it sort of looks like we can see the outline of your dick and she said it looked really big so then we all made a bet to see who could get a picture of it to prove that you’re, um, well-endowed, and we all put in a hundred dollars as a pool for the winner and I know- I know it’s so stupid and so, so wrong, but I could really use that kind of money but more importantly I definitely can’t afford to lose a hundred dollars right now because my bank account is overdrafted which is also mortifying in and of itself to tell you because you really shouldn’t be concerned with my financial wellbeing but the fact of the matter is that I-”

“Wait, wait,” he cuts you off, “you’re telling me that’s what’s been going on the past few weeks? My subordinates have been conspiring to see my dick?”

Reaching a new shade of effervescent pink as yet undiscovered by man, you squeak out, “Yes.”

And then he starts laughing. As you blush so hard that your entire body is burning, he absolutely cracks up – to the point that he’s hiccuping, tears falling, grabbing his stomach. Doubled over, Robby wheezes, “Christ, I was starting to worry I’d have to give Whitaker a talk about how nobody will judge him if he’s gay because he keeps ending up in the shower the same time as me and then running away when he realizes I’m naked. And I’ve been terrified that Jack and Mohan might be planning to invite me for a threesome the way she’s been loitering around me. Thank god.”

Shaky relief floods your body and you mutter. “That…wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I actually don’t know.”

After wiping an amused tear from his cheek, Robby reaches out his hand and commands, “Alright, slugger, give me your phone.”

Shocked out of your mind, you reach into your pocket and present it wordlessly. When you see that he’s going for his waistband, you turn around and cover your eyes like his dick might bite you.

Robby laughs again, this time at your obvious nerves. Not discomfort, though. Nerves. He chuckles, “You don’t get extra money for seeing it in person?”

Gnawing off your lower lip, you whimper, forgetting about the rules in the heat of the moment, “Nope.”

“I’m decent now.” When you turn back, he hands off the phone, screen still open. “Go get your money. Buy me a drink or something as my share of the spoils.”

Then you look at your phone. The syllable falls out before you can stop it. Shocked, breathless. Undeniably turned on. “Oh.”

You stare down at the picture with wide eyes. Your pupils dilate, your throat goes dry, and you can’t deny that heat and wetness collecting between your legs. Yeah, that’s a big fucking cock. Even soft, it has to be eight inches – but, like, real inches, not fantasy porn inches. And thick. Dennis may not have been far off base with his forearm comparison, given that he’s beanbole skinny. That whole ‘thick as a beer can’ thing you’ve read in tons of smut suddenly seems possible if Robby can get even thicker than that when he’s hard.

Jesus Christ.

Yeah, your dildo definitely doesn’t compare to the real thing, no matter how much you’ve fantasized about it while using your toys.

Robby’s amused voice is a little rougher when he asks, “What was that, sweetheart?”

Your head snaps upward hard enough that you hope your neck will break and kill you. “Please don’t tell me I just said that out loud.”

Robby cages you against the door between his forearms. “You definitely did.”

Your eyes fall to his lips. “Robby, I-”

He presses your bodies together. Your chest on his chest. Your thigh slotted between his. The smirk he’s wearing is so hot you start to melt underneath it. You might have a picture of his dick, but he’s holding all the cards. Shit, you can feel his cock through his scrubs against your thigh. He’s not even hard and you can feel how big he is. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You’re done. You’re through. Stop the timer, pull the plug, call in the guard.

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to make eye contact. With you unable to speak, Robby teases, “You what? C’mon, gorgeous, use your words.”

All you can do is whimper.

The sound you make is downright pathetic, but it only encourages Robby. His breath brushes your lips and it feels like he can see your heart beating in your neck. Then he presses his lips to the curve of your ear and murmurs, “God, I’m gonna have so much fun wrecking you.”

It takes you forty five seconds to breathe again. Finally, with Robby pulling back enough to allow you to think, you mutter, “Mel’s outside waiting for me to walk home with her.”

“Of course.” He pulls back the rest of the way, taking a deep breath. When he shakes his head, it’s almost in disbelief – and you realize he wants you. He presses a soft, knowing kiss to your forehead, strokes your cheek with his thumb, and says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

And he unlocks the door behind you with his arm still around you, the sound shaking you from the stupor of his presence.

After practically sprinting to the hospital exit, you find Mel waiting in your usual spot under an overgrown oak. Gripping her arm hard, you whisper, “I’ve got the picture.”

Her eyes pop out of her head. “What?! Seriously?”

“Yes.”

You start walking, harsh and fast, toward your neighborhood, needing to do something to get this crazy energy out of your body.

She hustles to keep up with your pace. “How?!”

“I told him the truth.”

She squeals like a gossipping cheerleader. “And he took his…manhood out for you?”

“I turned around. He took the picture.”

“Wow. He must really be into you.” Then, catching your elbow to slow your walking, she lowers her voice and asks, “Are you going to send it to everyone?”

“I- I’m not sure.” You roll your eyes and groan, “He was going to kiss me. After I told him. After he took the picture. He said- he basically said that he thinks about me, y’know, like that. So now sending it to the group chat feels like sending  – god dammit – it feels like sending my boyfriend’s nudes, okay? You were right.”

She gives a self-satisfied smirk. “I usually am.”

“But I really need that money, Mel. Like ‘won’t be able to pay my share of the rent’ need it.”

“Ask Dr. Robby for it.” She needles with a cute grin, “Clearly he’ll do anything for you.” At the entrance to your building, she pauses. “Seriously, though, you shouldn’t.”

“He told me I could.”

“Still.”

“I have to think about it.”

“Okay, I guess.”

The six of you sit side-by-side like kids in the principal’s office, cramped into the small office high up in the hospital’s tower. There’s an HR rep across the desk. Robby and Jack are standing behind her, trying really hard not to laugh at your dejected expressions. You can’t blame Mel for snitching about the bet, not when you’d ended up mortified and crying and confused in her arms after the whatever the hell that was with Robby last night. The moment you’d reached your apartment, it all washed over you and turned into a full breakdown of ‘what the fuck.’

When the rep finishes going through what feels like a prosecutorial rundown of charges, she asks over her shoulder, “Dr. Robinavitch, do you feel safe continuing to work with them?”

He outright laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. To him, this whole thing is a ridiculous inconvenience. “Yes. God knows I’ve participated in my fair share of similar betting pools downstairs.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” she groans, already having nightmares about an avalanche of paperwork. She turns back to look at the rest of you. “Doctors, do you understand this was a massive violation of Dr. Robinavitch’s privacy?”

You nod solemnly, tears biting at your eyes. You’ve never been in trouble like this before and you absolutely hate the feeling of it in your gut. “I completely understand. I’m so, so sorry.”

Everyone echoes something similar – except Trinity.

The HR rep picks up on it. She presses, “Dr. Santos?”

It’s not her first time getting a talking to about a bet placed with colleagues. So she scoffs. “Yeah, I guess. But it’s not like Robby hasn’t done the same kind of shit.”

“Again, pretending we didn’t say that.” The rep pinches the bridge of her nose and shuts her eyes, breathing deeply for a minute. “Obviously, there will have to be consequences. We can’t send the message that this hospital doesn’t care about sexual harassment.”

Dr. Abbot lets out a harsh laugh. “Sexual harassment?”

She turns around and glares. “How else would you describe coworkers trying to take naked pictures of someone?”

“Well, yeah, I guess, but the ED always has this kind of thing happ-”

She cuts him off with a raised hand. “I am begging you all to stop talking before I have to call in Gloria to deal with this mess.”

That shuts everyone up.

For organizing the whole thing, Trinity gets placed on administrative leave without pay for a week, which she grumbles about before realizing she can go on an impromptu vacation. Because of the whole locker room incident, Dennis gets three days without pay. After the gym situation, Samira and Jack earn the same, which doesn’t really seem like a punishment considering they’re shacked up together. Since you at least asked for his consent, you have two days without pay. Because Victoria was too scared to even try, she gets sent home early with a warning. Mel, of course, gets off home free – although she gets put on night shift since they’ll be down Dr. Abbot.

“Are you mad at me?”

After shoving another handful of chocolate into your mouth, you shush Mel and turn up the volume on Bridget Jones Diary. “For the last time, no.”

Not convinced, she reminds you, “The only reason I told HR is because I didn’t want you showing your future boyfriend’s dick off to everyone in the hospital. You’d regret it.”

“I know, Mel,” you reply. It’s been 24 hours and you’ve had sufficient time to fight with her about the whole situation. “Seriously, I’m not mad. I get you, okay? I know you were trying to protect me in your own way. But I will be mad if you talk over the tarts and vicars party. We need to finish this before you leave for your shift.”

Accepting it (you know she’ll ask again soon), Mel reaches into your shared snack bowl and relents, “Okay, okay.”

Right when Colin Firth is about to announce that he likes Renée Zellweger just as she is, there’s a knock on your apartment door. You both ignore it, assuming it’s a package delivery, but a second knock a minute later takes you by surprise. Cutting a look over to Mel, you ask, “Did you get food or something?”

Her eyebrows knit together. “I figured you did.”

“I’ll check it,” you say, unfurling from the blankets and setting the snacks on the coffee table. In your knee-high socks, skimpy pajama shorts, and bralette, you joke, “Hopefully it’s the Mormons again and seeing my exposed skin will send them into a crisis of faith.”

Mel’s laughing until you open the door. Then she mutters something like ‘please Jesus no’ and looks like she’s debating taking the fire escape.

Robby looks really good in casual clothes. The jeans make his thighs look gigantic and, fuck, have his shoulders always been that goddamn broad? The white tee and – Jesus Christ, really? – leather jacket have him looking like a greaser, like one curl should be on his forehead, like you should be dropping to your knees and-

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You try to return your eye contact to an appropriate area and can’t find it in you. You’re obsessed with his arms. The way he’s leaning in your door frame, one hand above his head, elbow against the wood, has his trap bulging into his bicep and then down toward his veiny forearm and- Fuck. And his chest. His chest. Christ alive. His pecs. It’s only when you shut your eyes that you’re able to stammer out, “What are you- I’m, ah- Hi, Robby.”

He touches your cheek to get you to open your eyes. “I’d like it if you started calling me Michael.”

You try out the taste of that on your tongue. “Michael. Alright.”

He smiles at that. You love the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Mind if I come in? Or did you want to keep ogling my tits for a while?”

You startle backwards a few steps and awkwardly gesture to the apartment. “Sorry, ah, yes, of course, come on in.”

When he sees Mel on the couch, he bristles. It’s comforting to see his ridiculous confidence waver for even a second. “You live with Dr. King.”

“I do.”

“Right. I knew that.” He puts on an almost-professional smile and waves, “Hi, Mel.”

She holds the blanket tight around her neck like she’s naked underneath. “Hello, Dr. Robinavitch.”

You give her a wide-eyed, impatient look at her to break her bewilderment and hiss, “Mel, don’t you need to get ready for your shift?”

She scrambles upward, still clinging to the blanket. “Yes, yeah, ah, right, yeah. I’ll, um, I’ll leave you two alone. Out here. And then I’ll be leaving. For the night. Yup.”

Mel disappears into her bedroom, careful to cover her body every step of the way as if Robby would be phased by seeing her in sweats and a sports bra. As if his attention isn’t fixed squarely on you.

Robby’s eyes skate over your body and you’re suddenly agonizingly aware of how little you’re wearing. He smirks again. Fuck that smirk. “I’m a big fan of your outfit.”

You cross your arms over your chest and then stretch your arms out to cover your stomach and then realize that makes your cleavage worse and cross your arms again. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Robby takes your hands in his to stop you trying to hide from him. He kisses your hand and you’re swooning. You didn’t even know what that felt like until now. “I told you I’d see you, didn’t I?”

“That was before our collective scolding.”

“Well, I’m a man of my word.” His hand goes to your neck, holding the back of your head and pressing his thumb over your pulse at once. His hands are so big. Your brain is cloudy with desire and then he makes it so much worse by saying, “I said I wanted to wreck you. I’m here to make good on that.”

Mel emerges from her bedroom in her scrubs and fleece jacket, eyes trained on the floor and cheeks red. She rushes past Robby, who takes half a step back from you. Snatching her keys from the hall table, she announces in an unnaturally high pitch, “Well, it’s time for my shift. See you both, um, later!”

Then she’s gone – forty five minutes early. And there’s a locked door between you, Robby, and the rest of the world.

You’re frozen and Robby thinks it’s too adorable not to take advantage of. He jumps right in, stepping close to put his hands on the slope of your waist, thumb on ribcage and pinkies on your hips, and asks, “So, what’d all your friends think about my dick pic? Sufficiently impressed?”

You bite your lower lip, not yet able to look at him, and admit in a hushed tone, “I didn’t send it to them.”

Robby tilts your chin up and searches your face. “Why not?”

“You know already.”

He leans in close, breath mixing with yours, foreheads touching, and replies, “I need to hear you say it.”

Your lip twitches up into a smirk. He’s as desperate for you as you are for him. That feels fucking good. Finally, you make eye contact – and he’s shocked by the intensity in your expression. He’s never seen you looking possessive. Blood rushes to his cock. You press a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat drum against your palm, and say, “I didn’t send it because you’re mine, Michael. And I don’t want anyone else seeing what’s mine.”

The grin that spreads over Robby’s features is heart-fluttering, slow and certain and reaching the corners of his eyes. “I’m yours, huh?”

A tiny bit tentative, you whisper, “If you want me.”

Robby laughs, “If I want you?”

You’d expected your first kiss with Robby to be hungry. For your mutual, long-suffering want to explode over each other and turn into shedding clothes and falling into something frantic and intense, chasing pleasure and needing like nothing else.

But it’s not.

Robby takes a deep breath first, like he needs to gather up his courage to actually press his lips to yours despite all his bravado. Then he gives his head a little shake, laughs softly, and leans in. Both of you are gentle, even as you step up onto your toes to deepen it, even as his slightly shaking hand presses up into the curve of your spine to pull you up closer, even as you let out a breathy moan. It’s a caress more than a claim, an exploration more than an ecstasy, a feather more than a fire.

“I want you the way I want oxygen,” Robby breathes into the wide quiet space after your lips part. He kisses you so softly again and, like he might cry, whispers, “I love you.”

It’s your turn to smile – slow, disbelieving, adoring. “You love me? Really?”

He scoffs and holds you close, eye contact so sweet, “I love you so much I can’t think straight when you’re not on shift with me. I love you so much it makes me outright stupid. It would embarrass me, how much I love you, but it doesn’t because every once in a while you look at me like you might love me too and those moments make my whole life worth living.”

Knees weak and heart thudding, you whimper, “Michael.”

This time, the kiss is what you’d expected. You’re biting his lip and rucking up his shirt and shoving him toward your bedroom while he’s chuckling into your mouth at your obvious and unashamed desire, keeping you balanced, matching your energy as he opens up the door and lets himself be shoved back onto your bed. You situate yourself in his lap and practically rip his jacket off so you can finally sink your teeth into his ridiculously gorgeous arms.

Robby pulls in a sharp breath when you suck a harsh mark into the sensitive hollow of his collarbone, dragging the bruise up his neck with unrelenting suction. “Planning on getting me sent to HR our first day back as a couple?”

You pull off of him and catch your breath. Carefully, you run your thumb over his hand and reply, “Yeah, actually. I wanna do this right. HR, paperwork, the whole thing.”

Robby, smiling a tiny bit, asks, “You’re not worried about what everyone’s going to think?”

“Who cares?” You shrug and tell him, “All the other residents have been telling me to ask you out since we started. Even Jack wants us to get together. We’ve been working together while eye-fucking for two years; I don’t think much’ll change.”

“Except how close the administration’s gonna be watching you,” he replies. “I don’t want you to regret-”

You cross your arms over your chest and say, “Michael David Robinavitch, if you’re seriously interrupting our first time together to talk about the boring logistical details of our relationship, I’m going to break up with you.”

“Right, priorities,” he agrees, hands travelling up to your bralette. “Let’s focus on getting you naked.”

“That’s more like it, cap.”

“First, though,” he says softly, pleading, “I want you to say it back.”

It’s as easy as a heartbeat. You kiss him again and murmur against his lips, “I love you.” You drag your bralette up and over your body, leaving you bare-chested and blushing. As Michael’s black eyes devour the sight, you repeat, “I love you.” Then you slip off his lap, lay back on the bed, and coax him to come with, caging you between his strong arms. Before he can descend and devour, you tilt your face upward, kiss him gently, and say one more time, “I love you.”

Robby shoves his hand into your pajama shorts with no hesitation or pretense, wanting to feel you so bad he doesn’t even bother taking the clothes off first. As his fingers part your lips, dragging slickness up to your clit, he groans delightedly, “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

With a soft moan, you explain, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You shimmy to push your shorts off, kicking them away. Robby roughly shoves your legs apart right away. He’s reluctant to remove his fingers, but he’s devastatingly hungry for your pussy on his tongue. He moves to the end of your bed and, just to make you shriek out a laugh, grabs you by the ankles and yanks you down, the fabric of your comforter turning into a sled toward his body. Then he smiles wide, shakes his head in disbelief, and praises, “You’re so gorgeous it’s almost offensive.”

You roll your eyes and fail to suppress a sweet, shy smile. “Thank you.”

Then he drops to his knees, muttering something about getting down to business. Reverently, he kisses and licks your inner thighs, going between sucking marks on your skin and soothing them with his tongue. Once he’s got you squirming and silently begging, he inhales your scent deeply, hovers close to your drenched sex, and groans, “I’ve been wondering how you taste for years. Can’t believe I finally get to find out.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He grins and ghosts the breath of his words across your clit, “And I bet you taste like heaven.”

The moment his tongue makes contact, you both moan. His vibrates up your spine, turning yours into more of a breathy gasp. He latches onto your clit, then, refusing to tease when he finally has exactly what he wants. Propped up on your elbows, you watch as he greedily devours you, eyes closed and face relaxed with rapture. You’ve never seen him look so stress-free. Like your pussy’s the one thing in the world that can silence his racing mind.

He might not admit it out loud, but that’s the truth. Your tartness on his tongue has his cock leaking through his boxers. He’s rutting against your mattress like a horny dog, imagining how ridiculously good it’s going to be to finally slip his cock inside of you. That dizzying goal combined with the perfection of your taste has him dialed in, focused on your pleasure more than he focuses on most procedures.

He curls one finger slowly inside of you, thrilled out of his fucking mind when you groan louder and buck your hips against his mouth for more. His hands are huge and they’ve always been an object of your secret lust. When he adds a second finger, there’s a slight sting, but it’s quickly eased by his tongue lapping at your clit, flat and confident and accompanied by rhythmic gentle sucking. The pace he sets is indulgent, the first course in a long meal he wants to savor every morsel of.

When Robby feels your orgasm starting to tighten, he slows down. Teases it out. His fingers turn from curling to massaging, firm and insistent against your G-spot like only a doctor could. He makes sure to spread them wide, scissoring them, letting your muscles clamp and stretch. When your wetness soaks into his beard, he finally pulls off, just lightly kissing your inner thighs and breathing you in.

Orgasm-hazy and needy, you manage to stammer out, “I have an IUD, by the way.”

He looks up from between your legs with a mischievously raised eyebrow. Fuck, hes so handsome with his lips all shiny from spit and wetness. “Are you trying to tell me to fuck you raw?”

After a second, you nod bashfully.

“That’s very good to know, kitten,” he praises warmly. Then he pushes his fingers back inside you and moves his mouth down toward your clit again.

Sounding whinier than you’ve ever heard yourself, you demand, “Michael, please, just fuck me. Need you.”

He kisses your clit tenderly, like he’s greeting an old friend, and tells you, sternly and with no room for debate, “I’ll fuck you when I’ve got you taking three of my fingers. You’ve gotta cum one more time.”

You thrash against his hand and groan, “Christ, I want you so bad. I can take it. I swear I can.”

Still curling his first two fingers back toward himself, he gives you a look so perfectly condescending it makes you clench around him. “Trust me, baby, I love your enthusiasm, and it’s taking a hell of a lot of effort to resist you, but I’ve had this dick long enough to know you need to be good and ready.” He kisses your inner thigh and presses his thumb to your clit, which starts to make your thoughts evaporate again. Then he assures you, “I promise I’m gonna fuck you so hard and so deep that you’re gonna forget anyone else has ever fucked you before. Got it?”

You stretch your arms up behind your head and sigh dreamily, “I guess I shouldn’t complain about having a boyfriend who insists on making me cum twice before he puts his dick in me.”

“Twice when I’m feeling selfish,” he corrects seriously. “This is me rushing to get inside of you. When I’m taking my time, I’ll get four or five out of you first – bring out some toys when my fingers get tired – so you’ll be gushing wet and making the dumbest little noises for me. Turn off that big beautiful brain of yours.”

“You say that like it’s a promise.”

“It is.”

And then he’s back to eating your pussy. You’re still so sensitive from your last orgasm that he goes agonizingly gently, just using the tip of his tongue light as a feather to tease you. He holds you tight to his face by the hips so you can’t squirm away, no matter how much the overwhelming pleasure makes you thrash against the mattress. It’s his fingers that keep you grounded to reality, sloppy wet and firm and knowing. It’s like the beginning of your residency when he guided you through everything slow and steady, paying special attention to you and your potential. He holds your pleasure in his hands with expert precision.

Your orgasm slams through you as soon as he adds the third finger, stretching you comfortably open and pushing you forward. He’s holding you up now, your legs on his shoulders as your back arches away from him and your hands try to find anywhere they can get purchase, tugging his hair and beard and scratching his shoulders as your thighs spasm and ache. Your moans are high and stupid, thoughtless as ecstasy spreads out in front of you.

But Robby doesn’t let up, fingers branding into your hips as his other hand keeps working you open through the brutal aftershocks. The brush of his beard against your sensitive flesh has you seeing stars. Tears sting at your waterline and his lips wrap around your clit harder than ever, refusing to give you any relief from the lingering orgasm that’s bordering on painful now. It’s only when your moans turn to gasps and your tears actually crest over onto your cheeks that he detaches.

Robby blows cool air on your pussy and rubs his thumbs tenderly over your outer thigh as he slowly withdraws his fingers. Your whole body shudders from the stimulation and you feel so fucking good it’s like you’re high on the drug of your newly minted boyfriend.

He gradually kisses up your hip, over your stomach, between your breasts, and then finally along your neck to your lips, where he softly sucks your lower lip and praises, “Good job, angel. You ready or can I bring you water or something?”

You kiss him back for a minute, lapping up the taste of yourself on his mouth. He still has his pants on but you can feel that his cock is agonizingly hard and straining against them. So you press your forehead to his, take a deep breath, and nod seriously. “I need you to fuck me.”

Robby grins, pupils dilating and heart slamming. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you saying that.”

“Probably about as many times as I’ve used a dildo and been disappointed it’s not your cock.” At your response, Robby laughs as he steps off the bed, rummaging through his discarded jacket. He pulls a small bottle of lube from one of the pockets and it makes you snicker. “You were that certain I’d fuck you?”

“Yeah, pretty damn sure.” Then he ditches the small talk, moving back to the edge of the bed like a lion and shoving your legs apart again. He uncaps the bottle and trains his gaze between your thighs. “There’s my greedy pussy. So pretty for me clenching around nothing. Fucking begging.” He squirts cold lube on your hot, overstimulated cunt and you hiss in a sharp breath that makes him chuckle darkly with arousal. “So sensitive, too. Fuck, you’re perfect. Need my cock, don’t you?”

You’re such a sniveling mess that you can’t even respond, just chasing your hips toward his cock to silently beg.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, stilling your hip with his hand and spreading your legs as wide as they can possibly go. He lines up the head of his cock with your weeping entrance, taking a second to memorize the image as he murmurs,  “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl. Don’t you worry. Just breathe for me.”

No amount of preparation could prepare you for the size of his cock. It doesn’t hurt because you’re ridiculously wet and he took his damn time, but the stretch is immense. Like sinking deeper into a yoga pose that makes you groan and curl your toes. A release. Your head snaps backwards and sweat beads on your forehead as he slowly, carefully, lovingly thrusts inside.

Robby touches your cheek and makes sure, “Is this okay? Not too much?”

You gaze up at him with eyes so full of love and lust Robby’s half-sheathed cock twitches inside the heat of your body. Unable to come up with anything else, you just whisper, “Perfect.”

Robby smirks and nods. He’d tell you how you fit him like a glove, how your wetness and tightness has him on the edge already, how you’re everything, but if he opened his mouth right now the string of high-pitched moans would be absolutely pathetic. So he leans down to kiss you, pushing your legs further back and up so he can fit himself between your hips. As his lips meet yours, you moan into the kiss, toes curling as his cock finally reaches into you as deep as he can, maybe three quarters of him piercing you.

Robby gradually draws his cock back and pushes forward again. With a trembling breath and a burning kiss, he groans, “God, you feel fucking incredible.”

Breathing hard, you grip his hair and nestle into the crook of his neck and cry, “So good, Michael. Your cock’s amazing. Like you were made for me. Feels incredible.”

His whole body shudders with pleasure and delight. “You can’t say things like that, baby.”

“Why not?”

He scoffs, one hand going down to play with your pebbled nipple. “I’d like to fuck you more than thirty seconds before I cum prematurely.”

That makes you bite your lower lip and eye him carefully. You file away ‘Robby totally has a praise kink’ for another day because you can’t put any coherent thoughts together as he manages to get deeper and deeper inside of you with every thrust. You didn’t even know your body could feel like this – loose, warm, brilliantly full. If he pulled out, you’d feel incomplete somehow. He’s christening a new version of you to the point that you’re starting to understand that whole ‘ruining you for other men’ thing. His cock is everything. It’s divine and electric at once, a symphony strumming from your cunt up your abdomen, rooted by his greedy hands on your tits and his mouth worshipping along your neck and collarbones.

Then he drops his thumb down to your clit.

You’re sparking toward another orgasm before you can even process the gesture. He grins into your neck as your back arches and your cunt clamps down. With your walls stretched so taut, each pulse of your pussy is sharp as a rubber band snapping, intense and vibrant. When you cum, you lose any control over your body, becoming something primal and raw and animal. Fingers digging into his flesh. Teeth sharp and violent over his shoulders. Legs locked around his ass. There aren’t any thoughts but the drunkenness of his touch, his body pressing down on yours, his claiming grasp everywhere. 

As you shatter into aftershocks, overstimulating and delicious, you’re being so loud, moans and slapping skin and gushing cunt, that Robby probably should slow his fucking or muffle your mouth, but he’s addicted to the sounds. It’s the litany of music from your body that has his balls tightening and him grunting, “Where do you want it?”

All you can do is tighten your thighs around him and stare up with lust-ridden eyes, whining almost constantly, a silent plea for what you want.

Robby holds your face by the jaw, keeping you trained forward to look right at him despite how glassy and dazed your expression is. “If you want me to cum inside of you, you’re gonna have to ask nicely.”

You nod slowly, trying to come up with words when your thoughts are sex-fueled molasses. It takes another few seconds for you to come up with one idea that rings true enough to break through the fog: “I’m yours, Michael. Please.”

“That’s right,” he growls, hands around your ankles to keep you in the mating press as he shoves deep inside of you, cum bursting forward. You watch, rapt, as his mouth falls open into a precious little O and his eyes pinch tight and his right hand smashes back onto the wall to keep him upright. “Fuck. Fuck.” He falls forward and kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance: Desperate and owning. His voice is broken and raspy. “God, I love you. I can’t believe you’re finally mine.”

You just whimper into his neck, wrapping your arms around him and easing your legs down as much as they can with his body still between them. Not so subtly kissing and licking his sweat, you murmur sweetly, “Love you, Michael. Will you stay the night?”

“Of course,” he replies easily. “Stay here; let me get you cleaned up and comfortable. Is it alright if I rummage around to get you something to drink too?”

You nod and hum happily, “You’re an angel.”

After pressing a few more kisses to your lips and cheeks and forehead, Robby stands up, stretches out his arms, chuckles to himself, and disappears into your kitchen and then your adjacent bathroom. You drift contentedly in the blissed-out cloud of your brain, eyes gently closed and limbs heavy, until he returns. You barely notice his presence until you feel a cool washcloth wiping the beading sweat from your forehead and chest and then trailing down between your legs. Robby listens to your heavy, even, satisfied breaths as he works, switching to massaging the bruises his rough hands have left over your hips and his greedy mouth left along your thighs.

Finally, he sits next to you on the bed and softly rubs your shoulder. “Drink some of this for me.”

“Mmm.”

You barely open your eyes as you take the chilled blue Gatorade from him, chugging down half of it before offering it back so that he can drink it too. Then he gives you a tangy bright kiss and says, “C’mon, I’m pretty sure it’s bedtime.”

With a big stretch of your arms over your head, you swing your legs off the bed, kiss him hard, and stand. He slips back into the bathroom as you grab a pair of shorts and tank top to put on after you’ve showered or at least cleaned up some.

“Jesus, sweetheart, you’ve got me looking like I went ten rounds with a boxer,” he whistles low from the bathroom. “You’re awfully cute for a vampire, you know that?”

“I’m sure the marks aren’t that bad,” you reply with an eye roll, joining him through the doorway. Under the real lights, though, you realize with horror that you’ve not only given him hickeys and bruises but you’ve broken his skin in more than one place – both with your teeth and with your nails. There are mean bites all around his neck and down his shoulders, scratches over his arms and upper back, beads of blood mingling among the marks. Tears spring up into your eyes when you realize you’ve caused him pain that he’s going to be carrying around for a week or more. “Oh my god, Michael, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Sorry?” He turns toward you with an adorably furrowed brow. “What in the ever living fuck are you sorry about?”

You rummage around the bathroom drawers for your first aid kit and sniffle, “I really hurt you.”

“Baby, baby, stop.” Robby snatches you back by the hips and pulls you up. “I’m gonna wear these as a badge of honor. You have any idea how good it feels to fuck a good girl so well she turns feral?”

You pout your lip as you try to suppress your smile. “At least let me look them over. Apply some topical antibiotics and bandaids.”

“I can take care of myself, sweetheart, they gave me a whole degree in topical antibiotics and bandaids,” he chuckles. “And you’re gonna have to get used to it. Now that I know how crazy you get, I fully expect to get these marks touched up more nights than not.”

“Michael,” you protest half-heartedly as he kisses you deeply, “the human mouth is a hotbed for for infections.”

He doesn’t stop smiling, though, tugging you into his body by the waist, his cock debating coming to light against your thigh. “Yeah, baby, I noticed your mouth is fucking filthy.”

“Robby, I’m serious, we need to clean the wound sites or-”

“Ohohoh,” he teases, “if you wanted to shower together, you could’ve just said that.”

You hum as you flip pancakes, pajamas hanging loosely from your body, Robby standing behind you lavishing kisses along the tops of your shoulder. The warmth of his shirtless body has kept you feeling so safe and cozy all night. When the door handle turns nearby, you startle slightly from the intrusion to your peace but don’t move.

Robby doesn’t either. He just shifts his weight so he can look over his shoulder at your roommate coming home. No point in pretending this won’t be a regular occurrence. He offers, trying sound kind and nonthreatening so she won’t get spooked like a rabbit again? “Morning, Dr. King, how was your shift?”

Mel stares at the two of you for about thirty seconds, computing and calibrating, before she just shrugs off her jacket, hangs it on the small coat rack, and replies, “Um, hi, Dr. Robby, it- it was good; finally checked off an emergent birth.”

“Good work,” he tells her earnestly; the first time delivering a baby on the ED floor is nothing short of terrifying. “Congratulations, kid.”

“Looks like I have some congratulating to do, too.” She beams and joins you both in the kitchen. “You two are finally happening? For real?”

“For real,” he confirms with a laugh as he realizes how much you must’ve vented to Mel over the years. “Took us long enough, I’d say.”

With Robby blocking the coffee maker, Mel just presents a mug to him. He fills it with a surprised nod, pleased to see her slightly more comfortable with his presence. She sighs out like she’s getting a massage, “God, this is such a relief for me. You have no clue how annoying she is about you, like, every night. Robby breathed on my neck and I almost passed out. Robby reached for the same suture kit as me. I had that sex dream about Robby again. It’ll be nice to go to bed earlier.”

You glare at Mel over your shoulder as you plate up a stack of pancakes. “You don’t have to make me look bad in front of my brand new boyfriend.”

“Trust me, baby,” he replies, turning to catch you in a quick kiss, “I’m twice as bad. I’m pretty sure Jack was getting ready to file a cease and desist because of how often I complained about not having you. Him and Samira are going to have to come up with a new couple to meddle with; I almost feel bad for them.”

Mel nervously asks, “Dr. Robinavitch, would you grab me the French vanilla creamer?”

“You can call me Michael, if you want.” He opens up the fridge, searches a second, and hands over the half-empty bottle. “Figure I should be on a first-name basis with my future wife’s maid of honor.”

You pour your own mug of coffee and give him a smirk. “Future wife, huh?”

“Mohan shared your ring Pinterest board with me when I left Jack’s to come here last night.” He kisses your cheek, beard scratchy and lovely, and murmurs, “The title being ‘Mrs. Robinavitch’ didn’t leave much to the imagination in terms of your intentions with me.”

Mel, absolutely grinning now as her happiness for her best friend bubbles over, giggles,  “Maybe I’ll start a betting pool for how long it’ll take.”

Robby gives her a conspiratorial wink that makes your heart sing. “Cut me in for half and I’ll help you cheat.”

This wasn’t random. Not by a long shot.

It was him. Your attending. The stubborn, overworked, infuriatingly competent man who makes unresolved emotional baggage look hot. The man you have to see in barely two hours.

A small, helpless sound escapes you as you roll onto your side again, squeezing your eyes shut.

This is a problem.

A very real, very immediate, absolutely unprofessional problem.

And yet, you still don’t move. You lie there too long, cheeks burning despite the fact that no one else can see what you’re replaying in your mind. Warmth lingers beneath your skin, pooling low in your belly as you let yourself remember every phantom touch. Every whispered word. The look in his eyes as he’d settled between your legs and—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

You bolt upright, your hand flying out to find your phone.

You’re still hot, still flushed and sticky. Still half-dreaming about Robby and his goddamn hands—but now? Now you’re late. Horribly late. Because that alarm isn’t your wake-up alarm—it’s your backup alarm. The one that goes off when it’s time for you to leave for work.

“Fuck!”

You throw the covers back and rush into the bathroom. You strip quickly out of your damp sleep shirt, tossing everything on the floor before stepping into the shower without even waiting for the water to warm. Which is exactly what you need, you remind yourself as you hiss beneath the cold spray.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing in front of the mirror in your black scrubs, trying to fix your hair and will the colour to drain from your cheeks. But it’s stubborn. Bright. Hot to the touch and utterly telling.

“Jesus Christ,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second too long.

A second you don’t have.

With a deep breath, you turn, grab your bag, and sling it over your shoulder, wondering whether running to the hospital might actually be quicker than your usual commute at this time. Traffic is never great—you never truly know which route will get you there fastest—but now you’re about to hit peak hour.

You spend the entire drive trying to think about literally anything other than the dream—patient charts, upcoming shifts, whether your stethoscope is in your bag or your locker—but your thoughts keep slipping sideways, traitorous and vivid.

So vivid.

Stop thinking about his hands.

Stop thinking about his voice.

Stop—

You groan softly and turn the radio up louder.

It doesn’t help.

By the time you pull into the hospital parking lot, you’re almost twenty minutes late. You slam your car door shut, hike your bag higher on your shoulder, and practically run toward the ER doors.

“Woah,” Donnie says, quickly stepping out of your way. “Someone’s in a hurry.”

You don’t reply. You just keep going until you hit central, then slow to a hurried walk—head down, eyes fixed on your feet, praying everyone is already too busy to notice you.

“You’re late,” Dana says.

You stop mid-step, more out of habit than intention.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I—”

“Shit, hon, you okay?” She steps around the desk, peering over her glasses. “You look like you’re burnin’ up.”

You step back before she can press a hand to your forehead.

“I’m fine, I swear.” You keep backing up. “Just my—my car’s A/C isn’t working and I’m a little warm. That’s all.”

You know she doesn’t believe you. This is Dana you’re talking to, not some brand-new, bright-eyed RN. Dana can see through any and all bullshit, and by the look on her face, she isn’t buying this at all.

“I’m fine,” you say again, forcing a smile before turning sharply on your heel.

Only to turn right into something solid.

Warm. Tall. Unmoving.

“Shit, I—”

You look up.

And your entire nervous system shuts down.

Dr. Robby.

“Sorry,” you blurt instantly, stepping back so fast you nearly trip over your own feet. “I didn’t see—I mean, I was looking, just not—”

His hand is still wrapped around your elbow, grounding you in place, and for one terrible second all you can think about is how close he is. How close he’d felt last night. How real it feels right now.

His eyebrows lift slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “You alright?”

“Yes,” you say too quickly. “Fine. Totally fine.”

You are not fine.

Your face feels nuclear, and you’re suddenly aware of everything at once—his height, his proximity, the way his sleeves are pushed up, the fact that he’s looking directly at you like he’s trying to figure something out.

His head tilts slightly.

“You’re late,” he says, not unkindly.

“I know.”

Neither of you move for a moment.

You can feel your pulse in your throat. Your chest. Lower.

“I—I’m gonna—”

You don’t even finish before you turn away, hurrying down the hall toward the lockers. Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire—and every thought in your head is so wildly inappropriate for where you are right now you feel like you might throw up.

“Damn.” Santos appears beside you, her eyes flicking between your face and the tablet in her hands. “Either you’re febrile or you just did something really embarrassing.” She tucks the tablet under her arm. “What gives?”

You shoot her a flat look as you key in the code to your locker. “Nothing gives. I’m fine.”

She snorts. “Sure. That tone is really selling it.”

You take a deep breath and turn toward your locker, shoving your bag inside before unzipping your jacket and shrugging off. You stuff that in too—then sling your stethoscope around your neck, shut the door, and turn back to your fellow R2.

She looks concerned now, brows drawn as her eyes track over your face and neck.

“You’re seriously flushed,” she says. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.” You turn and start walking back toward central. “Just running late, okay? Now can I start my shift before—” You stop yourself, his name catching somewhere in your chest. “Before I have an attending down my throat for slacking off?”

God. You could have chosen better words.

“Okay, whatever,” Santos mutters, holding her tablet out again. “Sorry for caring.”

She gives you a sarcastic little eye roll before veering off around the other side of the nurse’s station and ducking into one of the active patient rooms. You watch after her for a second before a voice across the room steals your attention.

He’s on the other side of central, nodding along while Mohan and Whitaker brief him on a patient—and looking entirely too hot for seven-thirty on a Monday morning beneath harsh fluorescent lights.

“Stop it,” you whisper to yourself, pausing at the nurse’s station to collect a tablet.

“Stop what?”

You startle, head snapping toward the man suddenly beside you.

“Jesus Christ, Dr. Abbot,” you sigh. “Are you trying to get me admitted for a heart attack?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You already look halfway there.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, I get it. I’m red and I’m sweaty—can everyone please stop commenting on it now?”

He chuckles. “Sorry. Didn’t realise you’d already been bullied about it.”

You sigh again and turn your attention to the board, tipping your head back to read it.

“Why are you still here, anyway?” you ask.

“Wanted to see my favourite resident,” he says. “You sure you don’t want to come back to nights?”

You huff a laugh through your nose. “I love you, Abbot, but nights aren’t for me.” You glance across the nurse’s station, where Dana and Robby are now discussing the latest incoming trauma. “I just miss Dana too much.”

Abbot snorts. “Dana?”

You look back at him. “Yes. Dana.”

Amusement flickers across his face. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you say, too quickly. “I mean, who—what else would—”

“Doctors,” Javadi interrupts, stepping in front of you both. “Sorry to interrupt, but could I get a second opinion on a patient in South Twenty-One, please?”

Abbot nods, glancing at you. “I’ll go. You settle in.” The corner of his mouth lifts a little higher. “Maybe check in with your attending.”

Then he turns and walks away with Javadi at his side.

You stare after him—eyes wide, pulse racing, wondering what the fuck he meant by all that.

You’ve always suspected Abbot might be a mind reader, but that? That was something else. Too knowing. Too dangerous. And now you need to figure out what the hell he thinks he knows.

“Doctor,” Perlah calls from behind the desk. “Could you check on Central Twelve? She’s still complaining of pain after morphine and Zofran.”

You turn to her, shaking your head as if that might knock your thoughts back into place. “Uh—yeah. Of course. Central Twelve, heading there now.”

She gives you a curious look, brows drawn, but you turn away before she can ask any more questions.

On your way to C12, you pull up the patient’s chart—seen by Whitaker about half an hour ago—and double-check the morphine and Zofran doses she received. You pause just outside the room, drawing a deep breath and reminding yourself that you are at work. You don’t have time to be flustered. You don’t have time to worry about what Jack Abbot may or may not know. And you definitely don’t have time to obsess over the imaginary rasp of Robby’s beard against your thigh that you can somehow still feel.

When you push the door open and step inside, you’re the picture of professionalism. You offer the patient a polite smile, introduce yourself, and start the routine checks that feel more like second nature than work.

After the exam and a brief conversation, you order two more milligrams of morphine, review the labs Whitaker sent, and make a note to check back in fifteen minutes. Then, still intent on avoiding your attending, you bury your nose in your tablet and move on to the next patient waiting in South Sixteen.

Pressure-like chest pain. Diaphoretic, no shortness of breath. Initial ECG normal. Labs pending.

“Alright, Mr. Mullens,” you say, squirting a pump of sanitiser into your palm. “We’re going to get some scans done so we can get a better idea of what’s going on. If the pain gets worse before then, let us know.”

The man nods. “Thank you, Doc.”

You smile, stepping out into the hallway. “I’ll be back soon to check in.”

As soon as you turn around, you look for Robby, making sure you’re not about to run into him again. Literally.

You spot him all the way across central, walking with Santos toward the North hallway. Good. You’re safe. And if all goes well, maybe you’ll manage to avoid him for the entire day. Maybe you won’t have to come face to face with the face you can still see buried between your legs.

Fuck.

Your pulse kicks, heart beating too fast as you remember the way his eyes had watched you in your dream. It’s almost too much. Even the phantom memory of it is making you breathless.

God. If it ever actually happened, you might pass out.

“Why would you even think of that?” you mutter to yourself, stopping at the nurse’s station.

When you finally look up, Perlah and Princess are watching you closely, speculation sparkling in their eyes.

“Sobrang pula ng mukha niya,” Perlah murmurs.

Princess nods. “Hindi lagnat ’yan.”

Perlah lowers her voice even more. “Sa tingin mo ba may kinalaman ito sa crush niya?”

They both laugh quietly, turning away from you as if it isn’t you they’re gossiping about.

“Malinaw,” Princess says.

You give them both a tight smile before glancing up at the board, searching for something suitably distracting and far away from nosy nurses and unfairly attractive attendings.

You’re just about to head back toward the South hallway when a gurney crashes through the ambulance bay doors.

“Trauma Two!” Dana calls. “Robby!”

Abbot is already moving, meeting the paramedics halfway and guiding the gurney toward T2.

He points at you as he walks. “With me.”

“Shit,” you mutter, dropping your tablet on the desk and jogging over.

“Thirty-two-year-old male, MVC, restrained driver,” the paramedic says. “Front-end collision, airbags deployed. No LOC. Increasing shortness of breath during transport. Breath sounds decreased left side.”

“Let’s get him on monitor,” Abbot says, moving to stand opposite you at the head of the bed. “On my count.”

Robby steps in at your side, like he always does—close enough that you feel him before you see him.

His arm brushes yours.

Your stomach flips.

Focus.

“One. Two. Three,” Abbot counts.

You transfer the patient from gurney to trauma bed, and Santos starts cutting away clothes.

“Two large-bore IVs,” Abbot tells Jesse. “Trauma labs. Portable chest X-ray.” Then he looks at you, brows raised. “Breath sounds?”

“Oh—uh—” You fumble with your stethoscope, pressing it to each side of the patient’s chest. “Diminished on the left.”

You reach for the patient’s neck, fingers steady despite the noise around you.

“Trachea midline.”

Abbot nods, then turns to Santos. “Let’s get ultrasound.”

“BP holding?” Robby asks.

The sound of his voice sends goosebumps racing along your arms—and you shiver before you can stop yourself.

“Pressure’s 118 over 76,” Jesse replies. “Stable.”

Robby glances at you, brows drawn. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, without looking up. “Never better.”

“Absent lung sliding on the left,” Santos announces.

“Likely pneumothorax,” Abbot says, looking at Robby.

“Sats dropping,” Jesse calls. “Eighty-nine.”

Robby nods once. “Okay. We’re putting in a chest tube.”

“Chest tube tray. Twenty-eight French. Left side,” Abbot orders.

You try to move out of the way, but Robby’s hand catches your elbow—and you can’t help but look up. His dark eyes meet yours with an intensity you’ve never noticed before, and suddenly your lungs forget how to work.

“You’re up,” he says. “I’ll walk you through it.”

You know there’s no time to argue. You know you can’t. Shouldn’t. This is your job. And it’s not like you could say no to this man even if you wanted to.

You swallow. “Okay.”

Robby nods, then looks at Jesse. “Alright, let’s get some lido. Sutures ready. Hook up suction.”

You turn back to the patient, watching Abbot position the left arm above his head while Jesse preps the area—chlorhexidine swab, sterile drape. The rustle of sterile gowns and the snap of gloves fill the room as you pull on your own and push a pair of protective glasses up your nose. Then you grab the lidocaine from the tray and lean over the patient’s left side, steadying your hand as you guide the needle in.

The room is quieter now—save for the steady beeping of the monitors—chaos narrowing into focus as everyone watches you sink the needle into the patient’s skin.

“A little deeper,” Robby murmurs.

Your breath catches, but your hands stay steady.

You can feel him just behind you, leaning close, his warmth bleeding through your scrubs and setting your whole body on fire.

“Now find the rib,” he instructs. “Stay above it.”

You discard the needle onto the tray and start feeling ribs, counting down until you find the space.

“Scalpel,” you say, refusing to take your eyes off the spot your fingers found.

Jesse places the scalpel in your hand, and without hesitation, you cut a three-centimetre incision.

“Good,” Robby murmurs.

Your pulse thrums beneath your skin.

“Clamp,” you say, your voice almost breaking.

Jesse takes the scalpel from your hand, replacing it with a curved clamp.

You insert the clamp, pushing past muscle layers, and begin to spread. It feels forceful. Too much. Invasive, even though you know this is exactly what you’re supposed to do.

Robby steps closer. “Commit to it.”

His hand covers yours to adjust the angle, add pressure—until you feel the pop. And it takes every ounce of your self-control not to react. Not to whimper at the very normal, very professional way your attending is guiding you right now.

“Now sweep,” he says, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.

You insert your finger into the space, confirming entry into the pleural cavity and checking for adhesions—then nod. You don’t dare turn your head as you hold your hand out for the tube. He’s too close, too warm. You can smell the faint scent of soap on his skin even over the antiseptic and metallic tang in the air.

“Inserting tube,” you say, more to yourself than anyone else.

You start guiding the tube in—slow and controlled—feeling every millimetre of movement.

Until it stops.

Too much resistance.

“Up,” Robby says, his hand covering yours again. “Aim higher.”

He adjusts your wrist slightly, guiding the pressure.

You swallow hard and nod, hoping no one else can hear your uneven breathing—but knowing Robby definitely can.

He helps you apply more pressure, firmer now, angle corrected, and the tube starts moving again.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl. Keep going.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Heat floods your face. Your chest. Lower.

His voice echoes from your dream. Breathless. Panting. Words whispered against your skin.

Fuck. Now is not the time.

You tighten your grip on the tube and push.

Then—

A rush of air.

“Air return,” Abbot says, a hint of pride in his tone. “Now secure it.”

Robby steps back, and you hear the snap of his gloves coming off.

“O2 sats climbing,” he announces.

“Cool,” Santos says, grinning at Abbot’s side. “I’m doing the next one.”

You barely look up. You can’t. Your whole face feels like it’s on fire. You've never blushed this hard before. You’ve never been this hot in your life. And you’ve definitely never been this horny in the goddamn trauma bay.

“You good to finish up?” Robby asks Abbot.

Abbot nods.

From the corner of your eye, you see Robby step toward the door, glancing over his shoulder with a small, impressed smile.

“Nice work, Doctor.”

You don’t reply. You just nod, lips twitching with a soft smile as you keep your eyes on the patient.

As soon as you finish suturing and securing the tube, you step back, tearing off your gown and gloves as if that’ll somehow give you a reprieve from the heat beneath your skin. Jesse takes your place beside the patient, nodding along to Abbot’s orders while he and Kim start cleaning up.

You shove your gown, gloves, and glasses into the biohazard bin and head for the door without looking back—which is exactly why you don’t notice Santos trailing you.

“That was so cool,” she says, startling you.

“Jesus,” you mutter. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

She frowns. “Sneak? I was right behind you. It’s not my fault you’re all weird and jumpy today.”

“I’m not—” You glance across central to make sure Robby isn’t somewhere in your path to the ambulance bay. “I’m not weird and jumpy.”

Santos scoffs. “Right. And I’m not behind on my charting.”

You don’t bother arguing with her. You just keep walking—and she follows. All the way through the ER and out to the ambulance bay, where you stop just before the curb and draw a deep breath. It isn’t nearly as refreshing as you’d hoped, but a break from the fluorescents is always welcome.

“Okay,” she says, folding her arms. “What is with you today? You’re never this off. I’ve seen you perform procedures you’d only read about without a single assist from the attending. And I know you’ve done a chest tube before.”

You don’t answer. You don’t even look at her. You just tip your head back and stare at the roof of the ambulance bay, wondering whether it might collapse and save you from this conversation.

“And on that note,” she goes on, “Dr. Robby knows you’ve done a chest tube before, so why the hell was he being so patient? I swear he’s got a soft spot for you. Javadi pointed it out a few weeks ago and I honestly don’t know how I missed it. I mean—has he ever yelled at you?”

You finally look at her, brows drawn. “I—uh—no, I don’t think so.”

“Exactly,” she says, stepping closer. “And please tell me I heard wrong, but did he say good girl to you back there?”

As soon as she says it, your cheeks burn with renewed intensity. You can feel your heart in your throat, beating out of rhythm and way too fast for someone who is definitely not in a life-or-death situation.

And Santos notices—because of course she does.

Her eyes go wide. “Oh my God. This totally has something to do with Dr. Robby.”

“Shut up,” you mutter. “It’s not—”

You stop yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and pinching the bridge of your nose.

Santos isn’t going to let this go. You know her. She’s too inquisitive, too nosy, and there’s not nearly enough chaos today to distract her.

“Okay, fine,” you sigh, looking up, face burning. “I had a sex dream about him and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

She stares at you for a second.

“A sex dream?”

You nod miserably.

Her mouth twitches—then she snorts.

Not a polite laugh. A full, startled snort she tries—and fails—to muffle behind her hand.

“Oh my God,” she says. “I knew you had a thing for him, but a sex dream?”

“Would you stop saying it?” you hiss, glancing nervously around the empty ambulance bay.

She laughs a little harder. “Was he good?”

“Oh my God,” you mutter, dropping your head into your hands. “I regret everything.”

“Hey,” she says, still laughing as she drops a hand on your shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure he’d go there if you asked.”

Your head snaps up. “If I asked?”

She shrugs. “Why not shoot your shot?”

“Because he’s my boss!”

“He’s your attending,” she says. “Technically, Dr. Underwood is your boss. Dr. Robby just supervises you.”

You shut your eyes again and draw a deep breath, trying to steady your pulse.

“Okay,” you say, squaring your shoulders. “I’m done with this conversation. I’m going back to work, and you’re not telling anyone what I just told you. Okay?”

She mimes zipping her lips. “I’m a vault, I swear.”

You nod. “Good.”

Then you turn and start walking back inside, trying not to conspicuously check for Robby on your way to the nurse’s station. Santos is still at your heels, still wearing an amused grin as if your humiliation is her exact brand of humour.

“One more question,” she says, stopping beside you as you grab another tablet from the rack.

You sigh. “What?”

She leans in. “Did he say ‘good girl’ in the dream too?”

Your pulse jumps.

“Goodbye, Dr. Santos,” you say, turning quickly on your heel.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” she calls after you.

You ignore her, turning toward S16 to check on your chest pain patient.

“Hey, Mr. Mullens,” you say as you push back the curtain. “How are you feeling?”

The older man sits up a little. “I’m okay.”

“Good.” You pull up his chart on your tablet. “The pain hasn’t gotten any worse?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“That’s good to hear,” you say, quickly flicking through his lab results. “Your first labs look reassuring, but we’ll repeat them in a couple of hours just to be safe.”

You glance up, and he nods.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

You smile softly. “If the pain gets worse, or if you start having trouble breathing, press the call button.”

“Will do.”

You offer him one last nod before tucking your tablet under your arm and squirting a pump of sanitiser into your palm as you exit the room.

The second you step into the hall, you take a deep breath, finally feeling like your lungs remember how to work. Like your pulse might finally be settling into something resembling a normal rhythm. Like maybe—just maybe—you can survive the day if you stay distracted with work long enough not to think about last night.

About his voice—low and rough in your ear, whispering something you can’t quite remember.

Except the way it made your spine arch.

Or the moment he’d braced his hands on either side of you, his head dipping just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath before he—

“Doctor.”

You jerk slightly, heat rushing straight back into your face as the memory evaporates.

“Sorry—what?”

Whitaker, now standing in front of you, clears his throat. “Nothing. I just—you looked a little out of it.”

You shake your head and turn toward central. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m a little off today.”

He nods, falling into step beside you. “Santos mentioned.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Santos mentioned what?”

“Just that you were out of it today,” he says quietly, staring at the floor.

You stare at him. “And?”

He shrugs, but it’s stiff. “And nothing.”

You stop at the nurse’s station and drop your tablet on the desk.

“I swear to God, Whitaker, if she told you—”

“She didn’t tell me anything,” he says, clearly panicked now. “I—I’ve got to go check on a patient.”

Then he’s gone, hurrying off toward the South hallway.

Fuck.

You told Santos barely ten minutes ago and she’s already told Whitaker?

So much for being a vault.

“What’d I tell you about swearin’ on God, little lady?” Dana asks, peering over her glasses from the other side of the desk.

You sigh, resting both forearms on the counter. “Sorry. Rough morning.”

“Tell me about it,” she says, glancing down at her tablet. “Sprained ankle in North Four wants an MRI and a wheelchair escort to the parking lot. Psych hold in B2 tried to climb out the bathroom window. Ogilvie ordered the wrong labs and blamed the computer. And someone—” she pauses, squinting toward where McKay is assessing a patient, “—keeps leaving half-empty coffee cups everywhere like we’re running a café instead of an emergency department.”

You huff a quiet laugh.

“And we’re only on hour two,” she adds, looking back up at you.

“Lucky us,” you mutter.

She sets her tablet down and slides her glasses off, folding them into the breast pocket of her scrubs.

“What’s with you, hm?” She leans in. “First you’re late, then you run out of trauma like you’re about to pass out. That’s not like you, kid.”

You shrug. “Just a little off today.”

She watches you for a second, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. She’s not stupid. She knows there’s more to it than that—but Dana isn’t the type to push.

She hums quietly.

“Alright,” she says. “I’ll pretend I believe that.”

You give her a small, appreciative smile as you push off the counter. “Love you, Dana.”

She just shakes her head, the corner of her mouth lifting as she glances back down at her tablet. “Yeah? Then check on North Four for me and see if you can get ‘em discharged.”

You nod. “North Four, on it.”

You start to turn away, then stop yourself and swivel back toward her.

“Hey—uh—is Abbot still here?” you ask.

“No, he left right after the MVC trauma,” she replies without looking up.

“Oh.”

“Why? You need him?” she asks. “I’m sure whatever you need, Dr. Robby can—”

“No,” you say quickly. “Nope. I’m good. Totally fine. Don’t need anything at all.”

You hug your tablet to your chest and start turning away again.

“Everything’s fine!”

You don’t dare look back. You just keep walking toward the North hall, completely missing the sceptical look Dana sends after you—and the confused look on Robby’s face as he glances between the two of you.

On your way to N4, you pull your phone out of your pocket and tap on Dr. Abbot’s contact, typing quickly.

So much for saying goodbye to your favourite resident.

Then you hit send and tuck your phone back into your pocket.

You’re not actually offended. Not really. This is the ER. People barely have time to finish a sentence, let alone say goodbye.

You’re just… nervous.

Nervous because Abbot thinks he knows something—and you need to figure out what that is before he decides to say something to Robby and make this whole situation infinitely worse.

You stop outside N4 and take a deep breath—your hundredth deep breath of the morning. You can do this. This is the easy part. The patients. The work. The familiarity of what you do every day. You just need to focus on this for the next twelve hours and definitely not the way you can still feel the weight of his hand on your hip, steady and certain, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he—

“Nope,” you tell yourself out loud. “Absolutely not. Focus.”

You shake your head as you step into the room and slide the curtain back, greeting the patient with your practiced mask of cool, calm, and collected. You manage to convince them they don’t need an MRI, since their ankle is only sprained, but you do get Ahmad to escort them out in a wheelchair—and now you owe him ten bucks and a bagel tomorrow morning.

Then you move on to the next patient. And the next.

The next few hours pass by in a blur of minor catastrophes. A migraine that melts away with the standard cocktail of Toradol, Reglan, and Benadryl. A Lego piece extracted from a three-year-old’s nose while Whitaker distracts the squirming patient. Three stitches in the eyebrow of a man who swears he doesn’t drink before 10AM—even though you can smell the alcohol on his breath. An overworked woman with chest pain that turns out to be a panic attack. A teenager with a swollen knee and a devastated look on his face when you suggest he might be benched for the rest of the season.

And at half past noon, you step into C9. Mid-thirties, right lower quadrant abdominal pain, nausea, mild fever—what you can already guess is appendicitis.

“Hi, Ms. Park, how are you feeling?” you ask, squirting a pump of sanitiser into your palm.

She winces. “Not so good.”

“It says here you’re having abdominal pain, nausea, and a bit of a fever,” you say. “When did that start?”

She nods. “Early this morning. Four, maybe.”

You set your tablet on the cart, grab a pair of gloves, and drag a stool beside the bed. “Mind if I take a look at your abdomen so I can get a better idea of what’s going on?”

She nods and tips her head back against the pillow, hands falling either side as you start palpating her lower abdomen. It doesn’t take more than a few presses for her to hiss and lift a hand, trying to push you away.

“Sorry,” she says, voice strained. “It hurts a lot.”

“That’s okay.” You scoot back and rise from the stool, peeling off your gloves. “I’m going to order a CT scan to take a better look, and we’ll give you something for the pain and something for the nausea in the meantime.”

You step around the bed and grab your tablet off the cart.

“A nurse will come in shortly to start fluids too,” you add. “You’re probably a little dehydrated if you haven’t been able to eat or drink much this morning.”

She looks at you with wide eyes. “I don’t know if I want a CT. Isn’t that a lot of radiation?”

“It’s a relatively small amount,” you reply evenly, “and it’s the best way for us to see what’s going on inside your abdomen. I can assure you, it’s very safe.”

“I try to avoid unnecessary radiation,” Ms. Park argues, shifting uncomfortably. “Is there another option?”

“Ultrasound can sometimes help, but it’s not always reliable in adults,” you say. “A CT scan will give us the clearest answer.”

She hesitates, eyes dropping to her lap. “Well—could I please speak to the doctor in charge?”

You open your mouth to reply when someone steps in beside you. Tall. Solid. Close enough to make your pulse skip and your stomach take a nosedive.

“You are,” Robby says, arms folded. “She’s the physician managing your care right now, so we’ll follow her recommendation.”

You step to the side, nearly tripping over nothing, clutching your tablet to your chest.

“Uh—Dr. Robby, this is Ms. Park,” you say quickly. “Thirty-five, right lower quadrant pain since early this morning. Nausea, no vomiting, low-grade fever at triage. Tenderness at McBurney’s point. I’ve ordered labs and a CT abdomen to rule out appendicitis.”

Robby nods once. “That sounds appropriate.”

Ms. Park sighs.

“Alright,” she says, a little more pleasantly now. “If that’s what you recommend.”

She doesn’t even look at you as she says it—her eyes stay fixed on Robby, softening in a way that makes you briefly consider poking her appendix again.

Not that you can blame her.

Your gaze flicks to Robby, wondering if he’s noticed the sudden change in demeanour—or the way she’s practically making heart eyes at him.

But he isn’t looking at Ms. Park.

He’s looking at you.

You clear your throat, quickly glancing back down at your tablet. “Uh—that’s good. Great. I’ll finish the orders now, and a nurse will be by shortly with some pain relief.”

Ms. Park gives you a brief nod before turning back to Robby with a smile that makes you want to roll your eyes. Robby just nods, squirts a pump of sanitiser into his hand, then steps out of the room—and you try not to follow too closely.

You slide the curtain shut before turning into the hall, half expecting Robby to be gone—but he isn’t. He’s still standing there, holding his tablet in one hand while the other scrubs at his jaw in that mildly anxious way it always does.

“Nice work in there,” he says without looking up.

Heat floods your face.

“Thanks,” you say with a tight smile. “And thanks for backing me up.”

He glances at you over the top of his glasses.

“You had it handled.”

You clutch your tablet to your chest. “Well—uh—thanks anyway.”

Then, before you completely lose the ability to function, you turn on your heel and start down the hall—but not fast enough to miss Dana’s voice.

“Careful, Robinavitch,” she says dryly. “You’re hovering.”

“I supervise,” Robby mutters.

Dana hums.

“Uh-huh. I’ll pretend I believe that.”

Hovering?

You tighten your grip on your tablet as you hurry down the South hall, pretending you know where you’re headed.

Robby wasn’t hovering. He was just doing his job. Right?

He hovers around every resident and med student.

It’s not like he was—

You shake your head.

No—Dana’s just teasing. It’s her thing. It’s practically her love language.

You stop short when you reach the end of the hall. Elevator ahead. Restrooms to your right.

Nowhere else to go.

“You okay, Doctor?” McKay asks, stepping out of the ladies’ room.

You blink. “Uh—yeah, I just—”

You’re not sure what excuse to use now—standing in the middle of the hall, staring at the elevator, white-knuckling your tablet like you’re one bad patient away from a psychotic break.

“You look like you’re buffering,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Why don’t you take a break?”

You shake your head. “I don’t need a break.”

Her brows lift as she gently places a hand on each of your shoulders, turning you back the other way. “Alright. Well, why don’t you go sit down and catch up on your charting?”

She starts guiding you slowly back up the hall.

“Charting,” you echo, a faint frown forming between your brows. “Yeah. That’s a good idea, actually. I haven’t done much all day.”

She nods. “See? I’m full of good ideas. And you are seriously concerning me today.”

You give her a look. “I’m fine. Everyone is just being—”

“Caring?” she offers.

You roll your eyes. “Overbearing.”

She shakes her head, laughing quietly as she steers you toward the nurse’s station.

“Here,” she says, pulling out a chair in front of a vacant computer. “Sit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you mutter, dropping down at the desk.

She steps behind you, pushes the chair in, then leans over your shoulder.

“Good girl,” she murmurs.

Your entire spine locks.

“What was that?”

McKay straightens, already grinning.

“Charting,” she says lightly, tapping the monitor. “Try it.”

“But—you just—”

She laughs under her breath, already backing away.

“Finish your notes, doctor. You don’t want to have to stay late.”

Then she’s gone, shaking her head again as she disappears back toward triage.

You sit there for a few seconds longer than you should, staring after her while your brain desperately tries to reboot.

“Fucking Santos,” you mutter, finally turning back to the computer.

“You called,” Santos says, appearing on the other side of the desk.

Your eyes snap up. “You.”

Her brows lift. “Me?”

“Yes,” you snap. “You’ve been telling people.”

She tries—and fails—to suppress a smile.

“Not technically.” She leans forward, resting both forearms on the counter. “I only told Huckleberry, but McKay overheard. Can you blame me, though? It’s the most interesting thing to happen around here today.”

“Yes,” you hiss. “I can blame you. And I will blame you if—”

You stop, your eyes flicking past her to where Robby has just stepped out of C8, chart in hand and head bowed. Santos frowns for a second before following your gaze over her shoulder.

She snorts. “Oh my God. You can’t even function.”

“Who can’t function?” Whitaker asks, stepping up beside Santos.

You drop your head into your hands and sigh. “Great. They’re multiplying.”

Santos leans closer. “Hey, what’s the song that plays in your head whenever he walks past? Is it, like, SexyBack, or more… Like a Prayer?”

Whitaker snorts softly, his cheeks turning pink.

You glare at Santos. “Neither.”

“You’re right.” She nods thoughtfully. “I can practically hear the Careless Whisper sax playing in your mind right now.”

Your eyes go wide as you snatch a pen off the desk and lob it straight at her—but she dodges it easily.

“Wow,” she says, still laughing. “I’m on fire today.”

“Is that so, Dr. Santos?”

You recognise the voice before you even see him—because of course you do. You dream about that voice.

“That would mean you’ve caught up on all your charting and discharged your patient in North One?” Robby asks as he steps up beside Santos.

Her grin drops. “Uh—yeah. Actually, I was just on my way to North One.”

Her eyes slide back to you as she pushes away from the desk, lips pressed tight to keep herself from laughing.

“Dr. Whitaker,” Robby says. “Are you hovering?”

Hovering?

Whitaker glances up. “Oh—uh—no. I was just finishing some orders.”

“Good. You can finish them on your way to discharging South Twenty.”

Whitaker nods, barely even glancing at you as he grabs his tablet off the desk and turns toward the South hall.

Then Robby looks at you, holding up the pen you threw at Santos.

Your pulse stutters.

“Think you lost this,” he says, leaning forward to drop it on the desk.

“I threw it,” you blurt.

He hesitates, the corner of his mouth twitching before he turns away.

“I know.”

You watch him go until he turns a corner and disappears—then you look down at the pen.

“Fuck,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I need today to end.”

You slide the pen aside and force your attention back to the computer—to the cursor blinking patiently beside the single word you’d managed to write since sitting down.

Right.

Charting.

You manage exactly four more words before you’re interrupted again—something about your abdominal pain patient in Central Nine.

With a sigh, you push away from the desk, grab your tablet, and head for C9.

After confirming Ms. Park does indeed need an appendectomy and contacting Garcia for a surgical consult, Dana stops you in the hall to ask if Mr. Mullens can be discharged from South Sixteen. Then Javadi grabs you to present a calf laceration that you end up supervising while she sutures it, and after that Whitaker calls you in for a second opinion on a dizziness patient in North Five.

The hours start to blur together. You bounce from one room to another, just barely finishing your notes in between patients and med students and reviewing labs. By the time you finally make it back to the desk again, you’ve almost—almost—forgotten about why your heart is still beating a little too fast.

“Back to charting?” Princess asks.

You nod. “The never-ending task.”

She gives you the same quiet, speculative smile she gave you this morning.

“You seem off today,” she says.

“I’m fine,” you mutter. “Just tired.”

“And red,” she adds before turning away.

You frown, pressing a hand to your ridiculously hot cheek as you turn back toward the computer. If this keeps up, you’re more likely to end the shift as a patient than a doctor.

With a small sigh, you scoot your chair closer to the desk and pull the chart back up. Your eyes flick to the corner of the screen, to the little clock telling you that you only have a few hours left. A few hours to finish your charting, discharge a couple more patients, and keep avoiding Dr. Robby. Then you’re free. Then you’ve got at least eight solid hours to sort yourself out before you’re back here tomorrow.

Just as you position your fingers over the keyboard to start typing, your phone vibrates in your pocket—and your pulse jumps.

Abbot.

You quickly pull it out, swipe up, and open the notification.

Sorry. Too busy mourning the loss of my status as your favourite attending.

Your stomach drops.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

You stare at the text for an unreasonable length of time—heart pounding, face burning, thoughts racing. Abbot definitely thinks he knows something. Something he shouldn’t know. Something he’s probably very wrong about. Something you need to figure out and shut down immediately.

Before he decides to say something to Robby about whatever it is he thinks he knows.

“Hey,” Dana says, stopping on the other side of the desk. “Thought you were working?”

You clear your throat. “Uh—yeah. Sorry. Got distracted.”

Her brows lift. “Distracted, huh? That’s exactly what we want in emergency medicine.”

Then she shakes her head and walks away.

You tuck your phone into your pocket and turn your attention back to the chart in front of you. The chart of exactly five words—the first of many unfinished charts standing in your way of going home on time.

And today is not a day you want to stay back.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard again, eyes flicking over the few words already written. It takes a minute—probably longer than it should—but eventually you remember how to do your job and start typing.

The ER fades into background noise—monitors beeping, nurses chatting, the rumble of beds rolling past—and for the first time all day, you feel focused. Steady. Until—

“Robby,” Dana calls, “can you come over here for a sec?”

Your fingers slow over the keys—and against your better judgment, you glance up.

“Mrs. Alvarez,” Robby says fondly. “What brings you here?”

Your brows draw together as you study the older woman sitting on the bed. She looks familiar, and Alvarez rings a bell, but you can’t quite place it.

“Perlah,” you say, without fully looking away from the woman. “Who’s Mrs. Alvarez?”

“She used to work here,” Perlah replies. “She was the night shift charge nurse before Lena. Partially retired a couple years ago, but she’s covered a shift or two since then.”

You tilt your head. “Oh.”

“She probably asked for Robby,” Princess chimes in. “She always had a soft spot for him.”

Perlah tries to muffle her laughter. “Katulad ng ibang kakilala natin.”

Princess laughs behind you, but the sound barely registers. You’re too captivated by the scene unfolding in front of you. The very normal, very professional interaction that is hardly out of place in an ER—yet for some reason, it feels like you’re watching an adult film made specifically for you.

Mrs. Alvarez’s bed is parked up against the wall—a sight that would normally remind you to look for patients to discharge, but right now that’s the furthest thing from your mind.

Robby has pulled a stool up beside her, leaning in while she talks, forearms resting loosely on the bed rail. He nods along as she explains what’s wrong, his expression soft, his posture relaxed. There’s absolutely nothing obscene about it—but your pulse is still racing.

There’s just something about the way he listens—really listens—that makes it difficult to look anywhere else. That makes it difficult not to envy Mrs. Alvarez right now.

“Let’s take a listen,” he says after a moment, voice low and steady.

Your stomach does a strange little flip.

It’s such a normal sentence. Completely harmless. Totally professional. You’ve probably said the same thing yourself at least three times today. But hearing it in that voice—calm, warm, just rough enough at the edges to carry across the department—does something deeply unhelpful to your concentration.

He slips the stethoscope from around his neck, the tubing sliding through his fingers with the kind of easy familiarity that only comes from years of doing the same motion over and over again. The movement is quick, practiced, almost absentminded.

Still, your eyes follow it.

They follow the way he leans forward, one hand bracing lightly against the mattress while the other presses the diaphragm of the stethoscope gently against Mrs. Alvarez’s chest.

“Deep breath for me.”

Your pulse stutters.

Because suddenly—unhelpfully, vividly—you remember exactly how those hands felt in the dream.

The same steady fingers. The same calm voice, dropped just a little lower when he leaned close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath near your ear.

His hand had been wrapped around your wrist—firm but careful—guiding your hand above your head and pinning it against the pillow.

“Hold still,” he murmured.

The memory is sharp enough that for a second you can almost feel it again. The weight of his body pressing into the space between your knees, the quiet authority in his voice when he spoke, the way his fingers tightened against your skin just enough to keep you right where he wanted you.

Your hands had curled into the bed sheets as his lips traced the line of your jaw, his voice dropping again—softer now, almost thoughtful.

“Look at me.”

Your breath had caught in your throat when you did.

Because he was watching you the same way he watches patients—calm, focused, completely absorbed—except the attention felt different in the dream. Slower. Heavier. Like he was studying every reaction you gave him and deciding exactly how much more you could handle.

Your pulse had started racing the second his gaze dropped to your mouth.

It wasn’t subtle.

Just a brief shift of his eyes—thoughtful, almost curious—but the heat that followed it made your stomach tighten.

His thumb found its way back to your jaw, tracing slowly along the curve of it as if he were considering something. Following the line of your chin as he tipped your head back just slightly beneath his hand.

You hadn’t realised you’d stopped breathing until his fingers stilled.

“Breathe,” he said quietly.

The word brushed over your lips.

You remember the way your chest rose when you obeyed him—slow, unsteady—and the way his gaze followed the movement before drifting back to your mouth again.

God.

The corner of his mouth had lifted slightly then, like he’d noticed exactly what he was doing to you.

Like he wasn’t in any hurry to stop.

His hand slid from your jaw to the side of your throat, fingers warm against your skin, thumb resting just beneath your chin as if he were holding you there—not tightly, just enough that you stayed exactly where he wanted you.

And the entire time he watched you with that same quiet concentration.

Like this was just another thing he was very, very good at.

“Hey,” Santos says, appearing beside the desk. “Your abdominal pain in C9 just went upstairs.”

You blink at her. “Already?”

She shrugs. “Garcia signed off.”

You nod once, shifting awkwardly in your chair as you turn back toward the computer, trying very hard to ignore the heat pooling low in your belly.

“You good?” Santos asks, as if you haven’t been asked that enough today.

You clear your throat, eyes flicking briefly back to Robby and Mrs. Alvarez. “Yeah. Fine.”

She follows your gaze, the corner of her mouth twitching.

“Wow,” she says. “You’re down bad.”

You glare at her. “I’m charting.”

“You’re drooling.”

You quickly lift a hand to your mouth, swiping at the corner.

Santos smirks. “Metaphorically.”

“Fuck you,” you mutter.

“Fuck who?” Whitaker asks, appearing beside Santos.

Santos grins. “Well, it depends who you’re asking, because if you ask—”

“Santos,” you warn.

She laughs. “Come on. It’s just a joke.”

“Isang biro?” Princess says, smiling. “Walang nakakatawa sa paraan ng pagtitig niya kay Robby.”

Your stomach drops.

You might not understand Tagalog, but you sure as hell know what that last word was.

“Santos,” you say, slowly rising from your chair. “How many people have you told?”

She presses her lips together sheepishly. “Again, technically? Just Huckleberry.”

“And—and I haven’t told anyone,” Whitaker adds quickly.

“Ano ang pinag-uusapan nila?” Perlah says behind you.

Princess shrugs. “May alam lang na sikreto si Santos.”

Your eyes widen. “Santos, I swear—”

“Relax,” she says. “They’re not talking about the dream. They were talking about your staring.”

Princess steps forward. “A dream? What dream?”

You bury your face in your hands. “Oh my God.”

“Wait,” Perlah says. “Did she have a dream about—”

Santos smirks. “Yep.”

“Oh,” Princess gasps. “That’s why she’s been so weird today.”

Perlah snorts.

Princess mutters something else in Tagalog that makes them all laugh again.

“Oh my God, Santos!” you say again, louder this time. “I’m just trying to get through the day without my attending finding out I had a sex dream about him and you’re telling the entire emergency department?”

Silence.

Perlah is staring at you.

Princess is staring at you.

Whitaker looks like someone has just pulled the fire alarm inside his head.

And Santos—

Santos is very carefully not looking at you anymore.

“What?” you snap. “No more jokes?”

No one answers.

Instead, Princess’s eyes flick slowly past your shoulder.

Whitaker clears his throat.

Santos presses her lips together, the corners twitching like she’s fighting for her life not to laugh.

“What?” you repeat, glancing over your shoulder.

And there he is.

Your attending—standing just a few feet from the nurse’s station, tablet still in one hand, glasses sliding slightly down his nose as he looks at you over the top of them.

Your stomach drops so violently it feels like all your organs have fallen out of your body.

He clears his throat.

Once.

“Alright,” he says evenly. “Back to work.”

That’s all it takes.

Perlah and Princess busy themselves on the other side of the nurse’s station.

Whitaker rushes off toward triage.

Santos lingers just long enough to give you a look that promises she will never let this go before she slips away too.

And then it’s just you.

And him.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just adjusts the tablet in his hand, pulls his glasses off, folds them into the pocket of his scrubs, and turns away.

And as he steps away, you could almost swear you see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Almost as if he’s fighting a smile.

But that would be ridiculous, right?

It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to remember how to move.

How to function.

You can feel Perlah and Princess watching you. Waiting for you to do something other than stare at the spot your attending had been standing when you announced your sex dream about him to the entire department.

God.

This has to be some kind of HR violation.

Robby is probably on his way to find Dana right now so she can tell you to go upstairs and talk to someone about misconduct. If you’re not fired, you’ll be transferred.

Or worse—night shift.

You gasp and fumble for your phone, pulling it out of your pocket.

Abbot's message thread is already open when you swipe up and start typing.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Then you hit send and tuck your phone away again.

It’s a ridiculous thought, but maybe if you can talk to Abbot and explain that this was all just one giant misunderstanding, maybe he can convince Robby not to hate you for it. Maybe he can convince Robby to let you finish your residency at PTMC without it being painfully awkward for both of you.

Because as funny as this is to Santos and the nurses, you’re not so sure Robby will see it that way.

Not when you’ve let it affect your work.

Not when you just embarrassed him—and yourself—in front of the entire emergency department.

You draw in a slow breath and grab your tablet off the desk.

All you can do now is your job.

All you can do for the next hour is avoid Robby and pray Abbot will hear you out when he comes back on shift.

You turn deliberately toward the North hallway and pull up the lab results for Whitaker’s dizziness patient, keeping your eyes fixed on your tablet as you walk.

The department hums around you like it always does—monitors beeping, beds rolling past, nurses calling out vitals—but you can still feel eyes on you. Whether it’s the nurses or the med students, or even a patient who overheard your outburst, you know you’re being watched.

Whispered about, probably.

But if you don’t look up, it doesn’t count. Right?

By the time you circle back to central, Mrs. Alvarez has already been discharged, which you take as a small mercy. Then you duck into South Fifteen to check on a teenager with a sprained ankle who is mostly interested in whether he can still play soccer this weekend. After that it’s a quick review of labs for a chest pain patient in Central Ten—normal troponins, thank God—and a brief stop at the nurse’s station to sign off on discharge instructions Dana has already printed.

None of it requires you to look up very much.

Which is ideal.

You spend the next half hour moving steadily from room to room—listening to a set of lungs for a persistent cough in North Three, answering a worried daughter’s questions about her father’s blood pressure in South Twenty-Two, and checking a set of repeat vitals on a dehydration case Princess flagged earlier. Every task is perfectly ordinary. Completely routine.

And through all of it, you make a very conscious effort not to look for your attending.

Not that you’re avoiding him.

Obviously.

You’re just… busy.

You still see him, though—across the hall, talking to patients, nodding along while med students present. He doesn’t look up. Never looks at you. Just keeps walking, keeps working, keeps nodding.

Like nothing happened.

And somehow, that’s worse.

You’re on your way back from dropping discharge paperwork at the front desk—walking a little slower than you should as you wonder how long until the end of your shift—when McKay calls out from triage.

“Hey, you busy?”

You stop mid-step. “Always. What’s up?”

“Can you grab me a suture kit?” she asks. “I’m out in here.”

“Of course. What size?”

“Four-oh nylon. Whatever's closest.”

You nod. “On it.”

“And maybe send a med student to grab more from supply,” she calls as you walk away.

You don’t reply. You just duck into Trauma One—thankfully empty—grab a kit, then call out to Ogilvie on your way back, telling him to go get more suture kits for triage as soon as he’s free. You don’t even wait for him to answer, but you do hear him turn to a nurse and ask where supply is.

You wedge your tablet under one arm as you head back toward the triage bay. With the kit held against your chest, you start peeling back the sterile packaging—since you know McKay’s already halfway through cleaning whatever it is she needs to suture up.

You’re just being helpful.

But the plastic seam is stubborn, and just as you turn into the bay the wrapper gives with a jerked tear—and the scalpel slides free.

You shift to catch it, but the blade grazes the inside of your upper arm before you can pull away.

“Oh—shit.”

It’s not dramatic. Just a sharp sting at first, and for a second you assume it’s nothing more than a scratch.

Until the warmth starts to trickle down your arm and drip from your elbow.

“Damn,” you sigh, watching a small droplet of blood hit the floor.

McKay glances up, eyes going wide. “What the hell happened?”

She quickly takes everything out of your hands, and you lift your arm to inspect the damage.

“Scalpel slipped.”

McKay winces. “That’s going to need stitches.”

Ignoring the confused patient still sitting in the triage chair, she grabs a wad of gauze off the cart and presses it against your arm.

“Hold this,” she says. “I’ll go get someone to take over here, then we can—”

“It’s alright,” a familiar voice says from somewhere behind you. “I’ll deal with this.”

Your stomach drops.

“Oh.” McKay glances over your shoulder, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Thanks, Dr. Robby.”

Fuck.

You turn slowly, one hand still clamped over the gauze on your arm.

He’s already so close—barely half a step away—and you have to tip your head back to look up at him.

“Let me see,” he says, voice low.

You hold your arm out obediently.

His fingers brush yours as he peels back the gauze, and your pulse jumps.

“Alright.” He nods once, something indistinguishable flickering across his face. “That needs stitches.”

Before you can respond, his hand closes lightly around your wrist, guiding your arm back toward your side as he turns you with him.

“Come with me.”

The touch is brief, professional—but when his hand shifts to the small of your back to steer you out of triage, the warmth of it makes your heart stutter out of rhythm.

“Dana,” he calls, walking quickly through central. “What’s open?”

Dana looks up from the desk just as the two of you pass. Her gaze flicks from the gauze on your arm to Robby’s hand still resting lightly at your back, and something sharp and knowing slides into her expression immediately.

“Central Eleven just got cleaned,” she says.

Robby nods once. “Thanks.”

Dana’s brows lift just a fraction as she watches the two of you step into the room, like she’s just connected several very interesting dots.

You move automatically toward the bed, trying not to feel disappointed when Robby’s hand leaves your back. He shuts the doors on both sides of the room, then slides the curtain closed—and every move makes your heart rate climb higher.

“Lay back,” he says.

Your whole body flushes with heat as you adjust yourself on the exam bed, trying desperately not to think about the other circumstances in which he might give you that instruction.

He rolls the stool beside the bed and reaches for your arm, turning it out gently.

His fingers are warm as he removes the gauze.

You try not to think too hard about his fingers.

“It’s a clean cut, at least,” he says after a second.

You nod. “Sharp blade.”

Like he didn’t already know that.

He releases your arm long enough to pull on a pair of gloves and gather what he needs from the tray beside the bed. You watch him move around the room with that same quiet efficiency that has been ruining your concentration all day—steady hands, calm voice, not a hint of hurry even though the department outside the door is probably chaos.

“Come a little closer,” he says, almost absentmindedly—as if he doesn’t know what saying something like that is going to do to you.

You shift against the mattress while he lifts your arm again, angling it under the exam light.

He’s so close now you can hardly breathe. You can feel his breath against your cheek, his warmth bleeding through the thin fabric of your scrubs, every touch careful as he starts cleaning the cut.

The antiseptic stings enough to make you tense.

“Easy,” he murmurs, steadying your arm. “It’s not that bad.”

“I’m aware,” you say quickly. “I do actually work here.”

“Yes,” he says mildly. “I’m aware of that too.”

You risk a glance at him then—and immediately regret it.

He’s standing now, leaning close enough that you could count every fleck of grey in his beard. Close enough to notice the way his glasses have slid slightly down his nose while he concentrates on the wound. His fingers move with careful precision as he prepares the needle driver, completely focused.

Completely calm.

Completely unaware that your brain is still stuck somewhere between the nurse’s station and a very inappropriate dream.

“Hold still,” he murmurs.

Your stomach flips—and when you squeeze your eyes shut, that exact moment from your dream flashes through your mind again.

The lidocaine burns for a second when he injects it, and you suck in a breath before you can stop yourself.

“Breathe,” he says automatically.

God.

If he could stop with the direct quotes from your dream, maybe you would actually be able to breathe.

You clear your throat, staring stubbornly at the wall now while he begins the first stitch.

“Try to relax,” he adds quietly.

You let out a short, incredulous laugh. “I’m trying.”

His hands pause for the briefest moment.

Then he glances up at you over the rim of his glasses.

“You of all people should know better than to open a suture kit while walking.”

You let out a small, embarrassed breath and shift slightly on the bed while he works, trying not to react every time the needle passes neatly through the edge of the cut.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “It’s been a weird day.”

“Mhm.”

The sound is absentminded, the same one he makes when a patient is explaining symptoms he already understands. His attention stays on your arm while he ties the knot and reaches for the next stitch, movements calm and precise, like this is the most ordinary thing in the world.

“You seemed a little distracted earlier,” he adds after a moment.

Your stomach tightens.

“Busy department.”

He hums again as he adjusts your arm slightly.

“Not exactly what I meant.”

You stare at the ceiling again, your pulse racing dangerously fast.

“It’s not unusual, you know,” he says after a moment, his voice calm and thoughtful as he works. “There’s actually quite a lot of research on it. In high-stress environments people’s subconscious tends to latch onto someone they admire rather than… straightforward attraction. It’s a way of organizing all that pressure—long hours, constant adrenaline, the need to trust the people around you.”

He pauses briefly to adjust the stitch.

You feel like you’re about to throw up.

“Hospitals are particularly good at creating that kind of dynamic,” he goes on. “Everyone’s exhausted, everyone’s relying on each other, and if there happens to be someone who seems steady in the middle of all that—someone people look to when things go wrong—it’s very easy for admiration to blur into something else.”

Another small pause, the thread tightening neatly under his fingers.

“It’s rarely intentional,” he adds, quieter now. “Most of the time the person experiencing it doesn’t even realise what their brain is doing.”

You finally look at him. His face is barely inches from yours, close enough that you can see the faint crease between his brows while he concentrates on the last stitch, all of his attention focused on closing the cut.

“Wait,” you say slowly. “So… I—I’m not fired?”

His hands still for the briefest moment before he glances at you, genuine confusion flickering across his face.

“Fired?”

You swallow. “For… you know. The thing I said. Out there. To the entire department.”

He huffs a small laugh—barely a breath.

“Why would you be fired?” he says mildly. “Embarrassing yourself in front of the nurses isn’t exactly grounds for termination.”

Your face burns.

He sets the needle driver down and reaches for the scissors, his tone settling back into that same calm, matter-of-fact rhythm.

“You shouldn’t have let it distract you from your work, though,” he continues. “That’s the only part I was concerned about. But one off day doesn’t suddenly erase an otherwise solid record.”

You stare at him.

“Concerned?”

“Mhm.”

He snips the suture, then reaches to adjust your arm slightly under the light, examining his work.

“First you were late,” he says, almost absently. “You were flustered during the chest tube. You’ve been avoiding traumas all day—” His eyes meet yours briefly. “And your attending. You’ve barely caught up on your charting, and you’ve unintentionally encouraged the nurses’ gossiping.”

Your stomach drops.

“Not to mention,” he adds, just a little drier now, “the pen you threw at Dr. Santos for—what? Teasing you, I presume.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Because suddenly, Dana’s voice echoes through your mind.

Careful, Robinavitch. You’re hovering.

Hovering?

Like the way he’d stood so close while you placed that chest tube. The way his hand had settled at your back when he guided you out of triage.

Why was he even there to begin with?

Santos’ voice cuts through your mind next.

I swear he’s got a soft spot for you.

I’m pretty sure he’d go there if you asked.

And suddenly the entire day looks… different.

Not like an attending keeping an eye on his resident.

Like a man trying very hard not to make it obvious he was paying attention to you.

Robby smooths the edge of the dressing over the sutured cut, pressing it down carefully as he glances back up at you.

“Keep that dry for the next—”

And that’s the moment your brain finally catches up.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, your hand shoots out and grabs the front of his scrubs, fingers bunching the fabric at his chest as you pull him the few inches closer.

Then you kiss him.

It’s not graceful.

It’s barely even planned.

Just a quick, impulsive press of your mouth against his—warm and startled and over almost as soon as it begins.

For half a second, he doesn’t move at all.

“Oh—fuck. I—”

You drop his shirt like it’s suddenly on fire and lean back on the bed, horrified.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt. “I don’t know why I just—”

The apology dies halfway through, because Robby hasn’t stepped away.

He hasn’t leapt back, shocked or offended. He’s just… there.

Where he was when you grabbed him—close enough that you can still feel his warmth, with one hand resting lightly near your arm where he’d been finishing the dressing. For a second he simply watches you, studying your face with the same quiet concentration he uses when he’s working through a diagnosis, like he’s trying to decide whether the last thirty seconds actually happened.

Your pulse is hammering.

“I shouldn’t have—” you try again.

His hand lifts.

The movement is slow, deliberate, and before you can finish your sentence his thumb and forefinger settle lightly around your chin, tilting your face upward just enough that you have to look at him.

Your breath catches.

He hesitates for the briefest moment, his gaze moving across your face as if he’s still weighing the decision.

Then he leans in.

The first contact is firmer than you expect—his mouth warm and solid against yours, the faint scrape of his beard against your skin as he adjusts the angle. His glasses are still on, the frame nudging the bridge of your nose when he shifts closer. His nose bumps yours before he tilts his head, finding a better position.

For a second it’s almost restrained.

Then it isn’t.

His grip on your chin tightens a fraction as he deepens the kiss, tipping your head back against the pillow while he leans over you. The change is sudden enough that your hands catch the front of his scrubs again without thinking. The fabric bunches in your fingers as he moves closer, the pressure of his mouth shifting—slower now but more certain, like he’s stopped pretending he’s about to pull away.

The beard you’d been trying not to notice all day brushes your cheek again when he moves, softer than you expected, and when his teeth graze your lower lip for half a second the sound that escapes you is embarrassingly honest.

He exhales quietly through his nose against your skin.

Not stopping.

If anything, the opposite.

His free hand comes down beside your shoulder on the mattress to brace himself as he leans over you, the movement tilting your head back further while his mouth finds yours again—deeper this time, the rhythm of it suddenly practiced enough to make your stomach flip.

Like this is something he hasn’t done in a while.

But definitely knows how to do.

And the entire time his thumb stays lightly under your chin, holding you exactly where he wants you while he kisses you like he’s still trying to decide whether this is a mistake—and losing that argument by the second.

You barely notice when he shifts closer again, the movement subtle but unmistakable, his hand tightening slightly against the mattress beside you as if he’s about to lean in further, about to let himself forget the door, the department, the fact that this is an exam room in the middle of a shift—

The curtain whips open.

“Been looking for you, Robinavitch—”

Abbot stops dead.

For half a second no one moves.

You’re still on the bed, Robby bent over you, your hands fisted in the front of his scrubs while his hand is still braced beside your shoulder.

Abbot’s gaze flicks from your grip on Robby’s shirt, to Robby’s face, to the dressing he’d just placed on your arm.

His eyebrows climb slowly toward his hairline.

“Well,” he says after a beat. “I wish I could say I'm surprised, but…”

Robby straightens immediately.

Not panicked. Not flustered.

Just very, very still for a second before he adjusts his glasses and steps back from the bed like he’d simply been finishing a routine procedure.

“Jack,” he says evenly.

Abbot folds his arms, the corner of his mouth already curling upward.

“Michael.”

The silence stretches just long enough for the humiliation to fully settle in.

Abbot glances at you again, then back at Robby.

“Should I come back later,” he asks mildly, “or are you two… just about done here?”

The heat that floods your face is instantaneous, and you slide off the bed so fast you nearly fall.

“Don’t get it wet for twenty-four hours, stitches out in a week unless there’s redness, swelling, drainage, fever—I know the drill,” you ramble, slowly backing toward the door.

Robby has already turned back to the tray, calmly disposing of the suture needle like none of this is remotely unusual. Only the faint redness creeping up the back of his neck gives him away.

Abbot doesn’t move. He just stands there, arms folded, with a look of deep theatrical satisfaction on his face.

“This,” he says pleasantly, “is exactly what I meant, by the way.”

Your stomach drops.

“What?”

His brows lift.

“Your text.”

Your eyes widen.

Abbot tilts his head, studying you for a moment before glancing toward Robby again.

“I mean, honestly,” he adds. “I leave you two alone for what—ten hours?”

“What day shift does is none of your business, Dr. Abbot,” you mutter, trying to slip past him.

Abbot’s mouth twitches.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he says. “It seems very much like my business now.”

You snort, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

“Don’t be jealous,” you say, glancing over your shoulder as you step out the door. “He’s still your boyfriend.”

Behind him, Robby drops the gauze into the bin and gives a quiet shake of his head, laughing softly despite himself.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.

Abbot’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Your girl, huh?”

Robby scrubs a hand over his beard and turns away.

“Shut up.”

You’re not sure you were supposed to hear that last bit—but it makes your heart race anyway.

The second you step into the hallway, the emergency department crashes back in around you—monitors beeping, nurses calling for labs, a stretcher rattling past that you have to dodge. Almost like the last fifteen minutes never happened at all.

“Hey, Doc,” Princess calls from the nurse’s station. “North Five, dizziness patient’s daughter is looking for a doctor, but Whitaker’s stuck in chairs.”

“And Javadi needs you in South Seventeen,” Perlah adds. “Something about a rash.”

“Oh—and imaging’s back on your sprained ankle kid,” Santos says. “He’s asking when he can get out of here.”

You nod. “Uh—right. Okay, yeah. I’ll just—”

“Hey,” Dana cuts in, appearing beside you. “You okay? How’s the arm?”

You blink down at the fresh dressing like you’d almost forgotten about it.

“Oh. Yeah. It’s fine.”

She studies it for a second before her gaze drifts up to your face—and her brow lifts.

“Uh-huh,” she says slowly.

You frown. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says lightly, starting to walk away. “Just thought that looked like beard burn.”

She gives a small shrug, then glances back over the top of her glasses.

“But I know my doctors are far too professional for that.”

Your entire face goes hot.

You open your mouth—then close it again, because there is absolutely nothing you can say to that without making it worse.

Santos leans across the desk at the nurse’s station, squinting at your face.

“…Oh my God.”

Her eyes widen.

“Oh my God.”

Your stomach sinks.

Will this day ever end?

you groaned as you turned over in bed, pushing the snooze button on your alarm, your eyes fluttering closed again. the alarm woke you up again five minutes later and this time you got up, not wanting to be late two days in a row. you’ve never seen your professor angry and you don’t want to ever find out how angry he can get. he’s patient with you, well, with the whole class really.

you were almost twenty minutes late yesterday and you plan on arriving twenty minutes early today, to make up for lost time but all you’ll do is sit outside the lecture hall until your professor opens the door and lets you in. photography was never something you even considered when picking your choices for university, but it seemed fun enough and your parents approved so it sort of became your number one choice.

and the class was great—you got along with most of the people in your class and your professor wasn’t berating like your middle and high school teachers. in fact, he was quite the opposite. he was kind, extremely patient, but was tough when he needed to be. he was also extremely good looking, and it proved to be a problem for you in class. you would zone out, distracted by whatever reading glasses he decided to wear today. it’s only your second year of this class and you’re not entirely sure how you’re supposed to last another two without getting distracted even further.

you sat on a bench outside the lecture hall, pulling out your phone and scrolling through it to pass the time. it diverted your attention from the familiar voice of your professor down the hall, whom you caught out the corner of your eye speaking to a colleague. he said his goodbyes and then headed down the hallway to you, stopping to stand just beside you on the bench.

“so nice of you to join us early this time..”

“well i didn’t want to make the same mistake twice,” you smiled and stood up, watching him smile back at you, a soft glint in his eyes as you continued, “and i promise it won’t happen again.”

he huffed out a laugh, unlocking the door and walking in, holding the door out for you to follow him in before he wedged the door open and walked behind you into the lecture hall. you unfortunately took your usual seat at the front, having been picked for you yesterday when you arrived late.

your professor sat at his desk, slipping his glasses on while you got your materials out. you looked over at him, perhaps lingering on him for too long. you quickly glanced away from him as he looked up from his computer to check if the overhead projector was on, not noticing the small smile on his face as he caught you staring. soon after, your classmates started trickling into class and it ultimately distracted you from staring at him any further.

and thankfully class went by quickly, but you’re not entirely sure how much information you actually retained. then you looked down at your notebook as everyone around you packed up and realised you stopped taking notes around maybe an hour into the two hour lesson and the rest of your page was littered in doodles. then a shadow was cast over your desk and you looked up to see your professor staring down at you.

“mind if we have a chat?”

you nodded meekly, sighing as you slumped down in your seat. he sat at the desk next to yours and took your notebook from you, holding it up and showing it to you, almost ridiculing you for it.

“i need you to concentrate more, please..”

“m’sorry.. i just.. didn’t sleep well last night.”

he put the notebook down and nodded, standing up and walking to his desk, writing something down and coming back to you. he slipped you the note and you read it.

tuesdays 3-5, wednesdays 3-4, thursdays 3-5.

“my office hours, please do not hesitate to stop by if you need any extra help, okay?”

“n-no.. i don’t—” you tried giving him back the note, insisting that you were fine. well, you weren’t, but you really did not want to spend any more time with him than you already do. alone? with him? in his very private office? absolutely not.

“please,” he spoke, hand on yours as he pushed your hand back to your desk, keeping his hand on top of yours as he continued talking, “take it. you might not think you need it, but.. it’s there if you do.”

you swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling hot. you daren’t look down at his hand that was still on top of yours, practically engulfing your own hand underneath. maybe he hadn’t realised, or maybe he just doesn’t understand the effect he has on you. then he squeezed your hand and pulled away, letting you breath out quickly. you hadn’t even realised you were holding your breath and he just offered you a sympathetic smile as he got up and walked back to his desk.

“i won’t keep you any longer, you’re free to go now,” he spoke, writing something in a notebook before he took his glasses off to look over at you, “but please, consider it.. okay?”

you just nodded, slipping the note inside your notebook and putting it in your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you got up and left the lecture hall. trinity and victoria, your two friends outside of this class, were waiting for you outside the classroom and you all walked across campus back to your dorm.

“why’d he keep you this time?” trinity rolled her eyes, turning her head to face you.

“i doodled in my notebook.. i barely took any notes.”

“oh, so you do like him then?” trinity spoke again, poking you in your shoulder as you rolled your eyes.

“i do not, just wasn’t concentrating.”

“he had his glasses on didn’t he?”

“shut up.”

your friends just laughed, walking beside you as you got to the door of your dormitory. you held the door for them and they walked in, pausing at the stairs to let you catch up. you walked to your victoria’s dorm room, letting her go in, waving at you and trinity as you both walked two doors down and entered your own dorm room that you both shared.

trinity immediately lay down on her bed, pulling her laptop out and opening up her notes from her own class. she occasionally glanced over at you, noticing you staring down at the same page in your notebook. she got up out of her bed and sat down next to you, and instantly noticed the little note you were staring at.

“what’s that?”

“uhm.. it’s his office hours, y’know.. if i need extra help or whatever.”

“extra help? yeah we all know what that means.”

“what do you mean?”

trinity just stared at you, raising her eyebrows but rolled her eyes when your facial expression didn’t change. she then got up and went back over to her own bed again, sitting up and typing away at her laptop. she glanced back over at you and raised her eyebrows again.

“oh c’mon..”

“what?”

“you’re making it painstakingly obvious that you have a crush on him.. and now he’s invited you to spend time with him, alone, after class? please don’t make me say it out loud.”

you knew what she was hinting at, but you didn’t want to say it out loud yourself—or even consider the thought of it. the thought of him willingly letting you spend time with him this early in the semester, just the two of you.

“is it that obvious? i hope not to him..”

“you’re doodling in your notebook in class, that’s level 1 on the i have a crush scale. that and you doodled the letters m and r in a heart.”

oh shit.

then you remember he saw everything on that page. everything. the little camera doodles, the random swirls and squiggly lines, and especially that small heart with his initials in it.

“oh god, i’m fucking doomed.”

“at least your crush might actually like you back, despite how inexplicably inappropriate it is.”

you just rolled your eyes again, putting your notebook away and opening up your own laptop, noticing an email notification come through.

from: [email protected]

subject: lesson notes

here’s today’s lesson, since you didn’t have it all in your notebook. figured you might need it to take the rest of it down for future reference :)

file attached: class notes.docx

god, you were so stupidly giddy over him. you hated that trinity was correct and you glanced over at her again, seeing her typing away in her notes, occasionally reading something from a textbook. you turned back to your emails and sent a response back.

to: [email protected]

re: lesson notes

thank you so much, i’m so sorry again for today. i just think my head’s on a different planet lately. maybe those office hours might definitely come in handy :)

you read and re-read your email multiple times, even after sending it, just incase you accidentally sent a winking smiley face instead of a normal one. god forbid you accidentally start flirting with him, but you think maybe it’s easier over email than face to face. he’s quite frankly the most intimidating man you’ve ever met, which is probably why you’re crushing hard on him. he’s also extremely professional in class, but if he ever speaks to you, his tone softens and he doesn’t push you for an answer, instead he waits for you to mumble out your sentence—sometimes he even finishes it for you, smiling as you nod in agreement with him.

even the casual conversation with him this morning outside of class, it’s almost like you’re friends. or maybe not yet, but he wants to. you shake that thought out your head, trying to bring yourself back to reality. why would he want to push the boundary of professor and student, and with just you. you’ve seen him talk to other students outside of class and it’s vastly different to how he treats you. he’s professional, speaks to them like they are his students, not someone he’s close and friendly with. he keeps a distance from them, barely nodding at them when he passes them in the hallway—but with you he always greets you with a smile, warm and comforting almost.

not only that, but you’re still reeling from yesterday when he said if he had favourites you would be up there. you. nobody else, just you. you didn’t want to be the teacher’s pet, but it’s a role he’s pretty much thrusted upon you.

okay, maybe don’t think of the word thrusting and your professor in the same breath.

you shook your head again, trying to refocus on your work when you heard trinity speak.

“you okay? you look like you zoned out for a second?”

“mmhm.. yeah, m’fine..”

“mmhm, right right.. so you weren’t thinking about him again?”

“who?”

“oh, professor robinavitch.. i’ll do anything you ask, oh i love you professor robinavitch—”

“i will throw my laptop at you.”

trinity just laughed, watching a smirk form at the corner of your mouth before she gasped.

“oh my god, do you love him?”

“what?! no, but maybe i do have a crush.. but i can’t help it.. he’s so.. y’know?”

trinity just grimaced at you and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“he’s like what? seventy years old or something right? not to mention, he’s a man, not a woman.”

you shook your head, trying to stifle a laugh under your breath.

“he’s in his fifties.. i think.. and y’know you can just.. ask her out.”

“who?”

“you and i both know who.. and i don’t think she’ll say no.”

“what makes you so sure?”

you sighed, putting your laptop to the side as you got up off your bed, moving to sit on trinity’s. you grabbed her hands and looked her straight in the eye.

“i’m going to tell you something but you have to absolutely promise never to tell anyone, okay?”

trinity nodded, eyes widening slightly as you sighed.

“she kissed me, at last years halloween party. i didn’t say anything because, well,” you dropped your head, swallowing thickly before looking back up at trinity, “we were both drunk. but the next day i told her what happened y’know incase she didn’t remember. and she said she did, and that it was, i guess intentional? to see if i liked her back. but i didn’t. i truly do not care about being a third wheel, if that’s your worry. i just don’t want you pining for another year over her.”

trinity just stared at you, stunned into silence. she opened her mouth to speak but you continued.

“so if she liked me, she probably likes you. you’re like ten times hotter than me.” trinity laughed then, pushing your shoulder gently. you got up off her bed and walked over to her wardrobe, inspecting her clothes before landing on a dress hidden between some old t-shirts.

“i turn twenty-one next week. we are going clubbing and you’re wearing this.. trust me, it will absolutely turn her head.” trinity got up and stood next to you, holding the dress out before looking up at you, her eyes softening.

“you think so?”

“i know so.”

“fine. but on one condition.”

you shrug your shoulders and nod, before putting the dress back. you watched as she went over to your bed, grabbing your notebook and opening it to the with the note in it, holding it out to you.

“i’ll wear the dress, but you have to go here, and find out once and for all if he does like you back—“

“which he doesn’t.”

trinity just stared at you, eyebrows raised and a had on her hip. you sighed, grabbing the note from her and laying down on your bed, shuffling over to lay next to the wall as trinity got in beside you, laying on her side with her head propped up in her hands, elbow pushing into the mattress.

“do we have a deal?”

you looked up at her, her eyebrows raised and her lips trembling, trying not to laugh. you couldn’t hold it in and you placed your hands over your face, groaning before laughing and looking up at her.

“fine! fine! i’ll go!”

“well, shit. now i have to wear the fuckin’ dress.”

you just laughed again, head dropping against trinity’s arm before she got up, going back to her bed.

“you’re lucky you’re my best friend.”

you smiled, listening as she continued to talk.

“oh, and if he does like you back, at no point is he ever coming into this dorm room. i do not want to walk in on you going at it with a senior citizen, please.”

chris stared at leon from the bathroom doorway, watching as he dripped something onto his hand before combing his fingers through his hair.

“is that…hair oil?

leon didn’t even look up. “hair serum,” he corrected. 

“alright, pretty boy, what’s next? face masks? cucumber slices over your eyes?”

“why? you wanna do some? I’ve got a few,” leon said, holding up a variety of sheet masks.

chris blinked. “...why do you have so many?”

“they’re moisturizing,” he shrugged. “my girl took all the brightening ones.”

leon said it so casually that chris had to stare at him for a second before breaking into a grin. leon gave him an annoyed look through the mirror. “what?” he scoffed.

“hair serum. moisturizer. lip balm,” chris pointed at the lineup on the bathroom counter. all the bottles were on a rotating caddy, courtesy of you, of course. he plucked a bottle from the shelf, squinting at the label. “cuticle oil? since when do you care about your cuticles?”

“since someone told me to take better care of my hands,” leon snatched the bottle away from him. 

chris barked out a laugh. “ain’t no way.”

“you don’t have room to talk,” leon said, organizing his caddy.

chris frowned. “what does that mean?”

leon turned around, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. he eyed chris up and down.

“my hair’s healthier. my hands are softer,” he smirked. “and I dress better than you.”

chris looked at himself in the mirror. “this shirt’s fine,” he said firmly. 

“shirt from ten years ago?”

“it’s cotton.”

leon chuckled beneath his breath.

“you know…jill might like it if you put in a little effort.”

that caught chris’s attention. “...you think so?”

“yeah,” leon shrugged. “my girl gives me something to look at, I might as well do the same.”

chris rubbed the back of his neck. “pass me the serum,” he said.

“no. you can have the moisturizer.”

masterlist

© lilacgrayskies on tumblr

Clouds fill the sky. Putting a dark shadow on the world, while the sun desperately tries to get through the thick cover. It’s faint light cascading on the run-down buildings, streets and everything that once was. The air is cold against your skin. The fresh autumnal morning air doing nothing to prevent the light blush that starts to form on your cheeks once you get out of the car. The cold nips at the top of your fingers, making you curl them into the palm of your hands. Even though it was only the start of October, it wouldn’t take long before winter would sweep the land into its stone-cold grasp. For that reason alone you slightly dread the days in the field that would soon, hopefully, follow. Never really liking the cold, you aimed for a warmer climate. That would be possible of course if your life had been different.

You stand in line with three other agents next to you. Men. Taller and broader than you, but not necessarily better. You’re all clad in a tight marine blue shirt, sleeves rolled up and a small zipper at the neckline. Due to the weather, yours is all the way up, concealing your chest. A pair of black combat trousers hug your thighs while boots in the same color are on your feet, making you stand firm and secure.

The harness around your chest carries the essentials. Handgun at your right side, shotgun and sniper rifle secure on your back. Two hand grenades hanging on your left just in case. The weight of a knife rests against your lower back. The blade is sharp, a machete, ready to chop a zombie's head off if necessary.

The men next to you wear similar assemblies. To your right there’s Jonathan. A twenty-five year old, six ft tall blond with an ego flying through the roof. Shotgun and sniper also on his back but instead of a knife, he carries a large stone hammer. The tip sharpened, making it easier to break one's skull. He has been in this program for just as long as you have, starting three months ago. 

The two men on your left, who you can’t even bother to remember the names of, have the same confidence as Jonathan. A smirk on their faces, like this first field job is going to be a piece of cake. They look slightly younger, twenty-two maybe twenty-three? You’re not sure. A few men in the other group that would come after you were twenty-six and twenty-seven. At the ‘ripe’ age of twenty-nine you’re the oldest one out of the rookies.

Standing before you are two more seasoned men. One incredibly broad, hair a dark brown almost grey at the sides, going by the name of Chris Redfield. At almost 6’1”his stance is wide, arms crossed, making his presence well known. He’s looking at us like any other teacher would. His brown eyes looking over his so called “students” with a straight face, while thinking to himself: “What the hell do these rookies think they’re doing here?”.

Next to him, slightly more behind, is his comrade. His hair, a dark blond streaked with a few grey strands signaling his age. Blue eyes focusing on the hand gun in his palm while putting in new ammo, not giving us as much attention. By 5’11” Leon S. Kennedy was not as broad as Mr. Redfield, but compared to him, he was definitely muscular as well. Biceps protruding and forearms showing off the few veins that peak from under his shirt.

The two of them had a well-known reputation. Both fought against any monstrosity the Umbrella corporation had thrown at them. Trying to protect the world from all evil.

They had trained you. Three months inside the DSO facility. Learning the basics from knowing how to reload a gun, to shooting one with perfect aim. Physical and emotional training, needed to defeat all enemies you would come across. Three months and eight trainees. All inexperienced rookies who wished to be full DSO agents, ready to kick some ass. Seven men and one woman. You.

Of course, being the only woman, which is very unseen in this line of work, you were often laughed at. Thought to be useless, weak and incompetent to get the job done. Well, we’ll see about that.

You’re quiet. Slowly analyzing the situation you’re in. Today is your first ever mission. As a trial of course. Three months of training had to lead somewhere. They had divided the group into two. The first group, with you in it, was brought to the outskirts of Raccoon city, driven in a van by Kennedy, Redfield in the passenger seat. The chanter in the car from your three other colleagues had been loud while you kept mostly to yourself. As you arrived at the scene, which seemed to be an open square with buildings surrounding you, you quickly got out of the car before anyone else. Already opening the trunk to get all your gear.

And that’s where we are now.

“Alright listen up.” You hear Chris say, making your ears perk up. “Your mission today will be simple, which is to retrieve some important information back from the old Umbrella labs that are situated below ground. You will be divided into two teams and each will be given a map. Your task is to bring the piece of information back to me. If you fail, you will be taken out of the program and you can pack your bags. Are we clear?”

You hear Jonathan next to you scoff, a silent “as if” slipping from his lips. Ever since the beginning of your training he has made it clear that he was the one who would be the next super-agent at the DSO. You already know now that a simple training, to retrieve information out of a lab, isn’t spectacular enough for him.

Chris’s eyes look us all up and down again before settling on you and Jonathan for a few seconds, then back to the two guys on your left. “Liam and Jason…” So those are their names. “… the two of you will be under my supervision.” Chris announces while walking over to them, handing them a phone with a map on it. “Leon, you take him and the girl” he continues, gesturing over to you. The girl…

“You need to take this mission seriously guys. This may look easy but you never know what could be lurking in this city. Especially underground. This is a necessary part of your training. Don’t take this lightly. You know what happens when you fail.” And with that he gestures to Liam and Jason to follow him, leaving you and Jonathan alone with Leon.

Leon's cold stare lingers on the both of you, sizing you up, almost like he is determining if the two of you are even worth his time. His gun is brought back into its holster, hanging at his right hip, before taking a phone out of his pocket similar to the one Chris gave to his own two rookies. “Take this.” He murmurs while outstretching his arm, waiting for one of you to take it.

Before you even get the chance to put a step forward, Jonathan beats you to it. Grabbing the phone out of Leon's grasp, he immediately starts to inspect the screen. Hastily looking over the map without including you. After a few seconds and a small huff from you, he looks up, eyes directed at Leon. “Is this a competition between the two teams? To see who finds the piece of information first?” The corners of his mouth slowly turn upwards. “Because I’ll beat them to it.”

The smirk that covers his face is so arrogant that you almost want to punch him in the face. You’re sure you could win a 1v1 fight against him. 

“It is not a competition in any way. You look for the piece of information that we want, you get it and get back out of there unscratched, together with your partner, is that clear?” Leon isn’t amused by Jonathan's confidence either. When he averts his gaze back to you, you can see the slight frown on his face soften just a smidge.

“Now…” he says, focused on you while pointing to your ear “… The little earpieces you have in do not only allow us to communicate with each other if necessary, but I will also be able to see your vitals while I keep an eye out for you during the mission.” 

“Wait, you’re not coming with us?” Jonathan speaks, a slight tremor in his voice if you hear correctly. Maybe even a little nervous? Anyway, it’s not enough to push him off the throne of pride in his head.

Leon looks back at him. “Who am I? Your babysitter? I’m not gonna hold your hand every time you have a mission. I think you’re old enough. You do know this is what you trained for right?”

You have to do your best to not let out the laugh that’s trying to burst out of your mouth. Your lips turning into a small smile instead that you desperately try to cover with your hand. 

You’ve always liked Leon, ever since the moment you met him back at DSO. Back when you were truly ‘a rookie’, having very little experience on the subject of being a special agent. Back then he had only greeted you with a firm handshake and a curt nod, murmuring a quick ‘nice to meet you’ as he quickly went on to greet the next rookie in line. But the way he carried himself and the way he was respectful towards others... Trying to help people when and wherever he could? It made you have a certain form of respect for the man.

It was also not difficult to notice that he’s very easy on the eye. The strong build, the sharp jawline, the stubble covering it… After three months of seeing him almost everyday, you'd grown a little crush for him. All innocent of course, because you knew very well the two of you could never be together. What would a successful and good looking DSO agent see in a twenty years younger and inexperienced ‘girl’? So you kept your silly feelings at bay, knowing it wasn’t worth the energy. 

All of that put aside now, you are a bit apprehensive about what Leon had just said to Jonathan… You have to admit, you’re a bit nervous being out there in the field with no experienced agent by your side if things were to go to shit. But you’re strong mentally, a good fighter and you’re brave. You can do this.

Jonathan, who of course isn’t impressed by Leon’s words, shoots right back. “And how do we…” he says, mockingly correcting what Leon had warned him about while pointing from himself to you “... know what we’re looking for? How are we supposed to know what kind of special information you guys need us to get?”

“You got a map. Use it.”

Jonathan steps forward. “That’s ridiculous. For all I know we could be out here until nightfall looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“Or until next week. That’s completely up to you.” Leon smirks, clearly having fun riling up the twenty-four year younger ‘boy’.

“You're insane, old man.” Jonathan spits back. 

You can see Leon’s eyebrow raise at those words. Seeming to unlock something within him and break through his usual more calm facade. Something that you’ve seen maybe once or twice during your training. Something that was a little bit more dominating… His jaw is clenched, teeth grinding before, in his turn, taking a step forward. Looking your colleague dead in the eye, smirk removed from his face with now a stern glare replacing it. 

“Watch it kid. I suggest you temper that tone of yours.” Another step closer. Not raising his voice, but keeping it cold and stern. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I don’t give a fuck if you drop out right now. What I do need to know though, is when you wish to go through with this, you will not fuck around. You will both protect each other while completing the mission. If your lives are at stake, you will do everything you can to get the two of you out of there. If you say yes to that, I, your superior, demand respect from you. Is that clear? You must learn your fucking. place. rookie.”

It went quiet next to you. No more words coming from Jonathan’s mouth.

When you turn to get a better look at him, you swear you see the dilemma in his eyes. Not knowing whether to punch Leon in the face or to restrain himself and go for the more civil option. 

Eventually he casts his gaze downwards, realizing he couldn’t keep going like that if he wanted to reach his goal at the DSO.

“Fine.”

Leon recognises the submission and decides to drop the subject. Point taken.

He takes a step back, arms crossed. "Alright, I suggest the two of you start off immediately. The day is short and you’ve got quite a lot of ground to cover. Use the time that you have.” Then before turning his back, his gaze lingers on you one more time. The look in his eyes sincere. “Take care.”

And with that, you and Jonathan are left to fend for yourselves in the harsh reality that is Raccoon city. It is so that even one hour later, you’re still trying to work out the map. That is, if Jonathan would give you a chance to look it over. 

You’ve had enough. You were constantly running in circles, covering the same places over and over again, which did nothing to ease your frustration with the man walking a few feet in front of you. It almost felt like the walls started to close in on you. So you decided to speak up. Thinking you’ve been patient enough. 

“You have no idea where we’re going, do you?”

He stops abruptly, making you almost walk straight into him. He turns his neck so fast, you’re almost certain he has broken it. “Excuse me?” 

You can see he’s trying to stay calm even though a fire is starting to ignite in his green eyes.

“You heard me. I don’t think you have even the slightest idea about where we are.”

A scoff falls from his lips, in deep contrast to the droplet of sweat coming down the side of his face. A sign of insecurity? Guess you’re right after all.  “Oh please, I have the map. I know exactly what I’m doing.” His arrogance shining through, even though you can see his facade slowly starting to break. So you continue.

“Jonathan, this is the second time we are going through this alley. There’s two possibilities. Either you don’t know where we’re going, or you love the scenery here so much you just had to see everything twice, some streets even thrice. And don’t tell me it’s the latter. I think it’s about time we switch things up and you give me a go at the map.”

“Oh please…” he replies, now fully facing you, trying to solve the matter in his favor. “You’re a girl. How could you be of any help right now? Do you even know how to read a map?” 

What is it with toxic men and their twisted ego’s? Their dying need to make women feel inferior? Never wanting to admit or even think about the idea that a woman could be right for once? Could be better? 

That’s the second time today you want to punch him in the face.

You step forward, pushing yourself up so you’re standing on the tips of your feet. Your hot breath hitting his face, mere inches from yours. “Watch a girl save your stupid ass.”

You snatch the phone out of his hand before he even has a chance to register what has happened. Pushing past him, you try to ignore the protests coming out of his mouth. Your fingers flying over the screen of the phone, finally getting a good look at the map. 

You’re not too far off from the way you need to go. The so-called entrance to the Umbrella labs underground being only a fifteen minute walk from here. How the hell did he miss that? 

“Give me the phone back.” Jonathan grumbles, his arm reaching around you. You’re faster though, already taking a few steps forward, making your way out of the alley and onto the main street, moving in the right direction.

“Just save your breath pretty boy. We’ll be there in no time.” You smile, picking up pace. You hear him right behind you, sighing like a toddler who hasn’t been given his way. 

After ten minutes or so, you reach a more secluded area of the city. The buildings looking even more run-down than before. The air suddenly so dense and foggy, you’re sure the entrance should be right around the corner. And you’re right. When you continue, you see multiple Umbrella posters plastered onto nearby fences, the red and white logo clearly recognisable. You grin, looking down at the map again, seeing that the entrance should be right ahead. 

“You know, I’m not one to apologize easily but… Seems like you were right after all.” 

You almost choke on your own spit at hearing the words Jonathan says from behind you. “Excuse me?” You stop, turning around to face him.

 “Yeah, I just…” He starts, stopping next to you “... guess I was kind of dick to you before? You got us right where we needed to go.”

You blink, not fully knowing how to react for a couple seconds. Does the all so mighty Jonathan actually want to apologize to you? Ever since you started training together 3 months ago he wouldn’t even spare you a second glance. And now he’s trying to be nice? 

“Uh... Yeah, whatever. Let’s keep going.” you reply, starting to feel a little awkward. 

You turn your back to him again, your steps firm as you continue your search. You hear hurried footsteps behind you, Jonathan now making his way right beside you.

“So I’ve been thinking…” Oh boy, he’s been thinking? What an achievement. “... You and I? We would be a great team together don’t you think?”

You turn your head, making eye contact with him before quickly averting your gaze once you see the tiny smirk plastered on his face. You don’t like where his insinuation is going. 

“Uh, maybe? I don’t know. What’s your point?”

His smirk grows wider at that. His steps curving slightly to the left, making his way closer to you. “Oh I’ve seen you, you know. Back at the DSO facility. You’re always by yourself, not making a fuss, doing exactly what dear Redfield and Kennedy ask of us. You’re always at the top of the class, doing your training like a good girl. You’re a natural. I figured, when this mission is over, you’d maybe want to consider becoming partners.”

You find his words creepy at the very least. And do you believe him? Has he actually been watching you these past 3 months? Or is this just his way of saving his ass so you won’t complain about him when you get back? 

“How could you be of any help to me? You couldn’t even read the map.” You scoff. 

You can feel his hand brushing against your underarm slightly. He’s so close now you can feel his hot breath hitting the side of your face. “I didn’t mean it in an agent kind of way, love.”

You stop again abruptly, looking at him like he’d just grown an extra head. “Excuse me?”

He’s laughing now, a disgusting rasp in his throat. “Oh come on, don’t play dumb. We’ve been at the DSO for three months now and you're the only female agent in training. You don’t mean to tell me no one else has ever made an offer like this to you?”

“What the hell are you implying?”

“I could show you a good time, you know? Have you take the edge off for once. I must say that I know my way around the female body very well, so you’d be in for a treat. I could please you just right. You won’t regret it. I can promise you that.”   

Not only is he trying to get on your good side to profit from it at the DSO, but he’s also trying to get in your pants. You just shake your head. Sadly this hadn’t been the first time a man had spoken to you like that. 

“You’re a pig.” You turn around, ignoring the excuses and promises pouring out of his mouth. You have better things to do than reprimanding a child.

What the two of you don’t know, is that a few streets back, Leon is following you. Not just following and checking your vitals, but also hearing every word that’s being said between you and Jonathan. A little detail the DSO keeps hidden, to see how rookies will react in these kinds of missions, not holding anything back while their superiors listen. And right now? Leon is very happy he’s able to do so. 

He finds Jonathan to be an inexperienced low life who thinks he’s got it all figured out. The way he talks to you makes his blood boil. Not necessarily because it’s you, but just of the way he speaks to a woman. Like you’re just a vessel for his pleasure.

He chuckles when you dismiss him so easily, not paying him much mind. He likes your spirit. You always thought he didn’t pay you much thought during training, but you were wrong. He knew who you were. Who didn’t to be honest? The only female field agent at the DSO. Doing your best at every training. Hitting your marks every time there was a shooting test. Often even better than the other male rookies. 

So yes, you had definitely triggered his interest. 

As you make your way through all the abandoned and burned down cars, you can see a large hole in the ground just a few feet up ahead. Bingo.

You reach it. A black hole, approximately six by six feet big, making its way down through the concrete. No sounds come from it, but the smell is undeniable. Rotting flesh.

Ok. You prepare yourself for a few zombies down there. It should be doable with your training and all the weapons you have on you, you tell yourself. Luckily you’re not alone.

You take a flare that’s attached to your belt before igniting it and letting it fall into the darkness. It falls down a few seconds, hitting a few metal objects in its way, before settling at the bottom. You can see a steep wall of concrete going down, followed by a half destroyed ladder that reaches the bottom. You don’t see or hear any infected. For all you know, there could be a rotting corpse down there. You’re not going to wait to find out.

“Let’s go.” you say before squatting, moving one leg into the hole. 

“Oh how how wait! You wanna go in there?” Jonathan grabs your shoulder. When you look back at him you can see the uncertainty in his expression. Gone is all the fun and excitement from before, replacing it with a certain form of fear. 

“And what else do you suggest?” you question him.

He starts looking around all of sudden. “Well… Maybe there’s another entrance. One that’s more safe than this one.”

“Nothing about our job is safe Jonathan. Look around you. Do you see another way in? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t. The map led us to this place right here.”

He doesn’t reply after that, just keeps looking at you with the same uncertainty as before.

“You coming or not?” 

His only reply is a curt nod, making you doubt if he actually means it or not. He squats next to you, letting go of your shoulder. You take that as your cue to keep going. You descend gently and slowly, one foot in front of the other down the steep concrete wall. Into the lion's den as they say. 

You try to make as little noise as possible, making your way down the ladder. Once you have reached the bottom, you take your flashlight so you can check your surroundings better. 

The room you’re in is small, also six by six feet. A long dark tunnel is connected to it. You can’t see anything more than a few feet ahead of you, the flare and flashlight only illuminating a small amount of the place. You see water further ahead, making the tunnel appear to be some kind of sewer, which explains the smell as well. 

Jonathan reaches the bottom next to you, frantically looking around, hand covering his nose. “What the fuck is this…”

You pick your gun from its holster, aiming it in front of you while also pointing your flashlight. You gesture for him to follow you. “Come on.”

You step into the tunnel. The water around your feet making your steps more heavy, while also producing a little too much sound for your liking. Behind you, you hear Jonathan pick up the flare. You turn around.

“Leave it so we can still see the entrance. Use your flashlight.”

He looks down again, a little frustrated with himself. “I didn’t bring one.”

You blink. “You didn’t bring one? Seriously?" A tiny shake of his head signaling no was your response. Jesus… Try going to war with someone like him. 

“How could you possibly-. You know what? Forget it. Let’s go.” You wish this day would be over very soon. 

The two of you continue through the tunnel, you at the front, him checking for any threats coming from behind, his gun now also drawn. The tunnel seems to bring you further down, a slight steep to your feet. It goes on for about two hundred feet until it separates into two new tunnels. One going left and one going right. You stop, trying to decide where to go from here. Jonathan bumps into you, not realising you had stopped. A whispered ‘sorry’ before an ‘oh fuck’ fell from his lips once he sees the split-up.

“What do we do now? What does the map say?” He asks, looking at you.

You take the phone again, your flashlight resting between your cheek and shoulder as you hold it in place. You see the thick yellow line bending to the right, signaling your way forward. As you put the device away again, you hear a low rumbling noise coming from the left. It’s far away though, a gurgling moaning sound that gets swallowed by the dark. You don’t have to ponder very long to realise what it is. You point your flashlight to the left, squinting your eyes, but you can't see anything.

“Thank God we don’t have to go in that direction.” You whisper while hearing Jonathan quietly agree behind you. You take that as your queue to continue your way right. 

After about fifteen minutes of following tunnels, coming onto new split-ups, going left and right, you have reached the end of the tunnel. A short type of stairs going up with a metal door at the end of it. That must be where the lab is. 

You grin in victory, ready to be done with this mission. You turn towards Jonathan, who’s inspecting the door with a certain nervousness. “You go up there and try unhinging the door. Look for any threats inside. I’ll cover you.” You tell him. He looks at you now, lips parted, clearly not wanting to but not deciding if he should fight you on it or not.

Eventually he nods, taking a few steps forward before going up the stairs, it steps creaking underneath his weight. You turn around, your gun pulled, ammo checked and flashlight up. You’re ready if anything dares to come closer. 

Jonathan reaches the door behind you. His shuffling and pacing before the small window making you curious to see what’s inside.

“You see anything?” You whisper, before he turns around to look at you. 

“No, it seems clear. It’s locked from inside though.” Another pause. “Let me get this door open.” He murmurs as he uses his elbow to break the glass. When that’s done, he puts his arm through it and reaches for the lock on the other side.

The twist of a lock is heard before the metal door screeches open. No sounds come from ahead of you, so you take a few steps back, gun still at the ready if necessary. You go up the stairs, turning around so you wouldn’t trip. Once you’re standing next to Jonathan at the top, you’re able to look into the room as well. 

The room contains several desks decorated with various kinds of test tubes. The contents unknown to you as a result of it not being your field of work. Paper documents are scattered on the floor with a few lab coats and plastic gloves here and there. At least you’re sure now that you’re in the right place. At the end of the room, you can see an ever bigger desk with a large computer on it, its screen almost measuring six by three feet. 

You’re the first to take some careful steps into the room, checking left and right for anything that might be out of the ordinary. Something that might look like the important piece of information the DSO needs. The air is cooler, more sterile than in the tunnels, but the awful stench remains. 

Leon follows everything on the small iPad in his hand, staying a few blocks away from the entrance. This is a job meant for the two of you, as training. He can not interfere. 

He can see you have reached the lab, your heartbeat quicker than normal as he checks your vitals. He listens to your steady breathing when you enter the room with your partner right behind you. Jonathan’s heartbeat however goes sky high, his breathing way more rapid than yours. Leon chuckles at the difference between you. The boy still has a lot more to learn. Compared to him you’re a natural. When a man and a woman go into the field together, you’d normally expect it to be the other way around. 

Back down, you can’t find anything lying around. So you decide to start with the computer. The piece of information has to be connected to it somehow. Looking down at the keyboard, you type incoherent words trying to get the computer to work since you don’t see an on-switch anywhere. 

You don’t have to try very long, the computer turning on at the first key you press. It’s not locked? How weird…

You take the mouse in your hand and go straight for the saved documents, searching for anything that might be valuable. And thank God you’re lucky. Various files were saved, starting from different kinds of chemicals to files about the test subjects they tried it out on. One particular folder takes your interest ‘The Connections Corporation’. You click it open.

Everything is in there. Their IP-adres, the people who carried out their work, reports from several top secret meetings… Guess you hit the jackpot. 

You know what you have to do. Bending down, you look underneath the desk searching for the actual computer instead of looking at the monitor. When you find the black object, you take out your machete as you try to get the lid off. When you do, you look for the computer chip, carefully detaching it from the rest so you can take it with you. 

You get back from under the desk. Your flashlight producing enough light so you can see it was still in good condition. As you go to put it in your pocket, Jonathan, who has been quiet all this time, steps up, snatching the computer chip out of your hand before putting it in his own pocket.

“I’ll keep this safe, thank you very much.” he cockily sneers.

Fed up with his childish behavior, you turn around, ready to give him a piece of mind. Who does think he is, letting you do all the work and then showing off after?

What you see next however makes your blood run cold and your breath hitch, quickly swallowing the words you were going to say before shouting something else. “Get down!”

He listens immediately, hearing the urgency in your voice. His body goes down by a fraction of a second before you raise your gun and shoot the zombie behind him right between its eyes, its body falling limp on the ground. 

Leon’s ears perk up as he hears the gunshot through the little earpieces, his eyes now focused on the screen of his iPad more than ever, his body on high alert. You’re not supposed to run into any infected. He and Chris had scouted the perimeter before dropping you guys here. It’s supposed to be safe. He can see the two dots on the screen signaling where you and Jonathan are standing, but there’s no sign of a third person on the screen.

You’re shaking, your breathing now rapid as you stare at the lifeless body on the ground before you. The first zombie you have ever seen and also your first kill. You take a few steps closer to inspect it more carefully. 

It’s the body of what once was a man, aged somewhere in his forties. It looks gaunt, caused by the lack of nutrition down here, its cheekbones pressing through its skin. Soulless, white eyes stare back at you, the skin between them torn by the shape of your bullet. Its jaw is what freaks you out the most, for it’s barely even there anymore. Half of it is still hanging from the upper part while the rest has been broken and torn off, smearing blood all over the neck, as the tongue hangs limply. That thing had been close enough to Jonathan to push him against the ground and kill him. How had he not heard something? How had you not heard something? If you hadn’t turned around…

The creature wears a labcoat, torn to pieces together with its shirt and trousers underneath. As you look better at the clothing, you start to realise one thing. Whatever kind of infected this thing was… It was already in this room before you first entered. 

“I… I thought you said this room was clear?” You manage to get the first words out of your mouth when turning to Jonathan. He hasn’t gotten up, still bending forward as you see him trying to wrap his head around what’d just happened. 

His lack of response angers you, so you take a step in his direction, now standing right before him as you make eye contact. “You hear me?” Now slightly raising your voice, still trying to be as quiet as possible. “Hey! Talk to me. You said this room was clear!”

His lips tremble when he speaks. “I… I did… It-it must’ve sneaked up on us back in the tunnels.”

“Bullshit.” You spit back. “I checked our backs right until we walked into this room and not once did I see or hear an infected. Look at his labcoat you fucking moron. He was in this room all this time!”

“I’m sorry. I tried- I really…”

“You could have gotten us both killed.” You silence him as you aim your flashlight around the room, going through it a bit more thoroughly, checking behind and underneath all the desks to make sure that one infected was the only one. 

When you finish your round, you step back towards Jonathan. “Look… Accidents happen. Just… Don’t let this happen again alright?” You try to sooth him while stretching out your hand, helping him stand up again. Once he’s standing you check your ammo, ready to make your way back out. The sooner the better. 

You only make it a few steps back towards the door, before you feel Jonathan grab your hand, stopping you. “That thing…” A tremor in his voice as he whispers “... It was so fucking close. If-if you hadn’t shot it down, I might have…” He can’t bring it in himself to finish that sentence. “Thank you. I’m so sorry I let you down” 

You gave him a soft smile. "Whatever. Let’s just go. I think we’ve both had enough of this place.”

As he agrees, you both make your way out of the lab and down the stairs again, starting back through the almost endless looking network of tunnels. 

Leon had moved considerably closer by now, being in the same street as the entrance you went through. There’s still no sign of any infected on his screen, so you both have to make it back without any problems.

You go in front of Jonathan as per usual, the water quietly sloshing around you, aiming your gun and flashlight straight ahead. To your relief, you don’t run into any more filthy bioweapons from Umbrella. Which is a godsend really.

Your optimism is short-lived though. WIth only a few more corners to pass, you suddenly stop as you see a figure standing about fifty feet ahead.  

Another infected stands right in the middle of the narrow tunnel, its back to you. Your previous gunshot must have alerted it. You curse under your breath, quickly putting your fist up as a silent motion for Jonathan to stop as well. You look at him, quickly bringing your index finger towards your lips as a sign for him to be quiet. He was already distracted though, eyes fixed on the thing that’s ahead of us.

You see him slowly reach for the gun that is hanging from his right hip. As you’re trying to be as quiet as possible, a gun isn’t the best option here. This has to be done as quietly as possible, to not attract any attention.

You quickly grab his arm to make him look at you, head turning as you make eye contact. You shake your head ‘no’, pushing his gun away, before taking your machete where it’s held at your lower back. You point towards his stone hammer, gesturing for him to do the same. 

Leon is getting more and more worried now. Why have the two of you stopped again? There’s nothing showing on his screen, nothing that should be in your way. The way back to the exit should be clear. 

You sign to Jonathan to stay put and for him to help you when things go wrong. A basic form of military sign language was part of your training back at the DSO.

As Jonathan nods, you take a deep breath before looking back at the creature before you. Thankfully it hasn’t noticed you yet. As you gather all your courage, you grip your machete tighter as you make your way towards it. 

It doesn’t make any sounds. It isn’t even moving, standing in the middle of the tunnel like a statue. The light of your flashlight and Jonathan's flare, not alarming it. Just like the one you’d killed back at the lab. Your heart almost pounding out of your chest as you near it, praying to every god above this would go well.

With only a few feet away, you can feel its rotting flesh starting to infiltrate your senses, almost wanting to gag at the repulsive smell. You take the last bits of distance in a hurry, raising your arm before sweeping it down with as much force you could manage. The blade makes contact with its neck, your cut clean, as in one full motion you’re able to cut its head off. The head falling to the side before the body tumbles into the water, the sound of the splash being something you could have avoided. Fuck.

As on cue, you hear a few gurgling moans coming from somewhere in front of you. You take some steps forward, seeing three infected coming from a nearby tunnel on the right that’s connected to yours. 

They’re different from the ones you’d seen before, more active and way louder. They seem way more aware of their surroundings too, your flashlight doing nothing to hide yourself as their heads all turn towards you, gaze feral, screeching, raising their arms while making their way to you. Shit.

This hasn’t gone unnoticed by Jonathan either of course. His breathing uncontrollable as he shakes in his boots. “Fuck…” Clearly for him there’s no point in being quiet anymore “…fuck …we’re gonna die. We’re gonna fucking die!”

“No we’re not. Jonathan, man the fuck up. There’s three of them and there’s two of us, we can take them.” Why is it always you that has to encourage him?

The three infected have reached you within seconds, jaws snapping, out-stretched hands trying to get a hold of you. You dodge them and swing your foot into the chest of the first infected on your right, your strength enough to push him down, arms swaying. You don’t waste any time. Standing over it you lift your machete before swinging it down with all your might, planting the knife right into its skull, body going limp.

The reeking hot breath of the second infected tingles your neck. Before it has a chance you’re spinning on your heels, water splashing, as you swing your knife again, the blade finding home into its neck. Not enough to kill it but plenty to imbalance him. As blood seeps from the wound, you pull back your machete, foot kicking its chest so it goes down. You plan to do the same thing you did to the one before. Standing over it you raise your weapon again.

All of a sudden you feel an immense impact on your back, causing you to drop your flashlight and machete, your body being pushed harshly against the stone wall. You’re quick enough to turn around to prevent the flying hands from scratching you, instead grabbing the wrists and trying to pin them down. The third zombie that cages you in is enormous, towering over you by 6.6 feet, dwarfing you completely. Its broad chest and strong arms preventing you from getting away, its power momentarily too strong for your smaller frame. You grunt as you try to push it off, looking past it to see where Jonathan is.

He hasn’t moved yet, still standing a few feet back with his mouth agape, clearly in shock.

“Jonathan, don't just stand there! Help me out!” You shout, making him snap out of it.

He looks at you, then back at the infected on the ground, which is still moving, towards the infected that has you pinned against the wall. He’s shaking like a leaf.

“Jonathan!” Still no reaction.

You’re getting desperate now, almost screaming. “Jonathan please! Fucking shoot it!”

That seems to knock him out of his stupor. Sadly, not in the way you had hoped. Instead of picking up his gun and shooting the brute that holds you hostage, he passes you, almost jumping over the half dead infected lying on the ground. He looks at you almost in shame. “I-I’m sorry.” Are his last words before bolting, leaving you to die and taking the flare with him.

Leon is sprinting towards the entrance, throwing all protocol aside. Technically, he isn’t supposed to help, but fuck that.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach.

No, no, oh god no… The dread that fills you is almost enough to pull you down and lose the battle you’re having against the infected. But that can not happen. As long as you’re breathing you won’t go down without a fight. It’s just branded into you like that.

Think. Come on, think!

There isn’t anything around that can help you. You can’t reach for one of your guns either or you risk getting bitten. You have to use your body, your own strength, to get out of here somehow.

When an idea strikes your mind, you do a quick mental prayer, literally jumping into action, all in the matter of two seconds. Pushing your whole body up, using the wall behind you as leverage, you kick the infected right in its chest with both of your feet. The action causes it to take a few steps back, releasing you, giving you a second to recompose yourself. In the little time that you have, you reach for the shotgun hanging from your back, swinging it to your front so you can hold it better with two hands. A simple pistol shot isn’t gonna do the job you reckon.

You raise it, just in time, before the infected reaches for you again, its mouth open as it brings out a gurgling scream. You lift the shotgun right under its chin as you pull the trigger, not knowing what kind of damage it will cause.

The shot is loud. Its recoil pushes you back as you feel the pressure down to your core. The zombie’s face is blown off, blood and flesh splattering on the wall behind it, leaving only partial pieces of the head still standing. You almost gag as the body tips over, water splashing, mixing with blood as it makes contact with the ground. Pieces of brain and bone now scattered around it.

As you pant, you realize that the last infected, the one Jonathan had jumped over, was still alive. As you turn you see its body still wriggling in the water, face down. You pick up your machete again and make quick work of it. Pushing your foot down on its back you raise your weapon and bring it down with full force towards the wound you’d previously made. Flesh tearing and bone cracking as you end its life, fully decapitating it.

Meanwhile Leon has now reached the entrance to the tunnels, a weak Jonathan climbing out like the devil himself is after him. His gaze lifting as he hears the sound of running footsteps. “Mr. Kennedy…?”

Leon forcefully pushes him out of the way without a second glance, jumping straight into the darkness below, heart pounding and gun drawn, moving as fast as he could.

He almost flinches when the unmistakable sound of a gunshot reaches his ears, the loud noise reverberating through the tunnels. Dread filling his heart as he quickens his pace even more. He takes a detour to the right, knowing the tunnels better than anyone as he had gone through them countless times before on previous missions. He realizes you’re not too far away from the entrance. He just hopes he makes it in time before you get hurt.

You stand up straight again, legs slightly wobbly from the exertion you had to go through while also a bit shaken up. You had never seen an infected before and now you had killed 4 of them in the span of 30 minutes. All in your first ever mission as well. Would have been easier if your partner hadn’t left you behind though…

You would show him what you were made of once you got out of here. He would have to run if he wanted to avoid you killing him. That alone was a wonderful motivation for you to move forward.

Being under the assumption it’s finally over, you place your machete back on the straps at your back, before going to retrieve the flashlight lying on the ground a few feet ahead of you.

The splashing of water, moaning combined with screeching fills the air once more, making you stop dead in your tracks. Your eyes widen, not believing the things you’re hearing. You thought that had been it. That you’d get to walk out of here now unscratched. Oh boy were you wrong.

Five new infected turn around the same corner the previous three had come from, all equally disgusting and horrifying in their own way.

You abort mission, leaving your flashlight for what it is. It will only draw more attention. You duck into the nearest alcove on your left, knees touching the wet ground as you kneel down, sogging the material of your trousers. At least you think it’s an alcove... You don’t have time to check, as the infected are now standing in the middle of the tunnel. Your flashlight making sure you can still see their silhouettes in the dark.

You’re lucky enough to survive the attack of three infected all by yourself, but taking on five at the same time is impossible. You can take three of them, but not five… Not five.

There’s no way around them either. They’re blocking your path towards the exit completely. Keeping you hostage. Panic seeps through you again like a cold blanket. You have to think of an escape plan, and fast. The infected won’t be standing there forever. Hunting you down being their number one objective, to go after the noise they heard. They will follow the tunnel farther down in your direction and if one of them dares to look you way, you’re done for.

As you carefully peek around the corner you can see them already stumbling your way. You look behind you, pitch blackness greeting you like a meager solution. The alcove seems to be a narrow hallway of sorts, leading you to god knows where. You don’t have your flashlight on you either. You won’t be able to see a thing. Who knows what you might run into? And fighting something when you can’t see, is like walking up to the gallows. You have to get your flashlight back but that will risk you being seen.

You take another look around the corner. Luckily, they haven’t moved any closer. You figure that trying to fight the infected is your best shot at the moment. To get your flashlight quickly and use the dark hallway behind you as a plan B.

You reload your pistol and shotgun, getting yourself ready for what might be your last few minutes of being alive. Shotgun slung over your shoulder, pistol gripped tight in your right hand, you close your eyes, taking a few deep breaths.

You will try to get your flashlight first. After that your main goal is to hit as many headshots as possible. And if that goes wrong? You’re bolting.

A gloved hand suddenly covers your mouth, preventing the faint scream from escaping your lungs. At the same time a strong arm wraps around you, pulling you against a hard chest, preventing you from moving any further. Your gun falls to the ground, making too much noise for your liking.

Using your body you push back against the hard surface behind you, wriggling your arms as you try to get free. Your head is pushed back, hitting someone’s shoulder. As you try to look up, a familiar face comes into view, blue eyes meeting yours.

Leon releases your face, bringing his index finger towards his mouth, signaling for you to remain quiet. You quickly nod, a little perplexed as you realize he’s here. His grip around you making sure that you’re not just imagining things.

Moving around, he removes the arm that is slung around you and puts you behind him. As he slowly turns the corner he’s able to get a better look, seeing all the bloodshed you had caused, the infected slowly making its way towards you. He moves back, gesturing for you to come closer to him with his hand on your back so you’re squatting next to each other.

He communicates through sign language. Telling you to stay calm and to follow his lead, that everything is going to be alright. You believe him. With two agents against five infected the job will be more doable. When all of this is over, you have to think of a way to repay him. Repay him well.

Moving his hands he tells you his idea. The plan is to be stealthy and make as little of a mess as possible. Being the older and more experienced agent, he will move first with you right behind him. His axe and your machete at the ready. Before you turn the corner, he will throw a rock over the infected and into the other direction, trying to get their attention away from you. Then the two of you will move closer, each trying to take out one infected separately, two if you’re lucky. The rest will probably have to be done with a gun.

You sign back to the narrow tunnel behind you, to the way he came from. Wondering if that isn’t a better option than the danger that lies before you. Leon shakes his head as he brings up all ten fingers before pointing behind him. Your eyes widen, shock clearly visible on your face. Your hands start to tremble. There are ten more back there? Did he sneak past all of them? The thought makes you shiver.

Leon sees the worry in your expression. Quickly putting his hand on top of yours. He makes sure your eyes are back on him. Clear blue staring back at you, he whispers the words ‘we’re going to be ok’. The warmth of his voice feels like a warm blanket around you, emitting a protective and secure feeling. His hand touching yours, sending goosebumps up your whole body.

All of a sudden you realize how close the two of you are actually sitting. Your knees barely touching, his hot breath slightly caressing your face. For the fraction of a second, you allow yourself to admire him. The few strands of hair slightly covering his eyes. The few wrinkles there, around his nose and on his forehead, signaling his experience in life. The light stubble with a few grey strands going through it, down towards his neck. Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Down to the broad and muscular pectorals. His arms are a piece of art on its own, the muscles under his shirt bulging as he’s preparing for the fight that’s about to come. He is… beautiful. You feel safe with him even though the situation isn’t very bright looking.

To not let him notice you staring, you quickly take your hand away from under his grasp, signing back that you agree with his plan. You put your gun back into its holster and reach once again for your machete, keeping it ready. Leon does the same, his axe now gripped tightly in his hand, the blade still shining in the faint light that is given. You look at him and curtly nod, signaling that you are ready.

He picks up a nearby rock that lies neglected in the water, putting it ready at his feet. Raising three fingers between you, he looks into your eyes, signaling he’s about to count down. Another nod from you is the last assurance he needs.

One. Two. Three.

The rock goes flying. Straight over the heads of the infected, colliding to the tunnel wall with a sharp loud thud. As on cue the five heads turn in the direction of the sound, giving you and Leon exactly the opening you need.

Leon moves first, stalking the first infected on the left. You’re right behind him, your eyes on the one next to it. The two of you move as quietly through the water as possible. The wrinkles betraying your position, thankfully not too obvious for the infected to notice. You try to be efficient, knowing you’re only given a handful of seconds before their attention will fall back to you.

Leon doesn’t turn to look back, feeling your presence now next to him.

Like the two of you had practiced it a million times before, you both jump at the exact same time. Both of your weapons hitting its mark as you attack from behind.

The two creatures don’t stand a chance. Both being beheaded at the same time. The sound of body parts falling brings the others out of their stupor, all of them turning to inspect what happened.

They don’t get much time to act. The one closest to you is forcefully pushed back against the wall as you kick it in its chest. Leon racing past you to take care of the other two.

The one you had pushed against the wall, recovers quickly. Its arms sway as it tries to hurt you with strong perseverance. You swing your machete, the tip aiming down as you impale it right in the chest. A sound something between a gasp and screech falls from its lips as you pull the blade back out. Aiming it, you swing again. This time chopping both of its arms off. You finish with something that’s starting to become your signature move. Blade slicing through its throat, vertebrae and neck. The head rolls into the water as the body slumps down against the wall.

Panting, you turn around, your gaze searching for Leon. He had downed the fourth infected. Now standing over it, foot placed on its chest, he gives the final blow. His axe planting itself into the skull, blood splattering everywhere as pieces of brain fall onto the ground.

Behind him you see the fifth infected taking advantage of Leon being distracted. Its mouth hanging open, blood already seeping out of it, as it starts for him, reaching for his neck. Leon being completely oblivious.

You don’t have time to scream or shout his name. You raise your machete instead before aiming. With a groan you throw it. The blade swinging through the air before sheeting itself into the neck of your target. The strength of your blow causes the infected to fall to the side. Wriggling in the water with a strangled groan leaving its bloodied mouth.

You reach it in no time. Taking your blade out of its neck before lifting your foot. Bringing it down with full force you break the skull, crushing the bone. Its brain is a mash up underneath your boot as you hear the bone crunch. You quickly pick up the flashlight as you look around. Feeling the adrenaline coursing through your body, awaiting a new threat. 

As your eyes fall upon Leon, you see him already looking at you, panting as well and eyes wide. A faint look of disbelief on his face, like he almost couldn’t understand how you’d killed the infected before he did.

“You… uh… Well done.” He nodded, casting his eyes to the ground. He takes his own flashlight out of his pocket before lighting it. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he takes a few steps forward, now standing directly next to you. He checks the way ahead before clearing his throat. “We need to get out of here.”

As on cue you hear an immense blast coming down the way you came from. The tunnels shake as dust and a few rocks come down from the ceiling. The two of you both bending over, Leon’s arm slightly hovering over you as a form of protection.

“What the…” you hear him whisper.

“Mr. Kennedy, what was that?” 

The next thing you know, multiple screeches and moans fill the area again. The sound coming exactly from where the huge blast had come from. Not just the screeching of four or five infected. No… There are more. Way more. It almost seems as if the blast from before had opened up a gate of some sorts. The gates of hell, freeing its most horrendous kind of demons. 

As you hear the thunder of footsteps and snarling getting closer, you realize this is not something the two of you can fight off on your own. Not even with all the guns you have on you. Leon seems to be sharing the same thought, quickly grabbing your arm and turning you around. “Run to the exit, now!”

You don’t have to be told twice. Aiming your flashlight to prevent yourself from falling down, you sprint through the tunnels. Leon right behind you. Occasionally looking behind him as he draws his gun. You do the same as you do not know what kind of surprises might still lie ahead. 

The snarls get louder behind you, signaling the infected’s proximity. They are faster than you, you realize. Way faster, even though they don’t see a thing in the dark. Must be some weird type of mutation Umbrella cooked up in one of their labs. 

As you round the final corner, you finally get to see the light of day. Literally. The hole in the concrete that you came through, being about two hundred feet up ahead. You run towards it as fast as you can. But sprinting slightly uphill with water to slow you down isn’t very ideal. Both Leon and you are having a hard time getting up.

You’re halfway when you look behind you. Seeing at least 6 infected rounding the corner you just passed yourself, with more to follow. You’re not as brave now as you were before, fear seeping into your bones again. Fear of not making it in time and having to die out here. “They’re getting closer!” 

Leon ceases his sprinting and turns around. “Go! I’m right behind you!” 

The first shot of his pistol rings through your ears as it hits its target. The one infected running at the front falling down, the rest crawling over its body like madmen. More shots follow as you hear Leon take out one after the other. 

You look back down once you reach the top and see Leon still shooting as fast as he can. As the infected get concerningly closer. You take out your sniper rifle, aiming down and looking through the scope. “Mr. Kennedy c’mon, I’ll cover you!” 

You wait as you analyze your targets. Waiting for the perfect shot as you don’t have as much ammo on you as you actually need for the rifle. You grin as three infected align perfectly. The red dot of your scope marking the first one's head. The other two running behind it. You take the shot. Your bullet bursting through their brains in one fluid motion, downing them in a mere second. Because of the silencer, your first shot is almost inaudible. But it does not go unnoticed by Leon as you hear him curse under his breath before turning.  

As he’s sprinting up towards you, you do everything in your power to make sure he gets up safe. Only needing a handful of seconds to down the first litter. Sniping is something you’ve excelled at ever since you started at the DSO. Being often told your sniper skills are better than anyone else's, you take immense pride in the skill. 

Well your training is definitely paying off now.

Leon reaches the top incredibly fast. Grabbing your hand he pushes you towards the ladder. “Hurry...” 

You swing your rifle onto your back before grabbing the metals bars and climbing up. You hear Leon fire a few more shots before following suit. Reaching the top, you lean against the steep concrete wall, regaining your balance before bending down. Your hand reaches for Leon’s as you try to help him up. His warm firm grasp embraces yours. With one strong tug you pull him up. 

Something counters your strength, Leon groaning as he’s being pulled down again. A loud curse escapes him. One of the infected has managed to gain up on him and grasp onto his lower leg. As it grabs him with both of its claws and tries to climb up, you know he’ll get bitten if you don’t act quickly. Freeing your pistol from its holster, you aim right between its dead eyes. Not hesitating as you pull the trigger. The blow causes the creature to fall back down, taking two others with him who were also trying to get up the ladder.

With Leon now free, you continue pulling him back up. As he gets up next to you on the concrete wall, you grasp for your shotgun again, aiming towards the next filthy infected that’s right behind him. You pull the trigger. The immense blast making it tumble back down in several pieces.

You hear Leon shout next to you. “There’s too many. Run!” 

Climbing up the steep wall, you hear the sharp clinging of metal next to you. You look back at Leon. The metal pin of the grenade he’s holding, being the source of the noise. You see him pull out the pin before throwing it carelessly behind him. He pushes you forward. “Go! Shit’s about to blow!” 

With a last look behind him, he throws the grenade back at the infected, before taking a final sprint. You see it land right at the bottom of the hole, at least twenty zombies now filling the area that you came from while some were climbing the ladder again. Leon wraps his arm around your middle and pushes you out of the tunnel as fast as he can. 

Finally reaching the top, the two of you climb out, leaving the evil darkness behind. Now running on the street you only manage a few more steps before your body is catapulted. As the bomb goes off behind you, you hear the deafening sound of rubble coming down. Shaking the asphalt below your feet. You fall on your front. Your arms wrap around your head to prevent yourself from getting hurt. Leon falls on top of you. His body now involuntarily protecting yours from any flying debris. 

After a few seconds the rumbling and screeching from the infected quiets down. You feel the pressure of Leon’s body slightly crushing you. The smell of sweat and dirt mixed with the smell of freshly washed linen fill your senses like a warm blanket that’s being wrapped around you. Oddly enough, you don’t mind his crushing weight. 

A few more moments pass before you feel him shift above you. Slowly lifting himself up as a groan falls from his lips. One hand positioned at your waist as the other holds himself up. You dare look up yourself.

Smoke fills the air, providing an even more thick and impenetrable fog than there already was. Pieces of rubble and dirt all scattered around the place. As you look back at the hole in the ground that you came through, you only see a big pile of debris left. What once was an entrance to one of the Umbrella labs had now caved in, taking the infected with it. The grenade had sealed them in like a tomb.

You feel Leon’s firm grip as he lifts you from the ground. Once back on your feet, you’re turned towards him. One hand still on your shoulder as he starts inspecting you from head to toe. Brows furrowed as he’s looking for any sign of injuries. “Are you alright?” He asks hurriedly, his gaze now coming up to meet yours. Searching your eyes to make sure you’re not hurt.

You nod, slightly nervous because of his touch. “I-I’m fine…” You say before looking at your feet. The intense eye contact a bit too demanding for you to hold. Looking back at the destroyed entrance you huff in approval. “Good thinking, throwing the grenade back there. I thought we were goners.” You joke, trying to lift up the mood. His hand leaves your shoulder as he quietly hums. Looking back at the pile of debris, a frown is edged on his face. Still cautious that anything might come through the rubble and attack you. You admire that about him, just as much as you find it very attractive.

“Mr. Kennedy…” He looks back at you. His gaze making you slightly weak in the knees. “… I- Thank you. If it weren’t for you, I would’ve never made it out of there alive.” Your words seem to soften something inside of him. The frown on his face now slowly vanishing.

“No need to thank me really.” He says, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that. Chris and I, we checked the perimeter for any danger before you guys even came here. If… If I had known there were so many infected, I would have never sent you down there. I’m so sorry.” You see the regret in his eyes, the immense disappointment in himself for failing you like that. As your superior it is his responsibility to look after you and keep you safe during training. To adjust your tactics and give you tips in any way he can. He couldn’t even do that.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen?”

Your eyes widen as he shakes his head no. You suddenly realize what kind of catastrophe you had just avoided. Your whole mission was to just get the computer chip back from the lab and return without scratches. No zombies blocking your path whatsoever. No wonder Jonathan ran off like a pussy.

You see Leon having difficulty with the situation he had put you in. Not daring to meet your eyes, he averts his gaze to somewhere slightly above you. His shoulders a little bit tense, as his hand goes behind his neck to awkwardly start scratching at the skin. You feel bad for him... This man, who saved you when no one else did, did not deserve to feel this distraught. According to the many stories from his past missions when he was younger, he’d already felt enough of that.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty. No one can predict something as horrifying as what has just happened.” Your words are honest and warm as you try to gain his attention.

Leon curtly nods, looking for the way ahead. “Let’s go.” He mumbles before taking a few steps through the mist, discarding your words.

Having none of it, you quickly follow his steps. Reaching out to grab his lower arm, you make him turn, forcing him to lock eyes with you before saying your next words of truth. “Mr. Kennedy… Please believe me when I say it’s fine. Really. You did everything you could. If it weren’t for you I’d be dead.”

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be in this situation right now.” He grumbles, eyes cold.

“But I am.” You take a step closer before continuing. “And that’s not because of you, but because I chose to be here. I chose to become a DSO agent and to do this mission with you. I chose to step into that tunnel and continue the mission. If I wasn’t prepared to face any danger, I would have just dropped out of the program.”

Leon sighs before clenching his jaw, not very much convinced. “Still… I should have known.”

“But you didn’t. And that’s ok. Mistakes happen. Look, Jonathan didn’t check the lab for threats very well when we were down there and I still forgave him…”

You’re interrupted as Leon’s gaze fixates on something moving behind you. “Speaking of which…”

You turn around, a gasp escaping you. There, sitting on a withered metal bench, was none other than Jonathan. His hunched over form taking shape through the mist. He notices you at the exact same time. Eyes wide and mouth agape as he sees you’ve made it out alive with Leon standing right next to you.

You inhale sharply, eyes narrowing as you feel your head getting warm. You grind your teeth as he stands up. His lips forming a small smile, hand on his chest almost like he’s relieved. Like he forgot what he’d done to you. How he’d abandoned you. A strange feeling of rage flows through you, blood pumping through your veins as you march towards him. You roll up your sleeves before clenching your fist, holding it steady at your side. With only a few feet away, he opens his arms in mock gesture, inviting you in, believing you to be a dumb rookie agent. “Oh thank God, I was so worr-“

You don’t give him time to finish his sentence. Your fist colliding full force against his upper jaw, nose breaking as you give him the hardest punch you could muster. A cry, that sounds anything but manly, bursts from his lips. His body tumbling over as he falls to the side.

“Tell someone who actually gives a shit.” You snarl, desperately trying to stay calm before you do anything worse.

Blood seeps from his nose, his hand reaching for it as he inspects the damage. A look of dismay is thrown at you when he sees the blood coating his fingers. His eyes search for your superior. Leon, standing only a few feet behind you, who’s been watching you the whole time. He doesn’t interfere. You’ve earned it.

“Hey! You’re just letting her get away with this? You got nothing to say about that?” Jonathan says in disbelief. Voice raising as he throws the words at Leon. 

You have to do your very best to hold yourself back. Your hand itching to punch him again. You hear the sturdy footsteps of Leon’s boots behind you as he comes closer. Turning your head to see him stop right next to you, you notice the tiny smirk he’s holding. His eyes turn as cold as ice before fixating on Jonathan. “You’re out.”

Jonathan scrambles to get up as his brows furrow and his mouth falls open in shock. “What?”

Leon doesn’t miss a beat to repeat himself. “You’re out. When we get back to the DSO, you take your bags and leave.”

“What? Wait! No-no-no…” He panics, hand reaching inside his pocket, taking out the computer chip he had taken from you. “... I got the computer chip. The important piece of information you guys were searching for. I completed the mission!”

Leon chuckles while shaking his head, staying very calm. He takes the chip out of Jonathan’s grasp, collecting it in his own pocket. “You didn’t do shit kid.” He takes another step closer. Looking Jonathan dead in the eye. “You abandoned your partner in a situation where she needed you most. Running off like a little bitch you left her there to die. The number one rule in a partnership is you both complete a mission and leave no one behind. She-” he says while looking at you for a split second “-has more courage and intelligence in her than you could ever fathom. If it weren’t for her you’d be fucking dead. And that’s how you repay her?”

You see Jonathan’s Adam's apple bob. Probably swallowing the last remnants of pride he has left. A look of betrayal is shot at you. “You told him?”

As much as you want to reply, Leon beats you to it. “She didn’t have to tell me anything. I heard everything that was said between the two of you.”

As both you and Jonathan stare at him with a questioning look, he raises his hand and points towards the little earpiece. You chuckle as Jonathan curses. “Son of a bitch…”

You have to refrain yourself from laughing too hard. Instead your lips part as you smirk, staring back at Jonathan with a satisfied look on your face.

Leon grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him forward. “Now get back to the dropping site and after that I don’t want to see you ever again.”

A low grumble falls from Jonathan’s lips as he starts walking, shoulders slumped, his head bent down in shame. You and Leon follow suit. Just a few feet behind him. With the adrenaline slowly wearing off and your skin still sweaty, you start getting goosebumps. Even now with the sun at its highest peak, it’s still not enough to keep you warm.

“You ok?” A little bit startled by his question, you look back at Leon, his eyes already on you.

“Yeah…” You nod quickly, not wanting him to worry. “Just a little bit cold, that's all.”

He frowns at your words, gaze dropping towards your bare arms, seeing the hairs on your skin standing up. He moves a bit more towards you as you’re walking, dropping his voice a little so only you can hear him. “Just a little longer and we’ll be back at the car in no time. You can warm yourself up there.”

He doesn’t know why he tells you that. Why he says those words of comfort or why he suddenly feels the strange need to look after you. Is it because you’re a woman? Or is there something more? Something hidden. Something buried deeper within himself that he’s desperately trying to ignore.

When he’d found you back in the tunnels, he was impressed at how well you were able to hold yourself up. At how well your resilience was in the midst of danger. The massacre you had caused all by yourself was something on the level of more experienced and seasoned agents. The way you had moved and used your machete, like you had been doing it for years. The way the faint light of your flashlight had reflected the sweat on your pale skin. How your biceps, which were considerably smaller compared to his, had moved when you parried every attack. And don’t get him started on that precision kill you did with your sniper rifle. Killing three infected with just one shot? You had outdone yourself, immensely. It had triggered his attention.

And when you got up to punch Jonathan in the face? He hadn’t moved. On the contrary, he had found it very amusing. Seeing your smaller frame march up to him like a little pitbull before breaking his nose. He even found it a bit attractive as well, though he didn’t want to admit that to himself. You were twenty years younger for goodness sake. You probably thought he was an old creep you had to train with.

Despite his worrying, he can see your eyes soften at his words. A warm smile now covering your face that manages to shake something in him. You also lower your voice. “Thank you again Mr. Kennedy. For everything, really.”

He wants nothing more than to tell you that you can just call him by his first name. To be more familiar with him. But he’s your superior… He has to stay professional. So he answers in the best way he can. “It’s nothing. I’m glad I was there.” Offering you a warm smile in return, you continue your way back to the dropping point.

He feels guilty. So immensely guilty. There’s no way to describe it. He should have known better. Should have seen the bioterrorism pop up on the scanners when he and Chris had first scouted the area. Years of being in the field, facing danger and managing to survive every single day, years of training… and he’d still failed. Had failed you. He tells himself he’s no better than Jonathan. No better than the men at the DSO who think less of you just because you’re a woman. He doesn’t deserve your kind words and compassion. If anything he should be thankful you’re still looking at him with such respect.

With you walking slightly in front of him now, he lets his eyes wander to your smaller frame. Resting on your hair, slightly dirty from all the dust and debris, neatly woven into a French braid. A couple of strands have come loose, framing your face. The color of your hair is a pretty contrast to the dark navy blue of your shirt. As he looks up, he admires your youthful face. Adorning a few little freckles, mostly around your nose, with eyes that shine bright even in the darkest of places. The pale skin of your arms and neck, decorated with a few beauty marks here and there.

The black harness holding your weaponry is tight around your chest, showing off your slim figure and small waist. He notices the zipper of your shirt had come down a bit, revealing the sheen of sweat on your chest caused by all the exertion. A single drop running down, disappearing between the swell of your breasts. He lets his gaze drop lower. To the shape of your hips. To your machete that’s carefully placed above your gorgeous behind. The knife softly swaying from side to side with each step you take.

And when the grenade went off… When he lay on top of you… When he felt your warmth pushed against his crotch…

Jesus Christ.

“What do you think of me?”

“What?” Leon says, startled by your voice. He shakes his head, almost like waking up from a dream. Eyes coming back up to meet yours with a faint blush already starting to form.

“The mission…” You say. “How did I do?” Fuck. Focus Kennedy. Get your act together.

He clears his throat, swallowing the last bit of spit, his mouth going dry. “You uh… You were great. Amazing in fact.” Is that too much for him to say as your superior? Does it sound weird? A simple ok as Chris always says to the rookies won’t do you any justice. He can tell you the truth, right?

You look at him with these big doe-like eyes, almost knocking the air straight out of him. He has to admit it to himself. You are… beautiful.

“So… I passed then?” You question him. “Oh you did more than just pass.” He chuckles, keeping the double-sided meaning of that sentence as a joke to himself.

“What do you mean?”

He sighs. How do you not realize how good you are? “Let me put it this way. Out of all the agents back at the DSO… There aren’t many with as much resilience as you, who would have faced a horde of infected alone on their first ever mission. You held your own back there. Aiding me and complementing my strategies. Following my directions, moving the way I wanted you to, like you’ve been doing it for years. You’re the perfect partner I have missed for so long. So no, you didn’t just pass. If anything I would almost say you’re a full fletched agent who doesn’t need any more training.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “What are you saying Mr. Kennedy?”

“I’m saying that as far as I’m concerned, you have passed your training. Let me have a talk with Chris. Let’s see what I can do. Maybe… I could secure you a good position at the DSO. Give you security.”

You smile at him. “Thank you sir, and I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but… I don’t think an office job is really it for me.”

He returns your smile. “No… I don’t think it is. But I didn’t mean a position at the office. Sadly enough, it is clear you were made for the field.”

It should feel weird to have someone tell you you’re good at killing. That you’re ‘made’ to fulfil missions in very dangerous circumstances. Instead, his words feel like a compliment to you. A feeling that’s so refreshing after the various laughs and sneers from your fellow male DSO colleagues.

“Thank you Mr. Kennedy. For everything. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“You never have to.”

After a small hour of walking, the three of you make it back to the dropping point. Chris and his two rookies are already waiting.

At the sight of Jonathan’s miserable expression and bloody nose, Chris’s smirk starts to form. “Well well well… Seems like the mission was a disaster after all. Where the hell have you been Kennedy? We already finished an hour ago.”

You huff, a little irritated by his remark. If only he knew how Jonathan got that broken nose. What you have been through…

Leon walks up to him. “Shut up Chris.” His gaze flickers to Jonathan then back to you. He lets it linger there for a second. Blue eyes demanding your attention. Sending shivers down your spine. There’s a message in them. One of certainty, of protection… of dominance. He sends you a comforting smile before looking back at Chris. His voice is deep and steady as he speaks.

“We need to talk.”

Thank you for reading. <3 I'm sorry if there are any grammatical errors. Please feel free to comment so I can correct them.

Part two can be found here, part three here.