But even more than that… he loves you kissing him. Loves it when you hold onto his face, press kisses along the fat of his cheeks and his temples, the sides of his nose… loves when you pull him flush against your body just to shower him in your affection.
On days where the world is a little kinder to him, and he comes home neither battered nor bruised, he loves tearing off his mask and reaching for you immediately—hands wrapping around your hips, lips chasing after yours. The sweat and humidity of hunting bad guys in places where heat prevails, even with the night’s chill, leaves his hair curlier (and dare you argue fluffier). When Jason returns all your lovin’ with his own affection the fluff of his hair tickles you and you scrunch up your face and laugh, and he laughs, and it’s just…
robert accidentally discovering you have a celebrity crush — and it’s none other than him!
maybe you’re being teased by invisigal or flambae for looking at magazine covers of a certain hero while at work, and robert stops by to hear the tail end of the conversation. he doesn’t really care until —
‘— i just think mecha man is nice, okay?’ you mutter, though the way you refuse to meet the eyes of anyone screams that there’s something more to it. ‘like, he looks nice, yeah, but he’s also just — nice. whatever. shut up.’
though invisigal / flambae gives up and leaves, remarking that you are the worst liar in the world, robert remains, and when you find the courage to look back up he’s just staring at you.
‘what,’ you say, your face hot, already on the defensive.
‘nothing.’ he smothers the instinct to grin like an idiot and affects nonchalance. ‘i think he’d appreciate that.’
જ⁀➴ synopsis: messy makeouts are the cure to your boyfriends jaded soul.
જ⁀➴ contents: established relationship, suggestive, the suit stays on, slight nipple play, clothed sex, kinda sweet, my smut is rusty, sorta short, I need him oml, 18+
જ⁀➴ idk man he’s turned me feral ig. hope you enjoy my loves!
“Babe- fuck- if you’re gonna grind on me fucking do it, stop with the teasing.” His words come out all gruff and muffled against your jaw as his gloved hands squeeze at your ass, pressing you down against him with a choked noise that catches pathetically in his throat.
“I don’t wanna ruin your suit,” you reply sweetly, as if you hadn't imagined this exact scenario the first time you had seen him in it. he chuckles faintly at your words, knowing damn well how dirty your mind is despite the cute little innocent act you had going on.
Robert reaches a hand up to curl his fingers around your jaw, pulling you closer to him until his lips press against yours— grinning against your mouth as you wiggle a little on his lap, hands grasping at his shoulders.
“You think I care about the damn suit right now?”
You go to answer, but he only kisses you deeper, tongue pushing past your lips, fingers slipping into your hair before murmuring: “rhetorical question, sweetheart. I don’t care, just keep moving your hips.”
And you do, grinding your clothed cunt down against his hard-on with a broken little moan that makes his head spin. your arms curl around his shoulders as his hands drop back down to your hips to guide you a little harder against him.
“There you go, just- fuck- just like that, baby.” He grunts, leaving a trail of wet kisses along the side of your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to give him more space, whispering out his name breathily when he sucks at the underside of your jaw.
He needed this after today’s shit show, just a little TLC from you— and god knows he could spend hours like this with you all around him smelling like vanilla and so incredibly warm, he needed to feel you, your bare skin, so he quickly tugs his gloves off, throwing them onto the floor to run his hands all over your curves, rough palms tracing over your waist and up along your back.
“You’re so soft, so pretty.” He whispers against your mouth before pulling back just to lift your shirt— his shirt— over your head. His lidded gaze drinks you all in with a boyish grin, like he was proud of himself. “so fuckin’ pretty,” he drawls out, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbing over your nipples.
“Ah!- Robert-" you gasp when he pinches the hardened peaks, and you arch into his calloused palms with a broken whimper— giving a lazy roll of your hips that makes him writhe needily beneath you.
“wanna see you- need to-”
Your fingertips clumsily brush along his stubbled jaw, slipping under his mask and pushing it off his head. his freckled cheeks are slightly flushed, and his hair is all tussled, even more so when you run your fingers through it, coaxing a sigh from him.
“Missed you.” your words instantly soften something inside him, then your peppering warm kisses against his cheeks, and he just melts completely— arms wrapping around you like you’re the only thing grounding him… and in some way, yeah, you were.
“m’here now, baby, not going anywhere,” he promises, breath fanning over your collarbones, sloppily kissing back up your neck to your mouth— his lips slick with a mixture of your spit and his, all red and kiss-bitten. “I’m here.”
You clench around nothing as you rock down against his hard cock that is strained against his suit, the rough texture of it rubbing perfectly against your clothed clit— the cotton fabric of your panties completely drenched, leaving a filthy wet patch where you’re grinding desperately. your fingers tug at his hair, which only makes him jolt and buck under you making all sorts of needy moans that only encourages you to move.
The kiss is hot, wet, with his tongue licking into your mouth and his teeth nipping at your bottom lip— swallowing back all your whines whilst his hands grope at you, fingers sinking into the fat on your hips almost bruisingly.
“Gonna make a mess on me, huh?— come on baby, c’mon.” you can tell by the strain in his gruff voice that he was close, the way he tucks his face into the warm crook of your neck, panting hotly.
He mouths lazily at your collarbones as you practically soak his lap with a whiny: “Yeah— Robbie, coming— fuck, m’coming.” and he follows embarrassingly quick after you, coming in his underwear and ruining his suit even more than it already was— a very warm and sticky mess pooling wetly between you.
Your thighs twitch at either side of his own, and you collapse against his chest with a shuddering breath whilst his fingers run soothingly through your hair, trailing along your spine.
“You alright?” he asks breathlessly. you respond with a nod, and he grins against your shoulder, “bed?”
I love the idea of Herman’s grandma giving him advice for dating and old fashioned wisdom on how to court you properly.
“Did you buy flowers for them? A young man should always get their lover fresh flowers so the relationship stays fresh. It’s bad luck to leave his lover’s vases empty.”
“Let them kiss you goodbye at the door and take wherever they kiss you. It’s best for a man to only get a chaste kiss on the cheek than no kiss at all. And if they let you in the house that means something sometimes and means nothing most of the time.”
“Never walk ahead of them unless it’s to open a door for them. It’s very ungentlemanly to make them have to follow behind you. That’s why you always offer your arm or hand.”
“Don’t plant seeds in their mind unless you’ve got the plans on how to make them grow. Both in terms of the relationship and the night.”
A/N: Happy new year! This came out a little late, but i hope everyone has a better 2026 regardless!
Pairing: Robert Robertson x Reader ☆ Fluff ☆ 18+!
Sometimes, Robert comes home after a long day, body sporting new bruises, shoulders slumped and dragging his feet, and immediately crashes into you on the couch.
He doesn’t move for like the next hour, burying his face into your neck, caging you under him. You’re stuck like that, staring at the ceiling as he noses at your neck. It’s ticklish, but if you strain your ears you can hear him make soft, low sounds of content—rumbling in the back of his throat, as if having you in his arms like this brings him comfort and relief. Hope you didn’t have anything you wanted to do lol (You don’t. Not while he needs you like this. Everything else can wait).
When you’ve felt his body become more relaxed, you ask him things like “Do you need anything, Robert?” and all he does is grunt. You try to gently urge him for a more tangible, solid answer, but he just hums, holding onto you tighter, arms wrapped around your middle. You hum back.
“Can I play with your hair then, honey?”
Robert hesitates. You feel it in the way he tenses—the change in body language so miniscule you wouldn’t have caught it if you were anyone else. You’re about to suggest something else when he shuffles his head closer to you, face still hidden in the curve of your neck.
“Be gentle.” He says, deep voice muffled against your skin.
You wiggle around slightly, trying to get one hand free (he huffs a laugh as you squirm). As requested, you’re gentle as you run your hand through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead… over and over again. Eventually, you both fall asleep, with his limbs tangled around your body and your hands in his hair. (Beef joins the cuddle pile, squeezing in between your bodies <3)
-`☾´-
Other times, things go a little… differently.
“I could make you feel better,” you whisper, trailing your hands through his hair… then down the back of his neck. You make sure to run your fingernails across his skin, biting your lips to hide your smile when you feel him shiver.
There’s a beat of silence.
When he lifts his head to meet your gaze, his eyes are dark with want and his breathing’s deepened. Need roils in your belly as his eyes flick between yours and your lips. Robert sighs, chuckling softly, and it took EVERY bit of self-control you had to not pounce him right then.
“You’re just such a tease, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Robert. It was just an idea…” You murmur, moving your hands to wrap around the back of his neck. Leaning in, you ghost your breath over his clipped ear, “...to reward you for a hard day’s work.”
Robert shivers again, breath hitching as you nip at his earlobe. You know he’s biting back a whine with the way he digs his fingers into your clothes, grip tightening like he’s a second away from tearing them off your body. You can see his hard-on straining through his pants, and it makes you very pleased with yourself.
“Better not regret that, baby.” He says, smirking. There’s a dangerous edge to his grin—it leaves you flustered and hot and so obsessed with him that if he hadn’t dragged you to the bedroom by your wrist, you would’ve dropped to your knees right then and there.
He’s already going bright red before you’ve even made it halfway across the room. You practically launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his shoulders and dragging him into one of your customary post-shift hugs. His face ends up smushed against your chest— a position he absolutely does not know what to do with, even though it’s become a daily thing ever since you joined the Z Team.
Not that he thinks it means anything. You’re like this with everyone. All that Tamaranean warmth, all that bright, affectionate energy that still feels a little too big and too earnest for Earth.
Behind you, Sonar and Malevola are already whisper-giggle-snorting, while the rest of the team watches with knowing smirks. Flambae, of course, looks mildly offended, convinced you’re eons above the dispatcher.
You pull back only after giving him one last enthusiastic squeeze, your golden skin catching the overhead lights as you beam down at him. “Are you coming with us to The Sardine tonight?” you ask in that sweet, lilting voice that always sounds like sunlight.
“Hey! Who said she could invite the little bitch?” Flambae snaps immediately, only to get jabbed in the ribs by Invisigal.
“Ow! What— I am just saying!”
You just blink at him, head tilted, not understanding the insult but understanding the vibe clearly enough.
Robert, still red, clears his throat like he’s about to melt straight through the floor.
“Please say you will! We will be doing the drinking,” you insist with that earnest, otherworldly sincerity, your neon green eyes shimmering like you’ve somehow crammed two whole suns behind them. Robert has never met anyone whose gaze feels that… alive. It’s almost overwhelming.
He rubs the back of his neck, trying for casual and failing miserably. “I can, yeah. Just… can’t stay out too lat—”
He doesn’t get to finish. Because you squeal, an actual, delighted squeal that rings through the room like a victory cry, and launch yourself at him again. Your arms scoop him up so enthusiastically that his feet leave the ground for a split second. He makes a sound that might be a yelp. Or a croak. Or a prayer.
Aaanndd he’s bright red again, clinging to your shoulders because if he doesn’t, he might actually pass out from shock. You set him down gently, hands lingering on his arms like you genuinely don’t realize how strong you are.
“This is most excellent news!” you say, beaming so hard it practically warms his face. “We shall have the joys and the fun and the sardines!”
“It’s… just the bar name,” he mumbles, dazed.
“Yes!” you nod with the seriousness of a soldier. “The bar of sardines. I adore it already.”
He wonders (not for the first time) if you’re going to be the reason he develops a heart condition.
You stick out like a sore thumb— the brightest, warmest, most aggressively friendly sore thumb The Sardine has ever seen. No one expected anything less. You’re a literal ball of sunshine in a villain bar that smells like cheap liquor, burnt ozone, and questionable decision-making.
But if you notice the stares, the double-takes, or the whispers, you give no sign of it. Your attention is fixed entirely on the team.
…Well. Mostly on Robert.
You all crowd into a booth, the vinyl squeaking under the weight of weapons, armor, and Flambae’s very dramatic sighing. You slide in beside Robert and immediately melt against his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your arm brushes his, your thigh pressed warm against his leg, your head occasionally drifting to his shoulder as if gravity itself has decided he’s your anchor.
Robert, for his part, is trying very hard not to forget how to breathe.
Punch Up is halfway through a story about the time Robert and the rest of the Z Team accidentally started a bar fight the size of a small riot. Every time you laugh, it bubbles out of you like pure sunlight, bright and delighted, and Robert feels each one vibrate through his ribs.
You lean closer, eyes sparkling. “You broke the man’s arms? Truly? Robert, I had no idea you were such a warrior of chaos!”
He hides his face in his hands. “Only one arm, Visi did the other. It’s— it wasn’t that crazy—”
“Semantics,” Invisigal says proudly, raising her drink.
“You guys are so fucking weird,” Prism adds with a fond roll of her eyes.
“And yet astonishingly lovable,” you declare with a firm nod.
The team laughs. Robert tries to. Your hand finds his knee under the table. Innocent, absentminded, warm. And he nearly ascends on the spot.
Somewhere across the bar, a villain stares at you for too long, trying to figure out why someone who glows like a nuclear star is here of all places.
Flambae glares him down until he looks away.
You don’t notice.
You’re too busy leaning toward Robert, eyes wide, asking, “Will there be more stories of the chaos? I desire to know all of the Robert adventures.”
He mutters, “Oh god,” but he’s smiling.
Your little moment is shattered when Prism suddenly shoots to her feet, chair scraping across the floor. She jabs a finger toward some guy across the bar.
“Stop looking at us like that and say something, punk bitch!”
The whole place quiets just a fraction, enough for you to feel the shift, the pressure, the eyes.
The man smirks like he’s been waiting for this. He strolls over to the booth, cockiness in every step, gaze sliding over each member of the team before landing squarely on you.
“Was just wondering,” he drawls, “who invited Pinkie Pie over here.”
Your eyes blink. You don’t understand the reference, but the tone, the mockery, you feel that. And suddenly every stare in the room feels heavier, stickier, like invisible hands tugging at your skin. The noise of the bar swells, and your chest tightens in a way you can’t quite name.
The team tenses. Flambae sits up straighter, ready to burn the guy alive. Invisigal mutters, “Oh, hell no.” Even Prism pauses, eyeing you like she’s waiting for you to say the word and she’ll deck him.
But you’re not hearing the team anymore.
You’re hearing your own heartbeat. Too loud. Too fast.
This isn’t like the training rooms or the tower. This place feels cramped and buzzing and full of eyes that don’t understand you— or worse, think they already do.
“I…” your voice comes out small, strange in your own mouth. “I will… be right back.”
Before anyone can question it, you slip out of the booth and weave through the crowd, ignoring the confused calls behind you. Your hands feel too warm, your glow sparking at the edges of your skin in that way it does when your emotions get tangled and heavy.
You push open the bar’s rusty back door and step into the alley, the cold air hitting you like a lifeline. You breathe, trying to steady yourself, trying to remember how to be big again, bright again.
You don’t hear the door open behind you. But you feel him.
“Hey—” Robert’s voice is soft, careful. “You okay?”
You turn, startled. He’s standing there with his hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets, hair messy from rushing after you. His concern is written all over his face, even though he’s clearly trying not to crowd you.
“I… think I am overwhelmed,” you admit, hugging your arms to your chest. “The man was unkind. And then everyone was watching. And the bar is so… loud. I did not wish to be… a burden.”
Robert shakes his head instantly. “You’re not. Not even close.”
You look down at your feet, glowing faintly at the edges. “On Tamaran, we are taught to shine brightest in unfamiliar places. But here it feels… too much. Like I do not belong in the bar of sardines.”
He steps closer, and when you don’t pull away, he reaches out and touches your arm lightly.
“You belong wherever you want to be,” he says, a little breathless, like the honesty itself takes effort. “And if anyone makes you feel otherwise, that’s on them. Not you.”
Your eyes lift, shimmering in the dim alley light.
“Robert,” you say softly, “you are very kind.”
He turns pink. Actually pink. “I— I try.”
You smile, a small one, but real. “May I… stand out here with you for a moment more?”
“As long as you want,” he says immediately. And he means it.
The muffled chaos of the bar fades behind you, and for a moment it feels like the whole night narrows down to the two of you, breathing the same quiet air, letting the world slow down just enough to feel safe again.
After a few minutes of quiet, you turn your head toward him again. The alley light catches in your neon eyes, and Robert swears they glow brighter when you’re thinking hard.
“Robert…” you begin softly, fingertips tracing the wall beside you like you’re grounding yourself. “What is Earth’s culture for the romancing?”
He blinks. Once. Twice. His brows pull together in this adorable, confused little furrow. “Like… dating?”
“Yes,” you nod earnestly. “The dating. The rituals for telling someone you wish to… spend affections on them.”
Robert’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again like he’s buffering.
You wait patiently, hands clutched in front of you, glowing faintly with that Tamaranean sincerity you can’t mask.
“Uh… well,” he finally manages, rubbing the back of his neck, “it kinda depends. Usually people get to know each other, hang out a lot, maybe go places together. Dinners, movies… stuff like that. And then if they like each other, they, um— make it official.”
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing in curious concentration. “Official? Is there a ceremony?”
“No! No, nothing like that. Just… talking about it. Saying you want to be together.”
You consider this deeply, looking at him like he just explained the ancient secrets of the universe. “Tamaran makes it much simpler,” you say seriously. “When we feel the pull toward someone, we tell them. If the feeling returns to us, we kiss. Sometimes many times. Then we decide to be… joined.”
Robert chokes on absolutely nothing.
“Oh,” he squeaks. “Cool. That’s— that’s cool. Simple. Straightforward.”
You step a little closer without realizing it, your warmth brushing his arm. “Earth seems more complicated.”
“It is,” he admits weakly.
“And… how does one know,” you continue, voice quiet and thoughtful, “if the… liking… goes both ways?”
He swallows. Hard.
“Usually you, uh, catch hints,” he says, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “Flirting, compliments, wanting to be close. Sometimes people say it directly, but… that’s scary.”
“Scary?” you repeat, confused. “On Tamaran we simply ask. And if the feeling is not shared, we respect it. Why is this frightening?”
Robert laughs nervously, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Because… rejection sucks?”
You blink slowly, taking that in like it’s a new scientific discovery. “You humans fear the no so much that you do not ask for the yes?”
“Uh… yeah. Kinda.”
You stare at him for a long moment, your expression softening, curious and tender all at once.
“I think,” you say gently, “you are very brave for trying, even with the fear.”
His heart doesn’t just skip, it goes into full acrobatics.
You step a bit closer, looking up at him through glowing eyes. “Robert… may I ask you something else about this romancing?”
“Y-yeah,” he croaks. “Anything.”
“Can we,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “do the dating?”
He freezes.
Not the cute little pause he does when you hug him too hard— no, this is a full system shutdown. The kind where every thought he’s ever had stops mid-sentence. Even the night air seems to hold its breath, the alley shrinking around the two of you until it feels like the world has narrowed to a single question.
Robert stares at you, eyes wide, lips parted like he’s afraid to breathe wrong and ruin whatever moment this is. “Do the— you mean… with me?”
You nod, slow and certain. Your glow softens, drifting warm and steady across your skin. “Yes. With you. If you wish it also. If not, that is okay. But I would like very much to try.”
He lets out a tiny, involuntary noise, something between a squeak and a strangled gasp, and immediately covers it with a cough that fools literally no one.
“I—” he tries, voice cracking. He clears his throat and tries again. “I mean… yeah. Yes. We can. I… want to.”
The relief on your face is so sudden and so bright that he swears it could power a whole city block. Your shoulders loosen, your posture unwinds, and for a moment you look like you might actually float off the pavement.
“You do wish it,” you say softly, almost disbelieving. “You truly do.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, cheeks blazing. “Pretty sure I’ve been wishing it for a while.”
You blink, stunned. “But I am… strange here. I do everything wrong. I am loud and glowing and I say things incorrectly and—”
“And you’re amazing,” he cuts in before you can spiral. “You’re… you. And I really, really like you. Even when you nearly break my ribs hugging me.”
You beam at him. That pure, dazzling, golden light that hits him right in the lungs. “In Tamaranean culture, that is a sign of great affection.
“Yeah, I kinda figured,” he says weakly.
A small silence stretches between you, soft and full and warm.
You step closer again, your warmth brushing his chest this time, not just his arm. “And may I hold your hand?”
He nods so fast it’s a miracle his head stays attached.
And when your fingers slip into his, carefully, reverently, like you’re holding something precious, the entire world feels suddenly quiet again, as if even the universe itself wants to give you space for this beginning.
You smile, kind and bright. “I like the Earth dating very much.”
Robert's a dog lover yeah? Imagine being a puppy hybrid that Robert keeps around the house. You warm his bed and keep him company, welcome him back home from work with bright eyes and open legs.
On the rare occasions he brings you to work, you warm him in your mouth under his desk. It's hard work helping him relieve stress, but it's even harder to keep your noises low, ears flicking and tail wagging so hard there's the constant sound of "thump thump thump" coming from under him.
Can't imagine what would happen if the team found out...
Jason has this little habit where he can never kiss you just once.
He leans in like he means to be casual about a little peck, like it's nothing. A simple tax on his heart to beat a little faster. But his mouth lingers for a little too long. Then another peck to follow the first one. His lips brush yours again, softer this time, with a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he's embarrassed he came back so fast. His breath ghosts your cheek as he exhales, before he nudges his nose against yours and goes in again anyway.
Now, his hands are the dead giveaway to his emotions.
They don't linger in place; they search. One cups your jaw with a thumb rough where it drags lightly along your cheek, calloused from a hard day at work. He holds you like he's afraid you'll slip away if he doesn't keep contact, guiding you closer each time you instinctively pull back just to tease him and his pitiful whine that escapes when you're not close enough. He stays tense, broad and solid, like he's braced for something - always. Until your hands slide around his waist just to get a better look into those pretty eyes of his, easing his tension.
That's usually when he lifts you. Not that he needs the excuse. It's a daily habit of his after all.
It's a sudden, yet careful action, a grunt leaving him as you wrap your legs around his waist. His forehead drops to your shoulder for a second, like he needs to breathe you in with a few peppered kisses. Your jawline, cheek, the corner of your mouth - uncoordinated and affectionate, like he doesn't know where to put all his love and cuteness aggression. His dark lashes brush your skin when he closes his eyes, his scarred knuckles flexing where he grips your thighs, a squeeze to reassure you that he can put you down if you need him to.
You'd think that a half a dozen kisses a day would settle the beast inside him.
Oh, are you wrong to underestimate him because later, when you least expect it, whether it's cooking dinner or uncorking a bottle for a movie night? He's behind you. Not an unwelcome weight pressed up against your back. The faint scent of him clinging to a worn-out shirt fills your lungs. He presses a kiss beneath your ear, then another along your cheek. One hand slides around your throat - not tight, more so resting there to hold you in place as his thumb brushes where your pulse jumps under his touch. The other stays firm at your waist, occasionally rubbing against your midriff. He sways slightly, bouncing on his heels, unsure how to ask for another kiss or two. His chin settles on your shoulder with a quiet huff of breath. A silent plea.
When you glance back at him, you catch the way his sharp green eyes soften the second you look at him. The way his smirk falters and is replaced with something more open and almost unsure. He pretends to not notice you reading him, ducking his head to kiss you again, muttering against your lips, a thank you or that you're distracting.
i think he’s slow to cuddle. at first. AT FIRST. like babe, max you’re getting from that man is an arm touching yours and MAYBE a hand on your knee.
then once he’s more comfortable…less operating on the idea that “this person will be weirded out if i touch them”, he’ll give you an arm around your shoulders, pull your legs across his lap, and rest his head against your shoulders.
but full on cuddling with jason todd. oh mama.
he’s canonically a big fucking guy. and if i know anything about large men (i do, i actually do) they’re like big dogs. fully forget they’re huge and just all over you. that’s jason. type of man to see you laying on the bed and just…envelop you with his entire weight. also the kind of man that thinks it’s no big deal when he wraps around you when you sit on him. it is. he’s huge. you can’t move. it’s splendid.
never a cuddler when he sleeps though. because i do hc he sleeps like a soldier at war. fully on his back. doesn’t move. but when he wakes up and remembers you’re there…he’s grabbing for you. all sleepy-voiced and monotone saying shit like, “don’t move” and “stay there” because he can’t think of anything better in the moment. you do get ordered into cuddling like it’s a threat. it’s love. trust me.
probably likes cuddling more than his partners ever will and idec if you think you’re physical touch final boss. jason outdoes you. he likes having someone who actually doesn’t mind him grabbing for them.
and because i’m terrible i do think jason is a chronic dealer of the whole, “c’mere, let’s cuddle” speech that ultimately ends with him spreading you open like a book. not everytime. but a lot of them. he’d say he can’t help it but he could! it’s just, i think he gets all comfortable. his body would relax. his mind would go quiet. only thing he can think about is your ass pushed up against him. which makes him give your neck a few kisses, before he’s turning you around and pressing you into the mattress like he needs your imprint there. joy!
A/n: i cant bake but i DO also hv a crazy sweet tooth so this is me projecting onto robert
Pairing: Robert Robertson x Baker!Reader ☆ Fluff
Considering how much coffee he drinks in SDN on a daily basis, everyone who works there has kind of come to the judgement that Robert’s a caffeine fiend. What they don’t know, however, is that he also has an insane sweet tooth that just won’t quit.
There aren’t many options for sweet treats in the breakroom vending machines at work. Even if there are, they’re all highly processed. So, he turns to you—his loving partner who bakes (and feeds him something else other than those vending machine twinkies thank god).
He’d be happy to sample anything you wanted. If you’re experimenting on something new, he’d volunteer to be your guinea pig. When he’s particularly craving something sweet and sugary, he tries to be on his best behaviour (i.e. not ragebaiting you). This is so you won’t put a ban on baking him sweet treats :)
While you’re baking he steals kisses from you every now and then, laughing sweetly as you whine about him being distracting. The frequency of his kisses increases the longer you take <3
Unfortunately, him kissing you is also to hide how he steals the treats from the tray while they’re cooling. By the time they can finally be put away, half of them are already gone. (You know he’s doing it but you don’t really have the heart to stop him loll)
Of course you make dog-friendly snacks for Beef too! Though most of the time both you and Robert share your own treats with Beef anyways!!
Eventually, Z-team catches wind of you being a baker (Visi notices the sweet treats you pack for Robert, and everything spirals from there). They find a way to get their hands on your phone number, and it has become a common occurrence for you to receive the weirdest texts or calls throughout your day.
(“What do you need 300 cookies for, punch up?” / “You want me to bake a cake that says “sorry I burnt down your house and ruined your life???” / “How the hell am I supposed to bake you a twink, sonar?” (Across the room, Robert mouths “He means twinkies.”) / “Of course I can bake you a pie, Golem, I just... don’t know why you would want it to be filled with that.” Beside you, Robert whispers "Do I wanna know?" You shake your head, and he nods solemnly, before going back to cuddling beef.)
