I WRITE FOR... ninah (no, im not human), eltingville club, jjk, dispatch, maybe more in the future...(also write fem and gn readers!)
I DO NOT WRITE... smut, unlawful/immoral/hateful media, oc x canon or canon x canon, child/sibling/parent readers (i can not fw them for the life of me but keep cooking)
DNI if you are... racist, homo/transphobic, zionist, pro-trump, or just a dickhead in general
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Robert barely gets ten minutes into his lunch break when you slide into the seat across from him, face set. "Didn't invite you," he says around his sandwich. "Go away."
He manages to get two chews in, then pauses. You're still staring at him. Not even in a judgemental way, like you're trying to read him for a comeback or looking for something to mock. Just staring with the ever so slight pinch of your brows that he knows means you're focusing.
> What are you doing?
> Something on my face?
> [STARE BACK]
Robert pauses in his chewing to stare back with his most unimpressed stare. It only deepens the furrow in your brow.
> [CONTINUE TO STARE]
> [BLOW AT THEIR FACE]
> [STARTLE THEM]
Robert jerks the table with his elbow. It makes his lunchbag rustle and nearly knocks a salt shaker over, but you don't even blink.
> Having a stroke?
> Stop.
> [THROW SANDWICH-
"Dude, why the fuck does your brain do that?"
Robert stops before he can chuck his sandwich at your face. "Huh?"
"Your-your fucking brain," you say, aggressively rubbing at your eyes. "I've never seen someone's brain do that."
Robert finally swallows the piece of sandwich he'd shoved into his cheek, lips curling at the sour flavor. "Why are you even reading my mind? Isn't that against your contract?"
"So is Sonar sneaking bites out of perps on a call but I don't see you writing him up." After a few more scrubs, you drop your hands and stare again. "Seriously, what's wrong with you?"
> No idea what you're talking about.
> It's terminal.
> Stop reading my mind.
"It's a terminal illness," he says sadly, sinking his teeth into the sandwich. "Getting knocked in the head by villains really does a number to the brain. Doc told me it was the same issue all those NFL players have-"
"Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy," you recite in a single breath before rolling your eyes. "Don't be a smartass, I've made enough people bang their heads against a wall to see how CTEs form. It's not that, it's something weirder."
Robert snorts around his sandwich. "If that's how you talked to all your patients, it's a miracle you didn't lose your license sooner."
"Well, it's a good thing you aren't my patient." You drop your elbows on the table, steepling your fingers as you squint. "Though I would have loved to use you for a paper."
> Not a fan of guinea pigs.
> Wouldn't be able to publish anyways.
> Take me out to dinner first-
Your hands hit the table so hard it makes his entire body seize. The sauces and meat slide from the bread, landing in a sloppy pile on his thighs. "See, you're doing it again!"
Robert scowls as mustard oozes from between his fingers. He yanks at the napkin dispenser as he hisses, "Are you going to fucking explain what's so interesting about my own private thoughts or am I going to have to be a mind reader to find out?"
He tries to look down and clean the mess off his lap, only for a finger to jab his forehead and tilt it up. In the two seconds he wasn't paying attention, you'd all but folded yourself over the table, eyes wide and staring way too deep into his.
> No-No Square.
> [LEAN IN.]
> [HEADBUTT.]
Robert tenses, ready to ram himself straight into your nose bridge when you say, "Did you seriously just think about kissing me?"
> Yes.
> No.
You drop back into your seat before Robert can decide which would be the lesser of two evils. "That was literally just a simple question."
"I'm sure depending on how I answered," he drones, "you would have given me a lobotomy."
"Ew, ugh, no?" You stick out your tongue in disgust. "I would never do that to my direct supervisor."
"But you would have if I was literally anyone else?" he asks.
"If you offended me enough, sure." You blink slowly, arms crossed as you balance on the back legs of your chair. "Still, I've never seen someone's thoughts manifest like that. It's so...weird."
Robert rolls his eyes and slowly rises, catching the slimy innards of his sandwich before they can slap against the floor. He has to waddle uncomfortably to the trash can to dump it, then heads to the sink. "Like what?"
Over the rush of the faucet, he hears, "Like...like a dialogue tree in a video game?"
> ...What?
> Are you calling me a nerd?
> That's normal.
"Isn't that how the brain normally works?" he asks as he dabs at a splotch of mustard. "You hear things, process it, and think up a few responses?"
"I mean, yeah, but...yours are so perfectly pronounced and obvious, it scares me." You make a vague gesture towards his entire body. "Like, every time you do it, I can see you thinking and debating on which one you want to say. There's even, like, a five second timer that runs."
> Again, normal.
> Think before you speak.
> Stating the obvious.
"See?" you say when Robert looks at you. "That was five seconds right there."
"It just sounds like you're stating the obvious to me," Robert says before chucking the wad of napkins at your face. "Now stop reading my mind before I add that infraction to your report."
You just bat it aside. "Literally no one else does that. Trust me, I catch glimpses of everyone's thoughts sometimes and none of them have a fucking countdown timer running at all times." You purse your lips and rise to your feet, following Robert to the door. "Are you sure you don't have a disability or something?"
> HIPAA Violation.
> I did have an IEP.
> You're hallucinating.
"Y'know," Robert says when he opens the door, "I do remember having an IEP back in grade school."
You perk up, expression oddly understanding as you say, "Oh yeah? What for?"
"Being a smartass."
"Oh, boo." You give Robert's shoulder a pat, the same concerned expression ob your face as you slip past. "Seriously, though, from a former therapist? You might wanna get some tests done once your insurance is approved."
> Wasn't your licensed revoked?
> Yes, a therapist turned villain.
> Take it into consideration.
Robert lifts a brow. "Wasn't your license revoked?"
"Yeah, but-"
[THEY will remember that.]
Your eyes snap to his upper left before you can finish. "I will-what? What the fuck is that?" You jerk your hand back in alarm. "Robert, what the fuck does that mean?"
Robert...has no idea what the fuck you're on about, but you're already backing up with hands raised.
"Get that checked out, dude," you say nervously. "Preferably by another psychic, because that's really not normal."
Robert barely gets ten minutes into his lunch break when you slide into the seat across from him, face set. "Didn't invite you," he says around his sandwich. "Go away."
He manages to get two chews in, then pauses. You're still staring at him. Not even in a judgemental way, like you're trying to read him for a comeback or looking for something to mock. Just staring with the ever so slight pinch of your brows that he knows means you're focusing.
> What are you doing?
> Something on my face?
> [STARE BACK]
Robert pauses in his chewing to stare back with his most unimpressed stare. It only deepens the furrow in your brow.
> [CONTINUE TO STARE]
> [BLOW AT THEIR FACE]
> [STARTLE THEM]
Robert jerks the table with his elbow. It makes his lunchbag rustle and nearly knocks a salt shaker over, but you don't even blink.
> Having a stroke?
> Stop.
> [THROW SANDWICH-
"Dude, why the fuck does your brain do that?"
Robert stops before he can chuck his sandwich at your face. "Huh?"
"Your-your fucking brain," you say, aggressively rubbing at your eyes. "I've never seen someone's brain do that."
Robert finally swallows the piece of sandwich he'd shoved into his cheek, lips curling at the sour flavor. "Why are you even reading my mind? Isn't that against your contract?"
"So is Sonar sneaking bites out of perps on a call but I don't see you writing him up." After a few more scrubs, you drop your hands and stare again. "Seriously, what's wrong with you?"
> No idea what you're talking about.
> It's terminal.
> Stop reading my mind.
"It's a terminal illness," he says sadly, sinking his teeth into the sandwich. "Getting knocked in the head by villains really does a number to the brain. Doc told me it was the same issue all those NFL players have-"
"Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy," you recite in a single breath before rolling your eyes. "Don't be a smartass, I've made enough people bang their heads against a wall to see how CTEs form. It's not that, it's something weirder."
Robert snorts around his sandwich. "If that's how you talked to all your patients, it's a miracle you didn't lose your license sooner."
"Well, it's a good thing you aren't my patient." You drop your elbows on the table, steepling your fingers as you squint. "Though I would have loved to use you for a paper."
> Not a fan of guinea pigs.
> Wouldn't be able to publish anyways.
> Take me out to dinner first-
Your hands hit the table so hard it makes his entire body seize. The sauces and meat slide from the bread, landing in a sloppy pile on his thighs. "See, you're doing it again!"
Robert scowls as mustard oozes from between his fingers. He yanks at the napkin dispenser as he hisses, "Are you going to fucking explain what's so interesting about my own private thoughts or am I going to have to be a mind reader to find out?"
He tries to look down and clean the mess off his lap, only for a finger to jab his forehead and tilt it up. In the two seconds he wasn't paying attention, you'd all but folded yourself over the table, eyes wide and staring way too deep into his.
> No-No Square.
> [LEAN IN.]
> [HEADBUTT.]
Robert tenses, ready to ram himself straight into your nose bridge when you say, "Did you seriously just think about kissing me?"
> Yes.
> No.
You drop back into your seat before Robert can decide which would be the lesser of two evils. "That was literally just a simple question."
"I'm sure depending on how I answered," he drones, "you would have given me a lobotomy."
"Ew, ugh, no?" You stick out your tongue in disgust. "I would never do that to my direct supervisor."
"But you would have if I was literally anyone else?" he asks.
"If you offended me enough, sure." You blink slowly, arms crossed as you balance on the back legs of your chair. "Still, I've never seen someone's thoughts manifest like that. It's so...weird."
Robert rolls his eyes and slowly rises, catching the slimy innards of his sandwich before they can slap against the floor. He has to waddle uncomfortably to the trash can to dump it, then heads to the sink. "Like what?"
Over the rush of the faucet, he hears, "Like...like a dialogue tree in a video game?"
> ...What?
> Are you calling me a nerd?
> That's normal.
"Isn't that how the brain normally works?" he asks as he dabs at a splotch of mustard. "You hear things, process it, and think up a few responses?"
"I mean, yeah, but...yours are so perfectly pronounced and obvious, it scares me." You make a vague gesture towards his entire body. "Like, every time you do it, I can see you thinking and debating on which one you want to say. There's even, like, a five second timer that runs."
> Again, normal.
> Think before you speak.
> Stating the obvious.
"See?" you say when Robert looks at you. "That was five seconds right there."
"It just sounds like you're stating the obvious to me," Robert says before chucking the wad of napkins at your face. "Now stop reading my mind before I add that infraction to your report."
You just bat it aside. "Literally no one else does that. Trust me, I catch glimpses of everyone's thoughts sometimes and none of them have a fucking countdown timer running at all times." You purse your lips and rise to your feet, following Robert to the door. "Are you sure you don't have a disability or something?"
> HIPAA Violation.
> I did have an IEP.
> You're hallucinating.
"Y'know," Robert says when he opens the door, "I do remember having an IEP back in grade school."
You perk up, expression oddly understanding as you say, "Oh yeah? What for?"
"Being a smartass."
"Oh, boo." You give Robert's shoulder a pat, the same concerned expression ob your face as you slip past. "Seriously, though, from a former therapist? You might wanna get some tests done once your insurance is approved."
> Wasn't your licensed revoked?
> Yes, a therapist turned villain.
> Take it into consideration.
Robert lifts a brow. "Wasn't your license revoked?"
"Yeah, but-"
[THEY will remember that.]
Your eyes snap to his upper left before you can finish. "I will-what? What the fuck is that?" You jerk your hand back in alarm. "Robert, what the fuck does that mean?"
Robert...has no idea what the fuck you're on about, but you're already backing up with hands raised.
"Get that checked out, dude," you say nervously. "Preferably by another psychic, because that's really not normal."
content: robert x black-coded fem! reader, reader has curly hair, light blood, violence, a little bit suggestive toward the end (nothing explicit happens), robert's in his late twenties, swearing
wc: 1.5k
notes: this went through FIVE plot changes 😭.
❤️: [robbie]
[oar tiktok stewak]
[stream]
[streak]
[pls]
Robert’s shift had just ended when his girlfriend barraged his phone with texts. He sighed — a mix of the stress leaving him and the disappointment of interrupted silence — and snagged his phone off the table, not before taking off his headset. Robert could still hear the arguing and many, many sex jokes.
you : [a hi would be nice]
❤️: [a twenty day streak would be nice too]
[but we cant have everything can we?]
Lord, help him. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked her out. Should’ve just kept his mouth shut. Then again, Robert wasn’t too fond of seeing her with anyone else but him.
you: [whatever]
[are we still on for tonight?]
❤️: [what]
𓏲ּ𝄢
When was this established? Your mind ran through every conversation, text and face-to-face, with Robert that led up to today. Nothing popped up. You squinted at the text.
mine 💓: [are we still on for tonight?]
Oh, shit. You completely forgot and were already clocked out for the day. Bonnet on, makeup off, nothing could get you out of bed. Your phone buzzed.
mine 💓: [you forgot didn’t you]
[its okay if you don’t feel like it baby]
But he could.
Fuck Robert Robertson lll for being so considerate. You huffed and thought over how much time you had to get ready. Your thumbs flew across the keyboard.
You: [no no its okay]
[i wanna see u] ❤︎
[ill be there in 20]
Twenty minutes was stretching it, but it wasn’t an impossible feat. A quick wash-n-go and praying a prayer would get you to SDN in fifteen. Not wanting to waste any more time, you threw yourself out of bed.
Robert didn’t look surprised when you pulled up thirty minutes later. Traffic kicked your ass and served it to you on a platter, your hair was still damp with product— a mess was what you were.
Never had you felt so much guilt. Only two things stopped you from sinking into the driver’s seat: Your cutie patootie and his even cuter dog.
You rolled the window down and called out to the latter, “Hi, baby!”
Beef yipped from Robert’s arms and attempted to wiggle out of his grip to reach you. Robert held him tighter as he got closer to the car.
“Feed me, woman!” ‘Beef’ demanded, stretching his neck to lick your face.
“He does not sound like that!” You took Beef from the wretched claws of your evil boyfriend and placed him in the backseat.
“Pretty accurate to me,” Robert grinned and settled his arms on the hood of your car, peering down at you. “Hi, hon.”
Robert’s voice was one of the many things you adored about him. Deep and a tad husky, but gained a soft lilt when it was just the two of you. Certain characteristics were only visible to you, and yes, you would gloat about it until the day you die.
“Hi,” You almost giggled from the ticklish feeling you got, the one that only appears when you’re around Robert. “How was work?”
“No.” The hell were you supposed to do with that?
“No?” You echoed. Robert circled the car to get into the passenger seat.
“Unless you wanna learn a bunch of synonyms for dick, I’m not saying jackshit.”
Sunlight caught your head of spirals and corkscrews. Because you ran out of gel, you didn’t define them like you normally would. Robert looked tantalized by the curls, eyes flickering to each one. His hand reached out to pick one up, still a little damp and glowing with product residue, and let it drop. Mango wafted under his nose.
“You did your hair?”
You look at him from the corner of your eye, “Yeah.”
“It’s pretty like this.”
Phew. You shouldn’t have been so affected by the compliment (he gave you about ten a day), but his attention to detail was what got you. He always spotted the differences. More definition one day, more volume and frizz another. No one worshipped your natural hair as much as the man next to you.
“Okay, so it looked ugly before. Noted.” Sarcasm laced your words.
“Oh, hush,” A kiss is pressed against your cheek, “That’s impossible.”
You gotta stomp on the pedal before this man melts you any further.
The streets decided to play in your face by being void of traffic. The playlist emitting from the speakers calmed you enough not to go batshit. Robert was decompressing beside you. Eyes pulled shut, deep breaths leaving him — the team had him drained like lemons on a hot day.
Even with his exhaustion, he still gave you attention. A hand rested on your thigh, thumb tracing random patterns. If you weren’t so focused on the road, you’d be all over him. At a red light, one hand slipped off the steering wheel to rest on top of his.
The two of you only needed a few things from the corner store: snacks and some treats for Beef. What you hated most about this specific store was how blinding the fluorescent lights were. You would get full-on headaches. But the owner was a sweetheart and gave you discounts. She wasn’t behind the counter, strangely enough.
A crash shook the store.
“Fuck!”
Two heads turn to the sound. A duo of men were trying to lift an ATM from the tiled floor. Their ski masks told the whole story.
“The hell?” You breathed out. Only reason you weren’t freaking out, besides the pure absurdity, was because you had an ex-hero next to you. Said ex-hero was looking at the ceiling for guidance. He’s been tested all day. This was his final straw.
“Hey.”
The robbers froze.
“Pretty stupid to steal in broad daylight, don’t you think?”
One of them, presumably the lackey, looked at the other for guidance.
“Fuck you lookin’ at me for? Take ‘em out!”
Before either of you could even react — let alone blink — the lackey hit Robert square in the face and sent him tumbling back.
Here. We. Go.
With no hesitation, you swung your bag at the guy’s jaw. The guy ducked and grabbed you by the collar of your shirt. A rough push knocked you against the shelves. Your shoulder screamed and pulsed; the air got snatched right from your lungs.
From the floor, Robert gritted his teeth and sent a kick to your attacker’s shin. He dropped, a loud plop echoing through the small space. Once you recovered, you went back into the ring to help your boyfriend.
𓏲ּ𝄢
“Didn’t think you had it in you,” Robert spoke with a bleeding lip.
“Eh,” You shrugged, pulling the tab off a Sprite. You took a sip before pressing the cold can to Robert’s cheek. “I’m willing to kick some ass for people I care about.”
You and Robert left the store with a few bruises and a bag of goodies. Leaving two unconscious individuals on the ground and some cash on the counter wasn’t the smartest decision ever, but a win’s a win.
Parked outside your apartment complex, the two of you sat on the hood of your car (Beef dozed off in the backseat, the window left ajar to let air in). Both of you were too tuckered out to go inside the complex just yet. The sun was saying goodbye, setting behind the various buildings of L.A.
“Aww, how sweet,” Robert cooed next to you. You playfully nudged him back.
“Don’t push it.”
Your hand didn’t leave his shoulder. It trailed up and up, pausing at stubble. Robert’s pupils dilated, quick to miss. He let out a breath, eyes lidded.
“You’re lip’s all busted up,” You whispered to yourself, thumbing at the small cut. Teeth nip at your palm.
“Could be worse.”
You gave him a look. The thought alone left you a little sick. Robert only smiled at the sight of your pout.
“You’re so fuckin’ cute.” His voice got quieter, more intimate, with every word. He moved closer — lips a hairsbreadth away.
“You’re still bleeding—“
“Don’t care.”
Lips locked. His hands held your hips, yours tangled into his hair. Public indecency tried to yell over the racy thoughts running through your head, but the sounds leaving Robert? You needed more.
Surprisingly, he broke the kiss first. He stared at you like you were the only girl in the world. Specks of blood stained your lips. His morale was slipping, and you marveled at it.
“Sorry,” Robert had the nerve to croak.
You glared and leaned over his lap. Cradling the back of his neck, you kiss him once more. That apology? Fake. For someone who felt “sorry,” they were quick to match your energy and return your pecks.
A series of barks cut through the tension. Beef could only go so long without attention.
“Okay, okay! Damn,” You huffed with a roll of your eyes. You scooted off the car and opened the door to get Beef.
You caught Robert giving you an up-down when you turned to him, “Come on, lover boy.”
“We’re finishing this later, by the way,” He huffed and hopped off the hood, trailing behind you.
♯┆ [robert robertson x tall/buff!fem reader] INCLUDES.ᐟ
⤿ ROBERT ROBERTSON is below average in height, and had the smallest biceps in the entirety of SDN's office. But then you walk in, and compared to you he looks like a spec of dust, and for some reason the sight of your tall, muscled figure has him feeling all types of ways.
!! fluff. silly. fem reader. z team cameos. i love the concept of a tall strong diva w a man. I LOVE ROYD i needed him included sorry guys. pls feel free to correct my pidgin, wahine is slang for a girl also. sexual innuendoes. strong language. slowburn vibe. ENJOY.
The conference room was already humming with chaos when you arrived. The long table was cluttered with mismatched chairs, half-drunk coffee cups, and a few scorch marks no one had bothered to clean.
Flambae was pacing near the whiteboard, gesturing wildly as he bickered with Punch Up about something neither of them would remember in five minutes. Sonar sat at the far end of the table, and the only thing anyone could hear from him was the word "boobs" a few times. Coupe was silent, staring ahead with a twitch in her eye as Sonar talked her ear off.
Prism and Malevola sat in a petty discussion about who the best rapper of all time was, while Phenomaman occasionally interjected when they said names that he couldn't wrap his head around. Waterboy was just sitting there, staring at Invisigal in confusion as she blew smoke out the cracked window... wasn't she asthmatic?
Robert Robertson stood at the head of the table, tablet in hand, posture stiff with effort. He looked like he’d been trying to start the meeting for a while now, and no one had let him.
You stepped into the room without fanfare, ducking slightly under the doorframe. The boots you wore weren’t loud, but they carried weight, and the shift in the room was immediate. Not silent — this team didn’t do silence — but attentive nonetheless. Heads turned. Conversations faltered. Even Coupe paused mid threat, her gaze flicking toward you with quiet calculation.
You didn’t try to command the room, but you had been told that you didn’t need to. You simply walked in like you belonged there, tall and composed, with the kind of presence that made people sit up straighter without realizing why.
“Sorry I’m late,” you said, your voice even and unhurried. “Got turned around near the gear lockers. Someone labeled a hallway ‘emotional baggage’ I thought it was a metaphor, but then there was like gym bags and I realized it was literally baggage.” You let out a sheepish chuckle to punctuate your sentence
Robert looked up from his tablet, and for a moment, he just stared. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, like his brain had skipped a step. “That’s.. Waterboy,” he said finally, blinking. “He’s experimenting with signage.”
You nodded, taking the empty seat beside him. “Creative. I like it.”
He cleared his throat and tapped the tablet, as if the motion might reset his internal systems. “Right. Mission briefing.”
The screen lit up behind him, displaying a map of the downtown sector. “We’ve got a minor villain group holed up in a bank. Armed, holding hostages. SDN wants a fast, clean resolution. No theatrics.”
“Then why are you sending us?” Flambae muttered, crossing his arms.
“Because you’re the ones available,” Robert replied, without missing a beat. “Visi and Mal, you’ll handle infiltration. Prism and Punch Up, crowd control. Sonar, you’re on comms. The rest of you need to stay on call for backup. Waterboy-.. do not assign yourself to anything.”
Waterboy, already halfway through opening a mission log, froze. “Right. Yes. I wasn’t. I mean-.. I was just look-.. browsing.”
You leaned forward slightly, eyes on the map. “What’s the hostage count?”
Robert glanced at you, then quickly back to the screen. “Six confirmed. Possibly more in the vault area. We’ll have live feeds from the drones once the team’s in position.”
You nodded, thoughtful. “And the building’s structure? Any known weak points?”
“North stairwell’s compromised,” he said, his voice steadier now. “We’ll route you through the service entrance.”
"You're very organized, I like that." You complimented with a small smile tugging at your lips. There was a pause after that.
Robert stood there, glancing up form his tablet to look at you. His eyes wandering over your figure, lingering on the way your muscles showed despite your arms being relaxed. The way your thighs were probably stronger than half this room combined. The way you wore boots that had a bit of heel, only adding to your height that dwarfed the entire room in a way that made him glad he was a bit below average height for a man.
After realizing how silent the room had gone, he blinked himself out of it and cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah thanks. It makes the job easier."
You didn’t say anything else, just sat back in your chair, arms loosely folded, gaze calm and unreadable, but not unkind. Robert looked at you again, just for a second too long.
“She is not even trying,” Flambae whispered to Punch Up, who had a shit eating grin on his face.
“He’s gonna combust,” Punch Up whispered back. “Look at 'is ears.”
“They’re pink,” Sonar confirmed, not looking up from his device. “Pretty sure his palms are sweaty too.”
“I’m not flustered, Eminem, shut up.” Robert defended, a little too quickly.
“She’s taller than your emotional defenses,” Malevola added from the corner, where she’d been lounging with her boots on the table.
“She is just inquisitive,” Phenomaman nodded with a small smile for once. “You all need to calm down.”
Coupe didn’t speak, but she gave you a small nod. Approval, maybe. Or acknowledgment. It was hard to tell with her.
Robert cleared his throat again, louder this time. “Mission begins in twenty minutes."
"Is she going to be flirting with you over comms? I don't want to hear that, Robert." Flambae complained with a scowled.
That caught your attention, your eyes darting over to the fiery man. “I’m not flirting?” you said, genuinely confused, eyebrows furrowed as you scanned the room. Only just now coming to the realization that everyone seemed to be in agreement with Flambae's statement.
“I know,” Robert muttered, eyes fixed on his tablet. “That’s the problem.”
You didn’t press. You just smiled a bit, quiet and unbothered, and turned your attention back to the screen.
The rest of the briefing passed in a blur of logistics and side comments. You asked a few more questions — all of which were sharp, relevant, and calmly delivered — and each time, Robert answered with a little more tension in his shoulders. He wasn’t used to being watched this closely in these damn meetings. Especially not by someone who made it look so effortless. And who was making him feel ways he hadn't felt in a damn long time.
Beef wandered in halfway through and immediately settled under your chair, tail thumping once against your boot. You reached down to scratch behind his ears, and he melted into the floor like a puddle of fur. Robert didn’t look up, but his ears were still pink and his freckled cheeks joined now.
Just as the meeting began to wrap, Blonde Blazer stepped forward and touched your shoulder lightly.
“Can I borrow you for a moment?” she asked, voice warm.
You nodded and stood, offering Robert a polite smile and an affectionate pat to his head as you followed your new boss out of the room.
The door closed behind you with a soft click, and Robert braced himself. The silence in the conference room lasted all of three seconds, then...
“Mate,” said Punch Up. “You had a boner.”
“I did not,” Robert defended, scandalized.
“You absolutely did,” Flambae said. “It was like a little flag of surrender.” His pointer finger jutted up and waved around as demonstration.
“She patted your head,” Malevola nodded in content. “That’s a dominance display.”
“She sat down and your dumb ass forgot how to breathe,” Prism added.
“You could grow a whole foot and she'd prolly still be taller than you,” Golem said, unprompted.
Robert groaned. “This is a workplace. We are professionals.”
“She made you blush,” Sonar said. “Your heart rate basically doubled.”
"What the fuck? So we're just pulling accusations out of our asses now.." Robert sighed, desperately trying to think of a way out of this conversation.
"Nah dude, I linked your Apple Watch to my phone, said your bpm went from 90 to 115.. you should probably work out also." Sonar's eyes flicked over to Robert, then returning to his phone screen after sufficiently leaving the poor man absolutely speechless.
Royd poked his head in from the hallway. “You gotta tall wahine? Congrats, brah!”
“I’m taking my lunch break,” Robert sighed, standing. “I'm not answering any calls or texts, leave me alone.”
Beef barked once, tail wagging.
“Even you,” Robert told him with a pointed finger.
As Robert turned to leave, ears still pink and dignity trailing behind him, Invisigal — who had been alarmingly silent through most of the chaos — finally spoke up from her corner, voice smooth and unbothered.
“Careful walking out like that, Robertson,” she piped up, flipping a pen between her fingers. “You’re pitching a tent and we’re not even on a stakeout.”
The room erupted in howls of laughter, but Robert didn’t look back.. he just quickened his pace.
The way im looking through the robert robertson x reader tag everyday so i know how people write robert cuz honestly, i cant replicate the wit and quick thinking of a miserable, depressing, and rugged man.
content: robert x gn!reader, reader is a dispatcher and has powers, fluff, confessions, co-workers to lovers, prism cameo cuz thats my girl, swearing (per usual)
wc: 1.2k
notes: im still working on requests but i could not resist writing this after getting to episode 5 of the game AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH ~\(≧▽≦)/~
Slacking wasn’t very heroic, was it?
The corporate you would deny that with no hesitation, but the bored, human side of you would spew every excuse in the book.
Like, is it really your fault that the lack of calls diverted your attention to the sleek pile of papers next to you? That your fingers inched toward the black pen with an Oshawott pen topper?
You were yet to be chewed and spat out by the cruel jaws of an office job. It was the small things that brought life to your shift. Doodling, the trinkets you’ve collected over the years that sat on your desk, and a 3D-printed Luma gifted by one of your co-workers.
Your drawings were appreciated around the workplace. Besides talent, genetics had blessed you — and failed you in some scenarios — with a special ability. Anything you drew, big or small, came to life.
The downside was that you couldn’t control the drawings. Even with this knowledge, you continued to doodle away. Black strokes curved, went down, went up. A small mouse began to form.
(In more ways than one.)
The ears started to lift from the paper. Then came the tiny body and paws. Your creation looked around as it processed its newfound consciousness.
Just as you moved to crumple up the mouse, it darted away from you. With haste, the doodle crawled across your keyboard and ruined your once-composed email.
“Shit!” You shot up and leaned over to snatch the little rascal, only to miss.
The mouse jumped down from your desk and skittered away. You were about to run out of the cubicle to chase after it, but something made you pause: Your job. The well-needed job. Were those processed leaves worth losing the roof over your head and endangering those in need?
Your head snapped back and forth. Computer. Outside. Computer. Outside. With a sharp inhale, you stood up completely.
“Hey, Galen. Could you cover for me real quick? Please?”
Dress shoes followed after little paws. Heads peeked over cubicles. You could only send awkward smiles left to right as you sped up. Both you and the mouse took a sharp turn.
A sharp yelp cut the quiet lull of the office. You accidentally knocked somebody into the water cooler.
“Oh my god — sorry!” You squeaked, but had no time to stop. “I’ll…I’ll take care of that, don’t worry!”
The latter had the nerve to dart into a cubicle, making your job much harder and your embarrassment higher.
You barely got to the cubicle before a string of apologies left your lips. Only then did you realize just who you were talking to. The new guy, Mecha-Man himself.
The same hero who plundered villains with his suit reached a finger to scratch behind the mouse’s ear. The little shit had found home in his shirt, nuzzling against his finger.
“So, is this part of the welcome package or what?”
He was careful as he handled the mouse, placing it down on his lap. Green flag. Green flag — Not. The. Time! Prism would hear all about it later.
You were too frazzled to come up with a witty comeback, “Ah, no. Long story short, I created it…unintentionally.”
“Unintentionally?”
“Yeah.”
“…You unintentionally created a cartoon mouse?”
“Well, I guess it wasn’t really an accident — Y-You know what I mean!”
Mecha-Man looked as if he was holding back a laugh, a small sound escaping just before he could stifle it. Might as well pat yourself on the back for making an even bigger fool out of yourself. Damn him and his attractiveness.
You cleared your throat, “Alright, alright. Redo. Let’s start over.”
You introduced yourself with an outstretched hand. Your knees almost buckled the moment his hand clasped yours. Rough. Calloused. Hard to forget.
Robert was hard to forget.
You thought you had left the heart-fluttering, butterflies-in-my-tummy phase years ago. Having an office crush did not suit you. They only existed in the dramas you binged after your shift. Work came first, always.
But how can you avoid your crush if they’re in your line of work?
That exact phrase — boy, did you regret it —was uttered to Prism. You tended to get overwhelmed around those from the Phoenix Program as they were a bit...much. However, Prism slipped through the cracks and became both your gossip collector and unspoken friend.
“You’re workin’ yourself up over nothin’, boo,” Prism spoke through a mouthful of donuts. “It’s normal to like somebody.”
“Not a co-worker I met, like, a week ago!” The sight was comical. An exasperated you sitting in the break room alongside Prism, who was dominating half a box of donuts.
“I gotta get over it,” You sighed, hand drifting aimlessly across your notebook. Doodling normally relieved stress, but now? You were terrified of drawing a Pokémon in fear of it chasing after Robert.
“Be so for real,” Prism groaned, leaning back in her chair. “You grown. Who cares if you have a love life?”
“I care!” You exclaimed, free hand rubbing circles into your forehead.
“‘Cause you’re a workaholic who don’t like when things get in the way of work!”
“I wasn’t exactly denying that, Prism!”
Paper hearts filled your vision. Both you and Prism looked down at your notebook. Hearts coated the page. To your horror, plot twist after plot twist, Robert came into the break room.
Pure silence.
“Uh,” Robert blinked, looking between the two of you, “Should I leave?”
The paper hearts floated toward Robert and circled him. Fucking hell. A chair screeched as Prism stood with a grin, “Nah, but I will. Bye, y’all!”
Heels clicked against the tile. You felt your heart drop further into your stomach as the sound grew distant. Please, please come back!
She did not, in fact, come back.
Robert propped himself beside the fridge, arms crossed, “You wanna draw up an elephant?”
You deadpanned.
“Get it?” Robert snickered.
Nothing.
“Oh, come on. That was a good one,” Robert had now pulled up a chair and sat right next to you. Proximity was far from what you needed right now, but oh, did you crave it.
You hid your face in your hands, increasing the dramatics by slumping on the table. The paper hearts ripped themselves into two and dropped onto your head. Comical.
An arm bumped against yours. You didn’t want to look at his dumb, pretty face right now. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about.”
Eyes darted around the paper that surrounded you, “I’d beg to differ.”
You refused to move. Robert sighed and nudged you again, “Hey, look at me.”
You lifted your head from your safe haven to look the man dead in the eye. Those eyes, the soft constellations below them — You should have never met his gaze. The way he looked at you, really looked at you, had heat rush to your cheeks.
“Obviously, you like me.”
70 beats per minute.
“And I like you.”
100 beats per minute.
“Hey, hey,” Robert tutted once you turned away to hide your face. You put up a fight, coming to a halt when two fingers pressed against your cheeks. “I need you to look at me when I tell you this.”
You obeyed without a second thought.
“Listen, I’m gonna keep this short so you don’t shit your pants. I like you, you like me. I wanna take you out…you wanna…?”
Robert gave you leeway to speak. To deny. To accept.
You smiled and dug your face into his palm, “I wanna.”
“You wanna what?” Robert teased. You playfully push against his chest, yet you find yourself taking refuge in it.
“I wanna go on a date with you, asshole!” You cackled.
You felt Robert’s chest move as he laughed, his arm coming around to pull you closer.
PLEASE write more blinded man, we blinded man fans are starved 😢
like maybe blinded man and the reader cuddle or something... i dont know id take anything at this point ☹️
hapy writing 🤫
-squid 🦑
pairing: blinded man x gn!reader
content: mention of death, fluff,
wc: 613
notes: had so much work this week 😭 now i can finally work on my drafts. fanart belongs nowbris on twitter! (not gonna title this as im lazy and this is more of a drabble)
“You’re gonna hurt your back slouching like that,” You stated the obvious, cheek resting in your palm.
It was reaching the early hours of the morning — maybe three or so. Sleepiness crept, your eyelids threatened to shut. The man next to you was the only reason you haven’t returned to your bedroom. The reason you sat at the dining table with nothing but love in your eyes.
“I’m aware. Just don’t care,” The Blinded man uttered.
He was the weight that kept you from floating off into space. The two of you were more realistic than those around you. Life wouldn’t be the same, regardless if the heat died down. Burned carcasses of those — animal and human — would still lie on the ground. Decomposing like humanity itself. You couldn’t lie and say it didn’t affect you.
The man acted differently outside of his words. He labeled himself as someone who blended into the crowd. Never did anything extraordinary or outlandish; Never committed a crime or went out of his way to help anyone. Yet, you felt otherwise. He stayed by your side on the harder days, made breathing creations.
“Well, I do,” You scoot closer to examine what he was doing.
A sunset lies before you. Autumn trees — different sizes, leaves floating off — stood in front. For someone who was “boring”, he sure did have a lot of talent. Late-night talks revealed his love for photography and art. While you didn’t have a camera, you did have pastels. They were one of the only things that stopped him from bed rotting.
The man had developed ways to work around his lack of vision. When he drew the trees, he would keep one finger pressed against the area while he retrieved a new color. The pastels were put away in the same order. You also made sure to tell him what color he had whenever he asked.
“Pretty.”
“Thank you.” His reply was curt, meant to sound dismissive. The slight rose that tickled his cheeks said otherwise.
Your hand moved to play with his hair. The blinded man leaned into your touch. Thin, a few knots. He was taking better care of himself with your help. Eating more, showering.
Another twenty minutes passed before the drawing was finished. It was perfect in your eyes, lackluster to the man. He envisioned his pieces to be perfect and come out exactly how he wanted them to. The paper that sat in front of him needed to be ripped. Tossed and forgotten. First drafts were always mediocre.
The sound of the paper shuffling met his ears. Only wood sat under his hands. A chair screeched against the floor.
“Come on, up you get.” You took his hand, gently pulling him up to stand. “We’re going to my room. I’m tired.”
“If you’re tired, why don’t you go alone?”
“Can’t sleep without you.”
Initially, he sought refuge in the kitchen. You had tried to get him to sleep on the couch, but your attempts were fruitless. Now, he shared the bed with you. Whenever you took his hand, he trusted you. He knew you wouldn’t hurt or take advantage of him. That fact alone kept you going.
Two bodies occupying the mattress were foreign to you. It wasn’t awkward per se. You knew where to put your arms, where to put your legs. You felt as if there was more you needed to do.
An arm pulled you close, fingers hesitant against your waist, “Is…Is this okay?”
What you needed to do was rest.
“Yeah,” You whispered, turning to face him.
His breath came in relaxed, left shaky. His heartbeat reached your ears. Slow, skipping a beat. You only nuzzled further into his chest, which seemed to calm him as the pounding in his chest lessened.
just putting this here to say that I haven’t abandoned the requests I’ve received! I’ve been so drained from school I barely have any energy 💔 butttt I’ve got some drafts, a request page wip, and might add some fandom(s) to the list to fuel my hyper fixations 🥹🥹
