A Tired Man
Robert Robertson x F!reader
Content: 18+, MDNI, fluff, coffee shop au at the beginning, crushes, you and Robert both being awkward fucks, overworked and underfucked Robert, eventual smut, breast sucking, oral (f), Robert comes untouched (i like this tag), slight perv Robert, scar kissing, Beef shenanigans, Z team shenanigans, just random oneshotty scenes toward the end i wanted to add, happy ending (marriage)
Word count: 5k (lets gooo)
Robert was a tired man when you met him. Starting off as his personal barista. He's the first one in your little cafe every morning. You always greet him with a smile and friendly hello. Poor thing, he looks as if he gets 2 hours of sleep a night. “Name for the order, sir?”
“Robert.”
He's become a regular, and he seems awake enough for friendly banter. Your crush on him was harmless. Or so it seemed to you. You noticed him becoming more cheery as the days went on. He would talk about his work and make sarcastic, snarky comments about his coworkers that made you laugh.
You liked writing cute little messages or smiley faces on his cup. You scribble good luck surviving on his cup. He counters the next morning by sliding a folded receipt back across the counter with You’re doing great. Probably. Written in surprisingly neat handwriting. You keep it. You don’t know why you keep it. You just do.
Some mornings he looks better—less hollow under the eyes, shoulders not quite as tense. Other mornings he looks worse, jaw tight, knuckles white around the cup like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Those days, you draw a little smiley face anyway. Those days, he stares at it longer before leaving.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he says once, nodding at the cup.
You shrug, light and easy. “Occupational hazard. Excessive cheerfulness.”
He snorts. Actually snorts. “Dangerous in small cafés.”
Whenever he's talking, you can't help but focus on those big brown eyes, his freckles that you're still trying to count, man he fills out that work shirt oh so nicely, and what's that odd chunk taken out of his ear that you haven't worked up the courage to ask him about yet, and—
What is he doing to you?
Ten minutes past his usual time turns into twenty. You keep glancing at the door like it’s going to explain itself. It doesn’t. You feel stupid for the disappointment curling in your chest. He’s just a customer. A regular. A man with tired eyes and freckles and an ear that looks like it’s been through something violent.
He does come in, later than usual, hair still damp like he showered in a rush. There’s a faint bruise blooming along his collarbone, half-hidden by his shirt.
“You look like hell,” you say before you can stop yourself.
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You should see the other guy.”
You laugh—too quickly—and slide his cup over. This time, instead of a smiley face, you write Be careful, okay?
His finger stills when he reads it.
.•*•.
The week after, he comes into the shop late again.
“Hey Robert, sleep in?”
“Yeah, shit…” He drags a hand down his face, then ruffles his hair like he’s trying to wake himself up.
“Want your usual?”
“I'm just kinda in a rush.”
“You know you can make instant coffee at home if you just need a fix,” you say lightly. “I won’t be offended.”
“Yeah…” He scratches the back of his head, hesitating. “I guess I wanted to stop in and see you, though.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks. “Is that so?” You lean over the counter, resting your chin in your hands.
“I don't think I'm just coming for the coffee anymore.”
Your heart flutters. Okay. This is it. Now’s your chance—shoot your shot.
“Well,” you say, trying to sound casual, “my shift ends at five, handsome.” You add a wink for good measure.
His face flushes, and for a split second you’re convinced you’ve misread everything. Maybe you imagined the tone in his voice. Maybe he just sees you as a friendly barista. Oh god, you’re spiraling.
Then, to your surprise, he smiles—soft, a little shy—and nods, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Great, I’ll see you then.”
.•*•.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. Time seems to drag and sprint all at once as you wait for five o’clock. Then he returns, looking a little worse for wear but happy to see you regardless.
“Hey, w-would you like anything before we leave?”
“No no, I'm fine; I think I've got all I need right here.”
“Robert…” You blush, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “What, um, would you like to do?”
“I imagine you're hungry after your shift.”
“I can make dinner!”
Robert lifts a brow, amusement now slipping into his voice. “I think it's highly unfair that the girl I ask to dinner, who also makes my coffee, would make me dinner.”
You laugh. “Well, what do you suggest?”
So there you are in your living room eating Chinese food with Robert Robertson. Yeah, you had a good laugh about that one. Conversation comes easily after that: work stories and shared venting about coworkers.
“I have some coolers in the fridge if you want,” you say after a while. “Unless you’re driving home soon.”
“I don’t live too far from here, actually,” he says. “And yeah—that’d be nice.”
You get up to grab the drinks, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that this is happening. When you come back, he’s standing a little awkwardly, hands shoved into his pockets.
“You're, uh, free to kick me out whenever. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable.” “Oh, don't worry about that. This is nice.”
He sits beside you, close but not touching, shoulders tense like he’s trying not to take up too much space. The TV hums softly in the background, forgotten. After a moment, he relaxes, leaning back into the cushions. Your knee brushes his. Neither of you move it away.
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
You don't quite know how it happens, but sometime within the past hour he falls asleep on your lap. His breathing is soft and even, with the occasional sleepy murmur slipping past his lips. It’s… cute. You don’t move, even when your leg starts to tingle. You just let him rest. After an hour he stirs. He blinks, unfocused, then stiffens when he realizes where he is. He sits up too quickly, mortified. You smile and giggle as he apologizes profusely.
“Oh fuck, shit—I'm sorry. This is embarrassing. Were you bored?”
You laugh gently. “No. I dozed off for a bit too, actually.” You shrug. “I think you needed the sleep."
He groans softly. “Yeah. Probably. Did I even get coffee today?”
“Nope.”
“Fantastic,” he mutters. “Maybe I should’ve. It’s been… kind of a day. And I fell asleep on you.” He winces. “Thanks for putting up with me.”
You reach over to rub at the bags under his eyes.
You reach out without thinking, thumb brushing the dark circles under his eyes. “It might’ve helped,” you say quietly. “Even just a little.”
Your hand lingers longer than necessary. He notices—of course he does.
“Uh,” he says, voice tentative, “something on my face?”
“Yeah,” you reply. “Freckles.”
He snorts. “Not much I can do about that.”
“Good,” you say. “They’re cute.”
His face goes pink instantly, heat creeping up his neck. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, suddenly very interested in the far wall. You pull your hand back, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you are. You both ultimately lose your nerve and awkwardly space out on the couch.
Robert clears his throat. “I'm gonna head home and feed my dog.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
“You working Monday?”
“Yep.”
“Great, see you bright and early.”
You regret not making a move that night and beat yourself up about it all weekend. But it wasn't a big deal; Robert did the same thing, losing sleep over it even, poor guy. He asks you out again on Monday.
.•*•.
Inevitably you end up inviting him back to your place. You're braver now (and even more desperate for his touch). You're on your couch, both anticipating each other's movements. But he beats you to it. He leans in slowly, kissing you with a gentleness that ignites all your senses. Your heart soars and falls all at once, and you lean into him, blissfully thoughtless.
The next kiss is more hungry, and it steals the air from your lungs. You laugh softly against his mouth, a breathless sound, and he smiles into the kiss. When you pull back, it’s only far enough to rest your forehead against his. The room feels smaller, warmer, like the world has folded itself neatly around the two of you.
“Wow, um, I really like you.”
You giggle. “I really like you too, Robert.”
“Do I need to take you out on another date, or can I ask you to go steady now?”
“Go steady? What are you, 80?” You laugh uncontrollably.
“Alright, alright.”
“I wish you'd do both.”
“Girlfriend, then another date? How does that sound?”
“I like that.” You're still laughing till he pulls your face back to his and you melt into him.
“I'm, uh, not the greatest at this kind of thing…”
You blink. “I think you're a great kisser, Robert.”
“I mean the whole dating thing. It's been a while, and I'm terrified of messing this up. I thought I ruined things with you after the first one.”
“Well, I'm in the same boat. I'm surprised you even asked me at all…” You take his hand. “So let's take it slow, yeah?”
He kisses you again, softer this time—like he’s sealing the promise instead of testing it. It’s slower, surer, his thumb brushing your jaw as if he’s committing the feeling to memory. When he pulls back, he exhales a quiet laugh. “Okay. Slow. I can do slow.”
“Good,” you say, smiling.
He shifts closer anyway, carefully, giving you space to stop him if you want to. You don’t. Instead, you tuck yourself against his side, your head fitting just under his chin like it’s always belonged there.
“Can I ask you something?” you say quietly.
“Anything.”
“Did you… want to kiss me the other night?” Your voice is tentative, like you already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway.
He laughed softly. “So badly it was embarrassing.” He groans, tipping his head back against the couch. “I replayed that moment over in my head like a crime scene.”
“You fell asleep on me,” you tease.
“I felt comfortable, and I trusted you,” he says, mock-offended. Then softer: “I didn’t want to mess it up.”
You turn to face him, close enough now that your noses almost brush. “You didn’t.”
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’d really like to keep doing this.”
“Me too.”
He kisses you again—carefree, affectionate, the kind of kiss that lingers even after it ends. When you finally pull away, you’re both smiling like idiots.
“So,” he says, resting his forehead against yours again. “Girlfriend?”
You grin. “Boyfriend.”
His smile is slow and stunned, like he’s afraid if he moves too fast it’ll vanish. He squeezes your hand gently.
“Okay,” he says. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.”
➽──────────────❥ ₊ ݁⟡ ♡
After a few dates, Robert is sure he can trust you and opens up a bit more. When he reveals that he's Mecha Man, you are honestly more shocked that he asked you to be his girlfriend.
“I figured something was up,” you say slowly. “Some mornings you walked into the café like you got into a bar fight.”
“Well,” Robert exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, “I probably did.”
You blink. Once. “You say that like it’s normal.”
“It’s… occupational,” he offers. “Technically.”
“Okay,” you say, holding up a finger. “Pause. Are we talking illegal underground fighting ring, or a vigilante with questionable sleep habits?”
He winces. “The second one. Definitely the second one.”
You stare at him. He stares back, jaw tight, braced like he’s waiting for impact.
“…You’re Mecha Man,” you repeat.
“Yes.”
“The one who throws cars.”
“Sometimes.”
“And punches villains.”
“Frequently.”
You sit back, processing. “Huh.”
“Huh?” he echoes, visibly confused. “That’s it?”
“What, were you expecting screaming? Tears? A dramatic exit?”
“I was prepared for pepper spray,” he admits.
You snort. “Relax. I dated a guy once who collected taxidermy squirrels. This barely cracks the top five weirdest revelations.”
That gets a laugh out of him—short, surprised, and real. Some of the tension drains from his shoulders.
“So,” you continue, tilting your head, “does this mean the ear thing?”
He instinctively touches the notch taken out of it. “Yeah. Explosion. Long story.”
“Figures,” you say. “I was guessing shark.”
He smiles, softer this time. Then it fades, seriousness creeping back in.
“I didn’t tell you because I wanted to impress you,” he says quietly. “I told you because… if this goes anywhere, you deserve to know what you’re signing up for.”
You meet his eyes. Those same big brown ones that looked half-dead over a coffee cup months ago.
“And what exactly am I signing up for?” you ask.
He swallows. “Late nights. Missed calls. Worry. Me coming home hurt and pretending I’m fine.”
You nod. “I already clocked that.”
“And danger,” he adds. “Real danger.”
You consider that for a moment, then shrug. “Robert, I work morning shifts. I live off caffeine and bad decisions. I think I’ll survive.”
That earns him a quiet laugh—but his gaze sharpens when you reach across the table and take his hand.
“I’m more concerned about something else,” you say.
“Yeah?”
“You told me you’re Mecha Man,” you say gently. “But you haven’t explained why you thought that was less scary than asking me to be your girlfriend.”
He freezes.
“…Because I’ve been punched by tanks,” he says after a beat. that was somehow still easier than risking you saying no.”
Your chest tightens.
“Well,” you say, squeezing his hand, “for the record—superhero secrets aside—that might be the bravest thing you’ve done.”
He looks at you like he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“So,” he says carefully, “you’re not… running?”
You smile. “No.”
“… You’re sure?”
“Robert,” you say, leaning in, voice soft but steady, “if I can handle you ordering boring black coffee every morning, I think I can handle you being Mecha Man.”
The first time you two have sex is a complete accident. Well… it's like your 6th date or something, and you couldn't keep your hands off each other after a heavy makeout session. His hand accidentally squeezes your boob, and he immediately retracts it.
“Fuck, sorry. Can I?” You frantically nod. “Thank you.” He enthusiastically fondles and squeezes. “Fuck, you're so soft.” You're pawing at each other's shirts, frantically pulling them off.
The moment he unclips your bra, his mouth latches onto your tit. Kissing, licking, sucking, and your moans only spur him on. You fall back onto the bed, and he's pulling off your pants and panties in one go. “Please let me—”
“Yes! Anything-! P-please!” Panting, begging him desperately.
He spreads your legs and, with a quick kiss to your inner thigh, buries his face in your pussy. He's messy and sloppy, and you don't know who's groaning louder. It doesn't matter. He eagerly licks at your sensitive bundle of nerves, coaxing out your sweetest moans.
“R-Robert! I can't!” Your head is spinning so fast you can't keep up with the feeling growing in your core. He pushes two fingers into you, and you come immediately. He cleans you up with his tongue and slurs. “I think I just found m’new favorite treat.” He says with a kiss to your thigh.
“Roberrrt,” you squirm. “Put it in, please—” you reach down to feel the spreading wet spot on his pants. “D-did you-”
“Oooh yeah. I—I just need a minute, please…” He sounds drunk. “Shit, I don't have a condom.”
“Forget it, I'm on the pill. I need you now.”
“F-fuck, ok.” He sits you up, letting you position yourself above him. You're both groaning, letting out a string of expletives as you sink onto him. His grip is bruising on your hip, but you don't care. You rock your hips, throwing back your head as you take him deeper.
Robert is babbling on about how you take him so well and look like an angel. He thrusts up into you and slams your hips down, lost in you. You're soaking his lap; you might even see some drool on the side of his mouth.
“M'close!” You cry out before Robert lets his thumb catch your clit, rubbing in quick succession till you seize up.
“Ah! Robert!” Your orgasm crashes over you, and you milk his cock, feeling him spill his hot seed into you. You drape over him, collapsing in his embrace.
“Fuck, that's not how I wanted that to go…” “Robert, I don't care. It was hot, and I loved it.” Sloppy, messy, passionate. He pulls out of you with a loud schlorp, and you leak everywhere. You lead him to the bathroom for a quick (not so quick) shower.
When you finally get around to going to Robert's place, you gasp audibly at the lack of well… everything.
A chair? A pillow for Beef to lay on? This boy needs some help.
You take him to the mattress store the next day and promise to help pay for it as long as you help him break it in. Suddenly, he's very enthusiastic about mattress buying and becomes a connoisseur.
“Nah, this one's too stiff... How does this one feel on your knees, baby?” You're fully blushing from head to toe when you ask for help from the sales assistant.
You also had to convince him to get a bed frame and slapped him silly after he said he was undeserving of one.
“Robert Robertson, you are not putting that new bed on the floor with no springboard or frame. Your apartment is already a peak male living space.”
“You just hate that I can live comfortably with less stuff than you.”
“Robert!”
He sighs. “Yes, ma'am, whatever you like, ma'am...” Beef gets treated to a bigger bed as well. And some doggy steps you occasionally push up to the bed so he can climb up while you three nap.
The room is quiet in that soft, late-night way. You’re half-draped over Robert, your hand sprawled across his chest like it belongs there. Warm skin. Solid. Familiar now. Your fingers move slowly, tracing lines you didn’t put there—raised scars, thin ones, thicker ones, and some that curve strangely like they changed direction mid-story.
You pause at one, just below his collarbone.
“Those must have hurt.”
Robert exhales, the sound more tired than pained. “Some of them did.”
Not dismissive. Just honest.
Your thumb follows the edge of another scar, lighter than the rest, almost faded. “And the others?”
He shrugs beneath you. “Adrenaline’s a hell of a thing. You don’t usually feel it until later.”
You don’t reply. Instead, you lean down and press a kiss to his chest—soft, lingering. Then another. And another. You map him with your mouth the same way you do with your hands, slow and careful, like you’re trying to memorize where he’s been.
He stiffens at first, instinctive, like he’s bracing for impact instead of affection.
“You don’t have to—” he starts.
“I know,” you murmur against his skin, kissing a scar that cuts diagonally over his ribs. “I want to.”
That quiets him.
Your fingers trail lower, tracing the story his body tells without words. Some scars are jagged, angry. Others are neat, surgical, like someone tried to put him back together after the fact. You linger on one near his side, smaller but deeper.
“This one,” you say softly. “This one scared me when I first noticed it.”
He swallows. “Yeah. That one scared me too. The cut was pretty deep, and I lost a lot of blood. It opened back up a few times and almost got infected.”
You look up at him then. His eyes are on the ceiling, jaw tight, but he doesn’t pull away. “This is me being vulnerable. Please appreciate how uncomfortable I am.”
You press your palm flat over his heart, grounding both of you.
“You’re alright, Robert. You’re still here,” you say. “That’s what matters.”
He finally looks at you. Really looks at you. There’s something unguarded there, something raw.
“No one’s ever…” He trails off, then gives a quiet huff. “No one’s ever looked at them like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like they don’t make me broken or weak.”
You lean up and kiss him—gentle, patient. “They don’t,” you say. “They mean you survived.”
His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer, like he needs the weight of you there to believe it. You rest your head on his chest again, listening to his heartbeat, steady and real.
Robert feels safe.
You really fall in love with beef. How could you not? He's just a big, fat, affectionate lump of love. “Oh Robert… that poor dog. Let me walk him. What kind of diet do you have him on?”
“See food diet.”
“What?”
“He sees food, and he eats it.” You glare at him threateningly.
Most times when you're holding Beef, you can feel the radiating glare from Robert across the room. “Are you jealous, Robertson?”
“Well, maybe if you spent more time with me instead of Beef.”
“Robert, come on, seriously?”
“I'm your family too.” He huffs.
“Of course you are.” You scruff up his hair. “I have two big babies to deal with now.”
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄
“You remember when I would come into the cafe first thing in the morning when it opened? And I would catch you dancing around the counter?”
“Yeah.” You raise your brow.
“I was definitely checking out your ass. Respectfully.”
“Oh, of course. Glad I could provide some entertainment.”
“A good cup of joe and a good JO.”
“Robert! You pervert!”
“I was a little ashamed. But you look reeeally cute in your cafe uniform.”
“Maybe I'll put it back on afterwards for some roleplay.”
“Okay.” He shrugs nonchalantly.
“Robert!”
“What?? You offered!”
“I'm going to punish you for being a perv.”
“I probably deserve it. But you reeeeally have a nice ass.”
“You can kiss it if you want.”
“I thought you said you wanted to punish me?”
“Fine, I'll wear a slick, sleek superhero suit instead.”
“Again, I'm failing to see the punishment aspect.”
“I know, I can't make up my mind... I think I just want to fuck you.”
“That can be arranged.”
.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.
Another horrified gasp escapes you when he tells you his “diet.” He may be going to the gym, but he's not getting any gains with ramen and Twinkies. You soon take over, becoming his personal chef. Going as far as to meal prep for the both of you and Beef too.
“Can you make me coffee?”
“I'm not your barista anymore, Robertson.”
“But it tastes better when you make it.”
“You only want like a drop of cream and sugar now.”
“And?”
“Ugh, give me a second.”
“Thank you, baby.”
You cook and clean for him? What did he ever do to deserve this? To deserve you?
.•*•.
You do try and get him to taste your coffee occasionally. “Come on, Robert, try it; it's soooo sweet.”
“I think that would be considered torture under the Geneva Convention.”
“This is one of the most delicious things in the world! You just can't appreciate it.”
“Aww, honey. You are really committed to being wrong. That's dedication.”
.•*•.•*•.•*•.
One thing you come to learn about Robert is that he has an off switch.
You're there scratching his back when he makes a low groan. Or a purr? “You sure you're not a cat, Robertson?”
“Mmh, keep going, please.”
“Careful, keep being cute like that and I'll bite a chunk out of your other ear.”
“Please don't.”
“You gonna stop me?”
“Not right now; I feel like I'm melting into your cute, scratchy fingertips.”
You successfully scratch him to sleep.
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
You also learn a few more things about Robert~
“What do you mean you never watched Star Wars?! Or Lord of the Rings?!”
“Never really had time to.”
You proceed to sit him down to binge both over the next week. Went as far as to dress Beef as Princess Leia with the hair buns and everything.
.•*•.•*•.
“Really, Robertson, clowns? You're scared of clowns.”
“You cannot look at that thing and tell me it's not creepy… Staring right through me with those creepy clown eyes.”
“Are you sure you're Mecha Man?”
He flips you the bird, making you laugh hysterically.
.•*•.•*•.•*•.
Robert really likes eating you out. He would go as far as to say it's his favorite foreplay. He calls you his little rockstar because he swears he gets a boost of energy every time he eats you out. Has to get you off a few with his tongue before he even thinks about sticking his dick in you. He’d stay there for hours if you'd let him. Feasting on you like the starved man he is. He's addicted to the way you taste. All of a sudden he doesn't need coffee anymore.
And it goes without saying that he loves your ass and your boobs. “Yep, I could die here.” Robert murmurs from between your breasts, sighing happily.
“Please don't.”
“I might.”
"I'll ban you."
"You wouldn't!" He gasps.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
You show up to SDN one day with his forgotten lunch and a kiss to his cheek; the team gawks at you.
“So did you uh, get a deal to pay an escort monthly or yearly?” Sonar looks you up and down.
“With this budget? Nah, Robert musta had-ta pull some strings.” Prism adds.
“Yeah, there's no way you pulled her, Bobby boy.” Sonar takes a bite out of his apple.
“First, this is my girlfriend, y/n; second of all, fuck you guys.” He pulls you to the side. “Honey, didn't we have a long conversation about never coming into the office?”
“Come on, Robert, we're not gonna bite her.” Malevola rolls her eyes.
“But you will scare her away, so leave.”
You smirk. “It's alright, baby. Besides, I had to bring you your lunch. When you don't eat right, you take it out on me in the bedroom, right? And I thought we could make love tonight for once.” You pout, swirling your finger around on his chest.
“Fack me, I like her.” Punch up adds.
“Yeah, I think she fits in just fine.” Flambae stated.
“Does this mean his dick is bigger than we think?” Invisigal sneers.
“Yeah, you definitely don't have a thing for micro peens, right y/n?” Sonar questions.
“Can't say I do, quite the opposite in fact.”
The team erupts into a howl of whistles and hollers, making Robert groan. He thanks you for the meal and gets Waterboy to show you out quickly in fear of an HR violation. He wishes you had waited until he brought you to work on his own but knew he was going to get teased either way. And when he gets home, he pounds you into the mattress anyway.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
“Beef has legs y’know. He's been walking fine.”
“I know, but he's just so cute. It's fun to carry him around. Besides, it'll be good practice if we ever have kids.”
Robert immediately does a spit take. “Sorry dear, I didn't mean to—i-is that something you want?”
“Well yeah sure, I think it would be nice. We’d make good parents-”
“Put the dog down, y/n.”
“Ooookay.” You do so, and the second you do, Robert pounces on you. Kissing you deeply.
“Do you want to practice making a kid- like right now?”
“Really? You'd want to?”
“Yes.”
“You sure you're thinking with the right head, Robertson?”
“Nah, not at all.”
Robert proceeds to pound you silly for the rest of the night.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
And even now he still doesn't know what he did to deserve you. Or why you'd even want him. But you do.
Robert has an album chock full of you and Beef sleeping together in your shared bed. Little does he know you have an album too, but it is mostly him and Beef sleeping and drooling. Like father, like furry son.
It truly doesn't get any better than this. He's thankful for you every day. You're cuddling in bed one night, going on about how he saved you. He saved you? Nah, you saved him—and that's something he tells you on your wedding day through blurry vision.
Both of your vows are less about grand promises and more about quiet truths. He says you saved him in all the ways that mattered. Not with heroics or fists or steel, but with coffee cups and patience. With staying. With seeing him when he didn’t know how to be seen without armor on. He thanks you for choosing him on the days he felt unchoosable.
You tell them he never needed saving—just someone who showed up. Someone to teach him how to rest. Someone who let himself be loved even when it scared him. You tell him he taught you what steady feels like. What safe feels like. What home feels like.
There’s laughter through the tears. There are pauses where neither of you can speak, and no one minds. When you finally kiss, it’s soft and familiar and full—like every night you ever fell asleep tangled together, like every morning coffee shared in quiet kitchens.
Later, when the room is empty and the day has finally caught up to you, you curl into him again. Same bed. Same warmth. Same man who once stumbled into your café half-awake and unknowingly walked into the rest of his life.
“You're a good man, Robertson.” “And you're a wonderful woman, Mrs. Robertson.” He says with a kiss pressed to your temple as you watched your grandchildren play. Robert was a tired man but happy and fulfilled nonetheless.
And it's then you both realize—neither of you were saved.
You were found.
Yeah, dating you? One of the best decisions he's ever made.
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
A/N: Ahhhhh I finally finished it. Been working on this one for a while. Thank you for reading! Hope yall enjoyed! Next fic will be Robert x Villain Reader. Happy New Year! Ps: thanks for all the likes and reblogs yall🥲🫶
