sshhhh he's exactly where he wants to be (5/10?) 🦸♂️🤖
I'm enjoying these a little too much, let's hope I keep up and finish them all (with the addition of royd and chase with them being the more reasonable/wholesome poses)
katon-ur (phenomaman) x fem!reader. katon-ur and his tries to flirt with the pretty woman in the cubicle next to robert's
The first time he saw you he was already mesmerized. You were just sitting in your desk, headphones on, SDN shirt looking perfect on you and big glasses sliding off the bridge of your nose. You looked so effortlessly pretty for him, he couldn't put to words the feeling he was having in his stomach. Every time he locked eyes with you, boom, his stomach twists and his palms get sweaty.
Oh, and the first time you talked to him? He was gone. Katon was talking to Robert in his desk, something about a decision on the Z Team that you didn't care about when you came to them to ask the latter about a mission report. Your voice was so sweet and velvety, he could see closer the curls on your head and the slight frizz in them that drove him insane. You were so polite, saying hi to him before sharing a small talk with Robert.
He needed to talk to you, he couldn't miss the opportunity to say something to you. But, oh no, you were already saying bye to Robert and flicking your gaze towards him to also say goodbye.
He huffs under his breath, also leaving the conversation with Robert. Katon looks around confused, taking a moment to find you again at your desk, muttering orders under your breath. He decides at that moment to come up to you.
He rehearses something in his head. 'Greetings! I, too, enjoy… mission reports.' Absolutely not. 'Hello. I noticed you are a human.' Worse. His mind pings through a dozen doomed variants until he’s right behind you and suddenly there’s no time left to be a person with a plan.
“Hi,” he blurts, far too loud and then softens, “hi” again as if the first one was just warming up.
You turn in your chair, one earphone still half on and your eyes meet his. That single glance does catastrophic things to his internal equilibrium. His solar-powered chest practically flickers.
"Hey," You say lifting your glasses with one finger.
He tries to lean on the cubicle wall. The wall is not prepared for alien density and makes a noise like someone stepped on a violin. Katon jerks upright as if nothing happened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in a desperate attempt at casualness.
“I, um,” he starts, and then his mind blanks spectacularly. He can feel the warmth radiating off his cheeks, he technically can't blush, but you caused that
“I noticed you were… working. Which is good. Productive. Admirable.”
He closes his eyes for half a second, recalibrating. “What I mean is… I thought perhaps I should say hello. Properly. Since earlier you… spoke. To me.”
He gestures vaguely, as if that explains everything about the indescribable way your voice lodged itself in his chest cavity.
His palms are sweating again (absolutely ridiculous, since he’s not supposed to do that either) and he hides them behind his back.
“Sorry,” he adds quickly, “I’m new to… conversational… initiating.”
A beat.
“That is a phrase, yes?” He looks at you with panic, like a supernova trying very hard to be a candle.
And you smile. He might explode.
"It is a phrase if you want it to be," you say, the warmth of your voice filling his body.
He freezes.
You keep going, because leaving him suspended in existential suspense feels cruel.
“I’ve seen you around. You’re… hard to miss.” You glance at him up and down, your tone almost teasing. “In the architectural sense.”
His eyes go wide, and he straightens as if someone installed a steel beam along his spine.
“I am… visible,” he manages, then winces because that sounded too close to bragging about occupying space. “I mean—recognizable. I meant recognizable.”
You lean an elbow on your desk. “Relax. I know what you meant.” There’s a tiny, playful glint in your eyes now. “I’m glad you said hello.”
Katon’s whole posture tilts toward you involuntarily. He clears his throat in the most heroic, overly dignified way possible.
“I am also glad,” he says earnestly. Then, after a helpless beat: “Very.”
His shoulders sag with relief, because he did it. He has officially spoken to you without exploding, imploding or accidentally lifting something heavy. And you responded. Nicely.
He stands there, trying to figure out how a normal human exits a conversation without bursting into flames.
"I will leave you to work now, beautiful lady." He bows his head before turning in his heels and walking out.
That caught you a little offhand. He was very imposing, scary for some people even, but he looked so small talking to you. And the pet name? That made you feel like an awkward alien.
You lick your lips, seeing how he exits the room from a window. He tries to find you in the room one more time before leaving. And you get it, all of a sudden. He was flirting with you.
Katon-Ur spends the next three days attempting something that, for him, is as complex as astrophysics: continued flirting. He studies humans the way botanists study rare orchids. Quietly, intensely and with absolutely zero clue what he’s doing.
Robert, regrettably, becomes his primary source of advice.
“Flowers,” Robert says, not looking up from his PC. “Girls like flowers. Bring her flowers.”
Katon nods, heroic determination setting in. Flowers. Simple. A symbol of beauty, affection, terrestrial courtship. He can do flowers.
Except he cannot.
Because by the time he makes it outside, every flower on campus is either wilted, guarded by a bee colony he refuses to disturb, or planted in a way that suggests “do not pick unless you want the groundskeeper to kill you.” Katon stands there, hands on hips, cape fluttering, staring at the greenery like it has betrayed him personally.
But there are leaves. Many leaves. And one is particularly… nice. Symmetrical. A pleasing shade of green. Perhaps humans appreciate variety. Perhaps this leaf is a flower in spirit.
He plucks it with reverence, holds it as though it's an artifact, and heads inside before he can overthink and combust.
You’re typing when he appears beside your desk again, quiet for such a tall presence, holding something behind his back. His posture is stiff with purpose and terror.
“You,” he says, then swallows. “You are working again. You do that often, I notice.”
You spin slowly in your chair, eyebrow raised. “That is sort of how jobs work, yes.”
His face lights like he’s being praised for discovering fire.
“Yes! Precisely. And I have brought—” He thrusts something out toward you, then hesitates mid-motion, grimacing as if bracing for impact. “I have brought you this.”
You look down.
It is a leaf.
A perfectly ordinary, unremarkable, wonderfully green leaf.
There is a beat of silence so delicate it might shatter.
You meet his eyes, and they’re wide with earnest hope and absolutely no sense of how absurd this is. He looks like a puppy who’s brought you a sock and is praying you’ll treasure it forever.
“A leaf?” you say, letting your voice tilt warm instead of confused. “For me?”
He nods vigorously. “Yes. It is botanical.” Another nod. “Robert said flowers. There were obstacles.”
You try very hard not to laugh, not mockingly but affectionately. Impressed by the softness you didn't expect from a man capable of punching through steel.
“Thank you,” you say instead, smiling as you take it from him. “It’s lovely.”
Katon-Ur practically malfunctions. His hands fly up in an awkward half-gesture, his breath catches, his shoulders rise, his entire demeanor flickers between relief and sheer cosmic delight.
“You… like it?” he breathes, as if the universe itself hinges on this answer.
“There’s thought behind it,” you say, brushing your thumb over the leaf’s edge. “That matters more than anything.”
His knees nearly buckle. He steadies himself on the cubicle, gently this time.
“I will bring you more,” he vows heroically, then freezes. “Not leaves. Unless you desire leaves. I can acquire many. Infinite, even.”
You laugh softly, and he looks like he’d kneel at your feet if you asked.
“Maybe,” you say, “you can just keep talking to me.”
He inhales sharply, loudly, as if you’ve given him oxygen he didn’t know he needed.
“I can do that,” he promises, glowing brighter than any sun. “Conversational initiating. Continuation? Ongoing dialogue.”
“Katon,” you say gently, “you’re adorable.”
He goes still. If he had a tail, it would be wagging so hard it’d be hazardous.
He leaves your desk that day with the stuttery gait of someone whose entire sense of gravity has been knocked askew. You watch him go, broad shoulders, cape flicking behind him like he’s walking through a heroic wind only he can feel. And the ridiculous part? He looks good doing it. Too good.
That’s the inconvenient truth you’ve been skirting around: the man is awkward as an unplugged Roomba… and yet somehow hot in the way a star is hot. Big, bright, earnest, capable of melting things if he gets too close.
You spend the rest of your workday touching the edge of that leaf like it might still carry some trace of the way he held it, fingers too careful for someone who could crush cement.
And Katon?
He spends the rest of his day thinking about you.
He tries to train afterward, or something like training (lifting a comically large metal beam) which he usually does with smooth precision. But today he drops it twice. The second time he mutters your name under his breath and startles himself so badly he nearly launches into the ceiling.
By the next morning, he’s decided a new mission directive: Get braver. Get closer. Do not combust.
You’re running an errand in the hallway when he spots you. He tries to approach casually, failing.
“Beautiful—” he begins, then aborts mid-syllable. “Human lady— no. You. Hello. You.”
He stands fully upright, and suddenly the hallway feels smaller in comparison. He’s massive, yes, but it’s the warmth in his eyes that hits you, like catching sunlight on bare skin.
“Katon,” you say, grinning despite your best efforts, “breathe.”
He does. Loudly. Dramatically. As though you gave him permission to inhale for the first time all day.
“I wished to…” He pauses, gestures to himself. “Present myself. To you. Again. Properly.” Then, with reverence: “You look very nice today.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You think so?”
“Yes,” he says, no hesitation at all. “Your hair is… curly.” He nods, pleased with this observation. “Very curly. It is good. It makes shapes.”
You bite back a smile. “Shapes?”
“Pleasing shapes,” he amends, cheeks heating in that not-technically-a-blush way of his.
“Thank you,” you say, leaning slightly closer without meaning to. “You look good too.”
He blinks. Once. Twice. Then he looks down at himself as if checking whether that could possibly be true.
“I do?” His voice drops an octave, surprise wrapped in something softer. “Truly?”
“Uh-huh,” you say, steady but warm, “you’re kind of cute.”
His breath catches.
You watch his hands curl and uncurl at his sides, like he’s physically restraining cosmic-level reactions. His whole chest seems to brighten, not literally glowing, but close.
“No one has ever…” He fumbles. “I mean, they have said things, but not…”
He gathers himself, squares his shoulders, and looks at you with a sincerity so intense it could bend steel.
“You think I am cute?”
He says it like you’ve handed him the moon.
You nod. “Yeah. I do.”
He looks as if he might ascend.
“I will attempt,” he says, voice hushed and full of wonder, “to be worthy of that.”
Before you can respond, he adds, softer but bolder than anything he’s said yet:
“And you are… far more than cute.”
His gaze lingers, warm and earnest and a little hungry in the most innocent way imaginable.
He’s awkward, sure. But he’s also very attractive, very sincere and extremely focused on you.
phenomaman masterlist a/n: this idea came to me bc i've been saying a leaf? for me? thank you all day and i thought it could be cute. haven't watched the movie and i'm lowk not planning to. i'm tired of 2025 gothic aesthetic
Hi I saw your requests are open would you be able to write phenomaman x fem reader. Maube where she helps him instead of Robert when he is lying on the car and he becomes super attached to her, appearing at her desk in SDN, kneeling on the floor and hugging her waist while shes trying to print stuff and it causes a stir in SDN. Or any other scenario if that doesnt inspire you :)
Attachment Issues (Phenomaman x fem!dispatcher!reader)
Warnings: cursing, very pathetic Phenomaman, reader is rightfully pissed at him, this whole thing is an HR nightmare and a half (words: 2.3k)
(Author’s note: hey hey!!! This ended up longer than I thought it’d be, which is kinda fine lol. I wish we’d gotten more with Phenomaman’s culture in the game so far, so I’m just making it up for fiction’s sake :) as always, please do not repurpose, steal, or otherwise misuse my work in any way, including anything involving Al.)
MY MASTERLIST
“You’re kidding me.”
Blazer looks at you, eyes apologetic behind the blue mask. “I’m… afraid I’m not.”
You look back out the window, where she’d pointed out the large brick wall of a man, lying starfished on the hood of someone’s car.
“You really want ME to go do that?” You grit your teeth, mouth forming a cringe as you averted your gaze from the sad sight.
“If you can at least try.” She sighed, “He’s been like that for a while.”
“Since you dumped him?” You deadpanned.
“Unfortunately, yes.” She nodded, leaning against the wall.
You groaned, pressing your hands against your forehead. This was not your job. Far from it, in fact— you were a dispatcher, not a therapist.
“I want a raise.” You muttered, nodding as you walked past her. You swore you heard Blonde Blazer chuckle behind you, but she said nothing more. There was absolutely a raise needed, if you were dealing with this for the alien’s upcoming emotional recovery time.
As you rode the elevator down, you wondered what the hell happened between her and Phenomaman to warrant… well, this.
He was this massive public figure— untouchable, indestructible, and for a lack of better words, phenomenal. And yet something so little in the grand scheme of things as a breakup just shattered that, like he was nothing without her.
The pulley jolted slightly to a stop, and the doors slid open as you stepped out into the lobby. You traversed the short distance towards the parking lot, and immediately found the radius of broken glass and crinkled metal before you even spotted the car itself.
His red and yellow clothed body lay still on the vehicle, and for a second, you almost thought he was dead. However, a shift of his boot told you otherwise.
“How are you, uh… holding up?” You asked, glancing down at him. Deep bags had formed under his eyes, and his trademark facial hair had been woefully grown out into mutton chops.
“I have been better.” He stated, his voice having that strange, yet somewhat pleasing cadence it usually did.
“Do you maybe want to talk about it?” You asked, raising a brow, “Possibly lying on an actual couch, instead of someone’s car?”
“Have you ever been broken up with?”
“I—“ You blinked, “Look, I heard about you and Blazer. I’m sorry that happened.”
He stared into the sky for another moment, and you considered trying to shield his eyes from the sun, if he was human.
“It was… sudden.” He lamented, making no attempt to leave his spot on some poor soul’s ride home, “I believed the evening was going well, and then she informs me that we are no longer a couple.”
“Been there.” You exhaled, hopping up onto the corner of the car’s front to sit beside him, “It feels like the world’s closing in on you, doesn’t it?”
“We have experienced the same thing.” He said, his voice pitching in a way that made him seem almost surprised, “Do you also wish to cast the earth into eternal darkness?”
“God, sometimes.” You chuckled, “But you gotta keep on powering through, y’know? Sometimes, rock bottom’s where you start.”
He fell silent for a moment, before slowly rising to sit up, glass falling out of his hair and clothing with little plinking noises.
“First step.” You slid off the car, getting to your feet, “What do you say we find you a more comfortable place to wallow?”
For someone who was built like a triangle with a moustache, he looked very reminiscent of a wrung-out, soggy towel at that moment.
“That… would be nice.”
Finally taking your headset off after a shift that felt like triple its length, you sat back in your chair, staring into space for a moment to try and process.
Your void-gazing was quickly interrupted by a muscular shadow cast over your desk, which you spun around to find belonged to the one and only Phenomaman, still with the mutton chops and bad eye bags, but with a little bit of light in his eyes.
“I have brought you baked goods.” He stated, and you glanced at his hands to, indeed, find a box of pastries.
“Oh— thank you.” You smiled, “My shift just ended, actually perfect timing.”
“That is why I have chosen now as the moment to bring them.” He gently handed the paper box over to you, and you cracked it open to see about six treats of various dessert type. “I was unaware of your preferences, however, the baker was very helpful in finding a variety.”
“Wow, this is…” You searched through the box for something you felt like, and retrieved a lemon square, “…So nice of you. Thank you.”
“I am happy to aid you in proper sustenance.”
“Do you want one?” You held out the box, “I definitely can’t eat all of these. You should pick one out for yourself.”
His hand reached out, paused, hovered, and eventually lowered to pick up a cookie.
You finished off your treat in a few bites— you hadn’t realized how hungry you’d been, and stood up, placing the box beside your computer.
“Wanna go for a walk or something?” You offered, “I could use a stretch break, or… five.”
He took the last bite of his dessert, nodding. “I will accompany you.”
You pounded the heel of your palm into the top of the printer, cloaked by the copy room’s darkness as it refused to spit out the reports you needed for the third time.
“Come on, we’re friends, right?” You pleaded with a groan, “Please give me my papers.”
When another error popped up, you saw red, and your foot found contact with the side of the machine.
“Piece of shit!” You growled, “You’re a disgrace and a traitor, you rectangular bitch!”
As your shoe smacked the plastic shell of the so-called copy machine, producing a hollow banging noise, you felt another pair of eyes on you, and you froze.
You turned, seeing a pair of wet pupils watching you in the dark, paired with that primary-coloured suit illuminated by the light of a nearby computer, and immediately clocked who you were sharing the room with.
“Do you… consider me in such a way?” He asked, looking at you as if he were a lost puppy.
“What?” You blinked, before shaking your head, “No, no, I— I was talking to the copy machine.”
“I see.”
“You’re not any of those things.” You exhaled, rubbing your neck, “You, uh… feeling down again?”
“I am, indeed, feeling down,” He turned back towards the computer, “I feel as if my relationship was something I did not deserve.”
“Oh, bud…” You muttered, rubbing your forehead, as you peered over his shoulder at what he was watching on the screen.
He had zoomed in on a video of Blazer beating the absolute snot out of some criminal, and was currently staring at it like it held the answers to life itself. You sighed, patting him on the shoulder.
“She was the only thing I was passionate about.” He admitted, “Everything about her was my reason to continue.”
You saw something change in his eyes, a glimmer of nostalgia amidst the darkness that seemed to dig deep into his bones.
“Are you sure about that?” You asked.
He turned to you, tilting his head slightly. “Am I sure about what?”
“That she was your reason.” You shrugged, “Sometimes, when it feels like everything’s collapsing, you gotta take a step back and see the bigger picture. There’s other things out there, people, hobbies, places— it’s not always one specific thing that’s your reason to live.”
He looked down, brow furrowing thoughtfully as silence fell over the two of you.
“You have… given me much to think about.” He rose from where he was slumped, the chair squeaking with the lack of his weight.
You nodded, glancing back to the copy machine, which still hadn’t spat out your papers.
“Anytime.” You smiled, cancelling the request on the ancient interface. You could always just use the other printer.
You gave his shoulder one more pat, before walking off, in search of the secondary copier.
As you stepped past the maze of desk clumps, you stopped by your computer to select the other machine, before darting to the other side of the office to finally, at long last, get those goddamn reports, while mentally writing an email to the higher-ups to beg for better tech at the branch.
The mechanical whirring was music to your ears as you hop-skip-jumped, just as you’d been taught in school gym all those years ago, past a gaggle of heroes who had dropped a box of spare parts and were collecting them by hand, forming a kind of barrier as your final obstacle.
Your hands reached the beige plastic surface of your lord and savior, the only working copier, and you could have cried in relief.
After not even a minute of waiting, you scooped up your pile, freshly printed and still warm from the magical land known as the 1977 model combination printer/copier machine. You were just about ready to head back to your desk for your next shift when the feeling of something wrapping around your waist stopped you.
Looking down, there knelt Phenomaman, gazing up at you in silence. You blinked, looking from your papers, to his wet-puppy eyes, to the sudden freeze in movement around the office as all gazed came to a stop on the two of you.
“What are you doing?” You hissed in a hushed whisper.
“I am expressing my gratitude for your advice.” He stated plainly, and you scoffed.
“Express your gratitude in a way that doesn’t get you written up by HR!” You pulled away from him, rushing back to your desk. You felt your face burning in embarrassment, as you plopped yourself into your chair, covering your face with your hands and hoping that your next shift ended quickly.
As you ordered a pair of heroes over to a burning barbecue gone wrong, a tap on your shoulder had you slipping one side of your headphones off.
“What’s up?” You muted your microphone, swivelling in your seat to face your blue-clad visitor. You raised an eyebrow at the sight of the Z-Team dispatcher, as he was usually too busy with his gaggle of misfits for casual chats on the clock.
“Hey, uh…” Robert leaned in close, as if he had some big secret to tell you, “This probably shouldn’t come from me, but there’s a rumour going around about— y’know, you guys.”
“Me and who?” You braced yourself for the answer, knowing exactly who it would end up being. That unsubtle bastard.
“You and Phenomaman.”
Shit.
“Look, I’m only saying this so you can do something about it.” He sighed, “I don’t care if you make it official or get a restraining order with him.”
“A restraining order sounds… kinda good right now.” You joked, “But thanks.”
“No problem.” He muttered, returning to his workstation as you unmuted, handing out another set of directions to a willing hero.
You hated the thought of breaking the big guy’s heart like that, but you’d rather tell him to keep it to himself than to be caught off-guard again. He was almost endearing, in a way, but not when he was clinging to you while you waged war on the photocopier.
As your shift finally dragged itself towards the finish line, coming to a close after what felt like days, you shot up from your seat, full of newfound conviction.
You would talk to him firmly and honestly, getting his head right about proper boundaries. He would stop being weird, and you’d get your point across about how embarrassing he’d been. You swore it.
As you trudged down the hallway, belongings in one hand, you were stopped by a call of your name, and you cursed internally.
“Ah, there you are.” The man you had just been thinking about, as if reading your mind entirely, appeared from… behind a potted plant. Clever.
“Hey.” You greeted him, voice falling flat of any real cheer, “I need to talk to you.”
“I would like to confer with you as well, I—“
You grabbed his arm, yanking him into an open closet. His eyes widened in surprise, glancing around before turning his eyes towards yours.
“I need you to understand something.” You stated, “You made me feel awful. Absolutely mortified. And I need you to promise it’s not going to happen again.”
His expression shifted, although it was too dark to properly see what was going on with his face, as you continued.
“Everybody— and I mean EVERYBODY thinks we’re together. And we’re not dating! I need you to tone down… whatever you’re doing, because HR’s gonna get involved, and no one’s going to have a fucking good day after that—“
“I was intending on requesting a courtship.” He interrupted, “With you. On my planet, the gifting of desired food and physical contact is a request for an interpersonal relationship.”
“You—“ You stammered, caught completely off-guard, “You— what— huh?”
“Your advice brought me to curiosity over the different things, people, and places that you mentioned. I have a desire to experience something that will bring me the joy that Blazer did.”
You stood there, speechless, for a good twenty seconds, before you managed to form the words that lay jumbled in your throat.
“Look, if you— I’m flattered—“ You began, “I need you to agree to be less intense about it. If we’re gonna… court. Date. Whatever.”
“I understand. I will not display my affection publicly.”
“No, no, that’s fine, just—“ You let out a disbelieving laugh, “I’m not saying yes quite yet. Just… boundaries, Phenomaman. Could we maybe talk about it over coffee? Or anywhere except for a broom closet, really.”
You saw the shine in his eyes even without any lights on, and you gave him a soft chuckle.
“That is very much acceptable.” He responded, “Shall I pick you up and take you there at twelve tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Twelve works.” You nodded, opening the door and slipping through, before pausing.
“Weird ask—“ You whispered, “Maybe stay here another few minutes? If we both leave the closet at the same time, it’ll be kinda…”
