Werewolf!Boyfriend who wants to stay secure in your arms while he transforms under the full moon instead of being alone like always but he's scared he'll hurt you.
Werewolf!Boyfriend who you hold in your arms, petting his hair and assuring him nothing he could do would hurt you.
Werewolf!Boyfriend who clings to you when night falls and it begins, his bones and skin aching as he starts to pant.
Werewolf!Boyfriend who whines against you in pain as his body starts to shift, burying his head deeper against your lap as he mumbles about how its going. You tell him reassuring words as he grunts.
Werewolf!Boyfriend who grabs onto your arm for support as he feels fur start to sprout on him, trying not to dig his claws into you as he groans in pain, sharp fangs crowding his mouth.
Werewolf!Boyfriend who collapses on your lap fully transformed, tail thumping as you stroke his ears and tell him that you're still here for him.
𐙚700 words, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), riding, overstimulation(not really), mean praise, bad bod😋, etc.𐙚
His thighs were spread wide on the edge of the bed, heavy arms slung over the back of it like he had all the time in the world. His shirt was still half-on, chest hair visible under the stretched cotton, stomach soft and thick and smug where he sat watching you hesitate between his legs.
You were naked. Shaky. Already wrecked, and he hadn’t even touched you in ten minutes.
“C’mon,” he said, voice rough with smoke and heat. “Get on.”
You hesitated. Your knees were weak, your thighs still trembling from the last round. And your stomach twisted — not from nerves, but from knowing how it would feel. You hated riding. It was too deep. Too sharp. It always made you feel like you couldn’t breathe.
You didn’t move.
He raised an eyebrow. “What, suddenly shy now? You took me like a good little mess earlier. What’s this act for?”
Your mouth opened, then closed. You glanced at his dick — already hard again, heavy and waiting, flushed and leaking against his stomach. Your body wanted it. But you shook your head.
"I—I don’t like it like that," you said, barely audible. “It feels... too much.”
He blinked. Then smiled.
Not soft.
Not sweet.
Just slow and mean.
“Too much, huh?”
You swallowed.
“That’s why you’re gonna do it.”
He patted his thigh. “Come on. Be brave for me.”
You stepped forward, one knee on either side of his lap, hands braced on his chest. He was warm, his skin soft under your palms, his belly pressing into yours as you lined yourself up.
He didn’t help you. Didn’t hold your hips. Just sat there watching, his dick pulsing under you.
You sank down.
The stretch hit immediately — deep. Too deep. You gasped, legs locking as your body tried to reject the angle. It felt sharp, unbearable, like he was splitting you open from the inside.
Your nails dug into his chest. You shook.
“I know, baby,” he murmured, mocking and fond all at once. “I know it’s a lot.”
You tried to lift up, to ease off, but his hands shot to your hips, dragging you down the rest of the way in one thick, brutal stroke.
You choked.
“Shhh,” he rasped, mouth at your ear now. “You’re doin’ so fucking good for me.”
You whimpered, body overwhelmed — your hole fluttering, your dick or clit throbbing from the pressure of him everywhere.
He rolled his hips up into you once, hard.
You cried out, full-on now.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Ride. Make me feel you squeeze.”
You moved — shaky and slow — dragging up, then back down. The burn was unreal. He hit every goddamn nerve. It made your head spin.
He licked his lips as he watched you bounce.
“Look at you,” he said, voice dragging. “Don’t even like it and you’re still takin’ it. Still getting wet. Still fucking dripping on my dick.”
You cried out again, back arching.
“That’s it. Take what I give you.”
He pulled you down into a kiss then — all spit and tongue, his beard scraping your chin, his breath hot and thick as he groaned into your mouth.
“You like this,” he whispered against your lips. “You hate it, and you still fuckin’ like it.”
You couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t stop. You were riding him faster now, clumsier, more desperate — chasing something even as tears pricked the corners of your eyes.
He grabbed your ass in both hands, forcing you to grind deeper.
“Gonna come on my cock like this?” he growled. “While I’m sittin’ here letting you do all the fuckin’ work?”
You whimpered — broken — and nodded, already spiraling.
“Yeah,” he hissed. “Come on, sweetheart. Let it happen. You earned it.”
And you did. Loud and shuddering. Clenching around him while he held you down and rutted up into you once, twice, three times—
Then he came too, groaning low and mean as his cock twitched inside you, his arms wrapping tight around your waist to keep you there, right where he wanted you. Pinned, stuffed full, and completely overwhelmed.
His breath was hot at your throat. “See?” he whispered. “You can take anything I give you.”
"Oh god," you moaned as Shidou's cock brushed yours, his breath heavy on your neck. You felt his teeth sink into your flesh, a groan rumbling from his own throat as your body arched against his.
"Fuck." He growled, rutting harder against you. Precum coated both of your cocks, dripping down your rubbing shafts. He drew his hips back with a shuddering breath, and yours jerked up towards him.
You whimpered, fingers digging into his shoulders. Your feet struggled against the sheets, trying to find footing, as Shidou's pace sped up. Fuck, you couldn't wait for him to be inside of you.
"Being such a good boy," he huffed. "Hahh, you feel so good." he moaned into your ear.
"Ryuuuu-" You whined, hips lifting off the bed to meet his as your loins throbbed uncontrollably.
"Fuck, say my name just like that, slut." Shidou breathed. "God, you make me so pent up-"
Your nails dug into his bare skin, head lolling back as you felt bliss slowly overwhelm you, his cock throbbing against yours with each soaked brush.
But like imagine neighbor! Price, he knows your husband and isn’t that big of a fan of him at all. Leaving you alone for days on end for “business trips”. Price knew that’s not what he was doing. Your husband was a damn junkie. Running up all you guys money on coke and bottles at clubs.
He had seen him while off duty at a club with Gaz and Nikolai. Blowing your money, the money he had spent without your knowledge, on strippers and the several bottles he had bought in the club.
Price being be good neighbor he was had told you. He felt bad when he saw how your heart practically shattered. You were tearing up and ended up crying into his chest. He brought you back into your house where he stayed with you the entire time. Your tears for your husband was soon replaced with tears for John as he had you splayed out on his lap.
“I know baby, I know. Feels good yeah?”
You could barely get your words out as he rubbed your clit for what seemed like forever while he had you propped up on his lap. Tears pouring down your cheeks as you felt your fourth orgasm hit you.
“So good for me doll, let’s make sure you feel real nice now, yeah?..”💭🎀
I love the idea of dating Jason Todd as a somewhat sugar daddy sort of situation. He pays your rent, won't let you pay for anything when you are together. And he never says no to anything you could ask for if you ask him right after sex. There isn't enough ftm!reader sugar daddy fics/drabbles.
I think Jason would but I also think he’d be so lowkey about it
examples! ˙⋆✮
─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───
You go out to a coffee shop and you sway back and forth as you try to decide if you want your regular or something—Jason just holds your hand as he waits for you to finally blurt out what you want and before you can even think about the total that the barista announces, his card is pressed against the reader and the transaction had gone through.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
You’re looking over your finances for the month—they aren’t necessarily bad they were just a little tight. You’d probably have to put off your car maintenance for a while because rent and bills had to take priority. Jason bites into an apple as he peeks over your shoulder, looking at your current balance and your expected expenses—he swallows before telling you not to worry about it—he’ll cover your rent and bills, you should go get your car checked out. You try to argue, telling him you could at least split it, it wouldn’t be fair on him to shoulder everything. He argues that it wouldn’t be fair on you considering your salary differences (if you could consider his collections from a drug ring a salary)
You decide to split on percentage the next month. He still insists on paying the full rent (you tuck the $10 you theoretically owe him into his wallet every month).
(Also he looks at your car himself; how silly of you to think you would need to go to anybody else to fix a motor oil when your boyfriend could do it for you.)
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You stumble into your apartment, exhausted after being awake for 20 hours straight and working some ungoldly shifts—you almost don’t notice the extra pair of shoes sat by your door—the only reason you do is because they are shiny and new and too small to be Jason’s. Your first thought should have been that Jason had invited somebody into the apartment while you were out but that was actually so far from your mind. In what world would Jason bring somebody back to your shared home?? His safe space?
Oh yeah, I bought you a new pair of shoes, he answers casually as you collapse on him. Something about noticing that your current shoes are falling apart so he just bought you the same pair, only with less holes. You mumble something that sounds like a ‘thanks’ and he’s mentioning something about going shopping for more if you didn’t like them anymore but you’re already out like a light
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
➜ ftm specific ♡
It often comes up during late night musings what your plans are for yourself in the future, especially when it came to transitioning. You’d done some of it, but there’s still so much more you want to do—you muse about top surgery like it’s a distant dream and with the current state of your salary and the lack of trans healthcare around, it might as well be. Hope is what keeps you going, but you absently rub at your sternum as you quietly admit to Jason how much of a relief it would be for you when you finally get it. He cups your face, gently rubbing the circles under your eyes as he asks furthering questions, where you want it done, if you have a surgeon in mind yet, what kind of surgery would you want, where would you want to stay to recover.
You answer every questions, it makes it feel more real as you do.
He asks when you want it done and honestly? As soon as you have the funds.
He asks if he can cover it and your heart leaps.
You want to argue, say it’s an insane amount of money and he’d have to cover a lot more than just the surgery because you’d have to skip out on work and you’d have to travel and all that other stuff he might not be thinking about but he’s staring with such earnest eyes that everything dies in your throat. And you nod wordlessly because both of you would love nothing more than for you to feel comfortable in your own body. ♡
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
uh,, tada! I didn’t expect to write so much lmao, clearly I missed this
hope you enjoyed ˙⋆✮ the last one almost made me tear up icl
summary:
“I need to tell you something,” Robert says somewhat stiffly, his heart racing in his chest. You look up from where you’d been scrolling on your phone, giving him a flat look. You glance to your left and right, as if making sure no one is listening.
“You’re Mecha Man,” you then remark dryly, taking another bite of your sandwich and covering your mouth. “I know,” you say once you’re finished chewing.
“Oh,” Robert blinks. That wasn’t even what he wanted to say.
Robert attempts to get to know the most private member of the Z-Team. You don’t give him much to work with, unsurprisingly.
word count: 7.2k | ao3 version
author’s notes: Since this is self-indulgent (as is all my writing), the reader is pretty antisocial. I’m usually careful to keep the reader a bit of a blank slate, but this one is probably closer to OC territory just in terms of personality and hero name. Ah well! I think it’s still a fun read.
So! The reader’s pronouns are he/him. Race is ambiguous; there’s a scene where he’s written to be shirtless, but otherwise, physical descriptions aren’t used. He’s written to have powers related to shadow manipulation and I gave him the hero name ‘Phantom’.
This is canon-divergent and non-compliant. Also worth noting that I think this game’s writing sucks, and I also hate Invisigal, so. Yeah.
The title of this fic is from what’s wrong with me by Olivia Rodrigo <3333 It really reminds me of Robert.
Warnings: spoilers to Dispatch, sexual humor/innuendo (thanks, Flambae), fainting and loss of consciousness, hospitals, blood and injury.
You’re doing nothing wrong. You keep your head down and don’t mouth off; you show up to meetings on time (which is more than can be said for most participants in the Phoenix Program); you’re not easily distracted. You work well with others when necessary, but you’re competent on your own.
And when Robert becomes the newest dispatcher for the Z-Team, you barely even react. You obey his orders, hide any sarcasm, don’t insult him. From the beginning, you’re the easiest person to work with.
Robert still isn’t satisfied. It’s not your performance—your speed, endurance, and intelligence make almost any mission a guaranteed success. It’s not your demeanor either. At least, not really.
“Where’s Phantom?” he asks loudly, the consistent thrum of the bass rattling his thoughts. Robert doesn’t exactly feel at home in this villain bar, but he wanted to spend some time with his team outside of work. Hence how he finds himself sitting in the Sardine, pretending not to notice the dirty looks he’s getting. The others fit right in, considering their pasts as supervillains. Robert, on the other hand…
“Phantom?” Invisigal repeats, throwing him a judgmental look. She doesn’t appreciate that he’s asking about you, clearly. “Who cares?” she huffs, resting her arms on the bar counter.
“This isn’t his kind of place,” Sonar remarks. Robert is the only one to hear him, and he frowns. He thought he’d been doing pretty well with the whole ‘team-bonding’ thing, but you haven’t been receptive. You’ve been easy to work with, but difficult to pin down outside of work hours. Hell, it’s like you disappear the moment you’re off the clock. Your hero name is far more accurate than you probably realize; like a phantom, you’re there one moment and gone the next.
Robert finds himself reviewing your file in his mind. He’s already memorized it, at this point. Because it’s the only information he really has on you.
PHANTOM
Bio: Comes and goes quickly. Enigmatic and clever. Selective thievery—steals from the rich and powerful, often returning cultural artifacts to public institutions after the fact.
Abilities: Can manipulate shadows and travel through darkness.
Crimes: Burglary, grand larceny, loitering, possession of stolen property.
Note: Do not leave in a dark room. EVER.
Note from Chase: Tolerable. Almost interesting to speak with, but never sticks around long enough.
Mondays at SDN Torrance are always slow.
Robert sighs. The Z-Team members on the clock today are either resting or currently on duty. They’re all preoccupied right now, which means he’s stuck sitting here contemplating his life choices. He does this for a few minutes, before eventually deciding to revisit your file. Just for maintenance, really. He’s not doing this for any particular reason, and he’s definitely not doing it to look at your mugshot again.
To Robert’s surprise, there’s a new line at the end of your file. His heart jumps in his chest, until he processes the words:
Note from Chase (again): Stop lingering. You won’t solve him.
Robert sighs again.
Eventually, he loses his patience.
It’s natural; Robert is only human. And for some reason, when it comes to you, waiting around feels like a complete waste of time. You’re not opening up to him, so he has to call in reinforcements. Namely, the human personification of sunshine: Blonde Blazer.
She isn’t convinced this will work. Something about you keeping to yourself, respecting your privacy, you being a reliable team member, yadda yadda. Honestly, Robert’s attention kind of slipped after the first few seconds. But Blazer knows he’s somewhat desperate—and she must be feeling particularly bad for him—because she’s soon summoning you to her office to speak with them both.
“I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ when this doesn’t work,” Blazer says just as she hears you knock. Robert sighs. “Come in!” Blazer says to you.
You open the door hesitantly, lingering in the doorway. Your hands are shoved in the pockets of your black cargo pants. That’s another thing that sets you apart from a lot of the superheroes at SDN: You don’t want to stand out. Your clothes are all black and a little baggy, as if you don’t want to be seen. Robert supposes that makes sense, when considering your superpower. You thrive in the shadows.
He watches as your eyes flit about the room. “Blazer,” you greet her cordially. Your gaze finds Robert second, and he pretends not to feel offended by it. “Robert. Hey.”
“Hey,” Robert replies.
You look between the both of them warily. It already looks like you’re going to bolt. “What’s this about?” you ask.
“Nothing; you’re not in trouble,” Blazer says reassuringly. She smiles. Uh oh. That smile means nothing good. And sure enough, she proceeds to throw him under the bus. “Robert was just telling me that he wanted to get to know you better.”
Robert sends her a dirty look.
Fortunately, you only look confused at the prospect. “Why?” you say skeptically, as if bewildered that someone would ever want to get to know the person beneath the darkness.
“We’re working together,” Robert answers smoothly, clasping his hands in his lap under the desk. He fidgets with one of his fingers, trying his best to keep his cool. For whatever reason, he gets kind of nervous in front of you. “It would be helpful to know more about you.”
“…Okay,” you say.
“That’s it?” Robert asks. He clears his throat and tries to sound more unbothered, less hopeful. It probably doesn’t work. “You’re agreeing?” The thought of learning more about you is an intriguing one, to say the least. Even your teammates don’t know very much about you. You keep your secrets—your thoughts, all of it— close to your chest.
“Agreeing to what?” you squint, bringing him back to the present moment. “I’m not agreeing to anything.”
Blazer sighs, sending him a knowing look. Robert presses on anyway. “But don’t you think—”
The door is swinging shut before he even finishes his sentence. He stares at the closed door in disbelief, before glancing over at Blonde Blazer. She’s looking down at the wooden surface of her desk, seeming to be fighting off a laugh.
“Don’t,” Robert warns her.
“Told you so,” she says with a teasing smile.
Robert scowls.
“The guy’s prickly,” Punch Up says to Robert after he’s recounted your conversation from earlier today. Everyone from the Z-Team was invited to this post-work outing at the Sardine; unsurprisingly, you aren’t here. Again. “He doesn’t really care for the mushy stuff. A man after my own heart.” He thumps his fist against his chest; Malevola rolls her eyes.
“You cried during the last movie night,” Sonar reminds him.
“Moana is a treasure, lad,” Punch Up responds firmly. Malevola just scoffs, before turning to Robert.
“Is this about Phantom again?” Malevola asks. “You could just ask him out. Save us the trouble of hearing you whine about it.”
“What?” Robert chokes. “I’m not asking him out. That’s ridiculous.”
“Riiiight,” Prism drawls, popping up from nowhere. “Girl. You’re always staring at him with those ‘fuck-me’ eyes in meetings. Kinda embarrassing. Like, get a room.”
“The what eyes?!?” Robert sputters, nearly choking on his drink. “I’ve never done that—!”
Robert looks to Invisigal for help, but she’s scowling and glaring at her drink like it’s committed a crime. He takes another sip of his drink… and pretends not to wish the empty seat next to him were occupied instead.
Robert Robertson’s ‘coming out’ goes down in typical Z-Team fashion: namely, out of his control; completely random and without explanation; and in the middle of the work day.
Prism is the instigator, unsurprisingly.
Honestly, Robert wasn’t sure if he’d ever tell the team formally. He’s always found it strange that people who aren’t heterosexual have to announce themselves to be validated. Like, why can’t he just show up with a boyfriend one day and leave it at that?
But, as much as he hates to admit it, everyone on the Z-Team is important to him. He wants them to know.
Could the announcement have been more graceful? Yes. But it’s too late for that. Instead it has to happen on a sunny afternoon in the middle of his shift. Robert had confided in Prism a few days prior, and she maintained that no one on the team would care. That many of them are gay themselves. But Robert was still unsure. He told himself he’d wait a bit longer, until he grew closer with everyone. (He wants to laugh at the memory now.)
The comms crackle after a few minutes of radio silence.
DISPATCH no. 163
Prism
(apropos of nothing)
Guys. Robert’s bisexual. He wants you to know.
The line is quiet for a while. Robert wants to melt into a puddle on the ground and disappear forever. He also wants to kill Prism, but that’s for another day. He’s more embarrassed than angry.
Just as he’s trying to psych himself up, though, Malevola makes the situation far worse by trying to get your attention.
Malevola
(pointedly)
Phantom.
You
(sounding distracted)
What?
That’s right. Robert had just sent you to the town square to calm down some rowdy citizens at the edges of a protest. You’re likely just getting that wrapped up.
Malevola
She’s talking to you.
You
Me? What does this have to do with me?
Prism
Robert wants you to know he’s bisexual.
You
(clearly confused)
Okay.
…Not really sure how that’s relevant, but good for you, Robert.
Robert(trying to save face)
That is nowhere near what I said. I’m not—
There’s silence on the line. Then everyone starts laughing. Everyone. Even Gollum, even Coupé.
Robert
(self-consciously)
What?
His face is burning red; Chase pops up from his adjacent desk, leaning over the divider with an amused expression on his face. Robert immediately waves him away, his cheeks pink as he runs a hand through his hair self-consciously. He forgot he’s sitting in the middle of the office right now, where everyone can hear him. Now he really wants to disappear.
You
Relax, guys.
Robert is immediately grateful that you came to his defense. He subconsciously presses his headset to his ear a bit tighter, his shoulders hunching as he tries to make himself as unnoticeable as possible.
He’ll cross that bridge when he gets there.
And is that amusement in your voice? That’s a new one.
Punch Up
(cackling)
Ahahah! Even the antisocial one knows. You’re really in it now, buddy.
Robert
(with a sigh)
All right, now if everyone can stop speculating on my sexuality—
Flambae
(with a louder sigh)
Who had bisexual?
Several voices overlap at once.
No, Sonar, you had gay, not bi—
Sonar
(arguing)
Same thing!
Prism
You would think a Harvard graduate would know the difference between bisexual and gay.
Sonar
Of course I do, I’m not a fucking idiot! But $100 is $100.
Prism
True.
Flambae
Sucks to suck, my fanged friend.
Malevola
Like you can talk. You thought he was straight.
Flambae
Yeah, ‘cause no gay guy dresses like that.
Robert
Guys. Can we please get back on track?
Phantom, there’s a robbery happening just down the street from you.
You
On it.
Your line clicks off as you exit the call. Golem chuckles.
Prism
Real smooth.
Robert
(demanding)
What?
Sonar
(amused)
You didn’t want him there for that. Awwww, Bobby’s embarrassed…
Robert
(threateningly)
Call me Bobby again and I’m sending you to the old lady who needs help with her cat.
Sonar
(with a punctuated sigh)
Fine… Robert.
Robert
Thank you. Now back to work, everyone.
Robert has always been aware of the fact that he is human. Unfortunately. He doesn’t have any superpowers. Without the Mecha Man suit, he’s average. His dispatching work at SDN has been fulfilling, and he feels like he’s contributing. But still. There are times when Robert wishes he weren’t so powerless.
Like now, for example. He saw some kids robbing a store—not even a supermarket or department store, but a mom-and-pop type of store—and he tried to intercept them. Tried being the key word in that sentence, because he proceeded to get his ass kicked and nearly curb-stomped.
Fortunately, just before the heel of the kid’s shoe reaches his face, the kid is shoved away. The world around Robert is briefly flooded in darkness, before he blinks and realizes it isn’t just his eyes—it’s you. You’re standing in front of Robert now, and though he’s unable to see the expression on your face, the shadows oscillating around you tell him you’re pissed.
“Scram,” you order them. “Now.”
The kids don’t hesitate to make a quick getaway, promptly ditching their stolen goods and running away. You watch them retreat, before you’re turning back to Robert. “You good?” you ask, blinking down at him.
“I— yeah,” Robert stammers, still sitting on the ground like an idiot. The rough texture of the pavement is digging into his hand. Still, he attempts to pick up the remains of his dignity. “I could’ve handled it, though.”
You just send him an unimpressed look. He caves.
“Okay, fine, maybe not,” Robert admits. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” you respond. “Want a shortcut to the office?”
“Sure,” he agrees easily. “Thanks.” Robert blinks in surprise at your extended hand, before taking it and letting you pull him to his feet.
“The prickling feeling’s normal,” you warn him. Robert can’t even begin to figure out what that means before the world around him is fading to black. Darkness coalesces around him, thick and impenetrable and stifling. His shoulders bend, his body contorts like it’s shrinking on itself, and his skin is itching.
Then, in a blink, he’s standing on the pavement outside the office. You’re regarding him with a concerned expression. Or maybe that’s just Robert’s imagination. It’s hard to tell. Everything is spinning. Why is everything spinning? His head hurts.
“Are you okay?” you question. Your face contorts unnaturally.
“Yeah— whoa,” Robert says, blinking a bit as his vision is thrown off. You steady him with a hand on his forearm. He should push you away. He doesn’t.
“Did you get hit?” you frown, studying him. Your voice sounds a bit distant. The sky is blurring behind you. “You don’t look so good.”
“Robert?” you ask. Now you sound far away. Robert tumbles to the ground, and the last sensation he recognizes is a hand on his waist and a murmured “Shit.”
Robert wakes feeling like he got hit by a truck. Then a bus. Then maybe a train.
His throat is drier than a desert, he realizes as he inhales past scratchiness. He clears it and coughs, before a glass of water is pushed into his hand. He takes a few greedy sips, nearly downing the whole thing before it’s pulled away from him.
“You’ll make yourself sick,” a flat, admonishing voice says. Robert feels his stomach turn as he realizes the absolute last person he wants to see is standing there: you.
He always enjoys seeing you! It’s not that. It’s more… the embarrassing nature of it all. Robert is strung up in a hospital bed; his head hurts; he feels like shit and probably smells like it too. Not exactly his most flattering moment. And it’s difficult to think past his searing headache.
As if sensing Robert’s attempts to get his bearings, you continue. “You fell into my arms like a fairy tale princess,” you say with a smirk, arms crossed over your chest as you look down at him with amusement. “Gotta say, you are heavier than you look.”
Ugh. He’s never going to live this down, is he?
There’s the sound of voices down the hall. It’s the rest of the Z-Team. You pay them a glance before turning back to him. “Feel better soon,” you say to Robert quickly, moving to the corner of the room and promptly disappearing into the shadows.
“Was that Phantom?” Punch Up asks disbelievingly, heading into the room with no hesitation.
“I think he’s actually put a dispatcher in here before,” Malevola reveals, walking behind him. To Robert’s growing horror, it looks like the whole team is here to visit him. “The one who said ‘ec cetera’.”
“A reasonable crash out,” Sonar agrees.
“So, how ya feelin’, champ?” Punch Up asks.
“Wonderful,” Robert dryly, clearing his throat again.
“Well, his sarcasm’s intact,” Prism announces, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not so sure about the rest.”
“Thanks, guys,” Robert says with a huff. He looks away. Despite how embarrassed he feels, it is nice to have visitors. To feel valued. “...Seriously.”
“Aw, you’re blushing.” Someone pokes his cheek; he glares over to find Invisigal standing way too close to his bed, a mischievous smirk on her face.
“Shut up,” Robert scowls. He maintains this expression for all of a few seconds, before the group’s shenanigans get him to crack a reluctant smile.
Despite Robert’s role as the ever-present dispatcher, he actually doesn’t get to see his team too often. A lot of the time, they’re preoccupied for most of the day—only returning to headquarters to rest before heading out on assignment again. He’ll spot them out of the corner of his eye sometimes, shooting them a wave before getting back to work.
Today, though, he’s particularly distracted. The second Robert sees you, he drops his headset and heads over to the break room you’re making a beeline for. Usually, that would be irresponsible of him, but considering the only thing his heroes are handling now is wayward pets or escalated conversations, he thinks he has a few moments to spare.
Robert stuffs his hands in his pockets and lingers in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe for a moment. He watches you move about the break room with practiced ease, grabbing a sandwich and taking a seat at the table in the corner of the room. After a second’s contemplation, he moves to stand across from you.
“I need to tell you something,” Robert says somewhat stiffly, his heart racing in his chest. You look up from where you’d been scrolling on your phone, giving him a flat look. You glance to your left and right, as if making sure no one is listening.
“You’re Mecha Man,” you then remark dryly, taking another bite of your sandwich and covering your mouth. “I know,” you say once you’re finished chewing.
“Oh,” Robert blinks.
“It’s fine,” you say dismissively, taking a few sips of your water. You look bored, uncaring. Robert isn’t used to reactions like that from his team. Most of them have strong opinions on him, and treatment oscillates from blatant suggestive remarks and flirting to outright hatred. He isn’t accustomed to being treated like he’s normal.
“You haven’t thrown me at a wall or anything, so… I guess that means we’re cool,” you add with a shrug.
“Cool,” he echoes, nodding in agreement. Good to know. “That… wasn’t what I wanted to tell you, though.” You raise an eyebrow, looking up at him again. Robert looks around again, before continuing to speak. “They were right. Well, Prism was. I’m bisexual.”
“Nice,” you nod. A brief pause. Robert stares at you expectantly. And you frown, seeming confused. “Why does everyone think I care? Do I give off homophobic vibes or something?”
“What?” Robert asks. “No. No. I just— I don’t know. I wanted you to know, I guess.”
“Ooookay,” you say, blinking at him. “Well. Cool. That changes nothing.”
“Ha,” Robert laughs. It’s an unnatural gesture, empty of genuine amusement. Because, truthfully, he does want it to change something. He wants you to see him as an option.
Instead he just falls quiet, heading back to his desk.
If he had remained a few moments longer, he would’ve seen the contemplative expression on your face.
DISPATCH no. 171
You
Flambae, I’m going to flame-broil you myself.
Flambae
(with a slight lilt to his voice)
Say less.
You
Shut up.
Prism
If I had a nickel for every time Flambe flirted with someone on comms, I’d be fucking rich.
Malevola
We all would be.
Flambae
Aw, come on.
Phantom, I saw you get assigned to that wayward cat in the tree the other day. If you’re gonna play sexy firefighter, you gotta give a guy some warning.
You(flatly)
Says the literal human fireball.
Robert
(firmly)
Enough.
Flambae
(teasingly)
What, getting jealous, Robby?
Robert
It’s Robert.
Flambae
(with a grin)
Maybe we’ll let you watch, if I’m feeling generous.
You
(scoffing)
There aren’t enough wayward cats in the world to distract me from what you just said.
Robert, send me off somewhere. Preferably far away.
Robert
(snapping back to attention)
I— Yeah, got it. There’s a baby trapped in a car two streets down.
You
Great.
Your line clicks off as you evidently go to handle the situation.
Malevola
Trouble in paradise.
Invisigal
(harshly)
Can everyone shut the fuck up?! I’m trying to focus.
Sonar
First time for everything.
Robert
This may be the only time I ever say this… but I agree with Invisigal. Back to work, everyone.
There are assorted groans and huffs. Robert focuses on dispatching the remaining heroes, before checking in on your progress. You rescued the baby a few moments ago; now you’re monitoring a nearby robbery. Robert moves to your private channel.
DISPATCH no. 171
Robert
So, you and Flambae, huh?
You
(scoffing)
He wishes.
Robert
Is he always so…
You
Flirty? Pretty much.
Robert
I can’t imagine he’s successful often.
It’s quiet. He ended that sentence as if he wanted you to reassure him. Did he want you to reassure him? He isn’t sure.
There’s the distant sound of breaking glass from your side of the call.
You
(huffing)
Stop distracting me.
Robert
You can multitask.
You
Don’t put that much faith in me.
You duck for cover and watch as the robber makes his way around the space.
I’m known to disappoint.
Robert
Haven’t failed me yet.
You huff under your breath, melting into the shadows on the opposite wall and appearing behind the robber’s shoulders. You’re quick to get him down to the ground, and he goes down with a groan. You keep a knee on his back.
You
We haven’t been acquainted for long.
Robert
Guess I’d better prepare for future disappointment, then.
You
Yeah, just maybe not today.
You get the guy’s hands restrained and then pull him to his feet, sending a wave to the camera in the corner of the room before disappearing into the shadows.
Robert turns off his microphone and sighs. It sounds more forlorn than he’d like.
Of course, Chase then pops his head up above the divider between their desks, and proceeds to tease him about it for several minutes.
INT. – Conference room, SDN office. Torrance, California.
Sonar leans back in his chair, one leg crossed at the knee. His head rests on the back languidly, as he twirls a pen around his finger.
Sonar
(in a mocking voice)
I’ve gathered you all here today…
A few of the other members laugh, but it’s slightly quieter than normal. The atmosphere is almost stifling. Ever since Robert and Blonde Blazer summoned the Z-Team for a mandatory meeting, things have been tense.
Robert himself stands at the head of the table, struggling to hide his restlessness.
He glances at the clock. 3:58 p.m. His eyes wander the table. Coupé, Sonar, Punch Up, Malevola, Flambae, and Golem are already waiting. Invisigal isn’t here, but she usually shows up late. The only one missing…
Like you heard him thinking about you, you emerge from the shadows in the corner. The minute hand hits the last slot. It’s 3:59 p.m. You eye the empty chairs for a long few moments.
Robert
(relieved)
You made it.
You
Hey.
You head around the table and take the free seat next to Prism, falling into it with a sigh.
Blonde Blazer
(calmly)
Does anyone know where Invisigal is?
A few head shakes and helpless looks. No one knows, apparently.
Chase
(huffing)
Good riddance.
Robert shoots him a half-hearted glare, before turning back to face the group. He’s been stalling for long enough.
Robert
(gravely)
I think we all know why we’re here. There’s been an information breach, comms channels intercepted… Shroud’s forces have intimate knowledge of our movements.
Sonar
(with a chuckle)
Intimate?
Malevola shoulder-checks him hard and he winces.
Robert
This is serious. One of you is leaking classified information to the Red Ring, and it’s endangering the rest of the team—and, more broadly, the organization.
We’ll be having conversations with each of you—
You
(interjecting)
It’s Invisigal.
The air falls to an uncomfortable tension, only punctuated by the ever-present hum of the fluorescent lights. Then, the room bursts into noise.
Punch Up
What?!
Prism
(amused as she bumps your shoulder)
You can’t just say that out of nowhere, dude.
The rest of the group seems just as skeptical. Several different conversations occur at once, sending the room into a cacophony of noise. Robert stares at you.
Robert
Why do you think so?
The room falls quiet.
You
She hasn’t used her inhaler in a while.
Your eyes are locked on Robert. He feels something like a shiver crawl up his spine at the prospect of having your undivided attention. It may just be the first time you’ve looked at him—really seen him, not as a mere prop to the team’s set, but as a genuine contributor.
You
The real inhaler, I mean. The one she has now is just tap water.
Robert
(with a frown)
Tap water.
(fingers tapping restlessly on the table)
What are you suggesting?
You
She took a deal from Shroud. To get new lungs, probably. That’s why she’s been able to sit here invisible this whole time.
There’s the sudden sound of shuffling footsteps, as an empty chair spins in a dizzying whirl. It’s all a blur, and when Robert’s eyes can process what’s happening, he finds Invisigal panting in the corner while you have dark shadows binding her arms and legs.
Invisigal
(furious)
I’m not with Shroud.
Robert hates that he notices, but Invisigal doesn’t even sound out of breath. Considering they’ve been here for more than five minutes…
You
Yes, you are. And you were there that night.
You then turn to look at Robert pointedly. And Robert’s heart sinks to his chest. He looks at Invisigal. It’s clear which night you’re referring to: the one when he was ambushed by Shroud, and the Mecha Man suit was destroyed. If Invisigal was there, that can only mean…
Robert
Is that true?
Invisigal
(turning on you immediately)
Hey, if anyone’s fucking suspicious, it’s you!
You freeze, seeming genuinely thrown off.
You
Me?
Invisigal
(looking at Robert imploringly)
You know it’s true, Robert.
She strains against the intangible bonds restraining her wrists.
InvisigalHe’s never around, always running off and avoiding everyone. We don’t know the first damn thing about him.
You
This isn’t about me.
(looking at Robert)
She’s trying to distract you. She was there that night, and she hasn’t denied it.
Invisigal
He’s a criminal, Robert.
Robert’s stomach stews in unease. He looks over at you, only to find you looking entirely unbothered by the accusation. In fact, there’s this slight quirk to your lips, almost like a smirk.
You
Sure, I’m a criminal, but I’m not a liar.
With a quick hand motion, you send something skittering across the conference table; Robert realizes that it’s Invisigal’s inhaler. It comes to a stop just at the edge, spinning at him mockingly. Robert picks it up and studies the label. The prescription is from several months ago.
You
Grab a CT scan if you’re still unconvinced. An asthmatic can’t hold their breath for five minutes.
And like a switch has flipped, Invisigal is suddenly in your space, reeling back to punch you in the face. You just barely manage to sidestep it, her fist going into the wall instead.
Invisigal
Fuck you! I’ll kill you, you stupid son of a bitch!
She twists and spits on you. You wipe your face off calmly. Superheroes from outside enter the room to detain Invisigal; they cart her out while she’s still spitting profanities and curses.
…And then it’s dead silent.
You
(turning to Robert and Blazer)
Does that solve your security problem?
It’s clear you’re not actually waiting for an answer, as you promptly sink back into the shadows and disappear. A tense silence descends on the space.
Chase
(huffing in amusement)
Well damn.
He pushes his glasses up his nose, begrudgingly impressed.
Guy’s got spunk.
Flambae
Fiery. I can work with that.
Robert
(flatly)
You are not working with anything.
Flambae
Why not?
Robert
Because you’re not.
Flambae
(picking at his nails)
You have a claim on him or something?
(looks up with a smirk)
Pretty sure he can do whatever he wants. Like me, for example.
Robert takes a deep breath in, out.
Robert
Shut up. Everyone, dismissed.
Flambae just grins.
Ironically, once Invisigal’s gone, the team functions much better. Robert hadn’t realized how much of a source of friction she was. Now that she’s absent, everyone gets along pretty easily. He can’t believe it: he’s lasted a few months with the Z Team—a feat no other dispatcher has ever accomplished. Blazer gives him a raise, he gets some more responsibility. It’s perfect.
Well. Except for one glaring issue: you. Namely, his feelings for you. Robert has no idea what to do with them. He doesn’t know if you even like him—you’re not really friends. You tolerate him as if he’s merely a coworker. And maybe that’s all you’ll be. But if there’s a chance that things could be different…
No use in daydreaming, though. It won’t happen. There’s no optimal time to confess his feelings, especially when they’re for a coworker. He only sees you at work, and he doesn’t necessarily want to ask you out yet. Again, it seems like you barely tolerate him.
Ironically, his opportunity comes when you get back to headquarters after apprehending a supervillain. Robert had been worried as he was monitoring the situation, but he left you to it. You tend to do better without his interference, he’s learning. And he didn’t want to distract you by suddenly throwing out advice in the middle of a battle. So instead he’s left to survey the damage, watching as you make a beeline for the breakroom habitually.
He’d almost be convinced that you’re fine, if not for the way you’re favoring your right side. Robert’s suspicions are confirmed when he sees you wince as you try and fail to grab something located on the lower shelf of the fridge.
When you manage to push yourself up, Flambae is standing there, leaning against the side of the fridge. Robert chooses to make his appearance then too, settling in the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest.
“You okay?” Robert asks, pointedly ignoring the knowing look Flambae shoots him.
“Just got nicked,” you respond dismissively, closing the fridge door. “It’s fine.”
It’s clear neither one of them believes you, but Flambae’s the one who leans in and pulls up your shirt to reveal the wound stretching across your ribs. He whistles. “Damn.”
You huff and pull away from him. Robert shouldn’t be satisfied by this refusal, but he is. Until he remembers there are more pressing matters at hand.
“That is ‘just getting nicked’?” Robert says disbelievingly. “You’re tracking blood everywhere.”
You look down, blinking blearily. “Oh,” you say. “Whoops.”
“I can cauterize it,” Flambae grins, summoning flames across his hand.
“Ha… please don’t,” you say helplessly.
“That’s definitely not necessary,” Robert agrees. “I’ll get the first-aid kit.” And if he seems particularly eager, oh well. He can’t remember the last time he’s had a chance to talk to you alone, without the entire team listening in or the weight of an unplanned confession on his shoulders. He’s not going to blow this.
Robert guides you to one of the empty on-call rooms, gently pushing you back until you’re sitting on the bed. Your hand is pressed to your side now, beads of sweat collecting at your neck and collarbones. You’re not showing it much, but you’re in pain.
“Gonna have to clean it first,” Robert says. He’s not sure if that remark is for his own benefit or yours. He decides not to think about it, instead unpacking the first aid kit and getting an alcohol wipe. “Ready?”
“I guess,” you say defeatedly. Robert looks up, something tugging at his heart when he notices the dark circles under your eyes, the exhausted slump of your form. As if you can sense him watching, you sit up straighter. You tug your shirt up, but the wound’s a bit too high up for the posture to be maintained.
“May need to take your shirt off,” Robert says, clearing his throat awkwardly and averting his eyes. You seem amused at his reaction, beginning to take it off before your face contorts in pain.
“I think I need help,” you admit begrudgingly.
“Sure,” Robert responds. “No HR violations here…” he chuckles flatly. He pulls your shirt up gently, careful not to graze you by accident. As he prepares the supplies and begins cleaning the wound, you tense up the moment the alcohol wipe hits your skin, hissing through your teeth.
“Sorry,” he says immediately.
“It’s fine,” you respond.
“So,” Robert starts, unable to shake off the intimacy of the moment. It’s just the two of you here, in this small on-call room at the office. He’s never seen you show much skin, never seen you very injured. This feels like a pretty big departure from how he usually sees you. “Invisigal was right about one thing: I don’t know anything about you.”
“I know,” you acknowledge, hands pressed to the mattress under you. You look at the wall across from you. “You have a file on me, I’m sure.”
“Well, yeah,” he admits, briefly pausing in his ministrations to give you an amused look. “That’s different.” He goes back in with the alcohol wipe one more time before discarding it.
“Just… tell me something,” Robert offers, rummaging around for the ointment in the first aid kit. “Anything.”
You frown, seeming to need a moment to contemplate the question. Your eyes flit about the room.
“My powers didn’t come around until I was nine or ten,” you begin. “I woke up for school one morning, opened the blinds, went to get dressed… and fell into the shadow my bed cast on the floor.”
“I didn’t know what was happening, of course,” you continue. “I must’ve been trapped there, in the darkness, for an hour or so. Screaming, yelling for help. My mom pulled me out.”
“That’s…” Robert breaks off. He doesn’t really know what to say. He was expecting a lot of things. Hell, he was expecting for you to refuse to surrender any information in the first place. He was definitely not expecting something that intense. “That sounds terrifying.”
“It was,” you agree. “But I got used to it. Obviously.”
“Good.” It’s quiet for a bit, as he puts some gloves on and applies the ointment delicately.
“You’re a bit too good at this,” you observe, noticing how practiced his motions seem. “Should I be worried?”
Robert laughs dryly. “No.” A beat. “Maybe.” He continues, applying the last of the ointment before discarding the gloves and heading to the sink in the corner of the room to wash his hands. You help him by holding the prepared gauze against your ribs, while he unrolls the adhesive and lays it over the wound as gently as he can manage.
“Most villains don’t think about the man behind the suit,” he admits as he unrolls the adhesive further, starting to wrap it around your torso. He glances up every few seconds to make sure he isn’t securing it too tightly. “They just want to destroy it.”
“You think you’ll go back to Mecha Man?” you ask. It’s far from the first time he’s been asked that question. But he finds himself genuinely considering it now, under your expectant gaze.
“Not sure,” Robert admits, wrapping the bandaging around one last time.
“You’re pretty good at the whole dispatching thing,” you remark, “if that’s any consolation.”
“Coming from you, that is a very high compliment,” Robert says, fighting off a smile as he ensures the bandaging is sticking to itself and won’t budge.
“I know,” you respond.
“All done,” Robert announces moments later, regretfully removing his hand from your side. You feel at the bandages experimentally, before looking over at him.
“Thanks,” you say with an awkward pull to your lips. You’re grateful for Robert’s assistance, though now that you think about it, the situation is kind of awkward. You’re just sitting here without a shirt on, and Robert was being so careful—almost too careful, as if he was wary of touching you.
“God, just kiss already, lads,” Punch Up huffs, walking down the hall as he evidently returns from an assignment. “You’re bloody unbearable.”
“Thanks for the input,” Robert says dryly. “We’ll keep that in mind.”
“You’d better,” Punch Up says with a knowing look, before heading for the next on-call room to rest. “And don’t get the bed dirty!”
A disbelieving laugh crawls out of your throat before you can stop it, and Robert’s head whips around so fast it’s almost comical. He’s staring at you with wide eyes, lips parted in surprise. “Did you just laugh?”
“Uh… yeah,” you blink, amusement giving way to self-consciousness. You try to cover it up with sarcasm. “What, am I not allowed?”
The remark is promptly ignored, as Robert nudges the door mostly shut before heading over to you. “I’ve never heard you laugh before,” he says, hands in the pockets of his slacks as he considers you. He’s staring at you like he’s just seen an entirely new facet of your personality. It’s kind of weird. He looks… almost pleased.
Still, you feel the need to maintain what little remains of your dignity. “Well, maybe you’re just not funny,” you say defensively. The remark comes off as more rude than you want it to be. You wince internally.
“Wow,” Robert drawls. “And here I was wanting to kiss you.”
You’re staring at him like he’s just grown a third head. “You actually want to kiss me?” you say incredulously.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you this whole time,” he admits sheepishly. Robert scratches the back of his neck.
“Seriously?” you say skeptically. It’s kind of hard to believe that Robert would be attracted to you. You aren’t really… Well. You don’t think you’re a super stand-out person. You’re content with fading into the background—hell, that’s how you prefer to live.
“I’m serious,” he responds. He stares at you for several moments, watching you come to the conclusion that he’s being entirely sincere. Then there’s that slight quirk to his lips again, and he’s shifting his weight back and forth slightly, and you realize: He’s nervous. Robert Robertson is nervous.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he maintains. “But I wouldn’t mind an answer.”
It’s quiet for a moment. “You realize half of the team is in love with you,” you say, eyes searching his face. The words you want to say are trapped in your throat. Instead of accepting what is clearly true, your skeptical nature is forcing you to scrutinize this—until it eventually falls apart. And it will fall apart, because that’s what always happens.
“That’s an exaggeration,” Robert says dryly, breaking you out of your spiraling thoughts.
“Not really,” you frown. “Blazer; Vis, when she was here; Waterboy, Phenomaman…” you continue, almost counting off on your fingers. Robert is a pretty popular guy around here: he’s companionable and friendly, dependable, a hard worker. It’s no surprise that he’s earned the attention of the office.
“But you like me,” you say disbelievingly.
“Yes,” Robert responds, something like amusement in his voice. It fades when he sees your expression, and he almost frowns. “Why is that hard to believe?”
“I don’t know,” you say helplessly. “I’m— I’m used to the shadows. No one’s supposed to notice me.”
And you wouldn’t know, but that resonates with Robert. Deeply. He feels like he’s spent his entire adult life trying to live up to the public’s expectations of him. He never chose Mecha Man; Mecha Man chose him. His father placed that responsibility on him without stopping to wonder if his son deserved more—more than patching himself up in a dark room, new wounds ripping old scars apart; rotting in a studio apartment while he tries to cling to the remnants of an old life. A life that was never really his.
A measured inhale. “Safer that way?” Robert asks quietly.
“Yeah,” you acquiesce, fingers jittering slightly as you smooth out a nonexistent wrinkle in the sheet beneath you. You don’t participate in conversations this much; you don’t talk this much. It’s a bit tiring, and it’s definitely nerve-wracking. No one stays this long. There’s a reason why you don’t linger: You don’t offer people the chance to get close. You keep everyone at arm’s length. And yet… here Robert is, standing there with bright eyes and a determined expression.
“Well,” he remarks, taking another step closer. “I notice you. Way too often, honestly.”
A breathless laugh crawls its way out of your chest. It sounds more like a scoff than anything else, but you can tell Robert still notices it. After a moment’s contemplation, you get to your feet so you’re standing right in front of him, eye to eye.
“Sometimes I think you’re the only one who bothers,” you say. It’s spoken quietly, but in the silent tension of the room, the words linger. A few seconds drag on, before you summon the courage to break the distance. There’s not much space between you now. Your hand moves almost of its own accord, as you reach out somewhat robotically and rest it on Robert’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to force it,” he consoles you, sensing you’re out of your element.
“No, I…” you break off. “I want to. I like you too.” And gods, what a mortifying thing to say, but it’s worth it to see the genuine happiness break through and rise on Robert’s face. “I just don’t know what I’m doing,” you confess in a punched-out breath.
“It’s fine,” he reassures you. “Just follow my lead.”
Robert then reaches out, his hand landing on your cheek. His gaze finds yours, giving you more than enough time to back away. You do nothing of the sort, and before long, he’s gently tugging you closer and kissing you. Your hand moves from his shoulder to the nape of his neck as you embrace him, and though you want to reach out with your other hand, you know the effort will just hurt your ribs. Robert seems cognizant of that too, as his hands don’t wander anywhere beneath the nape of your neck.
“Now, let’s… uh,” Robert stammers when you break apart, clearing his throat awkwardly. His cheeks are flushed pink, and he’s noticeably looking anywhere but your shirtless chest. “Let’s get you another shirt. Before I explode.”
Sometimes I write lines that even surprise myself. I wrote “follow my lead” and immediately went 😳😏 oh 😏😏
sigh... this is yet another installment of one of my favorite tropes: popular guy x the one who’s immune to his charisma... I have a Robert x SDN repair tech!reader idea that I want to get finished... sobs
thanks for reading! <3
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Sitting in Nikolai's lap always guaranteed one thing. You were perched on his powerful thighs, his chest a solid wall of heat against your back, but the real focus was below. You tilted your head down, watching the hypnotic slide of his thick, flushed cock as it drove between your slick thighs. From your angle, it was a perfect illusion; his shaft disappearing and reappearing could have been your own, a foreign appendage that felt more right than any part of you ever had. The thought alone made your hole clench, a desperate, empty ache blooming deep inside you.
A low, knowing chuckle rumbled in his chest. He leaned in, his lips grazing your throat. "You like that, don't you, son?" The word was a spark, a possessive, filthy claim that made you whimper.
Your hand moved on its own, sliding down to wrap around his shaft as it pumped against you. Your fingers met his slick skin, stroking him in time with his thrusts. The feel of him, hard and hot in your palm, was intoxicating. You could feel every twitch and throb, hear the ragged hitch in his breath. It was a symphony of masculine pleasure, and it was all for you.
Your mind spiraled, imagining it was your own cock you were stroking, imagining the pleasure coiling in your gut was yours to claim. The fantasy was so potent that it pushed you right to the edge. You didn't even have to touch yourself; the sheer force of it crashed over you. A choked cry escaped your lips as your thighs clamped down, your whole body trembling as your release soaked your skin.
The sudden, tight pressure of your climax was all it took for him. Nikolai let out a guttural grunt, his hips stuttering as he followed you into oblivion. Thick, hot ropes of his cum painted the inside of your thighs, a wet, filthy testament to your shared depravity.
He was still breathing heavily when he spoke again, his voice a rough, satisfied murmur against your ear. "Didn't know you were one of those trannies," he said, the word a final, possessive brand.
And god help you, you loved it. A moan escaped from you and Nikolai only began to thrust again.
"Go on, son, enjoy your cock, show me how you play with your cock."
