Dipp the Mudkip

some fanart of a fanart 💥👊 @jamqyu's role reversal au

[WIP]

Prism & Flambae

Flambae & Robert

Flambae, the people want to know...which is the most accurate way Robert carries you? I've heard descriptions and illustrated them so your Intelligence stat of now 2 (congrats btw!) can understand.

Robert disapproves.

Decided to sketch out the "shirt" scene from Ch 3 of my fic "Air Fryer".

Nightmare boyfriends 😔

Based off a comment I got on this art ⤵️

Fanart for Your Flame in Me on AO3 written by @s0rinarl and you guys should read it, especially for what happens in chapter 2...

I wanted to make this because every time a stripper song comes on I think about Robert giving Flambae a lap-dance for $50...and it's this fic's fault. Close ups under the cut!

It takes a VERY LONG time before Robert will allow Flambae to take his card out first for things, instead of doing the song and dance of ' ... I don't have enough money .... can you pay this time' and Flambae already had his card in the reader and the receipt in hand before Robert finished.

And Robert does the awkward broke boyfriend hug from behind as a thank you at first, then that sloooolwy morphs to him just leaning into Flambae's side and hugging his arm. Which then slowly turned into Robert very shyly mentioning something he needs. And he says he's only gonna do it for stuff he really needs!! That's it!! And he is gonna pay it back!! (Flambae has his cash app or money share number blocked for this reason, because "Bob bob if I wanted repayment, I'd be fucking you into the mattress or you'd be blowing me behind the building.")

And then, Robert made the mistake of showing Flambae things he's wanted. Just to show not to buy for him.... mistake number one. It arrived within two to three business days if flambae couldn't have it overnighted.

Robert tries to argue, "Send it back!!" "Why? You said you wanted it!" "That didn't mean for you to go and buy it!!" "Well that's your mistake Bob Bob!!! Why show me, if you didn't want me to buy it!?!?"

But still, Flambae’s part of his team and Robert’s responsible for him, so he drags himself out of bed, throws on some ratty clothes and makes his way to the bar, where he finds Flambae slumped over the bar with far too many empty glasses in front of him. 

Robert’s never seen him this drunk—messy and red-faced, not quite able to stay upright on his own. He takes his latest drink away from him, sliding it back toward the bartender, and tells Flambae he’s had enough. Flambae, stumbling over his words a little, tells Robert to fuck off. And then, uncharacteristically sheepish, he mutters something about how he’s not usually such a messy drunk. 

“Hey, I’m not in any place to judge,” Robert tells him. “I have my own track record with—”

“I already know about your Mezcal breakup,” Flambae interrupts, casually waving his hand.

Robert dodges the uncoordinated limb. “You do?” 

“Phenona…Phenom…anan…Phenonanan—Phen told everybody,” Flambae says, giving up on using the hero’s full name. “Fucking gossip girl.” 

“I guess I’m not surprised,” Robert says dryly. “He’s got a weird sense of bounda—” 

“Did you actually fuck him?” Flambae asks before Robert’s even gotten his whole sentence out.

Robert sighs heavily. “No, we didn’t ‘make love,’ if that’s what he’s been saying. There’s been some confusion on his part about what that phrase mea—”

“So you didn’t kiss him?” Flambae insists, weirdly dogged for how hazy his eyes are. “He was lying?” 

“Okay, technically, he kissed me,” Robert defends himself. “And he only did it because he was worried that—well it’s kind of convoluted, but there were no feelings involved.”

And then Flambae, Mr. You’re Not My Type, who’s basically Robert’s frenemy at this point, asks for a kiss of his own. 

Robert, completely thrown by the sudden pivot in Flambae’s attitude toward him—and understandably assuming it’s alcohol-inspired—says no.

And then Flambae puts his arms down on the sticky bar top, rests his face in them, and actually starts to cry. 

Loudly. Like, embarrassingly loudly. 

“Okay,” Robert says frantically, tossing an apologetic grimace at both the bartender and anyone close enough to see and hear the spectacle Flambae’s making. “Let’s not—”

But it’s too late. Apparently the reason Flambae never gets wasted around the team—besides the fact that it takes more alcohol to get him there than a regular person—is because he’s a weepy drunk. 

Robert manages to talk him down from his tears, acutely feeling the judgmental stare of the bartender the whole time, but Flambae’s still stubbornly arguing for that kiss. 

“You kissed Phenomanan,” he protests, almost but still not quite getting the hero’s name right. 

“Okay, again, I didn’t kiss him,” Robert says, exasperated. “He kissed me. And it didn’t mean anything.” 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything if we kiss,” Flambae wheedles, and it would be cute if he wasn’t half a foot taller and a good deal heavier than Robert. And a thirty-six-year-old man. “We can just do it once and then you can forget about it!”

Yeah right, Robert mentally scoffs. It would take one hell of a whack to the head for him to forget a kiss with Flambae. 

He declines, and Flambae actually starts sulking. 

“Nobody wants me,” he says pitifully. Which is fucking ridiculous, because Robert knows damn well there are at least fifteen people in this room who would have him in a heartbeat if he offered.

“Oh come on, that’s not true,” Robert tells him flatly. “What about that British guy you made out with the other night? You talked about it all morning shift.”

“I lied,” Flambae sniffles. “We didn’t make out. He wanted to but I didn’t.” 

“Why not?” Robert asks quizzically. “You love British guys.”

“Not any—more,” Flambae hiccups. “Now I like stupid skinny bitches with brown hair and deep voices.” 

“Well—” Robert hedges, but Flambae cuts him off. 

“Real asshole types who cut off my fingers and knock out my fucking teeth and shit,” he continues, as if to really make sure Robert can’t possibly mistake Flambae’s type for anyone but him. 

Robert feels the bartender’s assessing stare travel up and down his body and cringes, trying to quiet Flambae before he gives away any other damning information. “Okay, please don’t say it like that.” 

Flambae gives him the stink eye. “That’s how it fucking happened, Rob. You fucked up my fingers and my teeth, and now you're fucking up my dick.”

“I promise it’s not what it sounds like,” Robert tries to tell the bartender, who’s now casually holding the bar phone like she’s prepared to have to call the cops. 

“It’s actually worse,” Flambae says unhelpfully. “He’s also my boss.”

"I'm technically in charge of him, but I'm definitely not his boss," Robert tries to explain, but even he has to admit that the whole thing sounds fucked, and he's extremely annoyed with Flambae for choosing to air all of this out in a noisy bar at four am when Robert's head is already pounding from exhaustion.

By the time he manages to ease the bartender’s suspicion, Flambae’s crashing, and Robert practically has to drag him out of the building. He helps him fold his ridiculously big body into the passenger side of the repaired Firebird parked outside, and then he slides into the driver’s side, adjusts the seat, and drives Flambae home. 

He tweaks his back half-carrying Flambae into his apartment, but he's able to get him settled him into his bed, and does his best to take care of him. He gets him out of his suit and into some pajamas (by Flambae’s request), finds and helps him into some fuzzy socks (again, by Flambae’s request), and makes him drink some water (definitely not by Flambae's request, as demonstrated by the fight he puts up).

“Okay,” he huffs, propping his hands on his hips. “You’ve got your socks and your pajamas, and I put some more water and painkillers on the bedside table for later. Is there anything else you need before I go?” 

“A kiss.” 

“Flambae—”

“No no, look, I’m completely sober, I swear,” Chad says, hauling himself up out of the bed—presumably to show Robert how coordinated he is. He trips over his own (fuzzy socked) foot instead, and Robert has to catch his entire weight with a strained grunt. Fuck, his back is going to be useless tomorrow.

Finally, he manages to wrestle Flambae back into his bed, the hero whining and complaining the whole time about how unfair it is that Robert will kiss some team members and not others, and how he’s actually creating like, a super toxic workplace environment if you think about it. 

Robert sighs, looking down at him. Despite the bitching and complaining being very on-brand, he seems a lot more vulnerable than he usually is, and it pulls on Robert’s heartstrings a little. 

“Tell you what,” he says finally. “If you still want a kiss from me when you wake up tomorrow—and if you can manage to ask me in a polite, non-insulting way—I’ll kiss you. Okay?” 

“Promise,” Flambae demands, flinging his hand at Robert. 

Robert huffs, manually separating Flambae’s pinky from the rest of his fingers and wrapping his own pinky around it. “There, I promise. Now go to sleep.” 

“Tuck me in.” 

“Flambae—”

“Yeah no that was weird,” Flambae mutters sleepily, turning over and pulling his pillow closer. “Nevermind.”

Robert snorts. 

He stays for a few minutes to make sure Flambae falls asleep safely, and then he lets himself out and orders a ride home.

in which two idiots forget other people can see them (actual artwork under the cut)

Robert shoved Chad down onto the silk sheets of his own bed, the larger alpha landing on his back with a heavy thud. Chad's broad chest heaved a​s he stared up at him, legs already parting without being told. Beneath his suit his cock strained hard against the fabric, the head leaking steadily, and the base of his knot had begun to swell into a half-formed bulge that throbbed visibly.

"You are so good for me—" Robert murmured, voice low and commanding as he hungrily observed him, standing in front of the bed. "—spread open on your back like that."

Chad's face burned. His hips twitched upward involuntarily, seeking friction. "Bob-Bob—"

Robert gaze stayed locked on Chad sprawled out beneath him. Pre-cum continued to leak in steady beads, landing on the skin beneath. Chad's legs stayed spread wide, thighs trembling as he presented himself without being touched further.

"What a delicious display," Robert said, savouring the heady feeling of being in control over another alpha, his alpha. Control that had been gifted to him instantly, without question or hesitation.

Chad's voice cracked, raw with need. "Robert… please." His face burned hotter. His hips lifted in a helpless thrust, seeking any contact, but Robert didn't move closer. The denial made Chad's hole clench, his knot swelled another fraction, the bulge growing more pronounced as his body responded to the pure observation.

Robert leaned in close but remained out of reach. "Please what? Use your words, Chad."

"Robert," Chad groaned, voice cracking. His hands fisted the silk on either side of his head, fighting the urge to touch himself. "Please... touch it. Fuck, I need—"

Robert shook his head once, slow and deliberate. "No. Keep showing me. Spread wider. Let me see how desperate that hole gets when I don't give you anything."

Chad obeyed instantly. His powerful thighs parted further, knees bending back toward his chest presenting to his best abilities.

I started drawing something based on that a while back, but it’s still not finished because I am slower than a sloth on sedatives.

Anyway, Flambae is not having a good time, and Robert is trying very hard to remember that as he tries not to notice the effects the heat is having on him.

Steam rolls off of him, and his exposed skin is slick with sweat. His usually neatly groomed ponytail is disheveled from the humidity. He’s panting like crazy with eyes half-lidded and hazy from exhaustion.

Robert thought he had done a good job avoiding following the sweat trailing down his chest with his eyes, but his efforts falter when Flambae gets a little to eager to chug water on one of his breaks, and Robert stares as some of it drips down his neck and the open ‘V’ of his suit.

It takes every ounce of his resolve not to drag Flambae off somewhere to make him even more unkempt.

That resolve nearly cracks when he sees Flambae peeling off his suit in the locker room in preparation for a very cold shower. Robert’s neck nearly snaps from how hard he turns away to prevent himself from ogling. He assumes Flambae would not take kindly to that.