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Hi, can I please request the Z team’s reaction (separately) to their s/o saying I love you for the first time? Thank you.
hi anon!! this is a super sweet request, i hope this isn't too out of character and you enjoy! i did not include coupe or golem in here since i know nothing about their characters and found out that they're both very hard to write lol, i hope that's okay
It honestly didn’t register at first, it felt so odd
His dad said it occasionally, but it was hard to believe him since he was always gone. His mom wasn’t in the picture, that wasn’t something he and Chase really said to each other, and there was no one else in his life that would say it to him
He kind of stared at you for a bit, then when he realized what you said to him he was like “Oh”
He looked at you, really looked at you. Your eyes, filled with sincerity, your lips, your nose, your face as a whole, and then he said it back
“I love you too”
It was the first time he laid himself bare for you, not a single mental/emotional wall standing
You definitely flustered him. He’s used to being witty and sarcastic and making jokes to do with a sexual tone, but raw, genuine emotion? It’s foreign to him, but that’s something he’s determined to learn how to navigate with you
Sonar
Genuinely thought you were joking and just laughed
Not many people wanted to actually love him, so he's very inexperienced in that aspect. Plenty of sex since an alarming amount of people want to 'see what it's like fucking a hybrid' but no one has shown him raw emotion and intimacy like that before
When he realizes you're serious he thinks you're lying
"Actually?"
"Yes, 'actually', way to kill the mood"
You think he's rejecting you at first, but he scrambles to explain that that isn't what he means at all
He actually opens up, which is a drastic change from how he usually presents himself: funny, sarcastic, and dismissive
He ends everything with saying "I love you too, it's all new to me"
It is definitely a turning point in y'all's relationship
Malevola
Malevola is a nice person. She listens whenever people open up, makes sure everyone gets the right taco order, makes sure everyone is heard, and can joke around
Unfortunately, that is overshadowed by her ‘scary’ looks and villainous past. She’s gotten used to people paying attention to that part of her instead of how she is as a person
You’re one of the first people to actually acknowledge and reciprocate her kindness
She knows she loves you, but she holds off on saying it first out of a fear that it’ll be dismissed
When you say it for the first time she gets so flustered because she hasn’t expected you to say it as straightforward as you did
You can’t see that she’s flustered… she’s always red
She doesn’t hesitate to say it back to you, proudly showing you her love and dedication for you
Prism
Prism doesn't seem like the type to get into relationships just because she can
She's bold, talented, strong, and knows what she wants, and if she doesn't think you can deliver then you won't get the time of day from her
Though, that doesn't mean she has no insecurities, she's afraid to give up too much of herself too soon. That's why she hasn't said it first
When you tell her you love her she pauses for only a moment before asking, "Really?"
She doesn't ask in a timid way, she's making sure you're sure about it before laying herself bare for the first time
Once she admits she loves you, that means that what y'all have is real and that kind of scares her
Once you assure her that yes, you really love her, she does not wait to say "I love you too"
It's also a turning point for y'all's relationship
Punch-up
He's strong, has an attractive face, is a gentleman (in some ways)... but he's short, incredibly so, and he knows that
It isn't a big insecurity most of the time, but he does start to worry more and more y'all's relationship develops
Is it something that's going to put you off? Something that you can't love? He isn't sure, so he's letting you take the reins for the most part
When you tell him you love him, he's shocked and physically cannot say anything for a few seconds
Then, he enthusiastically says "I love you too"
You making the first move to say it, without him ever bringing it up, gave him all the reassurance he could have asked for
He definitely loves you loud and proud
Invisigal
You immediately think you messed up because she disappears after you say it
Before you’re able to ask if you said something wrong or misread things you feel a pair of lips press against your right cheek softly
There’s a good chance that she’s too scared to say it back
She’s been seen as a villain her whole life, only spoken to whenever someone needed a nasty favor done
Someone willingly loving her throughout all her flaws and villainous past is foreign to her and she isn’t sure how to handle it
When she does tell you that she loves you she makes sure you hear her, making sure she doesn’t go invisible because she doesn’t want to run away anymore
It takes her a LOT of time, but she’s very dedicated once she gets over her fear of intimacy and vulnerability
Flambae
He also thinks you’re joking at first and plays it off like “who doesn’t?”
When he makes eye contact with you and sees your expression he’s like “Oh… you’re serious?”
He gets flustered and spits out a barrage of jokes or something to play it off
He reciprocates it, of course, so when he realizes he’s being an asshole he stops talking and swallows
“I love you too, ya know…”
He’d probably be taken off guard by it because he’s only ever seen for his sass/wittiness or the butt of the joke (especially since Z-team found out Robert kicked his ass like twice), so being seen and loved is new
He’ll always reciprocate the love he gets from you
a/n: i hope this was enjoyable!! this was definitely the hardest post for me to write so far. i feel like all their personalities are so different, but their pasts are so similar so it's interesting to write them separately. i definitely struggled and could not write all the z-team members lol. also, thanks so much for all the support on my blog guys!! i did not expect thousands of you to interact with my posts and over 100 of y'all to follow within like a week and a half of making this lol. lots of love to u all!!
Okie so like, after that Robert x reader fic, please I beg you to make a small fic or headcanon about brat tamer robert T-T THAT HAS BEEN INGRAINED IN MY HEAD FOR WEEKS NOW 😭🙌🏼
YES OH MY DAYSS...
𑁍 | In which, Brat tamer!Robert punishes you when you decide to act up at his team's dinner.
Brat tamer!Robert, who decided there would be no harm in bringing you along to his team's dinner, a celebratory gathering Malevola insisted on having for the last few shifts being extremely successful.
Brat tamer!Robert, who should've known you were planning something when the dress you wore was shorter than usual.
Brat tamer!Robert, who all but glares at you when you chose to sit across from him, and scoot into the chair beside waterboy. It was a warning, one you choose to ignore.
Brat tamer!Robert, who didn't miss the way you smiled and batted your lashes at waterboy. Or the way you crossed your arms to plump up your chest, leaving the poor man beside you stuttering as he remained respectful.
Brat tamer!Robert, who is now realizing that you're openly flirting with waterboy, whom you came to discover was named Herman. The way you giggled when he made a horrible joke, or the way you called his demeanor adorable.
Brat tamer!Robert, who was at his last straw when he saw your hand graze Hermans arm, gulping down the remainder of his wine before standing. "Sorry guys, she's got work in the morning...we'd better get going." He announced to the table, his gaze laser focused on you.
Brat tamer!Robert, who couldn't even bring himself to care about the teams complaints of him being "uptight" as he grabbed your arm, leading you to the car in absolute silence. You had royally fucked up.
Brat tamer!Robert, who ignores you as you whine, "Roberttt! we didn't even get our food yet.." with your usual huff. Instead of replying, he practically pushed you into the car before slamming the door shut.
Brat tamer!Robert, who watched you enter your shared apartment with his lips in a tight line, following behind you as he closed the door, your rambling mouth about the dinner, and how he left for no reason making his ears twitch.
Brat tamer!Robert, who decided he'd be the one to make you shut up, standing infront of the couch as you knelt on it, mouth stuffed full of his cock as you gagged on his length.
Brat tamer!Robert, who degraded you like it was his first language. "Such a fuckin' slut. You like flirting with my co-workers infront of me, don't you? Like seeing me get fucking pissed off." He panted, his eyes watching as you blabbered around his cock.
Brat tamer!Robert, who scoffed when he saw your tear-stricken face. The way you gagged pathetically when he held your head down on the base of his cock only pushed him over the edge, groaning when he felt you swallow around him as he felt a wave of hot pleasure run down his spine, spilling into your throat.
Brat tamer!Robert, whose hand held you down on his cock for an extra few seconds before letting go, only giving a huff in return when you pulled back and fell into a coughing fit, face covered in tears and mouth surrounded by drool.
Brat tamer!Robert, who had you laid over his lap within moments, dressed tugged up to your hips and your ass stinging as he landed smack after smack onto the blushing skin.
Brat tamer!Robert, who simply used his hand to hold your legs down when you jolted, the whimpering you let out leaving his cock twitching in his boxers, practically begging to be let out again.
Brat tamer!Robert, who continued to mock you as he kept you over his lap, his fingers pumping in and out of your cunt like they were bullying your gummy walls, curling and scissoring you open until you were a crying, begging mess.
Brat tamer!Robert, who shook his head and gave you a firm, "Not yet, you're gonna learn your fucking lesson," when you begged him to let you cum, his fingers pulling out of you only to give your slit a feather-light trace, letting his thumb brush your clit as you whined, basking in your sob when he landed another smack onto your ass.
Brat tamer!Robert, who finally let you cum after nearly half an hour of squirming and edging, your vision going starry as he continued to finger you through the aftershocks. When you calmed down, he laid you onto the couch. hands gently caressing your thighs as you came down from your high.
Brat tamer!Robert, who looked up at you from between your legs as he licked a strip up your dripping cunt, watching the way you jolted from the overstimulation when you tugged on his hair with a whimper.
Brat tamer!Robert, who chuckled darkly against your weeping cunt when you whined about thinking he was done. "No, sweetheart. we're not even close...and I don't think you've learned your lesson yet." He whispered, his breath fanning over your clit before he nipped at it. Tonight would be a looong night..and an even longer lesson.
a/n - I hope this was good enoughhhh...I haven't written in a format like this before, lolll </3
Robert Robertson x fem!reader 𓂃 explicit sexual content, first time, gentle dom!robert, fingering, oral (m giving), penetration, praise, body worship, dirty talk, aftercare.
The movie ended, but neither of you moved.
Not when the credits rolled. Not when the screen went dark.
Robert just kept looking at you — soft, slow, warm.
“You keep staring,” you whispered.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Can’t help it.”
Your breath caught.
He reached up and brushed a curl away from your cheek, fingers lingering a second longer than they needed to. When you didn’t pull back, his hand slid behind your neck and pulled you into a kiss.
Not a shy one.
Not a testing one.
A hungry, careful kiss — like he’d been waiting too long.
His mouth was warm, steady against yours, but the second you sighed into it, he let out a quiet groan in the back of his throat and deepened it. His tongue brushed yours, slow and teasing, and your whole body melted.
You tugged him closer desperately, fingers curling in his shirt, and he pulled back just enough to speak against your lips.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You,” you breathed. “I want you.”
His eyes darkened instantly.
“First time?” he asked quietly, thumb brushing your lower lip.
You nodded.
Robert exhaled through his nose — slow, controlled, almost like he was praying for patience.
“Lie back,” he murmured.
You did.
He crawled over you, caging your body with his, and kissed you again — deeper, slower, with deliberate pressure that made your stomach twist. His hands slid under your shirt, palms tracing your waist, your ribs, every inch like he was learning a map.
“Can I take this off?” he asked.
“Please.”
He stripped you out of it gently, eyes dragging over your chest, your stomach, the curve of your hips.
“Jesus,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”
His mouth followed the path of his hands — kissing your chest, sucking softly at your collarbone, moving lower.
When he reached the waistband of your bottoms, he paused.
“Okay?” he asked again.
“Yes,” you breathed.
He pulled them off slowly, revealing you inch by inch, his breath warming your thighs. Then he settled between your legs, spreading them gently with his hands.
“God, look at you,” he murmured, voice dropping low. “You’re already wet.”
Your face burned, but he kissed the inside of your thigh reassuringly.
“That’s good,” he whispered. “Means you want this.”
His fingers slid through your folds, slow and testing. The moment he brushed your clit — barely — your hips jerked.
He smiled softly. “Sensitive. I’ll go slow.”
He circled your clit with his thumb, light pressure at first, then firmer, watching your reactions like they were instructions. Your breaths turned shaky, thighs trembling, and he hummed approvingly.
“Feels good?” he asked.
You nodded quickly. “Yes—yes.”
That made him groan quietly.
“One finger,” he said. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
He slid a finger into you — slowly, carefully — letting you stretch around him. The initial pressure made you gasp, but the sting eased quickly.
“You’re so tight,” he whispered, voice breaking a little. “Fuck.”
He worked you open gently, finger curling just right, his thumb stroking your clit in soft circles. Your back arched, breath catching.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let yourself feel it.”
He added a second finger, stretching you wider. You moaned, hips grinding into his hand without thinking.
“There you go,” he praised. “Good girl.”
Hearing him say it made heat rush through your entire body.
You were already close — embarrassingly fast — but he slowed his movements instantly when he felt you tighten.
“Not yet,” he whispered. “Want to taste you first.”
Before you could respond, his mouth replaced his hand.
His tongue slid over your clit, warm and slow, and you cried out, fingers grabbing his hair. He groaned against you, the vibration shooting up your spine.
He ate you like he wanted to take his time — long, slow licks, soft suction, fingers curling inside you with perfect rhythm until you were shaking underneath him.
“Robert— I’m gonna—”
“Come,” he murmured against your skin. “Come for me.”
His mouth sealed over your clit and pleasure snapped through you, sharp and warm. You came hard, shaking, thighs squeezing around his head, and he held you through it, licking you softly until you whimpered from overstimulation.
He kissed your inner thigh as he came back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
You nodded, still breathless. “Yeah…”
“Good.”
He kissed you gently.
“Cause I’m not done.”
He slid his pants off, and when his cock pressed against your thigh, your breath caught — he was thick, bigger than you expected.
“Don’t look so scared,” he teased softly, kissing your cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
He lined himself up, but didn’t push in yet — his forehead pressed against yours, breath warm and careful.
“I’ll go slow,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”
He eased into you — one inch, then another. Your jaw dropped, a mix of pressure, stretch, heat all at once. He groaned, deep and shaky.
“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he panted. “Relax for me, baby. You’re okay.”
You forced yourself to breathe, and he slid deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully inside you.
The fullness made your toes curl.
You gasped, clutching his shoulders. “Robert—”
“I know,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “I know. Just let your body get used to it.”
He stayed still until your breathing steadied, then pulled out slightly and pushed back in — slow, deep strokes that made your stomach twist and tighten.
The pressure shifted into pleasure, warm and building.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “You’re taking me so well.”
You moaned, legs wrapping around him.
“More,” you begged. “Please— Robert, more.”
He groaned — a sound so raw you felt it in your chest — and began moving a little faster, hips rolling in steady, deep thrusts. His hand held your face, thumb brushing your cheek as he kissed you.
The mix of tenderness and intensity made your eyes sting.
“You feel so good,” he breathed into your mouth. “So fucking good.”
Your walls tightened suddenly, pleasure surging fast.
“Robert— I’m close—”
He grabbed your hand, interlaced your fingers, and pressed his forehead to yours.
“Come with me,” he whispered. “Look at me.”
You held his gaze as the pleasure broke — hard, overwhelming, pulling a cry from your throat. Robert groaned, thrusting deeper, and with a low, muffled curse, he came, burying his face in your neck.
His hips trembled against yours, his breath shuddering.
After a few moments, he kissed your shoulder, your cheek, then your lips.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
You nodded, still breathless. “Yeah… better than okay.”
He smiled — a soft, proud, relieved smile — and pulled you into his chest, wrapping your legs over his.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “We go again whenever you want.”
And he held you long after your heartbeat steadied.
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It’s the kind that makes your thighs tremble just from thinking about him, your tail twitching and your long floppy ears drooping, flicking, and sensitive as your body ran hot. You’ve paced the bedroom three times, whimpered into a pillow, even tried distracting yourself ...nothing worked.
Because every part of you aches for Robert.
And when he finally walks into the room after a long shift — sleeves rolled up, shirt half-untucked, freckles dusted over his tired face — you practically pounce.
He doesn’t even get a chance to set his keys down before you’re on him, lips on his neck, thighs rubbing together desperately.
“Jesus—” Robert stiffens, hands automatically catching your hips. “What’s gotten into you?”
You whine, grinding yourself against his thigh.“…Heat,” you breathe, shameless and needy. “Hurts. Need you.” Your teeth grazed his neck.
He freezes.
Then sighs the long-suffering sigh of a man who knows relaxation is not happening tonight.
“Of course,” he mutters, voice dry but warm as his hands slide down your ass, squeezing the plush softness of it “Right when I thought I could sit down for two minutes.”
Your tail flutters, ears twitching as you grind harder as you batted your eye lashes up at him.
His eyes darken instantly.“Alright, sweetheart. C’mere.”
He pulls you toward the bed, but the second he sits on the edge of the mattress, you push him back and straddle him. Your soft thighs spread over his lap, your weight settling on him in a way that makes his breath catch.
You’re already rolling your hips over the bulge in his pants.
Robert looks up at you through half-lidded eyes — exhausted, horny, helplessly in love.
“…Can I just lie down while you ride me?” he asks at last, rubbing his face with both hands like a man accepting defeat. “Please. I’m begging you.”
You lean forward, lips brushing his ear, your fluffy tail wiggling behind you.
“No...you need to put in some effort Robert."
Robert’s hands drop from his face as you grind down onto him harder.
“Fuck—”
Your hips are moving on instinct now, heat slick and desperate as you grab fistfuls of his shirt and rut against him. Your breath is hot against his jaw, ears brushing his cheek.
“You’re not relaxing,” you whisper, voice shaking with need. “Not tonight.”
Your scent — sweet, dizzying, he's not sure if it is your perfume, shampoo but it's driving him insane as he felt his heart pound in his chest.
Robert goes from tired to rock hard in seconds and maybe a little too eager to be fucked by his wife as a low groan tears from his throat as he grips your hips, pulling you tighter against him.
“Okay,” he pants. “Okay, fine...ride me. Just, fuck— slow down..."
But you don’t. Of course you don't.
You grind harder, faster, whimpering as your ears flick and flatten and your thighs tremble. You feel him through the fabric, thick and hot and exactly what your body is screaming for.
“Get these off,” you beg, fumbling at his belt, a small growl leaving your lips.
Robert curses under his breath and reaches down to help, hands steady even while his chest rises and falls with ragged breaths.
The moment his cock is free, thick and flushed and already leaking, your breath stutters.
Your heat pulses. Your tail twitches. Your ears stand straight up.
Robert notices all of it.
“…Yeah,” he murmurs, guiding you above him. “That’s what I thought. You’re not waiting at all, are you?”
You shake your head desperately.
He lines himself up.
You sink down in one needy, shaking motion.
The sound you make , half gasp, half moan, has Robert’s eyes rolling back.
“Fuck. sweetheart.slow—”
But you’re already moving.
Already bouncing.
Already clinging to him with your soft hands pressed against his chest, your ears flopping forward and brushing his face every time you slam down onto him.
Your heat is ruthless.
Every thrust makes you wetter, tighter, hotter around him.
Your thighs clap against his.
Your tail flicks wildly.
Robert’s hands clamp onto your hips, trying and failing to control your rhythm.
“You’re—so—fucking—needy—” he groans between thrusts, his head falling back as you ride him with desperate, messy abandon.
Your heat makes you honest, breathless.“Want...your cock,” you whine, bouncing harder. “Need you..need to feel you...fill me—”
Robert chokes.His hips buck up instinctively.
Your ears fall over your face as you moan, riding him harder, wetter, your whole body trembling in overstimulated pleasure.
He tries to sit up —
You push him back down.
“No relaxing,” you pant, nails dragging lightly along his chest as you take him to the hilt. “Not until I’m done.”
Robert is breathless now, sweating, gripping your plump hips so hard he’ll leave handprints.
“I’m— I’m not going to last if you— fuck— ride like that—”
“Good.”Your heat pulses again, clenching around him.
“Sweetheart— fuck—” He arches up into you, helpless beneath you, eyes fixed on the way your tits bounce, on your ears flicking wildly, on your needy hips slamming down again and again.
You leant forward, nuzzling into his neck as your orgasm hits like lightning as you cried his name out, your nails digging into his chest as your whole body seizes around him, tight and hot and pulsing, your ears trembling as you clamp down hard around him.
Robert loses it.
He thrusts up with a sharp, broken groan, spilling into you, gripping your waist like a lifeline.
Your thighs shake around him.
Your breath hitches.
And you keep moving, hands firmly on his chest.Robert’s eyes widen in pure panic as you bite into his shoulder, muffling a whimper. Fluffy tail twitching.
Heat demands more.
Robert’s head drops back on the pillow.“Fuck,” he groans weakly. “I’m never getting to lie down again, am I?”
Robert Robertsonxfem!reader explicit (co-workers (friends) to lovers, panty sniffing, underwear theft, mild humiliation, Robert is yearning yet again because I'm delulu, banter, awkward flirting, Bob-Bob is a boob man -> boob play, handjob, a smidge of overstimulation, fluff, dynamic in it is a bit vague, they are just adventurous)
word count: 3,8K
author’s note: I'm a (basic) bitch, my name is Nat, Bob-Bob sniffs panties, I don't make the rules. Dispatch fandom, thank you for such a warm welcome. I am writing a series fic that will have some plot, promise.
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—
It takes Robert exactly two seconds to make a doomed decision. Stimulus, response: the universe dumps temptation on a locker-room bench and, before his neocortex can tag it as ‘irrelevant’ and walk on, the lizard brain has already redirected his legs off-course to inspect the heap of clothes.
On the surface, it’s nothing conspicuous: standard SDN Dispatcher uniform. Blue shirt stained with coffee, the colours together forming a particularly unattractive shade of grey. Pants that look like someone just yanked them down in haste and walked out of them. There’s a bra strap peeking from underneath it all and, yes, that’s mildly exciting. A name tag hangs sadly on the shirt’s breast pocket, but truth be told, Robert doesn’t need it to know the mound is yours. He doesn’t need it because on top of the heap there’s the thing that lured him in here in the first place—knickers. And it’s shameful, really, that he’d bet every bill in his wallet on them being yours. It wouldn’t even be a gamble.
He knows, because he hunts the scraps the universe’s mercy throws his way. When you crouch down to scratch Beef’s belly, he’s treated to the precise section of your lower back that haunts him. Nothing scandalous—just a strip of skin and, if he’s lucky, a centimetre of lace peeking above the waistband. On very lucky days he gets the full set: dimples of Venus, the neat vee of your spine, enough to spend his lunch break fantasising about slotting his thumbs there. Harmless at best. Life-altering at worst.
Sometimes you reach for things on the higher shelves and treat him to front-row anatomy: a sliver of stomach, the suggestion of hip. His tongue does a strange, treacherous thing in his mouth when he has to swallow the sigh that wants out. He’s learnt your laundry cycle purely by underband variation—plain white cotton on standard days (which he is deeply fine with), and then the outliers: a tiny satin bow, a strip of patterned lace, a colour that has no business sitting that low and that smug on your hips. Somewhere in there he realises he might, regrettably, be a lower-belly fanatic.
The rest of the time he just has to withstand your stretch breaks. You arch in your chair, arms over your head, and flop back until the polo rides to your ribs and your pants slip a few unforgivable centimetres down. Robert has developed a set of secretive breathing exercises for those moments—inhale professionalism, exhale every instinct that tells him to drop to his knees and see what the waistband’s hiding.
Truth be told, he doesn’t even have a strong preference on style. Lace, cotton, bows, nothing. All that matters is that narrow strip of fabric hugging the territory he’d most like to hold. Preferably with his mouth.
It’s late; everyone’s gone already. Lights off, screens in sleep mode, the floor holding its breath until morning. Water runs in one of the shower stalls and he knows it’s you in there, scrubbing latte off your chest. He was about to go home. He should probably continue on that path.
He blinks once, and somehow his fingers are already there—reaching, brushing, lifting the garment close to his face. “What is wrong with me?” Robert mutters, sighing like the answer might be hiding in the tiles. Then he loses the fight with his common sense and takes a good long whiff.
It hits him instantly.
Not some romanticised haze—just a clean, specific punch to the brainstem. Warm cotton, detergent, and underneath it the part his imagination has been trying to fake for months and never quite managed. His inner archive of invented scents shrivels on the spot. This is better. This is yours.
His pants register a formal complaint at once. Blood abandons long-term projects like rational thought and career stability to go fund the emergency in his crotch. By the time he drags in a second breath, he’s uncomfortably, unmistakably hard.
“This is bad,” he tells the ceiling under his breath.
He does the worst possible thing and presses the gusset closer, nose and mouth mashed into the patch of fabric privileged enough to touch you exactly where he wants to. His hips give a tiny, treacherous jerk. Reflex; even the shadow of contact is enough. He drags his free hand down, palms the bulge in his pants like he’s checking for structural failure. If aneurysms could start in dicks, he’d be a prime candidate.
It doesn’t last long. Logical brain is mostly offline, but some small, wiry piece of self-preservation that grew from years of ducking punches kicks in. The shower turns off. Tap squeaks. Curtain rings. Wet feet smacking on tile.
He moves on instinct. Step back, turn, exit. First idea: flee. Fast, quiet, no witnesses.
The plan is not perfect. He realises halfway to the doorway that the underwear is still in his hand. There is no time to go back and fold it respectfully on the pile; he just fists the fabric, praying to every god on the SDN holiday rota that you don’t step out in time to see him.
He’s almost out. Two more strides. One.
“Robert?”
He stops dead.
“What are you doing here?”
There’s a narrow, panicked second where he considers spontaneous combustion as a viable exit strategy. Failing that, he improvises.
He looks at the balled-up evidence in his hand. At the open corridor. No chance. Then he clears his throat, turns slowly, and as he does he stuffs the knickers into his back pocket with the kind of exaggerated casualness that would get laughed out of a heist film.
“Hi,” he says, brilliantly. “I’m just… heading home.” The words trip over each other. “Wrapping up. All that.”
He finishes the turn and immediately regrets every decision that led him here, because you are standing there in nothing but a towel. Hair wet, rivulets of water tracking over your shoulders, calves bare, skin flushed from the heat.
“And what, uh… what happened here?” he asks, because his mouth is on autopilot and it hates him.
“The usual,” you say. “Me and big cups of hot coffee are at constant war.”
You look so pretty he almost says fuck you and walks straight out of his own life.
Instead he forces out, “Are you alright?”—because if you’d actually burned yourself, he would personally babysit every drink you ever touched, blowing on your coffees until retirement.
“Yes, Bob. Are you?” you ask. Your gaze travels down, then back up, brows already knitting in scrutiny. “You seem… distressed.”
He nearly chokes on his next breath. “What? No, I’m—” He gestures vaguely at nothing. “I’m great. I’m cool. Just, you know… on my way.”
“Alright then, weirdo.” You roll your eyes, the smile merciful but edged enough that he knows you know something’s off. “Don’t let me keep you.”
“Great. Thanks,” he exhales. “Have a… have a good… one. Uh.” He turns, gearing up to bolt, takes one step, two—
“Wait,” you mutter. His spine locks. Head twists on his neck, rest of the body follows. You pad towards him and crook a finger in a little turn back around gesture that would be playful in any other context. He just stands there, frozen, like a man waiting for a firing squad.
“Was that my underwear?”
“What—that?” He palms his back pocket. “No, that’s… that’s crazy. It’s… mine.”
“Really,” you say.
You reach round him, fingers hooking into the back of his pants. Your hand brushes the flat curve of his ass on the way—this is, objectively, a serious contender for one of the worst days of his life—and you pluck the crumpled knickers free like a magician producing a rabbit.
You hold them up between you. It is absolutely, unmistakably your pair. He can see the damp patch where his mouth has drooled over it. Hopefully you can’t.
“Those are no briefs, Robertson,” you say mildly. Then, because you are cruel, you yank two fingers into the front of his trousers and tug the waistband out just enough to reveal the perfectly ordinary elastic of his actual underwear. “Do you wear them only on special occasions?”
His brain bluescreens. “S-something like that,” he manages.
Silence stretches. His heart does the samba. Finally he blurts, “I… don’t know what came over me, okay? I—I will save you the trouble and report myself to HR. It’s wildly fucked up.”
You huff out a short laugh through your nose. Not derisive; more… baffled. “Can I interrogate you a bit first?” you ask.
He closes his eyes briefly. “Okay. Hit me. I deserve it.”
“Do you steal everyone’s underwear,” you ask, tilting your head, “or am I getting a special package?”
“I thought we established it’s mine,” he mutters, because if he doesn’t lean on sarcasm he’ll collapse.
“Robert.”
He swallows. The knickers dangle between you, damning. You’re close enough now that he can smell your shower gel under the locker room stink—something clean, fresh, absolutely nuclear—and his body, traitor that it is, perks right back up.
“Just yours,” he says, quietly. “You’re… special like that to me.”
That earns him a look. Something flickers over your face; not disgust. Definitely not indifference.
Thank fuck, you think. I thought I was making it up.
“That’s good to know,” you say, and slowly bunch the knickers in your fist. “And what have you been doing with them?”
“Admiring the lace work,” he mumbles, still trying. “Up close. My eyes are going, you see. Computers and all.”
“That so,” you murmur, smirking.
You don’t look horrified. You look like you’re turning something over in your mind, weighing it. The towel shifts when you fold your arms under your chest, pushing your tits up a fraction; his gaze drops before he can stop it, then snaps guiltily back to your face. You clock it and of course you fucking do, because he’s not miserable enough yet.
You sigh, softly. “You know,” you say, “if I really felt harassed, you wouldn’t still be standing.”
“Fair,” he says. “Still, this is… not a great look for me.”
“It’s not,” you agree. Then, after a beat: “But thankfully, I don’t feel harassed.”
His head jerks up at that. “No?”
You shake your head once. “Mildly surprised. Pleasantly,” you say. “A bit flattered. Very curious.”
“Curious,” he repeats, wary.
“Mhm. About the purpose of this unsuccessful theft,” you say, eyes dropping to the front of his trousers and then back with clinical precision. “Sell them? Frame them? Burn them, because you secretly hate me?”
“Incorrect buzzer sound.” He makes a strangled noise. “I—really wish you wouldn’t make me say it though,” he says, hoarse. “Trust me.”
“Oh, that’s not my intention,” you say. Your voice has gone soft around the edges, dangerous. “I’m standing here half-naked in a towel you’ve seen me wear exactly never. You’ve just admitted to nose-robbery.” A tiny smile curves your mouth. “I don’t want you to tell me stuff.”
He swallows a thick lump of phlegm. “What are you… suggesting?” he asks, because his brain has decided to play dumb as a last-ditch safety measure.
You step into his space, close enough that his back hits the cool tile with a thud. The towel brushes his shirt. You smell clean and warm and freshly shampooed and he is, genuinely, doomed.
“I’m suggesting,” you say, very calmly, “that I am not going to HR.”
“That’s merciful,” he says, weakly.
You’re not stupid; you know exactly how badly this could blow up in your face. There is, generously, a one-percent chance this could all be explained away without a sexual undertone—a tragic misunderstanding involving static cling and poor eyesight—and that one percent could be your undoing if you’ve read him wrong. But the remaining ninety-nine is standing in front of you, ashamed and flushed, with a barely concealed hard-on that seems entirely dedicated to the way you smell. You’re willing to bet on that.
“And,” you add, trying for brave and bold and all the other things femmes fatales are supposed to be, “that if you’re going to be a creep about my underwear, the least you can do is let me see exactly what kind of problem you’ve been having over it.” A deep breath. “If you’re cool with it, of course.”
He looks at you, and something in his face unspools—terror loosening by degrees into hope. Still testing, still searching. “That would be… quite cool,” Robert says, voice dropping to match yours. “I think I can do that.”
“That’s great,” you murmur, lifting the forlorn fabric back to his face. You brush his cheek with it and he closes his eyes, lashes dark against flushed skin. His fingers wrap around your wrist, gentle but definite, and steer your hand where it should be. You watch the way he does it, wide-eyed, weirdly fond, and can’t help yourself; your other hand is already wandering lower. “Can I… touch you?” you ask.
“Mhm,” he hums into the cotton. “I think it’s imperative that you do.”
You swallow thickly. “Awesome. We’re on the same page, then.”
“Same page, paragraph, letter, it would seem,” he says, one hand finding your hip and tugging you closer, inhaling his personal oxygen mask like it’s going to be rationed.
“Yeah, that’s a nice surprise,” you say, fingers sliding around his waist, hooking shyly behind his belt.
“You have no idea how nice it is, ah—” He cuts off when you cup him through his pants and press.
He’s straining against your hand, hard and aching; the fabric gives a little, the zipper doesn’t, and the seam digs in like it’s personally offended. You rub the heel of your palm along the length of him, slow and rich, and watch his eyes squeeze shut as he bites down on your knickers to keep something indecent in.
“Wow,” you say, delighted. “You really like me, don’t you?”
“Fuck, I do,” he breathes. “I really do.” A laugh slips out of him then, all frayed edges—relief mixed with exasperation, like his emotional control just tripped over its own feet.
“Good,” you say, genuinely glad. “I like you too.”
“That’s… amazing,” Robert says, and it really is. Some part of him wonders if this could’ve been perfect in a less insane way—if he’d brought you flowers instead of committing textile theft. “I just wish you’d found out in a more dignified way. Like, say, I could’ve just asked you out.”
“Mhm, I don’t know,” you hum. “I’m quite enjoying this… situation.”
You hand the knickers over entirely, then drop your focus to his belt. Buckle, button, zipper—the holy trinity—come undone under your hands, and his pants slide down the lean hips. You take him in both hands—balls cupped, the base of his cock wrapped in your fingers—and he shivers from the back of his neck all the way down to his toes.
He makes a strangled sound. “Yeah, me too, in case you couldn’t tell,” he manages, trying to skate over it with a joke. He glances down at your towel, brushes his knuckles over the edge. “Can I?”
“Sure,” you whisper, wicked. “Let’s make this even worse for you.”
He tugs, and the towel pools at your feet. He actually sighs, fully, like something in him has been waiting its whole stupid life for this exact view.
You’re there, suddenly, and for a second he just stares like an idiot. Your breasts sit lower than his brain kept drawing them under the bra—soft, weighty, swaying the tiniest bit when you breathe—and he wants to apologise to gravity for ever resenting it. Your lower belly, the strip he’s been piecing together from glimpses and guesses, is right there in whole: skin he’s been mentally editing into various shapes and getting wrong every single time. It’s smoother, prettier, more real than anything he’s sketched in his head. He realises, with a kind of dazed respect, that he’s apparently terrible at imagining you.
Cock cradled just right in your hand, your thumb tormenting the notch beneath the head, eyes blessed with the sight of your tits he’s had to make up so many times and now finally gets, he does the only thing his body can come up with: twists you both around and presses. You into the wall, cock into your fist, his face into your chest.
It makes it harder for you to reach him, but you manage—arching your back so he can bury himself properly, one hand working the heft of his balls in slow, generous circles while your wrist strokes his length in slow pulls.
“I really fail to see,” he rasps into your skin, “how this is worse.”
Whatever you answer, he doesn’t catch it. He’s too busy trying to see how far will his jaw go to fit your breast in.
He mouths at you with the desperation of someone who has been politely not-staring for months and has just been handed retroactive permission. Open, messy kisses over the swell, tongue catching on the edge of your nipple before he closes his lips around it properly. Each suck tugs straight down to where your fist works him, a neat little loop of cause and effect.
His hips have given up on dignity entirely. He thrusts into your hand in short, controlled jolts, like he’s trying very hard not to, and failing by millimetres. The weight of him drags hot in your grip; slick’s starting to gather at the head, easing your strokes, making everything sound faintly vulgar.
“Jesus, Robert,” you murmur, carding one hand through his hair. “Look at you.”
He just groans into your skin; a vibration on sternum.
You let him have a few more strokes, then tilt your head down. “How are you doing?” you ask, voice soft enough that it sneaks through whatever fog he’s in.
He tears himself away from your boobs with visible effort, breath sawing. His face comes up to yours, flushed and wrecked, hair damp where it’s stuck to his forehead. “Good,” he pants. “Really good.”
You keep your hand moving, unhurried and so infuriatingly precise it takes everything in him not to whimper. “Is this good,” you ask, thumb sweeping over the underside of the head, “or do you want more?”
His eyes flutter. “More,” he says, no hesitation at all. “Fuck me harder. Please.”
“Damn, that sounds really nice when you say it,” you tell him, and it does—please in that particular voice hits somewhere very specific.
“Yeah?” he breathes. He leans in, lips brushing your ear, and his hands climb back to your chest, thumbs rolling your nipples with a care that’s at odds with how ragged he sounds. “Please,” he repeats, right into the shell of your ear.
His tongue licks against the edge of it, then he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, teeth catching softness. Each muffled please is punctuated by a twitch of his hips into your fist, by the steady, careful pull of his fingers, and you can feel yourself starting to sweat right alongside him.
“Brat,” you tell him, all fond.
You tighten your grip and give him what he asked for. The strokes get shorter, meaner, your wrist doing most of the work now. He presses in for every pull, chasing your hand like that’s where oxygen lives.
The closer he gets, the less coordinated he becomes. His hips try to keep their little rhythm and then just… give up. He stiffens instead, every muscle on pause—stomach rippling tight, veins standing out along his throat. You can feel his heartbeat through his cock, hot and insistent against your palm, and you find yourself matching your breath to it without thinking.
“Fuck, yes,” he mumbles. “Yes, yes—yes,” the last one breaking when you pick up pace and add a twist that pulls him a fraction away from his belly. The extra distance makes the stretch sharper, edges the cramp toward delicious.
There’s a split second where everything in him holds—lungs, thighs, jaw. Then it hits.
His cock jerks in your hand and spills, thick and hot over your fingers, striping your knuckles and his own shirt in uneven pulses. Each spurt punches a tiny noise out of him, half-swallowed in your collarbone; his toes curl in his shoes, his grip on your tits goes from grabbing to clinging.
You work him through it, easing the stroke but not stopping, thumb still smearing through the mess at the tip as his orgasm tapers off into aftershocks. He feels fuzzy behind the eyes, like someone’s turned the saturation down on the room and left only the feeling of your hand, your chest, your exhale.
You don’t quit immediately. You let your hand drift into slower, lazier pumps, riding that narrow line where pleasure gives way to complaint. The slide is slick, whorish and easy, every upward tug yanking a flinch from him.
He huffs out a breath that’s a laugh wrapped in an involuntary whine. His thighs start to twitch; hips try to jerk away and fail. “Okay—hah—okay,” he gasps, a little breathless chuckle shredding the word. “Too much. Too much.”
You finally let him go, fingers slipping free, palm sticky and warm. “Sorry,” you say, and it’s sweet on the surface, poisoned nicely underneath.
He eyes you up and down, then smiles, helpless. “You’re evil.”
“Only a little.” Your mouth softens. “Only with you.”
On impulse, Robert leans in and kisses your nose, then brushes your hair back from your face and gathers you in, warming the body gone cool against the wall. “I just want to say,” he murmurs, “I’m not a complete degenerate. I have a sweet side too.”
With his lizard brain finally sedated, the rest of him remembers that beyond being the girl who stars in his late-night fantasies, you’re also the girl who makes his chest go warm every time you compliment his work or ask how his day is going. When you text him goodnight. When you smile at him or bring him coffee. When your hand rests on his back, even briefly. Suddenly the need to just fuck you or get fucked by you, he doesn’t care which, gets overridden by the whole complicated network that makes decisions and releases dopamine and makes him laugh at your jokes a bit too loud. He realises he might be fucked, just in a completely different way.
“Sweet side?” you ask, head tucked into his neck. “If you’re going to say Beef, I’m leaving even though I’m naked.”
“No,” he laughs. “Beef is my stinky side. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Awesome. Let me show you I can behave in public.”
“Oh, we’ll see about that,” you say and he’s certain he not only might be, but is fucked.
R.R. X M!R · robert and you were old news. until beef picks up your scent again and runs off to find you. robert panics, and then panics more when you find him again.
When Robert and you broke up, he thought that’d be the last time he’d ever see you. Truthfully, you’d hoped you wouldn’t see him again. Not because you had anything against him– quite the opposite, really. You were scared that if you saw him again, you’d break down right then and there. Because from the second you left his apartment that night, you knew you fucked up. But it’s not like you could just turn around and go, “Hey, I actually just made a really bad decision and I still desperately need you in my life. Take me back?” No, no. You had an ego, you couldn’t do that.
Robert knew you were bad for him. Just your voice alone did unspeakable things to him, and you were so infuriatingly lovable that it made his body ache. He has no idea how he let you leave that night. You left him dumbfounded, and he had no idea what to do with himself.
Your relationship with him was perfect. He was your guiding light, and you were his everything. There was only one slight problem. You were a well known villain in LA. You had a reputation– a bad one. You were infamous in every sense of the word. So of course, it was a problem when LA’s most wanted was spotted making out with Mecha Man in a random alleyway. At the time, Robert didn’t care. He had you, and that was all that mattered.
Only, people started to distrust him. No matter what he was doing– saving people from a burning building, catching someone falling out of a building, stopping a falling plane– they just murmured a thank you and quietly left. It wasn’t too big of a deal, until he started getting harassed about it. Reporters would stop him on the streets, shoving microphones and flashing lights in his face.
“So, what’s it like being with the most infamous villain in LA?”
“Do you have any comments to make about you being seen kissing a villain in broad daylight?”
“Are you and him together? What do you have to say about your relationship?”
“People are losing their trust in Mecha Man over your public displays of affection. What are your thoughts?”
Eventually, it got to be too much, and you could tell. He would come home every night, dead on his feet and just wanting to collapse into bed. It wasn’t fair. All he’d done is want to show his boyfriend any affection, and it had turned into one giant disaster. You felt horrible, even though he told you not to be. It was a huge blow to his reputation, and it was all your fault.
You knew that breaking up with him would put him in a bad place mentally. But he was already in such a dark spot, you’d hoped that ending things would be a relief for him– that it would get the press off his back. And it did, only that he was miserable without you.
After his coma, he was so lost. Blonde Blazer just barely pulled him out of the black hole that was his own mind. He never thought it would be possible, but Blazer gave him the exact thing that would take his mind off of spiraling– babysitting. I mean, they’re not actually children, but Z-Team is basically a kindergarten class and Robert is the tired, overworked teacher. But either way, he loves them (begrudgingly so).
Things were getting better. And then you just had to throw a wrench in all of it.
—
It’s a quiet night as Robert walks home with Beef, his paws clacking softly against the concrete. Everything was normal until Beef is suddenly tugging on his leash, yanking Robert in some random direction. Robert is what you’d call… out of shape. As much as he tried, somehow this tiny ass dog is able to pull away from him. He’s yelling at the top of his lungs and running after Beef, but that dog is a man on a mission.
Robert’s panicking. Beef would never do this. He calls and texts Chase, and the both of them set out to look for him. He’s starting to really regret not putting a tracker on him– but at the same time, he never thought Beef would run away like this.
It’s almost 1 am when he gives up, Chase making sure he gets back to his apartment safely. He collapses onto the couch (that the team forced him to buy), dropping his face into his hands. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if willing all of this to somehow just be a dream. He’s on the verge of tears. Beef’s fat, but he’s not strong. There’s coyotes in every corner of LA, and there’s no chance Beef lasts more than 24 hours by himself. He feels helpless, and it’s not like– why the fuck is anyone knocking on his door at 1 am?
Robert takes a few moments before prying himself from the couch, trudging over to the door. He doesn’t even bother with looking through the peephole. At this point, if he gets jumped, he gets jumped. Except, it’s literally the last person on Earth he’d expect to be at his door.
You.
“Uhm. Hi Robert. Uh, I found Beef. Well actually, he found me. But I knew you were probably freaking the fuck out trying to find him and I know we don’t talk anymore but I don’t want you to freak the fuck out because it’d be weird if I wanted you to freak the fuck out and–” you begin to ramble as you hold Beef out to him, but you get cut off when you notice that Robert Robertson III is fucking crying. And he hasn’t even glanced at Beef. Which says something. “Oh. Oh, uh. Uh, shit. Are you okay? Hey, Robert.”
You almost drop the dog when you realize he’s crying, panicking and trying to figure out if you did something wrong. You set Beef down on the floor and he circles around Robert’s feet, whining and whimpering as he recognizes his father’s distress. Tears are streaming down his face and you gently push the door open more to let yourself in.
You don’t know what to do with your hands, and they kind of flounder as you try to figure out if you should be comforting him or not. Your hands hover over his biceps, your eyes raking over his body. God, he’s so skinny. Has he not been eating?
“Baby…” The words come out of your mouth before you can think, and they startle you. You hope he doesn’t hear you as you kick the door closed and lead him to the couch, sitting next to him. Beef jumps onto his lap, standing up on his hind legs and pawing at Robert’s chest. His chest rapidly rises up and down and your hand settles on his back, rubbing in soothing circles. He almost immediately calms when your hands are on him, the entire situation finally catching up to him.
“I- fuck. I’m so sorry.” He sniffles, wiping his nose and eyes on the sleeve of his uniform. SDN? Really? Whatever. “I didn’t- I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t really expecting to be here either. I was getting home when I heard barking and Beef was just… there. And I knew you wouldn’t just let him run off like that, and it felt weird to text you, so I kinda just hoped you still lived here and came,” you explain while still rubbing his back. For a moment, it’s like you never left. Everything is still perfect, and you’re with him and he’s with you and it’s all he needs.
“You called me baby.” Your face flushes red, and your hand pauses on his back. He looks up at you with the softest eyes that make your stomach do backflips and your head spin. “I didn’t mind.”
You might just pass out. “Robert, I- don’t say that. I just came to give Beef back. I’m… I’m gonna go.” His eyes were focused on Beef, but his gaze snapped to you as you stood and said you were leaving. Panic flashes in his expression, and for a second he looks the same as he did when you broke up with him. You swallow as you try to retract your hand, only for his fingers to wrap around your wrist and pull you back to him.
“Please don’t leave.”
“Robert.”
“Please.”
This just isn’t fair. It’s not fair when he looks at you like you’re his whole world. Not many people can say that they’ve had Mecha Man crying at their feet, yet it seems like this happens to you far too often. You relent, sitting back down with a sigh. Beef squeezes his body into the space that you left in between you and Robert, whining and pushing his head into your palm.
“I–”
“I miss you.”
Your whole body flushes, a shock of warmth jolting up your spine. Your body goes slack, and a whine slips through your lips and Robert hesitantly lays his head on your shoulder.
“I miss you too.” A beat. “I missed Beef too.” You whisper into his hair, and Beef lifts his head at the mention of his name.
A/N: See what y’all started. Smh. \(. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)/ Anyways, commence the debauchery. As always feel free to reblog, like, and comment. Here's how you horny fiends brought this about pt.1 and pt.3. My masterlist as well. I also have a ko-fi.
Warnings: NSFW, MDNI. Smut. AFAB reader. Female reader. Explicit descriptions of sexual acts. Riding. Referring to female genitalia as she. Pet names. Filth below the cut.
-After too many soaked sheets the de-facto is now face-sitting. He loves it. He can get all your slick now. Like a fucking fountain. Your plush thighs hugging both sides of his face, and your drooling cunt smothering him. He’s not a big theologian, but this has got to be paradise right?
-He also loves it because his ass is fucking lazy. You’re doing the work. Whether your hands brace the headboard or drag the sheets for grip, you're the one grinding your slobbering folds up and down like a metronome.
-He gets off seeing you like that. All fucked out, all jerky and uninhibited. That’s also why when you do fuck, you’re almost always on top.
-Correction, you’re always on top. Because to Robert, you are a sight beholden. Watching the tremble in your thighs as you sink down onto his leaking tip. No, that right there, that’s ecstasy.
-Watching you desperately finding a perch for your hands after bullying half his length in your drooling cunt. That was his heaven.
-He'd just watch in awe for the first few minutes after your hips finally sunk all the way down. He wasn't girthy, that fucker was long though.
-And when your warm, gummy, walls would flutter around that dick. He could cum right there. He had many a time.
-The way you would milk his already weeping dick with just the glide of your hips was his favorite. Don't act like the fucker doesn't have a tinge of masochism within him.
-Then a lift, and a plap. “Fuck, babe.” It's always a low dragged out groan. His hands finding your hips, just to settle. Just out of habit.
-”Come here, baby.” It's almost reverent the way he says it. He'll pull you close.
-Just like the spasms in your pussy, his grip flutters. Now, was the pièce de résistance, the part that made him welcome death because he had gotten this.
-When he watched you bounce. This was his magnum opus. The blissed out look on your face. The sinful squelching of your sodden cunt with each PLAP of your ass hitting his groin.
-The way your nails dug into his shoulders and your mouth fell open, dumb. That did him in. Always.
-”I'm gone, baby.” He’d always whisper it. Then he'd shoot his hot load into your begging hole. His hips would shudder, but he'd keep rutting until he saw that ring of white at the base.
-"Shit.” He'd rest his sweaty forehead against yours. You're both panting, coming down from the debauchery.
-”She's got me whipped.” He chuckles softly, when you’d swat his shoulder to admonish. “Sorry, both of you.” He corrects.
-He doesn't move afterwards, because again, he's lazy. He'll hold your limp form against his chest. But he doesn't mind. He doesn't mind. Even the cockwarming is by design. Those silken walls, the occasional twitch, his bliss would start soon again.
-And he didn't even have to move for it to happen.
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Sonar, Phenomaman, Waterboy and Robert x F! Reader
Chapter 2: Relationships
[story main page]
Tags (for this chapter): sfw, a little suggestive, swearing
Summary: With Monday’s arrival comes the removal of a member of the Z-Team. In a group like that, figuring out who’s the worst is quite the challenge, but maybe bringing up a superior’s past without their permission… well, that might set you on the wrong path.
wc: 12.8k
A.N. Thank you a lot for all the support I received in the first chapter, it's actually the first time one of my posts got so many notes, it made me so much happy! I hope I didn't forget anyone in the taglist (it's always open so if you want to get tagged just let me know!). I promise I will start giving you more Phenomaman content from chapter 3 onward!!
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“Phenomaman and I… broke up,” Mandy admitted as she sat at her desk, her expression clouded with grief the moment the words left her lips. “On Friday, in Tokyo, I finally decided to end our relationship.”
You took a slow sip of your coffee while watching her carefully. “You did the right thing. Your relationship… weeell, it was obvious that Phenomaman was the only one really trying to keep it alive, and I also know he wasn’t doing it for entirely… normal reasons.”
The blonde rested a hand over the amulet hanging from her necklace, fingers brushing the metal as if it could steady her. “I can understand his desire for Blonde Blazer,” she murmured, “but that wasn’t what I wanted.”
She closed her eyes just long enough to exhale a heavy sigh, then straightened up and slipped right back into her professional demeanor. “Considering he didn’t even show up at the branch…”
“What?” Your eyes widened, worry immediately swelling in your chest. “What do you mean he isn’t here?” You set your little cup of coffee down on her desk, noticing your hand tremble just slightly. “How am I supposed to work today without him?”
She lowered her gaze before revealing the plan for the day. “Phenomaman wouldn’t have been in the right state to work anyway, his mind is somewhere else entirely, you understand? I don’t think he has ever gone through a breakup in his life, neither here nor on his home planet.” When she finally looked up again, her blue eyes met yours with calm certainty. “I’d rather not take the risk. If his mind isn’t clear, I can’t let a superhero work, not for his safety and not for ours.”
You bit your lip and leaned back against the chair, letting your body fall against the backrest. “You’re not wrong… though I would’ve evaluated the situation myself, and if I’d seen him unfocused, I would’ve told him to take a break.”
“Also, since your team can’t operate today, you’ll be handling another task for me...” She laced her fingers together and rested her hands on the table, her expression firm and resolute.
You raised an eyebrow, silently asking her what exactly she meant. When her plan dawned on you, you clenched your jaw. “It was supposed to be only the first day, Mandy. I have work to do as well, you know that.”
“Well, considering I choose what work you do… technically this is now the work you have to do.” She gave you a gentle smile when she noticed the tension in your expression, and it was painfully clear that you didn’t like the idea at all.
“You know I love you, right? But sometimes I honestly can’t stand you when you switch into Director Mode,” you muttered as you got up from the chair and grabbed your coffee again.
Of course she knew you weren’t actually insulting her, you were simply venting, complaining about her the way only close friends could.
“I’ve already informed the Z-Team that one of them will be removed by the end of the day,” she announced. “Coupè, Sonar, and Invisigal are currently at the bottom of the ranking, and since your team won’t be operational, there will be plenty of calls where they can prove they’re good members.”
You shrugged. “Or prove once again that they’re absolutely awful.” You couldn’t help a small laugh into your cup as you sipped your warm drink. “Did Robert mention what Invisigal did to him on Friday?”
She frowned, confused. “Invisigal? No? What did she do?” Her arms crossed in genuine curiosity as she leaned in slightly.
So Robert had decided to protect Invisigal even though she’d punched him in the nose. Completely unacceptable. “Remember how his nose was bleeding? Well, Invisigal had the brilliant idea of punching her dispatcher.”
The blonde immediately brought a hand to her mouth in shock. “Seriously? I had no idea… if I’d known…” She didn’t finish the sentence, instead, she cleared her throat and shifted the subject. “I suppose this will have to be added to her file. Physical violence isn’t tolerated here.”
You rolled your eyes dramatically. “I’d say it isn’t tolerated anywhere, but sure, good start.”
“That part was obviously implied.” Blonde Blazer allowed herself a small smirk, and it was contagious enough that it drew one out of you as well.
She got up and rested a hand on your shoulder, her touch warm and slow. “You should get going,” she said after glancing at the office clock. “Robert should be here any minute, he told me he’d be coming in an hour late today.”
You were about to head out, but at the mention of Robert you paused in the doorway. “I heard that you and the new guy…” You looked back over your shoulder, and it took her a second to realize what you meant.
“Oh- that… yes, that’s something I still need to discuss with Robert,” she said quickly, hands raised as if to shield herself from assumptions, a faint blush coloring her embarrassment.
“You didn’t break up with Phenomaman also because of that, right?” You fully turned back toward her. “I mean… because you were afraid he’d see it as cheating or something like that?”
“Phenomaman doesn’t know about the kiss or the meeting I had with Robert that night. Chase asked me to find him and offer him the position at the SDN after what happened with-” She abruptly stopped, a hand flying to her mouth as though she had revealed too much.
It was painfully clear that Blazer was hiding something from you, and you couldn’t stand it.
“With his previous job… he was fired.”
You frowned, suspicion tightening your features. “Chase knows Robert… what is he, his old babysitter?” You set one hand on your hip and took another sip of coffee with the other, trying to calm yourself down. “I wonder how much verbal abuse Robert must’ve endured as a kid if that were true,” you murmured, letting out a quiet laugh. “Kidding, obviously.”
“I guess Robert is already waiting for you at his station,” Blazer said, steering the conversation back to the main issue of the day: helping your colleague keep the Z-Team under control.
Using your powers, you pushed the door open while continuing to sip your coffee without even looking at it, your other hand tucked casually into your pocket as you walked through the already busy office toward your desk.
Everyone seemed more tense than usual today, probably because your team wasn’t around to handle the high-priority missions, and you highly doubted the Z-Team would be able to manage everything with even a fraction of the precision your squad delivered on a daily basis.
Robert was already seated at his workstation, his headphones in hand as he prepared to start his shift, but what immediately caught your attention was the small cardboard box at his feet and, inside it, a fluffy black-and-white ball of fur. You approached with a smile, the sight of the chubby little puppy melting your heart in an instant.
With your telekinesis you kept your coffee suspended in mid-air, crouching down next to the box and reaching out your hands toward the tiny creature. “Oh my god… look at you,” you whispered as you scratched gently under his chin, earning a delighted little wiggle of his head. “What’s your name? You’re so soft,” you added with a grin you couldn’t suppress.
Hearing your voice, Robert turned in his chair. “His name is Beef,” he said, though as he shifted he accidentally bumped into your suspended cup, which wobbled dangerously but, thankfully, didn’t spill. That would’ve been the second drink-related disaster in less than two workdays. “Sorry…”
“Don’t worry about it,” you murmured, far too absorbed in Beef, who was now licking your hands enthusiastically as if claiming you as his new favorite person. “He’s adorable. He reminds me of the dog I had when I was little… although that one was much, much bigger.”
“Oh yeah?” Robert sounded intrigued, smiling softly as he watched you give all your attention to his beloved pup. “How big are we talking?”
“He was a Bernese Mountain Dog, basically a giant ball of soft fur,” you said with a fond little laugh at the memory of your old Toby. “He was more of a guard dog than a companion… my father got him mostly for that purpose.”
The thought of your father brought with it a familiar pulse of resentment, but it dissipated quickly when Beef lifted his tiny snout toward you, sniffing you with that goofy, heart-melting expression only dogs could pull off.
“But he was really affectionate with me, he loved belly scratches.” You slid your hands under Beef’s little stomach. “And I see you’re not too different, huh?”
“Oh, Beef is obsessed with cuddles,” Robert chuckled, casting another fond look at his dog. “By the way, I heard someone in the Z-Team is getting cut today. Any idea why?”
“I’d also add finally,” you muttered, though you limited your celebration to your internal monologue and refrained from embarrassing yourself in front of your coworker. “And yes, I was the one who suggested it to Blondie.”
You scooped Beef up and kept petting him as you looked at Robert. “Your team is awful, but it’s not your fault: they are awful. If they want to stay here and actually care about their jobs, and if they want to improve, then they need to put in the effort.”
He didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Technically all of them deserve a chance at rehabilitation, but cutting one out…” He glanced at his still-dark monitor.
“The last one in the ranking goes back to jail where they belong,” you said, your voice firm and sharp, maybe even a little too blunt. “The SDN can’t keep investing in failures, and you can’t keep working with them either, they’d make your life absolute hell.”
With a discouraged sigh, he pressed a hand to his forehead and turned on the computer. “As if it isn’t already…”
As the SDN login screen appeared, you placed your coffee on his desk using your powers. He turned toward you, clearly confused by the gesture.
“You need a boost. Today’s going to be rough,” you said, placing little Beef back in his box with a final affectionate pat before heading toward your own station. “My team is out of commission today, which means your favorite little group of criminals has every mission available to them.” You put your headphones on, ready to back Robert up.
“What happened?” he asked, and you leaned past the divider between your desks. “Your team is like the strongest one in Torrance…”
“Well, yeah, but Phenomaman is out for a while, and neither Blazer nor I have any idea where he is right now,” you explained, watching him take a sip of the coffee you’d given him. “Is it good? It’s my favorite.”
“I like it, I usually get it like this too…” he replied, though his worry immediately resurfaced. “If he’s in danger…?”
You raised a hand and shook your head. “No, no, Phenomaman isn’t in danger, you can be sure of that… both Blazer and I think he is the danger. You know they broke up, right?”
Robert’s eyes flew wide open and he almost choked on the coffee before managing to swallow it, turning toward you with disbelief. “What? Blazer and Phenomaman broke up?” You couldn’t quite tell whether the emotion in his eyes was panic, fear or a spark of hope. “It’s not because of me, right?”
You shrugged lightly. “No, I don’t think so. They already had a bunch of problems that led to the breakup. You’re maybe responsible for about… 0.03%.” You winked at him. “Unless Blondie suddenly has a crush on you, kept it a secret from me, her best friend, and decided to dump her boyfriend for you,” you accused jokingly, pointing at him before shaking your head. “But I know she’s not that cruel.”
Right then, Robert’s screen finished booting up, connecting to his team’s surveillance feed. The underground gym came into view, showing Sonar handcuffed to a squat rack, already looking defeated.
“What happened?” Robert asked as he adjusted his headset.
You tried to peek at his monitor, but from where you stood the angle was terrible and you could barely make out what the feed was showing… though, judging by the laughter echoing through the call, the scene must’ve been glorious.
“How did you even…?”
“Coop seduced me,” the half-bat man replied, showcasing just how pathetic his situation was.
Coupè burst out laughing, clearly delighted, and hearing her laugh was unsettling in ways you preferred not to analyze. “I just told him I’d show him something cool and he followed me without a second thought,” she explained proudly, while the hybrid looked absolutely miserable, almost disappointed in himself.
“Everyone knows a line like that means only one thing, and that one thing is ‘boobs’,” he grumbled, genuinely bitter about the missed opportunity.
Robert dragged a hand through his brown hair, though his attention quickly drifted to you, still hovering beside him with your torso poking over the divider. “Could you go down there and help him?”
“That would be very appreciated,” Sonar added through the call, sounding pathetically hopeful.
You lowered your gaze, briefly glancing at your own chest. Robert raised an eyebrow, unable to understand the gesture, and when you looked back up you planted your hands on your hips, clearly unimpressed.
“I’d prefer not to be harassed at work, thanks.”
“No, no, no!” Sonar’s voice turned embarrassingly desperate. “I swear I won’t do anything, you have my word,” he pleaded, and you had never heard him sound like that before. “I really need to work today, I can’t stay at the bottom of the rankings…”
“The fact that you fell for that trick is already a pretty clear sign for me, Robert, and Blazer that we should just kick you out of the Z-Team,” you pointed out, your tone sharp and full of smug confidence. “You’re not nearly as smart as you think you are… we can live without you.”
“You heard her,” Coupè chimed in, quite pleased that you had accidentally taken her side.
“I can’t help it,” Sonar tried to defend himself, still cuffed to the squat rack. “When it comes to this stuff I…”
“Alright, enough,” Robert cut in, trying to restore some semblance of order. “One of you is getting cut from the Z-Team today, so you all need to give your best and try not to end up last…” Then he turned to you, his eyes unexpectedly soft, his gentle expression in sharp contrast with the stern tone he’d used moments earlier. “...and everyone deserves to start with equal chances, so it would be really helpful if Sonar could be released as soon as possible so he can actually work with the others.”
You narrowed your eyes, your expression pretty much screaming how much you hated the idea. “Say goodbye to your morning coffee,” you muttered, leaving your desk and making your way toward the stairs leading down to the SDN gym.
Robert watched you go with a small smile, genuinely grateful you had agreed to help the team.
You didn’t rush. In fact, you took your sweet time, turning the trip into what felt like an eternity… and it absolutely was. Robert, unable to wait any longer, eventually had to start his shift with one team member missing, which would become normal for him starting tomorrow anyway.
You stopped in front of the half-bat hybrid, hands on your hips like a hero arriving to save him… or at least that was probably what he probably thought.
His expression was blank. He knew arguing with you about your lateness would be pointless, and right now all he wanted was to be freed so he could finally do his job. The tips of his enormous bat ears were drooping slightly, a sign of pure discouragement.
You pulled out your phone, instantly catching the criminal’s attention, he straightened up in reflex just before your camera flash went off. The gym was dark and the flash practically blinded him, but it was absolutely worth it to immortalize the pathetic position he’d landed himself in.
“Hey, what the fuck was that?” he snapped, rubbing his free hand over his eyes. “Did you take a picture of me?” His tone grew serious, almost threatening.
“I think I’ll keep it… who knows, maybe it’ll come in handy someday,” you said, slipping your phone into the back pocket of your pants as you crossed your arms with a small, satisfied smile.
A short laugh escaped him. Despite everything, he grinned. “You could’ve just asked if you wanted a picture of me. I’ve got plenty, for various… reasons.” He leaned back against the metal rack, his legs stretching out over the thin black mat. “But if you’d asked nicely, I might have found the time to handcuff myself for you specifically.”
“Setting aside the fact you just admitted you’re extremely easy and that this isn’t the first time you’ve sent pictures of yourself to who-knows-who, I would’ve much preferred not seeing you handcuffed at all,” you replied, stepping closer as your fingers brushed against the cuffs, and inevitably against his hand, which you desperately wished you could avoid touching.
You shot him a quick look. “You don’t have fleas or ticks on you, right? I’d rather not find any surprises...”
“Okay, that’s kinda offensive-” Sonar muttered, seemingly wounded before forcing himself to pretend he didn’t care. “I take care of myself every day, just like people do with their hair. What about you? You don’t happen to have lice, do you?”
Your whole body tensed. “How dare you?” you snapped, though you still kept working on the cuffs despite your indignation. It was difficult, especially without anything thin enough to fit into the lock. “Shit...”
Sonar’s gaze shifted between the focused expression on your face as you tried to figure out an effective way to free him (an expression he found almost painfully attractive) and the very obvious view of your ass just a few centimeters from where he was sitting.
He looked at it with far too much attention, so absorbed that he ignored everything else around him. He barely registered the light brush of your fingers against his wrist, and your muttered curses had already faded into a distant echo in his mind.
Then he felt a sharp pinch at the tip of one of his ears, obviously your doing.
“I’m talking to you, idiot. Are these things actually useful or do they only pick up whatever the hell you feel like hearing?” Luckily for him you weren’t furious about the way he had been admiring your backside. “Do you have anything small and sharp with you?”
“No. If I did, I wouldn’t need someone else helping me, genius.” He rubbed the sore spot on his ear with his free hand, glaring. “Aren’t you aware they’re sensitive?”
You stepped back a few paces and leaned in to inspect the handcuffs more carefully, resting your hand under your chin as you tried to think of a way to get him out.
“I’d really like to know how she managed to cuff you without giving you a chance to defend yourself,” you said, lifting your gaze toward him and waiting for an explanation.
“Can we move this conversation to after I’m actually free? I’ve got work to do,” he pointed at the headset on your head, reminding you that you were still connected with the rest of the team, though by now you were so focused on Sonar’s ridiculous situation that Robert and the others had become nothing more than background noise.
“Oh, now you suddenly care about work.” You planted your hands on your hips and glared at him, your irritation sharpening your voice.
He only cared because he was at risk of getting fired. All that easy money he made without ever lifting a finger, all the privileges.
“You’ve had literal weeks to do something useful. If you had, you wouldn’t be one of the worst-ranked members of the entire list. But no, you’re a complete idiot, and the only reason you care now is because something is finally at stake.”
The hybrid shrugged. “I’ll take that as a motivational speech. They say aggressive ones are the most effective.” He tried moving his trapped wrist again, a very obvious hint for you to hurry. “If I get fired, Mal is going to be devastated…”
“I genuinely do not care,” you narrowed your eyes, your tone so sharp it could have cut steel, but Sonar barely seemed bothered, or at least he pretended not to be.
“I might go back to eating people like I used to. At least here Blonde Blazer keeps me under control.” He closed his eyes and relaxed even more against the metal rack, fully aware that that particular comment would make you take the situation seriously. “I don’t think you want innocent civilians dying because of you, but there’s nothing I can do about it, it’s just my nature…”
You huffed and looked away. “You’re free, you absolute idiot…”
Sonar blinked in confusion and turned to look at his wrist, still cuffed to the metal bar. He tried pulling again, but nothing budged. “Is this a joke?”
“Pull harder,” you ordered, your voice sharp and commanding like a military general… one of the worst kind, at that.
You watched him obey exactly as you’d told him.
“Come on, you’re almost there.” His wrist grew paler every time the metal dug into it. “Just a little more…”
“It doesn’t seem like it’s working,” he muttered irritably. Still, you didn’t look like you were messing with him. Maybe you had an actual plan? Something even he wouldn’t expect? How were you going to surprise him this time? He was almost excited to find out…
The moment you used your powers to open the latch on the cuffs, freeing his wrist entirely, he fell right off the bench from the sheer force he’d been using. His head landed on the padded bench beside him, his legs still half draped over the little one he’d been sitting on. He stared up at you, full of questions.
“Being the daughter of one of the most notorious assassins in LA should at least help your tiny, malfunctioning brain realize that maybe, just maybe, I was taught how to open handcuffs in emergency situations.” The cuffs floated into your hand as you spun them between your fingers, while Sonar watched you with a mix of awe and humiliation.
“And I would really appreciate not being stared at like some kind of cheap object.” The cuffs shot forward and smacked him right in the furry forehead.
“Loud and clear,” he said, giving you a thumbs-up before hauling himself upright again. He dusted off his clothes, straightened his red tie, fixed the shoulders of his blue jacket, and finally stepped toward you. “Still, thank you.”
You rolled your eyes and followed as he headed toward the exit, deciding to at least walk him up to the conference room on the first floor before heading back to Robert. “You do know the ranking isn’t based on who suddenly becomes polite to their superiors, right?”
“I’m well aware, I always have been. But someone made me lose precious time, so now I have to make up for it… and charm points are all I’ve got left,” he said so quickly you could barely follow.
“Are you trying to buy me?” you asked, resting a hand on your chest while studying his profile as he stared ahead. “I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but if I could, the Z-Team would drop to zero members and the prisons would get eight new inmates. I really hope you’re smart enough to understand what that means.”
“You only hate us because you know you’re exactly like us.” Sonar let the words slip out without hesitation, too honest for his own good, and they hit deeper than you wanted to admit. His pale eyes found you again. “Surprised you’re not the only one who can read people?”
You stopped in the hallway, frozen for a moment, but he kept walking, determined to reach the conference room and finally get assigned the missions Robert had waiting for him.
You immediately quickened your pace to catch up. “I am nothing like you,” you hissed once you were beside him again. “Get that through your head.”
“You can think whatever you want,” Sonar muttered with a careless shrug as he rested his hand on the conference room door handle. Through the glass you could already see the silhouettes of a few other Z-Team members. “But since you’ve been arrested, you’ve still got a criminal past.”
“That’s not how it works!” You clenched your hands into fists, watching him slip inside and completely ignore your protests. You followed him with your eyes as he approached Malevola and Prism, starting a conversation you couldn’t hear due to the soundproof walls.
His words had stung more than you wanted to admit. When you’d been arrested it had all happened so quickly, you were practically released on the spot thanks to Mandy and her family stepping in to pull you out of that mess.
So what the hell did he know? Why did you even care?
“I see you managed to free Sonar,” Robert’s voice crackled through your headset, pulling you back to reality. You touched the side of your headphones and turned on your heel, heading straight for the office. “The situation here is pretty critical.”
“What’s happening?” you asked, your exhausted tone impossible for Robert to miss. “What did they do now?”
“They’re sabotaging each other just to avoid ending up last, which means they’re tampering with the missions too,” he explained briefly, pausing for a moment before adding, “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I hate them, Robert,” you snapped, your irritation boiling over. You felt like screaming or punching something: either would have helped. “I don’t want to see them ever again, I swear. I can’t stand them.”
“Would you mind explaining… why?” Robert leaned back in his chair, staring at the surface of his desk.
You finally reached him and placed a hand on his shoulder, making him jolt in surprise. His eyes flicked toward you, concern written all over his face. “Most of them knew my father. They knew his name, what he did… they know I exist.” You pulled your headset off and walked back to your station, disappearing behind the divider.
Robert ended the connection with the Z-Team and stood from his chair, looking past the partition the same way you often did. “And why should that change anything for you?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” you murmured with a bitter smile twisting your lips. “I didn’t follow in his footsteps, which means I’m a nobody in the criminal world… worse, I’m a traitor for walking away from it.”
Robert’s fingers tightened against the divider as he frowned, anger sparking in his expression. “Hey,” he called softly, and you turned toward him, your gaze heavy. “You’re an amazing person. Your father is probably a piece of shit… Shifter? That was his name, right?”
You closed your eyes with a long sigh. “I know he’s a piece of shit, Robert. You don’t have to tell me. I’ve always known…” You leaned your elbow on your cluttered desk and pressed your hand to your forehead. “The problem is that the piece of shit is part of my family, and he keeps haunting me even when he’s not around.”
He didn’t respond, even though it was obvious he wanted to. He wanted to make you feel better somehow, but he didn’t know the full story and had no intention of asking for something so personal on his second day of work.
You were coworkers, maybe friends, but the line between the two felt incredibly thin.
That was where the conversation ended, for now. But Robert wasn’t planning to let the topic drop. He needed a functional team, and even if you weren’t directly part of it, you still had to monitor both him and the Z-Team. And beyond that, he didn’t want you to spiral: he’d noticed how talking about your father could shift your mood instantly.
It was the one subject that cut through you.
You both returned to work, headsets activated, ready to guide those idiots through the rest of their shift and hoping they wouldn’t create more disasters.
“Holy shit,” Flambae swore, followed by his trademark grumbling. “I swear that little bastard-” From his GPS it looked like he’d been trapped inside a water tank.
How Punch Up had managed to shove him in there would remain a mystery…
“You’ve got fire powers, don’t you? Burn the tank. It can’t be that hard,” you suggested, already annoyed. “Robert told me you’ve all been sabotaging each other, can you act like adults? You’re thirty, not fifteen.”
“You’re unbelievably smart,” the man growled, dripping sarcasm just as heavily as the water dripping from him. “If I wasn’t drenched from head to toe I’d have done it already. But, guess what? I am drenched from head to toe.”
“You’re at the top of the rankings, man,” Punch Up chimed in as he made his way toward the mission site. Considering the task ahead, you knew he wouldn’t stand a chance alone, which was exactly why Robert paired him with Flambae. “Try giving us a bit of an advantage too.”
“I’m not here for charity,” Flambae snapped. He was definitely heating up… metaphorically, since he literally couldn’t. “Bob Bob?”
“You’re giving Robert nicknames now?” you laughed under your breath, amused by the ridiculous choice. “Is that supposed to be a flirting strategy?”
“Definitely not my type,” Flambae cut in immediately. “And he’s losing points by the second if he doesn’t get me out of here.”
“Give me a minute,” Robert answered, fully focused. He was already working to get Flambae out of trouble, he could’ve easily told him to deal with it alone, but here he was instead. “I’m trying to unlock the exit…”
“What exactly are you supposed to be?” Prism asked over the call, probably sitting in one of the chairs in the conference room while she listened in on the conversation. “You command us, you hack everything in sight… you worked for the government before all of this, didn’t you?”
You could hear the rapid clicking of Robert’s keyboard, every key pressed with confident precision. “Something like that,” he answered, and his vague reply only intrigued you more, because the truth was you had no idea who Robert really used to be before you found this job.
Blazer had mentioned his skills, skills you had seen in action yourself… did he study computer engineering maybe?
“Finally, fuck,” Flambae grumbled with satisfaction as he climbed out of the water tank once the hatch opened. From the GPS you could see he was already on his way back to SDN headquarters.
“I’d like to remind you that sabotaging each other won’t get any of you anywhere,” Robert cut in, his voice flat as always.
Punch Up was, strangely enough, completing the mission without too many complications, which was something you definitely hadn’t expected… until, well, the number of enemies suddenly doubled, and there was no way he’d manage on his own.
“Don’t worry, I got it,” the small man reassured everyone as he tried to hold back all the robbers on his own, but there was a reason the mission required more than one person.
“You’re going to lose them like this,” you muttered, disappointed, because letting the thieves get away with the stolen money was simply unacceptable.
“Not if I’m here,” Invisigal’s bright voice chimed through the call.
You accessed the few functioning cameras still active inside the bank just in time to see Punch Up trading blows with several of the robbers, while the rest were already sprinting away with the cash.
Suddenly an invisible force halted them mid-run, and the girl swooped in to reclaim the briefcases full of cash. She grabbed her inhaler, took a few shaky breaths after the effort, and asked, “How many points is this worth?”
“I’d say zero, since you acted without orders. Again,” Robert scolded, disappointment dripping from every word. Invisigal’s smile vanished instantly. “What exactly is unclear about the fact that you’re supposed to follow my instructions?”
As soon as Punch Up stopped pummeling the remaining thieves and noticed Invisigal holding the recovered money, he marched toward her, fists clenched, his Irish accent thicker than usual. “This mission was mine. You had no business interfering.”
“You weren’t doing so great, little one, you were two seconds away from letting them run off with the money,” she teased, raising the briefcases as if offering them to him. The small man reached for them, arms stretched upward, but she slowly lifted her hands even higher, keeping them out of his reach. “You should really leave the difficult work to the adults.”
He stroked his perfectly groomed mustache and glared at her sideways. “You-”
A red portal suddenly ripped open beside them. With a sharp movement, Malevola snatched both briefcases and vanished into another portal. “How many points if I return the money and have already handed the men over to the police?” she asked, her voice echoing through the comms.
Punch Up and Invisigal looked around in shock: the thieves were gone.
Robert pulled his headset off, their voices loud enough that he could hear them perfectly even without wearing it. “This isn’t working. We can’t keep going like this.”
“Sadly, you’ll have to wait until the end of the shift to tell them,” you sighed, matching his defeated tone. The amount of work required to get this team to function properly was beyond…
After two hours at the computer trying to manage that group of disasters, Robert had ordered them to meet him in the conference room during their break, which of course triggered a chorus of complaints from every single one of them, all hoping to rest or do anything other than listen to him.
Naturally, you had decided to go with him… not that you really had a choice since Blazer would have insisted anyway.
You held little Beef in your arms, and as always the tiny dog managed to make you smile, but the moment you stepped into the conference room you forced yourself back into seriousness: you didn’t want to give the impression that this meeting was going to be pleasant, because it absolutely wasn’t. Almost all the team members were present, except Golem, Invisigal, and Malevola.
“I admire that you’re determined to try with them, but trust me, you’d be better off letting it go…” you whispered to Robert, while the others continued chatting as if neither of you existed. You stroked the pup’s soft head as you added, “Today they showed their usual immaturity. The one who ranks last is going to be cut from the team, it’s already been decided…”
“I intend to make sure they leave the team after actually putting in some effort, after giving their best. I’m not throwing them out without-” He didn’t get to finish.
The conference room door burst open, slammed inward by Golem’s excessive strength and sent Robert flying into a pile of stacked chairs in the corner. If it hadn’t been for your powers cushioning his fall, he would have been seriously hurt.
You turned toward the massive creature, your expression saying everything. “Watch where you’re going.”
Golem stared back with glowing yellow eyes, his rocky face twisting into a look of disdain the moment he saw you, but he kept quiet and lumbered to the far end of the table, sitting on the floor.
“You okay?” you asked as your attention shifted back to Robert, who was slowly pushing himself to his feet.
“Yeah, I’ve taken worse hits,” he said, adjusting his uniform before moving to stand beside you. He gave you a small, grateful smile. “But thanks for softening the landing.”
Your expression softened too, and you answered with a simple nod.
“Woah.” Sonar’s voice drew both your attention. He was standing beside Punch Up and Coupé with his arms crossed, his suit far more presentable than it had been a few hours earlier. “I see you don’t have issues with other furballs. That dog doesn’t have fleas, right?” He still hadn’t gotten over what you’d told him back in the gym.
You shot him an offended look and scratched Beef with extra enthusiasm, almost exaggerating the gesture. “Dogs are definitely cleaner than bats.”
“Girl, don’t be racist,” Prism chimed in after catching that part of the conversation. You threw her a quick glance but chose to stay silent.
A red portal opened at the far end of the room. The demon woman stepped through as if nothing were out of the ordinary, her enormous sword resting on her shoulder the way it always did.
Sonar gave her a quick look, and for a moment the two of them seemed to exchange an entire conversation without saying a single word. The bat-man looked uncertain, Malevola understood why almost immediately and turned her eyes toward you, though this time there was no disdain in them.
“I’d say we can begin the meeting even if Invisigal isn’t here yet…” Robert approached the table and set his hands on its surface while the rest of the team took their seats, seven pairs of eyes fixed on him.
One of the chairs slid slightly, most likely because Invisigal had slipped in while invisible. A second later, her figure shimmered into view, and when her eyes landed on you she didn’t look even remotely happy to see you.
“I’m always where you are Robert,” she corrected him, placing both hands on the table as she glanced around impatiently. “Now, I’d rather not waste precious minutes of my break, so I suggest you pick up the pace,” she said, extending a hand to indicate the rest of the team, who were clearly uninterested in the entire situation. “Everyone else definitely has better things to do.”
“In that case I won’t waste any more time.” Robert cleared his throat before launching into a long motivational speech.
He talked about the purpose of the Phoenix Program and the Z-Team, explained that each of them had enormous potential, and told them that if they worked with him, they would finally be able to use that potential in the right way. Surprisingly, the entire Z-Team actually listened, and the further Robert went, the more determined they seemed to become.
You found it absurd how an ordinary man, after two previous dispatchers had already tried and failed, had managed to get so much out of them in such little time. The number of missions completed successfully had even gone up since his arrival, but you refused to let that fool you: none of this changed who they truly were.
“Robert, if I may give a personal opinion,” Coupé raised a hand, strangely polite, her voice low and rough as always. “We would all be far more effective if someone didn’t keep reminding us of our pasts.” Her eyes settled on you, and the others followed, including Robert, who immediately understood who she meant.
“It’s not like I enjoy dealing with you,” you shot back, the words coming out sharper than you intended but perfectly reflecting how provoked you felt. “And besides, you’re the first ones bragging about your criminal exploits, so maybe working on that would be a good start.”
Coupé made a face, clearly not expecting such a direct reply, but that didn’t stop her from throwing another jab… this one hitting much more personal ground.
“Maybe if you worked on your daddy issues, you’d see us differently. That would be a good start.”
Your fingers tensed instantly. Beef noticed and lifted his tiny head with a confused expression before licking your hand in an attempt, and failed unfortunately, to pull you back from the edge. Robert sensed the sharp shift in the atmosphere and tried to calm things before they escalated.
“You created all your problems yourself,” Coupé continued, pointing a finger at you, her words as sharp as her knives. “If you’d followed in your father’s footsteps, you wouldn’t have them. You would have made something out of yourself with him as your mentor… but look where you ended up.”
“Coop, maybe you’re going a little too far,” Punch Up murmured, noticing how differently the others were reacting.
Some seemed to agree with her, nodding, especially Flambae… while others looked uncomfortable, Sonar in particular, who kept exchanging uneasy glances with the friend sitting across from him.
“I knew her father, I even told you about him,” Coupé said, placing her hands on the table and curling them into fists. “A hitman I had the chance to work with, someone who knew exactly what he was doing. He had so much hope for his daughter, and she turned out to be a disappointment…”
You crouched down to set Beef on the floor, and when you straightened again, your expression was pure disgust. “You don’t know a single fucking thing about me, about my life, and especially not about him.” One of her knives lifted into the air, floating toward her throat. “But if you want, I can give you a taste of what he spent years teaching me… you want that?”
Robert placed a firm hand on your arm. “Let’s stay calm.” His gaze swept across the room. “All of us.”
Slowly, very slowly, you released your hold on the weapon until it dropped onto the wooden surface with a metallic clang. Coupé immediately reached out and slid it back among her other blades.
“Maybe you went a little too far, don’t you think?” Malevola leaned forward to look her teammate in the eye, though Coupé kept her expression perfectly neutral, entirely convinced she was right to bring up things that weren’t hers to touch.
“I’m not the only one who thinks so,” she replied, tilting her head toward Flambae before turning her attention to Prism, who simply nodded without taking her eyes off Malevola seated on her right.
“She wrecked my fucking car,” Flambae added, draping an elbow over the back of his chair. “Her powers, the way she uses them, are a clear reflection of what her father taught her, and she’s using that against us. She’s dangerous.”
Even though he had just complimented your skills, the whole thing made your stomach turn: you hated your powers for exactly that reason.
“You deserved it, asshole,” you snapped, barely finishing the sentence when Prism cut in.
“We work so damn hard without even getting the slightest recognition, we get treated like criminals all over again even though we spend hours of our time running around the city fixing problems just like the superheroes on her fucking team,” she said, sweeping her gaze across every one of her teammates before locking eyes with you again. “What do they have that we don’t? The goal is the same, so where are my acknowledgements?”
“It’s destabilizing, it lowers my motivation,” Golem rumbled, his deep voice vibrating through the floor as he sat directly across from you.
“I don’t know, guys, maybe just do better…?” Sonar said unexpectedly, stepping in to defend you. The Z-Team members who had been attacking you looked anything but pleased, especially Prism who seemed to take it almost as a personal offense.
“You should be the last one talking, you pathetic simp. You’re at the bottom of the rankings, why don’t you start putting in effort?” she sneered, but the half-bat man didn’t even look at her, dismissing the insult with a mature calmness she absolutely didn’t deserve.
“Freaking pervert,” she hissed.
“I’d also like to add that she's a fucking snitch,” Invisigal interjected for the first time, deciding this was the perfect moment to share her thought. “She went against me just because I didn't listen to Robert on Friday and punched him for obvious reasons, then this morning she ran to her bestie to talk about it since our superior decided to cover for me and didn't talk about it.”
You stepped toward her chair. “How about you stop sneaking into places you shouldn’t be and minding other people’s business, you goddamn spy wannabe?” Your hand pressed against the table in front of her, your body angled right between her and Robert. “Conversations between me and Blonde Blazer are supposed to stay in her office, preferably between me and her.”
“Exactly like the conversations between me and Robert,” she shot back, clearly unfazed. “Why are you getting involved in things that don’t concern you?”
“Because it’s my job, direct orders…” you leaned in so you could stare straight into her eyes, your voice low and unwavering. “And unlike you, I’m actually good at my job, I know how to follow instructions, I know how to handle my team, and I don’t have problems with any of them… mostly because the superheroes I manage aren’t incompetent like you.”
“Girl, fuck you,” Prism spat while you stepped away from Invisigal.
You didn’t break eye contact with the girl until she vanished into thin air, then she stood up and stormed out of the meeting room.
Coupè smirked at the irritation plainly written on your face. “You really are different from how your father used to describe you.”
“Shut up,” you ordered, but she ignored you completely, turning instead toward Flambae, Golem, and Prism as if she was about to reveal something else about you.
“He thought she was sharp, you know? She followed him everywhere during her teenage years, he did everything he could to raise her properly,” she explained casually, as if you weren’t standing right there.
You glanced toward Robert, watching him rub his forehead, utterly exhausted by the situation. “I need some air,” you muttered, and he lifted his gaze to meet yours.
The tension in the room was suffocating, only growing heavier as the four criminals burst out laughing the moment personal details about your childhood came spilling out.
Punch Up, along with Malevola and Sonar, tried to calm things down, and Robert joined them as soon as you walked out the door.
Your cheeks were burning, whether with anger or embarrassment, you couldn’t tell, maybe both. You headed down the stairs toward the underground floors, desperate to let everything out, to hit something until your knuckles ached.
You were planning to make your way to the gym and take it all out on your usual punching bag, but the faint jingle of a dog tag made you stop midway down the steps. When you turned, you saw Beef awkwardly waddling down after you.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, knowing he couldn’t understand your words, though he could clearly pick up your tone. He knew you were upset, he knew you needed to breathe and settle your nerves.
In that moment, you changed your mind, opting instead to head out into the small garden inside the facility and spend some time with the little dog. And honestly, some time with Beef would probably calm you down anyway, the so-called pet therapy everyone talked about.
Toby had always been a big soft bear of a dog, huge and fluffy and impossibly gentle… you still remembered the day your father brought him home, when he was only a tiny pup and you were just 6 years old.
Your dream had finally come true: on Christmas morning your parents had decided to grant your wish and get you a puppy. Back then you had no idea you possessed powers, no clue what your father really did for a living.
Everything felt perfect, one of the last moments when your family still resembled something normal.
Your neighbor, Mandy, had been your best friend, and she hadn’t gained her powers yet either because she still hadn’t found that strange amulet. When you first showed her Toby, the two of you spent the entire day playing with him, bundled up in heavy coats, woolen hats, and scarves. Snow was rare in Los Angeles, but that year you’d been lucky and the holidays had felt magical in a way you would never forget.
Then New Year’s came… and with it, your powers. A surprise for everyone except your father. He had hoped you’d inherit them so that one day you could join him, follow in his footsteps, rise to his level as a criminal.
You knew killing was wrong, but you had been too young to fully understand what he was actually doing every time he brought you along on his missions.
The first rule had always been to watch but never touch. He would take you along and show you how to handle the dirty work, yet you were never meant to interfere with anything he did. His powers were exactly like yours: telekinesis, the ability to move objects at will without ever laying a hand on them.
You could do it too, though only with much more effort, and back then you were limited to objects small enough not to strain your mind. Your father insisted that was normal, claiming that he too had struggled with heavier things at your age. It was all a matter of focus, he kept saying.
Your father worked as a hitman, one of the most notorious in the criminal underworld, especially in Los Angeles and among the gangs that ruled over Torrance. The Red Ring was a prime example.
He never made friends, only temporary allies, particularly when dealing with other hired killers, because in the end anyone desperate for money would stab anyone else in the back if given the order.
He was never honest with the people he interacted with: after accompanying him on his outings enough times, you had begun to notice the way he shifted details from person to person, tailoring his story to fit whoever was in front of him, probably to keep his identity and intentions wrapped in mystery.
You never spoke during these encounters, you simply observed, completely lost and unable to understand the conversations between those strangers: dangerous figures, some crude and threatening, others wealthy and polished, wealthier even than your own family… and your family owned a villa on the hills, so it wasn’t as if you had ever lived poorly.
All thanks to your father’s relentless, meticulous work, the constant flow of money his jobs provided. He was paid so well that he never needed a second job. Whether the task was eliminating a single target, a small group, or an entire wing of a gang, the result was always more than satisfactory for whatever temporary superior had hired him.
You were meant to become like him.
Or rather… you were supposed to become like him.
“I can’t do it.” The disappointment weighed on your voice as you stared at the car in front of you. Lifting it felt impossible, even though your father made it look so effortless. “It’s too heavy… it feels like I’m physically trying to pick it up, but…” You were weak, of course you were, a twelve-year-old girl could never lift a car with her bare hands… just like any human being couldn’t.
“You need to focus harder,” your father said. He stood beside you with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the vehicle: not on you, but on your objective, your task, your failure.
He had changed the moment he realized you had powers, as if determined to mold a daughter worthy of his name and reputation, someone who could instill fear in every hitman across the region, perhaps even the entire country.
“It isn’t that hard,” he muttered as he extended a hand, and the car rose effortlessly as though it weighed nothing. When he closed his fist, the metal twisted in on itself until it collapsed into a misshapen cube leaking gasoline.
“I’ll never be able to do that…” you whispered, sinking onto the curb, defeated. “I’m not as strong as you, maybe I should just give up…” You wanted it to sound like a personal disappointment, but after everything you had witnessed, you desperately wanted a way out.
You couldn’t tell anyone when you needed to talk, not your father, and certainly not Mandy, even though she might have understood your situation.
“You can’t.”
He turned toward you and crouched beside you, his eyes locking onto yours. “These powers are a gift, and I want you to learn how to use them to their fullest, to carve a place for yourself in the world, a stable place where you can stand on your own.”
“But I don’t understand… why do we have to do these things? Why can’t you help people instead of hurting them?” You had carried these doubts for years and never found the courage to say them aloud. “Killing is wrong…”
Despite everything you had been exposed to, your moral compass had never bent.
He shook his head. “It’s the simplest way to make use of our powers.” His hands, massive compared to your small shoulders, settled heavily on you. “Think about it: in a world full of superheroes, you’d never have a chance to shine. The criminal world already worships us thanks to my work… I just want to give you an opportunity.”
Lies layered over more lies, the same way he spoke to his own kind. And at first, you made the mistake of believing him.
He taught you fundamental techniques used by assassins. How to free yourself if captured, how your powers could dismantle the mechanisms of handcuffs or unravel the knots of a rope with nothing but a thought.
He taught you how to kill silently, how to shatter bones from the inside without lifting a finger, a method he frequently used on single targets. Depending on which bone he chose, he could inflict a slow, agonizing death or a swift, painless one, all according to whatever his current employer demanded.
One afternoon, his hand rested on your shoulder while Toby played in the garden, still energetic despite his old age. “Show me you learned something,” he said.
You had trained mostly on small animals like lizards or chickens he bought specifically for these exercises, chickens you would later eat for lunch or dinner.
Never pets.
Never a dog.
And you refused to ever harm Toby: you loved him.
Tears filled your eyes at the mere thought of hurting him… no, worse, killing him. You looked up at your father. “I don’t want to…” you murmured, wiping your cheeks before turning to see the giant dog bounding toward you, tail wagging, blissfully unaware of the conversation.
“I love Toby…” you whispered, placing a trembling hand on his soft head.
Your father’s brows furrowed in displeasure. “You can’t let your emotions get in the way,” he reminded you, a fundamental rule for hitmen like him, the reason he never formed attachments, the reason he lied so easily. “If your superior orders you to do it,” he said, nodding toward the dog, “then you do it, without complaint.”
You shut your eyes, refusing to watch your father kill your dog, refusing even to imagine Toby suffering, and when you didn’t hear anything happening you cautiously opened one eye to check.
Toby was perfectly fine.
Your father was petting him with a blank, unreadable stare before heading inside the house with the dog loyally trotting after him.
Beef’s barking pulled you back to reality, forcing you to bury those uncomfortable memories somewhere deep in your mind where they couldn’t reach you.
You were sitting on one of the benches in the small green courtyard and, not seeing the little dog anywhere, you looked around until you spotted the tiny black-and-white ball of fur circling poor Waterboy, who was trying to clean the outside of the windows.
He looked… scared, not of the dog itself but of not knowing what the dog might suddenly decide to do.
“Beef!” You approached the two of them, calling the pup, who immediately turned toward you and bolted in your direction with a happy bark, his tiny tail wagging wildly. “Sorry, Waterboy, he was with me, I should’ve kept a closer eye on him.”
The young cleaner offered a shy smile. “D-don’t worry about the d-dog… Beef, right?”
You nodded.
“I l-love animals, they d-don’t bother me. I have a b-bunch of cats at h-home… well, at my g-grandma’s place.”
“Ooh, cats are adorable,” you said, crossing your arms with an amused smile. He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, looking anywhere but at you. “Also, the dog isn’t mine, he’s Robert’s. For some reason he decided to follow me all the way out here.” You crouched down to pet Beef, and Waterboy looked at you from above, literally above since he was already tall and this angle exaggerated it even more.
“H-he must like you then,” he said happily, before panicking and correcting himself immediately. “I m-mean Beef, the dog, not Robert… th-that came out wrong, s-sorry-” His cheeks flushed a bright red and you let out a small laugh.
“I knew what you meant,” you replied, continuing to stroke Beef. Waterboy looked like he wanted to pet him too, but remembering his own powers he probably assumed the dog wouldn’t appreciate being drenched.
“Why don’t you pet him? He doesn’t bite,” you added as you stood up, lifting Beef into your arms.
“N-no, I’d risk m-making him-” But with you stepping closer he couldn’t exactly refuse, even though he was already convinced Beef would hate it and maybe even bite him for bothering him.
He removed his glove, shut his eyes nervously and gently placed his hand on Beef’s head, scratching behind his ears in an attempt to make him enjoy it… and surprisingly, Beef seemed to appreciate it a lot.
When Waterboy glanced at you again he suddenly realized the dog’s fur was completely dry. He stared at his own hand in fear and disbelief. “H-how?” His blue eyes met yours, as if he already suspected you were responsible.
“Water droplets don’t weigh much,” you explained softly, adjusting the little dog in your arms.
He found you incredibly gentle in that moment. After how you had acted around him on Friday, this version of you felt entirely new.
“I moved them across your arm and then made a sort of invisible barrier to keep the others from spilling out of your hand. I hope it doesn’t feel too… intrusive. Was it intrusive? I just thought it might help since you didn’t want to risk soaking his fur.”
Waterboy nodded, not really focused on the meaning of your words anymore. He hadn’t truly looked at you before, not like this, but you were undeniably pretty… a very pretty woman, and the way you treated him (specifically him) made you even more attractive in his eyes.
He had seen you furious, had watched you lose your patience, and now he was seeing this side of you: kind, polite, almost reassuring. For the first time he didn’t feel judged for who he was or for the powers he couldn’t control.
“Oh, you found it rude? Sorry,” you said, misreading his nod entirely and instantly growing embarrassed. “I thought it would help-”
“N-no! It’s f-fine, really f-fine!” he said, raising a hand quickly. A strand of wet red hair slid closer to his aqua-blue goggles. “Thank you.” He didn’t stutter that time, an achievement for him.
Your gaze drifted to the cleaning cart parked near the ground-floor windows. He was clearly busy and you figured you should probably leave before he ended up spending more time on the job than necessary. You didn’t want to be the reason he’d have to stay late.
“Do you want a hand with the windows?” you asked, tilting your head toward the cart. Waterboy turned in surprise at your offer. “It’s faster if we do it together.”
“N-no! It’s m-my j-job, you h-have other th-things to d-do!” he protested, stepping back as you walked toward the cart to grab one of the squeegees. You set Beef down and approached one of the windows. “I-I’m supposed t-to do it!”
“I don’t really have anything else to do anyway,” you shrugged as he moved closer, water dripping from him more than usual, his hands trembling slightly around his own cleaning tool. “Would you mind…?” you asked, gesturing toward the glass.
“B-back… s-step b-back,” he insisted, motioning for you to move away, and kept doing it until you reached what he considered a safe distance. Then he shut his mouth tight, his cheeks puffing out before he sprayed a sharp jet of water directly onto the window.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand to clear the droplets running down his chin, then glanced at you. “I-it’s weird… I-I know.”
You couldn’t deny it… it was weird.
But you stepped closer to the glass anyway and started cleaning it with slow, careful movements, pulling the squeegee from top to bottom. “You’re really full of surprises,” you said with a smile, glancing at him. “I seriously didn’t expect that.” A small laugh slipped out before you returned your focus to the window.
Waterboy smiled, genuinely pleased by your compliment. “M-many people h-here at the SDN look at m-me like I’m doing something wro-wrong when I d-do this…” He sprayed the window beside yours and started cleaning it the exact same way you were. “W-why don’t you use y-your powers?”
You shrugged. “It’s more fun this way. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair.” You shot him a glance, and he caught it out of the corner of his eye. You noticed his cheeks turning red, and he froze mid-motion.
“I-it doesn’t… it doesn’t h-have to be fa-fair,” he swallowed nervously and resumed cleaning, albeit more hesitantly, the squeegee screeching against the still-dry glass. “S-sorry.”
“If I used my powers, it would be done in a second. I don’t want that,” you explained calmly, continuing your work. From the corner of your eye, you spotted some of your colleagues inside and gave them a small wave, they looked confused to see you doing this task.
“Y-you… want to spend time… w-with me??” he asked, genuinely shocked. He hadn’t expected it and was far too happy, more water droplets forming along his body as he tried not to let you notice. “C-cool…” he let out a nervous little laugh before trying to regain his composure. “B-but… y-your work? You’d be wasting pr-precious time out here… w-with m-me…”
You kept working. “Robert can manage the Z-Team on his own for the rest of the day. He’s capable, and he’ll figure something out… I just hope Blazer doesn’t come whining to me about this decision afterward.” You stepped back to inspect the flawless streaks you’d left on the glass, though you weren’t quite finished yet.
“Waterboy?” You gestured toward him, and he quickly sprayed more water on the window so you could continue. “I don’t want to deal with the Z-Team anymore, not today and not in the future… especially not today.”
“W-what happened?” the young man asked nervously, unsure if he should even ask.
“They’re assholes, every single one of them. Beyond being terrible at their jobs, they insult and hit their superiors,” you shook your head in disbelief. “No other team here at the SDN behaves this horribly, this rudely.”
“I-I see…” Waterboy lowered his gaze and continued cleaning the window methodically, noticeably slower than you, who were nearly finished. “A-and your team?”
You sighed. “Phenomaman can’t work.” You missed him, missed your team, missed working alongside them. “He’s indisposed… which is just a nicer way of saying that neither I nor Blazer have the slightest clue where he’s flown off to.”
The young cleaner whipped around, startled. “P-Phenomamaman… no, Pheno… Phenomaman! H-he’s… disappeared? How did…?”
You finished your window and moved on to the one on your left. “I can’t go into details, but yes, he flew away… personal reasons, needed a break.” After Waterboy sprayed the glass, you resumed speaking casually. “Without Phenomaman, my team is at a bit of a disadvantage. They weren’t operational today. Meanwhile, the Z-Team had all those free missions to improve, considering that one of them would be removed from the team, and they still failed miserably.”
“O-one member will be re-removed? Why?” he asked, unaware of the choices you and Blazer had made last Friday. “T-the purpose… it doesn’t have a purpose, the Z-Z-Team? Like… rehabilitation?”
“Technically, yes, that’s the idea, but they need to start taking it seriously.” You furrowed your brows, irritated at the thought of wasting time on them. Every attempt to make them better had turned into something pointless. “They can’t keep doing whatever they want. Right now, Invisigal is still at the bottom of the rankings. We’ll see what she does by the end of her shift… otherwise, she’ll be removed and sent to prison, as is only right.”
Waterboy just stared at you quietly. He could see how determined you were, how clear your mind was, unlike him. You didn’t hesitate, and you weren’t nervous at all. He was starting to admire you, to want to use you as an example. Maybe your methods were extreme, but the way you justified your choices showed exactly what you wanted… and he could tell you knew what you wanted. For the first time, he thought he understood why you had reason to be frustrated.
Last Friday, being forced to interact with you while Sonar was around had left him feeling… inadequate. He realized you probably felt the same way when a Z-Team member approached you: rude comments about people’s flaws, constant provocation… it was no wonder you hated them.
How could he blame you?
Once all the ground-floor windows were clean, Waterboy wheeled his cart over and stowed the squeegee in one of the small compartments, nudging it toward you so you could do the same.
You raised an eyebrow in confusion. “You’re not cleaning the upper floors' windows?”
Waterboy blushed and gave a small, sheepish smile. “I-I can’t… from here. I’ll go u-upstairs to clean the inside of the win-windows.” His gaze lingered on the tool in your hands before shifting to the proper compartment on the cart, subtly suggesting you put it there.
You looked up at the upper-floor windows, squinting as you considered the problem. “The outside panes need cleaning too,” you said, and he froze, suddenly mortified.
“O-Oh, right… ri-right… uh…” He glanced nervously at the windows, clearly intimidated by the idea that you might come up with a solution to the situation. Neither of you could fly and you didn’t have a rope to keep him safe. “B-but…”
“Got it!” Your eyes lit up with excitement as the idea hit you. You tossed your squeegee to Waterboy, who barely managed to catch it in midair. “Do you happen to get vertigo?” you asked, hands on your hips, a teasing glint in your eyes.
“N-not really… uh, it d-depends!” No sooner had he finished speaking than he started lifting off the ground against his will, confusion written all over his face as he tried to make sense of what was happening. “I-I’m… I’m flying?!” he stammered, caught between fear and exhilaration.
With your telekinesis, you carefully guided him toward the first window, gritting your teeth as you focused on keeping him steady. At his height, he was surprisingly heavy.
“Please don’t squirm so much, Waterboy. You’re making this a little… more complicated,” you warned, trying to keep your tone upbeat. Already, the muscles in your arms and back were starting to ache.
“I-I’m goi-going to stay still!” he reassured you, stabilizing himself as he sprayed water on the window and began cleaning as quickly as he could. The idea thrilled him, though he didn’t deny the fear of falling from such a height.
“You’re doing amazing, Waterboy!” you encouraged, tightening your focus to help him move from window to window with ease. Your breath grew heavier, and sweat began to bead on your forehead from the exertion, but you ignored it. You had to push past the limits you knew all too well.
When all the windows were finally done, the boy turned to you, panting slightly, and gave you a thumbs-up with a smile. You returned the gesture and gently lowered him, making sure he didn’t fall. Once your powers were released, you let out a long, relieved sigh as your muscles loosened, as if a weight had been lifted from you.
You stretched your back, and the boy looked at you, a mix of concern and confusion in his expression. “A-are you okay?” he asked, extending a hand toward your shoulder but stopping just short, unsure if you wanted to be touched. “Y-you seem… tired.”
“Oh,” you said, stretching your arms with a satisfying pop of joints and tendons. “This?” You gestured to yourself, a little worn out from the effort. “It’s normal, don’t worry. A downside of my powers.” You smiled and raised a hand, but Waterboy didn’t seem entirely convinced. “My powers are… limited. It’s a DNA thing, I was born this way, unfortunately. Using my powers takes a significant physical effort, especially when the object or person I’m moving is heavy.”
He looked at you, almost embarrassed, and set his squeegee on the cart, gripping the handle. “T-then… why did y-you want to l-lift me?” He placed his hands on his chest and then on his hips. “I-I am-”
“Tall? Yeah, I noticed,” you replied, a hand on your hip. “I knew I could control my powers on you, even if it was a bit difficult. You’re not as heavy as a vehicle.” You let out a small, nervous laugh, which he mirrored to spare you any further embarrassment after your comment.
“T-Thank you… for hel-helping me w-with the work… uhm, cle-cleaning the w-windows, yeah?” He said, pushing the cart toward the door leading to one of the office corridors. “I-I should go… see you!” He quickened his pace as he moved away, pausing at the door only to realize it opened inward toward the garden. He had to awkwardly shift the cart before stepping through.
You spent the rest of the day alternating between your desk and the break room, where you loved sipping coffee while immersed in one of your favorite novels, so focused you barely noticed people passing by.
The sun had long set. The break room was empty, save for you sitting at one of the tables, the door closed. Suddenly, cheers echoed from the office, and you lifted your head from your book.
“Congratulations!” Applause followed, and the familiar voices made you hesitate, making you stay exactly where you were: the Z-Team, of course. Only they could make so much noise. You didn’t even care what was happening, Robert probably had the situation under control.
The more the applause continued, the more irritated you became…
You stood, determined to ignore the curiosity rising in you, insisting to yourself it wasn’t to sneak a peek. Before you could reach the door, it opened, and your body tensed. Robert stepped in, clearly not expecting to see you there.
“What’s going on?” you asked, trying to peek past his shoulders toward the office, though from your angle you could see very little. “What’s all this noise?”
“Sorry about that,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, his shoulder brushing yours as he moved toward the table. He noticed the book still open where you’d been sitting.
“I came to ask for your opinion,” he said, turning to face you before taking a seat.
“What kind of opinion?” you asked, sitting back down in your previous spot and sliding the book toward you. “About the Z-Team? Because, just so you know, I’m not interested. You need to talk to Blazer about the Phoenix Program.”
“I’ve already spoken with her, more or less, just a little while ago,” he replied, his expression tightening as he looked at you, lowering his voice slightly. “Sonar and Coupè are both at the very bottom, and Invisigal managed to surpass them both on the last mission.”
You made a face. “Ah, I’m surprised… so she actually made an effort,” you said, your comment dripping with clear disapproval toward the girl celebrating her victory with the others in the next room. “And why do you need my opinion?”
Robert leaned forward over the table. “Between the two, I honestly couldn’t tell you who’s worse off, but after today’s meeting, I have a very clear idea of who I want to kick out,” he said, obviously referring to Coupè and the way she had attacked you for no reason in front of everyone else. “I wanted to ask if you were okay with that choice, or if you’d rather see the bat-guy go.”
You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “You’re the head of the Z-Team. You should judge based on other, more objective factors, not personal feelings,” you said, more offering advice than criticism. “Who could be more useful in the future? Who annoyed their teammates the least today? Don’t worry about me. I deal with situations like this every day. Honestly, it doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”
You held his gaze for a long, quiet moment.
“Do you really think I would kick Coupè out just because she mocked me during the meeting? I’m not that petty.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He leaned back in his chair, mirroring your posture. “I just think Coupè isn’t cut out for this kind of work. The hostility she stirred today split the Z-Team in two, and I need a solid team that can work together.”
A small, satisfied smirk curled across your lips. “See? You would’ve made a much better impression if you had explained your reasoning like that from the start.” You watched him rise from his chair. “Anyway, go ahead and remove her from the Phoenix Program. Honestly, if you want my modest opinion, we need Sonar to handle the missions that require someone with at least a bit of brains...”
“Good. I’ll let Blonde Blazer know,” he said, heading toward the exit. He left the break room, closing the door behind him and leaving you alone once again.
After taking a deep breath and thinking it over for a moment, you rose from the table, book in hand, determined to check on the situation in the office. The Z-Team was taking group photos, with Invisigal awkwardly smiling at the cameras, clearly the center of attention.
You skirted the group slowly, caring little about taking the longer route to your desk, you wanted to avoid being noticed by anyone.
Sliding your novel into one of the desk drawers, you observed the office: it was practically empty except for the Z-Team, who thankfully hadn’t spotted you. You placed your hands on the back of your chair and then reached toward your workstation’s divider, where photos of your team were pinned: Phenomaman, you had no idea where he had gone, which was definitely a problem for the entire SDN.
You removed one of the photographs, intending to take it home with you, slid your chair under the desk, and decided it was finally time to head home and rest. It was already 8:30 P.M., your stomach growling with hunger, your mind occupied with thoughts of what you could order for dinner once you arrived.
You grabbed your phone, and as you unlocked it, the photo you had taken of Sonar was still there. The divine glow of your flash illuminated his figure in the dimly lit gym. You hadn’t remembered to exit the gallery, and the battery had clearly suffered because of it.
You didn’t know why looking at that image made you smile, but what truly made you happy was knowing that, because of your choice, Sonar hadn’t been removed from the Z-Team…
⋆˚࿔ ㅤ― " i need a doctor, oooh!" dispatch x gn! reader, all fluffy/sfw, yes this is inspired by those old animatics if you wanna know the title inspo! || robert, blonde blazer, invisigal, sonar, royd, flambae, malevola, prism, waterboy, punch up, coupe, x gn! reader
⋆˚࿔ cw: fluffy stuff & character has a huge crush on reader, blood/scar mentions, reader is a doctor/nurse!
⋆˚࿔ synopsis. they're head over heels for the doctor who saved their lives. literally.
⋆˚࿔ wc: ~4k ; not proofread, might be ooc!
robert didn't know what it was about you, but you know, bandages and all- he was just another stupid idiot in love. your first encounter? was... um.. very awkward, as awkward as those cheesy highschool romances.
you were carrying a large stack of medical supplies to a point where your arms were a little unsteady with your grasp barely holding onto the eighth first aid kit while trying to transfer it all towards your clinic that was right next to the cubicles.
"you uh... need any help?" he was refilling coffee when he peered around the corner to see where the small grunts were coming from because it was not someone he recognized... at least by name. because he knew who you were; just never got what he needed to call out to you.
"uh... huh? n-no! it's okay, thank you." you politely decline, not wanting to bother any of the other of his colleagues or heroes with work as simple as carrying bandages and aid kits back and forth.
"here wait, lemme get that for you." you hadn't noticed a few rolls of bondage fell to the floor, but when it got to your attention it was on the floor, so was everything else―
"wait, no ne- oh fuck!" you exclaimed under your breath, picking up everything you could, but he already had a whole bunch sitting on his arm without effort, lifting it up slowly as he collect the cones on the floor, accidentally brushing his hand against yours,
...
"i.. err.. sorry for... for―" "it's nothing, you're the only nurse around aren't you? might as well help when i can." woah, he sounded so confident. total opposite of what he was thinking. honestly the type to accidentally bump into the wall beside the door of your office and plays it off as a joke. spoiler: it wasn't, he was just staring at you. proper name place name backstory stuff ahh
blonde blazer was the first person you bumped into while trying to find your way around. but.. was it normal you got to bump into each other so often during work hours?
...
was she dodging her hours to eat strawberry shortcakes with you?
...
maybe...
"oh my gosh, this one is made with french dough! it tastes amazing... don't you think?" you were delighted as you lifted a spoonful into your mouth, strawberries, cream, and all. you were eyes closed humming in happiness, but where was mandy looking? you of course.
her mouth was slightly agape, watching how ecstatic you were discussing the different flavors you could taste in each dessert made her feel all warm inside.
she couldn't help that feeling grow, even whenever she dropped by your office with a 'severe injury' (a few scratches and a bruise made by the boxes she had to carry) from her oh-so hard labor job... of course she needs the very nice cute cool and great doctor of the workplace....
"you've been getting hurt a lot recently, are you sure that you're getting enough rest?" you shook your head in disapproval while wrapping her arm in white thin cloth. hopefully covering up anything that might cause her too much trouble to rest for the moment. "huh? oh... yeah got it."
you arched a brow, listing 'spacing out more than usual' as a note to your in-the-progress diagnosis due to suspicion she was coming down with something mental.
well, she kind of was. i mea, her eyes were under hypnosis whenever a certain somebody passed by, you just never noticed who...
but lovesick wasn't an illness you've studied before.
invisigal tended to hang around people she 'disliked' more than the ones she was on okay terms with. and one of those she didn't have her taste accustomed to was you; you never bothered with her, but still made time to keep an eye on her own injuries, small and big. what is with you, are you weird?
"you.. don't have to do that or whatever you know." her eyes rolled as you tugged her arm near, letting a hiss out at your grasp. "fuck! not too hard, doc!" exclaiming with anger in her tone, laced with sincerity... you knew your knowledge well enough she was just putting a strong output to keep her input together.
rolling you eyes, you could care less about 'formality' in terms of calling heroes by their hero names, you were used to calling patients by their actual names, and the higher ups gave you said sobriquets- make use of it why don't you!
"..." "..." the silence between you was extremely awkward, at least for her, with tension building as you go. her voice comes out as hostile when you apply ointment onto the open wound. your fingers were gentle, she chatted in malice. was it even a conversation if you didn't reply?
"there, all better." you blow on the bondaged part of her arm, sighing of relief. "i didn't... i didn't need your help." "well it's my job to."
and that's what she liked about this, about you. about this chase... it's the fact you weren't afraid to give back the same energy, is that what made her dream about you all the more than she already did by default?
sonar's words always lingered for a little while longer than usual, especially since he never even hung around people enough for them to last a good amount of time to process what he does speak.
"hey, doc. you mind?" he was simply taking a sip of coffee, unlocking the door with ease as he took a seat on the couch in front of your desk. your head tilts to peer over your desktop computer— ah, it was sonar.
"hello, victor. is it the wounds on your back?" you questioned like it was the simplest thing in the world, and although in pain; he nodded to confirm, trying to play it off as just nothing (even if you saw right through it).
maybe that's what made him magnetize towards you, your presence in it as itself... you were one to keep up, and he liked that. he wanted that.
badly.
"hey, doc. again—" "new ones? my god, maybe I should tell them to assign you less dangerous acts." your concern was genuine, like it was for everyone else, but come on, who doesn't feel a little fuzzy inside when someone shows care for another.
and the chance you both get alone time..? it's all for your nerdy yap about all that science-y shit he learned back at harvard... do note that he is aware how to fix all his wounds easily, maybe even better than you—but he chooses to not.
maybe you know why now.
you weren't even sure how he had gotten hurt, royd is not an easy man to scratch, especially with all the muscle built around his own frame. biceps enough to crush your average human, and probably could've become a great hero if given the chance..
"aye, doc. is it alright if ya know.." he nudges your arm as he slides over his palm, a large scratch that extends from below his index finger over to the very edge of his wrist.
"now how did this happen?" — "well ah, you se-" — "again. you better be careful around those fax machines, royd, otherwise you'll be here for the rest of week. or worse: at home."
you had a slight tease in your tone as he shook his head, playing into the whole ordeal—"you believe so? I guess I must stay on bedrest, since doc says.." he laughs loudly, while you return his chuckles all the same. you felt a smile naturally grow around him, he could say the same about you.
he knows he was pretty social, but he never got the chance to nerd out this much to anybody... and maybe that was the first thing that made him start to slip, and fall (into your arms).
you listened, you always listened. not to mention how you made sure to take care of everyone else all while keeping everything in check for every heroes' health.
it was just in his nature to fall for someone who cared. even if it was in their job description to.
flambae made often trips to your office, I mean, he started finished fights that just magically happened inside the bars he went to, catching on fire was normal, whether or not it was him or the other person in the heat.
usually it was him BUT he did not do anything to trigger anyone! (or so he claims).
"chad... you cannot keep getting into fights." you simply stated, not a question, not a suggestion, it was you setting out rules for him disappointedly like a parent to a child.
"says who? fighting is in my blood, aziza." — "if you burn your eyebrow hair off one more time you won't grow them back anymore." — "are you serious?!"
the utmost seriousness left your throat before snorting into a series of laughs. shrugging it off as no, "no, but please reduce your quarrels. it adds onto my work... when it could be easily avoided."
"I guess since doc said so, I'll try my best, yes?" he hums jokingly, nodding along before slouching more onto the couch.
he was more forward than the others, he was fine with you knowing he was a little more than just into you, and was completely fine with it. you were adorable, you cared, and you were funny. you could match him,
and fuck you couldn't just find that shit anywhere. especially in this economy!
malevola felt naturally attracted to you, like it was the easiest thing in the world. the portal opening up in your office? seems like she just got off work, in fact! most of your regulars greeted malevola as if she was apart of your clinic.
talking to you felt like honey dew, it just melted into the moment, she didn't have to pretend or try too hard to impress you or anything. god she didn't even have to be impressive, she could just be herself with you in the room, and she really liked that.
#needthat LOL
not even like she needs to get anything to wrap her wounds up―because she didn't gain any. but she did love to help you in times of supply restoration! yes she was already carrying the five boxes mentioned in the delivery truck's invoice,
"you sure you can carry that, vola?" you didn't even look up from your checkboard as you ticked off supplies she had already moved in. "all good, love, just check the shit off―i got it." confidence and softness mixed in her cheeky grin as she ran off to place it into the storage room.
"she's been at that for an hour or two now, you sure she ain't tired doc'?" colm asked with accent decored through his words, a hand on his hip as he watches the demon sprint back and forth from the truck towards the main building while alice, mandy, and colm watch nearby you.
"...i mean, her body doesn't seem to tire at all at this pace. besides, this contributes to her endurance training."
all she asks for? well, a cup of coffee or two would be nice.
prism felt at ease around you, not having to hold back her words, knowing you wouldn't judge anyways. you stayed quiet, nodded and listened, then added on a few of your own 'judgements' too.
"i mean, i just don't get it! all them people out there talk about me being too loud as if they don't do the same." — "people are just hypocrites, be as loud as you'd like here." and that? that was what caused a small, very subtle show of teeth to be seen for just a single moment. you get it, she loved that you get it!
whenever she had to rant, she always went to you, face on her knuckles as she gazed up to seeing you... wow were you always that cute?
"and then she like..." ... "—alice? hello? i'm still listening." "sorry what?"
you stared for a bit, deadpan before stating "you paused, i hope you are aware i am still avidly listening even if it is not as clear as i'd like for it to be." she... she's never been told that to be frank, and god did it feel good to know she had someone to be an ear for her.
i mean, no, she's totally normal whenever people said they loved her music, as they should—but... it was different. people always just left her on heard, or let her talk for more than ten minutes without them needing to talk as well.
yes she loves herself a good listener, thank god you were.
so, just know her next release just might, MIGHT, be titled after an inside joke you two made up about one of your clients/her coworkers :)
waterboy... well it was pretty often herman would get hurt while on the job, he was prone to it, so he ended up your regular, and THE regular who came by the most. whether it'd be from a cat scratching him, or literally his own power... yes, he gets hurt by water. no i don't know how but what happens, happens.
and no judgement in your clinic, especially when you were the one cleaning up his skin before it gets any worse. but what could be more attractive than someone who could nonstop talk about how he should be more careful when out on the job, AND can tie a tie. i mean, you were the whole package (his standards are low, he just wants to be loved).
"s-sorry, i know you're busy, i didn-" — "herman, you tried your best, do not apologize." your tone was stern, and set on allowing him to feel fine about getting damage, not everyone is immune to pain, and that was fine.
he knows its your job to, but god you looked amazing when you did. was it so bad he found someone working hard as fuck, and was damn good at it attractive? no, not at all,
"did you take the meds i prescribed yesterday?" — "yeah! y-yes! i did!" he smiled whenever you talked to him first in your clinic, yes he knows its in your job description but let a man dream!
and you know what, he did stop getting hurt so much, yet... still made the same amount of trips he usually did.
but so what, it was in your job description right!
punch up was pretty helpful around your office. especially on things that needed heavy lifting; like clients that were gravely injured- he would carry them over to you, and act as an assistant to most cases you had. like he knew every single tool... he wasn't even a doctor!
but you know what he was? a yearner.
spent a week gathering information on each tool, and spent a month helping you out to get used to it, but something he wasn't accustomed to? being the one on bedrest.
he hadn't even realized how much he cared when he saw you did.
"what is wrong with you?! you think you can just throw your life away?!" you yell as you worked onto a very open wound carefully, taking out the bullets gently out his arm—"fuck! i said i was sorry,"
"sorry won't cut it! can't you see i care? your team cares? we all care! don't you dare just leave because you feel the need to—" you went on and on about how he should not be freely giving death another soul to take, but him? he was just stuck in a trance,
stuck staring at you.
"you're amazing, doll..." "what the hell did you just say colm?!"
coupe had ended up becoming close to you while exchanging a few glaring, sarcastic insults to one another, sparking more conversations between you both all while assisting you in your office, whether it'd be arranging your things for you,
getting coffee... andddd... keeping an eye on your sleep schedule. she knew more than anything that sleep was important, one night she discovers how true her feelings were in spite of the sarcasm that followed when she spoke to your face.
"name..." nudging your shoulder using her wing as she stood a little further from you. "name..." another hushed whisper enters your ear, thinking it's just apart of your dream... "doc!" - "—whuh.. what?"
you had nodded off while making a diagnosis on one of the office workers who were looking for a reason behind the voices in their head, the coffee cup beside you had been finished over, and over, and over again.
"jan... what are you doing here so late..." — " doc, it's morning already. office hours up." — "well, shit."
her hand was already massaging your scalp as she sighs turning to a smile, a small scoff paired with it. "i know just a bit about first aid, if you'd like i could take over for a while." "i guess that'd be great."
before she knew it, you already passed out onto the desk once more, giving coupe a chance to bring you over to your couch at the very least... tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear,
Low-key. Imagine being like the nurse/doctor for the SDN. Maybe also being an ex-villain but deciding to use some medical knowledge to heal (or maybe your powers help you)
But you're a big fan of who the ex-villains are. Like you're casually trying to work when THE Prism comes in and you have to help her. Of course you do, it's your job and they need to be healed up for their next mission.
But then imagine when they start getting merch of their hero status. Flambae plushes, Waterboy pins, Malevola stickers. The works. You buy them all, you're still a fan after all. What kind of fan would you be if you still didn't support them as a hero?
Maybe your bag is covered in the pins, the pen you use to note down what happened has has a mini figurine of them on top. The notebook is absolutely plastered with stickers of them. And they notice it. You could try to hide it but they notice it and oh how honoured they are that their favourite medic seems to like them just as much as they do. (Or they're absolutely embarrassed and is eternally dying inside from finding out you bought merch of them, THEM)
(Bonus points: If it's actually mechaman you're a fan of and you're just ranting to Robert about how much you like him and how cool the hero is when you're trying to heal him. Not knowing he is mechaman. Bros just laying there nodding along like "yeah yeah he's so cool" - Imagine how embarrassing it is to find out you ranted about the love you have for the hero TO THE HERO)
Summary: You, the villain turned hero Mirage, and your secret husband Robert Robertson lived a quiet and private life. Having been married for 2 years now, you were preparing for your annual anniversary night. You’d been on your way back home when a dart had lunged itself into your side. You wake up in a dark room face to face with your husband, his team, and a woman he’d apparently kicked off. Everything was going quite well until she’d stepped on your buttons, and you had to intervene.
Credits: this post
Tags/warnings: I DO NOT PERMIT USAGE OF AI ON MY WORK AT ALL! PLEASE DON’T TRANSLATE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION! MDNI. Suggestive mainly but smut at the beginning. Please be warned, cowgirl, slight bulge kink… leave me alone, nipple sucking, cussing, PTSD flashback, murder, a kiss at the end, Robert just wants to go home and be with his wife, man… Flambae being a little shit, Little use of Y/N I tried not to abuse but in the 2nd to last part I switched to 3rd person POV, Robert calls reader baby, sweet girl, and sweetheart, Your superhero name is Mirage but it’s not enforced your name can be anything you want it to be!
God, my head is spinning… where am I?
The first thoughts that run in your head when the bag is ripped off your head. You’re bound to a chair, and the fluorescent light is beaming down your neck. Your vision becomes clearer, and you start hearing voices. You expect to see some cliché-ass mafia boss point a gun at you until you hear the faint sound of your husband’s voice. Your sweet husband who you were supposed to be spending the day with.
It started with a sunny day— very sunny indeed.
“Ngh.. ah fuck baby do it like that. Just— jus- ahh— Yeahhhh you always know how to take proper care of me don’t you sweetheart?” He groans out as you bounce on top of him. Cowgirl has always and will forever be his favorite position. He moans loudly as you squeeze him again, his thick cock buried deep inside your pussy. He runs his tongue over your left nipple while squeezing the right. “R-Robbie— fuck- ah! ‘M gonna- ‘M gonna cum Robbie please…” You pant out, your movement growing sloppy and tired. Robert grabs your hips and flips you into missionary, pounding deep, hard, and fast into you. “ hah.. don’t— shit you’re so tight.. don’t fucking… cum without me.” The pressure building in your tummy was so overwhelming and it didn’t help when Robert pushed his hand into your stomach and whispered into your ear “You feel me sweetheart? Do you feel me fucking into you?” Then he took the hand that was pushing against your stomach and rubbed your clit with it.
He was sure making it hard not to cum and then the breaking point was when he shoved his fingers inside your mouth and made you taste yourself. “Taste how wet you are for me baby. How sweet and soaked you are f’me. Good girlll.” You couldn’t help but cream all over his dick at that. May the big man forgive you but, how could you not? He dove his fingers back onto your clit and tasted himself, you could tell he was trying not to cum right there and then, which he failed at because not even 30 seconds later, he’s filing you up. “You’re fucking milking me dry, baby. Fuuuuckkk I love this pussy. This pretty pussy, it’s all mine.” He slaps your pussy and then pulls out of you. Only to dive back in and start sucking, kissing and licking your clit. He shoves two fingers inside and starts pumping them in and out. He continues and momentarily breaks away to whisper “Give me one more, just one more baby. You can do it.” You just can’t take anymore and cum all over his fingers and tongue.
You woke Robert up with a quick fuck and then called Blonde Blazer to let her know you weren’t going to be at work today. Not because you were still fucked out and your legs were shaking but also because today’s your anniversary. You were still laid on top of Robert after you finished with Blazer, when he grabbed his phone almost did the same until his phone was snatched out of his hand. “ah, ah! Mr. Robertson, you’re going in.” His hands rest on your waist as his groans, his eyes rolling around as he complains “They’ll be fine, I’ll ask Galen or Chase to cover for me.” You hold his phone higher from him as he tries to reach it.
“Nooooo, you need to be out of the house so that I can make the house all pretty for tonight! I have a lot planned for you!” His hand traces from your waist to the dips in your hips and down to your ass where he squeezes and then caresses the flesh. His eyes rake across your body and land on your chest. “Yeah? What do you have in store for tonight?” His eyes fill with the familiar look of adoration and lust. “Dinner, then dessert and ice cream after if we’re up for it?”
He perks up at the mention of dessert, knowing damn well that means you two are going for round 2 tonight. “Yeah? You gonna wear that set I like? The one with the blue flowers and the black lace I like?” You lean down and cup his face, chests flushed together, and you can feel him get hard again. He wraps his arms around your figure, and your faces are dangerously close to each other now. “You’re just gonna have to wait and see, baby.” He presses a kiss to your lips, and before it can escalate, you get off of him and kick him out of bed before he gets fired for being late.
You’d been walking home from the shops. You decided not to take your car because you’d been keeping track of your steps recently, and Robert had made fun of you for it. Your hands were full, and your arms were aching, but you were almost home. Just a few more minutes, and you’d be at the house and ready to finish dinner. Unfortunately, life had other plans.
Robert found out she was gone from his cubicle. An alert saying some elderly lady swearing she saw a body being shoved into a van. He doesn’t know why alarms weren’t ringing in his head the moment he found out the incident happened near your shared home. He doesn’t know why he felt a heavy pressure in his chest after he sent Invisigal and Sonar on the case. He doesn’t know why his gut is screaming at him to call you or just go home altogether. He doesn’t know why when Blonde Blazer came rushing to his cubicle, he didn’t even listen to her, just bolted straight out of the office and into his car. His vision was tunneling and his heart rate was rising but why?
As soon as he got to his home, he opened the door, not expecting but praying— praying his beautiful wife would be at home, cooking his favorite food in his old college t-shirt, humming her favorite songs on the speaker. He prayed that his beautiful girl would be lounging on the couch with Beef, watching yet another rerun of Jerry Springer or Dr. Phil or Family Feud or whatever trash reality tv show she put on for background noise while doing mundane tasks. Except when he opened the door, it was emptiness— save for Beef, who was panting and barking at Rob’s feet, clearing unaware of his mom’s whereabouts and just excited to see his dad. “Babe?” Robert called out calmly but shaken, “Baby?? Sweetheart, are you here?” He’s started to get desperate. Looking in different rooms, even closets. “Y/N? Please tell me this is just a joke and you’re using your powers on me again.” Nothing, not a giggle or even a signal or trace this was an illusion. It was real, and Robert, for the first time in a long time, was downright terrified.
It was 8:30 p.m. and the sun had set. The car ride to the warehouse you were at was quiet, cramped, and filled with a thick tension. Blazer was 10 above the speed limit, she was tense, and honestly, Robert was restless. In the back of the SDN-issued van Blazer had borrowed was all of the Z-Team who had insisted on coming— save for Flambae who was only forced out of peer pressure. He’s huffing “I don’t get why I have to waste a perfectly good Friday night saving this bitch’s wife. He’s such a bitch, how the hell did he even get a wife? He had to have bought her or something.”
Robert had nothing but pain and murder on his mind for the people who dared hurt his wife. I mean, yes, she probably already handled all of them by herself and broke out of the warehouse and was waiting for Rob right outside the doors. But it was the thought that counts.
He just wanted to be home. Today was their anniversary, can’t a guy catch a fucking break for once? But the asshole just HAD to take the one good thing in his life? For what gain? God, the moment he finds the asshole who had the absolute balls to touch the love of his life, he’s gonna break their jaw and then their arms and break every piece of bone in their body so they know to never fuck around with him again. He’ll resort to a straight-up hardcore torture if he has to.
He’ll start by gouging his eyes out, then pull each tooth out of their filthy fucking mouth— “Robert. We’re here.” Blazer points out the window and immediately, Robert unbuckles his seatbelt and rushes out the door. By the time everyone exited the van, Robert was already trying to break in. Visi lets out a low whistle, “He sure does not play about his wife.” Punch-Up chimes in with a “Who even is this guy’s wife anyway?” “Probably just some regular old civilian chick.” Flambae snarks and Blazer chuckles out a “You’ll see exactly who she is.”
By the time you woke up, Robert’s right in front of you negotiating with the person behind you. She speaks in a low, seductive voice, almost familiar. “Coupe, please. I promise you, you do NOT want to fuck around with that woman right there.” Coupe or whoever the fuck has you hostage, literally audibly smirks and says, “I know she’s important to you, Robbie, but remember what you did to—” Hold the fuck on— “ROBBIE? WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING ROBBIE?” You pipe up suddenly? Robert lets out the hugest sigh of relief, which turned into confusion and concern. “Sweetheart, are you doing okay?” You glance back at him with adoration but also annoyance. “I’m fine, baby, trust me, I am. But why on god’s green earth is this CUNT calling you Robbie? Who even are you to him?” Coupe presses her knife deeper against your throat. “I’m no one, just someone finishing up a job.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at that. Could this be any cornier? “Woah, Ms. hotshot thinks she’s all big and bad pressing a knife against my jugular in front of my husband. Do better. Also, maybe you should up the ante on your binding skills? I mean, I’m all for puzzles and bondage, but come on.” You hold your hands up, which are gleaming with your signature blue rays. It suddenly hits everyone except Blazer and Rob that you’re Mirage, except in civilian clothing.
You manage to grab hold of Coupe and restrain her from doing any more damage. You twist her into a kneeling position with her hands behind her back and press your palm into her forehead. In an instant, Coupe is back in her worst nightmare. Outside her head, you can see her face etched into utter terror and fear. She’s begging and screaming for freedom and help. It almost evokes a sense of pity in Y/N. “Pathetic.” She spits out. She releases her from the prison, and Coupe instantly rises, grabs her knife, and charges for Y/N.
The only thing that anyone could say about Mirage before her change was that she was cruel. But that was almost 15 years ago, and she vowed to leave that mentality behind. I mean, she changed. Hell, the woman got married to Mecha Man (even if the world never knew of this, it still did happen), and she became a beloved hero. Her best friend is her dog, Beef, and Blonde Blazer. You can’t deny she changed. But in this current moment, all of that seemed to have disappeared. In her mind, this was absolutely justified. I mean, Coupé almost murdered you and your husband. You were almost certain she’s working for Shroud. All the more reason to snap this bitches head clean off. Which did happen. She was about to slit your throat when a quick swipe of your hand twisted her neck 180° degrees. The look on Y/N’s face was pure boredom when Coupé’s lifeless body lay at Y/N’s feet. She simply kicked her once to ensure her death and then stepped over her like it was nothing.
You ran into Robert’s arms, and immediately, he peppered your face with kisses. “I’m so sorry for this, Robbie.” He looked at you in disbelief. “You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing fucks with my baby, and honestly, I’m glad you took care of this one yourself. It shows the others how badass my wife is.” He tightened his grip on your waist, one hand traveling down to your rear. He was about to kiss you when Punch-Up intervened. “Not to be a cockblock or anything, but we have reason to suspect that Shroud is here. We should act fast if we want to catch the fucker.” You looked down at Punch-Up and then to Robert. “He’s right. Shroud is smart. Calculated, and he doesn’t fuck around. Let’s go.”
You begin running around the warehouse to catch Shroud when Robert pulls you behind a corner and gives you a quick but passionate and relieved kiss. “I’m so glad you’re alive. When this is all over, please, we don’t even have to do anything special or make a fancy dinner. I just want you. We could get shitty tacos again, just please stick with me.” You kiss him again and whisper against his lips, “Always and forever, babe.”
Authors input: I LOWKEY fw this especially because it’s my first time writing smut. I THINK I ATE W THATTT!!! Also, I tried to make it as similar to Scarlet Witch as possible, but I wanted to give her a few unique features, hence the blue hues and stuff. Please be kind. I haven’t written anything in so long, and I did this in one 4-hour plane ride, and I’m lowkey feeling like big Hollywood right now. I’m so proud of myself. I have no clue WHERE this sudden writers rush came from. I just saw the post, and I was like, “Yeah, I GOTTA write about that shit.”
Heyo! Can you please do platonic dispatch headcanons of z team with a kid reader,their taken in by the sdn as their superpower could be dangerous? What would their reaction to the reader calling them mom and dad
Thank you for reading my request! Have a lovely day/night!
absolutely i can! this is such a wholesome idea i love ittttt
reader's power is essentially blood bending from atla
characters: robert robertson iii, flambae, invisigal, punch up, prism, malevola
Z TEAM X PLATONIC!GN!TEEN READER
ROBERT ROBERTSON III/MECHA MAN
He's probably the only one who thinks its concerning there's someone so young around SDN
"Doesn't this count as illegal child labour or some shit?"
But honestly, he's got no fucks left to give
So he tries to ignore you most of the time
But he's not an ass
He'll sigh and begrudgingly hand you some change when you don't have enough for whatever you're trying to get from the vending machine
Lectures you on your eating habits (hypocrite)
Sees you drinking a coffee one day and decides that's enough
"You're too young for that shit"
He steals it and immediately starts drinking it
"Whatever, dad"
Freezes immediately
He doesn't know whether to be offended, or touched
Ultimately decides to let it go, pretending he didn't hear it
FLAMBAE/CHAD
Meets you while heading to the gym between shifts one day
"Aren't you supposed to be in school or something, dipshit?"
When you explain that you were in SDN's care for 'preventative measures' he just scoffs
"What are you even going to do? You're like - twelve,"
Your response?
Forcing his body to stop mid-squat, straining to hold himself up
"You little shit"
He doesn't let you get off easy, but he's not harsh either
Tries to get you to work out with him
"Gotta be strong if you wanna be a hero, even with your freaky shit"
He pushes you so hard
Be stronger, be faster, be better
But, he's trying to help. To support you.
One day, you decide you're done with his pushing - you want to do something big, something impressive
You put double the amount of your usual weights on the bench press
It plummets to your chest instantly (shocker) - painfully winding you
You scream for your dad. Funny, considering you hadn't seen him in years.
But Flambae is there in seconds
"What the fuck were you thinking, you stupid little shit-"
Despite his cussing, he frees you - fussing over you instantly
If you question why he responded to your yell - he'll never answer, probably telling you to stop being a nosy shit
But you both know he cares
INVISIGAL/COURTNEY
She hears about you before she meets you
Whispers around the office of some kid being brought in as a 'preventative measure'
It stirs something in her that she doesn't like to think about
About her as a kid, questioning her worth - wondering if she could ever be anything other than a villain
She hates that they put you in the same boat
And for the first time ever, she decides she needs to look out for someone alongside herself
Maybe its selfish, trying to fix her past in someone else
But the way you stick to her side makes her think that maybe it isn't
She doesn't give advice, or really look after you
It's quieter. Subtler.
Being invisible was always her specialty
So there's always your favourite snacks hidden away in the breakroom - on a shelf so low that no one else thinks to look there
Any medication you need will miraculously appear in your tiny SDN dorm
And those two things never seem to run out
Its on one of these drops she finds you crying in your cot - ashamed of how you'd manipulated someone's blood when you'd gotten into an arguement with one of the heroes earlier that day
"Shit kid, don't make me do the whole 'feelings' thing"
But she still sits on the edge of your bed
She doesn't speak. Just waits. Stays.
Like she wanted someone to stay with her
Once all your tears are dried up, and the post-cry exhaustion hits - you mumble something
"thanks... mum."
And maybe, Courtney thinks she can be good.
PUNCH UP/COLM
He's so keen to hear there's a kid wandering about SDN
He may have been a villain, but that doesn't mean he was a complete dick
Kids are cool, up to all kinds of dumb shit he can have fun with
He's probably the only one that approaches you first
"'EY KID! Been lookin' e'rywhere for ya, whatcha up to?"
Wants you to get involved in the team as soon as possible
He thinks it'd be good for you, having an outlet to work your powers - work through any problems you might be dealing with...
He spends months arguing with Blazer, vouching for you until he can secure a short, part-time trial period for you
On the condition that you never take a call on your own - no matter how small or meaningless
But he's more than happy to shadow you
He watches you work, clapping your back proudly every time you succeed - assuring you that you did your best whenever you fail
But like any teenager - you get cocky after a while
While you and Colm are resting, you sneak away to handle a call on your own
A bank robbery
It goes terribly
The perp gets away, you get injured, and Colm is PISSED
It's mid argument that you slip up
"Who do you think you are, my dad or something?"
"I fuckin' may as well be!"
His glare is hard as steel, completely unforgiving.
And you both know he means it.
You end up apologising after few more heated words
PRISM/ALICE
She meets you in the employee lounge, scrolling through your socials - not caring about how the audio of your fyp echoes through the room
"Can't you use some fuckin' airpods or some shit?"
Her annoyance fades a little when you respond with a snarky comment about SDN not caring enough to spend valuable customer income on stuff for you
But she scoffs all the same, sauntering out of the room
After some call delays, she returns to the lounge a few hours later - throwing a cheap pair of earphones your way
"Being a superhero means doing charity shit, so be greatful,"
Alice sits nearby whenever you hang out in the employee room now
She critiques your music choice, vowing to show you 'real' music at the club as soon as you're old enough
If you're femme presenting, or just enjoy makeup - she also reprimands your makeup, coming in on her day off to teach you how to properly accentuate your features
It's actually her that refers to you with any sort of familiarity first
You're sitting in the employee lounge like usual - legs over Alice's lap as she livestreams during her break
One of her comments must ask about the person just out of frame, because she speaks up not long after
"Oh them? That's just my baby, don't worry,"
Completely casual, like it was a fact of life
It's enough to make SDN feel more like home
MALEVOLA
Like Colm, Malevola's always had a soft spot for kids
They were usually less judgemental than adults - more facsinated by her demonic appearance than disgusted
And if they were, they were so much easier to scare
But it's when the team starts talking about your power that her interest really sparks
She runs into you in the break room when you first meet
"You're the kid, right? With the blood powers? So you got demonic blood or what?"
Straight to the point, you admit that you haven't got a clue
She shrugs, seemingly unbothered
But unbenownst to you, Malevola's decided to take you under her wing
She did like collecting strays (*ahem ahem SONAR ahem ahem*)
She always checks in when she sees you, asking how your day's been - if you need any help dealing with your powers
She's good at listening on the days that your powers make you feel inhumane
"Being human's fuckin' boring anyways,"
One day, when she's staying after work to use the gym - you follow her, continuing your usual chat
Eventually, it takes a turn when she asks about your family and you reveal that you've been out of contact with them since SDN got legal guardianship.
Malevola doesn't press, just letting you talk freely about your situation.
The words slip out before you can really think about it
"I wish my mum was more like you,"
The silence in the gym is deafening - leaving you to wonder just how badly you'd fucked up
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Do you guys think Robert does that silly gremlin voice (from ep 3) for Beef just for fun sometimes? because it’s all I’m thinking about right now.
Like it takes teamwork to bath Beef because he might be small but god was the little menace a wiggly little shit and when faced with water?— it was hell.
You’d be hunched over the edge of the bath trying to scrub the chubby Chihuahua clean whilst he tries with all his might to jump back up into your arms, shaking water and soap literally everywhere, tail wagging in excitement and Robert isn’t helping, like at all, he’s just sitting beside you mimicking these croaky cries and screams.
“Help me!— free me mother!” all whilst Beef quite literally looses his shit, barking up at you both— his paws scratching at the tubs acrylic trying to stand on his back legs only to slide down as Robert gives you another earful of the most strangest noises you’ve ever heard.
“Why are you making him sound like that?” You giggle, scooping the wet dog up in a fluffy towel to dry him off— the pair of you wincing a little as he shakes the water off, soaking you both even more.
And he has the audacity to look at you like you’ve gone crazy. “Sound like what?”
“Like some meth addicted goblin.” he chuckles at your words, a real belly laugh, the type that has you joining in along with him, finding him absolutely ridiculous in that lovesick-fond sort of way. Then Beef is scrambling out of your arms and down the hallway now full of the zoomies which only eggs Robert on even more, chasing after him with that stupid voice.
I really think Robert has a little silly in him.
AN: btw!! I have gotten some of your guys’ requests and I am working on them all I ask is for patience because this time of year is very hectic— anywho, hope you enjoyed this silly little blurb idk what this was lol, I’m really sleepy, it’s like 3 am for me rn goodnight <33
A/N: The engagement from the last piece was very motivating. So basically, this is y'alls fault. Enjoy the debauchery! Also, I made a banner. Go me, teehee (ﾉ≧ڡ≦).
I guess this is my first truly detailed smut writing. As always, engagement is appreciated. Reblogs, notes, and likes are great. Check out my other work here. Check out my short Robert Fic too. There's also a pt.2 and pt.3. Requests are open lovelies. Got a fresh ko-fi as well.
Warnings: MDNI. Smut. Female reader. AFAB reader. Cunnilingus. Referring to female genitals as she. Pet names. Filth under the cut.
-He’s a lazy munch. But hell, he’s fucking persistent. Honestly, this man will stick his face between your thighs for shits and giggles. Only instead of giggles it’s the sound of his tongue lapping you up for fucking hours.
-He’s not super vocal when he’s going down on you, but fuck the man eats and drinks your shit up like its a meal in itself. It takes all of 15 minutes for him to get pussydrunk, after that is where he’s probably the most audible. The man grunts and hums, you swear he probably forgets you’re there half the time.
-The man has gotten it down to a science. He’s an active observer; it's in his nature to notice things especially pertaining to you. The way his spit mixes with your slick and runs down his chin like syrup is addictive. He’s filthy about it but unashamed about how diligently he eats.
-And filthy means filthy because the few times that man does speak is at it, your sodden cunt that is.
-”Look at her, she’s ready for it, huh?” He’d mutter before sliding his tongue up and down those puffy lips.
-”Fuck, I didn’t even start, babe. She’s drooling down here.” He’d be briefly amused before pushing his face into your pussy. His nose nudging your clit, his tongue shoving itself in and out of your hole.
-He’s done it so much he’s got different modalities depending on his mood. Your favorite is when he’s got your pussy in a mating press, calves resting on his shoulders while he’s holding up your ass. The face down ass up is a classic second.
-Carpet burn. He doesn’t clean shave. But that’s on purpose, because the fucker knows when his stuble bullies your folds while he’s munching your clit, you make puddles. So you can’t complain too much.
-He’s a lazy munch because there is no urgency. He doesn’t let up. That’s why you think he’s deadass using it as a meal substitute. Because only after hours and hours worth of grool and spit has coated your thighs, cunt, and his face.
-Only after, you know the mattress is fucking ruined because the puddles soaked through the towel and the sheet, is when he’ll finally pull back. But no problem, he wants you to sit on his face anyway.
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