જ⁀➴ . . . Robert wants to change his lock screen and nearly blinds you and Beef in the process ᝰ.ᐟ
It was late, really late, his shift had dragged on forever and he came so close to punching a fist through the monitor three different times. The Z-Team had really tested the strength of his patience tonight with their fucking around; sometimes it really felt like he was talking into the void.
He locks the door behind him with a weary sigh, kicking his shoes off and hanging his coat up with a slow roll of his shoulders— turns out sitting at a desk all damn day really makes for some nasty tension on the shoulders and neck.
You were already fast asleep in bed with Beef curled right beside your head, faces smushed together, snoring. The sight makes him stop in the doorway for a moment, his expression softening into a tender smile, and there it is again: that warmth that expands through his chest like a warm drink on a cold day— he reckons this is what coming home really feels like.
It’s the perfect picture, his two favourite beings in the whole world all curled up and safe in bed, snoring in unison without a single worry. The idea hits him like one of those lightbulb moments, and slowly Robert moves across the floorboards, avoiding the extra creaky ones before sinking onto the bed— fishing his phone out of his back pocket with a grin.
He had been wanting to update his lock-screen for a while now but the topic didn’t really come up much and he didn’t know how to say— “hey I’m madly in love with you and your pretty face and I want to look at it all day so can you pose with Beef, I want you as my lock-screen.” without sounding like a complete weirdo.
But this? This candid shot, laid out and waiting for him, was perfect.
He unlocks his phone, thumbing the camera app with a faint chuckle— both you and Beef squashed perfectly in frame, snuggled up together like two peas in a pod.
He captures it, and without even realising he had it on the flash suddenly goes off, lighting up the dim space with a jarring bright burst of light. It instantly wakes both you and Beef up, the poor dog simply huffs in offence before hopping off the bed with another incredibly frustrated exhale. you, however, bury your face further into the pillows with a disgruntled little whine.
“What the fuck, Robert?” your voice comes out muffled from the pillows, all groggy with sleep.
Robert freezes, breath hitching, eyes widening at the unintended sabotage— the guilt shoots him hard.
"Oh, shit. sorry… I’m so fucking sorry, baby." He hisses, instantly tossing his phone onto the bed like it had personally betrayed him. "I— I didn't mean to blind you, sweetheart— fuck."
He leans over, gently tugging the blanket back up around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your shoulder— then to your cheek, then another and another all apologetically.
"Sorry," he whispers once more against the side of your face, voice low and sincere yet with a hint of laughter still in it. "But in my defense? You were adorable, your face was all smushed against Beefs and you were drooling a little."
You glance up at him from the corner of your eye, glaring at him from where you’re tucked into the pillows, still hiding away from the flash-bang that was practically burned into your retinas.
“I thought I was being abducted by aliens.” You murmur into the crook of your elbow, voice all rough from the sleep you’ve been oh so rudely ripped away from by your boyfriend’s sentimentality.
He smiles against your jaw, his soft laughter fanning across your cheek, where he was still showering you with kisses because he did genuinely feel guilty for waking you up like that.
“No aliens, sorry to disappoint, just your idiot boyfriend.” He sighs, brushing his fingertips across your warm cheek to tuck a wayward curl behind your ear— those big brown eyes of his taking in that tired little smile that settles across your drowsy face.
“Mm, well, I guess that's arguably better than being woken up to a little green man probing me,” you reply, a giggle catching in your voice as you turn around to look up at him.
“Yeah?— glad to know I win that competition, babe.” he doesn’t hesitate to lean down, pressing a feather-light kiss to corner of your mouth, his thumb running across the soft curve of your jaw soothingly. “I am really sorry, I didn’t mean to sabotage your sleep like that.”
“s’kay— was the picture at least good?”
He pulls back to grab his phone and you push yourself up, arms curling around his waist, chin resting against his shoulder, so you could peer down at the slightly blurry photo of you and Beef cuddled up and sleeping soundly, his wet nose pressed against your cheek— the peaceful moment before a criminal level disaster.
“Worth the temporary blindness?”
“Mhm, yeah, it’s cute.”
Robert hums lowly in agreement, admiring the photo for a second longer before setting it as both his lock-screen and wallpaper with a satisfied smile, which makes you go all types of giddy— butterflies fluttering around in your belly.
“Alright, better go grovel to Beef too.” He sighs, lightly pinching your chin to tilt your head towards him, stealing one last kiss. “Won’t take long, I’ll be back,” and you could already feel yourself nodding off as soon as your head hits the pillows.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Robert Robertson runs hot. He usually sleeps in boxers, fan on, his body sprawled across the bed. When you first start spending the night, he tries to do the boyfriend thing and hold you, even though his arms fall asleep in the first twenty minutes and he ends up a sweaty mess.
He's not comfortable enough to suggest other arrangements until a few months in, when your things have crowded beside his on the nightstand, in the bathroom, by the door. Evidence that you plan to stay.
Only then does he tell you you’re a blanket hog, and you tell him he’s a space heater, and decide that as long as some body part is touching it still counts as romantic.
Which is how you end up sleeping soundly with Robert’s arm thrown around your waist from a distance, his back brushing yours, your heads angled so your hair spills over onto his pillowcase, or your butts pressed together while you curl up facing opposite directions. Sometimes you half-wake to find him sliding his foot over to your side of the bed in his sleep, mumbling anxiously before relaxing when he brushes against your leg.
fuck buddy! robert robertson who loves talking while fucking. He’ll whisper filthy things in your ear while keeping one hand gripping your waist or thigh, making you whimper, gasp, and obey his every command.
fuck buddy! robert robertson even though it’s casual, he dominates. He likes to make you stay still sometimes, holding your hands above your head, thrusting deep while telling you exactly how good you feel.
fuck buddy! robert robertson who doesn’t care if things get a little messy. Spit, sweat, slick—he loves it all. He’s the type to lean down and kiss you hard in the middle of a rough session, biting and licking your lips as he fucks you.
fuck buddy! robert robertson who sometimes makes you count with him while he thrusts, teasing you as he speeds up. “One, two, three… hold it… don’t come yet,” he growls, knowing how to push you to the edge.
fuck buddy! robert robertson even outside the bedroom, he can’t help himself. A sly touch under the table at dinner, a brush against your thigh, or a low murmur in your ear will make you squirm, reminding you that he owns these moments even when it’s casual.
fuck buddy! robert robertson after he fucks you, he doesn’t get soft right away. He’ll praise you in a rough way, still holding your hips, “You feel so good, you little slut. All mine,” before letting you collapse into him.
fuck buddy! robert robertson you both enjoy the thrill without labels. He’s possessive in the moment, demanding and rough, but outside the bedroom, he keeps it playful and teasing.
fuck buddy! robert robertson who likes to make you beg before the main event. Maybe a hand on your thigh while you’re watching a movie, whispering how wet you already are, making you squirm before he finally takes you.
fuck buddy! robert robertson sometimes he’s rough and leaves you a little breathless and sore, but occasionally he’ll stroke your hair, kiss your forehead, and smirk, “Not bad for a fuck buddy, huh?”
a word from lex: we r sooo back guys. i have just recently moved so i've been suuuuper busy but i am now here and ready to subject you all to my dispatch brainrot.
content warnings: 18+, minors dni!!!, coworker romance, herm is his usual self (yes he stutters), supply closet sex, crybaby waterboy, guys its been a minute pls excuse any i missed as well as any typos!
this beautiful fanart belongs to @/cholvoq on twt
'hey siri, play closer (ode 2 u) by ravyn lenae'
you were the new dispatcher at the sdn torrance branch. no powers, no chrome, no special abilities. just instinct, precision, and a temper sharp enough to slice through most egos.
it made you perfect for the job.
the z team took to you immediately. even robert, mechaman himself, took a liking to you as quickly as his team did.
“damn,” golem snorted one day, “you talk back worse than robert.”
“that’s why we need you on our comms,” flambae added, nudging your shoulder.
they said it jokingly.
you knew they meant it a little, but you loved the team you had. still, that didn’t stop you from hanging out with the z teamers.
after-shift boba runs, shitty group karaoke, late-night snack runs after shifts.
they dragged you into all of it.
except waterboy.
waterboy never talked to you. not once.
you thought he was shy at first, everyone knew that, but months went by.
months.
he’d talk to the team, laugh with them, even linger after missions… and the second you walked in?
off switch. radio silence. staring at the floor like you were a ghost.
so one day, after catching him in the hallway alone, you decided enough was enough.
“hi herm,” you said, stepping into his path, “why don’t you ever talk to me?”
he froze.
wide-eyed, blinking rapidly; not a single word came out.
the silence lit something hot in your chest.
“seriously? nothing? we work in the same building together, every day and you can’t say one word to me?” you pressed, irritation sharp in your voice. “i get that you’re shy, herm, really, but going dead silent every time i walk in? that’s kinda rude-”
he grabbed your wrist.
not rough, but firm enough to shock you a bit. he pulled you into the closest supply closet, shutting the door behind you with a shaky little click.
“herm, what the hell is your problem?”
he was mumbling, trying to speak, but you kept talking over him.
“if you have something to say, say it. i’m not psychic, i can’t-”
and then he kissed you.
it was soft, clumsy, and a bit desperate.
you froze, gripping the shelf behind you.
“...what was that for?” you breathed.
he was bright red, shoulders hunched, fingers twisting in the fabric of his own suit.
“y-you’re… you’re s-so pretty,” he stammered, voice cracking. “a-and you wouldn’t stop talking and i-i needed you to stop. just for a second.”
you blinked slow, finally realizing.
“that’s why you wouldn’t talk to me? herm… you think i’m pretty?”
you slid a hand into his hair, tugging gently. his breath hitched.
“do i make you nervous, waterboy?”
a tiny whimper escaped him. “yes…”
your smile curled, wicked.
you brushed supplies off the rolling cart behind you and sat on the edge, tugging him closer by the front of his suit.
“how nervous?”
he swallowed, trembling, whispering against your lips.
“v-very…”
that’s when he finally snapped.
not in anger, but in need.
he kissed you again, harder this time, hands bracing on the shelf beside your head like he needed the structure to stay upright.
“i s-shouldn’t…” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “i’ve wanted you for so long, i can’t hold it in anymore.”
“then don’t,” you whispered.
and he didn’t.
he pushed you gently back onto the cart, hands shaking as he spread your thighs. when he felt how wet you already were, he froze.
eyes going glassy.
“o-oh, oh my god,” he whispered. “is… is this because of me?”
you can’t help but let out a giggle. “it is, hermy.”
his breath shuddered. he tried to hide his face, but you caught his chin and forced him to look at you.
“don’t hide,” you murmured as you started to strip.
the first tear slipped before he could stop it.
he quickly, and clumsily, undressed himself once he saw you slip off your pants.
“i-i’m not crying,” he insisted, voice cracking in the most obvious lie on earth, “it’s just- you’re so- and i-i can’t,”
he cut himself off with a groan as he pushed into you for the first time.
the sound he made; broken and choked, went straight through you.
“f-fuck it’s… warm- i-i-,”
his hands clawed at your hips, trying to ground himself, but another tear slid down his flushed cheek.
you pulled his hair gently, forcing his eyes back on you.
“keep looking at me.”
he whimpered.
he set a rhythm eventually, deep desperate thrusts that made his breath hitch each time he bottomed out.
“you feel so good,” he whispered, voice shaking, “i’ve been wanting this s-so bad. please don’t tell the others, they’ll never- never let me live it down.”
you internally giggled at him worrying about what his teammates would think as he actively thrusting into you.
you moaned his name and his knees nearly buckled.
“don’t- don’t say it like that,” he gasped, “i’ll- f-fuck, i’ll lose it,”
his pace stuttered. he bit his lip hard, trying to stop himself from full-on crying.
but the orgasm hit him too fast, too hard. he let out a strangled sound, thrusting through it even though he was shaking, tears spilling freely now.
afterwards, he collapsed against you, breathing heavy into your neck.
“i-i’m sorry,” he whispered, still trembling. “i didn’t mean to get… emotional. i just- you’re a lot. but in a good way. a r-really good way.”
you stroked his hair and he melted instantly, clinging to you like your touch was the only thing keeping him alive.
“don’t be embarrassed, herm. it was cute.”
“d-don’t say that,” he groaned weakly, face buried in your neck.
you laughed softly, holding him closer.
and for once, herm didn’t run away.
he stayed. trembling, flustered, blissed out.
and he talked to you.
finally.
like he’d been wanting to this the whole damn time.
ending notes: i dont have much to say but i will be getting back into the swing of things. ily bye.
robert robertson x wife!reader. you got injured, robert runs to the hospital to hear some good news. ˚.✦
Everything went in a flash. You were just at the supermarket, buying some pasta and fruit when a villain decides to attack that store. Robert sees it all from his cubicle, he sends his two most stronger superheroes but that wasn't enough to keep you save.
You end up with a cut in your arm, not too dangerous but big and deep enough to need stitches.
Robert runs to the hospital. Without warning anyone. He just sprints to the street, holding back tears because you are his wife. The love of his life, his best friend, his one and only. He can't bear the idea of not being close to you if you are injured.
He shows up breathless, there's some nurses looking at him weird, and some police officers talking to other people who were there. He asks for you, desperately, with his voice ragged.
The doctor shows up immediately, and just say. "Mr. Robertson, your wife is a strong woman. She got a cut in her arm but she's already stitched up in her room, you don't need to worry. She and the baby are alright."
He freezes in that moment. "The... the baby?"
The doctor doesn't notice the confusion on his voice and just answers normally. "Yeah, she was all worried about the baby, but the cut in the arm didn't affect it at all. Obviously."
Robert just needs to see you. Talk to you and ask you about how you are and apparently, how the baby is. "In which room is she?"
He answers quickly with the room number and Robert sprints down the hall.
Robert nearly skids as he turns the last corner, palms smacking the doorframe before he forces himself to slow down. Bursting in on you like a panicked rhinoceros probably isn’t ideal, especially after everything. He draws one breath and pushes the door open.
You’re sitting up in the bed, arm bandaged, eyes heavy but alert. The instant you see him, your face softens in relief.
He crosses the room in three strides and cups your face, forehead pressed to yours like he’s checking if you’re real.
“You’re okay,” he mutters, and the words come out cracked. “You’re really okay.”
“I’m fine,” you whisper, letting him hold you. “It was just the arm.”
He leans back enough to scan you again, as if confirming every molecule of your body is alright. Then he allows himself to breath and ask you:
"The doctor mentioned something about a baby. Your baby. My baby?" He stutters.
The silence that follows is tiny but sharp.
Your fingers twist into the blanket. “I… didn’t tell you yet.” Then, quieter: “I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
He blinks at you, stunned, the kind of gaze where a man is trying to reorient his entire mental map of the universe in real time.
“Why would I be worried?” His voice is thick. “You tell me I’m going to be a dad and the only thing I’m thinking is—how could that ever be anything but amazing?”
You study him, trying to see if any of that is bravado or shock, but he’s too transparent. His eyes have gone warm and bright in a way that doesn’t leave room for doubt.
He sinks into the chair beside the bed, still holding your hand like it’s the last stable object in the cosmos.
“I should’ve been there,” he murmurs. “I should’ve kept you both safe.”
There’s no anger in it, just the tremor of someone realizing how much more he has to lose than he thought, and how fiercely he wants to guard it.
Your thumb brushes his cheek. “You did what you could. I’m here. We’re here.”
That plural seems to land inside him like the first heartbeat of a new constellation. He kisses your palm, letting out a breath that loosens something in his shoulders.
You smile at him and pull his hand a little, asking him, "Do you want to lay with me? Cuddle a little?"
He gets up immediately, nodding. "Of course, my love."
He eases himself onto the bed with unusual care, like the mattress might bite him if he jostles you. His arm slips around your waist, the uninjured side, and he tucks his forehead against the curve of your neck. His breath warms your skin as if he’s thawing out from the sprint, the panic and the revelation.
For a while he’s quiet, just holding you. Then the questions start bubbling up, boyish in a way you’ve never heard from him.
“When did you know?” His fingers trace circles over your hip, absent and reverent at the same time. “Was it today? Earlier? Did you… was there a moment where you felt it?”
You smile into his hair. “A couple weeks ago. I took the test after that complicated shift you had. I was going to tell you last weekend but then you got called in again and then things got hectic and then…” You gesture vaguely with your bandaged arm, because life lately has felt like a series of plot twists.
He lifts his head enough so you can see his expression. “You went through all that alone?”
“I wasn’t alone,” you say. “I was just… waiting for the right moment.”
He huffs a tiny laugh. “I wish you’d told me sooner. Not because I’m upset, I’m just—” He presses his palm flat against your stomach, broad and careful. “I want to be in every second of this.”
The touch is feather-light, as if he thinks the baby might feel it somehow. Maybe he hopes it will.
Then another question: “How did it feel? Finding out?”
“Terrifying,” you admit. “And exciting. And unreal. Kind of like right now.”
He nods against you, absorbing it all. “I keep thinking about you in that store. About what could’ve happened. And the idea that I didn’t even know…” His throat tightens again. “I want to do better. I want to be better for you and for them.”
You nudge his shoulder gently. “You already are. You sprinted out of your office the second you heard I was hurt.”
“I’ve never moved that fast,” he mutters, half-serious. “I think I broke physics.”
His hand stays on your stomach, thumb grazing in tiny arcs. He’s quiet for a beat, and then he says it.
“I want them to be a girl.”
You blink at him, surprised. “You do?”
He nods against your shoulder.
“Yeah. I don’t know why. Maybe because… I just picture this tiny person looking at you the way I do. Like the universe tilted in her favor the moment you existed.” He laughs at himself, embarrassed but not backing down. “And I’d get to be the dad who learns how to braid hair terribly and tries too hard at school plays.”
There’s a warmth settling over both of you that has nothing to do with hospital blankets.
“You know it doesn’t work like that, right?” you tease.
“I know,” he says. “But if the universe is taking requests… I’d like a little girl.”
He pulls you closer, like he finally realized you’re both safely here and he gets to hold you without fear.
He brushes a kiss into your shoulder. “Tell me everything,” he whispers. “Every symptom, every moment, every thought you had. I want to know it all.”
You settle against him, letting the story start to unfold.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
⚘( ၴႅၴ plot: he went to Harvard so he must like smart people? WRONG- here’s some cute dynamic between him and a hot, but really dumb reader.
͙͘͡★ warnings: reader is such a cute idiot, powerful idiot, fluff. Team picking on the reader.
You would think he’d make fun of you, call you out on your stupidity. Anything you say wrong but no- he’s just staring at you with heart eyes.
“Robert, I’m sure they don’t even know how to do math. Don’t send them-” coop tried to say over the head piece.
“Actually we practiced yesterday, maybe you should shut your mouth-”
Sonar says some shit and Robert has to tell him to get back on root because he’s heading to find coop.
You’re just smiling, not caring about how much the rest of the team makes fun of you. Sometimes you don’t even notice that it’s an insult.
“I don’t think you should do that,” sonar grabs your hand. You stop and look at him, he’s look down at what you’re holding. A bowl of left overs, with a metal spoon in it.
“It will blow up the building.” He states and takes out the spoon.
“Thank you! Good to know, you’re so smart.”
Sonar is so cocky the rest of the day when you compliment him!
You could say anything and he’s nodding along, sometimes he’s not even paying attention because you’re just so hot.
He’s so protective it makes him look stupid. Fights so many people. His calm demeanor turning into a fucking raging monster with the slightest bad comment about you.
“We should like….grab dinner sometime.” He brings it up over your resting time at the office.
“I grab dinner around five or six usually. So I will be eating today, yeah.” Fucking pretty little dumb dumb.
“Together. I want to take you out to dinner as a romantic interest.” He has to be so fucking clear. He finds you adorable, so hot and cute when your a little air head! But please give him something, he’s dying.
“Oh, lovely! Should have said something earlier and I would have got us reservations.” [he has. He’s flirted, said some shit, but your still too blind to understand]
Sonar smiles and his ears do a twitch! He could jump on you right now with the way you’re smiling at him.
“Cool. Cool.”
He’s so not cool. He just asked out one of the top hero’s in the charts right now- he might shift any moment.
Summary: a worn-out Robert comes home late to his sleepy girl, who’s determined to pull him back together with soft hands, softer kisses, and all the quiet love he’s too tired to ask for.
CW: mild injury/patching up, soft intimacy and showering together (no smut), and a whole lot of disgusting domestic fluff <3
Guys I’m absolutely obsessed with Dispatch and am in love with Robert!! Expect a LOT more of him (and sonar) :)!
Dividers by @strangergraphics!! I love her stuff sm, check her out <3
You don’t remember drifting off. One moment you were curled on the couch with Beef pressed warm against your hip, wrapped in Robert’s hoodie like it was a borrowed heartbeat… and the next, you’re blinking awake to the faint scratch of a key turning in the lock.
Beef hears him before you do— ears perked, tail thumping once, then twice, against the cushions. It’s the sound that pulls you from sleep, hazy and slow and soft around the edges.
The door swings open.
Robert steps inside like he’s made of weariness and gravity. Shoulders bowed, hair mussed, shirt smudged with a constellation of grease, dust, and proof of a day far too long. He kicks his boots off with a tired grunt, a muted wince when one catches on the heel.
You’re on your feet before he can straighten. Your body moves without permission— bare feet hitting the cool floor, hoodie sleeves dragging over your hands, sleep still fogging your vision.
He looks up.
And the raw relief in his eyes knocks the air right out of you.
“Hey,” he murmurs— voice rough, worn thin, barely more than a breath given shape.
You cross the room in three soft steps and fold yourself into him, arms winding around his neck, cheek pressed into the warm hollow beneath his jaw. Not gentle. Not cautious. Just home.
He melts.
That’s the only word for it. His arms slip around your waist, pulling you in with a kind of desperate softness, his forehead pressing into your temple as if letting go would undo him entirely.
You feel the tremor in him— the kind you only notice if you’re this close.
“Oh baby…” you breathe, fingers slipping into his hair. “Long day?”
He nods against your skin. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t let go.
Beef noses insistently at his calf, then plops down on both your feet, making sure, in his dog logic, that Robert is truly home. Robert huffs out a small laugh, but even that sounds exhausted.
You pull back only when he winces— small, instinctive, a tightening around his ribs. Your hands find his face instantly, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.
“Bathroom,” you whisper, voice still thick with sleep. “Come on.”
He tries— tries— to argue. Something about you needing rest. Something about him being fine.
You shake your head, tugging gently at his hand. “I said come on.”
He gives in with a soft exhale, letting you lead him down the hallway.
The bathroom light is warm and low— honey gold against tile. You close the door, shutting out the rest of the world.
Robert stands there, tired and waiting, while you peel the day off him. You lift his shirt carefully, your fingers brushing the darkening bruise across his ribs. He inhales sharply.
“M’sorry,” you murmur automatically.
He catches your wrist, pressing a kiss to the inside of it. “You’re not hurting me.”
You kiss the center of his chest in apology anyway.
Steam fogs the air when you turn on the shower. The two of you step in together, the warmth enveloping you both in a soft cocoon. Water cascades over his shoulders, and he groans— a small, unguarded sound that makes your heart ache.
You reach for his hair without thinking. He bends his head so you can reach, hair damp and heavy beneath your fingertips. You work shampoo through his hair, slowly, dreamily, your nails grazing his scalp in tiny circles.
His breath stutters.
His hand finds your hips.
His forehead rests in the curve of your collarbone.
You smile, rinsing suds from his hair, watching the water bead on his lashes. “You always say that.”
“Because you always do it right.”
You brush water from his cheek with your thumb. He kisses your wrist again, slower this time, lips lingering like he’s thanking you without words.
The shower becomes quiet, warm, safe— your fingers tracing through his hair, his body softening under your touch. You trail kisses along his jaw, his cheek, the space beneath his ear, small and tender and meant only for him.
When you’re both rinsed and clean, you guide him out and wrap him in a towel. He leans into your touch like he’s been waiting all day to be held this way.
You tug him to sit on the closed toilet lid and step between his knees. He spreads them just enough to make room for you, hands sliding to the backs of your thighs in lazy circles.
The towel sits low on his hips, exposing the bruise along his ribs. You inhale softly, fingers brushing the edge of it.
“Hard day?” You ask.
His eyes darken— not with pain, but with the weight you know he carries so quietly. “Long day. Long week. Just… a lot.”
You nod. You don’t make him say more.
Instead you clean the scrape along his arm, blow gently to cool the sting, tape a bandage on his knuckle. His eyes flutter half closed as he listens to your breath, your movements, your heartbeat.
“You’re falling asleep standing up,” he murmurs.
You hum, eyes half lidded, and kiss his cheek without thinking. He leans into it. You kiss the corner of his mouth. He catches it. You kiss his jaw, his temple, the warm skin near the bruise around his eye. Each kiss makes his breath slow, deep, soften.
When you’re done, you slide your hands down his chest and whisper, “bed.”
He stands— slowly, a little heavily— and wraps an arm around your waist as if you’re his anchor. Beef is waiting at the bedroom door, tail wagging, eyes bright with sleepy loyalty.
In the soft dark of your room, you pull on sleep shorts and slide back into his hoodie. It hangs off your shoulder, sleeves too long, smelling like him and warm water and home.
He watches you with an expression that looks a little like awe and a lot like love.
The moment you get under the blankets, he follows, gathering you into his chest. Your legs tangle, your cheek resting against his heart. He exhales into your hair— long, deep, like he’s finally exorcising the day.
You tilt your head, kissing the spot over his heartbeat.
Once.
Twice.
Slow, lingering. Sleepy.
He shivers.
“C’mere,” he whispers, voice scraped soft. His hand finds the back of your thigh, pulling you closer.
You lift your head just enough to kiss his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, then the soft place beneath it. Little kisses, featherlight, scattered like you’re soothing away bruises the world can’t see.
“I’m okay,” he murmurs, but his voice cracks on the last word.
“I know,” you whisper, fingers stroking his cheek. “But I can still take care of you.”
His hand comes up to cradle your face, thumb brushing your lower lip. “Sweetheart… you’re barely awake.”
“I’m awake enough,” you say, kissing him again. “I just want you to feel better.”
His eyes flutter shut. “I do.”
You settle back down, tucking into him, hoodie sleeves brushing his ribs. He pulls the blankets higher around your shoulders, tucks them in like he’s afraid the night might steal you away.
Beef curls at your feet with a heavy dog-sigh.
Robert presses a slow kiss to your forehead— warm and full of unspoken gratitude.
“You’re so good to me,” he whispers into your hair.
“You deserve it,” you murmur, already fading.
He swallows, arms tightening around you. “Not sure what I did to earn this.”
“You came home,” you breathe.
That hits him harder than you intended. His hand cups the back of your head, guiding you impossibly closer.
“I’ll always come home to you,” he whispers, voice quiet and fierce.
You hum against his chest, sliding one sleepy hand up to rest over his heart.
And wrapped in his arms, wrapped in the weight of the day finally gone, wrapped in the warmth of your boy safe beside you— you drift.
