#dispatch robert x reader

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.

“Feels good,” he mutters, voice already slipping toward sleepiness. “Your hands…”

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.

Soft.

Entwined.

Breathing as one.

And the night, at last, becomes gentle.

“…We need to talk.”

“Yeah,” You said as if it was obvious. “We do.”

“Why would you say you were single?” Robert demanded to you like you had just broken one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

“Because what else was I supposed to say, Robert?”

“I don’t know? Say you’re not dating? Unavailable? Busy?”

You rose a brow to him. “And then everyone wonders why I’m not dating anyone.”

“Who cares? It’s none of their business.” He shot back to you.

You blinked slowly

Oh, poor idiot man. He practically loaded the gun and handed it to you himself. “Exactly. My dating life is none of their business. So why can’t we be public with our relationship?”

Robert froze than exhaled. “…Yeah,” he muttered, “kinda walked into that one.”

You folded your arms. “Little bit.” You replied sarcastically.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m not trying to hide you. I just don’t want HR breathing down our necks when we’re still figuring this out.”

“And in the meantime,” you said, “I look single. So no, I’m not shocked Mandy tried to set me up.”

“Oh my god,” Robert groaned. “I expect you not to give your number to Mandy’s random dog-shelter friend! I expect you to maybe- I don’t know- not act like we’re nothing!”

“Robert… we are nothing. Officially. Publicly. By your rules.” You reminded him.

Robert's breath hitched, panic flashing behind his eyes. “That’s not- you know that’s not how I see us.”

“Maybe,” you murmured. “But it’s how it looks.”

Robert’s voice began to crack slightly on the edges as he tried to win this fight. “You think it doesn’t kill me? Hearing Mandy ask if you’re single? Seeing you say yes? Watching her show you some… Levi?”

You raised a brow. “Charming, adorable, paramedic Levi, yes.”

Robert made a noise towards you. “Stop calling him charming!”

“You’re the one hiding me, Robert,” you finally sighed. “You don’t get to be jealous over a situation you created.” You remarked to him.

“Okay that’s...” He threw his hands up in frustration. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s entirely fair.”

“I’m trying to protect us.”

“And I’m trying to have us,” you said. “There’s a difference.”

He stared at you like the air had been knocked out of him.

“(Name)… please don’t do that. Don’t talk like-”

- The break room door swung open again, causing Robert to stop his ranting in his tracks.

Sonar stepped inside holding his small plastic container that more than likely had some sort of rodent in it. He froze when he saw the two of you.

“…Uh,” he said slowly, eyes bouncing between the two of you. “Am I… interrupting?”

“No.” You and Robert said in unison as Robert went back to eating his lunch.

Sonar nodded once, went to grab a fork before he looked towards your takeout box that was in front of you.

“You gonna finish that?”

You exhaled a slight laugh. “You know what? No. I’m not hungry anymore.” You pushed the box toward him, stood up, and grabbed your jacket.

Robert’s shot to his feet right away. “Wait- (Name)-”

Sonar paused mid-chew. “Uh… couples’ quarrel?”

Robert shot him a nasty look. “Obviously not. We’re not dating.”

The second that those words escaped Robert's lips, he knew that he had messed up. He saw the look on your face; the hurt. The feelings that you had tried to bury.

You didn’t turn around this time. You just walked out.

But behind you, Robert was already scrambling after you. “(Name), wait- please-”

The door slammed closed behind him, leaving Sonar standing over the abandoned lunch before just happily taking a bite. “…Damn. Drama AND free lunch.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"Are you seriously deepthroating that banana in the break room?" Flambae asked out loud, narrowing his eyes at you.

Well, yeah, you were. The banana was almost all the way down your throat when he walked in for a break, the only evidence of its existence the peel in your hand. Your phone was in your hand, recording you as you did it. Caught, you ended the recording and pulled the banana out of your throat, a string of spit following along with it.

Wiping the spit away, you shrugged half-heartedly. "Gotta get practice in somehow."

He snorted. "Must be used to small guys if that's what you're practicing with."

A judgmental look on your face, you eyed him up and down. "… Okay, size queen."

"I-" he sputtered out, throwing his hands in the air. "Whatever, have fun with your fucking banana. At least I know I've got someone's dick to suck."

Wiggling your eyebrows, you downed your mid-afternoon snack as the hero walked out of the break room. Was he walking with a limp? Nah, you must have been imagining things.

It was kind of funny. No one knew about your relationship, all of it hidden on locked down social media profiles. To everyone, you were just a new janitor and not Robert's long-term fiancé.

Oh, right, he should be on break now. It was good that your scheduled breaks were at different times. Who knew what you would get up to if you had the same break. Opening up your text messages app, you sent the video off to him, angled specifically where he could see the tip bulge in your throat. With that, you slipped your phone in your back pocket and wandered off to your next assignment.

The afternoon was insignificant. The Z-team getting into a fight with each other, requiring another food clean up. Another fruit bouquet to clean up from Phenomaman. At least it was found fast and you could throw it away quickly enough.

It wasn't until you walked by your fiance's desk that something interesting would happen. A quiet psst caught your attention, and you turned your attention to him.

"Hey, Chase." Robert snatched Beef, lifting him over the cubicle wall. "Watch Beef for a minute? Spilled something, and I don't want him getting into it."

He pushed himself back from the desk, gesturing to underneath it. Your eyes flicked towards the carpeting. No obvious spills, none that you could see. Raising an eyebrow, you locked eyes with Robert again.

Wordlessly, he placed his hand on his lap and raised his eyebrows, head tilted towards the desk. Oh. Right. That's a bold move. Something stirred in your stomach, your heart raced. The threat of getting caught was a hot one. A bold one, but certainly a hot one.

Tilting your head forward, you slowly looked down at the desk. "Oh yeah, sorry about that, I must have spilled something down there," you said out loud, getting down on your knees. "I'll get that cleaned up for you. I wouldn't want you to, ya know, miss any calls."

Damn, he wasn't lying when he said there was no space underneath his desk. How did his knees not hurt everyday? On your hands and knees, you crawled into the dark under spot, noting any spaces anyone could possibly see you.

Settled on the floor, you tapped Robert's calf, calling him forward. Squeaky wheels rolled towards you, his legs stretching out in front of you. Perfect, no gaps to see you down there. Narrowing your eyes, you thought about how you wanted to start. His thighs were sensitive. Teasing the edge of his phalloplasty scarring was enough to get him moaning. But those were too low down to possibly reach, if you wanted to be discrete. But…

Your hand reached out to that spot you knew so well, thumbing over the cloth. A heavy, exhaled sigh made a smile grow on your lips.

Perfect.

As you teased the line of the scarring, your free hand reached for his belt. Easy enough to get off, popping it off with your thumb. You reached under his shirt, untucking it, gently rubbing your thumb over his hip line, right above his dress pants. A heavier sigh, and Robert shifted in his seat, hunching over with his elbows on the desktop.

Humming, you settled your head closer to his crotch, resting on his thigh as your hands got to work getting his cock freed. Precum stained briefs, a pleased smile on your lips as you flicked your tongue out to tease the tip. A strained groan, and a hand found its way beneath your desk and to the back of your neck.

You stayed there for a moment, sucking on his dick through his briefs. But he was obviously impatient, pulling down his brief himself. Smiling, you kissed the side of his dick before wrapping your lips around his head.

"Flambae, you're o-oh-off-"

His cock hit the back of your throat, his words stammering out. A soft moan ran out your lips as you lapped at his balls, nose in his curly pubes. The hand on the back of your head tightened, encouraging you to stay there. Humming in acknowledgement, you hollowed out your cheeks, bobbing head to keep his dick in your throat as long as possible.

"You're off course, Flambae," Robert started in again, regaining his composure. "But I didn't need to tell you that…. No, I didn't choke on a banana, I just choked on spit."

Oh yeah, he definitely knew at this point. Oh well. Maybe you could get into some tag teaming.

Tapping his calf, he released his grip on your neck, resting it on your head. You pulled back, tongue trailing across the bottom of his cock. Wrapping your lips around his head, your hand came to his base, thumbing pressing down. A groan, swallowed down. Flicking your eyes up, you couldn't help but notice how ragged his breathing was. And how desperately he was trying to keep himself quiet.

Pulling your mouth of his dick completely, you leaned in closer, wrapping your mouth around the base of his cock. Focusing your tongue on the bottom, your hand slowly pumped him, pausing to tease the tip. His cock twitched in your mouth, throbbing with each tug. Close. Damn, if only you could pull his pants down completely. But this would have to do.

Thank god his pants were black. You didn't even want to know how much of your spit would show on khaki pants.

Another choked quiet groan, and you looked up to see his eyes screwed shut. Over the headset, you could hear Flambae lambast him, asking if he was enjoying that banana. But he continued guiding you with his hand, massaging the top of your head as you lapped at his base, pumping him slowly and patiently.

It wasn't long until cum was dripping out of his cock, twitching and throbbing as you kept sucking. A quiet groan escaped his chest, his grip tightening on the back of your head. Cum leaked out into your hand, all of which you happily licked up to avoid detection.

Quietly, you pushed yourself back deeper into the desk, letting Robert zip himself back up. Wiping your mouth, you waited for him to push himself back from the desk to let yourself up.

"Yeah, sorry about that." His voice wavered as he spoke. "I guess Beef got into something down there. Didn't mean for that mess to happen."

As you stood, your stumbled a bit, knees weak. Robert instinctively reached out, grabbing your waist with an unexpectedly strong grip. Teasingly, he pulled you towards him mouth, big brown eyes looking up at you as he pressed his mouth against hip.

"I owe you one. Seriously."

A knowing smile slipped on your face, ruffling his hair. "Hey, I've always got a storage room that could use some cleaning. Stop by on your break?"

"Of course, of course." He squeezed your ass. "See ya around."

All of the lunch shifts had ended, and you figured it was a good time to swing around to the break room again. Poking your head in, you noticed a donut box. Another appreciation gift for one of the superheroes. You peeked in the box, finding a cream filled donut.

Oh, you couldn't possibly say no.

You picked it up, biting directly into. Moaning softly, you dug your tongue into the cream filled treat. Soft, spongy. Your nose pressed deeper into it. God, it had been too long since you'd had one this good.

"Seriously?"

Flambae, once again, stood in the doorway. Staring at you, a deadpan look on his face as you tongue fucked the donut.

Curling your tongue in, you looked over at him, a glob of cream on your nose. "What? I'm always down for a cream-filled donut."

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Bet you prefer it homemade."

Shrugging, you shoved the rest in your mouth. "I mean, if you filled it, I'd still eat it. I'm not really picky."

Smoke started rolling off his shoulders. Was that embarrassment, on his scrunched up face? "I do not do cream filling. It's messy and… Find someone else to fill your donuts."

With that, he was gone, grumbling something about something.

Imagine you used to work with Robert when he was Mechaman, before the fight with Shroud, before he joined SDN. Powered or not, you were close enough that you knew Robert Robertson III was the man in the mech suit, maybe your parents were close.

Flash forward to the flaming ruins of the shopping center, you and Mechaman are trying to put Flambae down before the whole structure fails. No more civilians left to save inside, just Flambae to take care of. You make a bad call, misjudge something, Flambae lights you up, whatever suit you’re wearing wasn’t fireproof, and the left side of your body- from your left thigh, left side of your torso, left arm, and up the left side of your neck- critical burns. After Robert takes down Flambae (and a few of his fingers), he’s got you in the best medical care he can get.

Flambae’s intention with his attack was to kill you, in all honesty. Luckily for you and Robert, it didn’t. The brunt of the damage was second and third degree burns, that could be worked with. After a few skin grafts to the more critical areas, and weeks of supervised healing, you were finally discharged with your own set of compression garments to help heal the burn scars. You had a few sets of white and black garments that you usually layered under a tee and pants, and at least one that covered your neck like a turtleneck. (Layering an oversized tee over a tighter long sleeve is pretty common where I’m from at least) They were rough to get used to in the common California heat, but get used to them you did.

Whatever hero work you were doing with Robert came to a halt while you focused on healing. You had regular PT to help with the loss of range of motion with the damaged skin, and the underlying nerve damage. When Robert wasn’t out in the suit, he was with you in your shared apartment. You both celebrated when you took Beef on your first full length walk without major pain or difficulty. The road to recovery was slow but the time would pass regardless, you wanted to make the most of it.

Another flash forward, you don’t feel ready to go back in the field for hero work, but you get approached by SDN for dispatching, and you’ve got a new job. Shroud escapes prison, Robert goes after him, the suit is destroyed and he falls a few hundred feet straight into a medically-induced coma to heal the damage. Now it’s your turn to be there for him as he heals. You can’t decide if it’s better or worse with him being unconscious, you try not to focus on that. You keep up with the rent on your shared apartment, you take care of Beef (occasionally calling Chase for some assistance), and if you aren’t at SDN, you’re at his bedside. You tried to get your hands on the remains of his suit, but higher ups wouldn’t release them to you. You give Robert a quick haircut when you notice his hair getting longer than he usually wore it.

You’re working a long dispatching shift when Robert gets out of the hospital. He thinks he remembers the distant sound of some old books, with your voice (you had been reading to him). He see’s the note you left him for if he woke up without you, and he’s loathe to realize you’ve been so worried and taking care of his life when he’s been out of commission. He puts his flight suit back on and tries to do his job, only to be rescued by Blonde Blazer. He was agreeable to soothe his temper with a drink (contributing to accidental bodily harm to Flambae only made it better), and he eventually stumbled back to his your shared apartment. The reunion isn’t what you expected but you were grateful for his awakening nonetheless. He spends some time on his suit, but without the astral pulse he’s at a dead end. You tried to get him to bed but you both knew he would be sick of sleep for a while.

When Robert agreed to the SDN job, he genuinely forgot that’s where you were working. He had five seconds of confusion, followed by the admission his forgot (he didn’t like to think about the coma, how it made him weak, but he did play the coma-card for this). He learned you were a dispatcher for another team of heroes. Blonde Blazer hadn’t initially planned to get you to work with the Z-team, on account of being one of the few to know the extent of the damage inflicted by Flambae, but all of their other dispatchers had quit, and you wanted to step up. Like Robert, you also didn’t like the show weakness, and you didn’t want to show fear at the voice of Flambae, so you agreed. Flambae didn’t recognize you as the hero, but he liked you as their temporary dispatcher. You were curt, didn’t flinch (audibly) at their quips and jabs, and didn’t treat them like criminals, they could handle that. Blazer knew Robert would be a good fit for the Z-team, and you had known your position as their dispatcher was temporary, but she wanted you to help ease Robert (and the team) into the new arrangement. Everyone survived the first day, the Team butthurt about you leaving them, and Robert exhausted with how annoying they all were.

When the Z-team invites Robert out to the villain bar for drinks, they invite you too, they had more history with you than they did Robert anyways (some more than others, not that they had realized it yet). Courtney knew Robert was Mechaman from the start of the first day, but she eventually figured out who you were by association. She got some laughs out of knowing that Flambae was unknowingly in the room with the person who had taken his fingers, and someone he had torched. After the fight with the other bar-goers, you were all on your way to the Taco place when you noticed the arm of your compression garment was ripped, burned skin showing through the sizable tear in the fabric. Sonar had been walking with you and saw the burns, along with the panic evident on your face. He took his blazer off and tossed it at you, mumbling something about him being too warm to wear it anyways.

When Robert decides to tell the team the truth, that he’s Mechaman, he suspects Flambae’s not going to react well. You’re sitting over by Sonar and Prism, he’s hoping that they’ll protect you if he can’t get over fast enough. After Robert’s confession, and before Flambae’s retaliation, the team hears your quiet confession to your own superhero identity. Flambae looks at you for a while, his look flickering between anger and something softer. He ultimately tries torching Robert, only to be stopped by Golem, and Flambae flies off into the night.