#dispatcher reader

you were a trainee, having shadowed robert and given the opportunity to help manage the z-team as his career as mechaman began to take up speed. sonar had gone through the motions of his morning— the usual eating the roaches he found in the cupboard, obsessively checking his current investments' rates, scrolling through half-naked people's instagrams— when your voice hummed into his ear.

you introduced yourself to the team, and he was practically salivating. no, actually— he was salivating. he gave a look to mal, and she already knew what she had to do.

that evening, the two of them were huddled up by their shared laptop, scrolling through endless accounts bearing your name, before managing to find… a perfectly innocent account. a normal selfie of yourself as a profile picture, only two posts, both nature pictures.

"looks like this is it," malevola commented, sipping from a beer can.

"no, can't be…" sonar murmured, leaning forward and beginning to sift through your followings.

"mmh-!" mal exclaimed, swallowing down the rest of her drink. "look."

she pointed at some random content creator, likely one of those dumb podcasters, and sonar cocked a brow. "so?"

"look at the name," she insisted, trailing a nail down the line of your name... which in that account's bio.

"no way i'm getting my dick wet for a podcaster," he groaned.

"didn't you ask to start one yourself?" malevola shot him a look.

"it's not the same."

"whatever," she rolled her eyes, getting up and sauntering off. "i'm going to bed. don't jack off too loud."

"i'm not— actually, yeah, doesn't sound too bad." sonar waved her off, sitting back and skimming through your video titles, reading them aloud under his breath. "the failure of relatable marketing.... the rise of a.i. and illiteracy... cryptocurrency: the multi-billion dollar scam?! come on."

he scoffed, popping open a leftover beer can and kicking back. he turned the video on, convinced he'd formulate such a genius argument that you'd have no choice but to miserably fail in a debate with him tomorrow and realize he was 10x smarter and 10x cooler and—

he sat there with rapt attention for a full three hours, listening to you, you— that trainee who fumbled and apologized with each small slip-up, who flashed him a shy smile when he looked for too long, who didn't even know what a dummy man was— persuade your way through an incredibly long, meticulous argument. it had him perched on the edge of his couch, ears twitching in thought, fingers drumming on his knee.

and, finally, you closed off the video, a small giggle and a flash of a smile accompanying your words, and he stared at the blank screen. he changed tabs, silently sold his crypto, turned on another one of your videos, trailed his hand down his body, and fell asleep after a few more hours of listening to your voice.

that very next morning, sonar could not keep his eyes off of you. he lounged around your cubicle, and when you peered up from your computer screen to look at him, he put on this nonchalant, casually cool act. inside? he was shaking and drooling and twitching on the ground.

"did you need something?" you asked, your voice striking a chord inside him that he took as an invitation.

"yeah, you," he casually replied.

"huh?"

"yeah, you?" he coughed, forcing an intonation.

"uh," you weren't sure how to respond. "no, i'm okay... what did you need?"

sonar's mouth clamped shut, just... staring at you with those big, white eyes. he realized he was beginning to look less charming and more creepy by the second. shit. he had to salvage this. his eyes darted around your desk, then back to your face and the... flickering light across it? the lamp on your desk was clearly older than you were, propped up with manuals and sticky notes and a bulb that was so fried it—

"be right back," he blurted out, leaving your vicinity. before long, he returned wielding a new lightbulb, coming in close to dig it out.

"so, anyways, how's it been?" he asked cooly, taking a multitool from his pocket and beginning to tinker with the centuries-old lamp.

"it?" you asked, leaning back in your chair. it took every ounce of sonar's self-control to not pounce on you.

"the job?" he snorted, setting the back panel down and grimacing at the inside of frayed wires.

"well, you assholes don't make it easy." you picked up a stress ball, gifted courtesy of royd, beginning to knead and squeeze it in your hand. it was like you were doing this on purpose to him.

"i'd hope you weren't easy," he mumbled, shifting his hips slightly.

"what?"

"what?"

"the thing you just said—"

"i'd hope you weren't being too easy on us." he cleared his throat, glancing between your fingers making indents in the ball and his current occupation.

"... uh huh." you crossed your arms over your chest, immediately diverting his attention down to there. "y'know, you're not a very good liar."

"i'm not lying," he droned out, eyes affixed on your chest still. he let out a small squeak... just for a little extra detail.

"you literally can't look me in the eye right now."

he slowly dragged his gaze up to your face, leaned forward intently. "... i'm... not... lying."

with that, he turned back to his work, muttering under his breath about something or other. it took him a couple of minutes before he screwed the baseplate back on snugly, set it upright, and plugged it back in. the light turned on... and stayed on.

"ta-daaa," he chimed, ears twitching upward. "good as new. no need to thank me. a kiss will suffice."

you raised your brows, giving him a little clap. "well done. but it's gonna take more than that to get me to kiss you."

"what?" he questioned, looking genuinely surprised. "but i helped you out."

"hmmmm, i dunno," you continued, putting a finger to your chin in thought. "maybe if you fix that printer over that way, i'd consider it."

"oh, oh-hoh, no," sonar declared, standing up straight. "i'm not being your personal slave for a kiss."

"your loss." you shrugged, swiveling in your chair to scoot up to your desk. "would've reeaaallly appreciated it, though..."

sonar stared at you, eyes half-lidded and arms stretched over his chest.

before long, he was going in and out of your cubicle, finding more things to fix or replace. it ranged from annoying, like getting the dust out of the corner, to genuinely concerning, like one of your car tires being half deflated. shit, he spent more time out of his day fixing up your very neglected things and listening to you yammer on about whatever topic interested you than he did actually going on operations. he wasn't complaining.

the end of the day came, and he clapped his hands of oil, his jacket discarded in favor of just his white button-down, sleeves pushed over his thick forearms. he looked over to the building's entrance, watching you emerge with a gradually shocked expression.

"you actually— wait, you actually topped off my tires?"

got something else you could top off.

"might as well," he replied. "they were flat as hell. seriously, how did you even get this shitbox going?"

"well, if you have to know, i happen to like my shitbox." you shifted on your feet, giving him a small smirk. "well, i guess... if you really went through all this trouble..."

he watched you approach with confusion littered on his features. by this point, he'd forgotten the 'deal' the both of you came up with. just being helpful and listening to your soothing voice... and getting to peak at your chest... was more than enough compensation. but you strode up to him, arms behind your back, before placing your hands upon his shoulders.

before he could process it, you leaned forward and kissed him. the soft— albeit slightly chapped— skin of your lips contrasted sharply against his rougher snout, but he was immediately putty in your hands. you pulled back slightly, and he chased you, hands grasping around your waist and pulling you flush against his broad frame. he turned the both of you around, the toes of his shoes against yours, and backed you up onto the back of your car. by that point, he'd already licked into your mouth, the both of you groping at each other.

you held both sides of his face and pried him off of you, breaths mingling as you each panted. he looked... well, he looked drunk off of that alone, swaying on his feet, the weight of his head resting in your hands.

"dinner, tomorrow, at seven; i'll pick the place." you pressed one more kiss to his snout before playfully shoving him off.