[Robotnik x READER]
Imagine, when Sonic blew up electricity at Greenhills, a satellite also exploded ... It belonged to Interpol.You are the commissioner sent there to investigate this strange accident. You tried to get ahead of the Americans, but w...
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TW : Sexual scene on this chapter
Frustration coursed through his veins and dilated his pupils. Nothing was going as he planned.
The doctor controlled everything, all the time.
He had controlled his existence, his work demands. Always anticipated the reactions of others so as never to be surprised...or disappointed. Had always made sure to keep his distance from humanity, controlling his emotions at the same time. His feelings.
Everything was control, everything was predictable in the human race.
So why did he feel so lost?
Nothing was going the way he wanted. Everything was beyond his control. Starting with this part that didn't fit properly, to this drone that refused to start.
To those images that kept coming back to his head when he closed his eyes.
Robotnik hadn't left his lab since he'd slammed the door shut forty-eight hours earlier. If Stone had not called for help, it was because his episodic outbursts let him know that his boss was still alive.
He had probably dozed off, a heavy but restless sleep, in which his mind was still torturing him while his body couldn't take it anymore.
He was a human, not a machine.
But he convinced himself otherwise.
Eyes closed, he saw her face again, her delicate lips that he had devoured with envy, her hand against her face, the frustration of not feeling her skin through the glove.
She.
She.
She.
The drone on the table flew in a fit of rage, crashing into the wall before crashing to the ground. The doctor froze before kneeling in front of the machine, distraught.
He had never behaved like this with them.
But it...
He stared at the drone, his eyes full of panic, his heart tight in a vice. This drone was the one she had neutralized with a well-placed kick of her shoe.
He took his anger out on this drone, failing to have been able to do so on her.
Because the last images that sent him back were that of this woman and what he felt for her.
Desire that devoured his guts. Which gnawed at him from the inside.
He refused to see his hands shaking, so he carried the drone against him before bringing it back to the table with the firm intention of getting it started, touching the cold metal, the absence of electromagnetic vibration echoing the emptiness he felt. in him.
This drone was broken inside.
Like him.
He bit the inside of his cheek. Control, he had said. He had sworn to himself as his existence had disappointed him, as others had disappointed him. The machine wasn't supposed to be bugging now, its mechanism was riddled with years of denial, years of programming during which he had refused to feel anything.
