Work Text:
Builderman sat alone in his office long after most of Roblox HQ had gone quiet.
The overhead lights hummed softly, casting a sterile glow over his desk. Papers were scattered everywhere—reports half-read, signatures left unfinished, entire folders abandoned where they’d been dropped. Some documents had slipped off the desk entirely and lay crumpled on the floor, unnoticed.
He had tried to work.
He needed to work.
But the words on the page blurred together no matter how many times he read them. His pen rested uselessly between his fingers, unmoving, while his attention drifted—inevitably—back to the wall of monitors in front of him.
More specifically, to one screen.
Taph.
The lobby camera showed them sitting cross-legged on the floor, tools spread neatly around them. The polished surface reflected the overhead lights, framing Taph in a way that almost felt intentional. Their hands moved quickly and confidently as they assembled another subspace tripmine, fingers steady, precise.
Builderman leaned forward in his chair.
He remembered telling them not to do this.
He remembered standing there, arms crossed, calmly explaining that HQ had standardized traps. That making their own was unnecessary. Inefficient. Potentially dangerous.
Taph hadn’t argued.
They hadn’t apologized either.
They’d simply shaken their head—once, firmly—and gone back to work.
That refusal still bothered him.
It wasn’t defiance exactly. It was independence. The kind that didn’t ask permission, didn’t bend easily. The kind that slipped through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold it.
He told himself he was watching out of responsibility.
This was his headquarters. His people. His duty to ensure everything ran smoothly.
But his gaze never drifted to the other cameras.
Only Taph.
They looked calm. Focused. Almost content, sitting there on the floor like they belonged to the space more than the furniture did. The lobby felt quieter when they were there, like the building itself had settled around them.
Builderman swallowed.
How could someone feel so out of place and yet fit so perfectly?
He told himself it was admiration. Respect. Appreciation for skill and dedication.
But admiration didn’t make his chest tighten like this.
Admiration didn’t make him memorize the way Taph tilted their head when concentrating, or the way their shoulders relaxed once a trap was completed. It didn’t make him replay their past conversations in his head, searching for meaning in every pause, every glance.
And it definitely didn’t make him feel this… possessive.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
Taph was dangerous—not just because of the vigilante work, but because they didn’t need him. They moved through the world on their own terms, taking risks without asking, putting themselves in danger without considering who might worry.
That thought twisted something sharp and ugly inside him.
They shouldn’t be out there.
Every mission. Every trap. Every night they disappeared from HQ, it felt like a personal slight. Like they were choosing danger over safety—over him.
Over the structure he could provide.
Builderman told himself he just wanted to protect them.
That was reasonable. Rational.
Anyone with sense would want Taph safe.
But safety required limits.
Rules.
Control.
He shifted in his chair, fingers tightening around the armrest as the thought took root. Taph didn’t need to be a vigilante. That life was too unpredictable, too violent, too unstable for someone like them.
They deserved something quieter.
Something permanent.
And if they didn’t realize that yet… well. People rarely understood what was best for them right away.
Convincing Taph would take time. He knew that. They were stubborn, resistant to authority, allergic to being told what to do.
But he was patient.
He always had been.
He blinked as movement on the screen caught his attention.
Taph stood, brushing dust from their clothes before carefully packing the completed tripmines into a worn bag. Builderman leaned closer, eyes tracking every movement as they slung the strap over their shoulder.
They were leaving.
His jaw tightened.
The camera switched as Taph exited the building, showing them walking down the exterior path. For a moment, they were just another figure moving through the world—free, unrestrained, completely unaware of the eyes following them.
Then they stopped.
Taph looked up.
Directly at the camera.
And waved.
It was small. Casual. Thoughtless.
But Builderman’s breath caught sharply in his throat.
His heart began to race, pulse thudding loudly in his ears as his mind scrambled to interpret the gesture. They probably thought no one was watching. Or that it was just some faceless employee on duty.
But Builderman knew better.
He felt it.
That wave was acknowledgment.
Connection.
Recognition.
His fingers trembled slightly as he watched Taph turn away and continue down the path, their figure slowly shrinking until it disappeared from the screen entirely.
The monitor went still.
The silence in the office felt oppressive.
Builderman leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty feed long after Taph was gone. His reflection stared back at him faintly from the darkened screen, eyes bright with something unsettling.
In his mind, the wave replayed over and over again.
For him.
It had to be for him.
The thought settled deep in his chest, warm and dangerous. He imagined a version of the future where Taph didn’t leave anymore. Where they stayed somewhere safe, somewhere secure—somewhere he could watch over them properly.
Where they didn’t need to run headfirst into danger just to feel useful.
Where they didn’t need anyone else.
A slow smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.
He would fix this.
One way or another.
And Taph would thank him for it eventually.
They always did—once they realized they couldn’t live without the protection he offered.