Started playing Borderlands 4 and I’m nowhere near done with the game, but I totally fell in love with Rafa. So, plz enjoy! lol
The safehouse smelled faintly of gun oil and cheap instant noodles. A rusted fan rattled overhead, struggling to push back the Kairos heat. The night was quiet, save for Rafa’s muttering and the distant crack of gunfire across the outer town ruins.
You leaned back on the battered couch, legs kicked up on the table that was cluttered with various papers and ammo boxes. Rafa sat on the floor, his left foot propped on his right thigh, sparks flickering as he adjusted the stubborn wires in the calf of his Deadframe. He moved with a practiced elegance that made it look effortless, though you knew better.
“You really enjoy spending your nights sweet-talking that thing, don’t you?” you said, cracking an eye open with a smirk.
Rafa’s eyes flicked toward you, a grin already forming. “Careful, cariño. This thing is the only reason you didn’t get turned into Swiss cheese today… If you like, I could let you kiss it for good luck.”
You snorted. “I’ll pass, kissing an exo-suit is not on the top of my list.”
He glanced up, grin widening. “Ay, how about kissing the man in the suit?”
“You’re impossible.” You muttered, rolling your eyes.
“And yet… You didn’t say no,” he teased, twisting a connector with a flick of his wrist. Sparks danced across the joint, making him hiss under his breath.
“Smooth,” you said, with a lazy grin. “Trying to flirt and electrocute yourself at the same time? Bold strategy for sure."
He shot you a sideways look, all teeth and mischief. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed. A man who knows his way around tech? That’s irresistible, sí?”
You laughed, shaking your head. “What, is that your go-to when flirting?”
“Is it working?” He asked, shifting to his other leg. The Deadframe whirred softly as he adjusted the inner panel.
You stood, stretching lazily. “I don’t know, you tell me.”
“Hmm?” Rafa hummed distractedly, still focused on the connectors. He only noticed you when your shadow blocked the overhead light.
You leaned down and tilted his chin up with a gentle hand. His breath hitched just before your lips met his. The kiss was soft and deliberate. When you pulled back, Rafa was grinning like he’d just won the jackpot.
“Good choice,” he said, voice low. “Skipping the suit and going straight for the man.”
You groaned and started to step away.
“Espera, cariño.” His hand shot out, catching your wrist. His grin never faltered, playful and infuriating. “Who said I was done with you?”
A/N: So I normally write mostly Gravity Falls content BUT I'm adding Claptrap to my GF fic soon and wanted to practice writing him first. Also I may have fallen in love with this garbage robot. Oops.
This is practice. Please be gentle. Or don't. I can take it 😩
Claptrap x Female Reader | Borderlands
Rating: M (violence, sexual references, language)
AO3 LINK: [BOOP]
“Alright, Claptrap. You've GOT this. You're a MASTER of stealth. A LEGEND of not getting shot in the face. She specifically told you to stay hidden, and you are ABSOLUTELY CRUSHING IT. You’re practically a GHOST! A specter. A very… angular... yellow specter that goes ‘whirrrrr’ when it moves… BUT! The bandits can't see you, the skags can't see you, NOBODY can see you because—”
His clamps opened and closed excitedly.
“—YOU ARE THAT GOOD AT HIDING!”
. . .
He was bright yellow.
In a dust-brown wasteland.
Crouched behind a crate that covered maybe forty percent of his frame.
A bandit corpse slumped next to him, half its face missing, one arm draped over the rusted metal like it was trying to give him a supportive pat. It wasn't. It was very dead. But Claptrap had been talking to it for the past ten minutes anyway because the alternative was acknowledging that he was, once again, in a combat zone he had no business being in.
. . .Also, his wheel squeaked every time he shifted.
. . .
Squeak.
Squeak.
He looked left. Right. Into the void that was his entire existence. Left again.
“This is FINE! This is STRATEGIC! You're like a—a tactical support unit! Providing moral support from a safe distance! She ASKED you to stay here, and you're RESPECTING HER BOUNDARIES! You're doing GREAT! She's gonna be so IMPRESSED by your ability to follow basic instructions! CHICKS LOVE THAT! Look at you, being emotionally mature and NOT getting in the way—"
A gunshot split the air.
His optic jerked forward.
And there you were.
Oh.
Oh #$%@.
His cooling fans kicked into overdrive with a mechanical whirr that was definitely audible to anyone within a ten-foot radius. Possibly fifteen. Maybe twenty if the wind was right.
You were in the middle of the bandit camp—well, former bandit camp, because you were systematically turning it into a corpse camp—moving like violence had been choreographed specifically for you. A psycho rushed you from the left—you sidestepped, brought your shotgun up in one fluid motion, and removed his kneecap like you had done this roughly a thousand times before (you definitely had, the robot had it documented). He went down screaming. You followed up with a boot to his face that made a sound Claptrap was pretty sure would haunt his audio files forever.
In a good way though.
Very, very good way.
A full-body shudder ran through his chassis.
“Oh WOW,” he whispered to the corpse. “You seeing this? ARE YOU SEEING THIS?!”
The dead man said nothing. One eye socket stared blankly at the sky.
“Because I'M seeing this! And let me tell you, Steve—can I call you Steve? I'm calling you Steve—THIS IS VERY HARD TO PROCESS RIGHT NOW!” His optic tracked your movement as he shifted closer to his unwilling conversation partner. “And I don't mean EMOTIONALLY hard, Steve! I mean if I had the biological components for it, I would be sporting THE MOST IMPRESSIVE—"
You spun. Dropped low. A bullet whizzed over your head—would have been a headshot if you had been standing. Instead, you rose smoothly, slinging the shotgun across your back in one fluid motion and drawing your assault rifle in the next. Already tracking the shooter. Finger on the trigger. Three-round burst. Center mass.
The bandit folded.
You blew a strand of hair out of your face.
Didn't even blink.
Claptrap's optic lens nearly fogged.
“—ERIDIUM-GRADE BONER RIGHT NOW! LIKE, WE'RE TALKING SLAG-INFUSED! CORROSIVE-ENHANCED! THE KIND THAT COULD MINE THROUGH SOLID ROCK AND POSSIBLY VIOLATE SEVERAL HYPERION SAFETY REGULATIONS!”
The corpse somehow looked more mortified than when it died.
“AND THE SIZE, STEVE! OH, THE SIZE! WE'RE NOT TALKING AVERAGE HERE! WE'RE TALKING LEGENDARY-TIER PROPORTIONS! ORANGE-RARITY WANG WITH FLAVOR TEXT! ‘CLAPTRAP'S PRIDE AND JOY (LITERALLY)!’ NO WAIT— ‘HANDLE WITH CARE (AND BOTH HANDS)!’ OR—OR ‘SHOOTS BLANKS BUT MAKES UP FOR IT IN VOLUME!’ THE KIND OF SIZE THAT COMES WITH ITS OWN QUEST MARKER! I'D NEED A SEPARATE INVENTORY SLOT JUST TO CARRY IT AROUND!”
You reloaded. Smooth. Didn't break stride.
Steve's mouth hung open a little wider.
“TWELVE INCHES MINIMUM! MAYBE FOURTEEN IF WE'RE BEING GENEROUS! FIFTEEN IF I'M REALLY FEELING CONFIDENT ABOUT MY THEORETICAL ANATOMY! AND THE GIRTH? SHE'D NEVER HAVE TO WONDER IF I WAS ENOUGH BECAUSE I'D BE—” He gestured wildly with both clamps. “—SO MUCH! THE KIND THAT MAKES HER GO—” His voice shifted, suddenly high-pitched, attempting a feminine tone. “—‘OH, CLAPTRAP, I'M GONNA NEED A MINUTE TO RECOVER!’ AND I'D SAY—” His tone immediately dropped back down. Attempting suave. Failing spectacularly. “‘TAKE YOUR TIME, BABY, I'M A GIVER!’”
Another enemy rushed past. You clotheslined him. He went down like a sack of wet cement.
The corpse's head lolled to the side. Away from the robot.
“AND IT WOULDN'T JUST BE BIG, STEVE! IT'D BE AESTHETICALLY PLEASING! SLEEK! AERODYNAMIC! MAYBE WITH SOME RACING STRIPES! BLUE LED ACCENTS! SHE'D LOOK AT IT AND GO ‘WOW, CLAPTRAP, THAT'S THE MOST VISUALLY APPEALING ROBOTIC PHALLUS I'VE EVER SEEN!’ AND I'D SAY ‘THANK YOU, I HAD IT CUSTOM DESIGNED BY THE BEST ENGINEERS ON PANDORA!’ EXCEPT I DIDN'T BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE ONE BUT IF I DID—”
Steve's jaw fell off.
Like, literally fell off. Dropped right off his skull.
Hit the dust with a quiet thunk.
Claptrap didn't notice. His optic was locked onto you—absolutely, completely, irrevocably fixated. Because you had just grabbed a bandit by his vest, headbutted him hard enough that the crack echoed across the wasteland, and then used his collapsing body as a step-stool to vault over a barricade.
A tiny puff of smoke erupted from somewhere in his chassis.
Then another.
Poof.
Poof.
His cooling system was losing its goddamn mind.
“—THAT'S IT! THAT'S THE WOMAN I'M GONNA MARRY!” he shrieked at Steve's jawless corpse. “WE'RE GONNA HAVE A BEAUTIFUL LIFE TOGETHER! I'LL PROPOSE! SHE'LL SAY YES—OR MAYBE NO—PROBABLY NO—DEFINITELY NO—BUT THEN I'LL ASK AGAIN AND SHE'LL FEEL BAD AND SAY YES OUT OF PITY! AND WE'LL HAVE A TINY CEREMONY! JUST US, THE WASTELAND, AND WHATEVER SKAGS WANDER BY! I'LL WEAR A BOWTIE! SHE'LL WEAR A DRESS! OR PANTS! SHE LOOKS GREAT IN PANTS! HAVE YOU SEEN HER IN PANTS?! OF COURSE YOU HAVEN'T, YOU'RE DEAD!”
You kicked a charging psycho in the balls.
He doubled over, hands clutching his groin.
You shot him in the face. Didn't even pause. Expression blank as concrete.
“THAT'S MY GIRL! THAT'S! MY! GIRL! DID YOU SEE THAT, STEVE?! THAT'S THE FUTURE MOTHER OF MY ROBOT BABIES RIGHT THERE! WE'RE GONNA HAVE A HOUSE! A WHITE PICKET FENCE! MAYBE A DOG! OR A SKAG! I'LL COMPROMISE! AND EVERY MORNING I'LL MAKE HER BREAKFAST—WELL, I CAN'T COOK, BUT I'LL TRY! I'LL BURN THINGS! LOVINGLY! AND SHE'LL SMILE AT ME AND SAY ‘CLAPTRAP, YOU'RE TRYING YOUR BEST AND THAT'S WHAT MATTERS!’ AND I'LL SAY—”
He paused.
Steam puffed.
His clamps fidgeted. Opened. Closed. Opened again.
. . .Like he was trying to hold onto something that wasn't there.
“—And I'll say—” His lens dimmed. “And I'll... I'll say…”
He tracked your movement across the battlefield—ducking, weaving, firing. Being amazing. Being you. Just like any other day. A spray of blood misted the air as another bandit went down. You wiped it off your cheek with the back of your hand. Didn't even slow down.
Beautiful. Deadly. Perfect.
A woman who could have anyone.
His arms sagged, hanging a little lower at his sides.
“—AND THEN SHE'LL LEAVE ME!” The volume returned. Loud. Cheerful. Wrong. “BECAUSE OF COURSE SHE WILL! WHY WOULDN'T SHE?! LOOK AT HER! SHE'S AMAZING! AND I'M—I'M A DEFECTIVE STEWARD BOT WHO CAN'T EVEN OPEN DOORS HALF THE TIME! SHE'LL WAKE UP ONE DAY AND REALIZE SHE COULD BE WITH LITERALLY ANYONE ELSE! SOMEONE WITH FINGERS! SOMEONE WHO CAN CLIMB STAIRS! SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T HAVE A WHEEL THAT SQUEAKS LIKE A DYING SKAG!”
His optic flickered.
“I'LL END UP BACK IN THAT SUPPLY CLOSET. ALONE. PLAYING SAD SONGS ABOUT LONELINESS THAT I WROTE MYSELF BECAUSE NOBODY ELSE WRITES SONGS ABOUT ROBOTS NOBODY LOVES. JUST—JUST ME AND THE DARKNESS AND THE SMELL OF MILDEW. THINKING ABOUT HER. ABOUT HOW SHE USED TO LOOK AT ME LIKE I MATTERED…”
His wheel went still.
Steam vented softly from his chassis. Not frantic anymore. Just... tired.
Steve's corpse stared at nothing.
Claptrap stared at you.
“...before she figured out that I don’t.”
And then—
Your eyes flicked toward his hiding spot.
Just for a second. Mid-reload. The magazine clicked into place with practiced ease, your gaze sweeping across the whole area in that constant threat assessment you had learned to do without thinking. Bandits here. Cover there. Escape routes. Danger zones.
And one bright yellow idiot peeking out from behind a crate that was way too small for him.
Your expression didn't change.
But your mouth—
Just the corner. The barest twitch.
Gone in half a second.
But Claptrap saw it.
Oh, he saw it.
“—OH #$%@—OH #$%@ #$%@ #$%@—”
His chassis erupted.
Not literally. But close. Steam vented from every available port—sides, back, the gap where his wheel met his frame. Poof. Poof. POOF. SPARKLY POOF. Rapid-fire bursts of overheated air that smelled faintly of burnt circuits and pure, unfiltered desperation. His lens blazed so bright it could have guided ships through a nebula. His arms flailed—wild, uncoordinated, smacking into the crate, into Steve's corpse, into his own frame.
“SHE SMILED! SHE SMILED AT ME! DID YOU SEE THAT, STEVE?! THAT WAS A SMILE! A REAL SMILE! DIRECTED AT ME! CLAPTRAP! AT THIS EXACT CHASSIS! I'M—I'M PRETTY SURE I JUST—”
He lurched forward. Wheel spinning. Too fast. Way too fast.
“—I THINK I JUST CAME!”
The wheel caught on a rock.
He wobbled. Tilted dangerously to the left. Overcorrected right.
“WHOA WHOA WHOA—I'M GOOD! I'M FINE! THIS IS FINE! I'M JUST—”
CRASH.
He hit the dirt face-first with a metallic CLANG that echoed across the wasteland.
Steve's corpse watched. Judgmentally. Claptrap could feel it laughing.
His wheel spun uselessly in the air.
. . .
Poof. Another steam vent. This one from sheer mortification.
“I'M OKAY!” he announced to the dirt. Muffled. “TOTALLY FINE! VERY SMOOTH! THAT WAS INTENTIONAL! I'M JUST—GETTING CLOSER TO THE EARTH! COMMUNING WITH NATURE! IT'S VERY—”
“G̵̦̐R̷͚͛A̴̢͠H̶͎͆Ḧ̷̲H̴̘͒H̸̩̽Ĥ̴̹Ḫ̴͑!̸̧́”
The scream came from the left. Guttural. Unhinged. The universal language of Pandoran psychopaths who had decided that murdering a bright yellow robot was today's #1 priority. He came charging around the destroyed truck chassis—shirtless, covered in badly done tattoos that might have been words or might have been someone's failed attempt at drawing a bullymong dong. A buzzaxe revved in his hands, spinning, spraying sparks.
“ROBOT MEAT! GONNA GRIND YOU INTO BULLETS! GONNA WEAR YOUR EYE AS A HAT! GONNA—”
Claptrap's optic snapped toward him.
Time slowed. (Not really. But it felt like it. Way more drama involved.)
The psycho charged. Screaming. Frothing. Buzzaxe raised high.
And Claptrap—
Well.
—retracted.
. . .Like a turtle.
His arms vanished into his chassis with a mechanical shunk. His wheel pulled up and in, folding into some kind of emergency compartment that definitely violated several design specifications. His blue lens dimmed to the faintest glow—just enough to see, not enough to be seen—and his entire frame locked up, every joint freezing in place.
He became a box.
A bright yellow, slightly dented box.
That was shaking. Violently.
The psycho skidded to a stop. Stared down. Tilted his head like a confused dog.
“...Huh?”
The shaking intensified.
“WHERE'D YOU GO, ROBOT?! YOU WERE JUST—DID YOU TURN INTO A BOX?! THAT'S CHEATING! THAT'S—”
A gunshot cracked the air.
The psycho's head snapped back.
His body followed a second later, crumpling. He hit the ground three feet from the robot’s retracted form, buzzaxe still spinning, carving a small trench in the dirt before the motor died.
Silence.
. . .
Footsteps.
Slow. Steady. Boots crunching over gravel.
You walked into view.
Still holding your rifle. Barrel smoking faintly. Expression unchanged—blank, neutral, like you had just swatted a fly instead of putting a bullet through someone's skull at close range. Blood speckled your face. Dust clung to your clothes. You looked down at the psycho's corpse, then at the box that was definitely Claptrap, and exhaled through your nose.
Not quite a sigh. Just... air.
You crouched.
“Hey,” Tapped the top of his chassis. Once. Gentle. “You good?”
A beat.
Then—
Shunk.
His arms popped back out. Wheel descended. Optic flickered to life, now covered in a fine spray of blood that had misted across his frame when the psycho went down. He blinked—or whatever the robot equivalent was. The lens rotated, trying to focus, but the blood smeared across it made everything a red-tinted blur.
“I—” His tone came out strangled. Staticky. “—I THINK I NEED A MOMENT! POSSIBLY SEVERAL! MY SYSTEMS ARE EXPERIENCING A LOT RIGHT NOW! FEELINGS! SO MANY FEELINGS! MOSTLY HORNINESS! IS THAT INAPPROPRIATE TO SAY?! I FEEL LIKE THAT'S INAPPROPRIATE BUT I CAN'T STOP THINKING IT! YOU JUST—YOU SAVED ME! WITH VIOLENCE! THE GOOD KIND OF VIOLENCE! THE KIND THAT MAKES ME WANT TO—”
He stopped.
Because you were right there.
Right in front of him.
Close enough that he could see his own reflection in your eyes—or he would have, if his whole lens wasn't currently painted red. Your face filled his entire field of vision. Blank. Unreadable. But your hand moved, reaching into your pocket, pulling out a small cloth—the kind Vault Hunters carried for cleaning gun sights or wiping down scopes.
You quickly helped him up. Then pressed the material gently against his dirty lens and—casually, like it was an every day occurrence and nothing special—began to wipe, removing the blood in small circles, revealing the blue glow beneath.
Claptrap went completely still.
Not the frozen, terrified stillness from before. This was different. Softer. Like his entire system had just... stopped. Forgotten how to function. His cooling fans didn't whir. His wheel didn't squeak. Even the ambient hum of his processors seemed to quiet.
Because nobody had ever done this before.
Nobody had ever cleaned him.
Not when he was covered in oil, or dust, or the remains of something he had accidentally walked through. Not when his optic was scratched, or his chassis dented, or his wheel jammed with rocks. He had always just... dealt with it. Figured it out himself, if it was possible. Or just didn't figure it out. Usually didn't.
But you were doing it now.
And in the faint blue light of his lens, your face reflected back. Focused. Steady.
Taking care of him like it mattered.
Like he mattered.
“...You okay?” you asked again. Quieter this time.
His voice came out small. “I've been a very good bot.”
You paused. Cloth still pressed against his lens. “...What?”
“I MEAN—A VERY BAD BOT! A BAD, BAD BOT WHO NEEDS TO BE PUNISHED! OR—OR REWARDED! DEPENDING ON YOUR PREFERENCE! RAWR, BABY!” His wheel rotated. Forward an inch. Back an inch. Forward. Back. Was he... was he trying to thrust? Oh god, he was trying to thrust. “I'M FLEXIBLE! METAPHORICALLY! MY CHASSIS ISN'T ACTUALLY THAT FLEXIBLE BUT I'D TRY! FOR YOU! I'D TRY SO HARD! I'D—”
You wiped another streak of blood away.
He made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a mechanical purr.
“—I'D LET YOU DO UNSPEAKABLE THINGS TO ME! SPEAKABLE THINGS! THINGS THAT REQUIRE A SIGNED WAIVER! I'D BE YOUR PERSONAL COMBAT SUPPORT UNIT! I'D CARRY YOUR AMMO! I'D—I'D ORGANIZE YOUR INVENTORY! ALPHABETICALLY! BY RARITY! BY EMOTIONAL VALUE—”
“Claptrap.”
“YES?!”
You finished wiping.
. . .And instead flicked him on his antenna. Tink.
“HEY!”
You snorted.
Just once—a quick exhale through your nose that might have been amusement or might have been nothing at all. He wasn’t exactly sure. But you pocketed the cloth, stood, and turned away without another word.
Claptrap stayed frozen for exactly three seconds.
Then his optic tracked your movement. Down.
Specifically down to—
That.
ASS.
Walking away from him. Hips swaying with each step with the kind of casual confidence that suggested you had no idea what you were doing to his circuits. Or maybe you did. Maybe you knew exactly what you were doing and just didn't care. Your pants hugged every curve, dirt-stained and worn but somehow that made it worse—better?—worse in the best way. The fabric stretched just right as you bent down to inspect the first corpse, and Claptrap's cooling system immediately punched him in the metaphorical nuts.
POOF. POOF. Poof.
His lens dimmed, then blazed brighter.
And suddenly. . . something shifted in his chassis.
D E T E R M I N A T I O N.
“OKAY!” he announced, loud enough to startle a nearby skag into fleeing. “OKAY, CLAPTRAP! THIS IS IT! THIS IS YOUR MOMENT! NO MORE HIDING! NO MORE PINING! NO MORE TALKING TO CORPSES ABOUT THEORETICAL ANATOMY! TODAY I BECOME A MAN! WELL, A ROBOT! A CONFIDENT ROBOT! A ROBOT WHO TAKES WHAT HE WANTS! CONSENSUALLY! VERY CONSENSUALLY! WITH PROPER COMMUNICATION AND RESPECT FOR BOUNDARIES!”
His wheel spun. Forward. Gaining speed.
“I'M COMING FOR YOU, BABY! NOT LITERALLY—WELL, MAYBE LITERALLY IF THINGS GO WELL! BUT I'M APPROACHING! WITH PURPOSE! WITH PASSION! WITH—”
He was ten feet away.
“—WITH A CAREFULLY PREPARED SPEECH ABOUT HOW HER EYES ARE LIKE—LIKE BULLETS! BEAUTIFUL, DEADLY BULLETS! AND HER HAIR IS LIKE—LIKE AMMUNITION! SLEEK AND PRACTICAL AND I WANT TO RUN MY CLAMPS THROUGH IT—”
Five feet.
“—AND HER BODY! OH, HER BODY! I'VE GOT SEVENTEEN COMPLIMENTS PREPARED! ALL TASTEFUL! MOSTLY TASTEFUL! OKAY, THREE OF THEM ARE DEFINITELY CROSSING A LINE BUT I'LL SAVE THOSE FOR LATER—”
Three feet.
You pulled a grenade mod out of the bandit's vest. Examined it. Tossed it into your pack.
Two feet.
“—AND I'LL TELL HER THAT SHE’S AMAZING! THAT SHE’S THE BEST THING THAT'S EVER HAPPENED TO ME! THAT EVERY DAY I WAKE UP—WELL, POWER ON—AND THINK ABOUT HER FACE! HER VOICE! THE WAY SHE RELOADS WITHOUT LOOKING! IT'S ART! SHE’S ART! DANGEROUS, VIOLENT ART THAT COULD KILL ME BUT I'D DIE HAPPY—”
One foot.
Your hand moved to another corpse.
“—AND I'LL ASK HER OUT! ON A DATE! A REAL DATE! WITH—WITH DINNER! OR WHATEVER SHE EATS! I'LL WATCH HER EAT! SUPPORTIVELY! AND THEN WE'LL—WE'LL—”
His eye caught your face.
Turned slightly in his direction. One eyebrow raised. Expression flat.
Waiting.
“—AND BY ‘ASK HER OUT’ I MEAN CHECK THIS CORPSE! THIS VERY IMPORTANT CORPSE! THAT DEFINITELY HAS LOOT! CRUCIAL LOOT! MISSION-CRITICAL LOOT!”
He swerved.
Hard right. Ninety-degree turn. Wheel squeaking so loud it could have summoned the dead (one deceased bandit looked like it farted out of stress—or just general closeness to Claptrap which induced feelings worse than stress). He careened past you, narrowly avoiding a chunk of twisted metal, and skidded to a stop beside a body that was missing most of its torso.
“WOW!” he shrieked at the corpse. “WOULD YOU LOOK AT THIS! VERY DEAD! SUPER DEAD! PROBABLY HAS SOME GREAT LOOT! I'M JUST GONNA—GONNA CHECK THIS OUT! FOR TACTICAL REASONS!”
You stared at him.
He stared at the corpse.
The corpse stared at nothing because it was very much deceased.
“...Right,” you deadpanned, turning back to your thing.
Claptrap's arms sagged.
“...I'M A COWARD!” he announced to the body. Loud. Cheerful. Dying inside. “A BIG, YELLOW, WHEELED COWARD! WITH ATTACHMENT ISSUES AND SELF-ESTEEM PROBLEMS! PROBABLY SOME UNRESOLVED ABANDONMENT TRAUMA! DEFINITELY THAT! YEP!”
“Find anything?” you asked, tone flat.
“YES! WELL—NO! BUT MAYBE! THE POTENTIAL IS THERE!” His clamps opened and closed rapidly, checking pockets that didn't exist. “THIS GUY COULD BE HIDING ALL KINDS OF THINGS! SECRET THINGS! VALUABLE THINGS! THINGS THAT AREN'T RELATED TO MY CRIPPLING FEAR OF REJECTION!”
You made a noncommittal sound. Kept searching.
Claptrap wheeled closer. Not too close. Just... close enough to be in your general vicinity. He pulled another item from a different corpse—a bent spork.
He stared at it for three full seconds.
. . .Then wheeled over to you.
“HEY!” he yelled, holding up the spork like it was a legendary artifact. “LOOK WHAT I FOUND! IT'S A—IT'S A UTENSIL! FOR EATING! WHICH YOU DO! BECAUSE YOU'RE HUMAN! AND HUMANS EAT! I'VE SEEN YOU DO IT! VERY IMPRESSIVE, BY THE WAY! THE WAY YOU JUST—CONSUME NUTRIENTS? BEAUTIFUL! ANYWAY, YOU CAN EAT WITH IT OR STAB SOMEONE! OR BOTH! NOT SIMULTANEOUSLY, THAT'D BE UNSANITARY! BUT SEQUENTIALLY! THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS!”
You glanced at it. Then at him.
Took the spork without a word. Shoved it in your pack.
The robot made a sound that might have been a happy beep.
“YOU—” His clamps fidgeted. “...You took it. YOU ACTUALLY TOOK IT!” He spun in a small circle, screaming at the whole wasteland (you could definitely hear it all). “THIS IS GOING WELL! VERY WELL! SHE ACCEPTED MY GIFT! THAT'S—THAT'S BASICALLY A MARRIAGE PROPOSAL IN SOME CULTURES! NOT HUMAN CULTURES, PROBABLY, BUT DEFINITELY SOMEWHERE IN THE UNIVERSE!”
You moved to the next body. Started rifling through pockets.
Claptrap wheeled after you, already scanning the ground like his life depended on finding more garbage to gift you.
“OKAY! OKAY, SHE LIKED THE SPORK! WHAT ELSE DO PEOPLE LIKE?! USEFUL THINGS! SHINY THINGS! THINGS THAT EXPLODE!” His clamps scrabbled at another body, pulling free a cracked shield mod. “AH-HA! BEHOLD!”
He wheeled back over. Presented it with both arms extended. And you, of course, took it without any comment. Just examined the stats and frowned slightly—capacity was trash, recharge delay was abysmal—but you pocketed it anyway. This whole cycle continued for the next five minutes. Claptrap wheeling between corpses, finding absolute garbage, and presenting it to you like a deranged robotic crow courting its emotionally unavailable mate. A bottle cap. A piece of string. A bullet casing that was actively corroding. A small chunk of what might have been someone's tooth.
You accepted all of it.
Every. Single. Piece.
“YOU'RE KEEPING IT!” He did a strange little shuffle-dance, wheel rocking forward and back, arms waving in what might have been celebration or a minor system malfunction. “YOU'RE KEEPING ALL MY GARBAGE! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!”
Your mouth twitched as you side-eyed him. “It’s junk.”
“IT'S MY JUNK! AND NOW IT'S YOUR JUNK! OUR JUNK! COMMUNAL PROPERTY! THAT'S BASICALLY COMMON-LAW MARRIAGE ON PANDORA!”
You pulled a grenade mod from the corpse in front of you. Tested the weight. Decent. You clipped it to your belt, shaking your head. A breath escaped through your nose—not quite a laugh, but close enough.
Claptrap's optic did a little wiggle—up, down, up again. His version of a smile.
He watched you work for a moment. The way your hands moved efficiently through pockets, checking ammo counts, discarding what was useless and keeping what wasn't. You didn't waste time. Didn't hesitate. Just moved with practiced ease.
It was beautiful.
You were beautiful.
He was going to tell you. Right now. This moment. He was going to—
Something caught his optic.
A glint. Metallic. Shiny.
His entire frame swiveled so fast his chassis made a concerning grinding noise. There—half-buried under a particularly unfortunate bandit whose face had been recently acquainted with the business end of your shotgun—was a small rectangular box. Foil wrapper. Gleaming in the Pandoran sun like a beacon of possibilities.
“OH!” He lunged forward, wheel kicking up dust. “OH #$%@! TREASURE!”
He grabbed it with both clamps. Pulled it free.
Stared at it.
Read the label.
A beat passed.
“—OH MY GOD IT'S CONDOMS!”
His shriek could have been heard in three adjacent territories.
You paused mid-search. Looked up.
“CONDOMS!” he repeated, holding the box high like he had just discovered the Vault of the Traveler. “PROPHYLACTICS! JOHNNIES! LOVE GLOVES! POCKET ROCKETS! RUBBER PROTECTION! THE KIND THAT PREVENTS UNWANTED TINY HUMANS FROM APPEARING NINE MONTHS LATER!” His clamps rotated, examining it from all angles. “LOOK AT THIS! RIBBED FOR HER PLEASURE! THAT'S YOU! YOU'RE ‘HER!’ WELL, PRESUMABLY! I MEAN, I NEVER ASKED YOUR PRONOUNS BUT I'M MAKING AN EDUCATED GUESS BASED ON—”
A random nomad wandered into view from behind a rock formation. Stared.
“—THESE ARE EXTRA LARGE!” Claptrap continued, oblivious. “WHICH I APPRECIATE BECAUSE IF I HAD THE BIOLOGICAL COMPONENTS I WAS DISCUSSING EARLIER WITH STEVE—THAT'S THE CORPSE OVER THERE, WE'RE FRIENDS NOW—I WOULD ABSOLUTELY NEED THESE! THE BIG ONES! THE MAGNUM ONES! THE ONES THAT COME WITH A WARNING LABEL AND POSSIBLY A STRUCTURAL ENGINEER—”
The nomad's head exploded.
Not from Claptrap's speech. Just coincidentally.
The body crumpled.
“—AND THEY'RE LUBRICATED! PRE-LUBRICATED! WHICH IS GREAT BECAUSE NOBODY WANTS FRICTION BURNS ON THEIR—”
“Claptrap,” you interrupted flatly.
He spun toward you. Box still clutched in both clamps like a trophy.
“YES?!”
“I don't need those.”
His optic flickered. “YOU—YOU DON'T?”
“No.”
A pause.
Then his entire frame seemed to vibrate with joy.
“YOU DON'T NEED THEM! THAT MEANS—THAT MEANS YOU'RE NOT WITH ANYONE! ANY HUMANS! ANY DISGUSTING, FLESHY, FINGER-HAVING HUMANS WHO COULD GIVE YOU THINGS I CAN'T! LIKE—LIKE BABIES! OR DISEASES! OR MEDIOCRE BEDROOM PERFORMANCE!” He chucked the box over his shoulder. It bounced off a rock. “WHO NEEDS 'EM?! NOT YOU! NOT ME! NOBODY! WE'RE ALL GOOD! EVERYTHING'S GREAT! I'M SO HAPPY I COULD—I COULD—”
Poof.
“—I could malfunction! In a good way!”
You shook your head. Turned back to looting.
He watched you for a long moment. His lens tracking your movements. The way you bent down to check another body. The way your hair fell forward slightly. The way you existed in his general vicinity and didn't immediately run away screaming.
His clamps fidgeted. Opened. Closed. Opened again.
A mechanical whirr emanated from somewhere deep in his chassis. Nervous. Uncertain.
Then another.
And another.
His wheel squeaked as he shifted forward an inch. Stopped. Forward again.
. . .
“Hey,” he started. Quieter than before. “Can I—can I ask you something? Hypothetically?”
You pulled a handful of cash from a vest pocket. Stuffed it in your pack. “Sure.”
“Okay! Great! Cool! Very cool! So, hypothetically—and I want to stress the hypothetical nature of this question—if there was someone. A person. Or, you know, a robot. Whatever. Doesn't matter. But if this someone—” His clamps gestured vaguely. Small circles in the air. “—liked you. Thought you were amazing. Thought about you constantly. Maybe had detailed fantasies about your—” He coughed. Static. “—about your personality. And this someone wanted to ask you out. On a date. A real date. With intentions. Romantic intentions. And possibly some non-romantic intentions that are definitely romantic but also kinda—”
His ‘hands’ were practically vibrating now.
“AND—AND MAYBE THIS THEORETICAL PERSON IS WORRIED! THAT YOU'D SAY NO! BECAUSE WHY WOULDN'T YOU?! THEY'RE—HE'S—I MEAN THEY'RE—THEY'RE JUST A STUPID BOT WHO CAN'T EVEN CLIMB STAIRS WITHOUT HELP! WHO SQUEAKS WHEN HE MOVES! WHO TALKS TOO MUCH! WHO'S BASICALLY A SENTIENT TRASH CAN! AND MAYBE—MAYBE THIS PERSON KNOWS HE'S ANNOYING! AND BROKEN! AND NOT GOOD ENOUGH! BUT HE—THEY—THEY JUST CAN'T HELP IT BECAUSE YOU'RE—YOU'RE—”
His voice dropped. Smaller. Sadder.
“—you're everything. And they're... nothing.”
You straightened. Turned to face him fully.
His optic did a little nervous wiggle.
“AND!” he continued rapidly, arms flailing. “I'M NOT SAYING I'M THAT SOMEONE! COULD BE ANYONE! COULD BE—COULD BE THAT GUY!” He pointed at a corpse. “HE'S VERY DEAD BUT MAYBE HE HAD FEELINGS BEFORE THE WHOLE ‘BEING DEAD’ THING! OR—OR THAT SKAG OVER THERE! SKAGS HAVE NEEDS! EMOTIONAL NEEDS! WHO'S TO SAY—”
“Claptrap.”
“—AND I'M JUST ASKING HYPOTHETICALLY BECAUSE I'M A CURIOUS ROBOT WHO ENJOYS GATHERING DATA ABOUT HUMAN MATING RITUALS AND ABSOLUTELY NOT BECAUSE I'VE BEEN IN LOVE WITH YOU SINCE THE FIRST TIME YOU DIDN'T KICK ME OFF A CLIFF WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE—”
“Claptrap.”
“—WHICH WAS VERY NICE OF YOU BY THE WAY! MOST PEOPLE KICK ME OFF CLIFFS! IT'S STATISTICALLY SIGNIFICANT! BUT YOU DIDN'T! YOU JUST LOOKED AT ME WITH THOSE EYES—THOSE BEAUTIFUL, DEADLY, BULLET-LIKE EYES—AND SAID ‘you coming or not?’ AND I—”
“We're already dating.”
He stopped.
Silence.
Complete, total silence.
Claptrap's optic went dark.
Then rebooted.
Beep.
“I'M—I’M SORRY, COULD YOU REPEAT THAT? I THINK MY AUDIO PROCESSORS JUST HAD A STROKE. DID YOU SAY—DID YOU JUST SAY—”
“We've been dating for over a month, Claptrap.”
“WE HAVE?!”
You nodded. Once. Hair bobbing with the motion.
“Yeah,” you said simply. “You asked me out. At Moxxi's. Month ago.”
“I—WHAT?!” His arms shot straight up. “I ASKED YOU OUT?! AT MOXXI'S?! A MONTH AGO?! AND YOU SAID YES?!”
“Yes.”
“AND I'VE JUST—I'VE BEEN—THIS WHOLE TIME I THOUGHT—” His wheel spun in place, kicking up a small dust cloud. “I THOUGHT I WAS DEAD! OR HALLUCINATING! OR LIVING IN SOME KIND OF BEAUTIFUL FEVER DREAM WHERE THE UNIVERSE DECIDED TO BE NICE TO ME FOR ONCE!”
“Not dead,” you confirmed, tone dry.
“BUT—BUT YESTERDAY!” He wheeled closer, arms flailing. “YESTERDAY WHEN WE—WHEN YOU—” His voice dropped to a frantic whisper. “WHEN YOU GOT NAKED AND CLIMBED ON TOP OF ME AND—AND RUBBED YOURSELF AGAINST MY CHASSIS UNTIL YOU—”
“Yeah.”
“—THAT WAS REAL?!”
“Very real.”
His entire frame started vibrating. Not the usual nervous shake. This was different. Deeper. Like every bolt and circuit in his body was trying to process information that fundamentally broke his understanding of reality.
“OH MY GOD.” The words came out strangled. “OH MY #$%@ING GOD. THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED. YOU ACTUALLY—I ACTUALLY—WE ACTUALLY—”
Poof.
POOF.
POOF.
“I TOUCHED YOUR TITS!” he shrieked at the wasteland. “WITH MY CLAMPS! WHILE YOU WERE MAKING THOSE SOUNDS! THOSE BEAUTIFUL, SEXY, DEFINITELY-NOT-IMAGINARY SOUNDS! AND YOU CAME! ON ME! MULTIPLE TIMES! I COUNTED! FOUR! IT WAS FOUR! I HAVE IT SAVED IN MY MEMORY BANKS! I'VE BEEN REPLAYING IT ON LOOP THINKING IT WAS JUST A REALLY DETAILED FANTASY MY PROCESSORS MADE UP TO COPE WITH MY CRUSHING LONELINESS!”
You tilted your head. “You done?”
“NO! NOT EVEN CLOSE!” He spun in a full circle. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THIS MEANS?! DO YOU?! IT MEANS I'M NOT A PATHETIC FAILURE WHO IMAGINED AN ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP TO FEEL LESS DEAD INSIDE! IT MEANS YOU—THE MOST AMAZING, TERRIFYING, GORGEOUS WOMAN ON PANDORA—ACTUALLY LIKES ME! ME! A LITERAL TRASH CAN WITH ANXIETY!”
“You're not a trash can.”
“I'M WORSE THAN A TRASH CAN! TRASH CANS HAVE MORE MOBILITY OPTIONS! THEY DON'T SQUEAK! THEY DON'T—” He stopped. His lens flickered. “I THOUGHT—I THOUGHT MAYBE YOU WERE JUST BEING NICE TO ME! OR DRUNK! OR EXPERIENCING SOME KIND OF EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN THAT MADE YOU TEMPORARILY INSANE—”
“Claptrap.” You stepped closer. “I'm your girlfriend.”
“YOU'RE MY—” His voice broke. “—MY GIRLFRIEND?!”
“Yes.”
“LIKE, OFFICIALLY?!”
“Very officially.”
“OH #$%@! OH #$%@ #$%@ #$%@! I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND! A REAL GIRLFRIEND! A HUMAN GIRLFRIEND! WHO LETS ME TOUCH HER TITS! AND—AND CARES ABOUT ME! AND DOESN'T THINK I'M GARBAGE!”
“No.” Your expression softened. “I love you, idiot.”
His entire chassis went still.
No sound. No movement. Even his wheel stopped spinning.
“...You love me?”
“Yeah.”
“ME?! CLAPTRAP?! THIS EXACT UNIT?!”
“This exact unit.”
“BUT I'M—I'M ANNOYING! AND LOUD! AND I CAN'T CLIMB STAIRS! AND I FOLLOW YOU AROUND LIKE A LOST PUPPY! AND—”
“And I love you anyway.” You crouched down. Eye level with his optic. “You're mine. Got it?”
His fans kicked into overdrive. Steam vented so hard it fogged the air around him.
“I—” It came out strangled. “I'M YOURS?!”
“You're mine,” you repeated. Firm. Final.
“OH MY GOD!” He lunged forward, clamps wrapping around whatever part of you he could reach—your arm, your shoulder, your waist. “YOU'RE THE BEST THING THAT'S EVER HAPPENED TO ME! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! I'D DIE FOR YOU! I'D KILL FOR YOU! I'D ORGANIZE YOUR INVENTORY BY MANUFACTURER AND LEVEL REQUIREMENT!”
You snorted. Your hand came up, fingers brushing against his chassis.
“You're ridiculous.”
“I'M YOUR RIDICULOUS!” He pulled back slightly, lens bright. “AND—AND I'M GONNA KEEP BEING RIDICULOUS! FOR YOU! FOREVER! OR UNTIL YOU GET SICK OF ME! WHICHEVER COMES FIRST!”
“Not getting sick of you.”
“PROMISE?!”
“Promise.”
“YOU PROMISE?! LIKE, REALLY PROMISE?! BECAUSE I'VE HEARD THAT BEFORE! PEOPLE SAY THINGS! NICE THINGS! AND THEN THEY LEAVE ME IN SUPPLY CLOSETS! OR KICK ME DOWN STAIRS! OR—OR THEY PRETEND I DON'T EXIST WHILE I'M STANDING RIGHT THERE ASKING THEM HOW THEIR DAY WAS!” His clamps gestured wildly, wheel rocking back and forth. “AND I KNOW I'M A LOT! I TALK TOO MUCH! I GET EXCITED ABOUT STUPID THINGS! I ONCE WROTE A THIRTY-PAGE ESSAY ABOUT WHY YOU'RE THE MOST PERFECT BEING IN THE UNIVERSE AND I KNOW THAT'S PROBABLY CREEPY BUT I COULDN'T HELP IT BECAUSE YOUR FACE EXISTS AND I HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT IT—”
You leaned in.
Pressed your lips to his lens.
Soft. Brief. Your breath fogged the lens immediately—warm, slightly uneven, tasting faintly of dust and whatever rations you had scarfed down this morning. Your lips were chapped. Rough from sun exposure and wind and not giving a single damn about chapstick when there were bandits to shoot. But you held there for a beat. Two. Long enough for the contact to register in every circuit, every processor, every line of code that made up his consciousness.
Then you pulled back.
And the world stopped.
Claptrap’s entire system froze. Mid-rant. Mid-thought. Mid-existence.
For exactly 2.7 seconds, nothing happened.
Then—
[ERROR: EMOTIONAL OVERFLOW DETECTED]
[SYSTEM CRASH IMMINENT]
[SYSTEM ATTEMPTING REBOOT...]
[REBOOT FAILED]
[TRYING AGAIN...]
[SUCCESS]
Beep.
Beep.
BEEP.
“MARRY ME!”
You blinked. Stared at him. Face blank as stone.
But your cheeks—
Just the faintest hint of pink. Barely there. Almost imperceptible.
“...Okay.”
His lens flickered. “OKAY?!”
“Yeah.” You stood, brushing dust off your pants. “Sure. Why not. If it'll make you happy.”
“IF IT'LL—” He spun in place so fast his chassis made a concerning grinding noise. “IF IT'LL MAKE ME HAPPY?! MAKE ME HAPPY?! I'M—I'M GONNA BE THE HAPPIEST ROBOT IN THE ENTIRE #$%@ING UNIVERSE! I'M GONNA—WE'RE GETTING MARRIED! ME AND YOU! HUSBAND AND WIFE! WELL, ROBOT AND WIFE! WHICH IS BETTER! MORE INCLUSIVE! VERY PROGRESSIVE!”
“Sure.” You shrugged one shoulder. “We could do it tomorrow if you want.”
“TOMORROW?! LIKE—LIKE ACTUALLY TOMORROW?! THE DAY AFTER TODAY?! THAT TOMORROW?!”
“Yeah.” You turned, scanning the area one last time to make sure no stragglers were about to jump you. Then, slowly you started walking ahead. “Gotta get back to Sanctuary first. Turn in this bounty. Then we can figure out the wedding thing.”
“WEDDING THING! SHE SAID WEDDING THING!” He wheeled after you immediately, arms waving. “I'M GETTING MARRIED! TO YOU! THE LOVE OF MY LIFE! MY BEAUTIFUL, DEADLY, EMOTIONALLY DISTANT SOULMATE!”
You glanced back at him. “You good?”
“YES! VERY GOOD! EXTREMELY GOOD! NEVER BEEN BETTER! I'M ENGAGED! TO BE MARRIED! TO A REAL PERSON!” His voice dropped slightly, taking on that manic edge that suggested his filter had completely disintegrated. “AND THEN WE CAN GO BACK TO YOUR PLACE AND YOU CAN SIT ON MY CHASSIS AGAIN AND MAKE THOSE SOUNDS! THE BREATHY ONES! THE ONES THAT MAKE ME WISH I HAD PROPER ANATOMY SO I COULD—”
You sighed fondly.
“—SO I COULD ABSOLUTELY RUIN YOU! IN THE BEST WAY! THE KIND OF RUINING THAT REQUIRES HYDRATION BREAKS AND POSSIBLY A CHIROPRACTOR! I'D MAKE YOU SEE STARS! MULTIPLE STARS! AN ENTIRE GALAXY! YOU'D FORGET THAT YOU’RE A VAULT HUNTER! YOU'D ONLY REMEMBER BEING MINE! ‘CLAPTRAP!’ YOU'D SCREAM! ‘CLAPTRAP, I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!’ AND I'D SAY ‘DAMN RIGHT YOU CAN, GORGEOUS! TAKE IT! RIDE ME LIKE I'M THE LAST FAST TRAVEL STATION ON PANDORA AND YOU'RE LATE FOR A RAID BOSS!’”
You snorted, extending your hand to him. “Sure, Claptrap.”
He stared at your hand.
Then at you.
Back to the hand.
“YOU—” Poof. Poof. “YOU'RE OFFERING ME YOUR HAND?!”
“Yeah.” You wiggled your fingers slightly. “Come on. We gotta head back.”
His clamp shot out so fast it made a metallic SNAP as it closed around your fingers. Not hard enough to hurt—he had calibrated his grip strength months ago specifically for moments like this (hypothetically, only hypothetically)—but firm enough to suggest he had zero intention of letting go.
Ever.
“I'M HOLDING YOUR HAND!” he shrieked. “WE'RE HOLDING HANDS! THIS IS HAPPENING! STEVE, IF YOU'RE WATCHING FROM WHATEVER AFTERLIFE BANDITS GO TO—WHICH IS PROBABLY JUST A DIFFERENT PART OF PANDORA THAT ALSO SUCKS—YOU'RE SEEING THIS, RIGHT?! I'M HOLDING HER HAND!”
You tugged him along. “You sure are.”
“THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE! WAIT, NO—SECOND BEST! THIRD BEST! TOP FIVE FOR SURE! THE FIRST BEST WAS WHEN YOU SAT ON ME! THE SECOND WAS WHEN YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVED ME! THE THIRD WAS—ACTUALLY, THEY'RE ALL TIED! EVERYTHING INVOLVING YOU IS THE BEST THING EVER!”
You squeezed his clamp gently.
And you didn't let go.
Not when you passed through the gates.
Not when Marcus glanced over and did a double-take.
Not when Lilith raised an eyebrow from her usual spot and stared.
Not when Scooter's wrench clattered to the ground, his jaw dropping as he pointed wordlessly at the two of you like he had just witnessed a crime against nature.
You just kept walking, dragging your bright yellow fiancé behind you, heading toward the bounty board to turn in your contract like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Okay real talk, how would y'all feel about isekaied reader or reverse isekaied character fics? I have a few fics half finished but I'm hesitant because I have no idea how well received they'll be.
Any headcanons for Mordecai x reader? It’s so rare finding x reader writers in the Borderlands fandom thank you for being here
Mordecai Relationship Headcanons
YES THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING MORDECAI I LOVE MORDECAI SM HE'S THE LOVE OF MY LIFE
Content: Romantic, Gendered nicknames (Both masc and fem), No use of pronouns, Spoilers for Borderlands 2
Mordecai is a pretty laid back partner.
He doesn’t really care much for PDA. It makes him feel kind of weird to do stuff in public. The most he’ll do is wrap an arm around your waist when you have a moment to stand around.
It’s different behind closed doors however. While he doesn’t engage too much, he really enjoys kisses: the playful, loving kind where he can show you how much he appreciates you.
Mordecai is more charming than people give him credit for. The sweet names he calls you with his gravelly voice is enough to give anybody butterflies.
“Cariño”, “Amor”, “Hermoso/a”, “Handsome/Beautiful”. Kicking my feet and punching the air rn.
He’s not really much of a cuddler because Pandora gets too damn hot for that. In the rare circumstance that the weather in Pandora is manageable, he likes to curl into your back and dangle an arm over you. Alternatively, he doesn’t mind when you rest your head on his chest as you drift off to sleep.
He likes friendly competition. He’s always down to have a snipe-off or see who can take down the most targets. He’ll never say no to your offer of a competition because he thinks you look hot as fuck when you’re shooting.
If Lilith has a job for one of you, you can bet the other one is coming too. You work better together, and she likes having the two of you on her side as a power couple.
Tiny Tina and Brick are CONSTANTLY poking fun at you two. Mordecai gave you a quick peck in front of them one time and they bullied the fuck out of him.
“Aw, shawty, that's beautiful. Just beautiful. And gross! Get out.”
They’re happy for you, but as his friends, it’s their duty to fuck with him as much as possible.
Makes Mordecai’s heart flutter to see you with Bloodwing. It takes her some time to get used to you, but you can buy her love with food.
Sometimes she’ll even stick closer to you than she does Mordecai. Normally he’d be a little jealous. That’s his bird, damn it. But he likes that his favorite animal and his favorite person get along so well.
It doesn’t really bother him if you don’t drink, but if you do, he likes when you join him. Sometimes he’ll overdo it and you might need to tend to him and watch over him.
Borderlands 2 spoilers ahead
Mordecai is a wreck after the death of Bloodwing. He becomes much more reclusive, closing himself off from the vault hunters, from the world, from you. He drinks much more than he normally does, getting blackout drunk almost every night. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.
If you choose to stand by him through all of this, you become his rock. You’re the only thing anchoring him down. You’re a warm, safe place for him to nestle down and cry when he’s feeling too much. He clings to your warmth as you wipe his puffy, red eyes and kiss away his tears.
With time, with love, with patience, he’ll learn to heal. But for now, he’s eternally grateful that he has you.
Talon was a blessing. Of course, he would never replace the love Mordecai had for Bloodwing, but it filled the hole in his heart that formed after her death. Talon was a new start for him, the creation of a little family: You, Mordecai, and Talon.
He quit drinking after he got Talon, finding the strength to move on and grow. To be a better man for himself and for you.
Synopsis: You help the big boss (Jack), with every day tasks. He sees some forms missing from his desk and questions you. Jealousy ensues.
Pairing: Handsome Jack/You
Warnings: Murder (I mean it is Jack)
Available on AO3!
A/N: I know this is kind of a niche fandom, but Ive been obsessed with it recently! Enjoy the reading :)
“-Listen, listen, sweetheart, how many times do we have to go through this?” Jack's voice echoed through his office, you stood there just behind him with a frown marking your face.
“Jack, I already said-”
“Ah, ah, Mr. Jack pumpkin Mr,” Turning back to you he wiggled his long finger, tutting you lightly.
“Mr. Jack,” You bit out,
“The forms were already submitted. I told you the current marketers already came down for them.
Squinting at you he plopped down on his chair, it groaned in protest as his heeled dress shoes rested on the oak desk in front.
“Careful with that tone. I just like my things organized, is that so bad? I didn't know those shit brains were already on the new prototype,” Idly swinging his pistol it twirled between the man's fingertips, it would have been quite impressive if you weren't already mildly annoyed.
Crossing your arms, pivoting one hip to touch the table, you relaxed your face. Somewhat afraid of the man, you didn't want to piss him off this early in the day.
Afterall, you didn't dare think just how many assistants had come before you, shot and maimed in this very room before you desperately enough took the interview for this (once in a lifetime) job.
The man rambled on, about the new gun designs, “Dumb ass,” bandits and the citizen who unfortunately ran into him this morning.
“-Filthy fucking guy, how could he not see me coming! I was gonna rip his eyes out but who am I- '' Pausing all his movements halted, until he slowly, oh so slowly faced towards your direction once more.
With still movements you paused too, wearily eying the man before he finally spoke up.
“Wait, wait. Hold on, hold on, back up.”
Backing up a step you gripped one wrist with your hand.
“No not literally you fucking- Your sentence. The researchers?” Frowning you traced back to your prior conversation
“Yes, sir. The um, Prototype? They came in early, asked, well, demanded the papers. Said it was urgent.”
Sitting up Jack put both his gloved hands on the desk, gripping the corners until you heard the crinkling of his leather gloves.
“They came. In my office, and you let them in?”
Oh no.
“W-well sir, they said- they demanded me to! Said you gave them special permission, made me walk ahead of them to open the door, and an-”
A single hand was lifted, halting you to stop the rambling. The glass windows behind him showed the business of the city. Skyscrapers cascaded around the office, the clouds invaded the unusually blue sky and you wanted to run- run and bury yourself between the shiny buildings and fluffy skies.
“What were these, shall we say, gentlemans names, hm?”
Distracted by the plethora of people on the streets you didn't answer, didn't even notice the man get up from his chair and place himself in front of you until his big hand squeezed the meat around your face.
“Answer, pumpkin.”
“The names? Um, Mordecai- I think and maybe ah-” The grip worsened, with increased pressure you felt the creaking of your jaw, the tightness on your skin.
“S-Steven! That's it, I'm sure!”
Eyes darting back and forth between yours he let go, switching to put his arm around your waist.
“See? Was that so hard! Good job, sweetheart, really, that must have exhausted you,”
His fingers skirted across your form, until his fingers danced at the hem of the blouse you wore. They lifted it a tad and met the skin with a warm touch, lightly gliding his fingers up down and as he hummed in thought.
“Pretty sure those are downstairs guys. Let's pay them a visit! See what they have to say about personal space,”
Dragging you along, he pressed the elevator before leaning down on you, putting the side of his head to rest on your own.
With a cocky expression he noticed your nervous form.
“Don't worry, sweetheart- you tell Ol’ Mr. Jack, which one did the demanding and this will all be over soon!” His hand twitched on the opposite side.
“Maybe we can even get some brunch after, I'm starving.”
Nodding your head you held back a wince.
The morning just started and there were already three casualties.
I NEED MORE BORDERLANDS X READERS THAT ARENT JUST HANDSOME JACK! THERE ARE MORE CGHARACTERS AND THEY NEED LOVE! BRICK! MORDECAI! DR ZED! SCOOTER! ELLIE! CLAPTRAP EVEN! GIVE ME SOMETHING! ILL KISS THE ROBOT ILL DO IIT SWEAR TO GOD!
Prompt: Hello! Can I request a Troy Calypso scenario where he and the reader broke up and after a few months he comes back to them and tries to apologize and make up with them?
Pairing: Troy Calypso / Reader
Summary:
Word Count: 1.5K
The last words you heard from Troy still linger in your mind. Whenever you see another couple, your mind goes back to him.
Back to the way he held you, the resting smile on his face when you wake up in the morning.
Everything about your relationship was perfect.
You and his sister got along wonderfully, supported him with his echo-streaming hobby, even helped him design some of the future COV weapons and outfits.
The relationship slowly began to falter once the aforementioned COV began.
Troy spent a majority of his time with Tyreen. Gathering material to make COV related items, Finding additional locations for their hideouts and of course recruiting their new 'family members'.
In the beginning you didn't mind at all. Knowing how important the tasks, you would simply wish him a good day before beginning your own tasks for that day.
As the weeks went on however, the smile you put on had begun to fade, along with your warm words.
It didn't take long for the soon-to-be god king to notice the not-so-subtle changes in your demeanor.
"So, What's gotten into you?" Troy asked you one night while getting ready for bed
Your silence filled the room as anticipation and worry fill Troy.
"I've just been missing you is all. You've spent so much of your time preparing this, I haven't seen you as much"
For most couples, that sentence would bring sadness and love at the same time. Other partners would apologize for making you feel that way then go to bed and cuddle.
But not Troy. His brows furrow as a small 'tisk' leaves his mouth.
"So? I told you this would happen. It's not my fault you've become clingy."
For the first time in your prolonged relationship, you were speechless. Never have you heard him talk to or about you like that before.
"Don't be mad at me when you'd rather spend your time chasing some pipe dream then spending it on something that actually matters."
Before you could stop yourself, the words left you.
You let out a gasp as your hands flew to cover your mouth before spewing out a series of apologies, only to be stopped by Troy's hand shooting up.
"What we are planing with the Great Vault, is bigger than you could ever imagine. Tyreen and I will become gods. The greatest, most powerful being in the entire universe. Nothing will be able to stop us. And you're complaining about me not spending enough time with you?"
Whatever regrets you may have had about your previous word choices flew out the window the more he spoke.
"So you'd rather me sit alone all day so you can go chase fairy tail fantasy? Then not complain about it? Well, don't worry Troy. You can spend all the time you want on it."
All the regret you previously had flew out the window with each word that he spoke.
"Well, don't worry. You can dedicate all your time to the COV without an interruption from me."
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Troy didn't try to stop you that day. Let you walk out of the compound and out of his life.
It didn't take long for you to settle down somewhere else. Picking one of the old bandit camps the Calypso twins already raided.
While things were quieter now than it was a few days ago, you learned to make due.
You took what you learned from Troy to craft your own crude and somewhat functional weapon to defend yourself.
Fending off Skags and Spider-ants while also hunting dinner for yourself in the process.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
One clear, hot day, You begin to hear the sound of a car engine off in the distance. Being away from most people, cars normally don't drive around here.
Grabbing your makeshift gun, you stealthily peak out the window to see a cloud of dust hurling towards you.
it wasn't long after you begin to make out the shape of an outrunner with the undoubtedly familiar pink and blue color scheme.
Once you knew who the invaders were, you feared the worst.
You knew how to deal with bandits. However the COV were a different beast. Now that Troy and his sister had control over them, you didn't know what they were capable of.
Deciding not to run from the past, you turn to face the intruders head on. Walking out and standing on your porch to face the ever growing closer cloud of dust.
It didn't take long for the car to come to a complete stop, To your surprise what emerged from the vehicle was a pair of COV with psychos crawling all over, instead it was once single person.
Troy.
To say you were hesitant would be an understatement. You remember how to acted months ago when you left, you couldn't imagine how he'd be now with all his followers referring to him as the 'God King'.
Though as he steps out of the runner, he seems to have a look of shyness and regret.
Something you haven't seen in a very long time.
"HI, Y/N" His shaky voice matched his apprentice. "Can we talk?"
You take a moment to get a good look at the man standing in front of you.
Since exiting the vehicle, he has yet to move towards you, hasn't even look at you in the eyes. Something that would be unthinkable when you were together.
The sight was adorable and terrifying at the same time.
Before long you nodded before motioning towards the door.
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"So, How have thing been for you here?"
Troy broke the silence that previously filled the room.
"Fine. I've made due with the limited resources."
You didn't mean to sound hostile. However as the memories of your last interaction come flooding back, you can't hold the spiteful tone back.
Trying to avoid the awkward interaction Troy glares around the small room until he lands on your tiny weapon stash.
"Is that one of mine?" His eyes widen as his gaze shifts to your weapon.
"No. I made it myself." You thought he would be disappointed or angry at you, instead he seemed to look even prouder.
"But it looks almost the same. Did you remember how to made it from me?"
Without noticing, the small question turned into an hour long conversation. You explained to him how you made the weapons and he'd give you pointer or critiques.
Before long the once bright sky slowly faded into an orange hue, signaling that night would soon come. Sadly, this also would bring Troy's departure.
"Don't worry, I'll be back again. Promise."
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To you're surprise it did in fact keep his promise. Coming back at least twice a week, if not more.
This continued on for a few months till you noticed he hasn't come around in 2 weeks.
You begin to believe he left you for good this time. That was until you notice a cloud of dust barreling towards your home, and your mind replays the memory of that first day.
"Took you long enough to show your face again." You shouted one Troy got out of the vehicle.
"Yeah well, I wanted to get everything ready."
Before you could question his meaning he flung open the passenger door and motioned for you to get in.
You contemplated turning him down, but eventually gave into your curious nature.
The drive itself was bad, the two of you talked while the taller male pointed out all the changed that have been made over the last few months.
When you arrived at the COV compound. Troy carefully grabbed your hand and ushered you throughout the unfamiliar walls till you reached a closed door.
"Well go on, Open it." Even without being with him for years, his excited was obvious.
The room was something you weren't expecting. At first glance it seemed like his bedroom. All his stuff where you would expect it, however at a closer look you noticed some of the stuff you left.
"I know it doesn't make up for how i treated you. But i think it's a start." His voice slowly came up behind you before you felt hands on your waist and a chin on your shoulder
"You were right. Even though the COV is important to me, so are you. And I took have made an effort to show it once in a while. When you left i was so mad I hated you and never wanted to see you again. Then I started to get lonely- at night and whenever Ty and I took a day off. You made everything better. I hope this can be a new start to us?"
You took a step forward, away from the grip around you and survey the room. Taking the time to look at the all the details. The memories come flooding back, all the joy and excitement you shared.
"Of course, Under one condition. If I say i need you, you better drop everything for me."
A/N : I don’t think anyone is going to read this because tftbl is so underrated but I’m bored soooo
WARNINGS : nsfw headcanons, MDNI
You and August? Nobody would have ever guessed you two were a couple. No one would have even assumed you two were a couple.
The two of you, surprisingly, were together since you were thirteen. At first it was just silly kid love but now that the two of you were grown adults, it turned into something serious.
August wasn’t expecting himself to fall in love with someone like you given you two were complete opposites. But he was. Madly in love with you. Even if he had a hard time of showing it. He was.
You were also the only one that could put August in check. That was something other people realized quickly.
You were only person allowed to kiss August, hug him, show him compassion and sympathy. Otherwise he didn’t care about it for anyone else.
“Be nice.” You told your boyfriend. You two had successfully kidnapped Fiona, Rhys and the rest of their friends while trying to unlock a vault.
August scoffed, crossing his arms. “I am nice.”
“To me.”
“Yeah, because you’re the only one that deserves it.”
You giggled a little and leaned over to give him a kiss on the lips. August accepted the kiss and pulled you closer to him.
The ones you kidnapped? Were further in the room and looked in complete confusion and disgust. “How did they end up together?” Rhys asked distraught.
“Talk about opposites attract.” Fiona mumbled.
You pulled away from him and walked out of the room. August turned towards the group and he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “You people figure out a plan or what?”
“Do we have to suck your face too to get treated like a human being?” Sasha asked sarcastically.
August gave her a look full of disgust. “Don’t make me puke.”
SFW HEADCANONS
August is protective but doesn’t breathe down your back. He knows you can handle yourself and that you don’t need a babysitter. But if anything were to happen, he’d burn the whole world down.
He isn’t the biggest on PDA but doesn’t mind to kiss you in front of everyone or even slap your ass.
He doesn’t really get jealous because he knows you love him. He’s more so just moderately irritated when he sees a man flirt with you or have a crush on you.
Which brings him to Rhys. He can tell Rhys has a crush on you because well, he is a man, and he’ll just roll his eyes half the time he sees you interact with Rhys. He’s not worried though.
While he may not be jealous, you are the one that is despite you being the more level headed one in the relationship and will all the time make remarks about him with other women or even Sasha. This annoys him because he genuinely doesn’t like any other women and has to remind you that he’s the one in love with you.
At first it was hard to get him to break his walls down but once you break them down, he is non stop saying he loves you. It kind of freaks people out seeing him so lovey with you and at the next minute wanting to shoot everyone in the face.
August doesn’t ever let you sit in a seat and makes you sit on his lap all the time.
He loves when you play with his hair. It releases some stress he’s feeling.
He has a rule where you two can never go to bed mad or walk out the door mad. He has abandonment issues so even if you’re extremely mad at him, you are forced to sleep in the same bed as him. Also if you’re leaving and are mad, you still have to tell him you love him.
August rarely gets mad at you. Or even irritated with you but if he ever does, he just needs a little space.
With how handsome August is and him owning a bar, he gets a lot of women trying to flirt with him. A lot of the time he gets really disgusted and just rolls his eyes. He’ll tell them he’s taken before walking away.
You on the other hand get the worst out of it because there’s a lot of drunk men at his bar that are not afraid to flirt with you openly. When August sees how uncomfortable they’re making you or if they make physical contact with you, he kills them instantly.
Speaking of, while you know you have to kill to survive on Pandora and do it out of necessity, August some times just kills if someone pisses him off which you don’t like. He tries not to do it in front of you.
August always kisses you on your knuckles.
When August messes up in the relationship, it’s hard for him to say he’s sorry but he will say it. If that doesn’t work, he’ll shower you with gifts to the point where you stop giving him the silent treatment and actually talk to him.
NSFW HEADCANONS
August is the dominant one in the relationship. While he is submissive to you outside the relationship like getting you anything you want and wanting to do things for you, August takes complete control in the bedroom. He is never really submissive but he’ll let you get on top of him though.
He loves to eat you out and probably prefers giving to receiving. He just loves making you feel good.
August prefers your ass more to your chest. He just likes grabbing it and giving it a smack and it happens frequently.
He’ll talk you through it. All the time. He sees how much it makes you squirm and loves seeing you all wind up. He’ll always praise you. He’s not the one to really degrade in the bedroom but if you ask then he’ll do it.
August likes all the sex positions to be completely honest but if he had to pick one, it would be cow girl. As dominant as he is, he loves when you ride him and seeing your chest bounce up and down. He’ll mainly have to help you through because the pleasure is too much for you to keep up the pace. Seeing you struggle turns him on even more.
He isn’t really into hurting you in the bedroom but if you ask him, he’ll do it.
He loves when you beg to cum. Not that he ever denies you. You’re just so desperate to cum on him and it turns him on so much that he is ready to cum inside of you.
Considering you’re in a long term relationship with him, August just prefers cumming inside of you. He doesn’t mind if you get pregnant and actually wants kids. Also it’s just hotter to do it inside of you.
He loves eye contact. He forces you to look at him through out the entire time and if you cum without looking at him, then you have rounds until you do.
2 times out of 10, you have to initiate intimacy. August gets turned on just by looking at you and is always on the go to have sex so you’re never really the one to start it.
When he is feeling he wants you to take control, he doesn’t mind if you tied him up to the bed.
August has a lot of stamina so he’s willing to go a long time until you want to stop.
He can cum just by looking at your body but even when he cums too quick, he keeps going until you do. If he can’t get back up, he just settles to eating you out.
He loves thigh riding. He’d watch you cum on his thigh every day if he could.
He loves when you leave hickeys on his body. Not until does it feel good but it looks good on his body.
