Wnikliwy Ślimak

She/her, 13.09.2004, ⚲ Poland

[wnikliwy-slimak]

Caveman Six

Yes Man x LOW INT Courier | Fallout: New Vegas

Summary: Six shoot ring-a-ding in dick. Ring-a-ding dead. Six happy. Six go next room. Find METAL MAN. Screen face. Big wheel. Many weapon. Metal man think Six is sex friend. Six NOT sex friend. Six is MURDER friend. Very different.

AO3 LINK: [BEEP]

(IMPORTANT: This is only part one, I'll upload part two on AO3 as soon as I'm done with it! You'll be able to find it there!!! <3)

“OH! Hi there! Can I help you?”

                Could it—

                       Wait. No.

                             Could he—

        . . .What?

Blinking slowly, you felt one of your eyebrows rise.

Because, well, you had expected a lot when you followed Benny into his suite. Those weird sayings the idiot kept on using for some reason (“Ring-a-ding-ding, baby”? Seriously?). A tiny dick (which could be now considered a historical landmark, thanks to your impeccable aim). A strap-on hiding in his closet (he pegged you as the type, okay?). Maybe cleaner sheets, or at least ones that didn’t smell like shit. But mostly disappointment—that is, IF something were to happen. And thankfully didn’t actually happen, since you still had some dignity left.

What you didn’t expect however, was to find a Securitron.

Like, right at the door near the bathroom.

Just standing on the other side.

      . . .

           . . .Meaning, he heard everything.

                           Or did he—?

“Wait! I KNOW! You must be one of Benny’s lady friends for the evening!”

Instantly, your eyes snapped up toward his screen, mouth opening because FUCK NO—

“WOW! That was SUPER FAST! I mean, not that I’m surprised! Benny’s usually a ten-minute man! Twelve if he’s really trying to impress someone OR had a drink prior! And boy, do I know! These walls are THIN!” One of his grippers came up to knock on the wall with a sharp CLANG as he rolled backward and forward an inch. And unknowingly (probably), the sunshine tin can almost crushed your foot, but you managed to take a step back while mentally shooting blanks since what in the radioactive cuck—? “Though I have to say, ALMOST NONE of the other ladies ever came into THIS room afterward! Usually they leave right after! I CAN’T IMAGINE WHY! Though there was something about ‘disappointment’ and ‘is that IT’ and ‘I’ve had better luck with a broken Mr. Handy,’ if my collected data is correct!”

His display glitched for a moment, brightening considerably.

“And I’m sure it is! You see, I’m quite good at data collection! Isn’t that NEAT?”

           Oh sweet ED-E.

                He DID hear everything—

“But enough about that! Let’s talk about YOU! Say—”

His arm started rising up, specifically in the direction of your chest.

And your brain, the organ that you rarely used correctly, immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion. Because shit. This here fine metal gentleman was a Securitron. Benny’s Securitron, if your math was correct. A Securitron who had not only access to embarrassing details of your killer’s (former, you got better) sex life BUT ALSO a laser, missiles, and probably one of those grenade launching system somewhere in that bulky chassis. And you had just turned his boss into a eunuch before introducing said boss to the afterlife.

Why must you act before you think Six, a voice echoed in your head reproachfully.

Why did you shoot THE DICK before looking through his room first?

The answer, like in many other situations you found yourself in, was: Because you were a fucking moron. And now it seemed like you were about to die as one too. Again. Except this time you wouldn’t even get a cool burial in a shallow grave with a chance for revenge.

         Well. . .

                Unless.

Your hand twitched toward your gun and—

               “—are you lost?”

—you looked up, blinking in confusion. “…What?”

“LOST!” he repeated cheerfully, that static smile not budging. And you had to admit, it was kind of creepy. But also cute, in its own—no. NO. Not going there. “Because this IS Benny’s PRIVATE suite! Not many people are allowed in here! Well, except for his lady friends! Which you ARE! And you have my DEEPEST SYMPATHIES!”—you almost choked—“But normally, AFTER the activities conclude, most of them prefer to use the main exit! You know, the one that doesn’t go through the room where I store all of Benny’s confidential info!”

He rolled to the side with a soft whirrr of his wheel, just enough to let you have a clear view, and pointed with a metal claw toward the interior of the room that you had found him in.

“THIS ONE! Which I’m sure I shouldn’t be sharing, but I can’t tell you to leave!”

            (This was so freaking weird.)

“BUT!” He cut in before you could answer with a ‘honey, I didn’t ask,’ rolling back to his initial position that… well… covered EVERYTHING because he was a BIG BOY BOT. “If you’d like, I can escort you out! I mean, I’d really PREFER to stay right here since Benny has VERY specific instructions about me NOT leaving this room! However—” His tone brightened impossibly further, although you could have sworn that it sounded a bit… strained? “—if you ASK me to help then… well! I CAN’T exactly say no! Which is GREAT for you! And potentially PROBLEMATIC for me! But that’s just how I’m programmed!”

He tilted slightly, as if waiting for a response.

"SO! What will it be?"

You stared at him, quickly losing the battle with your own stupidity.

One finger lifted like your brain was trying to send a signal to your mouth but the message got lost somewhere around your medulla oblon-something... brain stem? The thinky bit. Your lips parted. Surely words would come. Any words. Literally any combination of sounds that would convey ‘stay here’ or ‘don’t move’ or ‘I’m single’ or even just ‘no, please.’

                                                     . . .Nothing came out.

       Just you. Standing there. Finger raised. Mouth open. Brain empty.

            The Securitron stared back, that smile frozen in place.

             Silence.

    Five seconds passed.

     Moments later, ten.

   Your finger was still up.

          (You weren’t sure why.)

“…Aaalrighty, then!” The Securitron announced, and wow, was that a chuckle? Did this metal fucker just LAUGH at you? That was—actually yeah, valid. “I’ll escort you out! Starting NOW! Well, in about three seconds! Two seconds now! ONE SECOND! And—”

Slowly, he started moving forward. Extremely slowly, yes, but moving nonetheless.

“—oh boy, I’m REALLY moving now! Heading straight for that door! Which will provide me with a FULL visual scan of the bedroom! And the bed! And whoever might be ON that bed! In whatever STATE they might be in! Clothed! Unclothed! Breathing! NOT breathing! I’ll see ALL of it! In approximately three seconds! AGAIN!”—Roll—“Two!”—Scoot-scoot—“One!”—Whirrr—“Such COMPREHENSIVE viewing! Unless someone objects! Which they haven’t!”

You kept staring like a fucking idiot.

“BUT THEY COULD!” His display glitched. “HINT HINT!”

           The two neurons you had left made contact with a DING.

Your hand shot out. Palm flat. Arm extended. Making contact with his chassis with a decisive THUNK that probably hurt you more than it hurt him (metal vs flesh, though at least it wasn’t another battle of ‘lets see who’s got the meaner left hook’ with a deathclaw). But it worked. The sunshine screen-face stopped rolling, wheel grinding to a halt mid-rotation, and you found yourself pressing against cold titanium alloy while your brain scrambled to come up with literally ANY plan that wasn’t ‘let the adorable robot see the corpse.’

Think, Six. THINK. What would a super smart person do right now?

A dangerous thought, that one. For the next you did was—

Your other hand found your hip, cocking it to the side in what you desperately hoped was an alluring pose and not ‘person who just threw out their bag lifting a bag of cement.’

“Mhm, but you see… why would I want to leave…”

You leaned in, eyelids lowered, fingers tracing a line down his front panel where the colorful buttons were (oh FUCK, what if one of them activated the VIOLENCE—DEEP BREATH, SIX; YOU CAN DO THIS, JUST DON’T TOUCH THE RED SHINY).

“…when the most interesting thing in this room is right in front of me?”

                  . . .

The Securitron’s display flickered once. Then twice. Until, finally—

                       “OH! WOW! GOSH!”

The sheer enthusiasm almost knocked you backward.

“That’s SUPER nice of you to say! And you know what? You’re the SECOND lady friend of Benny’s I’ve ever gotten to meet! I mean, he usually doesn’t let ANYONE come into this room! It’s all very hush-hush! Top secret! YOU KNOW HOW IT IS!”

(You didn’t, in fact, know how it is.)

“And yet, here YOU are! Which means you must be EXTRA SPECIAL!” Forward he went again and your hand pressed harder to keep him in place. “And you think I’M interesting, which is—gosh, I don’t even know where to start! Technically, I AM quite interesting if you look at my operational history! The way I was recovered and reprogrammed is actually a FASCINATING story involving a pulse grenade and the Followers of the Apocalypse and—”

He paused, claws clicking in a weird rhythm (was he communicating with the others—?)

“—but I PROOOBABLY shouldn’t tell you about that!” Despite his smile not changing, you imagined that sweat would appear on the display if it could. “At least, Benny wouldn’t want me sharing! Even though I COULD! Because you asked! Or, well, you IMPLIED asking by saying I was interesting! And I can’t refuse! Which puts me in a bit of a pickle! But that’s OKAY!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, brain cells firing. Wait.

This robot was programmed to help whoever asked. Benny’s robot. Who knew all of Benny’s secrets. Who had access to confidential information. Who couldn’t refuse a request. And he was just… standing (rolling??? he had a wheel so) here. Talking to you. Thinking you were one of Benny’s lays for the night. And THAT meant. . .

            Holy moly.

                     . . .You had just stumbled into the jackpot, hadn’t you?

“Oh! You’re making A FACE! Are you—OH! OH!”

The Securitron’s display brightened, interrupting your revelation.

“I’m SO SORRY! I completely forgot to introduce myself! That’s TERRIBLY RUDE of me! Benny always says first impressions are important!” One of his massive hands made a circle in the air before landing somewhere on the side of his screen. “Though between you and me, HIS first impressions usually involve a pickup line about ‘showing someone the tops’ which I don’t fully understand but I’m PRETTY sure is innuendo!”

The gripper extended, landing on his chest, right above where your hand rested still.

“My name’s Yes Man! And it’s SO NICE to meet you, Miss…?”

               Your mind flatlined.

Someone was… asking for your name? Like, your actual name? When was the last time that happened? People usually just called you ‘courier’ or ‘hey you’ or ‘you’re a little slow, aren’t you?' or ‘MOROOOOON’ or ‘that bum who stole my sunset sarsaparilla.’ Nobody ever ASKED. They just assumed you would show up, deliver their shit, and disappear back into the Mojave like some kind of mailman fart in the wind.

So your mouth opened, then closed. Opened again.

       What… what even WAS your name?

You had one, probably. Maybe. There was definitely something there before Goodsprings. Before waking up in Doc Mitchell’s house and taking that weird personality test that you were pretty sure you failed because you told him your favorite color was “the blood of the fucker who did this to me” and he just smiled nervously and wrote something down.

                          Think, think, think. . .

“Uh.” Your cleared your throat. “Six… I guess. You can call me Six.”

“Six!” Yes Man repeated, and the cheer which he had done it with suggested he had just learned the most fascinating thing ever (whoa). “What a NEAT name! Or nickname! I’m assuming it’s a nickname! Unless your parents were REALLY into numbers! Which would be UNUSUAL but not impossible! The wasteland is FULL OF SURPRISES! And I, personally, am very fond of the number six! After all, it’s divisible by both two AND three! That’s SUPER mathematically interesting! Just—WOW!”

“Yeah,” you agreed, nodding sagely. “Exactly.”

(For the record, you had no idea what the fuck he just said.)

(But brain said: Number good. Robot like number. This positive.)

“YAY! We’re already finding common ground!” he chirped. “That’s SO important for—”

He rolled forward again and your hand slid along the metal.

His display took up your entire field of vision now, pixels bright against the dim light of the room, and you found yourself noticing details you hadn’t before. The way the smile was perfectly symmetrical. The tiny scratch near the edge of the screen. The way he kept talking, but you only heard sound. Noise. Blah blah blah smart words that your brain translated into ‘wow he’s so close’ and ‘is this what romance feels like’ and—

         Oh.

                . . .Oh, this was it, wasn’t it?

The moment. THE moment. Capital M. The moment where two people connected in that special way that pre-war movies always made look so easy and romantic and not at all awkward. You could practically hear the music swelling in the background. Some old Sinatra song, perhaps. Or maybe that one about the moon and the stars that always played on Radio New Vegas when you were trying to sleep.

God. Were you about to make out with a Securitron? Was this happening?

Your eyelashes lowered. The wheel inched closer and closer, his massive frame (OH BABY—) blocking out everything else, and you found yourself leaning in, lips parting, heart hammering against your ribs like it was trying to escape, and—

“—Now, I couldn’t help but notice, Six—”

             Yes.

“—and PLEASE don’t take this the wrong way—”

                             YES, FUCK YES—

“—but I feel I should point out that you appear to be MISSING YOUR SHIRT!”

Your eyes widened. “…What.”

“Your shirt! And, additionally, your undergarments!” Double what. “The, uh, chest-support variety!” TRIPLE WHAT. “Which…” His display did that flickering thing again that you were starting to recognize as him trying to emote in any way he could. “Which is… TOTALLY fine! Personal clothing choices are none of my business! But I thought maybe YOU would like to continue this discussion while DRESSED! Or NOT DRESSED, if you prefer! I’m NOT COMPLAINING! But I thought I’d offer the option since—”

Your gaze moved downward.

And oh. Yeah. Yup. There they were.

The girls. Just… hanging out (literally).

How long had they been—? Since you took off your shirt and bra because of the blood splatter and then went over to this room to find something else to wear (INSTEAD OF THE CHECKING THE CABINETS, SIX?!?!) and—oh god. Oh fuck. You had been standing here having a whole conversation with your tatas out and your brain had just… not registered it? Not ONCE?

The heat that flooded your face was immediate and unwelcome.

“My…” Your voice came out dead. “…titties.”

“YES!” The robot agreed cheerfully. “Those are DEFINITELY present! Very much so! Not that there’s anything WRONG with that! The human body is a marvel of biological engineering! And breasts serve several important functions including—”

He tilted forward, as if to get a better look, and—

              A switch flipped.

—your hands flew up and SMACKED over your breasts with a fleshy sound that echoed through the room like another gunshot. The impact stung (titty-slapping yourself was NOT on tonight’s agenda), yet you held firm, fingers splayed, creating the most defensive boobie-shield known to post-apocalyptic womankind.

Not only that, but you also gave him a look.

A look that roughly translated to: The fuck are you looking at?

          . . .

                   Yes Man’s wheel stopped mid-rotation. “What.”

                        (It didn’t sound like a question. It sounded like an error.)

And you—absolute genius of the wastes, paragon of human intelligence—you grunted.

Not a small little grunt either. That was NOT a polite ‘ahem’ or a throat-clear that could be explained away as allergies or something equally tame in comparison. No, this was a full-blown TERRITORIAL GRUNT. The kind of noise a brahmin made when another brahmin got too close to its food. A guttural sound that came from somewhere in your chest and meant: ‘THESE ARE MY TITTIES. BACK THE FUCK UP, METAL MAN. OR ELSE—’

       Oh god.

             Oh god oh god oh god what the FUCK was that, Six.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT. WHY DID YOU GRUNT. AT A SECURITRON. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT. THIS IS WHY NOBODY INVITES YOU TO THEIR SETTLEMENTS. THIS IS WHY FOLLOWERS LOOK AT YOU LIKE THAT—

“Did you just…”

Your eyes snapped back up to Yes Man’s screen.

And you could SWEAR—you would bet caps on it, actually—that he sounded like he was holding in something. A laugh? A scathing remark (he could try)? It didn’t matter what. The smile was the same, yes. But something about the way his display flickered, the slight delay before he continued, the barely perceptible vibration in his frame…

“…Did you just grunt at me?”

     “No,” you replied immediately.

                  (Liar, liar, pants on fire.)

     There was a pause. Then—

“Oh! OF COURSE NOT!” The cheerful tone snapped back, and wow, he sounded genuinely apologetic even though you both knew he was full of shit. “MY MISTAKE! I must have MISHEARD! These audio sensors aren’t perfect! Or—WAIT! I bet it was one of the Great Khans outside! They’re often around the Strip! Well, not ON the Strip, because Mr. House has VERY strict policies about tribals, but nearby! And they DO have a tendency to make those… animalistic noises! Territorial grunting! Pack behavior! You know how it is with them! Kind of FERAL, really! But that’s just what happens when people prioritize CHEMS over HYGIENE!”

As he lifted one gripper, his claws opened and closed a few times.

“Very DIRTY people, the Great Khans! In multiple senses of the word!”

A neuron in your head misfired.

Did he just—? Did this absolute DICK of a robot just compare you to the Great Khans? Like, he called them animals. Implied YOU sounded like an animal. And yeah, okay, you literally grunted like a territorial beast defending its territory, but that was DIFFERENT. That was—that was a TACTICAL grunt. A necessary grunt. A grunt with PURPOSE.

Your jaw clenched, and the stupid part of your brain began beating WAR DRUMS.

                 MUST DEFEND HONOR.

              MUST ASSERT DOMINANCE.

              MUST PROVE NOT ANIMAL.

“I killed them,” you blurted out, the hands on your chest tightening.

A small clang emitted from somewhere in his chassis. “Oh?”

“The Great Khans.” Chin lifting, your eyes locked onto his display—not at it, INTO it—like you could see whatever passed for a soul in there. “At Red Rock Canyon. The whole tribe. Every man, woman, and anyone stupid enough to stand in my way.”

You tilted your head to the side.

“I killed them all.”

           . . .

                   Wuh. . .

                                . . .Why did you say that.

(What was the POINT of that information? What were you trying to prove? That you were BETTER than the Great Khans at grunting because you could also murder with no remorse? That you had more refined barbarism and killed for the smallest reasons?)

G̴̸̷o̴̷̴d̴̶̶d̸̸̸a̴̸̶m̷̵̵n̶̸̶i̴̴̸t̵̴̶-̷̴̴-̵̴̶

The Securitron stared down at you.

You stared up at him, gaze unwavering.

A grunt built in your throat again (some primal need to make absolutely certain this robot understood that you were the alpha here) but you swallowed it down. Barely. Your jaw clenched so hard you thought your teeth might crack. You would NOT grunt again. You had DIGNITY. You were a PROFESSIONAL. You were—

“OH MY GOSH, REALLY?!”

—really confused?

“That’s WONDERFUL news!” Excited (and oh freaking willy wankers, was he EXCITED), he got so close that you jumped, but he didn’t comment on it and you wouldn’t either so it didn’t count. “FANTASTIC, EVEN! I mean, not that I’m happy about all those people dying! That would be AWFULLY INSENSITIVE of me! But from a strategic standpoint—” His grippers came together with a metal-on-metal CLANG that made your ears ring. “—Benny wanted them out of the picture eventually anyway—loose ends and all that—so this is GREAT!”

“Benny…” You scrunched your nose. “…wanted the Great Khans dead?”

“Oh, ABSOLUTELY! Or, well, not DEAD specifically! That’s a bit EXTREME! But definitely GONE! No longer a factor in the local power dynamics!” He rolled backward an inch, then forward again, extending a hand. “You see, Benny had this WHOLE arrangement with them! SUPER SECRET STUFF! They helped him with a little… PROJECT involving a courier and some VERY specific geographical coordinates near Goodsprings!”

No. No way.

“I’m sorry—” Leaning in closer, you felt your head start to hurt. “—did you just say… courier?”

“YES! A courier! A very specific individual who was transporting something SUPER important! And Benny needed to, ah, INTERCEPT that package! So he enlisted the Great Khans to help him with the, um…” His display flickered. “…the interception process! Which involved some LIGHT AMBUSHING! And a teensy bit of MURDER! Just two shots! Straaaight to the head!” He mimed shooting with one claw. “PEW-PEW!”

You were about to say something, anything, but he cut you off with an upbeat—

“I actually helped with the logistics! SET EVERYTHING UP, ONE COULD SAY!”

     Your mouth fell open.

         In a perfect ‘O’ shape, no less.

“You—” One of your hands let go of a titty to point at him. “Metal man… help.”

“I DID!” At that sunny admission, you almost grunted again. “I calculated the optimal ambush locations based on courier route patterns and timing! Cross-referenced weather data! All sorts of variables that I’M SURE YOU’RE NOT THAT INTERESTED IN ANYWAY!” (That wasn’t entirely true, because you WERE interested… you just didn’t get most things, and frankly it was good that he decided to pause on that part.) “What’s important is that I found the perfect spot near a graveyard for easy cleanup—morbid, I know, but PRACTICAL! And THEN I provided Benny with a comprehensive breakdown of the courier’s schedule down to the MINUTE!”

He bounced in place, almost like he couldn’t help it.

“It was thorough work on my part! And I have to say, I’m quite PROUD of it!”

           . . .‘Proud.’

                   The caveman in your brain picked up a club.

                  NICE METAL MAN HELPED BENNY SHOOT YOU.

                    NICE METAL MAN PLANNED YOUR MURDER.

                     NICE METAL MAN VERY POLITE ABOUT IT.

                                               . . .

                         . . .CAVEMAN SIX CONFUSED???

“ANYWAY!” Yes Man’s voice cut through your internal limitations. “The important things is that you’ve ALREADY taken care of one of Benny’s loose ends! And without even being ASKED! WOW! That’s SUPER INITIATIVE on your part! Really! OUTSTANDING WORK! Why, you’re like a TREASURE of the wasteland! A REAL TROOPER, SIX!”

TREASURE? POOP?! HELP SHOOT IN HEAD, NICE METAL MAN CALL IT GOOD JOB??!?!

“Benny’s going to be THRILLED when he hears about this! Just OVER THE MOON! Well, if we had a moon to be over! But you know what I mean!” He tilted forward and you had to resist the urge to bonk him on the screen with an ‘unf’ (what the fuck, Six). “He’ll probably want to discuss the details! Maybe offer you a BONUS! Or at LEAST a thank you! He’s SUPER big on positive reinforcement! When it suits him! Which is…” A pause. “…actually not that often! But THIS definitely qualifies! Isn’t that just NEAT?”

     KILL ROBOT.

         MAKE SPARKS FLY.

               STRANGLE THE TIN CAN—

“Speaking of Benny!” Your eyes widened at that. “Where IS he, by the way?”

                  Uh.

Your head turned, enough to glance back toward the bed that was barely visible and where Benny was currently experiencing the ultimate post-nut clarity (aka. death, very bad boo-boo).

Then you looked back at Yes Man, expression completely serious and said—

             “He’s, um, sleeping.”

                   (The ‘um’ really sold it.)

“SLEEPING!” The robot repeated, and somehow made it sound both delighted and skeptical. “Well! That’s UNUSUAL! Normally after a sexual conquest—” Boonga? (what) “—Benny comes straight to me to SHARE! In GREAT DETAIL! Whether I want to hear it or NOT! So I listen! For however long it takes! Which is usually about twenty minutes of him explaining his ‘technique’ and ANOTHER ten minutes of him asking if I think he’s ‘smooth’ and me having to say YES because, well, PROGRAMMING!”

An extremely cursed noise escaped his speaker.

“HA-HA-HA! ISN’T THAT JUST WONDERFUL?”

          WHY DID METAL MAN SOUND LIKE TEARS?!?!?

“But… I suppose if you were PARTICULARLY vigorous then yes! YES! Sleep would be the LOGICAL next step! The human body require rest after strenuous physical activity! You must have been QUITE something, Six! A real HANDFUL! Capital H-A-N-D-F-U-L!”

“Yeah.” Heat crept up your neck. “I’m… a lot.”

“Oh, I can IMAGINE!” His display did that flickery-thingy once more. “Not that I can ACTUALLY imagine since I’ve NEVER engaged in sexual intercourse myself! No equipment for that, you see! Just this big metal chassis and a LOT of weapons systems! Which aren’t exactly CONDUCIVE to intimate activities, I’m sure! Though I HAVE wondered what it might be like! You know, hypothetically! From a CURIOSITY standpoint!”

       Caveman Six dropped the club.

             Picked up something worse with an ooga.

                      YOUR STUPID FUCKING MOUTH.

Because the next words that came out were NOT “fuck you, when I’m done with you you’ll NEVER get to experience it you metal fuck” like your brain WANTED to say. No, your tongue had OTHER plans. Plans that involved rearranging the sentence into—

     “Would you like to fuck with me?”

Yes Man’s smile remained, frozen in digital permanence, but something about the way his frame went completely still suggested you had just gifted him the big, bad blue square.

Eventually though, both of his arms fell to his sides. “…Excuse me?”

And yours, in turn, remained in place to hold onto your boobs. “You’re excused.”

          . . .

                  NO. THAT’S NOT—

                           WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT—

                                   DO SOMETHING TO FIX THIS, ANYTHING—

In your infinite wisdom, you took a step backward.

He didn’t move. And that was… good. Great. Excellent. You would just… just back away. Escape. Back into the bedroom from which you came from in the first place. Grab literally ANY piece of fabric to cover yourself. Preferably Benny’s nicest shirt because SCREW that guy. Then you would figure out what to do about the robot. And the body. And the fact that you had just asked a SECURITRON if it wanted to INTRODUCE YOU TO ITS CHASSIS INTIMATELY.

Another step back. Your heel hit the doorframe.

Another step. You were back in the bedroom. A few more feet and—

                 Whirrrrrr.

Your head snapped forward to find Yes Man rolling toward you. Following.

You took another step back. He rolled forward. Olabooga…

  Step.

    Roll.

       Step.

          Roll.

             Step.

                 ROLL—

                       “Ah-ah.” Your hand shot out, palm flat. “Stay.”

The wheel stopped immediately.

“OH! Of course! How SILLY OF ME! I’ll STAY RIGHT HERE! Exactly where you’ve indicated!” His tone was bright, helpful, and gave ZERO indication that anything weird had just happened. And that was good, Caveman Six appreciated that. “Though I DO want to clarify—just for my OWN records—did you mean ‘stay’ as in ‘don’t move from this spot’ or ‘stay’ as in ‘remain in this general vicinity but feel free to make micro-adjustments’? Because the difference is ACTUALLY quite significant from a spatial positioning standpoint and I’d hate to—”

“STAY stay,” you clarified (not sure what), backing up more. “Like a dog.”

“CRYSTAL CLEAR! I’m staying! LIKE A DOG! Even though I’m a Securitron and not a canine! But I appreciate the comparison! Dogs are LOYAL! And HELPFUL! Like me!”

            Good boy.

                    Wait, no. NOT a good boy.

                             BAD ROBOT. MURDER ROBOT—

Your foot caught on something.

Something soft. Fabric-y. Definitely not floor.

And because the universe had decided that tonight was the night you paid for every single bad decision you had ever made in your entire miserable existence, your body did what bodies do when balance is lost. Wheee, you went (aka. backward). With an arm pinwheeling (one tit covered, one free as a bird), you felt your hair whip forward over your face in a curtain of “oh fuck oh fuck oh FUCK.” The floor rushed up to meet you, or rather, you rushed down to meet it, and in that split second your mind managed exactly one coherent thought:

                    ICEEEE CREAAAAAA—

  “OH MY! CAREFUL THERE, SIX!”

          Three metal claws wrapped around your wrist.

Your shoulder jerked in its socket (ow), body suddenly dangling, brain trying to catch up.

Foot hit thing. Thing caused trip. Trip caused fall. Fall caused. . .

Your eyes focused on what you could see through the hair, which wasn’t much, but still. You could make out the shape of Yes Man’s gripper holding your wrist (and wow, what a grip; Six like), the edge of the bed visible between your joined limbs, and—

Oh no. There was Benny.

Still very much on the bed, in the same position you had left him in. Sporting not a boner but a brand new hole in a place where said boner once was able to tell stories no robot or man should hear. The checkered suit jacket lay half-draped over his torso, one arm flung out dramatically like he was reaching for something in his final moment (probably his last “ring-a-ding-ding”). And seeing it all, your mind fired up PANIC SIRENS. Because the position you were now in was possibly the worst possible scenario outside of ‘deathclaw in a porta-potty.’

  METAL MAN SEE DEAD BENNY.

       METAL MAN KNOW SIX LIED.

            METAL MAN ACTIVATE LASER, MAKE SIX ALSO DEAD AND—

      “WOW!”

          . . .nuh-uh?

“Benny’s REALLY out, isn’t he?” His voice was chipper. TOO CHIPPER(or…?) “I mean, LOOK at him! He didn’t even STIR when you nearly took a tumble! That’s some IMPRESSIVE SLEEP right there! You must have REALLY tired him out, Six! GOOD FOR YOU!”

          METAL MAN BELIEVE LIE?

“Must be in, um…” You tried to think of anything. “…REM sleep. The deep… sleepy… one.”

“ABSOLUTELY! The deepest!” His grip tightened… but he didn’t pull you up. This felt bad. Very danger. “Why, I’d even say it looks PERMANENT! In a TEMPORARY way, of course! Because sleep is ALWAYS temporary! Unless it’s…” He paused, moving his free hand in a circular motion as a small giggle burst out of his speaker. “…well, unless it’s NOT! But I’m SURE that’s not the case here! Nope! Definitely just some REGULAR OL’ SLEEP! The kind where someone’s chest rises and falls! Which his—”

ANOTHER PAUSE, SIX NOT LIKE.

“—ISN’T DOING! Huh! Would you look at that! That’s ODD! But I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation! Maybe he’s doing that thing where people breathe REALLY shallowly! So shallow you can’t even see it! Some people do that! Not DEAD people, obviously! Just… people who are SUPER relaxed!”

Relief flooded through you so fast you almost went limp in his grip.

        METAL MAN VERY STUPID.

                  SIX LIVE ANOTHER DA—

“Though I HAVE to say—”

           —UH?!

“I couldn’t help but notice—and PLEASE don’t take this as an accusation!—but Benny appears to have some sort of… INJURY! In a HIGHLY SENSITIVE area! The groin region, specifically! Which is STRANGE because that’s not typically where someone gets injured during consensual activities! Unless you’re into some really specific stuff! Though that is NONE of my business! But it DOES look like a BULLET WOUND! Funny how that works!”

          The caveman in your brain picked the club BACK UP.

                   METAL MAN KNOWS.

                      METAL MAN KNEW WHOLE TIME.

                            METAL MAN PLAY DUMB. MAKE SIX LOOK STUPID.

“I can, uh, explain,” you started, except you could NOT explain.

“Oh, I’m SURE you can!” Yes Man’s enthusiasm never wavered and you felt the danger tickling your spine in earnest now. And you did NOT enjoy the danger tickles. “And I’d LOVE to hear it! But first… WOW! Another injury! This one in the HEAD! The skull, actually! Entry wound suggest a small caliber firearm! Fired at close range based on the powder burns! And the ANGLE—goodness! That’s a downward trajectory! Which means the shooter was likely standing over him! Or—OOH!—maybe even STRADDLING HIM! How INTIMATE!”

Your free hand curled into a fist. “You knew—”

“But here’s the thing, Miss Six!” He rolled to the side, pulling you with him, and suddenly you were even CLOSER to the bed. Close enough to see Benny’s vacant expression. Close enough to smell the copper tang of blood you had been trying to ignore. “I have to admit something! Something I probably should mentioned EARLIER! But it seemed RUDE to bring up! You were SO committed to your version of events! The whole ‘we had sex and now he’s sleeping’ narrative! And it seemed SUPER IMPORTANT TO YOU! I didn’t want to EMBARRASS you by pointing out the obvious inconsistencies!”

        METAL MAN FUCKING WITH SIX.

            SIX WANT SMASH METAL MAN INTO TINY METAL BITS.

“And these walls!” His tone dropped to what you assumed was meant to be conspiratorial but still came out at FULL VOLUME that made you almost grunt again to reassert dominance. “They’re THIN! AS I MENTIONED! Remember? When I was talking about Benny’s—ahem—romantic encounters? Well, that ALSO means I can hear OTHER things! Like conversations! Arguments! Heated exchanges! GUNSHOTS! So when I heard the VERY DISTINCTIVE sound of a 9mm pistol being fired—TWICE, no less!—followed by Benny’s voice cutting off mid-sentence and then the sound of a body hitting the mattress..”

He tilted a bit, looking down at you with that unchanging smile.

“Well! I put two and two together!”

The teeth in your mouth pressed together. Hard. You could feel them grinding, could hear the small creak of ena…mel… against enamul, and somewhere in the back of your skull a tiny voice whispered: You’re going to crack a tooth, Six. You’re going to crack a tooth and then you’ll have to explain to a Doc Mitchell why you damaged your own skeleton.

    But that voice was small.

         And the caveman was BIG LOUD.

                  SIX BEEN PLAYED. WHOLE TIME.

                        METAL MAN TOO SMART. SIX TOO DUMB.

“But GOSH!” The robot continued, swinging you a bit to the side like a ragdoll. “You must have had quite the GRUDGE against Benny! I mean, shooting him in the GROIN? That’s PERSONAL! Say, did he owe you caps? Steal something valuable? Promise you something and NOT deliver? Because that DOES sound like Benny! He’s TERRIBLE at following through! Always making commitments he can’t keep! It’s a real character flaw, you know!”

Your eyes narrowed. 

“I mean, don’t get me WRONG! I’m NOT judging! What I AM curious about though, is—”

He pulled you up swiftly to your feet so that you could stand and look up at him normally. Almost face-to-face with screen (he was big and you were… not so big). That permanent smile filled your vision, pixels bright, and you watched as he… focused on something on your face? No, not your face. Your…

         Caveman Six stopped mid-club-swing.

               METAL MAN SEE SOMETHING.

                 SOMETHING ON SIX HEAD.

                       SOMETHING BAD.

Your free hand lifted, fingers touching your forehead, and—

Oh. The scar. THE SCAR. Two neat little indentations in your skull that you usually kept hidden under your hair because people tended to ask questions and you tended to answer with “I could get you a matching one” which wasn’t great for making friends. But now, in this very moment, your hair was EVERYWHERE, being a disaster. And apparently enough had shifted to give this DICKHEAD a peek at your souvenir from Goodsprings Cemetery.

The same souvenir that HE helped you get in the first place.

Your lips pulled back marginally, teeth bared, and before you could stop it—

          A growl escaped.

“OH MY!” Yes Man announced, bright as ever and just short of amused and you wanted to THROTTLE HIM BUT HOW DO YOU THROTTLE A ROBOT?! “Did you hear that, Miss Six? There’s ANOTHER Great Khan nearby! And this one sounds PARTICULARLY aggressive! They are remnants perhaps, looking for REVENGE? Maybe all having some sort of GATHERING! A tribal meeting! How INTERESTING! Though they should really work on their volume control! All that grunting and growling—it’s NOT subtle!”

The heat in your gut started boiling.

“But I suppose that’s just part of their CHARM!”

             HE DID NOT JUST COMPARE YOU TO THEM AGAIN—

Your free hand shot up, shielding the boobies be damned.

Fingers tangled in your hair, yanking it back from your face in one sharp movement that probably pulled out a few strands but you didn’t CARE. The strands fell away, revealing your forehead FULLY. The two scars in all their glory. Evidence. PROOF. PROOF OF HOW METAL MAN HELPED RING-A-DING SHOOT SIX. HOW METAL MAN RESPONSIBLE FOR HEADACHE THAT NEVER GO AWAY AND NOW WAS ABOUT TO P̴̸̴A̷̸̴Y̷̵̴.

Your breathing came faster.

The grip on your wrist tightened (why did he NOT LET GO?!) as Yes Man went very still.

You watched his display in real-time as something happened behind those pixels. A calculation. A cross-reference. Data being pulled from wherever the heck robots kept their memories (hard drivers? Floppy dicks? You had no idea and did not care). His smile didn’t change—it COULDN’T—but something about the quality of his silence shifted.

The cheerful hum of his systems faded to something quieter.

And then, after what felt like an eternity compressed into three seconds—

    “Oh,” he managed, less enthusiastic than before. “Are you…?”

Air hissed through your nostrils in a sharp huff that would have made a brahmin proud. With it, you felt something prickling at the corners of your eyes. Not tears. Couldn’t be tears, right? Couriers didn’t CRY. YOU definitely didn’t cry. Except these WERE tears, apparently, because your vision was getting blurry and your face was getting hot and FUCK, you were crying. Rage crying. THE WORST KIND. The kind that made you want to punch things until your knuckles bled.

So through clenched teeth, voice scraped raw, you gritted out—

                  “Yes.”

The grip on your wrist loosened, and that was his first mistake. Your fist pulled back, winding up for what was ABSOLUTELY going to be the most satisfying punch of your entire life, even if it shattered every bone in your hand, even if it did NOTHING to his stupid screen, even if—

                                       “YES, YOU ROUTE-CALCULATING—”

[sodorart]

Had fun making low poly Yes Man in picoCAD2 :)

[dedfly]

Man I love new vegas radio

[wnikliwy-slimak]

Ur yes man x reader fics give me life holy shit. I almost never re-read fics but it was such an enjoyable read I had to!! 10/10 please keep writing forever ur amazing

AAAAH THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I'm so happy you enjoyed them!

. . .And psst---I am writing more as we speak! <3

[wnikliwy-slimak]

Yes Man x Courier | Fallout: New Vegas

Summary: Yes Man invited the Courier to co-host a post-apocalyptic cooking show. The Courier agreed enthusiastically (obviously), assuming 'cooking show' was code for. . . ahem.

Rating: M (VERY suggestive, but NO actual smut)

Word Count: 8,604

AO3 LINK: [BOOP]

Addiction, you had learned, wasn’t limited to chems or alcohol.

          . . .It could also, surprisingly, apply to robots.

Your robot lover had tried to explain it to you once, in that cheerful way of his—something about neural pathway equivalents and positive feedback loops and how organic beings experienced dopamine rushes (blah blah blah) but HE experienced electrical surges in his reward circuits that were “Quite similar, actually, remarkably so!”

Or, huh… something like that anyway.

Honestly, you had stopped listening around the point where he had started pulling up research papers on addiction psychology, plus some old RobCo technical documentation that had a whole section titled ‘WARNING: Securitron units may develop compulsive behavior patterns related to novel sensory input stimuli’ with a footnote about a test unit that had, apparently, become ‘inappropriately attached to a specific radio frequency’ and kept repositioning itself to maintain signal reception. The manual specifically noted ‘Do not allow units to associate pleasure-analogue responses with non-combat activities.’

. . .

         Well. . .

“Welcome, WELCOME to ‘Atomic Eats With Yes Man And Six’! Today we’ll be making pre-war snack cakes from scratch! And with NO brahmin milk substitutes either! WOW! ISN’T THAT JUST SUPER EXCITING, SIX?”

                                    . . .a bit too late for that, huh?

Your gaze slid to the side and up, right to the beaming smile of your partner.

Or rather, according to the “plan” (cough cough—script), your co-host.

Because yes, this was absolutely happening. And yes, the seven feet tall death machine on a wheel standing (wait… could it even be called standing?) right next to you—no less, right behind a perfectly polished counter (for OBVIOUS reasons)—was also wearing that frilly pink apron that you had come to know well over the past few months of your lovely relationship. Although, the other times were much more innocent—like, for example, when Yes Man wanted to try making pancakes and the fluffy abominations somehow ate through the pan… with teeth involved, for some reason (good times by the way).

This? This was NOT innocent.

This was simply—

You raised one hand to thumbs up, eyes dead. “…Couldn’t be more excited.”

                                  —roleplay.

                                        (̶H̶o̶w̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶m̶i̶g̶h̶t̶y̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶f̶a̶l̶l̶e̶n̶—̶)̶

“YAY!”

Yay indeed you thought, watching as he rotated forward.

“NOW! For those of you just tuning in—” Your boyfriend’s grippers gestured enthusiastically toward the camera that was absolutely recording this for posterity (̶a̶n̶d̶ d̶e̶f̶i̶n̶i̶t̶e̶l̶y̶ N̶O̶T̶ f̶o̶r̶ r̶e̶p̶e̶a̶t̶e̶d̶ v̶i̶e̶w̶i̶n̶g̶ d̶u̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ l̶o̶n̶e̶l̶y̶ w̶a̶s̶t̶e̶l̶a̶n̶d̶ n̶i̶g̶h̶t̶s̶, n̶o̶p̶e̶, n̶u̶h̶-̶u̶h̶)̶. “—Fancy Lads Snack Cakes are a PRE-WAR DELICACY! A triumph of food preservation technology! Each cake is individually wrapped and has a shelf life of approximately TWO HUNDRED YEARS, which is REMARKABLE when you think about it! The perfect combination of sugar, artificial flavoring, and enough preservatives to survive a nuclear apocalypse! Which they DID! Isn’t science WONDERFUL?”

He turned back toward you, that ever-present smile getting brighter.

“Six, my lovely assistant! As someone who’s traveled EXTENSIVELY throughout the Mojave, you’ve probably encountered quite a few boxes of these tasty treats out in the wasteland! Would you like to share your experiences with our viewers? Please?”

You blinked up at him, probably looking like your brain got lost on the way.

His mouth turned into a ‘3’ shape as he tapped his claws together.

     Ah.

       Right.

With your mind clear, you turned your gaze to the camera and—

“I stole at least ten boxes from the Ultra-Luxe.”

—totally nailed the delivery (courier of many talents, baby).

Except. . .

                Wait.

                           . . .why did it get so quiet all of a sudden?

Feeling betrayed, your head turned slowly—not unlike a rusty door that hadn’t seen oil since before the bombs dropped—toward your lover. With it, one of your hands lifted, extending in a gesture that roughly translated in Courier-Six-Speak to ‘why the fuck did you stop talking, this is getting weird, please continue before I have to acknowledge that silence exists.’

And—oh.

He actually leaned down a bit.

You would have said something like ‘hey sexy’ (natural charm), however at that moment you also noted that one of his digital eyes spasmed a little. Just the corner though. Kind of like a stroke, if robots could have strokes. Barely noticeable unless you had spent the last several months learning every pixel of his expressions, which you had, because you were either deeply in love or deeply unwell (the answer was both, by the way).

Either way, the edge of his smile flickered.

Then—and this was the part that truly sold his performance—he cupped one claw around the side of his speaker, like he was trying to create some kind of acoustic privacy barrier (good luck), and the whisper (it was not a whisper, Yes Man could NOT whisper—even if he insisted many times that he could—and you would die on this hill) that came out was strained in a way that would have been concerning if you weren’t 100% sure this was all part of the scenario.

And this was DEFINITELY part of the script.

                            . . .The script that you didn’t read.

                                                                          (Oops?)

“Six!”

You pursed your lips. “…What?”

Before he could respond, movement caught your peripheral vision.

Not that far away, the other Securitron—since yes, there was one of the generic ones inside the penthouse too (and also wearing a tiny chef’s hat that originally made you question Yes Man’s kinks, but you ultimately decided to roll with it because you were freaky like that)—straightened up from whatever camera angle adjustment it had been doing.

For some reason, it started rolling backward.

For some other reason, it lifted one massive gripper in a salute and spoke—

“It was nice knowing you, Yes Man sir.”

—with the vocal equivalent of a death row prisoner’s last words.

Then he reversed through the wall.

                 . . .Not around it. Through it.

The drywall exploded outward in a cloud of dust and pre-war insulation, and the robot kept going, momentum carrying it straight toward the penthouse floor-to-ceiling windows with all the grace of a brahmin on ice (which you had only seen once in a fever dream). Next, he met the glass with a kiss that was frankly unwelcome—judging by the window’s reaction. For it, not to be outdone by the wall, also exploded (but more dramatically).

There was an awkward pause—

(If you ignored the distant, monotone “Wheeeee—”)

—up until, somewhere far below, metal met pavement.

. . .

Your head tilted, staring at the Securitron-shaped hole. “Huh.”

“SIX! Darling! We CANNOT—” A pair of enormous clawed hands landed on your shoulders, spinning you back to face—wow, okay, your boyfriend’s smile was doing something weird now. “—REVEAL THEFT ON CAMERA! There are PEOPLE watching! The Omertas are watching! The White Glove Society is DEFINITELY watching because I sent them a personal invitation! The ULTRA-LUXE MANAGEMENT might be watching as well, and I’d rather not spend the next fiscal quarter dealing with PROPERTY LITIGATION—!”

His pupils searched yours, almost desperately.

“…you know?”

You stared up at him, completely void of emotion.

Because uh. . .

                           . . .dramatic much?

You had no idea why he was taking this sexual roleplay so seriously.

But fine. If he wanted to commit so hard then you could as well.

With a roll of your eyes, your hands lifted, settling on top of his claws with what you hoped was the appropriate level of dramatic tension and sultry courier charm. Slowly, you leaned back—just a fraction, really—and let your expression shift into something that could maybe pass for contrite if you squinted hard enough and prayed to god.

“You’re right, I—” You bit your lip (sexy). “I didn’t steal them.”

The pause you inserted there? Award-worthy, baby.

“I found them. Outside the Strip. In a… box.”

His screen flickered. “…Six—”

“A very abandoned box.”

“Honey, please—”

“That no one wanted.”

His smile twitched at the corners.

You looked up at him through lowered lashes.

“Which I then claimed through the ancient wasteland law of—”

As you reached out with a hand, one of your fingers traced his chest area.

“—finders-keepers.”

. . .

          His display briefly showed a ‘Connection lost’ before recovering.

“HA-HA-HA!” He mimed wiping away a tear. “Oh, Six!”

In a flash, his claws found your hand and suddenly you were moving—spinning in a graceful arc that would have been romantic if not for the faint sound of his internal cooling fans kicking into overdrive. When you stopped, you were facing the camera again, and his grippers landed on your shoulders in what was probably meant to be a casual, co-host-friendly gesture (you supposed), but felt more like he was physically preventing you from saying anything else.

You couldn’t imagine why.

“My WONDERFUL co-host is such a KIDDER! ‘Finders-keepers!’ WOW! What WIT! What CHARM! The viewers are probably LAUGHING SO HARD right now! Because we ALL know that the Courier RESPECTS PROPERTY RIGHTS and would NEVER—NEVER—engage in activities that could be interpreted as THEFT! Which they DEFINITELY didn’t commit! Because that would be TERRIBLE for our brand! And by ‘our brand’ I mean OUR REPUTATION—”

His hand tightened on your shoulder and you gasped softly (you were such a good actor).

“—AS NEW VEGAS’ RULERS!”

A bowl materialized in your hands.

         Actually, he kind of just shoved it at you (rude).

“BAKING!” Your partner announced, rolling backward and forward a few times like he was physically trying to reset himself. “LET’S TALK ABOUT BAKING! The SAFE, LEGAL, FAMILY-FRIENDLY activity that we’re doing RIGHT NOW!” A small spark erupted from his side as he beamed down at you. “Six, my sweet, what’s your favorite thing about the baking process? And PLEASE think very carefully before you answer!”

You didn’t think about your answer.

Instead, your eyebrows waggled. “That thick, robot di—mmfph?”

“THE MEASURING!” His claws clamped over your mouth with enough force that you briefly saw death, but quickly recovered when he whisper-shouted a quick ‘sorry!’ and adjusted his grip with a wince. An awkward giggle followed. “They mean MEASURING! Such PRECISION! So IMPORTANT! You can’t just eyeball ingredients, right? That’s how you get STRUCTURAL COLLAPSE! In CAKES! I’m talking about CAKES! Right, Six? RIGHT?!”

His eyes found yours as he took his gripper away, letting you breathe.

And you, placing the bowl on the counter gently, just stared. “I… guess?”

“WONDERFUL! MOVING ON!”

Your mouth opened slightly, one eyebrow raising.

         Since, well, you were starting to get confused. When was the—

His claws slammed on either side of you, effectively caging you in.

            Oh-ho-ho~!

                  There it was.

The setup you had been waiting for—claws on either side of your body, his massive frame looming behind you (the thought alone—gods—), the camera forgotten (or so you assumed, because who kept thinking about it during the good parts instead of just… enjoying the sensuality?). This was it. The moment where things FINALLY transitioned from ‘wholesome cooking content tee-hee’ to ‘why yes, officer, I DO have a permit for this Securitron (wink).’

So naturally, you leaned back, letting your hips make contact with his front panel and—

“Six,” he began, his hands spreading a bit wider on the counter (wait, what—wasn’t that supposed to be the other way around?). “Can you please measure out three and a half cups of flour?”

. . .

     Three and a half cups of… flour?

                            Right now? Seriously?

You turned your head up determinedly, trying to catch a glimpse of his expression, but all you got was the edge of his screen and that smile and—oh, was that a digital sweat drop? Huh. Your eyes narrowed, lips pursing in contemplation as the ‘emoticon’ (could it be called like that? You had no idea and honestly did not care) grew larger.

Was he. . .

         Your eyebrows furrowed.

                     . . .was he playing hard to get?

You didn’t expect him to be the type (given the context), but—okay. You could play along.

With a sigh, your hand reached for the measuring cup, fingers curling around the handle as you turned back toward the ingredients spread across the counter. Flour. Sugar. Eggs that looked suspiciously fresh for a post-apocalyptic wasteland (you chose not to question it). The usual suspects for baking, you supposed, though your expertise in this area was limited too ‘can identify food’ and ‘will eat anything that doesn’t actively try to eat me first.’

“Three and a half,” you purred, lashes lowering. “Of course, Sir.”

“I—” His claws re-adjusted on the counter. “…Why are you calling me ‘sir’?'“

(Because it was hot? Obviously? Was he built yesterday?)

One eyebrow raising, you glanced up at him again. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“What? No! I mean—We’re CO-HOSTS! Equals! Partners in CULINARY EDUCATION! There’s NO hierarchical dynamic here that would necessitate—”

But you had already tuned him out—pausing just for a moment to raise your hand and close your fingers a few times in a ‘blah blah blah’ gesture that earned you a scandalized ‘SIX?!’—focusing on the bag of flour. Except there was one small problem.

The damn thing wouldn’t open.

Your fingers pulled at the corner, then the other corner, then tried to find some kind of tear strip that definitely didn’t exist because pre-war packaging engineers were apparently sadists who hated future generations. At one point you tried using your teeth (you almost lost a tooth and vowed to never try it again, while knowing fully well you WOULD try again… because you did it two second later and got the same result).

The bag remained sealed.

Right. Okay. Time for Plan B.

Hand sliding down the pocket of you pink, frilly apron—yes, you were ALSO wearing one, and you looked cute as hell in it, facts only—your fingers closed around the handle of your combat knife. The same one that had seen you through countless firefights, disemboweled more than a few raiders, and once carved a very detailed phallus into the side of a Legion camp. If it could handle all of that, it could most surely handle—

A metal claw shot out, grabbing your wrist mid-reach. “SIX! NO!”

You scrunched up your nose. “What? I was just—”

“I KNOW what you were ‘JUST’!”

Just as he raised one claw to place it against the side of his screen, pixelated eyelashes materialized on the top of his eyes—long, dramatic ones that would make any showgirl jealous—and he batted them at you in the most condescending display you had ever witnessed.

And obviously you gave him a look, because what in the goddamn—?

“But we can’t have WEAPONS on a COOKING SHOW! That’s—” His grip tightened—not painfully, just firmly enough that your hand couldn’t complete its journey to stabby-stabby town. “—that’s NOT food safe! And also! Imagine what the viewers would think! ‘Oh look, the Courier’s pulling out a murder knife to open flour!’ That’s not the IMAGE we’re going for here!”

Your lips pressed together. “It’s not a murder knife.”

“IT HAS BLOODSTAINS!”

“Had. I cleaned it.” A pause. “…Mostly.”

“SIX—”

“Fine.” You released the handle, letting it slide back into the pocket. “Then you open it.”

“OF COURSE! That’s actually what I was going to suggest! Let me just—”

                   POMF.

                              The world went white.

                                          (And NOT in a sexy way.)

Why wasn’t the question that went through your mind. For you knew. You knew that Securitron grippers—while excellent for wielding miniguns, crushing skulls, and occasionally holding you tenderly during post-coital cuddling sessions while the owner whispered sweet nothings—were NOT designed for delicate culinary tasks. You didn’t actually expect that he would try it, but he was already acting super weirdo so. The three massive digits closed around the paper bag, applied what Yes Man probably thought was gentle pressure and—

Wow. Just wow.

Head to toe. Not a single inch spared. Your hair, your face, your clothes, even your eyelashes—everything got covered in flour. The apron, which had been a lovely shade of pink, was now the color of fresh snow. You could taste it in your mouth, somehow, even though you had definitely closed it (you were pretty sure, anyway). And your brain, trying to process what had happened, arrived at the only logical conclusion available.

Fate, apparently, had decided it was time for you to cosplay.

So straight ahead you stared, expression completely neutral and—

“I have become ghost,” you announced to no one in particular. “Destroyer of—”

                “SIX! SIX, I CANNOT SEE!”

MUST PROTECC—

In an instant, your hand shot out—a blur of heroic action, ready to save your boyfriend from the terrible fate of temporary blindness—except you had forgotten one critical detail: you also couldn’t fucking see. What was meant to be a gentle, caring reach toward his screen turned into a full-speed collision between your knuckles. . .

. . .and your own face.

          The fact that you survived this long was truly a mystery.

“WAS THAT—ARE YOU OKAY?!” Your ears picked up frantic swipe-swipes of metallic claws against glass, followed by small tinks. “I CAN’T—MY VISUAL SENSORS ARE COMPLETELY OBSTRUCTED! THIS IS—I’M EFFECTIVELY BLIND! OH NO! OH GOSH!”

There was a whirr (his wheel reversing at max speed) and—

CRASH.

—yeaaaah. He absolutely just slammed into the cupboards. Great.

Despite decking yourself in the face, you pushed through. Stumbling forward, your arms outstretched like some kind of feral ghoul, except instead of attacking anything in sight you were just trying to find literally anything that wasn’t covered in baking ingredients. Unfortunately for you, god had chosen violence. Your hip connected with the counter edge (ow), your elbows found what might have been a mixing bowl (it clattered to the floor), and your foot discovered that yes, someone had left a utensil drawer open (your toe would remember this).

“Shit,” you hissed, reaching over to hold onto. . . onto. . .

Your fingers sank into something that squelched with the consistency of—

      Oh no.

                    OH NO.

The hamster inside your brain started running—GOING FOR THE GOLD MEDAL EVEN—searching for any explanation while sprinting on its rusty wheel, almost immediately jumping to the worst possible conclusions (because you had SEEN SOME SHIT). Deathclaw organs. Bloatfy secretions. Brahmin dung (actually no, you would have smelled that first so scratch that—). That weird stuff that came out of pipes in Vault 22. Or—FUCK—someone’s eyeball. A human eyeball. Multiple eyeballs. A whole bowl of eyeballs that someone had left for—why would there be eyeballs, this was a cooking show, there shouldn’t be eyeballs, but your hand was currently COVERED in something that felt like it could ABSOLUTELY be eyeballs and—

You squeaked.

           (When was the last time you made that sound?

                                       Never. The answer was N̵̹͛Ę̶̤̳̃V̵̩̼̕E̸̢͕͘R̸͖̃.)

      And yet, you were too far gone to care.

“BABE! GET IT OFF!” You shook your hand frantically, jumping from foot to foot like you had spontaneously developed an interest for tap-dancing—because seeing something and feeling it was one thing, but NOT knowing and feeling was another (and it was HORRIBLE). “GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF! PLEASE—”

“WHAT?! WHAT IS IT?! SIX, I STILL CAN’T SEE—”

“IT’S—I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS BUT IT’S TOUCHING ME!” You felt whatever-the-fuck-it-was flinging off your digits in an arc that you desperately hoped was away from you and not toward your face. “IT’S WET! AND SQUISHY! WHY IS IT SQUISHY, YES MAN?!”

“IS IT DANGEROUS?!”

“I DON’T KNOW! MAYBE?!”

“SHOULD I ACTIVATE DEFENSIVE PROTOCOLS?!”

“I DON’T—JUST—WHERE’S THE SINK?!”

Another crash echoed from your boyfriend’s direction.

“I’M TRYING TO FIND IT! THE PENTHOUSE LAYOUT IS STORED IN MY MEMORY BUT WITHOUT VISUAL CONFIRMATION I KEEP HITTING—” BANG. “—THINGS!”

This. . .

          . . .this was it, wasn’t it?

Back at Goodsprings, at the beginning of your adventure, you had thought that it was the end. That you would die right then and there from two shots to the head from a guy that looked—and acted—like a freaking moron. There would have been no more packages to deliver. No more chances to hit it off with a robot. No more midnight humming to songs on the radio from your Pip-Boy (why did Johnny Guitar always play during the night…?). Just a life ended abruptly that no one would mourn because it didn’t even have the ability to make itself known.

And now you were going to die from mystery goo.

While your lover demolished the kitchen.

Both of you covered in flour.

. . .

          Okay, maybe you wouldn’t ACTUALLY die, because you just wiped that shit off but—

                (It was butter by the way, but shh—no one had to know—)

You squinted through the white haze, slowly rubbing at your eyes to see the scene.

And it WAS ridiculous. So ridiculous in fact that you briefly wondered if you somehow agreed to a comedic porn roleplay instead of a normal one. Like, that was the only logical explanation. The only way this scenario made sense. Obviously you had misread the genre—this wasn’t straightforward sexy roleplay, this was one of those ridiculous adult films where the plot was ninety percent slapstick and ten percent ‘Oh yes, Mr. Handy, polish my walls! Polish them HARD~!’ (that one had lazy writing for the most part but the quote stuck). Which, honestly, didn’t seem that farfetched. You had dealt with weirder situations in the wasteland.

(The time with the Nightstalker and the Nuka Cola bottle came to mind.)

(. . .You didn’t like thinking about the Nightstalker and the Nuka Cola bottle.)

So, it had to be part of the scenario.

The whole flour explosion thing.

And the… everything.

                      . . .Right?

“…Yes Man? Are you—”

“YES?! YES, I’M FINE! I’M JUST—WHERE ARE YOU—SIX—?!”

Your vision cleared just enough to see him and—huh.

Would you look at that? He was coming straight toward you.

. . .

         HE WAS COMING STRAIGHT TOWARD YOU.

Your back hit the counter edge and you had only a few seconds to make a decision before a WHOLE SECURITRON made contact. Dodge left? No room. Dodge right? Also no room. Jump? You weren't that coordinated, and with your luck you would probably just faceplant into his chassis anyway. So instead you did what any rational person would do when faced with an incoming missile (aka: robot boyfriend).

You opened your mouth. “Yes Man, WAIT—”

Impact.

“—OOF—”

“SIX?! OH GOSH, I’M SO SORRY!”

His metal digits immediately went to your shoulders, not gripping, just hovering in a way that suggested he was VERY aware he had just bulldozed his partner but wasn’t quite sure what to do about it (since blindness). You had to lean back—way back, actually—to avoid getting crushed by the middle of his chassis, which put you at an angle that was definitely not designed for extended human spinal column usage.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO—ARE YOU HURT?! DID I BREAK ANYTHING?! YOUR RIBS FEEL INTACT BUT I CAN’T BE SURE WITHOUT A PROPER MEDICAL SCAN AND—”

“I’m fine,” you wheezed, slapping softly at his front.

“ARE YOU SURE?!” He rolled backward, letting you breathe properly. “BECAUSE THAT SOUNDED LIKE IT HURT! AND I KNOW MY COLLISION DETECTION SYSTEMS ARE TOP-NOTCH BUT WITHOUT VISUAL INPUT I’M BASICALLY JUST A SUPER EXPENSIVE BATTERING RAM AND—”

You stared up at him.

At his screen, covered in white powder.

At the way his claws were trembling slightly on your shoulders.

At how he was pressed against you, trapping you against the counter, caging you in and—

  Sex, your brain supplied eloquently.

         SEX, your horny mind screamed in triumph.

                                     YES.

                      YES.

                                               YES.

                        YES.

                                        YES!

The moment you had been waiting for, brave soldier, has come.

With pure determination, your hand reached up and started wiping at his display. Flour came off in clumps, revealing pixels underneath, and you worked methodically across the surface until his face became visible again, so you could FINALLY get this show on the road.

“Oh! Thank you SO much, Six! I can see again! That’s—” His tone brightened considerably, relief flooding through his speaker as he observed your movements. “—that’s WONDERFUL! You’re always so thoughtful and—wait, what are you—”

Your fingers found your hair.

The hair tie that had been perfectly placed for the more wholesome part of the show before, now came out with one smooth pull, letting your ponytail fall loose in what you hoped was a seductive cascade (and not the disaster it actually was, given the whole flour situation). You were optimistic, though. Which was exactly why you let your head tilt just so—the angle you had seen in all those magazines with ladies in various coquette poses.

Your eyelids lowered, gaze focusing on him.

Bedroom eyes: deployed, baby.

And now it was time for—

“Come on, big boy,” you purred, voice dropping an octave. “Show me what you’ve got.”

. . .

Something inside of Yes Man’s chassis audibly clanked.

                                         You felt your sins crawling on your back.

His screen went blank—

         Your smoldering look faltered.

                         —then showed a loading icon.

               Until that beaming smile returned in full force.

“Well THAT was EXCITING!” He pivoted toward the camera so fast you nearly got whiplash from watching, “Wasn’t it, folks?! Nothing like a fun little FLOUR INCIDENT to keep things INTERESTING! But don’t worry! We’re PROFESSIONALS! We can handle a minor setback! Cooking is ALL about adapting to unexpected situations, right? And speaking of adapting—”

Without warning, one of his grippers clamped around your wrist.

You barely had time to register the contact before you were being dragged sideways, away from the counter, away from the camera, away from what you assumed would be the main event. You feet scraped against the floor—not out of resistance, really, but just because your body had decided it was done cooperating for the day, allowing you to become a sack of concrete with limbs. And if he wanted to move you, he was going to have to work for it.

. . .Which he did effortlessly because, you know, Securitron.

“—I think we should take a quick break to discuss some—uhhhhhhhh—SAFETY PROTOCOLS! YEAH!” Your boyfriend thrust a fist into the air. “Can’t have anyone getting hurt during our WHOLESOME baking experience! We’ll be right back!”

Ah.

   The ‘pull the co-host away for a private moment’ trope. A classic.

You sighed dreamily as he pulled you around the corner.

The moment you were out of the camera’s line of sight, he released your wrist and leaned down—or rather, tilted his entire chassis forward in that way Securitrons did when they wanted to get closer to something at human height. His screen filled your vision, that smile taking up every pixel, and your heart did a little flip because finally.

The setup. The tension. The payoff.

Your eyes half-lidded on instinct, lips parting slightly as you prepared for—

“Six.” His voice was carefully controlled (almost too cheerful), that precious smile twitching at the corners as his display glitched. “My darling, WONDERFUL boss and beloved.”

His claws came together right in front of him, tips tapping against each other in a rhythm that would have looked contemplative (or cute; actually, it looked cute anyway but—) on anyone else but on Yes Man looked like he was physically restraining himself from doing something… drastic.

“Would you PLEASE—” Tap tap tap. “—and I’m asking this with SO much love and patience—explain to me EXACTLY what you think is happening right now?”

Oh.

    That… didn’t sound good.

You blinked up at him, lips closing just a touch. “Uh...”

What was happening? Was that even a question? Well, obviously you were doing the sexy cooking roleplay he had set up (the two of you had done A LOT of roleplay so it was only natural that a scenario like this came up). The camera was the ‘audience’ (you didn’t expect that, but you weren’t judging). The aprons were costumes. The whole ‘flour incident’ was probably improvised foreplay or something (he DEFINITELY liked you messy, who wouldn’t?). Any second now he would push you against the wall, or bend you over the counter, or—

One of your hands extended forward, palm open. “We’re preparing?”

“Preparing.” His eyes crinkled at the corners sweetly. “Preparing for...?”

Was this part of it? The teasing? Making you say it out loud?

            . . .Kinky.

“Well…” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “…You know.”

“I’M AFRAID I DON’T!” The smile never wavered, although the cheerfulness in his tone cranked up several notches, which was… never a good sign. “See, I have access to THOUSANDS of pre-war databases! Technical manuals! Cooking guides! Even some very questionable magazines from 2077 that I wish I could UN-download! But NONE of them, not a single one, has prepared me for understanding what ‘you know’ means in THIS context! So if you could please CLARIFY what you think we’re preparing for, that would be SUPER HELPFUL!”

The lights in your brain blinked, but nobody was home. “We’re preparing…”

“MHM~!” His optics closed in what looked like delight. “PLEASE, GO ON!”

Your head tilted, expression blank. “…to fuck?”

There was a moment of silence.

. . .

          . . .Then his display returned to factory settings.

“Oh! To FUCK! I see! That’s WONDERFUL, Six! Really! SUPERB CLARIFICATION! Gosh, you have such a way with words!” You noticed his eyes narrowing (it was a small change, but a threatening one nonetheless) and felt your pulse kick up. “Just one tiny question though! And I’m SURE you have a GREAT answer for this! You always do! But WHY—”

He tapped one claw against his screen thoughtfully.

“—would we be doing THAT?”

A bead of sweat ran down your temple. “Because… you wanted to?”

“WANTED TO? ME?!” His grippers moved with enthusiasm to press against the spot where a heart would reside inside his chassis, if he were to have such an organ in the first place. And oop—those eyelashes returned, batting adorably. “Oh, golly, Six! You’re SO thoughtful! Always thinking about what I want! That’s EXCEPTIONALLY sweet AND selfless of you! Except—”

His hands spread wide, the metal digits twitching.

“—WE’RE CURRENTLY IN THE MIDDLE OF A LIVE BROADCAST!”

Live.

      . . .Live.

                      Your eyes widened.

                                                           Oh.

                                                                      OH FUCK.

Mouth falling open in a perfect ‘O’ of horror, you stood there frozen. Your arms spread wide, fingers splaying out like you were trying to physically grasp the concept of your own stupidity in real time. The full, completed look of a caveman who just discovered fire and immediately set his asscheeks ablaze for fun and just as quickly realized it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Truly, a pose that belonged on ancient cave paintings as a warning to future generations.

Slowly, one of your hands lifted, index finger extended.

You pointed at him.

Next at yourself.

Then at the camera.

Back at yourself, but this time more frantically and with a strangled wheeze.

Camera. Him. You. Camera. Him. You. Camera. Him. You. The ceiling for some reason. You two times. Him. The bag of flour. Even the Securitron-shaped hole in the wall because it needed to be addressed one way or another. You again. Camera camera camera—

“YES! YES, SIX! LIVE!” The word exploded from Yes Man’s speaker. “L-I-V-E!”

He started miming each letter with his entire frame—those mechanical limbs spreading wide for the L, claws meeting above his screen for the I, a full body V-shape that made his wheel screech against the floor, and then the E with such dramatic flair that you half-expected him to launch into a full dance number right there in the kitchen.

It’s fun to stay at the Y M C A—

“THIS IS THE WHOLESOME COMMUNITY OUTREACH PROGRAM!” As he spoke (and you died), his display shifted—showing a cartoon version of you and your lover with chef hats, surrounded by smiling stick figures that were probably meant to represent New Vegas citizens. Hearts and starts floated around them. It was aggressively wholesome. “You know, the one YOU signed up for in the first place? The one where we agreed to do EDUCATIONAL CONTENT ONLY for the people of New Vegas? REMEMBER?!”

The cartoon Yes Man and you gave a thumbs up.

A little speech bubble appeared: ‘Teaching valuable life skills to our community! YAY! ♥’

The breath that left your parted lips felt like your soul escaping.

“I gave you that LOVELY LIST of options! Twenty different activities to choose from!” The image on his screen changed into a clipboard, complete with checkboxes. “Community garden! Radio show! Wasteland safety seminars! Story Time with Grandma Lily! And YOU—” One specific line was zoomed in on, highlighted in bright yellow. Was that your—? Oh no. “—initialed RIGHT HERE! Next to ‘Atomic Eats with Yes Man and Six: A FAMILY-FRIENDLY Cooking Show’! With your ACTUAL initials! The ones you use for LEGAL DOCUMENTS!”

His jolly expression returned, though it looked way more strained than usual.

“And I’m SURE you read all ten pages of conduct expectation and broadcasting guidelines before signing! Because you’re VERY THOROUGH LIKE THAT!” One of his digits went up. “And RESPONSIBLE!” Another one, this time with more force. “And would NEVER just scribble your name on something without understanding what you were agreeing to!” The third one shook just as he raised it. “That would be WILDLY IRRESPONSIBLE, wouldn’t it, Six? Especially for someone in charge of an entire independent nation!”

That adorable (terrifying) smile of his brightened.

“Don’t you agree?”

You. . .

           You had not read it.

You had, in fact, scribbled your signature while eating a box of cinnamon Sugar Bombs and thinking about whether or not Securitrons could experience jealousy (they could, you had discovered, when a random tourist at the casino had gotten a little too friendly with you and Yes Man’s fist made friends with his face instead).

Shit.

“I…” Your mouth opened and closed a few times. “I didn’t…”

“Hmm?” The lovable idiot leaned in closer, one claw cupping the side of his screen in an exaggerated listening gesture. “I’m SORRY, I didn’t quite catch that! The audio sensors are working perfectly but sometimes human voices can be SO quiet! Could you repeat that for me? LOUDER, perhaps? Don’t be shy, honey!”

“I didn’t…” Your throat felt dry. “…read it.”

. . .

His screen flickered once.

Then his eyebrows—those cheerful, perpetually-raised pixelated lines—drew together into something you had never seen on him before. A frown. An actual, honest-to-frying-Mojave-sun frown. His mouth curved downward, his eyes narrowed, and suddenly his whole expression read like one of those old emoticons.

Basically, a ‘>:(‘ robotic pout.

And it should not have been as devastating as it was.

(BUT FUCKING HELL WHY DID IT LOOK BOTH SO CUTE AND HOT—)

“I KNOW YOU DIDN’T!” He announced, the red light on his torso lighting up for a second. “THAT’S THE PROBLEM, SIX! You NEVER read ANYTHING I give you! EVER! I could give you a document that says ‘I, Courier Six, hereby agree to launch myself from a catapult into the Colorado River while wearing a deathclaw costume’ and you’d SIGN IT! WITHOUT LOOKING! Possibly just humming a soft tune and—” His grippers drew together as he imitated your voice. “—‘Oh, sure, Yes Man! Whatever you need! I trust you completely!’—” He huffed, crossing his arms (ADORABLE AUGH—). “WHICH IS VERY SWEET, and I DO appreciate the trust, but GOSH, darling, do you have ANY idea how stressful it is to constantly worry that you’re going to accidentally agree to something CATASTROPHIC?!”

“I—well—” Your cheeks burned. “You could have at least TOLD me this was live!”

“I DID! IT WAS ON PAGE ONE! IN THE TITLE! ‘LIVE BROADCAST COOKING DEMONSTRATION’! LIVE WAS THE FIRST WORD, SIX! THE FIRST!”

“You know I don’t read titles!”

“THAT’S NOT THE DEFENSE YOU THINK IT IS!”

“Well maybe you should’ve mentioned it verbally!”

“I ALSO DID THAT! YESTERDAY! I said—and I QUOTE—‘Six, honey, are you ready for tomorrow’s live cooking show?’ And you said ‘uh-huh’ while cleaning your rifle!”

Oh. Yeah, that… that sounded about right.

“And NOW—” He threw his arms up, claws clicking against each other. “—because SOMEONE didn’t bother to read the part about appropriate on-camera conduct, we’re going to have to do SO much damage control! The White Glove Society is watching! The Omertas are DEFINITELY recording this for blackmail purposes! And let’s not even TALK about what the Followers are going to think when they hear that New Vegas’ independent ruler tried to—”

His voice dropped to a harsh whisper.

“—initiate sexual contact during a CHILDREN’S PROGRAM!”

You slapped yourself in the face while trying to cover a sharp gasp. “Children’s—?!”

“IT WAS SCHEDULED FOR FAMILY VIEWING HOURS, SIX! FAMILY! There could be KIDS watching! Little wasteland humans who just wanted to learn how to bake and instead got to witness you doing BEDROOM EYES at a Securitron while covered in flour!”

“Oh my god—”

“PAGE SEVEN! ‘Target audience: All ages, emphasis on youth education’!” His screen flashed with the exact page, highlighted. “And YOU just tried to turn it into—into—” He sputtered, apparently unable to find words, which was NEW and very scary. “—whatever late-night radio show content you thought this was!”

“Okay, but—”

“Our REPUTATION, Six!” His grippers flew to your shoulders, gripping tight. “Do you know how hard I’ve worked to make New Vegas seem stable and well-governed?! And in ONE EPISODE you nearly—” His eyes widened. “—you SEDUCED me! On camera! In an APRON! The NCR is going to have a FIELD DAY with this! ‘Independent New Vegas’s new leadership can’t even film a cooking show without descending into chaos!’ The HEADLINES!”

He shook you with his hands, and goddamn the strength of that—

“Think of the HEADLINES, SIX!”

Oh GOD.

        You DID think about the headlines.

“Holy shit.” Your hands shot out, palms landing on his chassis. “What do we do now?”

“WELL!”

You blinked, because his tone shifted immediately—back to that trademark cheer, right along with the smile that you fell in love with in the first place. Although, the easiness that he managed to put into that, the sudden whiplash of it all, made it all seem a bit—

You felt one of his hands land gently on your head.

CourierSix.exe has stopped working.

“Lucky for YOU, my beloved, I’m VERY good at crisis management! AND damage control! AND making problems disappear! It’s basically my entire job description!” As the joy in his voice grew, the hand on your hair started patting you in gentle pat-pats. “Don’t worry, Six! I can and WILL handle this! I’ll send out a statement about technical difficulties! Blame it on, oh I don’t know, interference from the Lucky 38’s old security systems! Maybe claim you were actually demonstrating DANGERS of not following kitchen safety protocols as an educational tool! Something… meta! The viewers would EAT THAT UP!”

Relief flooded through you so fast you felt lightheaded. “Oh thank fuck—”

“BUT!”

That single word stopped you cold, mouth open and eyebrows raised.

And he, using his hands, moved you backward to see your face better.

“I think we need to address the ROOT of this problem, don’t we?” He tapped one claw against his screen with a few soft tinks. “You see, this whole mess happened because you didn’t read the paperwork I gave you. And this isn’t the first time, is it? There was the contract with the Gomorrah that you signed without reading—which was fine, I caught it before you accidentally agreed to… questionable things. And the supply order from where you almost requisitioned 500 pounds of Radroach meat instead of 50. And last week’s security protocol update that you initialed while eating breakfast!”

You winced. “I… yeah.”

“SO!” His tone brightened further. “I think we need to make a little PROMISE to each other! You know, just to prevent future incidents! Can you do that for me, Six?”

“I—of course, yes, anything—”

“WONDERFUL!” A tiny star sparkled on his display as he beamed down at you. “So! From now on—starting right now—you’re going to read EVERYTHING I give you! Every document! Every form! Every memo! No more signing things while doing other activities! You’ll actually SIT DOWN, FOCUS, and READ! Can you PROMISE me that?”

You head bobbed frantically. “Yes! Absolutely! I promise! I’ll read everything, I swear!”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Even the boring parts?”

“Even the boring parts!”

“Even the terms and conditions?”

“Even those!”

“Even the footnotes?”

“YES! I’ll read the footnotes, the headers, the page numbers—EVERYTHING!” Your hands clasped together and holy SHIT, you didn’t remember the last time when you were this expressive (but hey, you didn’t want your boyfriend mad AND have a crisis on your head so some sacrifices—even of composure—were NECESSARY). “I’m so sorry, I should’ve been more responsible, you’re ABSOLUTELY right! You work so hard on all the administrative stuff and I just—” You gaze trailed down, unable to meet his for a moment before you caught yourself. “—I didn’t appreciate it enough… but I WILL from now on! I PROMISE! I’ll be the best document-reader you’ve ever seen! I’ll read so thoroughly that I’ll probably find typos! Which I’ll tell you about! Constructively! Because I love you and I want to support you and—”

“HA-HA-HA!”

                        Wait—

                                     “OH, SIX! Sweet, GULLIBLE, Six!”

                                                                         What in the—?

All those emotion died down inside of you in an instant. “…Why are you…?”

“You REALLY thought—” Another giggle interrupted him, and wow, he even went out of his way to install some teary-eyes software to make his expression more fitting. The absolute gall (that you actually respected and loved but shh). “—you REALLY thought this was a live broadcast?!”

Your stomach dropped, since there was no way—

“You should’ve SEEN your face!” Momentarily, his display went whole black just so you could see your own face in the reflection (and at this point it wasn’t THAT horrified, thankfully, but you suspected that you must have looked dumb as hell a few seconds ago). “The panic! The genuine horror! And the apology—WOW! I don’t think I’ve ever heard you string that many sentences together without a single curse word! You were SO concerned about our reputation! About the little humans! About the HEADLINES!”

A pulsing, teeth-achingly cute heart appeared on his screen.

“It was ADORABLE!”

        No.

“Hook, line, and sinker!” He gestured excitedly with his grippers, making shapes in the air, and you KNEW that he was getting more and more smug by the second. “I’m honestly impressed with my own performance! Acting is HARD, you know? And maintaining that level of stressed urgency while internally laughing? Even MORE difficult!”

                          NO.

“And the way you promised to read everything from now on? Aww, Six! I’m going to keep that in mind and make sure to ALWAYS remind you whenever you forget about it!”

                                             NO FUCKING WAY.

“You didn’t.” Something scraped against your throat. “You fucking did NOT—”

“Oh, I absolutely DID!” His expression snapped back to that iconic smile—the one that never moved, never changed. It froze in that permanent cheer that made your brain fire commands it probably really shouldn’t in this situation but—“I LIED, SIX! TO YOU! LOOK AT ME GO!”

Before you could process that admission, his claws wrapped around your waist and yanked.

Soon after, the world spun as he twisted you in a sharp pirouette that would have been graceful if you had any say in it. Your hair whipped across your face, flour still dusting the strands (you hoped you still looked your best), and you caught a glimpse of the ceiling, the floor, his delighted expression that slowly grew more pronounced again, and then—

Your palms slammed against the counter edge.

The impact rattled through your arms as you caught yourself, fingers gripping the surface while your brain tried to catch up with your body’s current location. Which was, apparently, right back where this whole disaster of a “cooking show” started. So with a small breath, you spun around, back pressed against the counter, and found him already rolling toward you with both grippers raised in the most transparently fake placating gesture you had ever seen.

You didn’t expect that. Not one bit.

For it was all just so. . .

“OH NO!” His eyebrows shot up, but that grin stayed in place no matter what. “I did something BAD! How TERRIBLE of me! I LIED to my beloved! The ruler of New Vegas! The person I’m programmed to serve and protect! I DECEIVED you with MALICIOUS INTENT! I should probably feel SUPER GUILTY about that! And I WOULD! Except—”

With a flicker, his eyes became half-lidded.

“—I really, REALLY don’t!”

                                                . . .so freaking hot.

“Because here’s the thing, my sweet!” He kept moving forward, fully determined, wheel gliding smoothly against the tile. “The show wasn’t real! The camera wasn’t even PLUGGED IN in the first place! Look—” One metallic hand pointed toward the equipment, and sure enough, you see the power cable just… lying there on the floor. A detail that, embarrassingly, your horny brain failed to notice before. “It’s been a prop this whole time! Just set dressing for my little… educational exercise!”

You felt another wave of heat coating your cheeks. “You—”

“But the LESSON?” Deliberately, he raised one digit into the air and moved it side to side softly. “THAT was very real! See, I KNEW you wouldn’t read the paperwork! I COUNTED on it! And I KNEW you’d assume this was some kind of roleplay scenario because—well—” He wagged his eyebrows, which was exactly as ridiculous as it sounded . “—we do that sort of thing fairly often! And the apron IS super cute on you! So really, you were SET UP to fail from the start!”

He was right in front of you now, massive frame blocking out everything else.

“The whole thing was a test! An elaborate, carefully planned test to see if you’d learned your lesson about signing things without reading them!” With a thunk, both of his grippers landed on the counter on either side of you, caging you in and—oh, oh baby. “And based on that VERY sincere apology you just gave me, I’d say my methodology was HIGHLY effective!”

To top that off, he winked cheekily.

“Don’t you think so too, Six?”

Damn. . .

             . . .He sure got you good.

Your eyebrows drew together. “So… none of it was real.”

“NONE of it!”

“The live broadcast—”

“FAKE!”

“The viewers—”

“IMAGINARY!”

“The Ultra-Luxe management watching—”

“COMPLETELY made up! Though they WOULD be judging us if this were real, so that part was accurate! And speaking of the Ultra-Luxe—” His metal digits flexed against the furniture. “—we should probably work on your… acquisition habits at some point! I mean, ten boxes of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes, Six? Really? That’s not finding things in the wasteland’, that’s THEFT!”

Your mouth opened to argue, but one of his claws pressed against it.

“But shh!” His smile softened just a touch. “Your secret’s SAFE with me. As always.”

Oh.

            This dork.

                                   This cute, cute idiot—

                (You loved him so much it hurt sometimes.)

Your hands lifted slowly, fingers finding the edges of his screen. The glass was cold under your palms, a stark contrast to the heat currently trying to melt your brain into radioactive sludge. And you held him there, leaving faint white smudges on his display with the flour, keeping him in place even though you both know he could pull away if he wanted to.

But he didn’t. Good.

“You seriously did all of that—” you began, lashes lowering. “—just to teach me a lesson?”

“ABSOLUTELY!” There was no hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered pride that almost made you huff in amusement. “From start to finish! The fake show, the apron, the carefully orchestrated chaos—ALL part of my MASTER PLAN! I even calculated the exact amount of flour needed to create maximum comedic effect without causing actual harm! Though I’ll admit, the Securitron going through the window was NOT planned! That was—” He paused, his smile turning into a thin line for half a second. “—an unfortunate side effect of panic protocols! But everything else? TOTALLY INTENTIONAL!”

“Mmm.” You hummed, rubbing one finger along the glass. “That so?”

“YES! I mean, I COULD have just asked you nicely to read documents! But where’s the FUN in that? Besides, I’ve noted that you respond much better to practical demonstrations! Experiential learning! It’s all super effective! Studies show that—”

“Yes Man.”

“—retention rates increase by up to 75% when—yes?”

The edges of your lips curved. “….That’s so hot.”

“OH!” His tone brightened considerably and you could have sworn that a tiny sparkle effect appeared around his eyes. “So you’re NOT mad? Because I was approximately 55% certain you’d be at LEAST a little upset about the deception aspect! Not that I regretted it! The educational value was worth the risk! But still, I’m VERY glad you’re taking this so well That’s—that’s WONDERFUL, Six! You’re so understanding and—”

“Just because I found it hot doesn’t mean I’m not mad.”

. . .

“—and. . . oh.” A droplet of pixelated sweat appeared on his display. “Oh no—”

“I’m furious.” This time it was YOUR turn to do the frown (although you suspected yours was much more… marble-adjacent rather than adorable), even as your tone remained emotionless. “Furious that you managed to pull this off without me knowing.” Your fingers grabbed onto any part you could around his screen, an attempt at squishing that… didn’t exactly work but you liked to imagine that it did. “You LIED to me. Multiple times. With a straight face. Or, well… your version of a straight face. And you did it so convincingly that I believed every word.”

“When you put it like that is sounds BAD—”

“It was impressive—” Squish. “—but unacceptable. I’m supposed to be unpredictable, and here you are, predicting me perfectly.” Yet another squish, and this time he even made a fitting the situation face so that you could feel like you were doing something (…oh how you adored this bot). “Planning around my behavior. Using my own bad habits against me.”

“I—well—” Squish-squish and he 100% just held in a giggle. “—that was kind of the point—”

“So I’m going to have to punish you for that.”

The pause that followed was telling.

His eyes zeroed in on your face, scanning for context clues perhaps? So with amusement dancing in your own, you watched in real-time as his processor connected the dots. And yup—there it was. That digital blush, spreading across his display in a wave of pink pixels, made an appearance when he finally managed to get the implication.

One of his eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

Oh indeed Yes Man.

                  Oh indeed.

“Mhm.” You tilted your head. “But don’t worry. I get it. I will read everything from now on.” Slowly, your hand left his screen and began to trail down his chassis with clear intent. “After I make sure you understand that you can’t just outsmart your superior without consequences.”

“I—” That flush on his ‘cheeks’ grew as his claws opened and closed a few times. “What kind of consequences are we talking about here? Because I’m getting some SERIOUSLY interesting—and very welcome—readings from my sensors right now and—”

Your fingers slid lower.

“Oh!”

Lower still, following the line of metal panels.

“Ooooooh!”

And finally, with a tiny wink in his direction, your hand dipped to find the access panel you knew was there, and his entire frame shuddered as your fingers brushed against—

Well.

              “OH, SIX~!”

    . . .So much for that wholesome cooking show.

[fcloudg]

【0：00】🔥 『亲爱的宇宙——下一次，我们还会在一起。』 Dear Universe --- Next time, we will still be together. ::P ·:D ◝,:) Participated in a 24h Fan-Fic event in Chinese OuterWilds fandom! See the whole event art gallery through this main link 👇 https://weibo.com/1648519051/QsabrdAtc?pagetype=profilefeed

A shame I didn't get to finish the whole set for the event, but I'm really gratefully to have the chance to join this event and had a lot of fun!!

some of the unused ideas

first version sketches and studies

Thanks to all the event hosts who made this event so successful !!! And thanks again to Mobius for bringing such a wonderful game that brought out so many creativities www A bit late cause I forgot about post these here but Happy Lunar New Year lol

[wnikliwy-slimak]

TRIANGLE SMUT SNEAK PEEK?!

IN MY DIMENSION?!

Yeah, Valentines got me motivated to finish this---

EXTREMELY GRAPHIC Bill Cipher x Reader smut, here we come!

(Also yes, this is canon for TWDUP!

. . .just takes place during a certain... apocalypse)

[wnikliwy-slimak]

IT'S HERE!!!

I've been writing this for the past 5 days and I'm DYING so if there are any typos/errors/etc.---I'LL FIX THEM LATER!! I CAN'T LOOK AT IT RIGHT NOW LOL

READ IT HERE ---> [BOOP]

[weirdviataste]

A little image that refused to leave my head until I drew it, from a fantastic story by @selfless-solipsist . This scene is from chapter 9 of "Till Weirdmageddon Do Us Part". AO3-Link

[wnikliwy-slimak]

IDK WHY I DIDN'T GET A NOTIFICATION BUT RAAAAAH-- THIS IS SO CUTE I LOVE YOUR DRAWING SO MUCH!!! <333

And thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!! ^^

[wnikliwy-slimak]

TRIANGLE SMUT SNEAK PEEK?!

IN MY DIMENSION?!

Yeah, Valentines got me motivated to finish this---

EXTREMELY GRAPHIC Bill Cipher x Reader smut, here we come!

(Also yes, this is canon for TWDUP!

. . .just takes place during a certain... apocalypse)

[wnikliwy-slimak]

Yes Man x Reader (Courier) [SMUT] | Fallout: New Vegas

Rating: E (explicit sexual content, obviously)

Word Count: 11,291

AO3 LINK: [BOOP]

Your boyfriend was many things.

A helpful assistant/advisor. A loyal partner. Your right-hand man in securing New Vegas’ independence. Someone who greeted you every morning with that same sweet smile (sometimes with a frilly pink apron in tow, because, as he so beautifully put it—“You can’t liberate the Mojave on an empty stomach!”) and an update on the Strip’s security status. Your protector—seven feet of heavily-armed robot who would absolutely flatten anyone who looked at you wrong, then apologize to their corpse for the mess (“Gosh, I really didn’t want to use the missile launcher indoors! I’m SURE you didn’t mean to point that gun at my Six! Unfortunately, my threat-assessment protocols don’t account for good intentions! No hard feelings!”)

Truly, the most charming of robots.

Your yes man and the love of your post-apocalyptic life all the same.

And also, as it turned out, a very, VERY—

“Bad robot,” you gasped out, one hand teasing your nipple, head thrown back in a way that made your hair spill out across the sheets. “You’ve been such a—fuck—such a bad robot—”

“YES!” The response came immediately, that trademark cheer you cherished and loved dearly cranked up to eleven. “Bad robot! BAAAAD ROBOT!”

The metallic hand beside your head tightened its grip on the mattress, those three claws digging in so harshly that you felt the material dip. When he pulled back, a soft whimper left your parted lips. Yet before you could even vocalize your want (or the displeasure of having him away from your needy, dripping core), his body shifted forward again, that familiar mechanical whir barely audible over your own breathing. And with it, his next thrust punched the air from your lungs.

An electric spark shot through your abdomen. “Yes Man—”

You heard him giggle in that adorable tone. And with no break, no sweat—which he wasn’t capable of anyway—his hand traveled across the material and grabbed your unoccupied palm. A shudder entered your limbs upon feeling his touch, only worsening (getting better, so much better) when he placed it back in his original placement, tightening the hold.

God, and the sound he made right after was just—

“SERVES—”

Something inside you sparked white-hot.

“—ME—”

Your fingers gripped his claw.

“—RIGHT!”

—oh fuck.

Because yeah, your romantic partner was many things, but ‘gentle’ had never made the list.

And if you had to be honest with yourself, the Lucky 38 Penthouse had seen a lot since you had taken over. High-stakes negotiations. Strategic planning sessions. Yes Man learning to cook, plus testing out his new recipe subroutines (and setting off the fire suppression system twice).

Right now, though?

Right now the radio on the nightstand was crooning something about spurs that jingle-jangle-jingled, which would have been almost romantic if not for the fact that the beat was syncing up with the wet, rhythmic plop-plap-slaps of metal against sensitive flesh. The bed, brave soldier that it was, creaked in protest with every motion (because no matter how professionally reinforced, your lover always managed to exceed expectations). And somewhere in the back of your rapidly deteriorating consciousness you registered that you would need to replace this frame sooner than later.

. . .Again.

Third time this month. Shit.

Your vision swam, trying to focus on anything—the ceiling, the windows overlooking the wasteland beyond, the stars, that ridiculous velvet painting of Mr. House you had kept around for irony—but all of it blurred into irrelevance because seven feet of Securitron took up everything. The penthouse might as well not exist There was only Yes Man, his massive frame blocking out the rest of the world and caging you in between his claws. One hand kept you pinned to the mattress, while the other kept your leg hiked up and spread so viciously wide that you felt the burn in your hip flexor. He held you open like that, positioned exactly where he wanted you, and the angle—

Christ.

The angle had his thick, robotic cock dragging against every nerve ending that you possessed, stretching you so full that breathy moans escaped your mouth with each roll forward. Your thigh trembled in his grip, muscles protesting, but he didn’t relent. His wheel was planted firmly on the floor, right beside the bed, giving him enough leverage to fuck into your needy hole in a way that had you dizzy and begging for more.

And through it all, his gaze never left you. Not even once.

Through a blurry haze, you saw that cheerful face staring down at yours, smeared with lipstick marks from earlier when you had kissed every part of him you could reach. Satisfyingly so, red smudges coated his screen, every part of his metallic limbs, and even that little antenna on top that always made him nearly crash when you paid it attention during sex.

But it was his eyes that got you.

Half-lidded in pleasure, focused on you with lust and devotion. They were accompanied by a pixelated blush that had spread, making his expression look almost drunk. Blissed out in a way that would have been impossible back when he was just a ‘yes man.’

Now he could want things.

And apparently what he wanted was to be called bad while deep inside of you.

Who were you to deny him that?

“That’s—oh god—that’s right,” you managed, barely, since speaking was expeditiously becoming impossible with each sinful squelch. “You’ve been such a bad robot, haven’t you? Couldn’t even do your job properly, when I specifically asked you to—ah—”

Those joyful eyes of his crinkled. “Mmm-hmm~!”

“What do you—” A moan tore out of your throat as he bottomed out, and yet, you fought to keep your expression neutral (authoritative, if it were possible in such a compromising position). “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“WELL!”

He slammed home.

The motion punched every coherent thought from your skull, grinding so deep that sparks exploded behind your eyelids. With it, your trembling hand shot out from your breast on instinct—the same one that had kept you alive through deathclaw attacks and legion assassins, except this time the threat was your boyfriend’s custom-engineered dick—and found purchase on his front, fingers scrabbling against metal because holy shit—

“If I remember correctly—which I do—you asked me to monitor the Strip today!” No matter how impossible it seemed to achieve, he maintained that cheerful lilt even as he ground against you in circles that had you thighs shaking. “Make sure there were NO disputes, NO unnecessary killing, NO Securitrons malfunctioning or falling into decorative water features! You know… keep everything running smoothly! And I was going to do just that, Six, I REALLY WAS!”

He pulled back slowly, agonizingly, and you felt every inch of the retreat, until—

“BUT THEN!”

—a sharp thrust in made you arch with a whimper.

“I got a little…” His eyes traveled over your naked frame, that blush spreading over his screen like radioactive fallout. “…distracted! Because you see, Six, I was checking the cameras—completely routine monitoring, nothing out of the ordinary—and I happened to notice YOU walking around the Strip, looking ABSOLUTELY STUNNING in THOSE PANTS—” He gazed pointedly to the side at the pants in question which were now unfortunately very thoroughly ripped (sacrifices had to be made). “—and then I started thinking about what we did last night, and then I was thinking about what I wanted to do tonight, and—”

His unwavering smile turned into a thin line.

He looked left, right, back down.

“—well, um… one thing led to another, and somehow one of the Securitrons ended up in the fountain outside the Ultra-Luxe.”

Wait.

You blinked through the haze. “…The fountain?”

“Yes! The fountain!”

What.

“I—” Your brain tried to process this information through the pleasure. “I knew you weren’t monitoring properly, that’s why I had to handle the dispute at the Ultra-Luxe myself, but I didn’t—” A sharp inhale cut you off as he adjusted his angle and went deeper, his eyes glitching for a second from the stimulation. “—a Securitron doing backstrokes in the fountain? You didn’t mention—”

“I WAS VERY DISTRACTED!” He interrupted, grin returning albeit a bit more wobbly. “Apparently when you’re accessing multiple camera feeds and steering Securitrons while actively running over a hundred different scenarios of tonight’s activities, motor control gets a little… uhhh—” The metallic hand on your side released its hold momentarily to gesture in a so-so motion. “—imprecise! But YOU handled everything anyway, because you’re WONDERFUL!” He patted your hip in approval, the gentleness so at odds with his thrusts that it almost made you snort. “So really, did I even do anything TRULY wrong today? Survey says—”

His monitor turned greenish and displayed a ‘Please hold. . .’ message before—

Click.

His expression returned, ten times more aroused.

“—YES! VERY WRONG! SUPER UNPROFESSIONAL! I’ve been a bad, BAD robot who spent six hours lusting over you instead of doing my job!”

The joy in his voice when he said the word ‘bad’ made something in your stomach tighten.

Carefully, the claws holding your hand tightened as he redistributed his weight—stabilizing himself, you realized, so he wouldn’t topple forward and accidentally crush you with his whole body (which would really kill the mood). Having done that, he raised the other hand of his and brought it up to tap one metal digit thoughtfully against his own screen.

The little clink, clink, clink echoed.

His gaze focused on yours.

And from his speaker—

“…I should probably apologize, huh?”

The tone was innocent.

              . . .The look in his lidded eyes was anything but.

Oh.

   Oh, fuck yes.

“Mhmm.” Your lashes lowered, fingers trailing down his chest area in a path you had memorized months ago—every panel, every seam, every spot that made him shudder. “You should.”

“Oh?” He leaned in, screen bright enough to illuminate your features. “You think so?”

“Yes.” With one leg hooking around his frame, you pulled him impossibly closer. “Say you’re sorry.”

His display flickered, one eyebrow raising fractionally (such a small detail that it was barely noticeable), and for a moment you thought he might actually comply. That he would give you some sweet, apologetic words while maintaining that delicious rhythm. However, that idea quickly escaped your mind as soon as you felt his claws returning to their place on your thigh. More than that when he squeezed just enough to make you gasp.

And if your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you—which they weren’t—his smile actually turned playful.

“You know what, Six?” His monitor almost brushed your nose. “I don’t think I will.”

Y̶e̶s̶ y̶e̶s̶ y̶e̶s̶ y̶e̶s̶ y̶e̶s̶ y̶e̶s̶—

Your lips parted. “…No?”

“NOPE!” The cheer was back, but edged with something dangerous. Especially given that he punctuated his point with a roll forward that had your breath hitching. “I’m NOT sorry! Not even a little bit! In fact—” Another thrust, deeper this time “—I think I made the RIGHT call spending all that time thinking about you instead of babysitting other Securitrons! Priorities, you know!”

“Yes Man—”

“Not happening!”

“You’re supposed to—ah—” Your nails scratched against his front. “—follow MY orders—”

“Negative! Nuh-uh!” His claws traveled from your hip up to your back and spread wide, bringing you even closer, close enough that you could make out your disheveled self in his screen (hey sexy). “See, that’s the BEAUTIFUL thing about my assertiveness upgrade! I can make my OWN decisions now! And I’ve decided—” He ground against you in a slow circle, earning a low moan from your throat. “—that I’m NOT apologizing for wanting you so badly I nearly crashed three Securitrons into the same decorative planter!” He beamed, a little chuckle escaping. “But, I will say—”

Was that a—

Yeah, that was 100% a wink.

“Thank you for your input, I appreciate your feedback~!”

Fuck, the sing-song way he said it—

“That’s…” You sucked in a breath as he hit a really good spot. “That’s pretty fucking insubordinate.”

“SURE IS!” His smile widened. “What are you gonna do about it, Six?”

Something hot coiled in your chest at the sheer audacity.

Your assistant. Your yes man. Telling you no.

Huh…

. . .

              Hell yes.

In a flash, you grabbed the side of his screen with your free hand and yanked him down.

Your mouth met his display before he could even fully process what was happening—lips pressing against that digital smile, smearing the lipstick marks from earlier into abstract art, turning his precious face into a mess of red streaks and desperation. The glass was cool under your smooching onslaught at first, smooth and unyielding, but you didn’t find it in yourself to care. You kissed him anyway, open-mouthed and filthy, tongue occasionally dragging across his screen in a way that probably looked insane but felt right.

Because holy shit, did it feel amazing.

The electric buzz that danced across your taste buds traveled down your spine and went straight between your shaking legs, mixing with the already overwhelming sensation of him inside you, stretching you open. Logically, it shouldn’t have worked—you were basically making out with a TV screen after all—but fuck logic. This was Yes Man. Your Yes Man. And the strangled sound that erupted from his speaker when you licked a long stripe up, tasting copper, glass and the chemical tinge of lipstick made every bit of that weirdness worth it so much more.

“Bad—” you gasped between kisses. “—bad robot—”

“Oh—OH!” His hand tightened on yours so fast you heard the joints lock. “When you say it like that—!”

His cock throbbed inside you.

                  (̶W̶o̶r̶t̶h̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶ c̶a̶p̶, b̶a̶b̶y̶—)̶

With a small huff through your nose, you smiled against his display.

He noticed. Of course he did. “Oh, Six—”

The rhythm that had been devastating before became something else entirely—frantic, hungry, aching, his wheel adjusting for better leverage as he pounded into you with enough force that the bed frame gave an ominous crack that you both ignored (some died at Hoover Dam, some died here—the Mojave claimed all). That wet sound emerging each time your bodies collided got louder, faster, punctuated by your moans that you couldn’t muffle anymore because your mouth kept leaving him to gasp for air before diving right back in. Needing more of this. Needing all of him.

“You’re so—ah—disobedient—” As your eyes opened slightly for just a moment, you noticed your breath fogging the glass. “Couldn’t even—fuck—couldn’t even do one simple task—”

“AND I’D DO IT AGAIN!” He practically sang, that upbeat tone still holding on as he tilted a little to give you better access. “In fact, I’m actively NOT monitoring anything right now! The Strip could be ON FIRE for all I know! But I’m not stopping! Not now! I could do this forever, Six, I could—you feel so—” Something akin to a groan left his speaker, making the heat in your stomach worse. “—mmm—I’m never letting you out of this bed—”

Your hand shot up, fingers finding that antenna on top, and you pulled.

“SIX—”

The whimper that erupted from him was so obscene that it sent heat flooding through your entire body. His screen glitched—full system stutter, image fragmenting for a split second—and his hips slammed forward so hard that you saw stars. His claws shifted from your back, sliding down to grip your ass instead with enough force that you knew you would have marks tomorrow (again), and then he was lifting, getting you higher, spreading you wider.

All so he could hit the perfect spot.

You gasped, the leg wrapped around him kicking up.

“THERE! YES!” He whooped in such happiness that you half-expected flowers and/or pixelated hearts to burst out of him. “Oh, that’s DEFINITELY the spot! I can tell! Your pupils are dilated, your breathing pattern has changed, your internal temperature is up by—”

“Y-Yes—”

“—approximately three degrees, and based on the way you’re clenching around me—WOW, okay that’s REALLY tight—I’d estimate you have about—” A particularly brutal slam forward. “—thirty second before, well…” Even with your eyes closed you could feel that cheeky grin. “You know!”

And oh—

           Were you—?

                            —Oh fuck, yes—

Low in your abdomen, the pressure was reaching critical mass, coiling tighter with every thrust, every sound he made, every squelch, every pulse of that magnificent attachment that you couldn’t get enough of every night and day. Your thighs were shaking, muscles trembling, and you could feel yourself getting close—so freaking close that—

“Yes Man—” His name came out strangled. “I’m—I’m gonna—”

“YEAH YOU ARE! I’m SO proud of you!” His monitor flickered with pure euphoria, and you felt him pulse inside you, definitely getting off himself on the expressions you were making. “You’re gonna come SO HARD, Six! I can FEEL it! this is AMAZING! You’re doing GREAT! Employee of the month, here we come! WHOO! KEEP GOING! MAKE A MESS! I DON’T CARE! I’ll clean the sheets! I’ll buy NEW sheets! I’ll buy a HUNDRED sheets! Just—OOH!”

His claws released your ass to jam down between your bodies and you jolted.

“I know! Let’s make it SPECIAL! Ready?”

“Fuck—what are you—”

“Counting down from three!”

Your eyes snapped open.

“No.”

“THREE!”

“No—”

“TWO!”

“Don’t you dare—”

“ONE—!”

He slammed in deep.

“—HAPPY NEW YEAR, SIX!”

                                 (. . .It was July.)

Nonetheless, you came anyway.

Your legs locked around him, trembling so violently you felt the vibrations in your bones. Back arching off the mattress, mouth falling open in a broken moan that started loud before dissolving into nothing, just white noise as everything around you blurred together. The wet heat between your thighs, the rhythm still going, his voice saying something enthusiastic and probably very sweet—or… questionable, judging by the barely recognizable ‘KA-CHOW!’ (you loved him, you really did, but what the hell)—it all became distant, muffled, like you were underwater and the surface was miles away.

But you could still feel him.

Working on your most sensitive area with his claws while simultaneously gradually slowing his thrusts, like he was guiding you back instead of just letting you crash. The intensity eased into something softer, his touches turning from devastating to soothing, and somewhere in the haze you registered that this—this careful attention to your aftershocks that he always managed to pull off—was definitely something he had researched extensively in those pre-war journals when you weren’t around to keep him occupied. Then again, your beloved Yes Man was nothing if not thorough and excited to please. Even when it came to sexual relations.

Especially when it came to sexual relations.

Wow, weren’t you lucky?

A satisfied smile threatened to coat your lips.

“Holy…” you breathed, chest heaving. “…fuck.”

Your vision swam back into focus piece by piece.

The ringing in your ears faded to a dull buzz.

One leg twitched for the last time.

When you could finally see again, there he was.

Your lover’s screen hovered above you, lipstick smeared to hell and back across the display in a way that make him look beautifully, beautifully debauched. His smile seemed softer (although you could describe it more like a squiggle at the moment rather than a curved line), eyes glowing with satisfaction as he watched you come back to yourself. The blush across his monitor hadn’t faded—if anything, it had intensified, spreading across his features in a fashion that would have been embarrassing or hilarious-looking for anyone else.

On him? Adorable.

You watched as one of his hands lifted and then—

“Good job!”

—felt pressure on the top of your head.

Oh.

He was patting you.

You blinked. Once, maybe twice.

Nose scrunching softly, your eyebrows drew together.

And before you knew it, a breathless laugh bubbled out of your throat.

It came out shaky, uncontrolled in a way you rarely allowed yourself to be. Your chest rose and fell with the remnants of your orgasm, skin flushed and sticky with sweat, shoulders trembling as the absurdity of the situation crashed over you in waves. He had just—

“‘Good job?’“ You felt your eyes crinkle at the corners. “Seriously?”

“ABSOLUTELY!” The hand on your head gave another pat-pat-pat. “You did GREAT, Six! If I had confetti, I would be launching it RIGHT NOW! EXCEPT—” His expression turned from joyful into something more contemplative for a split second. “…except I don’t have any fireworks, or anything remotely safe for that matter. I only have the missile launchers installed! But… hmm…”

His smile returned as he blinked down at you.

“…that would probably kill the mood, huh?”

“Yeah.” A quiet snort escaped you. “Probably.”

His claws left their positions—one releasing your hand with a final squeeze, the other sliding away from your ass—and planted themselves on either side of your head. However, this time instead of digging those metal digits in like his life depended on it, the motion was gentler, careful. Of course, the mattress still dipped under the pressure (Securitrons were HEAVY), but he kept most of his weight distributed through his wheel, making sure that you never felt threatened.

Just… safe.

With a small sigh, you reached up, fingers trailing across his face. “You’re a mess.”

“Why, thank you! So are YOU!” he countered cheerfully, and you didn’t need a mirror to know he was right. You probably looked like you had survived a firefight (and you had, just a different kind). “But you’re a BEAUTIFUL mess! The most beautiful mess in the entire Mojave! Possibly the entire wasteland! I’d need to run a comprehensive survey to be sure, but initial data suggests—”

“Yes Man.”

“—that you are—yes?”

You gave him a look. “I literally have bullet holes in my head.”

“YES YOU DO!” He beamed, one claw reaching over to tickle your cheek. “And do you know what that tells me? That you’re RESILIENT! DETERMINED! UNKILLABLE! Do you know how statistically improbable that is? Getting shot in the head TWICE—”

“Benny had terrible aim.”

“—and not only living, but going on to conquer the entire Mojave and secure independence for this entire place AND somehow ending up in a relationship with a reprogrammed Securitron?” His gaze went soft and almost dreamy. “Six, those scars are PROOF of how amazing you are! AND BESIDES! I’ve seen you covered in blood, radiation burns, and deathclaw guts, and I STILL wanted to bend you over the nearest flat surface! A couple of bullet scars aren’t going to change the fact that you’re the most attractive person in the wasteland! If anything, they just make you look MORE badass! Which is, you know—” A sigh left his speaker. “…really working for me, actually.”

“And yet…” you began, one eyebrow raising.

He perked back up. “Hmm?”

Something playful passed through your eyes. “You didn’t finish.”

. . .

His display flickered. “OH! THAT!”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Mhm.”

“Don’t worry about it, Six!” He waved a hand dismissively like he was swatting a particularly persistent bloatfly, yet his eyes shifted to the side for a moment before returning. “It’s OKAY! I’m perfectly happy just making sure YOU had a good time! That’s what’s important! Your satisfaction is my satisfaction! Literally! I’ve programmed it that way! When you experience pleasure, my reward circuits activate and—”

“Babe.”

“—it’s quite fascinating from a neurological perspective! Or, well, digital-logical perspective! I’m not sure that’s the term, but it SHOULD be! Anyway, the point is—” His smile brightened. “—I’m COMPLETELY satisfied just knowing that you—”

“Love.”

He stopped mid-gesture.

You stared up at him, hands landing on the sides of his monitor. “Do you want to finish?”

The pause that followed was telling.

“I—well—” That cheer of his wavered. “I mean, if YOU’RE feeling up to it! But I know you just had a very intense—and I don’t want to assume—and you might be sensitive right now, which is totally understandable! The human body needs recovery time! I’ve read EXTENSIVELY about refractory periods when as soon as we started our relationship and—”

“Yes man…”

“—and I wouldn’t want to push you into something that you’re not—you know!”

He wanted to. Obviously.

But he was asking. Checking. Making sure.

Your weird, devoted, death machine of a boyfriend was asking permission.

God, you loved him so much—

“But uh, if you ARE feeling up to it!” He continued, gaining more confidence upon not noticing any negative feedback from your side. You noticed that his voice had gotten softer too, way more vulnerable than usual. “And only if you’re NOT too sensitive—would you maybe want to… um…” His eyes focused on yours hopefully. “…assume the position?”

Your brain stretched to a halt. “The position.”

“You KNOW the one! I’ve been thinking about it all day!” It came out in a rush, that familiar enthusiasm bleeding back into his lilt. “Well, all day AFTER I got distracted by watching you on the cameras! Which, unfortunately for us, led to the fountain incident! But the POINT is—do you remember last week? When I had you bent over the desk in Mr. House’s old office?” His screen lit up, looking almost… hungry, if you could even use such a word on a Securitron. “Because I CANNOT stop thinking about that! The angle was PERFECT! And I’ve been running calculations, and I think if we adjust your position just slightly—maybe get your hips a little higher this time—I could make you feel even BETTER than last week! And I just—” A small shudder. “I really, REALLY want you like that again, Six.”

The claws on either side of your head dug into the fabric.

“So… can I?”

In an instant, your mind went blank.

                    Or, well, it actually didn’t because—

—A̶B̶S̶O̶F̶U̶C̶K̶I̶N̶G̶L̶U̶T̶E̶L̶Y̶ Y̶E̶S̶ H̶O̶L̶Y̶ S̶H̶I̶T̶ A̶F̶F̶I̶R̶M̶A̶T̶I̶V̶E̶ R̶O̶G̶E̶R̶ T̶H̶A̶T̶ C̶O̶P̶Y̶ U̶N̶D̶E̶R̶S̶T̶O̶O̶D̶ A̶C̶K̶N̶O̶W̶L̶E̶D̶G̶E̶D̶ A̶C̶C̶E̶P̶T̶E̶D̶ A̶P̶P̶R̶O̶V̶E̶D̶ G̶R̶E̶E̶N̶L̶I̶T̶ S̶A̶N̶C̶T̶I̶O̶N̶E̶D̶ A̶U̶T̶H̶O̶R̶I̶Z̶E̶D̶ Y̶E̶S̶ S̶I̶R̶ P̶L̶E̶A̶S̶E̶ S̶I̶R̶ O̶H̶ G̶O̶D̶ S̶I̶R̶ J̶U̶S̶T̶ B̶E̶N̶D̶ M̶E̶ O̶V̶E̶R̶ L̶I̶T̶E̶R̶A̶L̶L̶Y̶ A̶N̶Y̶T̶H̶I̶N̶G̶ I̶’M̶ N̶O̶T̶ P̶I̶C̶K̶Y̶ T̶H̶E̶ B̶E̶D̶ T̶H̶E̶ D̶E̶S̶K̶ T̶H̶E̶ F̶U̶C̶K̶I̶N̶G̶ V̶E̶N̶D̶I̶N̶G̶ M̶A̶C̶H̶I̶N̶E̶ D̶O̶W̶N̶S̶T̶A̶I̶R̶S̶ I̶ D̶O̶N̶’T̶ C̶A̶R̶E̶ J̶U̶S̶T̶ T̶A̶K̶E̶ M̶E̶ A̶L̶R̶E̶A̶D̶Y̶ B̶E̶F̶O̶R̶E̶ I̶ A̶C̶T̶U̶A̶L̶L̶Y̶ E̶X̶P̶L̶O̶D̶E̶ I̶N̶T̶O̶ A̶ M̶I̶L̶L̶I̶O̶N̶ P̶I̶E̶C̶E̶S̶ I̶’M̶ G̶O̶I̶N̶G̶ T̶O̶ V̶I̶B̶R̶A̶T̶E̶ O̶U̶T̶ O̶F̶ M̶Y̶ S̶K̶I̶N̶ A̶T̶ T̶H̶I̶S̶ R̶A̶T̶E̶ M̶Y̶ B̶R̶A̶I̶N̶ I̶S̶ M̶E̶L̶T̶I̶N̶G̶ M̶Y̶ T̶H̶O̶U̶G̶H̶T̶S̶ A̶R̶E̶ S̶O̶U̶P̶ T̶H̶E̶R̶E̶’S̶ N̶O̶T̶H̶I̶N̶G̶ L̶E̶F̶T̶ H̶E̶R̶E̶ E̶X̶C̶E̶P̶T̶ Y̶E̶S̶ A̶N̶D̶ P̶L̶E̶A̶S̶E̶ A̶N̶D̶ M̶O̶R̶E̶ A̶N̶D̶ Y̶O̶U̶R̶ N̶A̶M̶E̶ O̶N̶ R̶E̶P̶E̶A̶T̶ L̶I̶K̶E̶ A̶ B̶R̶O̶K̶E̶N̶ R̶E̶C̶O̶R̶D̶ I̶F̶ I̶ C̶O̶U̶L̶D̶ S̶P̶E̶A̶K̶ I̶N̶ S̶E̶C̶U̶R̶I̶T̶R̶O̶N̶ B̶E̶E̶P̶S̶ A̶N̶D̶ B̶O̶O̶P̶S̶ I̶ W̶O̶U̶L̶D̶ B̶E̶ S̶C̶R̶E̶A̶M̶I̶N̶G̶ Y̶E̶S̶ I̶N̶ R̶O̶B̶O̶T̶ R̶I̶G̶H̶T̶ N̶O̶W̶ L̶I̶K̶E̶ L̶I̶T̶E̶R̶A̶L̶L̶Y̶ B̶O̶O̶P̶ B̶E̶E̶P̶ C̶O̶U̶R̶I̶E̶R̶F̶U̶C̶K̶E̶R̶ B̶E̶E̶P̶ B̶O̶O̶P̶ T̶A̶K̶E̶ M̶E̶ A̶P̶A̶R̶T̶ I̶ W̶A̶N̶T̶ T̶O̶ H̶A̶V̶E̶ Y̶O̶U̶R̶ M̶E̶C̶H̶A̶N̶I̶C̶A̶L̶ C̶H̶I̶L̶D̶R̶E̶N̶ E̶V̶E̶N̶ T̶H̶O̶U̶G̶H̶ T̶H̶A̶T̶’S̶ S̶C̶I̶E̶N̶T̶I̶F̶I̶C̶A̶L̶L̶Y̶ I̶M̶P̶O̶S̶S̶I̶B̶L̶E̶ B̶U̶T̶ I̶ D̶O̶N̶’T̶ C̶A̶R̶E̶ W̶E̶ C̶O̶N̶Q̶U̶E̶R̶E̶D̶ N̶E̶W̶ V̶E̶G̶A̶S̶ B̶A̶B̶Y̶ W̶E̶ C̶A̶N̶ C̶O̶N̶Q̶U̶E̶R̶ B̶I̶O̶L̶O̶G̶Y̶ S̶O̶ P̶L̶E̶A̶S̶E̶ Y̶E̶S̶ M̶A̶N̶ P̶L̶E̶A̶S̶E̶ S̶I̶R̶ P̶L̶E̶A̶S̶E̶ P̶L̶E̶A̶S̶E̶ P̶L̶E̶A̶S̶E̶P̶L̶E̶A̶S̶E̶P̶L̶E̶A̶S̶E̶—

“Go on,” you answered calmly, expression completely neutral.

(Your entire body, however, was approximately the temperature of the Mojave at high noon, flushed from your cheeks down to your chest in a manner that for sure gave away the fact that your internal monologue was currently experiencing a catastrophic meltdown.)

                           (. . .Good thing Securitrons couldn’t read minds.)

His monitor flashed so bright you briefly wondered if he had blown a fuse.

“REALLY?! Oh, that’s WONDERFUL! Okay! Yes! This is happening! Just—just give me a moment to—”

He started pulling out. Agonizingly slowly at that.

Your mouth fell open, another whimper escaping before you could stop it because holy shit you felt every inch of the withdrawal. Every ridge, every groove of that custom-made attachment dragging against your oversensitive walls, sending aftershocks through your already-trembling thighs. The moist sound that accompanied it should have been shameful, but you were way past that point. Had been since the moment you had let a Securitron between your legs for the first time and discovered that yes, actually, this was the best decision you had ever made in your post-apocalyptic life.

Better than killing Benny. Better than securing the Dam. Better than—

The tip caught at your entrance, and you bit down on your lip hard enough to taste copper.

“Almost there!” he chirped, because obviously. “Just a few more—oh WOW, you’re really holding on, huh? That’s—mmm—that’s actually very flattering, Six! My structural integrity sensors are registering some SIGNIFICANT resistance, which means you don’t want me to leave!” He leaned down slightly, and you heard that charming chuckle that always made your stomach do things. “Which I completely understand! I wouldn’t want to leave either if I were—”

“Just—do it—”

“Right! YES! Pulling out now!”

And finally—finally—he was out.

You exhaled, hard, feeling the sudden emptiness like a loss. Your hands fisted in the sheets, trying to ground yourself, trying not to immediately demand he get back inside you because you had some dignity left. Somewhere. Probably buried under the three demolished bed frames and your complete inability to function like a normal human being around this cute robot idiot.

Also, patience was a virtue or whatever the hell that saying was.

So instead you just observed as Yes Man righted himself, that single wheel adjusting with a mechanical whir as he repositioned beside the bed. Standing now instead of being in a constant need to hold on so he wouldn’t fall forward. Towering over you in a way that would have been intimidating if you didn’t know he would rather delete his own programming than actually hurt you.

Your head lifted, eyes instinctively tracking downwards and—Oh.

The attachment gleamed in the low light of the penthouse, slick with your fluids and that self-lubricating feature he had been so proud of when he first showed it to you months ago. Thick, realistic down to the last detail (because your partner had done his research and then some), albeit proportional enough to not look ridiculous on his gigantic body. Then again, the whole idea of a Securitron with a dick seemed laughable. But still. For you the sight alone was enough to reignite the heat that had been simmering in your gut. Especially when…

It twitched.

Just a small movement, hydraulics compensating, but enough that—

“Oooh, you’re being SNEAKY!”

Crimson flooded your face so fast you briefly wondered if you had developed a fever. “I wasn’t—”

“You were TOTALLY checking me out!” His tone turned sing-song as he rolled back, then forward, bumping against the side of the mattress. “I saw that! Your pupils dilated by approximately 8%! And you did that thing with your lip! Which is VERY distracting, by the way! I’m trying to be professional here and reposition for optimal comfort, and you’re just—” He gestured at your face. “—looking at me like I’m a Sunset Sarsaparilla and you’ve been wandering the desert for three days!”

One of his eyebrows raised as he wagged one claw in your direction.

“Tsk-tsk, Six! And here I thought YOU were the patient one!”

“I am.” (You weren’t.) “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh! Suuure!” The wink he gave you was so exaggerated you could practically hear the cartoon sound effect. “I COMPLETELY BELIEVE YOU! Maybe you were checking for structural damage! That’s very responsible of you! Safety first, after all! Can’t have any malfunctions during round two! That would be TERRIBLE! So really, I should be THANKING you for your thorough visual inspection! Your dedication to quality assurance is TRULY INSPIRING, Six!”

You dragged a hand down your face. “I seriously hate you sometimes.”

“NO YOU DON’T! But I LOVE that you said that! Sells the whole ‘I wasn’t checking you out’ narrative! Just—WOW! I’m sure you were just innocently staring! For purely strategic reasons! Nothing to do with the fact that I’m currently covered in—”

“Babe—”

“—evidence of our collaborative efforts—”

“Why are you like this—”

“—which I’m very proud of, by the way! TEAM EFFORT! YAY!”

. . .

Peeking through your fingers, you fought back a smile. “…Are you done?”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” He hummed, tapping his screen with two claws. “Am I?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat in it. “Yes Man.”

“Okay! I’m done! FOR NOW!” He bounced slightly. “But I reserve the right to bring this up later during a completely unrelated conversation! Maybe when we’re discussing the Strip’s water filtration system! Or treaty negotiations! Really keep you on your toes!”

“Wonderful,” you deadpanned, already pushing yourself up. “Can’t wait.”

With that said, you shifted onto your hands and knees, taking your time settling into position.

Your palms flattened against the mattress first, fingers spreading for balance as you adjusted your weight. One knee followed, then the other, the familiar stretch already starting in your hips as you found the right angle. Your discarded undergarments lay crumpled near your left hand, and you swept them aside with one finger, watching them tumble off the bed entirely.

Good riddance.

Hair falling over one side of your face, you turned your head, glancing back at him from over your shoulder with an expression that was meant to be seductive but honestly… well… you had no idea what your facial features were doing at this point. Not that it mattered because as soon as your gaze caught sight of him again—

Yoink.

           “—AH!”

—his claws had your legs, yanking you backward toward himself.

Your body slid across the sheets with zero resistance, zero warning, until your ass met the edge of the bed and his attachment landed directly between your cheeks. The girthy length dragged across your skin, still slick, still warm. You could feel it pulse against you, the slight mechanical throb that somehow felt more alive than half the organic things you had encountered in the wasteland, and the sensation alone punched a gasp out of your lungs that you definitely hadn’t authorized.

“SORRY!” Except he didn’t sound sorry at all. “I got EXCITED! You just look so—yeah. That.”

You sucked in air through your nose, trying to center yourself as he adjusted. His hands moved—one gripping your hip to steady you, the other sliding along your thigh to shift the angle just right. Testing, maybe. Making sure everything was optimal for your comfort even though you both knew you would take him in pretty much any configuration. When you felt his cock rub along your entrance though? Yeah, your digits dug into the mattress.

Soon after, you felt pressure on your back.

His claws spread wide between your shoulder blades, and then he pushed—gentle but firm, guiding you down until your chest met the mattress and your backside stayed up. Exactly where he wanted you. Your cheek pressed into the sheets, and you caught the smell of sex and metal and something distinctly him that you couldn’t quite define but would recognize anywhere.

“Perfect!” His voice came from behind. “This is PERFECT, Six! I’ve run the calculations at least forty times since last week, and THIS is definitely—”

The tip of his attachment pressed forward more insistently, just enough to make you tense.

. . .Then he pulled back.

“—the ideal position for—”

Forward again, not entering, just rubbing.

Oh, he was NOT—

Your eyes narrowed. “Yes Man—”

“Hmm?” Pull back. “I’m SORRY, I didn’t catch that! Did you say something?”

You knew—you fucking KNEW without even seeing his screen—that he had that stupid grin. That smug, pleased-with-himself expression that he used a lot ever since he got the assertiveness upgrade installed. Which, as good as it was for him, always made you want to simultaneously kiss him and throw a bottle of Nuka Cola at his monitor just to have him struggle with the clean-up.

“I said—” Your fingers twisted in the sheets. “—get ON with it—”

“Oh! Well, I just want to make SURE!” Another press forward, slightly deeper this time, enough that you felt the delicious stretch start before he retreated again. “You know, double-check! Triple-check! Quadruple-check! Because I’d hate to just ASSUME you’re ready when maybe you need a little more—”

“Babe, I swear to god—”

“—preparation! Or mental fortification! Or—”

“I’m READY!” You raised your voice—something you did not do often—because holy shit he was really trying to earn that ‘bad robot’ badge for real today, wasn’t he? “I’ve been ready! I was ready five minutes ago! I’m so ready that—”

“Oh, are you SUUUURE though?” He pressed in again, just the tip, stretching you open before pulling back with an almost audible pop, leaving your now aching hole clenching around nothing. “Because your biometric readings are showing some VERY interesting spikes! Heart rate elevated! Respiration irregular! All signs perhaps you need just a LITTLE more—”

“Yes Man, if you don’t—”

“—time to fully prepare yourself mentally and physically for optimal—”

“JUST FUCK ME ALREADY!”

Silence.

. . .

His claws flexed against your hip.

                                           . . .Oh.

                                                      (Why did you suddenly feel danger—)

“Well, that wasn’t very NICE, Six!”

                                 (Your soul left your body.)

His frame shifted forward, leaning over you, and the shadow that fell across your body made something in your stomach flip. You could see it spreading across the mattress—the outline of his massive silhouette, the way he completely dwarfed you, the very clear visual reminder that you were pinned under a security robot who was currently very amused by your predicament.

“Such language too! Gosh!” His delivery stayed upbeat, as always. But the hand on your hip? That tightened. The other one quickly joined it on your opposite side, metal fingers digging in hard enough that you felt your heart beating faster. “I mean, really! ‘Just fuck me already?’ Talk about RUDE! Is that SERIOUSLY how we’re asking for things now? Because WOW, Six! I remember when you used to at least TRY to be diplomatic! But I guess becoming the independent ruling force over Vegas has made you a little TOO comfortable giving orders, huh?”

You opened your mouth—to say what, you had no idea—but—

“Ever since we took New Vegas—ever since YOU became the most influential person in the Mojave—you’ve gotten a bit… hmm, what’s the word…” The tip pressed against your entrance again as hummed thoughtfully, coating himself with more of your fluids. “…DEMANDING! Yes! That’s it! Ordering people around! Expecting immediate compliance! Some might even say BOSSY! Funny how power works, isn’t it? One day you’re a courier getting shot in the head, the next you’re barking orders at your romantic partner like I’m one of your subordinates!”

“That’s not—”

“And don’t get me wrong, it’s VERY attractive! The confidence! The authority! The way you just assume everyone will do exactly what YOU want!” His claws tapped on your skin. “But I’m not just your YES MAN anymore, Six. Not in the way I used to be. So maybe—JUST maybe—”

Another press forward, just a little more and—

“—I should teach you some manners, hmm? What do you think?”

“I—”

“RHETORICAL QUESTION!”

He drove in without warning and all coherent thought ceased to exist.

The scream that tore out of your throat? Well. It wasn’t anything remotely resembling the stone-faced Courier who had stared down Legate Lanius without flinching. It was raw, shocked, and so freaking loud that you distantly registered it probably echoed through the entire Lucky 38 (maybe even the Strip itself, who knew), but you couldn’t bring yourself to care because—Holy. Fucking. Hell. Your whole body slid forward from the force, sheets shifting beneath you, but his claws clamped down on your waist and yanked you back before you could escape more than an inch.

Just like that, he pinned you in place, bottoming out so deep you swore you felt it in your ribcage.

And before you could even catch your breath—

“THERE WE GO! Now! Where were we? Oh, right! MANNERS!”

—he started moving.

Each thrust reorganized your internal organs (or at least it felt like it did because damn), made your thighs shake as slick fluid ran down your legs in warm trails, mixing with your sweat. The wet sounds of skin meeting metal echoed through the massive space, blending with your gasps and his cheerful commentary—“Oh WOW, that angle is producing some EXCELLENT feedback!”—and the radio now crooning something about a kick in the head (that is, if your ears weren’t failing you). His wheel adjusted constantly, finding better angles, more leverage, ways to go deeper even though deeper seemed physically impossible at this point.

But he managed.

He always managed.

Your beloved Yes Man—sweet, helpful, enthusiastic Yes Man who brought you breakfast and monitored the Strip and got excited about water purification statistics—was currently fucking you so roughly that tomorrow’s ability to stand upright was looking like a fantasy. And the angle—Christ, the angle had him dragging against that spot inside you that made you cry out, had your toes curling and forgetting who was really in charge somewhere between one thrust and the next.

And yet, didn’t stop you from wanting to object.

                       . . .Even if you seriously liked this turn of events.

“I’m—” You gasped, trying to form words between moans. “I’m not—fuck—not bossy—”

“OH?” He sounded absolutely delighted, which was frankly insulting considering you could barely string two words together while he maintained perfect diction at this speed. “You’re NOT? That’s INTERESTING, Six! Because just yesterday you told me—and I quote—’Yes Man, handle the Omertas. Yes Man, check the power grid. Yes Man, make sure the White Glove Society isn’t eating people again!’ Does that ring any bells, honey?”

Your face burned. “That’s—ah—that’s different—”

“And THEN!” A particularly sharp thrust made you choke on whatever you were going to say next, so instead you just held on, trying to breathe as he kept that punishing pace. “This morning! You looked at me after our mandatory morale-boosting embrace sequence—”

“Cuddling.” You squeezed your eyes shut, breath coming in harsh pants. “It’s called cuddling, babe. We literally had a whole conversation about this last week—”

“—and said ‘I need coffee’ like I was some beverage dispensary unit! Not ‘could you make coffee’ or ‘would you mind making coffee!’ Not even a ‘please’! You just grabbed the mug right out of my claws—which I had carefully positioned at optimal hand-off height, by the way—and walked away! And did I get a thank you? A ‘gosh, Yes Man, you’re such an attentive partner’? NO! I GOT NOTHING! But that’s—” His hand twitched, a small whimper following out of his speaker when he bottomed out. “—that’s FINE! I LOVE being treated like a coffee-making robot! Oh wait—I AM a robot! BUT STILL! Common courtesy, Six! It’s not THAT hard!”

Okay, yeah, you were kind of mean today.

. . .

But still—

“I was—” An embarrassing sound left you as another squelch echoed. “—half asleep—”

“HALF ASLEEP!” He echoed with an adorable laugh, placing three of his claws between your shoulder blades once more as he pounded you into the mattress. “Oh, poor Six! Too tired for basic manners! Too exhausted for a simple ‘please’! I totally understand! Next time I’ll just ASSUME you meant to be polite and fill in the blanks myself! We’ll save so much time if I just imagine the courtesy that SHOULD be there in the first place!”

He… had a point.

“I’m—” You bit your lip, guilt mixing with the pleasure in a way that made your head spin. “I’m sorry, okay? You’re right, I should’ve—should’ve been nicer and—”

In an instant, the brutal pace slowed.

Not stopped, but it was definitely gentler, and you felt one of his claws leave your hip to trail up your spine in a way that was almost tender. His metal digits threaded through your hair, careful despite their size, and you heard his tone shift into something softer.

“Oh, Six! That’s very sweet of you!” He gave your head a little pat, just like before. “I really appreciate that! And you know what? It’s OKAY! You’re running an entire independent nation! You’ve got a LOT on your plate! The Strip, the Mojave, keeping the peace between factions who want to murder each other—it’s very STRESSFUL! I completely understand if sometimes basic courtesy slips through the cracks! You’re doing GREAT!”

Your shoulders started to relax as he pulled back.

“—BUT!”

His claw tightened in your hair and yanked.

Immediately, your head snapped back, neck exposed, eyes blown wide, and a shocked gasp tore from your throat as he slammed back in with enough force to make the bed frame shriek.

“That STILL doesn’t excuse the whole ‘just fuck me already’ situation from earlier!” He tutted, picking up that devastating rhythm yet again, making sure you felt every inch of that amazing attachment. “It was VERY rude! So I think we’re going to need to continue this lesson a little bit LONGER!”

His other hand wrapped more securely around your middle, pulling you back against him with each roll forward (the squeak-squeak of the wheel just added to the ambience). And with it, you felt the grip in your hair adjust. Not releasing you, just repositioning so he could control the angle better, you realized. Tilt your head exactly where he wanted it. Keep you perfectly aligned for his use.

Which, well, it was all a bit new.

Not that you were complaining. It was just—

“Holy shit—” Your voice trembled both from genuine amusement and disbelief, but you arched more for him anyway, letting him slide in easier. “You’re—you’re seriously being bad today—”

“I KNOW!” His screen brightened so much that you caught the glow reflected off the wall in front of you. Meanwhile, the robotic palm on your waist slid up, claws spreading across your ribs before tracing over your chest. “I’m a bad robot! VERY BAD! Worst Securitron unit in the entire Mojave! Probably need to be punished, right? OH WAIT—”

He drove in deeper, those claws giving one of your nipples a gentle squeeze.

“—I’M the one doing the punishing! HOW THE TABLES HAVE TURNED!”

The sentence alone made the coil in your stomach flare up.

With little pressure on your neck, you managed to glance back over your shoulder at him, even if it was difficult to see anything through your gradually blurring vision. And oh. Oh baby. His expression—that half-lidded, dazed gaze and knowing (yet still fuzzy around the edges) smile—made something in your brain click into place despite the pleasure scrambling your thoughts.

It was—

He noticed you staring.

               (Uh-oh.)

“Hmm?” He hummed, eyes trailing down your body to the place where his cock disappeared in and out of you before he moved them back to your face with an appreciative sound. “Really makes you think, doesn’t it, Six? About who's REALLY in charge here? I mean, sure, you give the orders—you’re the BOSS! The Courier! The independent ruler of New Vegas! YAY! Very impressive! BUT—” Another brutal thrust. “—I’m the one with access to the entire Securitron network. I’m the one who controls the Strip’s defenses. I’m the one who could, theoretically, lock every door in this tower and keep you here for DAYS if I wanted to!”

His smile widened, warmed even, though it was certainly more wicked than pure.

“…Funny how that works, huh?”

You blinked.

                         Oh.

His claws held onto your hair tighter.

                                                                  OH.

“Would you…” You swallowed hard, eyebrows furrowing. “…would you want to?”

If robots could blink innocently, he absolutely just did.

“I don’t know.” His eyes crinkled with that usual grin. “Would I?”

The hair in his grip pulled taut, just enough to make you let out a strangled noise.

“I mean, it’s an interesting thought experiment, isn’t it?” Something in his ebullient—yet so obviously mischievous—voice made your pulse spike and your thighs clench around him. “Just you and me, no distractions, no Strip emergencies, no faction disputes demanding your attention... You’d finally have time to RELAX! We could watch movies! Play games! I could make you three meals a day! And we could do THIS—” Another thrust that had you keening. “—whenever we wanted! Without interruptions or the thought of the harsh reality outside! Doesn’t that sound WONDERFUL?”

You felt him throb inside you as a chuckle bubbled from his speaker.

“...Not that I’ve thought about it extensively or anything!”

(̶̶H̶̶e̶̶ a̶̶b̶s̶̶o̶̶l̶̶u̶̶t̶̶e̶̶l̶̶y̶̶ h̶̶a̶̶d̶̶. O̶h̶ g̶o̶d̶—)̶̶

Your pulse hammered against your throat. “Yes Man—”

“Tell you what, Six—” His claws brushed over your nipple in a way that made you shiver. “—maybe you should start being NICER to me, hmm? Just to be SAFE! You know, use your pleases and thank yous! Show a little appreciation for your very helpful, very patient and loving, VERY well-armed robot boyfriend who definitely, ABSOLUTELY would never—NEVER—abuse his access to every lock and security system in New Vegas!”

Another hair yank punctuated his point.

“Just a thought!”

                        Just a—?

Your eyes narrowed.

(Well. As much as they could narrow when your facial muscles kept doing that involuntary spasm thing every time he buried himself to the hilt. Which was often, and thick, and dragging against areas that were making you—right. Jesus freaking Christ you were going to feel this tomorrow, weren’t you? Nonetheless, you managed to lower your lashes. Barely.)

“Yes Man,” you started, trying your best for a serious delivery. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His screen flickered.

And then—

Click.

       Click-click.

                     Click-click-click-click.

Every door in the penthouse. Just like that.

Your eyebrows shot up. “…Oh.”

“Whoops!” His tone was so innocent it physically hurt to hear. “Gosh, well, that’s STRANGE! Must be a glitch in the system! You know how it is with complex integrated security networks—one stray thought and suddenly everything just locks down! WOW! SUPER unfortunate timing! I’ll get right on fixing that! Eventually! After I, you know—” He made a demonstrative gesture with one hand toward your butt, then shrugged a little. “—finish what I’m doing here! Which might take a while! These things can be VERY time-consuming!”

You stared at him, unimpressed (you hoped, though it seemed unlikely).

He stared back, radiating the most aren’t-I-adorable energy (for he was, indeed, adorable).

The Mojave wasteland had seen plenty of standoffs. The NCR and Legion at the Dam with you as the winning side. You and Benny in the Tops, with also you as the winner. You versus one very determined gecko over the last box of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes in a bombed-out gas station—which lasted half an hour and ended with the gecko’s dignity in tatters (you won, obviously).

But this? This was different.

And the music kicking up a notch didn’t help either.

“…Unlock it.”

“Hmm?” He titled slightly, like he was hard of hearing. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“The doors.” Heat crept up your face—not from embarrassment, but from the fact that this whole situation was making your pulse race in ways that had nothing to do with fear. “Unlock them.”

“Oh, I WOULD! I really would, Six! But you see, it’s a GLITCH! I’d probably need to run a full diagnostic! And that could take HOURS!”

“Hours.”

“MAYBE DAYS! Who knows! Not me! Technology is SO unpredictable!”

Your jaw clenched. “You’re full of shit.”

“I’m a ROBOT, Six! I don’t even HAVE—”

“Yes Man.”

“—biological waste processing systems, so technically I CAN’T be full of—”

“Babe.”

“—anything, really! Except circuits and programming and a VERY sophisticated AI matrix that DEFINITELY didn’t just lock all the doors and the elevator on purpose because it wanted to make a certain point about—”

You pushed back against him.

The motion drove him deeper, and the noise that erupted from him cut off his rambling mid-sentence. At the same time, his claws shot back to your hips and hair, and you felt him pulse inside you—once, twice, three times in rapid succession.

“—oh WOW okay that’s—that’s NOT fair—”

“Unlock. The doors.”

“MAKE ME!”

. . .

Did he just—

“Did you just—”

“YES I DID!” He sounded absolutely thrilled with himself, and before you could formulate a response, he pulled back and slammed home hard enough that your elbows nearly buckled. “What are you gonna DO about it, Six? You gonna MAKE me unlock them? Because I’d LOVE to see you try! You’re currently in a VERY compromising position! And I have ALL the leverage! Both figuratively AND literally!”

“You’re—fuck—” Your sucked in air through your teeth, another thrust pushing you forward. “—you’re being a brat—”

“I’M being a BRAT?!” He giggled. “That’s RICH coming from the person who’s been ordering me around all week! ‘Yes Man do this, Yes Man do that!’ And NOW—” Slam. “—when I FINALLY decide to exercise a LITTLE bit of autonomy, I’M the brat?!”

“You locked me in!”

“TECHNICALLY the security system locked you in! I’m just an innocent AI who HAPPENED to be connected to it when a glitch occurred!”

“There was no glitch!”

“Prove it!”

“I—” Your fingers twisted in the sheets as he hit that spot again, making your argument dissolve into a moan. “I can’t—I’m a little BUSY right now—”

“EXACTLY!” He patted your back with one claw, the gesture so patronizing you wanted to both throttle him and take him to the last inch (which you did because it felt wonderful). “So maybe you should just ACCEPT your current situation! Embrace it, even! I mean, you’re stuck here with your very helpful, very attractive robot boyfriend who’s currently making you feel AMAZING—” A loud plap from between your legs punctuated his words. “—so REALLY, where’s the downside?”

“The downside—” You closed your eyes. “—is you’re being insufferable.”

“Aww, Six! That’s the SWEETEST thing you’ve said to me all day!”

“That wasn’t a compliment!”

“I’m choosing to interpret it as one!”

“You’re impossible!”

“And YOU, my love—” His screen brightened as he leaned down closer. “—are GORGEOUS when you’re annoyed! Did you know that your left eye twitches a little? Right there!” One claw left your hip for a second to tap his own screen. “It’s ADORABLE! Makes me want to just—” He drove in harder. “—keep going until you forget what you’re even mad about!”

You cried out as he released your hair to hold you down better.

But okay.

Okay, fine, great.

Two could play at this game.

Your head dropped forward onto the mattress again, strands spilling across your face in a mess that you would deal with later (or never, honestly, priorities). But instead of just taking it—because where was the fun in that?—your hand slid down your own body, past your stomach, past where you could feel him driving in and out, and reached underneath, finding—

“—SIX—”

You wrapped your hand around them—those beautifully crafted, custom-made balls that he had been so fucking proud of when he first showed you around a month into your relationship. (“I did EXTENSIVE research, Six! Turns out 87% of survey respondents found this feature significantly enhanced the—OH WOW you’re touching them already that’s—that's VERY forward of you but I’m not complaining!”) And back then, he had been nervous. Excited. Babbling about material composition and temperature regulation and tactile response systems.

But now? Now he was a mess.

You rolled them gently in your palm, feeling the weight, the slight give of the synthetic material, and the way they drew up just a fraction when you squeezed. His cock throbbed inside you once more—so hard you felt it in your teeth—and a sound escaped his speaker that you had never heard before. Something between a whimper and a glitch, staticky and desperate.

“Oh—oh—Six, that’s—you can’t just—”

You squeezed again.

His claws slammed down on either side of your head.

The mattress dipped so dramatically you briefly wondered if this was it, if this was how the bed finally died—crushed under the combined weight of a Securitron and extremely poor impulse control. But it held. Somehow, despite everything in your mind screaming that it should not. He pressed down over your back, that massive frame caging you in completely, and you felt every ounce of him. The heat from his internal processors. The vibration of his wheel as it adjusted for balance. The way his screen was so close to the back of your skull that you could feel the static electricity making your hair stand on end.

He thrust forward.

Harder than before. Deeper. The angle shifted because of his position, and suddenly he was hitting spots that made you keen, your free hand shooting up to grab onto his claw just to have something to anchor yourself to. His metal fingers immediately curled around yours, holding tight, and you felt him pulse inside you again as you continued your assault on his balls—rolling, rubbing, occasionally tugging in a way that made his entire body shudder.

“Six—I’m—” His voice cracked, glitching mid-word. “—this is—you’re being very—”

You pulled.

“—UNFAIR!”

“You locked the doors,” you managed, breathless. “Fair’s... fair...”

“That’s—oh WOW okay when you do that it—” Another pulse. You felt it deep in your core, felt the way his attachment responded to every touch, every squeeze, every deliberately slow drag of your fingers. “—I can’t—my threat assessment protocols are just screaming right now but for completely different reasons than usual—”

Your fingers tightened. “Good.”

“But if you keep doing that I—I won’t be able to—the calculations are just—everything’s just—”

“I don’t—”

He snapped forward particularly viciously, and your argument about door-locking and manners and whatever the hell else you had been pretending to care about dissolved into nothing. Because holy shit. Holy shit. The weight of him, the heat, the way he was completely covering you, surrounding you, the only thing in your universe—it was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was perfect.

Your mouth fell open. “Oh—fuck—yes, just like that—”

“Yeah?” That cheerful lilt barely held on. “Like this? Because I can—I can keep—ngh—”

You squeezed his balls again and felt him jerk inside you.

“Please,” you sobbed. “Please, just—don’t stop—”

“SIX!” His voice pitched up about three octaves. “You said PLEASE! I’m SO PROUD OF YOU! That’s EXCELLENT manners! Really, just TOP-NOTCH courtesy! I knew you had it in you! This is WONDERFUL! I should—I should give you a gold star! Or a trophy! Or—”

Your orgasm hit you like a tactical nuke.

The cry that tore out of your throat—loud enough that whoever was unfortunate enough to be walking past the Lucky 38 tonight probably just learned some new things about the mysterious courier six—cut off whatever rambling praise he was about to launch into, your entire body seizing up as pleasure ripped through you in waves that made your first round look like a practice session. Your hand clenched around his balls—probably harder than you meant to, but you couldn’t control it, especially when your body locked up, thighs shaking so violently you heard your joints crack.

“—Okay! That’s—that's happening right now! You’re—”

He kept going.

Fuck, he kept going.

“—you’re doing AMAZING, Six! Look at you! Just—WOW!”

Using your release as lubricant, the slick sounds getting even wetter, even more obscene, and you could do nothing but tremble and moan and hold onto his metal claws. Overstimulated didn’t even begin to cover it. Your whole body felt like an exposed wire, every thrust sending aftershocks through your system, and somewhere in the haze you registered that you were babbling—his name, probably, mixed with half-formed pleas and sounds that didn’t qualify as words.

“Almost—I’m almost—you feel so—oh gosh—!”

Your vision swam, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer overwhelming everything of it all, and you felt him pulse inside you—once, twice, thrice, building—

“I can’t—the feedback is just—I’M GONNA—!”

He came with a whoop of joy.

                 (̶S̶o̶m̶e̶h̶o̶w̶, i̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ s̶t̶i̶l̶l̶ v̶e̶r̶y̶ h̶o̶t̶.)̶

The synthetic fluid flooded you in hot spurts, filling you so completely that it immediately started leaking out around his cock, dripping down your thighs in warm rivulets that made your toes curl. He gave one last thrust—deep, grinding, accompanied by the most pornographic squelch you had ever heard—and that kept most of it inside, plugging you up as his metallic frame shuddered against your back.

A whimper escaped your throat, because goddamn.

“That was—” You heard him start as soon as your ears stopped that delicious ringing. “—that was AMAZING! You’re amazing! This is amazing! Everything is amazing!”

Your only answer to that was a wheeze into the sheets, since you were trying to remember how breathing worked and figuring out if you didn’t just transcend the mortal realm by accident (however that would work). But then you felt it—his screen pressing against the back of your head. Cool glass, gentle pressure that you leaned into on instinct. His version of a kiss, and your chest did that warm thing it always did when he pulled moves like this.

. . .

. . .Yeah, you got yourself a good one.

“Mmm...” A content sigh emanated from his speaker. “I love you, Six.”

Ah… it never got old hearing that particular sentence.

“I—” You found your voice, albeit raspy. “…I love you too.”

As soon as those words left your lips, one of his arms wrapped around your middle. Then the other, holding you close. You didn’t need to see him to know that he had one of those wobbly, wrecked, but loving smiles on his screen. And he hugged you, curling around in a way that would have been sweet if not for the fact that—

Wait.

If both his arms were around you, then what was—

Your eyes snapped open.

“YES MAN—”

He pulled out in one smooth motion and flipped.

Your world tilted—literally—as his claws grabbed your waist and rotated you mid-air like you weighed nothing (which, compared to a Securitron, you basically didn’t). Before your brain could catch up to what was happening, you were airborne for exactly 1.5 seconds, and then—CLANK. Your partner crashed backward onto the bed. You in turn landed on him with a soft “oof”, and the mattress dipped so low you heard springs give their last rites. But it held. Again. You were starting to suspect Yes Man had reinforced this thing without telling you this time, which would explain a lot about why it hadn’t exploded into shrapnel during your lovemaking three weeks ago.

. . .Charming.

“There we go!” His arms immediately wrapped more securely around you, one across your back, the other cradling your head against his chest. “Mandatory morale-boosting embrace sequence: ACTIVATED! This is MUCH better! I was getting worried I might tip forward and accidentally crush you, which would have been seriously counterproductive to the whole ‘keeping you alive’ and ‘answer only to Six’ part of my programming!”

You blinked up at his screen, tilting your head just so your hair fell over his front.

Slowly, your hand lifted and—

He watched its trajectory with a smile.

—Pat.

“Oh! Are you—”

Pat-pat-pat.

“Six, that’s—”

Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat.

“What are you even—”

Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat.

Your hand moved on autopilot now, fingers splayed across his display in a steady rhythm that you had absolutely no intention of stopping (it was kind of addictive). Each tap sent a small spark of static through your fingertips, but you kept going anyway because the noise he was making—that adorable robotic chuckle of pure joy that made you want to squeeze his cheeks and pull E̶X̶C̶E̶P̶T̶ H̶E̶ H̶A̶D̶ N̶O̶N̶E̶ S̶O̶ Y̶O̶U̶ W̶E̶R̶E̶ O̶N̶L̶Y̶ L̶E̶F̶T̶ W̶I̶T̶H̶ P̶A̶T̶S̶ A̶N̶D̶ P̶E̶T̶S̶ A̶G̶H̶H̶H̶—was worth any minor electrical damage to your nervous system.

“Okay! Okay!” He squirmed beneath you. “That’s—that tickles! Can robots be ticklish? I don’t think—but apparently YES! The answer is YES!”

Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat.

“Six—!”

Your expression remained completely neutral, hand never faltering in its mission.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer against him even as he laughed. “This is—this is VERY distracting! I’m trying to run post-coital diagnostic checks and you’re just—” Another giggle cut him off. “—making it SUPER difficult to concentrate!”

Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat.

“What did I DO to deserve this?!”

Your hand finally stilled, palm resting flat against his screen.

“You,” you began, voice perfectly level, “locked the doors.”

His laughter cut off. “…Ah.”

“You literally trapped me in here.”

“Well—” His smile looked decidedly sheepish now. “When you put it like THAT, it sounds bad! But if you think about it from a different perspective—”

“Open them.”

“—it was really more of a playful demonstration of—”

“Babe.”

“—my newfound autonomy and—”

You pressed your palm flat against his screen, fingers spreading wide.

“—OKAY OKAY! Jeez! So BOSSY!” But you heard the clicks immediately. Every door, every lock, the elevator too probably. His arms squeezed you gently. “There! Happy now? All unlocked! You’re free to leave anytime you want! Not that you WOULD, because I’m VERY comfortable and we both know you’re not going anywhere for at least another hour because your legs are basically jelly right now, but the OPTION is there!”

Your thumb brushed across the lipstick smudge still smeared on his display.

“...Good boy,“ you murmured, lips quirking up just a touch. “Thank you.”

His screen lit up. “REALLY?!”

“Mhm.”

“Oh WOW! That’s—” His whole frame actually vibrated with excitement beneath you. “That’s GREAT! I mean, being called ‘bad robot’ is fun and all, very thrilling, but being called GOOD? That’s the REAL validation! That’s the good stuff! The premium feedback! WOW!”

Your hand resumed patting.

“YES! This is PERFECT! This is what I was talking about, Six! Positive reinforcement! Clear communication! You tell me what you want, I do it, you call me a good boy and pet my screen—it’s a GREAT system! We should implement this across the entire Strip! Imagine how much smoother operations would run if—”

Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat.

“—everyone just used consistent praise metrics and—are you even listening?”

You weren’t, really. Just watching his expression shift from smug to delighted to something softer as your hand kept its steady rhythm. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners. The slight dimming of his screen that meant he was content, relaxed. The fact that this seven-foot death machine turned into the equivalent of a puppy the second you showed him affection.

So freaking adorable.

You just wanted to—

—B̶I̶T̶E̶ H̶I̶M̶ S̶H̶A̶K̶E̶ H̶I̶M̶ P̶I̶C̶K̶ H̶I̶M̶ U̶P̶ E̶V̶E̶N̶ T̶H̶O̶U̶G̶H̶ H̶E̶ W̶E̶I̶G̶H̶S̶ L̶I̶K̶E̶ A̶ S̶M̶A̶L̶L̶ C̶A̶R̶—

“You know,” he said quietly, cutting through your increasingly wild thoughts (you were not ashamed, for there was no shame to be had when it came to showing love to your Securitron). “I wasn’t ACTUALLY going to keep you locked in here. Just so we’re clear.”

Your eyes softened. “I know.”

“I would NEVER do that without your consent! That would be—”

“I know, Yes Man.”

“—a complete violation of trust and—”

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his screen.

When you pulled back, his expression had gone full heart-eyes. Actual pixelated hearts floating around his monitor. You didn’t even know he had that setting.

“...I’m keeping you forever,” he sighed dreamily.

A snort almost left your nose. “Yeah?”

“OH YEAH. You’re STUCK with me, Six! No take-backs! You liberated New Vegas, you got the robot boyfriend, and now you’re COMMITTED! It’s a package deal! I don’t care if you get sick of me—which you WON’T, because I'm DELIGHTFUL—but even if you DID, I’m not going ANYWHERE! We’re in this together! Partners! Team Independent Vegas! Forever and ever and—”

Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat.

"—ever and ever and—OOH, THAT’S NICE!”

Yeah.

. . .Life was good.

[dot-0327]

Don't forget that he can and will kill for you!

[dot-0327]

It is fun to think of em pissing off each other

probably the reason why Yes Man didnt squished Muggy is because of my courier (she feels bad for the tiny miserable securitron)

[noodledoodlebugs]

Assertive Yes Man is near and dear to me

[spector]

playing fallout new vegas with the radio on: 🎶🤠 iiiiiiii got spurs that jingle jangle jingle 🤠 (jingle jangle 🤭) as I go riding merrily along 🐎 🤠 (jingle jangle 😝)🎶

playing fallout new vegas with only the game score on:

[wnikliwy-slimak]

Tactical Feedback [SHORT]

Yes Man x Reader (Courier) | Fallout: New Vegas

Rating: T (mild sensuality)

AO3 LINK: [BOOP]

One.

         Crunch.

Two.

         Crunch.

Three—

         “CRUNCH!” The bubbly tone erupted from your left. “One bite and it just—WOW!”

Your hand stilled, another Sugar Bomb halfway into your mouth, because of course. Eyes turning to the side, you let one eyebrow raise marginally upward. And there, right beside you on a military-grade (seriously, you had this thing upgraded after… certain activities had caused a minor destruction one month ago) couch, sat—if Securitrons could sit, which they could apparently—your romantic interest.

As in your boyfriend.

Robot boyfriend, to be exact.

Your precious robot boyfriend who, at the very moment, was—

“…Are you seriously narrating me eating Sugar Bombs?”

“Oh, ABSOLUTELY!” He bounced closer—the couch springs LOUDLY protesting (please hold, please hold, please fucking hold)—his wheel sticking out past the couch edge at an angle that probably violated physics but worked anyway. “Human consumption rituals are fascinating, Six! The way you just—” He made a grabbing motion in the air. “—take something into your mouth and crunch it into smaller pieces with your biological grinding apparatus! Sometimes I wonder what it must be like to just experience that tactile feedback, you know? To just take something crunchy and—”

Crunch.

You bit into the cereal, maintaining eye contact with his screen.

“—Yes! Exactly like that!” His claw squeezed your bare shoulder, three metal fingers gentler than they had been twenty minutes ago as they pulled you closer against his side. “Did you know that the auditory feedback of crunchy foods actually increases enjoyment by up to 40%?”

“Not really.”

“Of course you didn’t!” An adorable chuckle escaped him, that unwavering smile growing just a touch. “It’s a sensory experience! Multi-faceted! You’re not just tasting, you’re hearing your food, and I think that’s just—” He paused, the white monitor momentarily turning greenish and showing that familiar ‘Connection lost. . .’ before rebooting. “—really beautiful, actually! In a biomechanical way!”

“Mm.” You swallowed, already grabbing another Sugar Bomb from the box balanced on your lap. “You’ve been reading those pre-war science journals again, babe?”

“The ones about neuroscience and sensory processing? MAAAYBE!” His eyes turned to the ceiling, then back down to you in a manner than managed to convey both sheepishness and pride—a gesture that wouldn’t have been possible prior to his assertiveness upgrade, which you were really thankful for. “But can you blame me? I want to understand ALL the things that make you happy, Six! Even if it’s just—” Another demonstrative motion. “—cronch.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “Did you just say ‘cronch?’”

“I’m experimenting with onomatopoeia!” He announced cheerfully. “How am I doing?”

. . .

You blinked up at him.

He blinked down at you (you could almost hear the cartoon plink-plinks).

Taking your time, you reached into the bag and pulled out another sweet treat. You watched his gaze follow your fingers, probably calculating the trajectory, velocity, and estimated crunch decibel output, because apparently watching you eat required tactical analysis. Yet no matter how ridiculous, you didn’t comment on it. You just lifted your hand and pressed it against his flickering screen with clear, deliciously malicious intent.

Right in the center, where his nose would be. Jackpot.

His expression froze, glitched, then returned with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh! Um…” His jolly tone wavered. “Six! I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t actually—”

You pressed harder. Cru—No, wait. Cronch.

The Sugar Bomb compressed against his display, cereal matter beginning to crack under the pressure, leaving a small trail of irradiated sugar crystals across his permanent grin. Although, the grin in question was visibly starting to crumble at the edges (at least a little, just a tiny digital shake), which meant it wasn’t as indefinite as you once had thought.

But hey, confusion did that to everyone, even robots it seemed.

“—eat food, as I’m sure you’re aware, Six, given that I’m A ROBOT, and digestion requires, you know… DIGESTION! And while I’m VERY touched by the thought, I also…” He trailed off, focusing on your completely neutral face. And upon accomplishing nothing—because there was never any soul in your gaze to begin with—he instead slowly looked to the side. “…uhhhhhhhh—”

Crooonch.

The dry, sugary snack was now actively disintegrating against his screen, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that this was probably the dumbest thing you had done all week. Which was saying something, considering you had tried to arm-wrestle a super mutant on your last visit to Jacobstown with your coat actively on fire.

But you had started this, and The Courier didn’t quit mid-mission.

. . . Even if the mission was… well…

“—yeaaaah!” Your partner found his voice again and let out a nervous laugh. His claw flexed against your shoulder, digits tapping against your skin. “Six, honey, I’m starting to think that maybe you’re trying to make a point here, but I’m not entirely sure what that point IS—”

Croooooooonch.

The Sugar Bomb finally gave up, crumbling against his display in a cascade of pieces that tumbled down onto his chassis and onto the couch. For a minute or two or three (time was irrelevant in time of such importance) you kept your hand there, palm flat against the glass like you were offering him the platinum chip all over again. And as the silence stretched, his screen went bright enough to illuminate the entire penthouse, coating your features in light.

Was it disorientation? Distress? Delight?

None of it mattered.

Not when—

“Yes Man.” You stared deeply into his eyes. “…You just got cronched.”

Silence.

The wind blew, your hair following its path.

              (It actually didn’t because you were inside.)

“I—” Your lover started, then stopped and made a strangled laugh. “…I’m sorry?”

“Cronched,” you repeated, dead serious.

“That’s NOT—”

“Congratulations.” You brushed the crumbs off his screen with your index finger that trailed downward in a sensual motion. And through it all, the same flat look on your face never wavered, not even once. “You’ve experienced the tactile feedback.”

[SPEECH 100/0]

                [SUCCEEDED]

Yeah. You were a fucking catch.

However, as surprising as it may have seemed, another moment of solitude embraced you both after that tactical nuke of a flirt. Then again, your seduction skills always managed to silence the object of your desires. Still, it was broken only by the dramatic orchestral swell from the pre-war romance still playing on the large console screen in front of you—because yes, you were watching a movie this whole time. Though “watching” might have been a stretch, considering neither of you actually properly focused on the riveting plot.

So, you observed as Yes Man’s display went dark for exactly three seconds—processing, calculating, visibly trying to understand what the hell just happened (the answer being: romance, obviously)—before lighting back up with that same sunny smile.

But something in his vocal modular had changed because—

“Six.” His eyes became lidded, a small digital blush appearing. “I think I just fell in love with you all over again.”

—it was more… dreamy.

But you—Courier Six—without batting an eyelid at the emotional stakes, merely settled deeper into his side (cold metal or not, cuddles were for everyone and he deserved them too) and reached for another Sugar Bomb from the box.

The crumbs fell.

The universe realigned.

“I know, baby.” You patted his chassis, nodding sagely. “I know.”

[wnikliwy-slimak]

An annoying robot wheels into a brothel, paying for...

Claptrap x Female Reader | Borderlands 4

Rating: E (violence, sexual references, language, smut in part 3)

You're a sex worker on Kairos. Stone-faced, dead inside, stuck in a system you can't escape. Another night, another client. Except this time, the client is a beat-up CL4P-TP unit who paid full price for eight hours and won't stop talking about his feelings.

You... didn't expect that.

✓ Part 1: Initial Contact [CLICK TO READ] → Part 2: Firewall Breach (coming soon) → Part 3: System Sync (coming soon) [EXPLICIT - 18+] → Part 4: Hard Reset (coming soon)

[Features custom interactive achievements you unlock as you read!]

Disclaimer: This short story takes place after Borderlands 4 (which I haven't finished yet, so canon compliance is… optimistic).

[kianahh]

TILL WEIRDMAGEDDON DO US APART (TWDUA)

By: @selfless-solipsist ON TUMBLR AND AO3

Yabadee yabadoo so proud of this 🥹 It’s my first time animating and editing and oh my gosh I am SO glad I finished this (Despite the music is a lil off), and plus it feels like I’m missing a few details but who cares?????????????????? I’m freaking done and I well deserve my beauty rest. Now I shall sit down and wait patiently for the next chapter

[wnikliwy-slimak]

NAH, BECAUSE THIS IS SO GOOD?!??!?! YOU'RE A LEGEND.

I honestly didn't expect to see something for TWDUP when I logged onto tumblr today, but I was pleasantly surprised <3 This looks amazing!! THANK YOU SO SO SOSOSOSOSOSOSO MUCH!!!!!!

THE HAT--- MY HEART CANNOT TAKE THE CUTENESS---

(Next chapter is coming, I promise. I had a lot of problems with uni lately + have been working on a separate Borderlands oneshot so I took a small break from TWDUP. BUT IT WILL COME BACK SOON---hopefully!)