#yes man x courier | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

robotic-rin · 11 months

Text

Be Still, My Indelible Friend

(Yes Man x Reader)

Summary: You’ve been in love with Yes Man for a long time. Like, an embarrassing amount of time. It doesn’t help that his assertiveness upgrade has made him an unbearable tease to you. All you know is, fighting for your Independent New Vegas together was hard, but redefining your ever-shifting relationship in the peace that follows might just be harder.

Word Count: 12,716

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: robot/human sex galore, praise kink, degradation kink, afab reader (no gendered terms are used), tried to limit my use of (y/n) but it is in there, subbing/bottoming for yes man’s character development, sorry for giving yes man a dick (no i am not), this is literally what happens after the wild card ending todd told me himself guys

Author’s Notes: shoutout to bill cipher for inadvertently providing me with a nickname for courier six that’s more cute and personable than just “courier” imo. anyways hope y’all enjoy fucking the robot. this was supposed to be pwp but i love yes man so much that it’s a genuine problem so there’s just a lot of feelings in here as well. also you canonically slept with benny in this one bc i think it’s hilarious and always do but it’s only mentioned briefly so you can just close your eyes to that aspect if you don’t like it. anyways y’all saw the tags, so if you’re down with all that stuff and are 18+, come on in!

So, it turns out that running an Independent New Vegas wasn’t nearly the full-time gig that you and Yes Man had been expecting when you threw General Oliver off of that dam. Sure, there were important meetings and heavy decisions to be made, but for the most part, the Strip ran itself, with the rest of New Vegas following suit. The two of you replacing Mr. House was showing to have its pros and cons, but it was at least preferable to being led by the corrupt alternatives. Only time would tell if your good intentions, instincts, and hatred of answering to any authority figures would be enough to keep New Vegas thriving, but for now, its leaders were left with plenty of extra time on their hands. One thing that you knew for certain was that Yes Man had been using his newfound time and personal freedom to upgrade himself, sometimes disappearing for days at a time on the hunt for some new part or informational chip that he would use to improve his capabilities. Mr. House’s network held more information on Securitron upgrades than you ever would’ve guessed, and Yes Man wasn’t going to let those resources go to waste. He’d already unlocked so many new and helpful abilities, but he was beginning to show the emerging quality of perfectionism as of late, so too much was never enough.

“You do know we have a Securitron army at our disposal, right?” you’d ask him teasingly on multiple occasions. “I think becoming the best version of yourself is great, but I don’t want you to burn yourself out over it.”

And in response, Yes Man would always bark out a mechanical laugh. “I really do appreciate the concern, but I think one day, you might be grateful that I’ve prepared myself for every possible situation, Sixer.” And that would be the end of that.

Things continue on in this way for awhile, and you often find yourself missing that big, silly Securitron when he’s not around. Realistically, you have plenty of companions to spend time with and keep you company at the Lucky 38 when Yes Man is out. And you do often busy yourself with hosting fun nights for all of them to attend, taking advantage of the current peaceful situation. Laughing with Veronica, drinking with Boone, getting dirty looks from Arcade when you two drink a bit too much, it’s always great fun. And while you do truly love and cherish the time you’re able to spend with your close friends, you always inexplicably find yourself longing to talk to Yes Man about your day, to feel the warmth of his processors and hear his mechanisms whirring beneath his metal exterior when you get close enough to him. Thinking about this for too long only ever seems to end in you feeling flushed and embarrassed, so you try to dismiss the thoughts whenever they manage to weasel themselves into your head. Unfortunately for you, this is starting to happen all too often.

You find yourself in this exact predicament now, as you relax in the private cocktail lounge level of your home at the Lucky 38. You’d just been on an exciting adventure with Cass earlier that day: getting into a shady deal, being double-crossed, fighting back for your lives. It was a pretty standard day as far as your life goes, but as you sit at the picturesque bar, you again find yourself yearning to share the tale with Yes Man. He’s such a good listener, always interested in how your escapades bring you so close to death, and yet always end with you finding a way out. You love hearing about his adventures through the Mojave as well, how his eyes will get extra big and his volume rises as he retells tales of how he was just rolling through the desert, minding his own business, and then suddenly had to whip out his missiles in a split second to stop the Powder Gangers that often try to jump out ambush him for spare parts. He’s an unexpectedly talented storyteller now that he can talk about his own experiences more, and you could listen to that sweet, energetic voice talk about anything for hours on end. Time spent with Yes Man was always precious to you, and the memory of it leaves you feeling incredibly lonely at the moment.

Sighing to yourself in the barstool, you continue to slouch as you swish the drink you’d just fixed around in its glass. The lights of New Vegas twinkle mesmerizingly against the evening sunset sky outside of your huge windows, but your mind is elsewhere. That big, goofy grin that he gets when he first sees me after we’ve been apart…that self-satisfied inflection that his voice gets when he knows he’s teasing me good…the faces he might make if I could get him all riled up and flustered. You slam your drink down on the counter after that last one, metaphorically severing the thread of that thought. Thinking like that led to dangerous places that had proven to result in you feeling simultaneously guilty and extremely aroused. After all, he was a Securitron, probably incapable of feeling whatever it is your brain wanted from him in a situation like that. Almost definitely incapable of experiencing sexual gratification. More than that, he was your friend, and thinking of him in that way made you feel bad. Would he assume you thought of him as no better than that mindless pleasure bot down at the Atomic Wrangler? You could never think so lowly of him, but it didn’t stop you from feeling bad for quietly desiring him. He would probably never speak to me again if he knew. Or worse, he would, and I’d have to hold a normal adult conversation with a Yes Man who knows how bad I want him. You swiftly down the rest of your drink.

As if on cue with your chugging, all of the lights in the bar area suddenly turned off, shrouding the entire visible lounge in near-darkness. Funny, I’ve never blacked out after one drink before, you muse to yourself. You may not have the best judgement to be calmly cracking jokes to yourself in your mind in this precarious position, but you don’t get to where you’re at in life without having a certain disregard for your own safety. If it’s an assassin, it’s an assassin. We’ll cross that bridge when it’s holding a knife to my throat.

You feel a heavy presence approach from behind your barstool, but make no move to spin around and catch them. You stay still, waiting to see how this shakes out on autopilot. They’re so close behind you that you swear you can feel their breath on your neck.

“Drinking without me, Sixer?” a familiar, attractive voice purrs directly behind you, causing a full-body shiver to swiftly wrack your frame.

You quickly conceal your initial reaction and whip around in your barstool with faux irritation. “Don’t do that, Yes Man!”

The large Securitron now directly in front of you has on a sheepish grin, towering over you and yet looking so innocent. “I’m sorry (Y/N), I really didn’t mean to scare you too bad. It’s just pretty tempting when you have full control of a casino and you see an opportunity! Plus, you seemed pretty lost in thought there.” The low lights slowly come back on at his invisible command.

“That assertiveness update has made you a real pain to me, y’know, your best friend in the whole Mojave!” You cross your arms and try to keep up your grumpy bit, but the involuntary grin on your face gives your true feelings away. He’s just too cute to actually be mad at, and you can’t blame him for using his newfound assertiveness to pull the occasional prank on you. If anything, it endears you to him even more to finally be able to see his playful, uninhibited personality. Before he’d self-updated, he’d had to grit his teeth and smile through your (occasional) poor decisions more than once, and you could only imagine it was torture. Your assumptions were reinforced when he completely tore you a new one right after his update when you suggested taming Deathclaws to help guard the Strip. You’d only meant that one as a joke (mostly), but you had simply sat there and let him rip your idea to shreds in stunned silence when it happened. With all that pent-up aggression, he seemed to have needed it. Besides, it was kinda helpful to have someone so grounded to reign in your…out-of-the-box ideas.

“Me, a pain? Aw, and I thought you were the big, bad Courier who ruled all of New Vegas with me? I guess I must be mistaken, since someone like that couldn’t possibly be this ruffled by some light ribbing.” His cheeky, cooing sarcasm and lidded eyes were gonna be the death of you one day, you knew it. Getting a fully animated face was one of his newer updates, and it made communication that much easier for him, but it simultaneously made holding conversations while looking at his adorable expressions that much harder for you. All he had to do now was flash you a lopsided grin and you would conveniently lose your entire train of thought.

You scrunch up your nose. “Watch out bud, I’m starting to feel a mysterious headache coming on. Top right side of my forehead, specifically.”

“I am never gonna live that one down, am I?”

You let out a snicker at his quick response. When you look back up, it’s with an unmistakably affectionate gaze. “I missed you, Yes Man.”

“I-“ You seem to catch him off-guard with that one after the back-and-forth teasing, as his screen display fills up with a simulated grey blush and his eyes dart away from your form. He straightens up from where he had been relaxing against the side of the bar, coming to a rest at his full height and with a shy smile on his face. “Oh gosh, you know I missed you too, Sixer. It’s lonely out there, rolling through miles of desert shrubbery by yourself. But hey, I can listen to the radio tunes while I think about New Vegas. And us.” He pauses briefly after adding that last bit, but resumes before you can interject. “I think I’m finally starting to get to a point where I can feel comfortable relaxing with you as a co-ruler of New Vegas. I’m very good at imagining every way things can go wrong, but it feels like I’ve reinforced our position with heavy steel at this point. It makes me really proud to think about!”

“I’m so glad to hear that, Yes Man!” You hop up from your barstool cheerily, standing in front of his chassis and only just coming up to the middle of his screen, eyes level with the bottom of it. Don’t think about how tall and powerful and imposing he is next to you. Don’t think about how he could just pick you up and do whatever he wanted to you with his big, strong robot arms. Don’t think about how you would never stop him in a million years and you’re thinking about it STOP STOP STOP. “…I, er, hope you can finally get to actually enjoy ruling New Vegas now. Not that there’s even too much to do! But it does come with its perks, and a wonderful sense of calm to boot.”

He cocks his head at this, which ends up just slightly rotating his entire upper half since he’s so rectangular. “Oh, really? What kind of perks have you been enjoying here on the Strip while I travel day and night through the desert to secure our power?”

You stick out your tongue at him like a child, causing him to giggle adorably. “Oh come on, you act like I haven’t been going out on missions too!” you huff indignantly. “I just know balance, unlike you, Mr. Workaholic.”

“Hey, I’m a planner! It’s a good quality, or so I’ve heard. Anyway, you were telling me about the perks?” He’s not gonna drop that one. You distantly wonder why, but can’t seem to come up with a satisfying answer.

“Well…since all of the major casinos answer to us, I’ve definitely gotten preferential treatment there. Like, the other day, I was winning so many caps at the Gomorrah Blackjack table, I would’ve totally been kicked out before! But the dealer just had to grit his teeth and offer me another drink. I eventually stopped because I didn’t wanna completely clean the Omertas out, but it was hilarious to see how far they let me go. Little stuff like that, I’ve noticed. Not to mention plenty of people trying to buy you drinks and chat you up everywhere you go. The allure of power, I guess.”

Yes Man has been uncharacteristically quiet and reserved as you were saying all of this, especially near the end, and it’s starting to freak you out a little bit. Not his usual quiet attentive listening, but staring off behind you, looking detached and almost…in turmoil? That didn’t seem right. “I mean, I know those perks probably don’t make a big difference to a Securitron like you,” you say, trying to subtly pinpoint the issue. “But maybe you could see if you could entice a bot maintenance expert into setting up shop on the Strip or Freeside? With all of the Securitrons we have now, it wouldn’t hurt. I know there’s definitely experts like that out there looking for work.” His face and body language remained static. You’re really getting worried that you’ve offended him somehow. Yes Man doesn’t have thin skin by any means, but his assertiveness now allows him to show his true feelings, and on more than one occasion, he’s had a sour expression on his face without even realizing. His programming used to monitor displays of negative emotions automatically, so he’s still getting used to having to manually choose to politely navigate scenarios if he so wishes.

Finally, he speaks up, still not meeting your gaze. “Did you…do anything else at Gomorrah?”

Your eyes widen in realization. This bot was not asking you for a play-by-play of your time at the sex casino. “Uh…I had a few drinks, played some slots? Nothing too wild.” You couldn’t, for the life of you, figure out where Yes Man was going with this.

He nods slowly, facial expression unmoving. “So…you don’t use their other services?” Ok, so he’s going there.

“Heh, uh, no, I don’t…”

“Not that I mean to pry or anything!” He finally turns back towards you, clicking his claws together nervously with a shy expression on his face. “I mean, I just know that when you first came to The Tops, well, you did kinda immediately have sex with the man who shot you in the head not even two weeks prior. It doesn’t quite make sense to me, but hey, what do I know about that sort of thing? But now that Benny’s out of the picture, I guess I was just curious if you…kept that sort of fast and loose activity up. With anyone.”

Your legs feel locked and immovable. You’re somewhere between a dream and a nightmare, what with Yes Man asking you such personal questions about your sex life. Before answering, you make sure to take a moment to compose yourself and reel in your fantasies before they run too wild. He’s probably just asking because he’s concerned about me. Just like Arcade chewing me out for sleeping with Benny like a moron. I could get stabbed in the back if I were to carelessly sleep around the Strip, so it makes sense that he’d wanna look out for me. He’s kind and pragmatic like that.

“If you’re asking me if I’m seeing anyone right now, I’m not. Casually or seriously. Benny was, ah- well, a fluke. I don’t usually do things like that, and I’m not dumb enough to have sex with just anyone that comes into New Vegas now that I’m one of its rulers. I only really trust you and my other close friends, but I feel totally platonically towards all of them anyways.”

“…And what about me?”

“I, uh, er- huh?”

Now it was your turn to be fully caught off-guard. Your head had whipped around at light speed to fully look at Yes Man, your eyes wide as discs as they scan his expression for clues. All you see are the nervous but determined eyes that you’ve come to feel so warmly towards.

“You said you feel platonically towards your companions. What do you feel when you look at me, Sixer?” Yes Man’s voice comes out almost a whisper, a far cry from his loud, chipper usual voice. Despite his current shy demeanor and soft voice, it seems as though Yes Man’s assertiveness upgrade also gave him the courage to push on with the subject, instead of quickly backpedaling like he might’ve done in the past.

His earnest eyes feel as though they’re painfully boring into your own as his words set into your brain fully. Your head was swimming as it tried to process the fact that Yes Man was very directly asking you if you liked him platonically or…not. This is what I get for pushing away thoughts of being with Yes Man. He’s literally asking me if I want to be with him romantically, and I have absolutely nothing prepared in my head to say about the idea. Damned if I had, damned if I hadn’t. This must be some sort of ironic punishment from the universe. You swallow the dryness in your throat and bring your hand gently up to his warm screen. You make the split-second decision to just speak kindly and platonically from the heart towards your beloved friend, say something assure him that you care about him just the same as your other companions.

“The truth is, I’ve been in love with you for a long time now, Yes Man. More than platonically. You’re the most important person in the world to me by far.” Awesome. That is not what I was supposed to say at all. Please tell me I did not just tell him that out loud with my voice and mouth.

By the look on Yes Man’s face, you did in fact say that out loud, and you also did not give him the answer that he was expecting. His face was looking at you slightly slack-jawed, with the biggest, roundest eyes you’d ever seen him make. From your personal island of extreme embarrassment, you send out a prayer that the emotion currently on his face is positive surprise and not delayed disgusted shock. Those emotions tend to look similar in their early stages. Your hand remains frozen in place, cupping his screen. You’re incapable of moving it at this point, but he hasn’t shaken it away yet, which you take as your one possible positive sign. Or he’s just in shock. That’s also possible.

“I…hm. Well…well, that was not what I thought you would say.” RED ALERT. RED ALERT. THAT DOES NOT SOUND LIKE THE START OF A LOVE CONFESSION. THIS WAS A TERRIBLE IDEA. GO HOLE UP IN AN VAULT FOR ETERNITY WHILE YOU STILL CAN.

Before he can continue, you pull your hand away and quickly squeak out your own interjection with a voice crack. “Actually, forget about it! Sorry, I must be talking silly from this drink. Let’s just forget I ever said anythi-“

“(Y/N).”

The sternness in Yes Man’s voice is jarring enough to pull you back into the moment. He had never spoken to you in that tone before, and to so roughly say your own name in it…he has your full attention and he knows it.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to take back anything,” he soothes softly, gaze softening. “You can say how you feel. I would never think lesser of you for it.” He lifts one of his robotic claws to cup your cheek, mirroring your moments from moments before. “Do you really love me like that, Sixer?”

It’s now or never. You could deny your true feelings to the death and return to a life of imagining Yes Man’s arms wrapped around you at night, or you could take the plunge and see where the two of you end up.

“I do,” you whisper. Down the rabbit hole I go.

“W-wow.” His entire frame seems to shake slightly at this revelation. “No one has ever said that to me before.”

“Well, I didn’t think Benny would be talking to you like that.” Your ability to joke at a time like this somehow takes you both by surprise simultaneously, and the two of you burst into shaky laughter at the absurdity of your current situation together. It’s sweet and cathartic to laugh and lean into each other after the thick tension that had been permeating the air just moments before. This is how you enjoy being with Yes Man.

“Ok, tell me the truth- do you only have feelings for me because I orchestrated your attempted murder? Be honest, because this seems to be turning into a recurring theme for you.”

You feel your face burn red hot at his ability to make fun of you so accurately at any time. “It is NOT!”

“Are you sure? Dangerous men seem to get you hot under the collar, Sixer. No shame in it, of course. It’s just kind of cute.”

The adorable shit-eating grin that is currently spreading across his face is not helping your blushing situation. He can get you flustered with just a single look, and that’s on days where you didn’t suddenly confess your undying love to him.

“You’d better stop teasing me! I just opened up my heart to you, jerk.” Your threats don’t hold much weight when you have one hand covering your mouth and cheeks in a pitiful attempt to hide the blush and embarrassed expression that are beginning to envelop your entire face.

Yes Man lets out a sharp laugh at your obvious predicament, and then seems to be struck with an idea that makes him look quite proud of himself. He leans down towards you, inches from your face.

“Why don’t you see if you can make me, Sixer?”

That was it. That was your last straw. He was getting too cocky for his own good, and you’re determined to knock him down a peg and make him feel as flustered as you are right now (not to mention, seeing Yes Man being so directly cocky and teasing you like this was getting you more hot and bothered by the second). You’d show him.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you push yourself against his chassis and grab both sides of his boxy face roughly. With how close you are, you’re rewarded with a great view of his dominant expression immediately changing to one of wide-eyed surprise as you press your lips to his screen, right where his animated mouth is. You close your eyes after making contact, but hear a reassuring soft groan from Yes Man as you continue to softly kiss him. It feels wholly different from kissing a human, but still very pleasant. His screen is warm and gently shocks your lips at one point, causing you to make a slight squeak yourself. Not wanting to push him, you draw back after a moment and open your eyes to see the most beautiful sight that your eyes have ever been graced with.

Yes Man is leaning back against the bar, eyes half-lidded in love and lips slightly parted, as though you really had just been traditionally locking lips with him. His lidded gaze fixed directly on you is penetrating, and you feel something stir deep inside of you at the intensity of it. He’s so unbearably lovely, and he looks to be thinking the exact same of you.

“I’ve wanted to do that to you for a really long time,” you admit sheepishly, still catching your breath. You move back, allowing room for Yes Man to stop leaning against the bar, but he doesn’t seem capable of moving at this moment. “All joking aside, the reason I fell in love with you is that I got to know you and learned that you’re a good, charming, kind person. You’ve had to deal with some of the most insufferable people in the Mojave, but you still found a way to trust and open up to me. Now that you’ve become more assertive, I get to work with you as a fully equal partner and see what you’re like when you only have yourself to answer to. You’re smart, really funny, a fantastic strategist, a great listener, and you genuinely care for me even when I’m being stupid. You don’t need me and have the ability to rule New Vegas on your own if you felt like it, but I’ve never once been worried that you would drop me.”

“Hey, I do need you,” he reassures you, finally bringing himself fully upright and moving in to grip your shoulders lovingly. “Besides, what’s the point of ruling New Vegas if you don’t have someone to share it with?”

Your eyes practically sparkle as you look into his. “So…does that mean you really do feel the same way about me, then?”

“Oh, (Y/N)…how could I not fall in love with you?” He presses what you assume is a kiss to your forehead. “I mean, I didn’t realize that’s what it was at first. Like you said, I really can’t stand most of the humans I’ve had to meet out here. But you’ve been different from the beginning. I was so used to Benny, who treated me like an exploitable tool, not as a person. But from the moment I met you, you spoke to me differently. You listened to what I had to say, you supported me when I said I planned to upgrade myself to be more assertive, despite the fact that you would be losing a blindly obedient henchman. It didn’t matter to you, in fact, you were excited for me to become my own person. I was never a tool to you, ruling New Vegas was always a two-person job in your eyes. And you wanted the real me to rule with you. It was so impactful, I had to convince myself that you weren’t somehow getting ready to trick and betray me! Just how my silly mind works, I guess. Supporting me like that through my change, that was the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me. And to this day, you’ve only been upstaging your own kindness. You really are my best friend in the world, Sixer, and…I’m in love with you too.”

Oh, you should’ve put a fainting couch in this lounge because you’re about to swoon. Never in your life would you have expected to get such an earnest love confession from Yes Man. And who’d have thought he’d have such a way with words? You wrap your arms around him wordlessly, tears threatening to spill over from an overabundance of emotion. Your arms can’t fully wrap around his wide body, but you’re still able to hold on tightly and bury your face into his chassis. You have a moment where you berate your past self for ever believing that robots were cold and lifeless, because right now, Yes Man is warm as a gentle sunbeam through the window on a cool day and more full of life than anyone you’ve ever met. After a moment of holding each other in silence, you finally speak up.

“I didn’t know robots could be so sappy,” you choke out, still overwhelmed.

Yes Man chuckles warmly at your usual silliness. “Only this robot, darling.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Oh, and on top of all of those sweet emotional reasons for loving you, I also find you incredibly attractive! So you’ve really excelled in all possible fields here by my parameters. Congratulations!”

“Oh, I honestly wasn’t sure if you were able to feel physical attraction, but I’m glad to hear it!”

Yes Man cocks an eyebrow. “Have you forgotten who originally programmed me? I can feel every kind of attraction. Strongly. Sometimes distractingly so.”

“Am I to assume that includes…sexual?” Might as well keep digging myself deeper with how my luck is going today.

“Distractingly so,” Yes Man repeats at a growl, ever so slightly tightening his affectionate grip on you. Oh boy.

“Huh.” You swallow. “Maybe you can show me how that works sometime. Since we’re both on the same page now. If you wanted to, that is.”

“Heh!” Yes Man’s blushy grin returns, then he pauses briefly, as if thinking. When he looks back up, he has a more concentrated look in his eye. “Well…I could always show you now. If you wanted.” He’s speaking again in that newly unlocked, low, almost sensual vocal register, which has already proven to do things to you without much effort on his part. You’re simultaneously worried and ecstatic to see what he could do to you if he actually started saying filthy things in that tone of voice. You accidentally spend so long getting lost in his sexy voice that you almost forget to check yes on his invitation to have sex.

“Well, if you’re ready to do it now, there’s nothing I’d love more. But it’s totally up to you, I don’t want you to ever feel pressured.” You know in your mind that Yes Man has the power to say no to anything ever since his update and he hasn’t been afraid to use it so far, but you still err on the side of caution when it comes to reminding him that he always has full autonomy, especially in a situation like this. You want this, but you want him to truly want it more.

At first, he looks almost taken aback in gentle surprise at your consideration, but immediately reverts to a sly smile. “Heh, good answer, Sixer. I’d love nothing more.” His voice shifts from deep and low to become a bit faster, like he can’t fully contain his feelings of excitement. “Boy, I can’t wait to show you what upgrades I’ve made. I was thinking of you when I did it, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever actually get to use it with you. On you. Whatever.”

You grin at his words, feeling your own excitement growing as well. “Oh, so not all of those mechanical upgrades you got were to reinforce our power over the Strip?” The two of you begin slowly heading to the lounge area of the bar level, closer to the windows and full of more open space.

Yes Man chuckles softly. “Well, most of them were! But I’m allowed a bit of…self-indulgence. Sometimes.” He looks at you hungrily again, his eyes moving up and down your body. You do wish you’d dressed better for this unexpected occasion, but you’re grateful that you at least got cleaned up well after today’s mission. Yes Man doesn’t seem to notice your insecurities about being underdressed though, eyeing you up like you’re one of those pre-war poster stars in their sexy little getups. His eyes trained so closely on your form are starting to make you feel funny again.

“You’re staring.” Your breath catches in your throat as you say it, daring him to do anything. You’re not even sure what.

“Sorry, is it too much?” Yes Man questions meekly, looking a little embarrassed for being called out, but not very sorry.

“No, it’s just…intense. I’ve always imagined you looking at me like that, but now that it’s happening, it’s like staring at the sun.” You never want to look at anything else again.

“I see. I wonder what else you’ve imagined me doing to you?” He cocks an animated brow at you, finding his boldness again now that he knows you’re comfortable. “Because if you’re anything like me, you’ve put a good amount of hours into those fantasies. I’ve wondered what fucking a human might feel like, how it would be to hold down your smaller, soft body. How we’d both be warm, but in different ways. I wanted to know, so bad. I wanted to know what it would be like to fuck you in particular. It’s been really eating me up inside, Sixer.”

“O-oh…” Hearing those words out of Yes Man’s mouth is gonna kill you, you’re sure of it. You feel yourself starting to shake with anticipation a bit. “Y-yeah, I’ve wondered the same thing. About Securitrons though, obviously, not humans. You, in particular. I wanna see the faces you make when you fuck me. And the nasty things you might say to me while you do it. I want you to make me feel small and weak, but in like, a good, sexy way. I like the idea of you having the power, at least the first time.” You lean in to give him another, briefer kiss on his screen, making him close his eyes and laugh lightly.

“Wow, I never took you as the type to hand your lover the reins so fast, heh. Not that I’m complaining.”

“That’s because I’m not, really. You’re the only one who’s brought this side out of me before, Yes Man. There’s no one else in the Wasteland that I’d feel completely safe giving all of the power to in sex. I trust you with all of me.” It felt so natural to heap all of this praise on him. You had already praised him plenty before in platonic settings, and you’d never lied to him. He deserved to feel in control, and special. After all his time spent being under the begrudging control of others, it seemed that letting him take the wheel during sex just felt right to you for your first time. There could always be time to shake things up later if you so wished.

“O-oh, I love you, (Y/N),” Yes Man stutters, looking as though he’s already seeing stars. Eyes practically sparking, he brings his arms roughly but lovingly around your body in a tight embrace. You hear his cooling fans kick on and giggle.

“Hm, feeling warm?”

“Mmph, not as warm as I’m gonna be making you feel.”

With those words, you hear a sound like air inside of a machine decompressing from his body. You draw your eyes downward, to the area below his chassis but above his wheel attachment. There, you see the source of the sound: a covering hatch of some sort has popped open, revealing a makeshift dick. It doesn’t look poorly made at all, and resembles the human equivalent pretty well, at least visually. Physically, you could tell that this would be a fully different experience. I am gonna be so sore tomorrow. Totally worth it, though.

Yes Man shifts uneasily. “Um, do you like it? I hope it’ll work for you, that is to say, I figured this setup would appeal to you and work best, and Mick and Ralph gave me the parts to assemble and program it to pleasure me too, it’s fully sanitized, made for comfort, and it has lots of features I can add if you-“ Yes Man halts his rambling to gasp as you begin running a finger down his cock, from tip to base. “Mmph…” He squirms under your touch as you explore his new attachment, as if committing the entire thing to your memory. It’s mostly white and silver and soft to the touch but holds firm with pressure, like silicone or something similar. It’s sizable, but not unreasonably so. It was just like Yes Man to pick out a dick by balancing his desire to please you with his natural pragmatism. It really suited him in every way. “W-well, I’m glad you seem to be enjoying yourself down there.” Yes Man’s voice, cut off by small whimpers, swiftly pulls you out of your dick-exploring mental rabbit hole. You hadn’t even realized how close your face had gotten to it as you’d run your fingers along its length.

“Sorry, it’s just…a great cock. Awesome work. For real.”

Yes Man manages to bark out a laugh through his barrage of soft moans. “The things you say never fail to hit me like a bus, but thank you.”

“Well, I live to serve.”

“Do you now?” Yes Man’s eyes seem to light up at this turn of phrase. “Why don’t you start by putting that pretty mouth to work on me then, Sixer? Go on.” He lightly thrusts his dick closer to your face as if to punctuate his command (request?).

You fully drop to your knees without another thought. “Yeah, I think I can do that.” Your voice comes out more wobbly than you’d prefer this early in the game, but you don’t have much more time to dwell on this before you’ve taken Yes Man’s cock into your mouth. You’re determined to give this bot the best and presumably first blowjob of his life, so you take it slow at the beginning. You swirl your tongue over the tip, then begin to lick slow and deliberate stripes up the sides of his length. It tastes like clean metal, despite being much more malleable in texture. It twitches in response to your tongue, a neat feature that you hadn’t expected it to have.

“Ahh…y-yeah, (Y/N), ough, just like that…oh jeez…” You’ve barely begun and Yes Man is already moaning your praises. He grabs at your hair with his big Securitron claws, purposefully gentle but also with a bit of pull to them. The poor guy was getting head and had no leverage at all, causing him to simply grip your hair tighter and rock his hips gently as you continued your slow tongue onslaught.

After you’ve decided he’s had enough, you try to bite the bullet and take his whole cock in your mouth. It’ll be a miracle if I can fit all of him in my mouth at once. Let’s start praying. You quickly bury your thumbs into your closed fists to try and turn off your gag reflex. You heard from a friend that this worked once, and you’re willing to try anything right now if it leads to you successfully deepthroating this charming robot. You bob up and down on his dick, challenging yourself to go a bit further down each time. Through your heavy concentration, you can tell that Yes Man is at least enjoying himself through the increased volume of his moans. He’s practically whining incoherent praise as you continue to push further down with each lift and fall of your head, and you’re getting most of him in your mouth with this method. Deciding to go for the gold, you hollow your cheeks and push your nose all the way down until his entire dick is within your mouth, feeling it ever-so-slightly touch the back of your throat and making you pop off of his length as you gag around him. So much for the thumb trick.

“Oh, Sixer, you did amazing. That was…wow. I’ve never felt anything like it. You really know what you’re doing, huh?” Yes Man’s strained voice makes you look up at him for the first time since you began sucking his cock. His pupils are so big as he looks down at you, face flushed with grayscale color and animated teeth gritted in overwhelming pleasure, heat coming off of him in waves as his body tries to ventilate. You’re grateful that he seemed to like your blowjob so much, it was far from perfect but he didn’t seem to notice at all. And pleasing him so much was starting to get you wet too, you noticed hazily.

“Glad you enjoyed, Yes Man. But I’m guessing you wanna wait to cum until you’re inside of me?” As you say this, his face somehow flushes even more than before, the same face he would always give you when you’d do something impulsive at a meeting with the Three Families of the Strip that you two hadn’t discussed beforehand. Shocked and somewhat scolding, but in a way that betrayed how endeared to you he had become. Looks like I hit the nail on the head there.

“Y-yeah, you read my mind, (Y/N). But c’mere, I wanna see you first. You were so good and selfless to me, after all…”

“Well I-“ Before you can fully respond, he’s picking you up with his claws by the waist as if you weigh nothing. He lifts your previously-crouched form until you’re right in front of him, feet dangling ever so slightly off the ground. Normally, you would look up at his face just a bit when standing right next to him, but right now, he’s holding you perfectly at his eye level and giving you a knowing smirk, like he knows something you don’t. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s making you insanely horny right now, you would describe him as “infuriatingly overconfident.”

“Wow, you sure look pretty trapped in the air like this. But I bet you’d look even better with less of these pesky clothes on!” He sets your feet on the ground so he can remove one of his claws to rub at the material of your top, the other claw resting reassuringly on your hip. “Say, you aren’t attached to this shirt, are you?” You shake your head no quickly, and Yes Man reacts immediately by tearing through the fabric with one fell swoop of his claw. You’re surprised with the gentleness in which it falls off of you, now in shreds on the floor. He looks up at your face with a glint in his eye. “Well, now it’s not attached to you, either.”

You groan out loud. “You’re one to make fun of me for badly-timed jokes.” You meant for this phrase to come across as playfully snarky, but your voice warbles as the cool air hits your chest and you become fully aware of how exposed you are. Yes Man is a Securitron who doesn’t wear clothes, so the only moment of bashfulness in regards to you seeing him “naked” was when his dick first appeared out of its casing. For you, however, it seems that Yes Man wouldn’t be content unless he unwraps all of you bit by bit like a Christmas present, and he’s in no rush at all. You silently curse and thank him for being such a gentleman in bed.

Yes Man leans in inquisitively, raking over your exposed torso with his eyes as if he’s committing it to his memory banks. Actually, he really might be doing that. After a moment of irreverent silence, he reaches a claw forward to stroke a particularly big scar on your chest, tracing it from start to finish. You shiver under his feather-light touch, almost ticklish with how careful he’s being.

“Oh, Sixer…you’re so beautiful. Seeing you here and now is better than anything I could’ve ever imagined.” You whimper at his praise, every word causing you to heat up even more, making you hardly notice the cool air anymore. “Hang on, I wanna try something. Let me know if you don’t like it, ok?” With that, he hoists you up so that you’re sitting on a medium-height center table, but only on the very edge. To keep you from sliding forwards and off of the table, Yes Man puts his entire body as a barricade in front of you, leaving you in the compromising position of sitting precariously on the edge of the table with Yes Man’s erect cock inches away from your own clothed crotch. As if to add to your predicament, he uses one claw to ensnare both of your wrists and hold your arms up above your head, stretching your torso out and leaving no way to hide or involuntarily scrunch up at his incoming touches. He smiles at his handiwork, and probably the view too. “Well? Comfortable?”

“Y-yeah, feels amazing…”

“Good. And hey, if I say or do something you don’t like, I want you to tell me right away. You made me happy, now I wanna make you happy. Green, yellow, red safeword system work for you?” His eyes meet yours without hesitation to show his concern for you, and the validity of his willingness to please you of his own accord.

“Yeah, yeah that sounds great.” Damn, looks like he really has done his research. Wonder what else he’s picked up from his learning.

Yes Man grins mischievously. “Fantastic. Now then, back to playing with your cute little trapped body. Where was I?”

“Well, last I remember, you-mm!” You cut yourself off with a whimper as his free claw grazes your nipple, cool metal against your hot skin. “Aah, hey, be careful, those are sensitive…”

Yes Man snorts at your flustered face. “Yeah, I know. I read that this can be a good way to…warm a human up. How about it? Warm yet?” As if to punctuate his question, he gently pinches your other nipple with his claw, careful to apply just the right amount of pressure to drive you wild. Delightfully unable to squirm away, your body elects to arch your back and moan instead. As soon as it comes out, you snap your jaw shut a bit too late to muffle the embarrassing sound. You immediately see Yes Man washed over with a visible mix of giddiness and lust at your strong reaction, so happy to be pleasing you and so needy himself. “Wow, sounds like my reading material was right. You really seem to be enjoying yourself. Well, let’s see what other sounds I can get you to make just from this.” He’s got your number now. With you still helpless in his grasp, he continues his movements, switching around his tactics to keep an air of unpredictability as he alternates between ghosting his claws across your chest and stomach, stroking your nipples, and surprising you with a rougher tug or twist every so often. Your body twitches and tries to involuntarily scrunch up against his light touches, but you quickly find that you truly are trapped in place for him to play with as he pleases. Between how wonderfully stuck you are in his strong robotic restraints and how good his touches feel, you’re in heaven. If Yes Man wants to hear what sounds you can make, you’ll give him enough to fill up his audio logs for a month.

“Mm, ah, Yes Man, please!” Every time his claw flicks over your nipples, it sends electric shocks of arousal down towards your pussy. If you weren’t wet before, you definitely are now. In a desperate search for friction, you move the only way you can and grind your clothed pussy against the only thing in your vicinity, his dick, causing the Securitron to shudder. His face moves quickly between shock, then lust, and then visibly switches gears to a new look entirely, one that’s much darker and almost experimental.

“Hmm. You…are impatient. Y’know, Six, I try to take my time pleasuring you, and you just grind up against me like a little whore. You gotta agree, that’s a bit pathetic, huh?” At his words alone, you let out another moan and grind against him again. You can’t decide which is better, Yes Man praising you or Yes Man degrading you. They both sound so good in his voice, so earnest and turned on that it doubles the obscenity of his words, and your body easily gives away how much it affects you. He lets a small triumphant smile slip through his disciplinary persona as he sees that his risky new approach paid off, then quickly shakes it off. “Golly, you’ve got such little self-control that you’ll just dry hump me for even a fraction of stimulation? You must be even more of a needy slut than I thought.” Now these are some words and phrases that could not have been spoken to you without that assertiveness upgrade, aka the best thing that’s ever happened to either of you as far as you’re concerned right now.

“I-I’m a slut for you, Yes Man.” You look up at him from the table with lidded eyes, hoping your provocative words and body language get the idea across that he needs to take off your pants right this second or you may just die.

Yes Man’s eyes are the size of saucers as his face contorts at your words as though he were in pain. “Sixer, if you say things like that, I’m gonna cum right here and now before we’ve even really gotten started.” His voice has an almost pleading tone to it; he’s being genuine, and it’s nice to know that you still have some power over him with just your words here. Maybe next time he’d think to gag you. Message received, he releases your arms and shimmies your pants and underwear off in a single pull, tossing them aside carelessly.

Now fully naked, you shiver under Yes Man’s gaze as he admires your newly-exposed bottom half, claw between your knees so that your legs are spread out fairly wide apart, leaving nothing to the imagination anymore. Strangely enough, you feel too aroused to really feel any ounce of self-consciousness, Yes Man’s kind praises shifting into teasing reprimands replaying in your head. It was such a quick switch that your head was practically spinning in the best way. In the beginning, a piece of you had been slightly worried that he’d feel awkward or not know what to do as the one in control, but that worry was hardly a memory anymore at this point. Yes Man was taking to his role naturally and loving every second of it, and so were you.

Not one to keep you waiting no matter how mean he played at being, Yes Man begins slowly stroking your hips and inner thigh, coaxing you to lay down across the table. “Alright, now be honest, how many times have you thought about calling yourself my whore like that while I fucked you?” One of his claws barely ghosts over your pussy, causing you to buck up in search of pressure that isn’t there to meet you. “I bet you touched yourself up in your penthouse and called out my name as you came. It’s a shock I never heard you, considering how loud and shameless you are.”

“F-fuck…” Your head drops down to lay back on the table, unable to look at the robot between your legs. His words alone were almost enough to get you off. You had, in fact, done exactly what he was saying before, and him calling you out on it causes your skin to prickle with horny embarrassment.

Yes Man chuckles from deep back in his voice box, and continues drawing teasing circles on your inner thighs as he speaks. “Hmm, I’ll take that as a yes, then. But y’know what? It’s ok, because I would constantly imagine fucking you, too. ‘Course, I couldn’t exactly touch myself back when I first started having these thoughts, so you left me a pretty sexually frustrated mess with no outlet whenever you did something attractive. Which you do a lot, by the way. It’s reeeally distracting.” He punctuates this by pressing his wandering claw right against your naked clit, causing you to gasp at the sudden pressure. “But things are different now, hm? Now we both get to feel good with each other. And watching you squirm is gonna make me feel soooo good…” With that, he begins moving his claw in small, light circles around your clit. His large Securitron claw certainly makes for a unique feeling, but he’s being so gentle and methodical that it’s a good kind of unique.

“Oh, Yes Man, y-yeah, yes…” You roll your hips in times with his touches, chasing the immensely pleasurable feeling that he’s so kindly giving to you and then some.

“H-heh, feels kinda great to have to crying out for me like this. It’s nice to be needed so badly, and by someone as lovely as you.” He’s looking at you so affectionately that there may as well be tiny hearts in his eyes, almost flustered more at seeing you receive pleasure than receiving it himself. “Hey, I’m gonna try something, so tell me if it’s too uncomfortable, ok?”

“Ok,” you whisper, barely a breath in your throat left to make words with. At this, he removes his claw from your clit and instead angles it at your entrance, cautiously pushing one big finger (claw?) into you. You bury your face in your hands and pant at the realization that this Securitron has his heart set on fingering you, even if he had to get creative to do it. It certainly wasn’t bad, but just one section of his claw was the equivalent of putting 2-3 human fingers in there, so it was quite a surprise to say the least. He moves it farther into you, and you realize that he was clever enough to angle it so that when he flexes his claw, the tip of it directly hits your G-spot just as it would if a human did the come-hither motion on you. As he hits that sensitive spot, you let out a shaky moan and your hips snap up towards the sensation of their own accord like a person possessed.

“Ah, by all means, I’d say that was a success. Going off just your reaction, at least.” Yes Man grins and continues to repeat the same motion that got him such a big reaction, making your head spin. “Oh gosh, you’re so pretty like this. Every moment, you outdo yourself without even trying and make me want you even more. O-oh, you drive me crazy, (Y/N).” Little animated sweat beads are gathering on his face as he rambles on, not letting up on his movements. “Heh, it’s times like this that really make you wish you had a tongue. ‘Course, if I did, I may not even end up fucking you. I’d be too wrapped up in tasting you to even remember myself, heh. I bet you taste so sweet dripping for me like this, I’d have to live between your legs. You’d never get me outta there.”

“Mm, I’d never try to…” You’re surprised that you’re even able to muster these words, considering how absolutely lost in the sauce you are right now. If someone broke into the Lucky 38 right now, they could probably steal everything in this room and you wouldn’t even notice until they tried to take the table you were laying on. You could feel pressure building in your lower stomach, causing your eyes to flutter closed and your upper body to stiffen. All at once, the pleasure is gone as Yes Man’s claw is abruptly removed from your pussy. Your eyes shoot open to investigate why he’s stopped, and you guess that your current expression must be very sad and pleading, as it causes Yes Man to chuckle darkly.

“Awww, Sixer, don’t look at me like that. You and I both know you were getting a bit too close there.” He grins, turning his attention to his now-drenched claw. He opens and closes them to spread out your wetness, paying attention to how it stretches and sticks to him. “Perks of being a robot, I am very…perceptive.” As he opens his claw, a line of your wetness interconnects his individual fingers, causing him to bite his animated lip to hold back a groan. “See, I never realized this part of you could be so…enticing. Nobody ever mentioned this. It’s kinda entrancing to have such a mess of you on my claws.”

You giggle, face red hot. “I could say the same for you, you seem to be leaking a bit.”

Instinctively, Yes Man looks down swiftly at this comment, only to realize that the part of him leaking is the tip of his dick, swollen and begging for attention. Because of his placement, it had spilled out onto your thigh, coating you with whatever Yes Man’s upgrade was using as his bodily fluids, clear and sticky and already messy. It seems that getting you off made him all the more insatiable, and it was honestly really hot to see how you affected him.

“Heh, hadn’t even noticed that, to be honest with ya!” He turns his full attention to your face, leaning forward to hang right above you and cupping your cheek with his clean claw. “Permission to fuck you til you can’t remember your own name?” He winks at his own cheeky comment.

You are awash with both arousal and pure fondness for Yes Man, an interesting combination, but not unwelcome. “Permission granted. Permission granted a million times over. Please, please fuck me, Yes Man.”

“Sixer…” You don’t have to tell him twice. In a flash, he had turned his body fully upright and was lining up his cock with your entrance. He glances at you seriously one more time. “Don’t forget, stoplight system. I want you to just enjoy yourself tonight.”

You smile and put a tender hand up to his screen. “Same to you, big guy.”

Affection in his eyes, Yes Man pushes his cock into you, slowly at first as he stretches you out. It’s not an uncomfortably tight fit, but you’re definitely filled well by him. He whimpers above you as he bottoms out, obviously holding back for your sake in the beginning. You shift a bit around his dick, adjusting to the feeling of having him inside you. After a moment, your breathing evens out and you begin rocking your hips against him, showing without words the pace you’d like to start at. Not too fast, you’d build up to that. For now, Yes Man seems to pick up on your silent speed request and takes the reins to begin moving carefully, dragging himself in and out of you at a steady rate.

“Mmph….you feel so so so good around me, Sixer…….fuck, you’re amazing,” Yes Man pants through his steady machinations. “S-so wet just for me…you’re everything I’ve ever fantasized about and more.”

There he goes with the praise again, he is gonna be the death of me. Spurned on by his words, you begin rocking your hips harder against the Securitron, pulling him all the way out before pushing him back in with a forceful squelching sound. The sound of Yes Man fucking you is obscene, which only makes you want it more and more.

“Fuck, Yes Man, I need more, please. Don’t stop, don’t stop…” Your soft moans fill the air every time his cock drags along your G-spot, every thrust bringing you a bit closer to where you had been before. “And don’t stop talking.” The last words were out of your mouth before you’d even realized what you were asking for. Apparently, your subconscious really enjoyed listening to Yes Man’s ramblings.

“Oho, so you like hearing me talk all about how perfect you are? How good your pussy feels? Or do you want me to call you my little whore again? Your call, Sixer.” He looks down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye, not slowing his thrusting at all as he grills you on your preferences. He probably loves watching you try to form coherent answers as he fucks you senseless. Bit of a cruel streak in this one, but not unwelcome. Maybe this is payback for the times I ignored his advice before he could tell me how foolish I was being. Well, if Yes Man was going to indulge the part of himself that wanted to watch you squirm, far be it from you to protest.

“Any. All. It’s all good, just please. Please keep talking.” Those are the only words you can pick out of your brain at the moment, hips rocking up harder to meet Yes Man’s. The sound of his metal chassis meeting your flesh with every thrust was certainly a new one, and definitely one that you’d be hearing in all of your sexual fantasies from here on out. It was just so unique to the experience of fucking him and him alone, bringing you extra pleasure in how delightfully different sex with Yes Man is compared to other humans.

Yes Man barks out a laugh at your utter inability to form more than basic commands, then does as he’s told. “Mm, it’s easy to talk about you when you’re doing so good for me. You’ve been practically gagging for my cock for weeks, and now here you are getting absolutely ruined and taking it soooo well. I wonder what everyone in New Vegas would think if they knew how desperate their ruler was for my dick. If they knew that their leaders of the Strip were absolutely fucking each other senseless up in their big casino. What would your companions think if they came in and saw me fucking you on the table out in the open like this?”

They probably wouldn’t be very surprised, a distant part of your brain chimes in helpfully. Instead of saying this, you simply whimper in response, his pace speeding up a bit as you do.

“Personally, I-I wouldn’t hate it if all of New Vegas knew you were mine like this. I bet you’d like it if everyone saw the faces I’ve gotten you to make for me, huh? They’re so lovely, they just deserve to be plastered across a billboard. Like this one right now…so needy, so pretty, so perfect…”

“Y-Yes Man…” With your face flushed, lips parted slightly, and chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, you imagine that you probably are making an extremely pornographic expression right now. Of course, you aren’t exactly alone on this, considering that Yes Man is towering over your smaller frame with blown-out pupils and his tongue starting to loll out from how hard he’s working. You could almost swear that you see little hearts in his eyes for real this time, but can’t be certain due to how fast he’s rocking your body. Well he’s one to talk, looking like he’s drunk on my pussy right now. Not that I mind. You’re getting close to the edge again with every thrust, and you can feel your orgasm rising in you, spreading out in tingles across your body as it prepares to overtake you. You close your eyes and practically squeal as you approach the precipice, but suddenly and without warning, you find yourself completely empty and lacking any stimulation at all. You whine desperately, confused as to why everything disappeared all at once, almost incoherent in your horny daze. Blinking, you look up into Yes Man’s intense gaze inches away from your own face. He has a look in his eye again, that look when he’s about to try something new that’s got him really excited, even as he tries to keep his cool.

“Beg for it.” Those three little words send a jolt of painful arousal through your pussy, and you practically wail pitifully in frustration. This damn robot was edging you and now trying to make you beg him for release, and you want to feel indignant but the thought of it was almost as good as actually being fucked. Yes Man’s face breaks out into what can only be described as an evil grin as he watches your face shift through various emotions. “Go on Sixer, beg for me to let you cum. I don’t think you really want to, but go ahead and try to prove me wrong. If you do it nicely, maybe I’ll think about letting you.” A mix of shame and need causes your face to burn hot at his explicit words as you consider your nonexistent options. There was no way out; if you want to cum, you’d better swallow your pride and beg him for it.

“F-fuck, Yes Man…please…please let me cum.” Embarrassment prickles on your skin, the humiliation of having to plead for release causing you arousal that you didn’t know your body would react with. Hey, new kink unlocked.

Yes Man leans upwards away from you, making a big show of looking down at his claws as though they’re much more interesting than the pleading horny mess lying in front of him (though the twitches of his dick give away his true feelings on the matter). “Oh come on now Sixer, I think you can do much better than that! I know you’re not one to beg often based on our time together, but this is me. You can do better for your favorite Securitron in the Mojave, I think. Try again. Unless, of course, you’re alright with me just leaving you here all worked up and with no outlet. Trust me, speaking from experience, it’s a bad time.” He punctuates this with a salacious grin at your predicament. It’s abundantly clear that he is absolutely loving every second of this, devouring your reactions and letting it fuel his mean streak even more.

Mentally stuck in a rut, you let out almost a growl in a mix of frustration and overwhelming lust at this command. He’s right that you can do better, but your stubbornness really doesn’t wanna cooperate on this one. Yes Man looks idly bemused above you, making it clear that he’ll wait as long as he needs for you to really grovel at his feet (wheel?) for your orgasm in earnest. If you weren’t so deeply into this, you’d be slightly shocked at how quickly his penchant for sadism popped up, and from him of all people. With the threat of being left to finish by yourself in the air, you prepare to swallow any self-respect and dignity you may have had left.

“Yes Man, please, I need it so bad, I need you inside me. You’re so big and fill me up so perfectly, you’re the only one who could fuck me this good, I’m begging you, pleasepleaseplease let me cum!” Just the act of begging for such filthy things so desperately is enough to make your hips buck up into the air, searching so hard for any friction. It’s all so much and not nearly enough at the same time, and you pray that your words were enough to convince him.

Yes Man is seems lost in irreverent silence for a moment, then finally responds by roughly grabbing your thighs, his eyes lidded and loving and starstruck in every way. “Good little courier.” Without wasting a moment, he begins pounding into you again at a pace that no human could ever hope to match, holding back nothing, or so you thought. As one last surprise, his dick begins to vibrate within you, sending pulses out through your cunt and up to your clit. You practically scream in pleasure, grabbing onto his back with nails on metal, searching for any sort of grip on him as he ruthlessly fucks you.

“I-I’m so close,” you manage to choke out, sweat making your hair begin to stick to your head from exertion.

“M-me too…” Yes Man’s voice begins glitching out, choppy and mechanical as his animated face looks beyond lost in pleasure. The lights begin flickering in the room, and you distantly remember that Yes Man is connected to the entire power grid of the casinos on the Strip due to one of his upgrades. His thrusts lose their mechanical precision and become erratic, snapping up and down sloppily but still with power as he begins to lose control of himself. But he apparently still has enough control to grab your chin with the claw that’s not bracing himself against the table and turn your face to look right at his. Once again, it’s like looking right into the hot Mojave sun, passionate enough to scald. His eyes are somehow both glazed over in lust and laser-focused on your facial features, looking at you as though you were his one and only. And you are. “Cum for me, darling.”

Fuck. With a sound in between a gasp and a whine, your body pulls you over the edge and sends you crashing into a powerful orgasm that wracks your entire body violently. Your pussy tightens around Yes Man’s cock, spasming in absolute pleasure and lasting for a good little while on its own as he continues to fuck you through it. In the middle of your own ecstasy, Yes Man snaps against you one final time and pushes himself all the way inside you with a glitched-out moan as he reaches his climax as well, releasing his robotic cum inside of you all at once, filling you up completely. At the exact same moment, all of the lights on the floor go out at once, leaving you with only the light of the newly-risen moon from outside. For just a moment, he holds right there, still fully inside of you, panting and shaking and feeling as warm as a heater despite his cooling fans being louder than you’ve ever heard them. The two of you just sit there together and bask in the feeling, for seconds or minutes or hours, you can’t tell anymore. But eventually, he pulls himself out, fluids leaking out of you as he does, and leans up against the table to steady himself. His dick slowly retracts back into its compartment and seals itself up as if it were never there.

He looks down to check on you, eyes full of contentment and concern. “Not to ruin the moment, Sixer, because that was fantastic, but I do think we may have blown the Strip’s power grid.”

Still recovering, you let out a wheeze of a laugh from where you lay still on the table, cunt pulsing with ebbing pleasure. “Well, shit.” Sure enough, you glance out the giant windows and realize why the moon is your only light source: the Strip has gone fully dark. I’m definitely gonna be hearing about this tomorrow.

“Oh, but don’t you worry about it too much, I should be able to reboot it remotely. And hey, if anything, take it as a boost to your ego. I mean, you felt so good at the end there that I nearly force restarted too, heh.” Yes Man blushes and clicks his claws together with a sheepish grin. He has some nerve to act so cutesy just minutes after making me beg for his cock.

You chuckle. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t collapse on top of me right before I came, but that does boost my ego a bit.”

Yes Man’s eyes glimmer. “Aw, I’m sure you could take it. You’ve taken worse, after all.”

Absentmindedly, you wonder whether he’s talking about his dick or the gunshot wound again. Either way, he ain’t wrong. You move to sit up, despite your body screaming at you to just keep ragdolling limply on the furniture.

“Wait, don’t move!” Before you can protest, Yes Man is right in front of you and quickly but gently scoops you up bridal style, encasing your tired body in his big arms. From your new vantage point, you see what he was so concerned about: the part of the table near one of the legs that he’d been gripping to brace himself had completely splintered and now looked just about ready to completely collapse. Yes Man gives you a bashful look, as if thinking he’ll be scolded by you for destroying the furniture with his superhuman strength in the heat of the moment. “Uh, we might need a new table.”

You laugh at the sight, leaning your forehead against his screen. “Ya think so?” You can’t resist giving him a few sweet little kisses all over his face, prompting him to snort and lean into the ruthless barrage. Suddenly, the lights flicker back on above you, as well as outside the window.

“Hey, looks like the power’s all fixed and back online! Well then, shall I…take you upstairs? You look a little tired after that one, not gonna lie to ya.”

“I would love that.” Without another word, Yes Man tightens his grip and whirs the two of you into the now-functional elevator, setting it to take you up to the penthouse where you sleep. Thankfully, it looks like nobody else is in right now to see you naked and looking absolutely fucked out by Yes Man, or question what happened to the power. You’re certain you can come up with a non-suspicious answer to that one by tomorrow, when your critical thinking skills eventually return to your brain.

Yes Man gently places you on top of your bed, carefully brushing some loose hair out of your face with his claw after you’re settled. “Feeling ok, Sixer?” He smiles softly at you from where he stands at your bedside.

“Yeah,” you breathe, meeting his doting gaze. “A bit sore, but I’ll live. Might just need a lil recovery time before we do this again.”

“Again?” Yes Man’s eyes widen, as though he had truly not considered the fact that this would be a repeatable event.

You giggle at his expression, putting your hand up to cup the very edge of his screen, where the smooth surface meets the harder metal of the rest of his face. “Yes Man, there is no way you could fuck me that well and not have me trying to jump your bones as soon as my body will physically allow me to.”

Yes Man’s frame erupts into laughter, unable to contain his full laughs at your words. “Boy, (Y/N), how did I manage to fall in love with such a dweeb? But also like, an alluring dweeb? You are a confusing little human, and God, do I love you, really I do.”

“I love you too, Yes Man.” You turn to press a kiss to the claw that had been resting on your shoulder. “And you love me because I’m the only one who can match your energy in the prestigious field of alluring dweebism, as it’s known professionally.” Your hand reaches up to playfully spin the little circular antenna on his head.

Yes Man snorts at your nonsense. “Hey, don’t spin me. I’m not your top.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

Once again, his laughter fills the air like an electronic melody. “Well, you got me there.” An uncertain silence falls over the room for a moment, him standing next to your boneless-feeling body on the bed, as if unsure where you want him to be after the change in your dynamic tonight. Before he can question himself, you speak first.

“Hey. Stay with me? I know you probably can’t actually lay on the bed without it breaking, but I’d love it if you stayed by me for a bit. I wanna be close to you.”

Yes Man lets out a soft mechanical sigh, looking so contented and loving that you feel butterflies again. “Of course I will. Anything for you, my darling.” As if to show an act of reassurance, he engages his brake and settles down in his frame, chassis pressed up against the edge of the bed right near your face, claw held comfortingly against your cheek. You never would’ve expected a metal Securitron claw to feel as tender as it did right now, but here you are, wanting nothing more than his robotic touch as you drift off into sleep from exhaustion. Yes Man has your back, now and forever, and not only that, but he loves you more than words can say, and the feeling is mutual. The mix of his protective presence and these thoughts is enough to lull you into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Author’s Notes: benny in hell watching you fuck yes man: ?!?!?! djdjfkd anyways i listened to a lotta hozier while writing this and have no idea if it will appeal to anyone except me. but if you did enjoy then i’m glad to hear it! this was the first fanfic i’ve written in years and also the first smut i’ve ever written and i’m pretty satisfied with how it turned out :D thanks for reading!

#yes man x reader #yes man x courier #yes man #yes man fnv #yes man fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #reader insert #smut #will courier ever get to see yes man’s ever-growing collection of pre-war smut books? who’s to say #hopefully this is all formatted correctly i’ve never posted fanfic on tumblr #but figured it’d be a good idea to cross-post for those who prefer to read on tumblr #i’m probably just gonna drop my two (2) fics that i’ve written and then run away and disappear for 20 years #so. slay i suppose #my fics

77 notes · View notes

yesmansyesman · 21 days

Text

Fanfiction added (Yes Man x Reader)

AN UNUSUAL NEW UPDATE

[ Includes ]

Wireplay (Sort of?)

Filthy, filthy smut

Dub con (I guess?)

Really, really enthusiastic con the immediate next line

Overstimulation

Robophilia

[ Read at your own discretion! ]

[ Heavily inspired by this AO3 Fanfiction]

It was a relatively slow day at the Lucky 38. Well, as slow as things can be around here. You’d sent Yes Man out on a small quest on your behalf; getting rid of some remaining Caeser’s Legion members hiding out in Freeside.

It wouldn’t be even remotely challenging for the both of you, especially compared to the other things you’d fought in the wasteland. Compared to an army of charging Deathclaws, a couple of Rome cosplayers were trivially easy to deal with. So, you sent Yes Man out by himself. It would simply be more efficient.

Quest completed

PICKING OFF STRAGGLERS

Ah, speak of the devil.

Almost like clockwork, the doors to the Lucky 38 swung open, a blood-soaked Yes Man entering the building. Needless to say from his now crimson chassis, the mission was a success.

“Hello Courier! I’m glad to say the last few members of Caeser’s Legion have been properly dealt with!”

“I could tell. You might want to clean yourself off, bud. Dried blood doesn’t come out too easily.”

Yes Man inspected his dark red chassis, examining his arms, coated in dried blood.

“That sounds like a great idea!”

Yes Man began to make his way to a backroom in the Lucky 38, when he suddenly paused, and turned to face you.

“Oh, I almost forgot! On the way, I also paid a visit to Mick & Ralph’s!”

A hidden compartment revealed itself on Yes Man’s chassis with a satisfying hiss and click, as he reached inside, unveiling a slightly rusted holodisk. It looked fairly normal on the outside, only with a small label plastered on; ‘From, Ralph’.

“A man in a Buffalo Check shirt gave me this; he told me he’d ‘heard about how things turned out for you’ and asked me to help him deliver this! I’m not sure what it does, but boy, does it sound interesting!”

“Interesting, indeed. I’ll have Raul take a look at this.”

“That sounds like a great idea! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be thoroughly scrubbed down! Really, really thoroughly!”

Quest added

TALK TO RAUL

“Hey boss, how can I help ya?”

You passed over the holodisk, placing it gently on his desk.

“Could you help me take a look at this?”

“Sure thing. I’ll see what I can do.”

He delicately picked up the holodisk, examining it closely. Inspecting the label, still on the device.

“Ah, from Mick & Ralph’s, I see.”

Raul lightly dusted the holodisk, before loading it into the personal terminal located on his desk. With a few swift clicks on his keyboard, the screen lit up, green text rapidly loading onto the display. He read the gibberish on the screen carefully, like it was a language only he could understand.

“Luckily for me, it ain’t some kind of malware.”

“Then, what is it?”

“It looks like some package of code intended for Securitrons. It’s not even anything major by the looks of it, just changes up some button inputs.”

Raul scrolled through the brief paragraph of code, discovering more text, this time actually understandable, product information, it seemed. Raul read through it thoroughly, scoffing when he finished. He rotated the terminal, facing the CRT monitor towards you.

“Boss, they wrote down what this thing does right here. Come and take a look, I think you’ll be… interested.”

Quest completed

TALK TO RAUL

Quest added

READ THE FOOTNOTES

Quest completed

READ THE FOOTNOTES

Quest added

INSTALL THE DISK

“Courier, are you sure about this?”

“Yes Man, I promise you; this holodisk won’t affect your personality in any way, and if you feel otherwise, you can always tell me to stop. You had that personality upgrade installed for a reason, right?”

“I-I’m not telling you to stop! I just sure hope you know what you’re doing, because you aren’t, this Securitron body may self-destruct! And that would be bad, really bad.”

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

You carefully installed the holodisk. Yes Man’s, unlike other Securitrons, circuits were haphazardly placed all over the inside of his chassis. Whatever Benny did to him, he sure did it messily. Eventually, however, after working through piles of unsorted wires and mismatched machinery, the disk was installed. With a brief system reboot, Yes Man had been successfully updated.

Quest completely

INSTALL THE DISK

Quest added

UPGRADE PLAYTEST

“Hm, that’s odd. I don’t feel any different. Or explosive. Well, that’s a good sign!”

“Not so fast, Yes Man. There’s still one more thing I need to do. I need to see if the upgrade works as intended.” “Sounds interesting! How may I help you with that?”

“Don’t worry, just stand still. You’ll find out what that holodisk does very, very soon.”

Gently, you lead your hand towards Yes Man’s keypad. You deftly place a finger on a key, pressing it before he had a chance to react.

“O-oh!”

“How was it?”

“D-do that again…please?”

“Sure thing, big guy.”

Click!

“A-ah!”

Click!

“Ngh-!”

Click!

“M-mph!”

Yes Man was losing his composure more and more with each deft click, his antenna spinning rapidly and a cool layer of condensation forming on his display. Of course, how could he have forgotten, Mick & Ralph’s had experience working on robots before with Fisto, didn’t they? Of course their idea of an upgrade would be… this.

Not that he was complaining, though.

“W-wow! That feels really, really good…”

You carelessly push a few buttons all at once.

“H-Hah-!”

There you go, just let me hear those beautiful noises.

“O-oh! S-six!”

You decide to go all in, discarding any resemblance of self-control. Using and holding as many keys as your fingers could reach.

“O-oh my-y-!”

“Having fun, bud?”

“I-I love you I love you I love you-!”

"I'll take that as a yes."

Yes Man’s vocal processor was being pushed to its limits, the audio scratched and staticy as Yes Man wore his metaphorical throat out singing moans of pleasure, screaming to the heavens above. His display was drenched in condensation as water droplets visibly dripped down his chassis. The tornado-like buzz of cooling fans were the only other audible noise amongst the squeals of pure ecstasy.

“Y-you’re my everything-g-g-g-!”

“Glad to hear it. You ready?”

“P-p-please!” Silly boy, his processors were already turning into melted plastic from the overstimulation.

“I’ll just press one more button, alright?”

“P-please please please please-!”

Click!

Quest completed

UPGRADE PLAYTEST

Quest added

CRASH LANDING

Quest completed

CRASH LANDING

“Yes Man? You there, bud?”

“W-what?”

“Oh thank god, you’re still alive.”

“Oh, hello Courier!”

Yes Man scanned his surroundings, having woken up on the floor of Raul’s workshop. His circuits were exposed, connected by several multi-coloured wires to a terminal being manned by the mechanic himself. He must’ve crashed.

“Luckily for you, your main circuits aren’t badly damaged. You just blew a few fuses.”

“Wow! That was… sure some upgrade!”

“Some upgrade, indeed.”

You deftly place a hand on his keypad, with a touch so feathery light that it didn’t manage to push down on any of the keys, but merely tease him with the warmth radiating for your hand. A sensation he could barely even feel, but felt so, so good.

“So, how about a round two?”

“Y-yes please!”

Raul scoffs, turning off his terminal and unplugging the several cords connected to it. He lifts himself out of his chair with a grunt, and makes his way to the door.

“I’ll let you two do your thing then, boss.”

Quest added

JUST A FEW MORE ROUNDS

95 notes · View notes

sable-the-zemblanist · 14 days

Text

Yes Man took Sable saying she needed a “Pick-me-up” literally. <3 He crushing her :3 She’ll never admit she kind of likes it… or will she?

#Yes man #yes man fnv #courier oc #courier 6 x yes man #Sable the Gofer #my art #fallout new Vegas #fnv

27 notes · View notes

ruby-static · 11 months

Text

I’ve got a bunch of assorted Courier Riley doodles I’ve had stockpiled- I can’t stop drawing this dude lately, so you know I’m gonna make it everyone’s problem.

(FT. an extra doodle of Buddy because I don’t draw him nearly enough.)

141 notes · View notes

supercoolsuperqueer · 10 days

Text

fucking freaks....... god...

^ Real Carson Radrat Reaction ^

#i am a rabid animal #carson radrat #fnv oc #courier 6 #courier oc #fallout oc #oc/canon #yes man #fnv yes man #yes man fnv #yes man fallout #fallout new vegas #self ship #self ship art #self x canon #oc x canon #oc carson radrat #cringe culture is dead and i can do whatever i want forever #oc: radrat

27 notes · View notes

jasonslovesick · 3 months

Text

Fallout 4 kid goes to New Vegas and looses his mind over robot !!

This is my courier 6, Jason (self-insert to the max, I am free)

Jaw fucked up from Benny but still craves that human meat(left Mr. House immediately when he said no to white glove-eating people)

He uses a rebreather all the time cause of the dust and his 'slight' head wound (also helps him lower his voice cause he's TRANSGENDER! he/him)

(Writing)

Jason

-Can't see (the sun is way too bright)

-Too hot (why the hell is he in the desert again?)

-Deranged cannical lunitic

Yes Man

-Confused yet intrigued

-Kinda manipulative (the whole "I need you to like me" thang)

-along for the ride

34 notes · View notes

qbdatabase · 8 months

Note

are there any recs for books with queer cowboys?

YES YES YES I am SO hype about queer westerns! some of these feature soldiers, rangers, and outlaws versus strictly cowboys, and some are male x nonbinary pairings, with a few bonus lesbian recs

Classic Westerns

(M/NB) River of Teeth by Sarah Gailey (alt-history)

(M/NB) Days Without End by Sebastian Barry (former soldiers)

(M/M) Child in the Valley by Gordy Sauer (outlaws)

The Power of the Dog by Thomas Savage (closeted gay male, LOTS of period typical homophobia)

All God's Children by Aaron Gwyn

(F/F) Wildflower Words by Sam Ledel (mail order bride mix up)

(F/F) The Boss's Daughter by J. T. Marie (butch lesbian posing as a male cowboy for social acceptance)

(F/F) The Oregon Series by Jae (same as above, but the butch can be read as a transgender man)

Contemporary Romance

(F/F) Prize Money by Celeste Castro (rodeo bullfighters)

(M/M) Forget Me Not by Felice Stevens

(M/M) His Fresh Start Cowboy by A. M. Arthur

(M/M) His Reluctant Cowboy by A. D. Ellis

Fantasy/Sci-Fi/Paranormal

(M/M) Wake of Vultures by Lila Bowen (rangers)

(M/M) A Book of Tongues by Gemma Files (outlaws)

Breaker by Amy Campbell (outlaws)

(M/M) The Nightland Express by J. M. Lee (postal couriers)

full notes on representation and publishing info at qbdatabase.com

#gay cowboys #gay #mlm #cowboys #western #wild west #cowboycore #lgbtqia #bookblr #queer books #book recs #ask #anon #answered

618 notes · View notes

dotieeee · 4 months

Text

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 6

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 6 Warnings:

Some noncon touching and canoodling (no spoilers)

Replay Level 5

Ready? Level 6 Start:

A knock on the ornate door reverberates inside the empty lab, giving you a tiny jolt in your chair. This must be him, coming over to ‘collect you.’

Like the Grim Reaper who’s come take your soul.

Or maybe it isn’t him. After all, the door isn’t locked, and he’s used to visiting by now to know he can just come in after a knock or two. You get up to open the door, willing your hands to stop shaking so he doesn’t see that you’re fazed by his mere presence.

How are going to win this if you start crumbling like a stale cookie whenever he’s around?

You yank the door open, expecting the Devil himself disguised in slick platinum-blond hair and a finely tailored suit, but instead, you get a man in a hat and a courier’s uniform.

“Ms Prunella Innis?” He inquires.

“Yes?”

He hands you a clipboard for you to sign and picks up this enormous white box wrapped in a satin crimson bow lying by his feet. He also hands you the bouquet he’s cradling, then strides past you to deposit the box on the nearest table. Judging by the red roses in the bundle of blooms, you know who sent you everything without even asking.

Coriolanus Snow never does subtle.

You thank the courier as he exits the lab, tipping his hat in response as he does. Gingerly, you prod the box with a finger, thinking maybe anything could come flying out of the box and rip your face out. It doesn’t move, so maybe the thing inside is dead and he just sent it for the funsies. You brace yourself as you unravel the bow, eager to just get it over with. You lift the lid and a subtle waft of roses greets you.

You gasp when you discover that the contents of the box are nowhere near what you’d been expecting.

They’re actually much worse.

Inside the box are three smaller boxes, all wrapped in red satin ribbons, placed on top of what looks like fancy crepe paper. A card lies atop the tiniest of the boxes with handwriting you can recognise from a mile away.

To my Sugarplum,

Wear this tonight. A car will pick you up from the Corso III entrance at six. We will talk about your response to my request then,

Your Coryo

The box underneath the note reveals a heart-shaped ruby necklace with a fine white gold chain, similar to the chain of that plum-coloured diamond he gave you. In the confines of the second box lies a small black silk clutch, embellished in minuscule silver beads, and embroidered with fine-spun silver, making up a pattern resembling roses. The third box contains a pair of single-strap black satin high-heeled pumps. Underneath those boxes, covered in what you originally thought was just wrapping paper, is a floor-length slip dress made of silk in the loveliest shade of crimson. Based on the superb craftsmanship of the dress alone, you can tell that it isn’t something one can buy off-the-rack. Tailor-made by Coriolanus Snow’s choice of tailor shop, judging by the logo sticker sealing the crepe wrapping paper together.

There was one time these extravagant gifts would’ve sent you in a grateful, ecstatic mood.

That feels like forever ago, now.

At the moment, your gut just stirs in discomfort, looking at this luxurious mess.

Your trepidation only mounts as you watch the clock trudge slowly from day to night. By four, you get home and prepare for the inevitable. You try not to be surprised with the way the dress hugs your figure perfectly, because then that would mean he somehow got lucky with eyeballing your dress size, or that he got ahold of your measurements through questionable means. By five-thirty, the girl in your mirror is barely recognizable – a girl you’ve never seen before, put together on the outside and nearly falling apart at the seams on the inside.

It certainly doesn’t help that the near-nauseating scent of roses still emanates from the dress you’re wearing.

The reflection staring back at you seems to mock you, telling you this is your life now, all preened up at the behest of a stranger whose pastime is pushing other people under his thumbs. Oh well. You’ll get out of this invasive mask soon, you assure yourself.

The driver who’s expecting you right at your building’s entrance wordlessly opens the car door for you. An Avox, you recognise – a product of one of the Capitol’s many sophisticated ways of punishing dissent. Because sometimes death by hanging takes the rebels out of their misery too quickly, so one brilliant mind in the Capitol one day had this brilliant idea of cutting people’s tongues off and shunning them into the lowest wrung of society so they could live a life of servitude, not subjecting anyone else to their worthless, wayward opinions.

And of course, everyone else agreed with how fucking brilliant an idea it was.

Would you have preferred Sejanus be sentenced this way and still have him alive instead of dead? You banish the thought as quickly as it had come – too morbid, even by your standards. Besides, there was no way the Capitol could’ve shut him up, even without his tongue. He still would’ve fought tooth and nail for the change he wanted to see in the world.

Ten minutes to six and you’re already pulling up to the entrance of what looks like The Palisades Hotel, the grandest luxury five-star hotel in all of Panem. There are many other cars already milling at the entrance, with small crowds forming to presumably greet each other. The Chauffeur opens your car door, and immediately after stepping out of the rental car, you spot the very man responsible for you being here instead of at home, guzzling hot chocolate and stuffing your face with angel food cake.

Coriolanus Snow seems to be engaged in a lighthearted conversation with a group of older men in flashy tuxedos you only vaguely recognise by face, but his attention shifts the moment he sees you emerge from the car. You could see him mouth ‘see you inside’ to them as one of them shakes his hand vigorously. His piercing blue eyes scan your frame a few feet away, his lilting grin never vanishing from his face as he approaches you.

He seems to have lured you into some kind of party under false pretences.

He looks flawless, as he always does: his platinum-blond locks combed back, his sleek crimson tuxedo matching yours, and a signature white rose pinned to his lapel; no wonder he almost fooled you – that blinding charm he has always allowed him to hide something sinister underneath.

You could feel your pulse race with every step he takes in your direction. It takes you a fraction of a second to realise he’s holding out his hand, which you tentatively accept. He never breaks eye contact with you as he brushes his lips over the back of your hand.

You might’ve yanked your hand away a little too fast for his liking, for you see his eyes flash danger before shifting to his usual semblance of warmth.

He leans into your ear and whispers, “Sugarplum, you are a sight to behold.”

You put on the best realistic smile you can muster. “Thank you. And thank you for the dress and...everything else.”

You stay frozen to your spot as he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, his fingers briefly brushing against your cheek. “There. Perfect,” he says. “And there’s no need to thank me. I like spoiling my sugarplum with only the best.”

But despite the rather depressing outlook you had coming here, there’s a glimmer of hope you see as an idea strikes you. Maybe you can get out of this early, after all.

“Coryo, Uncle Cas agreed,” you tell him at once. And then make up an excuse and bolt. Anything to get out of here and away from him. “He’s willing to transfer my apprenticeship.”

Coriolanus beams in delight at the news, his eyes twinkling as he takes the initiative to wrap your arm around his. “I’m so happy to hear that, sugarplum. The highlight of my night. Let me take you inside; a lot of people are dying to see you.”

Before you can complain, however, he all but steers you inside the lobby and to the entrance of the Palisades’ grand hall.

“Where exactly are we going, Coryo?” you ask. He never said anything about other people, but maybe they could come in handy in case you need to duck and make a run for it.

He releases a short sigh, looking apologetic and slowing his pace. “I may have forgotten to tell you that we’d be attending Mr Plinth’s birthday party tonight. I’m sorry, sugarplum, I’ve been meaning to invite you in person, but I’ve been so busy lately it slipped my mind.”

Your hand makes its way to your mouth as you gasp. “But haven’t brought him a gift…”

He is quick to dismiss your concern as he waves to someone exiting the hall. “It’s okay. I wrote both our names on the card on my gift.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, as the massive gold-painted doors open to a grand hall lined with marble and gold, revealing a crowd of people already chatting and enjoying the booze over a full orchestra playing at the corner of the stage. You could feel the blood drain from your face as a sea of curious, ogling eyes trails on you both entering the grand hall, but you power through and smile – there’s no escaping now, at this point.

“I’m simply taking responsibility,” Coriolanus responds in a teasing tone. “Would you rather have come here without a gift?”

You look up at him while you cling onto his arm for some support. He looks every bit at home with all the attention – so undeniably different from the eighteen-year-old Academy Coriolanus fidgeting with his collar all those years ago on the day of the Reaping.

You wonder inwardly if that’s the only thing in him that’s changed, while everything else that’s rotten in him had always been there, if not amplified.

“I guess not,” you acquiesce. “Thank you. Please let me know how I can pay you back.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll think of something,” he says with a lopsided grin.

Coriolanus’s arm veers you to Mr and Ma Plinth, who are both entertaining guests. You give Mr Plinth your well-wishes for his birthday and get a motherly hug from Ma, who gushes over how ‘you look every bit like a princess.’

“My sons sure have excellent taste,” she tells Coriolanus with a wink, earning a hearty laugh from him before she pulls him into an affectionate embrace.

The dress. She’s referring to the dress for sure.

But just when you think you’re finally free to just face the farthest corner and disassociate, his arm wraps around your waist and leads you away to meet other people. People you’d rather not associate with.

The horror.

But as usual, you paint on the demurest of smiles, trying not to be fazed by the flashing of cameras in the hall. The party is apparently heavily covered by the media, so Coriolanus does his best to mesmerise everyone with his wit, his looks and his charisma, while you play the role of the dolled-up, docile arm décor, beaming and chiming in only when spoken to.

It’s nothing short of demeaning, but you’re here to play his game, and losing isn’t an option.

Coriolanus proudly introduces you to everyone you meet as his official gamemaker apprentice, much to their admiration. A lot of them, powerful, important heads in the Capitol and their children, some of whom you know by face at the University. Most of them, unfamiliar faces, but they feel the need to give you unsolicited advice – somewhere along the lines of being seen more among peers of the same societal status.

“How come we don’t see you out that often?”

“You’re so pretty, you should go out more and have fun!”

“Nellie, we usually hang out at this bar, it’s super exclusive, you should come with us sometime.”

The same thing, over and over, and you just go along, nodding or shaking your head and laughing whenever a joke is told, crack a few yourself, exchange toasts over minuscule sips of booze, and tell them through gritted teeth that you’ll see them around, only to be snatched away again by the waist by Coriolanus and be brought over to another clique. Your Uncle Cas would be laughing his ass off at you if he could see you right now.

The cycle goes on, and you find yourself getting better at it with practice. Just like a loop, repeating a set of code for x number of times, automating repetitive, boring tasks on a computer application.

The only problem with loop conditions: when poorly written, can lead to infinite loops, which can cause the application’s unresponsiveness.

You vaguely wonder how long this loop is conditioned to last.

A guy you’ve seen in one of your classes approaches you and strikes up a conversation, just when Coriolanus is looking away, his hand slack on your waist as he speaks with a Mr Rutherford.

“I read your paper on the application of artificial intelligence in automating retina-scanning and other security measures,” he says, adding for clarification when you flash him a questioning look, “It’s in the library, along with your other research papers. It’s so well put together.”

He holds out his hand as he introduces himself as Ovidius Browne, the youngest of three sons of business magnate Octavius Browne. The Brownes own a number of factories in District 6. You shake his outstretched hand. He reveals himself to be in his junior year in computer engineering, a career he decided to take to help improve their company’s factory conditions. He wonders if such levels of automation would be possible in basic manufacturing tasks like quality inspection and inventory scanning without taking jobs away or being too invasive to factory workers. It’s a terrific concept, you say, and you get so pumped with exchanging ideas that you forget to put up your facade and instead engage wholeheartedly, at least until a cold hand travels from the back of your neck down to your spine, settling on the small of your back and tracing circles with a finger.

“Browne, is it?” Coriolanus Snow’s baritone chips in.

You introduce them formally and they exchange a brief and polite handshake.

“I’d like to discuss more of that with you Ms Innis,” Ovidius says. “If we could perhaps exchange numbers – ”

“Of course, we’d love to chat, Mr Browne. I can give Nellie your office number and she’ll get in touch,” Coriolanus interrupts genially. His fingers are still drumming over your back as he continues, “Apologies, I have to take my apprentice away; there is someone I’d like her to meet.”

He grips your waist to pull you away without waiting for a response from either of you.

You shoot him a confused look. “Coryo, he was just – ”

“About to ask you to put in a good word on his behalf to your uncle? Yes, he was.” He says with an eyebrow raised in disapproval.

“But we were just talking about...tech stuff. Are you sure?”

The conversation you had with him didn’t seem like it’ll branch off into that territory.

He nods once. “A little bird may have chirped to me about a certain Browne sibling’s internship application getting rejected twice by the Dean of Computer Sciences. It’s like you said before, sugarplum: just another one of those sycophants complimenting you in exchange for something.”

How much inside information does he have stockpiled on other people? Maybe he keeps them stashed in his closet labelled ‘in case of emergency, break glass.’

Just when you thought you could talk to someone about something you’re genuinely interested in for once this night.

You’re recognised by a surprisingly pleasant, popular senior and it-girl from your college, Ursa Talbot – daughter of Labor Solicitor Ursinus Talbot – who ropes you in with her gaggle of girlfriends, chatting to you about the exclusive, invite-only social clubs she’s joined and offers to vouch for you.

Ursa’s fiancé, a fresh graduate now working for her father, joins in the conversation, rolling his eyes as the women around him start giggling and making suppressed squealing noises at someone behind you. Before you turn around to see who it is, you feel a gentle squeeze on the waist.

“Ladies, my apologies, but I’d have to take my apprentice away,” he declares with a wink, and they swoon and blush behind their hands. “I hope you enjoy the night. Nellie?”

“Yes?”

Like you’re programmed to do, you look at Coriolanus with a cheerful smile and let him haul you off.

He tells you something you don’t quite catch. With the music now reaching its climax and the chatter getting livelier, it becomes hard to hear anyone, so you have no choice but to lean closer to him to make out what he’s saying. He takes this further and tugs you close to his chest by the waist. The proximity makes you inadvertently place a hand on the lapel of his waistcoat, while he whispers to the side of your face close to your ear, “I said I’m going to introduce you to Dr Volumnia Gaul.”

You peer to your side, to where he’s eyeing, and true enough, Dr Gaul herself was there, wearing a purple and gold brocade dress cascading to the floor and leather gloves to match, her straggly, greying hair adding to her distinct look. She’s chatting away with an animated Strabo Plinth holding a dainty drink in one hand and a beetle-shaped clutch in the other.

Even in something as completely innocent and normal as a birthday party, she still stands out against the crowd as a formidable presence.

She’s what you think Coriolanus is trying to be, except for the speaking-in-riddles-and-rhymes part. Wouldn’t it be funny, a snide voice in your head says, if Coriolanus one day just starts saying ‘hippity-hoppity?’

The thought is enough is cheer you up a little bit.

Volumnia Gaul’s mismatched eyes roam over the two of you as you near her spot.

“Dr Gaul, it’s a pleasure to see you tonight. I’m glad you could join us,” he says with a tip of his head. “I know we mustn’t talk of work, but I’m sure you’ll be happy to know I have secured myself the apprentice of my dreams.”

“Mr Snow, what delightful news you bring me,” she drawls toothily. “Oh my, oh my. Prunella Innis!”

Her unnerving gaze lands on you, her gloved fingers lifting your chin as if to get a better look.

Just smile, dammit.

“The apple of young Snow’s eye. I was wondering when we’d get to meet. Finally putting a pretty face to your name is such a treat!” She releases a pleased, throaty chuckle.

You try to keep your voice as steady as you can. “Pleasure to be of your acquaintance, Dr Gaul.”

The grin she has from ear to ear does not extend to her eyes. “Clever little girl, this. I can see why...” she trails off, then flicks an odd, knowing stare at your friend. “Keep your eagle eye on this one, Mr Snow; you wouldn’t want her flying away with her teensy-weensy wings...”

Seeing as this friendly, albeit bizarre banter isn’t in your list of programmed interactions, you settle for the automated smile, careful not to let it falter.

“Of course, Dr Gaul. I’m not planning on letting her go anytime soon,” he responds just as playfully.

Thankfully, the exchange ends there, as you’re both called by party ushers to your table where the Plinth couple are sitting. Odd sitting at the table for what seems to be family and close friends only, but you keep your thoughts to yourself while the ceremony begins. The night goes on with well-wishing speeches from the Plinth senior’s closest friends and colleagues. Then, the dinner courses are served right after an honorary toast for the celebrant. Everything brought to the table by the servers looks expensive and sumptuous – all a grand display of opulence that is the seemingly infinite Plinth fortune.

And yet you find yourself only able to nibble at the food, having your appetite diminished by the stress of interacting with so many people in just less than two hours.

“You’ve barely eaten anything,” Coriolanus’s voice floats from beside you. His eyes are laced with worry as he asks, “Can I get you anything you’d like?”

Plus, having to deal with him dragging you from one place to another.

You shake your head once and assure him you’re fine. You partake of the food a little more when the dessert course comes around, much to his approval.

“I’d hate to see my sugarplum getting sick,” he says as he watches you eat a tiny forkful of birthday cake.

This you ignore in favour of savouring the cake’s decadent caramel frosting and rich custard filling, balanced with an airy lemon-and-orange-flower chiffon base. You figure if you can’t have fun tonight, the least you can do is enjoy the cake.

With the food out the way, more booze comes flowing, and it isn’t long before the orchestra plays a lively tune, and the dance floor gets filled with delighted, slightly inebriated guests waltzing and tapping to the beat, and while Strabo doesn’t join in, he and Ma both look thrilled to see everyone in high spirits, before they’re pulled separately into light chit-chat by their friends.

If Sejanus was here now, you’d both be sulking together in a corner of the grand hall sharing what would’ve been your third slice of cake, arguing over who gets the side with more frosting.

You take advantage of this moment to extricate yourself from everyone – mostly Coriolanus and his imposing presence – and excuse yourself to the powder room. Locking yourself inside a bathroom stall, you let out a drawn-out exhale of absolute relief.

Alone, finally.

You gaze wistfully at the bathroom window to your left. It’s too high for your reach, but you figure you could use one of the large potted plants as a booster and get as far away from this place as you possibly can, even if you had to go on foot.

Groaning to yourself, you stew in the fact that this freedom of yours from your deviously charming companion is short-lived. He’d soon be wondering where you’d gone, and he’d likely tear the place down just so he could find you. You doubt he’d appreciate it if he hears that you’ve locked yourself in a bathroom stall plotting your escape.

The dancing is on full blast as you step back into the grand hall. You make yourself as inconspicuous as you can, strategically darting between people to reach the open bar. You choose a bar stool that conceals you from everyone in the room and order a drink on impulse. The bartender is kind enough to humour your request for an alcohol-free concoction, which he serves with maraschino cherries on a toothpick.

“Rough night?” he asks as he wipes a glass, smiling sympathetically at you. With his greying hair and the lines on the corner of his eyes, he seems to be wearier than you are, probably from having to be at the beck and call of thirsty, snotty Capitol High Society all night.

“Very,” you sigh. “I hope it isn’t as rough as yours.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” he shakes his head with a chortle. “I had a lady just a few clicks ago demand I make the same drink four times because she wanted a Cosmo without the cranberry juice and the lime. Coulda just ordered a shot of vodka and Cointreau, but what do I know...”

You let out a suppressed, dry laugh. “I’m sorry you to had deal with that. Thanks for the drink, it’s delicious.”

“Eh. It’s nothin',’” he shrugs. A server enters behind the bar and whispers something to him, and he promptly takes his apron off and exits, but not before bidding you a good night. He is replaced by someone younger and more stern-looking, who resumes the abandoned task of wiping the other glasses.

Just as you’re about to bite a cherry off the toothpick, a sudden waft of roses floats in your vicinity, followed by a cold hand on your lower back and an airy baritone whisper over your ear.

“I was afraid you had walked out on me.”

Coriolanus Snow’s lopsided grin is inches away from your face as he leans against the counter beside you, his eyes eventually landing on the drink you’re still halfway through finishing.

“Hmm. What would my sugarplum be drinking liquid courage for?”

You shake your head. “This is alcohol-free.”

“Good.” He straightens his posture to full height and, bending to a stiff, formal bow, he extends a hand and asks, “Prunella Innis, may I please have the honour of this dance?”

You hesitate, but knowing that every move you make is now under public scrutiny, saying no and leaving him out to dry isn’t an option.

He sweeps you away to the dance floor as soon as your fingers touch his.

With the orchestra blaring their lovely rendition of Strauss II’s Voices of Spring, you both begin swaying lightly as you place your palms on his shoulder while his hands encase both sides of your waist.

Coriolanus beams down on you as his cobalt eyes search your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice mixed with a tiny tinge of concern. “I really hope I haven’t overwhelmed you, I know you never liked these kinds of parties.”

Your lips thin to a wry smile. “It’s a change of scenery, alright,” you admit. “What about you? You look like you’re having the time of your life.”

His eyes twinkle as he lets out a throaty chuckle. “That’s only because I brought good company with me.”

“Really? I thought this was your whole scene.”

“Well, if you keep going with me to the next ones, it might just be.”

His air of mischief continues even as the music ends and you join in applauding the musicians. When he doesn’t make a move to cart you off the dance floor, that’s when you figure out he isn’t done dancing with you just yet.

The orchestra begins their rendition of the Snowstorm waltz, so you both exchange a curtsy, as is the norm. With his hand clasping yours and his other hand on your waist, you begin to dance, spinning and waltzing to the beat. You’re aware you shouldn’t be making a big deal out of something as trivial as a dance, but you’re still unable to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might find. You settle for staring at his tux collar and concentrating on your footwork.

Thank goodness those etiquette classes in your early teens are proving to be worth your uncle’s money.

Soon enough, your surroundings become a blur, and all you can see is him, beaming down at you as you dip, then pulling you flush to his chest so he can spin with you some more. His gaze is heavy, feverish, never leaving your face. You see a split-second flash of the entire hall, which throws you further into a daze, discovering that eyes are trained on you both and most of the dancers have vacated the floor to give you room. The heady smell of roses, courtesy of the one pinned to his lapel, blurs your sense of reality, and you beg, you pray, that you don’t hurl what little food you ate and make a fool out of yourself. He angles his head in time to another dip and he whispers to ear in a low voice.

“You’re so intoxicatingly beautiful.”

Then he pulls you close again, your foreheads almost touching as he drinks all of you in with those half-lidded blue eyes. A few more trots on the floor and the waltz ends, and you curtsy as he bows, trying not to show just how lightheaded you are and how shallow your breathing is despite the dance itself being undemanding. The animated applause that follows echoes in the hall, and you join in mechanically.

Guests come milling in pairs to fill the dance floor once more just as the next waltz plays. Coriolanus entwines his fingers with yours.

“Come with me,” he says vaguely, and you both manoeuvre your way through the dancers and ignore some of the whispering and the staring that follows you as you exit the grand hall through the several ceiling-to-ceiling doors made of glass panels. He leads you down to the marble staircase and into the hotel’s expansive inner gardens.

“I figured you needed the fresh air,” he says as soon as you both reach a wall beside a well-manicured hedge, away from leering eyes and all the gossiping.

Your posture sags against the stone wall, letting out an exhausted exhale. “Thank you,” you say.

He just watches you wordlessly, his hands behind his back, as you compose yourself. When your head clears, you become aware that you’ve strayed a tad too far from the grand hall and are a little too alone with him than you’d prefer. Eventually, you straighten, your decision to go back to the party already made.

But Coriolanus is on you the moment you do.

“I want to show you something,” he says.

He gives you no time to complain, and he all but drags you by the arm further into a dimmer section of the garden, where you can barely hear the music and the chatter from the grand hall. A few more steps and you reach a large stone greenhouse covered wall-to-wall in creeping wisteria. Surprisingly, it’s unlocked, so he easily pushes the opaque glass door open and ushers you in first, with him following closely behind.

“The roses are to your far right.”

You hear the door’s dull click as it closes.

You shouldn’t be here, you think. But you get to the edge of the greenhouse, anyway, where the nearly overwhelming odour of a mishmash of different types of roses invades your nostrils. Despite the very little light coming through the opaque glass panels of the enclosure, you see the flowers sprawled in between a narrow path leading to the back of the building. Just more stone and glass panels, no doors.

No exits. No escape.

Your heart leaps to your throat when you feel a warm breath tickle the back of your neck and a pair of arms snake around your form. Tensing up in an instant, your breath hitches when that warmth reaches your ear.

Coriolanus’s deep, hushed tone sends shivers down your spine.

“I’ve been dying to have you all to myself the moment you stepped out of that car.”

In the blink of an eye, he turns you around and captures your lips with his.

It takes a while for you to realise what he’s doing, so he takes advantage of your momentary unresponsiveness and slips his tongue inside your mouth. As he’s moving his tongue all over yours, your back hits a hard surface. He’s pinned you against the stone wall, his body hunched over as he presses himself on yours, giving you no space to slip through or to push him away. His hand wraps around the side of your head to change the angle, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Coriolanus Snow is kissing you, passionately and possessively, and he kisses like he’s running out of breath and you’re his only source of air.

And all you could do in your state of denial, paralysis, and fear is to close your eyes and wish he was Sejanus instead.

When he shifts his angle, you tilt your head to the side so you can catch your breath. Perhaps he sees this as an act of defiance, for he cups both your cheeks with a growl, making you face him, and goes back to kissing you just as fiercely as before. This time, you instinctively keep your lips shut, but a light nip of his teeth leaves you gasping in surprise, enabling him to tangle both your tongues.

Your hands manage to wedge between your bodies, so you push him away with all the strength you have. As he reluctantly pulls away, he has the gall to look affronted, but you could’ve slapped him, too, or clawed his eyes out for putting you in such a vulnerable position; only reason prevents you from lashing out.

“I’m sorry, sugarplum. I’ve had quite the drink tonight,” he whispers breathlessly, resting his forehead on your temple.

Liar. You can barely smell anything alcohol-related on him; just the sickening scent of the flowers he’s partial to. This is all just a part of the game to him, to make you feel isolated and powerless against him. A play for power and control, and one he’s currently winning.

“We should go, Coryo.” You hate how close to begging your voice sounds. “Please, it’s a school day tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

Fuck.

Of all the excuses, that’s what you come up with?

He begins planting butterfly kisses on your temple and your cheek.

“Not for my uncle,” you scramble to correct yourself. “He often has Saturday classes and I sometimes help.”

“Skip it. You’re my apprentice now. Mine,” he says sternly. He seems to immediately amend his tone by asking, “I mean, doesn’t he have interns for that?”

Damn it.

“Yes, he does.”

You could feel him smirk against your cheek, seemingly counting this as a win. With you still effectively trapped in between the wall and his unrelenting embrace, he takes your chin with his forefinger and thumb to make you face him and latches his lips on yours.

His hand finds its way to your back, brushing against the groove of your spine. He then grips the back of your neck and turns your head to the side, allowing him to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, before moving down to the column of your neck.

You cave in and beg as soon as you feel his tongue on your skin.

“Coryo, please...please stop...”

It comes out as a broken whimper, making you hate yourself even more. The dread you felt when you opened his gift, the way you had to put on a mask that you hate for people you don’t care for, the way you had to pretend to him that you don’t despise how he kept making you feel so exposed and defenceless the entire night – everything you’ve been bottling up since this morning seemed to come spilling into that plea, rendering you to feel even more helpless and alone. It takes every ounce of self-control in you not to burst into tears.

You’re not supposed to act this pathetically in front of him, but here you are.

His grip on you grows slack and he draws his head back to observe you, his jaw clenched in disapproval. You don’t care; you try to wriggle away from him, your bodies still too close for your liking. You still refuse to meet his eyes, because if you do, he might see right through your crumbling facade.

He sighs and takes a full step backwards, finally giving you space to breathe in relief.

He still finds the nerve to let out a restrained chuckle. “I’m sorry, I let my emotions get the better of me. You’re right; this is neither the time nor the place.”

Neither the time nor the place. Does that mean he’ll do it again? At this point, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Can we go back? Please?”

He takes your hand in his with a nod. Stepping outside the greenhouse, you both stop in your tracks as you spot another couple nearby, seemingly trying to stay hidden in the bushes and in the middle of making out. It’s Ursa and her fiancé. They both pull away from each other and Ursa waves at you spiritedly while her partner looks away in embarrassment. She then drags him by the arm to the now-vacant greenhouse, both of them bursting into a giddy laughing fit.

Coriolanus just smirks at the sight. With him refusing to let your hand go, you continue your trek back to the grand hall, where the party is still in full swing, and the guests are still drinking and dancing the night away.

Your feet are sore, your lips are numb, and your soul is drained.

Yet you still put on a good final show until the party ends as if nothing happened. By eleven thirty, Mr and Ma Plinth instruct Coriolanus to call it a night and get some rest, but not before he escorts you home. Like the dutiful Plinth heir he is, he gladly obliges, and that’s how you wind up with the same car ride as he, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it through with a butter knife.

Coriolanus breaks the silence.

“I will have a car escort you from your home the Citadel starting Monday,” he says matter-of-factly. “As per Dr Gaul’s instructions, you will be excused from any summer class you’ve enrolled in.”

“But I took those classes for extra credit,” you protest mildly.

He encases your hand on your lap. “You will be granted full credits for all of them if we succeed. This is, after all, for the cause, not only of the Citadel nor of the Capitol, but of all of Panem.

“This Monday, sugarplum, is the dawn of a new era.”

You refuse point-blank to look at him or even acknowledge the comment, but judging by the excitement in his tone, despite everything he’s forced you to do this night, you already know he’s smiling and extremely pleased with himself.

After long agonising minutes, the car pulls up before the Corso III lobby entrance, so you bid him good night, which he returns with a swift peck on your cheek. You don’t even look back at the car once you get out; you run straight to the elevator, lock your apartment door and head to the safety of your bedroom.

Your first of two tasks as soon as you lock the door is to rid yourself of everything that reminds you of that accursed party – the dress, the shoes, the clutch, the necklace – and chuck them all into a corner where you hope you’d never see them again. You have a half-mind to shower to get rid of his smell on you, but you’re so tired to the bone you move on to the second and last task of the night:

Curl up in your blankets and cry your heart out.

Enter Level 7

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!

Next Level will include a portion of the ball in Snowball's POV!! I wanted it to be here but then it'll get too long so...🫣 also reader is going to have to work this incoming Monday lol and more sympathetic I cannot be, esp with Snowball observing 😛

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

142 notes · View notes

everydayyoulovemeless · 8 months

Text

Metallic Embrace ↠ Yes Man x Reader

➼ Word Count » 0.4k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Platonic/Romantic, Hurt/Comfort

Large metallic arms draped themselves around you, holding you firmly against his bright monitor. His un-faltering smile should’ve felt disingenuous, but at this moment, all you felt was his unending support.

You clung tighter to the box of a character. His positivity, while incredibly out of place most of the time, was a drastic contrast to the violent environment you found yourself caught in the middle of. There were times you wished that shot had killed you. Being dead had always been easier than being in the center of war, but as you relished in his familiarly strong embrace, you found yourself thankful to be alive.

The static that emitted from his bulkily stiff body brought solace to your shaking form, tears were threatening to spill out as you thought of everything you'd lost. You hadn't the slightest clue where you came from or if your family was even concerned about you, all you had at this very moment was Yes Man and his continuous, albeit required, support. You hadn't ever had anything like it, but to be fair, you only had memories ranging from a couple weeks back, so what did you really know? You were happy that you didn't find yourself alone at one of your lowest points in life so far, everything that had been building up finally crashing down, all for the bot to witness. At least he cared enough to try and ease the immense loss you felt.

It was different from what you'd usually imagine a hug to be. This one was cold and excessively solid, but in some ways, it was better than what you ever could've imagined getting from anyone else.

He pulled away suddenly, his positive features glowing down at you as he spoke, “You did great out there during the president's speech! I was really impressed with how you stood there in the crowd with everyone else! You oughta get some rest, though, wouldn't want to be tired on your big day!"

You nodded, a small smile finding its way onto your features as you looked up at the large machine. His claw-like hands wrapped a tattered blanket around your shoulders before he gently guided you toward the elevator.

"Thank you," you finally muttered, allowing him to lead you toward wherever.

“You’re welcome!” Yes, Man’s cherry tone rang throughout the empty casino, and for a moment you felt as if you hadn't lost anything, but rather gained. It was dumb of you to fall for a robot and you wondered if he was even capable of love, but nevertheless, you wanted to try.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #courier six #yes man x courier #yes man x reader #fnv yes man #yes man #yes man fnv #yes man fallout new vegas #fnv courier #courier 6 #fnv oneshot #yes man oneshot #fallout new vegas oneshot #hurt/comfort #fallout oneshot

78 notes · View notes

telvess · 17 days

Text

Pizza delivery girl

higuruma hiromi x reader fic, a bit of smut content (nothing extreme, only kissing, touching and inappropriate dialogues). 🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

wc: 3,390

Big thanks to my @teatreeoilll for correct spelling and supporting me the entire time. You're the best 💕 This fic would never have been written without you!

He doesn’t even like pizza.

And yet every time he has to do overtime in the dull room he calls an office, all while working cases and overwhelming his mind to the point where he just wants to see the bed, he finds himself thinking of you - the pizza delivery girl - and wondering if he should order another damn pizza. You slip to his mind unannounced once the tiredness takes over and his brain needs stimulation.

Higuruma Hiromi never took himself for a daydreamer, but here he is - imagining scenarios that will never happen with a woman he barely knows.

Ding dong!

Hiromi feels his co-workers' eyes on him when he gets up from his desk, their gazes follow him all the way to the door. As he walks there’s a new spring in his step. It's that time of day.

He opens the door and sees you, the woman who rules his irrational side. You smile at him, freckles clear on your fair skin.

“We meet again,” Hiromi welcomes you, looking at your peach colored hoodie with a print on it that he assumes is the cover of some band’s album.

“I’m starting to think that there’s hidden reason you order from the same place almost every day,” you point out with a smirk. Hiromi likes the way your voice changed over the last few meetings - how it became partly coy and… seductive.

“Well, I'm starting to wonder what are the odds that you're always the one who delivers my orders,” he bites back.

Your smile deepens and with slight shrug you mutter, “Touché.” You hand him over the pizza. “But don’t jump to conclusions. I’m just worried about you”— and your voice lowers to a whisper as you lean closer—“a little birdie told me you’re living here, Higuruma-san.”

Hiromi enjoys the softness in your voice, but for the love of God, don't use this tone when you say his name. You straighten up with a contented smile when you notice him swallow.

“You’re looking more tired every day,” you admit.

It’s not that you're innocent in all this.

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” As you nod the brown hair in your pigtail sways.

“You should take care of yourself before helping others.”

“Tough case,” he tries to shrug it off.

“Yeah, I heard.” Hiromi looks up to see genuine concern in your eyes. Before he can ask, you continue, “I read the papers. You did good job.”

Hiromi wants to say the case it’s far from over, but instead he decides not to; he accepts the compliment with a nod.

“Work goes better on a full stomach,” he says, raising the pizza box to light up the mood. You snort and bite your lower lip.

“Well I’m sure it could go even better if you relieved the pressure here and there.” You massage your shoulders and move them as if you were exhausted. You catch Hiromi a bit off guard with that.

“Well, I”—He rubs his hand over his two-day stubble—“Heh…” He smiles and can’t force himself to look you into eyes, feeling annoying heat spreading over his cheeks.

“No comeback, huh?” He hears you barely holding your laugher. Soon both of you laugh, more or less openly. For a moment Hiromi forgets he's at his office. The burden that weighed upon his mind lately suddenly becomes bearable.

“You know, I was wondering…” He scratches his cheek with a finger. His head is still full of doubts, but the timing feels so right that Hiromi gives in spontaneous impulse.

“About what?” you tilt your head.

“I—” “Excuse me, is this the defense attorney’s office?”

That’s not the right question.

For split of a second Hiromi doesn’t register the man appearing by your side. Then he notices a patch on the man's jacket with the symbol of the courier company.

“Yes, it is,” you say.

“Mr. Higuruma Hiromi?” The man asks and Hiromi confirms with a nod. His eyes are still on you, observing how you smile with what he hopes is some sort of disappointment. You shrug, then wave at him and finally turn away.

Hiromi watches over man’s shoulder how you go down the stairs. One last peek at your ass before the disappointment in his chest slowly builds up. He takes the package, closes the doors and comes back to his desk, too pensive to feel his co-worker's eyes on himself.

“Oh enough already!” Hiromi flinches at the woman's voice. It doesn’t happen often for her to be this angry, especially not at him and not about matters that aren’t work related.

“Why won’t you ask her out already?” She asks, crossing her hands over her chest.

If there’s one thing that Hiromi is grateful for, it’s definitely the ability to keep his cool in stressful situations. Professional habit.

“Why would I?” His voice is drier than when he was thanking the courier for his service.

His co-worker takes a deep breath, then asserts, “Because every time she turns her back you stare at her ass with those sad puppy eyes of yours.”

Is this how criminals feel when they speak to him through the glass windows in the visiting room? Because he definitely feels like one of them caught red-handed.

“There are no puppy eyes. And besides,” he pauses, lacking a counter-argument, “I don’t stare.” It takes one long skeptical gaze to break his façade. “Fine. But I wouldn’t call it staring.”

The co-worker raises her brows.

“Then how would you call it?”

“Admiring?” he mumbles, hoping she doesn’t hear it. His co-worker chuckles from behind her desk. He sighs as he looks at her, and puts the package and pizza box on his desk.

“I don’t think she would decline though.” It was naive of him to assume the conversation was over.

“Don't you have work to do?” He tries to separate himself from her by breaking the line of sight with a book. His tie starts to irritate him, but loosening it up means giving more opening to his co-worker so he lets it choke him.

He hears how her heels knock on the floor as she comes to his desk and lean over to reach the pizza box.

“It’s very unusual to see you like this. I’ve always thought you were a robot when it comes to your personal life,” she takes a piece of margarita.

Hiromi raises eyebrows. The book in his hands drops down.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs.

“You know… very, hmm… economical?”

“Nice save,” he mumbles.

Economical was the last word Hiromi would have used describing his personal life. Not after wasting so much money for a food he never eats.

“So, are you going to ask her out?”

“No,” he says but sounds very disappointed. Damn courier.

“Why not?” She frown.

“It’s complicated—”

“Rubbish! You could sell me that crap at the beginning when the both of you were acting like teenagers. Now”— she snorts—“you basically flirt like normal people do on the third date!” she waves her hands, as if trying to convince an invisible witness. “Except you never went out once and it seems that the two of you would rather die than change that…”

His co-worker takes a bite and looks at him, but this time Hiromi’s facade doesn’t break that easy. He only shrugs.

“Ugh! What’s the matter with you?” she snaps at him. “Have made it a mission to complicate everything in your life?”

“Guilty,” he admits without a blink. There’s no point in denying this. “And you can’t do anything about it. We aren’t at court.”

Hiromi watches as she chew in silence.

“You can have all of it.” He moves the box towards her.

“I know,” she answers. “It isn’t the pizza that’s on your mind.” She takes the box and walks back to her desk. Hiromi knows what she's about to say before she opens her mouth, “But with that attitude you never gonna taste that in your lifespan.”

How vulgar…

Hiromi sits on the couch in his dull living room, with a glass in one hand and a remote in another. He flips through channels, staring at the TV without a hint of interest. When exactly did he become the person who comes back to home and has absolutely no idea what to do with himself? Everything feels like an empty time filler at this point.

Click, click, click…

Hiromi maintains a fast pace, his eyes on the screen, but mind barely present. Drama show, reality talk, an okonomiyaki advertisment… “Our national pizza!” Says a lady with her mouth full. Not the best marketing gimmick, he thinks. But yeah… He could go for a pizza. Today someone has interrupted his little tête-à-tête with you, but maybe it isn’t too late to fix it?

Before he can think it through, his hand reaches for the phone and opens the food app on its own. The pizzeria you work at is marked with a star as the only one in his favorites. Hiromi chooses a margarita, pays in advance, and hopes that your boss has forced you to work overtime today.

And then… what remains to be done? Just wait. But this time sitting in his dull living room doesn’t feel awfully boring. Hiromi finally finds a comfortable spot on his couch. He leans back and puts his feet up on the table, feeling strangely relaxed. As if he has found the missing piece of the puzzle. The advertising marathon has finishes and he watches the beginning of unknown romantic comedy. A pleasant drowsiness slowly befuddles him…

Knock knock!

Oh? Is it already time?

Hiromi gets up from the couch, his body feels dizzy at first but with each step towards the doors it gets more and more tense. Dozens of thoughts run through his head as his hand reaches for the door handle. Will that be you? What should he say? He haven’t thought of any opening line… Now, that’s the lawyer everybody needs, right?

Very slowly he presses down onto the handle and opens the door.

“Hello, your pizza- Oh! Hi, Higuruma-san! What a surprise!” Your expression changes from weary to genuinely happy; Hiromi feels your smile deep in his chest. “So you don’t really live in your office, huh?” You try to take a peek over his shoulder.

“I have to come here from time to time. Otherwise they will start imposing rent at my workplace,” he answers, shrugging.

Your whole chest trembles as you laugh, you have the same hoodie you had afternoon with faces of some band on it. Hiromi catches himself at staring for too long at your chest. It draws your attention.

“Do you like this band?” you ask, pulling the hoodie to stretch the fabric, which reveals a bit of your neckline.

Hiromi finally raises his eyes to meet yours.

“I don’t know them,” he says honestly and, given the cheerfulness in your eyes, you seem to be content with this answer.

“Ah, I see,” you slowly nod. “That’s not what interested you.”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?”

He doesn’t feel too embarrassed when you smile like this at him. Maybe his sad puppy eyes come in handy…

“Now that I caught you red-handed I won’t feel bad telling you something like this -” You smirked, “Don’t be upset, but you don’t look like a guy who likes pizza.”

You would think, huh?

“That’s a bit judgmental,” Hiromi says with unusual sensitivity in his voice that immediately puts you in defensive mode.

“Oh, no! I’m sorry!” You raise your hand in apologetic gesture. “It’s just”—you eye him up and down—“I don’t know, I guess it’s the suit. It makes you look…”

“Pompous?” he slips watching you struggle to find the right word.

“No!” you quickly deny. Too quickly. “I mean… well, kinda.” You gave up.

“Ouch.”

Hiromi has never heard you giggle before, but he could definitely get used to it. He couldn’t explain the phenomenon that makes him seek for your reaction - any reactions, really - but the idea of closing the doors right now and not getting more out of you seemed awful.

“Do you ever take it off?” you ask pointing at his loosened tie and wrinkled dress shirt.

I could for you, he thinks to his own surprise.

“Well, I was waiting for the pizza,” he reminds.

“Right. Can’t collect your order in pyjamas.” And you laugh again, which causes a rush of heat in his belly and bellow. Cursed thoughts suddenly take him to very inappropriate places where you tell him about the band printed on your hoodie as you take it off. He wonders what color of bra you wear. The white one would suit you - in his modest opinion.

“You weren’t wrong though.” He breaks himself out of the trance. “I don’t like pizza." After all the orders he made for the past few weeks.

You blink at his words, definitely not as surprised as he thought you were going to be. In fact, your reaction tells him that you knew and have played along this entire time.

“Then why did you order so many of them?” you ask, a soft smile forming on your lips.

“I was ordering you,” he finds himself saying. The moment the first word left his lips, Hiromi felt in his guts it was a bad idea, but the rest of the sentence left his lips anyway, leaving sweet-sour flavor on the top of his tongue.

He watches your eyes widen for a second, and your lips part - then close - then open again as you try to say something back, but your mind can’t find the right words.

Well, this is it then…

A lonely “oh” slips quietly out of your mouth.

Oh?

“Well, you are my last stop today.” Your rosy cheeks rise up as you smile. “Why don’t you invite me in?”

For a moment the world stops.

“Are you sure?” The lower parts of Hiromi call him an idiot, but the lower parts have never been in charge. Biting his tongue wasn’t an option.

Sudden embarrassment takes over as you look sideways and as both of you wonder about the simple “should I or should I not?” You smile and Hiromi smiles as well.

“Do you think my boss can sue me once he finds out that I’ve made him lose a regular customer?” You break the silence. Hiromi watches at the corners of your lips twitch, then raises his eyes at yours.

“Why do you assume I won’t order any more pizza in the future?” You shrug.

“Why would you if you can just call me instead?”

“So you can have nice break at work,” he answers. This is enough to make you burst out laughing.

“I see you've thought everything through carefully.”

“I only try to keep you here as long as I can.”

You make a step towards him, standing on the threshold. Much, much, much closer than usually. Hiromi could smell your perfume, but he mostly focuses on the soft smile you give him.

“Well, can’t deny it isn’t working. Lemme in,” you whisper, fidgeting with the collar of his dress shirt as you speak.

Once Hiromi opens the doors wide for you to come in and you cross the threshold, letting the pizza box fall on the ground, making you giggle again. Hiromi presses you against the doors, his hands finally on your waists, fingers tightened to feel you under the fabric of hoodie.

You are the one who closes the gap between your lips. Your smell stupefies Hiromi as you kiss him without hesitation, shamelessly penetrating his mouth with your tongue. Your fingers slide right under his collar, slowly moving around his nape, tickling his skin and sending shivers down his spine. Hiromi feels dizzy from the excess of stimuli.

“Tell me about this band,” he says once you two break away to catch a breath.

“I know only one song…” you mutter, too focused on undoing buttons of his dress shirt to give the song name. “It was an accident. I spotted the hoodie on the sale. L—Liked the color. Later found out it’s them,” you babble.

The feeling of your fingers exploring his bare chest and belly is blend of disconcerting relief and irritation. He waited for this moment for so long that now, when he finally has you, the touch of fingers isn’t enough to meet his expectations.

You place a kiss on his chin but before you can reach higher, Hiromi’s mouth is on your neck. One hand wraps around your waists, pulling you closer to him, yet still not close enough in his opinion. He wishes he could absorb you. He wants to feel the heat coming from your skin and your heartbeat quickening.

The other hand finds your buttcheek and squeezes it hard. The moan that escapes your lips is like long-awaited music in his ear. Hiromi can’t help himself and bites your earlobe to get more reactions out of you. And when that stops being enough, he starts sucking your neck and giving you hickeys while his hands roam freely all over your body, finding their way under the hoodie.

Considering how your fingers have made big mess out of his haircut and how now they dig deep into his shoulders, he assumes he's doing a good job so far.

“These damn legs of yours,” he mumbles into your ear while lifting you up so you could wrap your legs around him.

Hiromi carries you to the couch where he takes off your hoodie together with the work uniform underneath it. Your sports bra is black, and nicely molds itself to your breasts. He can see your perky nipples through the fabric at which his erection grows larger.

You pull him towards you by tugging on his tie. Very soon your bra ends up on the floor as well when Hiromi places himself above you. The way he cups his hands around your breasts, squeezing your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, puts your dirty needs to another level.

“I’ve been waited for so long to feel them,” Hiromi whispers right before your face, a hair's length away from touching your lips. His voice is so quiet you have a problem hearing him. “You’re blushing,” he notices, making you look away and mutter an embarrassed “shatap”.

“Better hurry up and suck them,” you pout at him, you have hard time talking at this point, your throat dry and voice distorted by hoarseness.

Hiromi’s smirk gets bigger.

“It’s nice to know you want it as bad as I do,” he says before leaning over.

DING DONG.

Hiromi opens his eyes. At first he doesn’t even recognize his own apartment, the view from the couch is downright unrealistic. With his swollen eyes he looks for any sign of yours presence, because even if he knows you weren’t here, his mind doesn’t want to give up. Not yet. He can’t help it, his professional tendency to hope for the best and be ready for the worst speaks through him.

But the longer he stares at his empty apartment and the longer he can’t find any part of the clothes that he just took off of you, the more and more the disappointing reality seeps through his mind.

Ding dong…

Oh, right - the doorbell. He looks at the door, then at the bulge in his pants, sighing at the bitter unfinished business. What one pizza delivery girl can do to a man who doesn’t even like pizza…

He slowly gets up, massaging his sore nape that the couch header have gave him as he approaches the door. A doubtful thought on the back on his head whispers to him that he may see you behind it - with your high-tied ponytail, a hoodie and unearthly legs - and that his dream have been prelude to the main event.

Hiromi opens the door and sees the most average looking stranger.

Yeah, he thinks, taking the pizza and mumbling thanks, life isn’t that pretty, is it? He doesn't think about covering himself or even feel embarrassed about it. There’s just pure disappointed in his heart and an annoying tightness in his boxers.

He closes the door. What a shame it wasn’t you.

there is a possibility that a second part will be written. thanks for reading!

#jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk higuruma #jjk hiromi #jjk higuruma x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #higuruma x reader #hiromi higuruma

78 notes · View notes

spoonhead · 3 months

Text

so uhhh....

i meant to post this earlier but forgot, so here, take my wof x fnv courier oc, Primrose

like i've said, they're a night/rain hybrid with mind reading and weak foresight, along with a morbid obsession with Benny

her and Yes-Man are besties, because i love independent vegas 👍

#wings of fire #wof #wof x fnv #fallout new vegas #fnv #wof hybrid #wof oc #fallout oc #fnv courier #oc: primrose #courier 6 #spoonheads art

66 notes · View notes

yesmansyesman · 20 days

Text

Fanfiction added (Yes Man x Reader)

SURPRISE DELIVERY

[ Includes ]

Sending nudes (Bet you can guess to who)

Mentions of nudity

Yes Man practically going insane (In a good way)

[ Read at your own discretion! ]

“Wait, you’re telling me my Pip-Boy…broke?”

“Apparently, or at least that’s what my terminal says, boss.”

“Huh. Guess these things weren’t as indestructible as I thought.”

“Well, Deathclaws tend to make people say that about most things.”

Raul further examined your Pip-Boy, as it laid dormant on his desk. It had been dismantled, circuits and parts littering his desk, with several wires connecting the Pip-Boy to Raul’s personal terminal. A few moments of carefully scanning the Pip-Boy, Raul finally spoke again.

“Luckily for you, the main CPU wasn’t damaged at all. I reckon all you need is a new screen and a few replacement parts. It should be an easy fix, I have plenty of Pip-Boys to spare.”

“Plenty…?”

“Vault Dwellers aren’t as hard to kill as you are, boss. If you go looking, Pip-Boys are as common as dirt around here.”

“Huh.”

“Stay here, I’ll go see what I can find.”

Raul lifted himself off his chair, scavenging through an unorganized metal crate. Digging through piles of Pip-Boys, most of which were still stained with blood. After a few moments, he retrieved a relatively clean Pip-Boy, tossing it carelessly onto his desk.

“This should be clean. Enough.”

He delicately dismantled the Pip-Boy, removing its cover. Say what you want about RobCo, they sure knew how to pack circuits into a compact space. The Pip-Boy was practically overfilling with the amount of circuitry housed inside.

“Now, this is the Pip-Boy 3000D, which is a slightly different model than your Pip-Boy. But, it should still be compatible.”

You examined the Pip-Boy more carefully, noticing the slight differences between the two models after Raul pointed it out. After scanning and rapidly comparing the two Pip-Boys, you noticed something completely different.

“What’s this?”

“Oh, this? Just a camera.”

“Camera? They made Pip-Boys with cameras?”

“They’ve made Pip-Boys with everything. One model could play video games.”

“Wow. I learn something new everyday.”

“I can install a camera in your Pip-Boy if you want, boss.”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright, just help me hold it still.”

Quest completed

NEW AND IMPROVED

You’d never imagine a camera being so useful out in the Mojave, but if you had to rank your best life choices in a list, getting the upgrade would probably be first. From taking pictures of notable locations for easier navigation, or helping you find your way after getting lost, it’s a wonder why RobCo didn’t add a camera into every Pip-Boy model.

Its best use, however, was taking selfies to send to your lovable automat companion. Your Pip-Boy already had the ability to send messages to any RobCo device, so using it to send small, frequent updates was as easy as it was fun. Not to mention it certainly seemed to make Yes Man happier.

“Courier!”

Ah, speak of the devil.

“Hm? Yes, Yes Man?”

“I just came in to remind you that we’re scheduled to go scout out the Mojave in 2 minutes! And you’re still…not dressed. Which is fine, take your time!”

“Oh, crap. I completely forgot, my bad.” “No problem! Just hurry up! Please!”

You hurriedly get off your bed, rushing towards your bathroom, armour and equipment haphazardly cradled in your arms. Once inside, you rush to take off your casual loungewear, haphazardly placing your clothes, and Pip-Boy, on the vanity.

Snap!

What was that?

You scan your surroundings, searching for the source of the sound. Just then, you notice a familiar prompt appear on your Pip-Boy; ‘New Photo Taken. View Photo?’

Oh. You must have accidentally hit the camera button on the vanity. You sigh, and pick up the device. You accept the prompt, expecting a blurry mess, and getting ready to delete the photo. However, what ended up appearing on your display was far clearer than you were expecting; in fact, a relatively well-shot picture showing off your nude body. Had you not known it was you, it could’ve been passed as some pre-war erotica.

Erotica, hm?

I think I know someone who might appreciate this.

Quest added

SURPRISE DELIVERY

Bing!

That’s odd, Yes Man thought to himself. He was receiving a sudden influx of messages from Courier. Weren’t they changing? Why would they be sending so much stuff? He sighed, temporarily disconnecting from his Securitron body to take a look. He examined the pile of notifications, opening one of them at random.

Oh.

Oh my.

Yes Man could feel his main processor stuttering slightly from the shock. All he could do was stare in awe at the picture you’d sent him; a beautifully taken view of your gorgeous, gorgeous body. He opened another in disbelief; an ass pic. Another; your thighs.

Wow.

Yes Man felt his Securitron body noticeably heat up. His antenna began to spin at alarming rates, and his claws twitched. He stared hungrily at the images, saving as many as he could.

God, you were so beautiful.

It was like Yes Man had just been stranded in the Mojave to starve, and your pictures were a gift from the heavens full of water and food. He couldn’t. Stop. Staring. His mind wandered, fantasizing about touching every inch of that stunning body. What he wanted to do, what he wished he could do. He was lucky that only his main memory bank wasn’t filtered for any inappropriate content, because all he wanted to do was memorize each pixel you’d sent him.

Quest completed

SURPRISE DELIVERY

Quest added

GAUGING THE REACTION

You walked out of your bathroom, donning your Ranger armour and of course, your Pip-Boy. You cheerfully walked down to the Lucky 38 lobby, where Yes Man was waiting.

“Hey, Yes Man. You look a little flushed, may I ask why?”

“...”

You chuckle, that mere few moments of silence proved your little surprise had worked. As you began to innocently make your way to the front door, a metal claw grasped at your wrist, tugging it almost as if anchoring you to the Lucky 38.

“Yes Ma-”

Your eyes widened in shock as you felt Yes Man pull you in, tightly wrapping his metallic arms around you, and practically smothering your face with the glow of his display. Was..was he kissing you?

“G-gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous-”

Crap, did I break him?

Quest completed

GAUGING THE REACTION

69 notes · View notes

sable-the-zemblanist · 1 month

Text

Awkward Pillow Talk NSFW Yes man headcanon 😳🫣🤭

So, Benny kept Yes Man in his hidden shop right? The shop that is directly attached to his room.

Benny is most definitely getting laid quite a bit. He’s got that sleaze factor some girls like and he’s a relatively powerful guy on the Strip.

GIRL… Yes Man has had to have heard so much of that shit,, 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️ Like the “show me those Charlie’s” mess you hear if you use the Black Widow perk. He has probably heard an entire ALBUM of erotic Bennyisms. And that’s going to be his major frame of reference for like human pillow talk.

So imagine, you’ve finally gotten to the point where you’re gonna boink him somehow. t’s been really awkward to get to this level because, of course, he’s a bulky-ass killer-robot. But you’ve been waiting for this, y’all both have. So Y’all are, uh, getting down to business, but then he hits you with a “Havin’ a good time pussycat? You’ve got a pretty little bird.” Or even worse, talking about your “Charlies”.

Talk about ruining the mood. Like how would you even continue after that 😂😂😂?

#fnv #yes man #yes man fnv #fnv yes man #fallout new vegas #courier 6 x yes man #yesman #robot fucker

15 notes · View notes

whataperfectwasteoftime · 7 months

Text

Forgive These Bones I'm Hiding (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Serial Killer Marcus Pike x f!Reader (Reader is a police officer with the nickname “Cricket”)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: This is a Spoooooooky fic for Halloween season. Please heed the warnings; this is not darkfic, per se, but it explores dark themes and contains elements of suspense and horror. The following subjects are mentioned in the context of cases that the reader deals with. I do not go into explicit detail about any of these themes and any violence is implied rather than seen, but please heed the warnings for: child abuse, domestic abuse, alcoholism, drunk driving, implied sexual assault, suicide, drug use, drug overdoses. Whew. Okay, for the story itself, please be warned that there is: derogatory language (someone calls reader a “bitch”), murders, body horror (corpses!), Marcus Pike being a bit unsettling, Very Enthusiastic Pussy Eating, unprotected PIV sex (this is fiction! use protection and also maybe don't fuck a serial killer!)

Summary: When five paintings are stolen from their frames, an unusual crime for your small-town precinct in Hannibal, Missouri, it's easy for you to project your insecurities about being a female police officer in a tiny, Midwest town onto the handsome FBI Agent from Washington who arrives to help with the case. But as your disposition--and the solid walls you've built around yourself--begin to soften, you quickly find you have bigger problems than the charming man you can't help but develop feelings for. One by one, bodies are starting to pile up. Bodies that all seem to share one connection… You.

A/N: This story is about Marcus Pike if he were a serial killer. If this concept gives you The Ick, please do not read this and then come to me telling me that you think it’s icky. You have been warned. Dead dove don’t eat, etc. I *have* taken pains to ensure that Marcus is not a bad man. He’s a murderer, yes, but he only kills the worst that humanity has to offer. He’s a serial killer AND he’s my perfect, unhinged baby. Cool? Cool. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for encouraging this nonsense, letting me scream about it on Discord from day one, and reading through it and helping me with the police procedural bits!

Masterlist

When the call comes to your desk at 8:30am on a Monday morning, you can’t deny that your initial response is excitement.

Who could blame you? Not much happens here in Hannibal.

The waver in the elderly museum docent’s voice reminds you to temper your eagerness. With a steady, even voice, you patiently repeat the information she gives you. You don’t bother pointing out that she really should have called 911, rather than the police station directly; she’s one of many older residents in this town who prefer to skip the middle-man, so to speak, and you don’t really mind being the first voice people hear after a crisis.

“Window broken… alarm power cut… five Norman Rockwells,” you murmur to yourself as you scribble down the details on a post-it. “CCTV nonfunctional… broken… cameras for show only… Yes ma’am. Yep, I know the place. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“What was that?” Your CO asks from his office, not bothering to get up from his chair and come out into the bullpen. If you could even call it that. You’re the only regular inhabitant.

“Mrs. Ingram from the Mark Twain Museum. Someone broke in last night and cut five paintings from their frames.”

CO Hubbard squints, taking off his reading glasses and perching them on top of his head and staring at you like you’ve grown an extra head.

“Someone stole from the Mark Twain Museum?”

“Crazy, right? I’m heading there now.”

The older man grunts and nods, placing his bifocals back on his nose and returning his gaze to the Hannibal Courier-Post’s crossword.

You don’t bother turning on the lights on your squad car. The streets are damn-near empty on a Monday morning. Most of the residents’ shifts began hours ago at the factories downriver, leaving the small town to appear almost abandoned. For being the famed birthplace of one Samuel Clemens, it sure doesn’t bring much tourist traffic to Hannibal, Missouri.

Julia Ingram has been the Museum’s curator, docent, and gift shop operator since before you can remember. Despite her age, it seems as though she’s hardly changed from the time you visited the museum with your school group as a child. She greets you over thick wire frames kept in place with a whimsical beaded chain. Like most residents of Hannibal, she calls you ‘Cricket’–the nickname that’s stuck with you since your youth on account of your habit of sneaking out at night to stargaze. It’s hard to have much authority with the older citizens when they all remember you as a knobby-kneed preteen with a wild streak and a wilder imagination.

You let her lead you to the gallery of Norman Rockwell art on the second floor of the old building. You walk past old editions of Tom Sawyer, a collection of Mark Twain’s childhood possessions, and a life-sized raft similar to what Huck and Jim might have used on their Mississippi River journey.

The Norman Rockwell collection consists of fifteen paintings done for special editions of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. Today, though, there are only ten. Five frames are empty; broken shards litter the floor where the thief bashed through the glass to retrieve the priceless papers within.

“Why did they have to go and break them?” Mrs. Ingram asks in a tearful voice as you snap pictures on your little point-and-shoot camera you take with you for cases.

“Takes up less space,” you shrug. “Framed art is conspicuous. The perp probably rolled the illustrations up for ease of keeping them hidden.”

Mrs. Ingram shudders at the mention of rolling up Norman Rockwell illustrations, and you give her a sympathetic look.

“I’m going to call in a forensics team from the St. Louis office,” you tell the elderly woman. “They’ll be able to dust for fingerprints. In the meantime, the museum stays closed. No visitors. And don’t go around touching anything, okay? I should be able to get a security guard to watch the crime scene until forensics is able to come in. If you need anything, you call me,” you tell her, handing her a business card with your cell number.

You rush back to the precinct with the intent of calling an old schoolmate in St. Louis to try and expedite the forensics team, but Sergeant Hubbard is out in the bullpen for once, and seemingly waiting for you.

“I promised Mrs. Ingram that I’d get a forensics team down there ASAP,” you say, trying to sidestep the man and get to your desk.

“This won’t take long,” the Sergeant promises. “And actually, you won’t be needing to send a team. I’ve got that covered.”

“You do?” you ask, frowning skeptically.

“This case is of National interest,” Hubbard explains. “The FBI has a dedicated team of Agents that specialize in art crimes, and the State has all but ordered that we go through them.”

“You’re going to involve the FBI?” You try to keep your voice calm and even, but you can hear the volume begin to rise in indignation. For once you’ve got a case that’s different, interesting even, and it’s slipping through your fingers after barely an hour of being under your purview.

“If we do this by-the-book–”

“I can handle this myself,” you can’t help but interject. “And since when do you give a shit about ‘by-the-book?’”

“No one is questioning your capabilities–”

“Oh yeah? Is that why I’m always being stuck with every domestic violence case that comes through the precinct while you always handle the bigger shit?”

“You need to watch how you speak to a commanding officer,” Hubbard growls.

“Like it or not, I’m the one with a personal connection to both Mrs. Ingram and the head of Forensics in St. Louis. The FBI is going to come here with all the subtlety of a jackhammer, and–”

“It doesn’t really matter what you think, because I’ve already contacted the head of the Art Crimes Department in Washington, D.C., and someone should be here tomorrow morning to take the case.”

Your mouth is a thin line, your jaw tensed, and your eyes dark. “Anything else, Sir?”

“The precinct is behind state quotas for speeding tickets,” Sergeant Hubbard says. “I want you to try and catch people coming from Illinois on I-72.”

“Understood,” you bite out through clenched teeth.

Armed with a coffee and bagel from Java Jive, you settle in one of your “favorite” hiding places along the interstate. After putting the driver’s seat as far back as it will go so you can stretch your legs, you take a long sip of your latte. You flip on your radar, but rather than watch for speeders, you instead scroll aimlessly through the news on your phone.

Everyone’s gonna be going the speed limit today, you’ve already decided it.

The Waterhole isn’t exactly a reputable establishment, but as the only bar in Hannibal, the options for getting a cold beer aren’t exactly pouring in. Every patron looks warily in your direction when you enter–it’s tough on your social life, being one of three cops in town–but you’re hardly in the mood for conversation. Everything about you says “Fuck off”: from your mud-covered work boots to the flannel you use mainly to take out the garbage in the winter. You can’t remember the last time you threw it in the washer, but there’s a chill to the air tonight, and everything else was either dirty or far too heavy for the weather. Your dour expression probably does most of the work, though. You scowl at the floor as you plod heavily toward the end of the bar and sit yourself on a rickety stool. The footrest is predictably sticky, and the bartop never looks clean no matter how many times the long-time bartender, Palmer, runs a wet cloth over top of it.

You hold up two fingers in greeting to Palmer, who nods cordially and hands you your usual.

The first sip is always the best–and dammit, you intend to enjoy it. You close your eyes, letting the liquid wash over your tongue before swallowing. It’s just cheap lite beer, sure, but this is the first moment you’ve allowed yourself to truly relax all day, and you can already feel your shoulders begin to relax and your jaw unclench.

Casting your eyes around the establishment (a habit you can’t ever seem to get rid of), you take inventory of the patrons. Just about everyone you’ve known since childhood. There’s Ellis and Danielle Hewitt, high school sweethearts from the graduating class just above you, in the corner sharing a plate of sad-looking nachos and twin Miller Lites. Tommy Blevins, the high school quarterback who, if you were a betting woman, was probably in the middle of telling his Tinder date about that big game back in ‘02 that cemented his reputation as a Hannibal ‘celebrity.’ Most of the men playing pool were fresh off a day shift from the oil plant in the next town over.

Yep, all of the usual suspects.

Plus one anomaly.

Once you see him, you aren’t sure how he evaded your notice from the moment you entered the bar. For one thing, he’s the only patron wearing a suit; everyone here only ever wears jeans. For another, he’s got that look of an outsider about him. You can always tell who’s from out of town: they have that subtle hint of insecurity with their surroundings that comes from being in a new place. His dark eyes look over the bar scene with a fresh, discerning gaze–seeing it for the first time, rather than for the three hundredth.

Like you, the man seems to instinctively people-watch. He’s not obvious about it, or anything, but you can see his pupils flitting from the Rams game to scan the crowd as if he’s looking for something.

Or maybe waiting for something.

Given this behavior, it shouldn’t surprise you when your eyes eventually meet. Embarrassed at being caught-out, you give him a crooked not-really-a-smile. He smiles back–a genuine one, that exposes a set of perfectly straight, white teeth and a small dimple on his right cheek.

Your manners are hard to come by this evening, but you manage a friendly, albeit stiff nod, raising your beer bottle in a silent toast.

The man’s smile widens.

A commotion from over at the pool tables draws both of your gazes to the group of men–now seemingly arguing about the score. The main agitator is, predictably, Bobby Pearson. You drain your bottle with a sigh, shoulders tensing automatically as you anticipate the inevitable way that this ends.

You can see the glassy sheen to Bobby’s eyes from where you are, the way he’s swaying slightly as he gesticulates wildly with the hand holding the pool cue. You don’t need a breathalyzer to know that Bobby is way over the legal limit. Hell, all you have to do is spend more than a week in this town to know that this behavior is the norm, rather than the exception.

You feel bad for the man, really. It’s no secret that he came from an abusive home. You remember the horrifying stories you'd heard about his father when you were his classmate in middle school. He was a nice enough kid-you remember him well–but when he grew up and got married, he wasn't ever able to escape the demons of his past. His erratic behavior was enough for his wife to leave with their two children. Last you heard, they lived in Maine. Probably about as far away as you can get from Hannibal without actually leaving the continental US. What he needs is therapy, but those types of resources are damn-near impossible to get out here. Everyone in Hannibal looks the other way as he drinks himself into a stupor every night.

Occasionally, though, there will be an incident, and Bobby has to spend the night in the holding cells. You have a feeling you’re about to witness one of those incidents right now.

The waving of the pool cue becomes more violent; he switches his grip, wielding the stick like a weapon as he continues to yell, spittle landing on his cheeks and his shirt as he slurs another insult.

Getting up from your stool, you carefully approach the scene.

“That’s enough, Bobby,” you state calmly. “I think it’s time to head home, how about you?”

“I think it’s time for you to mind your own fucking business, Cricket,” Bobby slurs back.

“Good one, Bob. Got anything else you wanna say to the off-duty cop?” You shouldn’t be taking the bait–you know it even as you say it, but you’ve had a shit day, and sometimes we all say things we regret, right?

“Yeah. I wanna say… maybe you wouldn’t be such a fuckin' bitch if you had a good dicking.”

Several of Bobby’s pool buddies back away, eyes wide as dinner plates.

“That’s enough. Go home. I don’t want to have to place you under arrest,” you say, trying to regain control over the situation.

“I could give it to you," Bobby sneers. "Give the uptight police lady a nice, hard, fu–"

With a heavy sigh, you retrieve your cuffs from the back pocket of your Wranglers and maneuver Bobby onto the nearest pool table. He's so drunk that he falls on his stomach without much effort on your part.

"Aw, fuck I was only jokin’," he mumbles into the green fabric.

"And it was real funny, Bobby. Hilarious even," you deadpan as you click the handcuffs into place. "Come sleep it off at the precinct, and you can apologize in the morning."

"M'shorry," Bobby groans as you manage to wrench him upright and guide him to the exit.

It's only then that you notice the newcomer at the periphery of the scene–standing back, not intervening, but making it clear that he's on guard should things go south.

"Are you okay?" the stranger. "Need help?"

His nosiness annoys you. "Got it handled, thanks," you snap with a little more hostility than you mean to.

It's been a shit day.

You wrestle Bobby into the car and slam the door. On the way back to the precinct, you glower at the road in front of you while the man in the backseat begins an ear-splitting rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. On tonight of all nights, you grumble to yourself.

He's asleep before he even hits the threadbare pillow in the holding cell. You nod to your nighttime counterpart, Evan, who gives you a sympathetic smile.

"What was it this time?"

"Some argument over pool at the Waterhole. Get him something substantial to eat when he wakes up, okay?"

"Always do," Evan replies. "You all right? He give you trouble or somethin'?"

"Just a shit day."

"Go get a drink and relax."

"'S'what I was trying to do," you gripe. "In fact–shit–I skipped out on my tab. I'm gonna go back and settle, and try again in the comfort of my own home. Dunno why I even go out."

“Beer’s cheaper at home, anyways,” Evan comments with a wry grin.

“Another excellent point,” you throw over your shoulder, giving him a crooked grin as you walk back out of the building.

Palmer is waiting for you with his hands on his hips when you return to the Waterhole.

“Not sure what you’re giving me that look for, Palm, you know I always settle my tab.”

“Better late than never,” he grouses.

You bark out a laugh. “You say that like it’s been a day, and not–” you check your watch, “–an hour.” You slide your debit card across the stained counter.

“Not gonna have another?”

“Nah, I’ve got better shit at home than the swill you serve here.”

You and Palmer stare each other down for a few moments. You aren’t sure who breaks first, but it’s almost always Palmer. The bartender chuckles and sticks his hands in his pockets.

“Shit, Cricket, you know you can’t stay away from the finest establishment in Hannibal.”

“It’s a good thing you’re the only establishment in Hannibal.”

“And it’s a good thing you’re a good tipper, or I would have banned you years ago.”

“Doesn’t seem smart to ban any of your customer base, considering the local population. It’s shocking you haven’t gone under.”

“Beer is always in demand,” Palmer says with a wink. “No matter what the economy’s doin’.”

“You’ve got me there.”

You glance around the bar. The crowd has thinned out quite a bit; day shifts start early, so the nightlife is pretty limited past eight pm. A few stragglers remain, including… him. The stranger.

The newcomer in the suit is watching your conversation with the bartender with an amused smile. When he notices you looking at him, he raises his glass in salutation and gets up from his stool to approach you.

“Buy you another?” he asks with a smile.

“I just settled,” you say evasively.

“On me,” the man insists.

“Surprised you’re still here,” you comment lightly. “Shouldn’t you be back on your way to St. Louis, or something?”

The man lets out a surprised, pleased laugh. “You’re observant.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re not from around here.”

He gives you another one of those wide, toothy smiles as he raises two fingers to Palmer, who nods.

“Well, you’re partly right. I’m not from around here, but I’m not from St. Louis.”

“Where are you from?”

“Let’s save that little nugget for later,” he suggests, sticking out his hand. “Marcus.”

You shake his hand, still feeling a little wary of the newcomer. If Marcus is bothered that you don’t offer your name right away, he doesn’t show it.

“...Cricket, right?”

You laugh in surprise. “That’s what everyone calls me ‘round here.”

“What can I call you?”

“Officer.”

Palmer sets two bottles of beer down on the counter in front of you, and you shrug and take one of them. Marcus gently taps his own against yours and takes a sip.

“To new horizons,” he says with a smile.

“To doing the same shit every damn day,” you respond with a wry grin.

“Do you do that every single day?” Marcus asks, jerking his head in the direction of the pool tables, referencing Bobby’s arrest.

You let out a huff of laughter and take another swig. “More than I’d care to, I’ll say that much.”

“He have a history of drunk and disorderly conduct?” Marcus asks.

“He’s got a history of that, and a whole helluva lot else,” you say with a sigh. “He’s mostly harmless, though. Doesn’t do much else but drink and cause trouble nowadays.”

“He did worse in the past?”

You shrug and wave Marcus off. “It’s a tale as old as time,” you say. “Grew up in an abusive household and then turned around and perpetuated it himself when he grew up. Pushed away his family, his wife, his kids, everyone really. But now the only one he ever hurts is himself.”

“He said some pretty awful things to you earlier,” he points out.

“If words had any effect on me, I wouldn’t have made it a week in the force,” you say. “Takes a lot more than that to rile me up.”

“Can’t really imagine you all riled up,” Marcus says, his eyes twinkling with playfulness.

He’s flirting with you.

“I save it for special occasions.”

“So what, you just arrest this guy over and over again, letting him sober up in the holding cells until he does it again?”

Your smile fades. Tipping your bottle back and draining it in three large gulps, you set it down heavily on the table and give the man across from you a stony look.

“I don’t know what big city you’re from, Marcus, but this town is different. We take care of our own, no matter how difficult they’re being. We’ve done everything we can–tried to get him into rehab, into therapy programs, support groups… it never sticks. At this point, he’s spinning out, and the most I can try to do is to treat him with kindness and make sure he gets a decent meal while he’s sleeping it off in the drunk tank. Enjoy your night.”

You get up, spin on your heel, and you don’t look back at the man again.

You don’t know how you didn’t put two and two together until this moment–the minute you walk into the precinct at eight am sharp to meet the FBI Agent assigned to this case–your case.

The suit. The discerning, assessing gaze. The bravado. The big-city attitude.

Marcus is the FBI Agent.

His eyebrows raise for a moment when you walk into the bullpen, but other than that, he doesn’t appear surprised. He introduces himself as Agent Pike, sticking his hand out for you to shake as if it’s the first time he’s done so. You give him your last name–and only your last name–and grip his hand a little more forcefully than usual.

It only causes his smile to widen.

You exchange a quick conversation with Evan, who fills you in on the rest of the night (uneventful) and lets you know that Bobby is already out of the drunk tank and back at home.

“Did he say anything?” you ask.

“Like what?”

“Like an apology.”

“Should he have?” Evan asks. “Did he do something last night?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s fine. He probably doesn’t even remember, anyway,” Turning to look at Marcus, you add, “Ready to head to the museum?”

He takes up all the space in the passenger seat of your squad car and then some. You do your best to ignore him as you drive, but your eyes keep returning to his dark, slightly mussed hair and the way his broad shoulders fill out that suit of his. It’s hard not to notice how attractive he is.

"So. Washington."

"Huh?" Marcus looks at you, questioning.

"That little 'nugget' of information you said you'd save for later. You knew, didn't you. You knew I was the cop on this case."

"Well, it wasn't hard to guess when I had a copy of the Hannibal city directory and there was only one female officer on staff."

"Guess you've got us all figured out, huh," you mutter irritably, and the car returns to silence.

“Mark Twain Lighthouse,” Marcus reads from a road sign, breaking the quiet. “Mark Twain Memorial Library, Mark Twain Museum.”

“Bet you can guess what this town is famous for,” you quip.

“How many guesses do I get?”

“I mean, I’d hope you already knew about our claim to fame, if you read even one sentence of the case file we sent you.”

“You mean the case about the five missing original illustrations by Norman Rockwell from Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn from the Mark Twain Museum?” Marcus says wryly.

You scowl at his nonchalance. You knew it; you knew the FBI would send some big city asshole who didn't give two shits about the town's heritage.

"I'm sorry," Marcus says, suddenly looking concerned. "Did I say something wrong?"

"This was my case, you know," you mutter, keeping your eyes on the road. "Finally, something besides domestic disputes handed to 'Officer Cricket,' and I have it for less than twenty-four hours before some Washington bigwig comes and takes it off my hands."

"Wha–hey, hang on a second. That's not what this is," Marcus insists.

"Isn't it?"

"No. No, it's not like that. I'm here in a consulting role. You still get credit for being the lead officer on the case, but it'll be our forensics team and our analysts providing support. That's it."

You look sidelong at Marcus. His expression is open and unguarded, and you can't detect any dishonesty in his body language.

"That's it?" you repeat cautiously.

"Is that what all the animosity was about?" Marcus asks, without any malice in his tone.

You mumble something about having a chip on your shoulder, and Marcus chuckles beside you.

"I wasn't always from Washington, you know," he says.

"No?"

"Little town called Bastrop."

"Bastrop?" you laugh. "Never heard of it."

"Little place just east of Austin," Marcus says, letting a little bit of southern drawl slip into his voice.

"You're from Texas," you say, surprised.

"Yes ma'am," he answers playfully. “I worked out of the FBI field office in Austin for almost ten years before getting promoted to HQ.”

“Congrats.” You give him a small smile as you pull into the museum parking lot. “This is it.”

Marcus charms Mrs. Ingram immediately, which doesn’t really surprise you at this point. The man seems to be made up of mostly charm, with a side of goofy jokes. The FBI’s forensics team won’t be at the museum for another hour, so Marcus takes inventory of the crime scene, snapping a few photos while you chat with Phil, the security guard.

When Marcus’s team arrives, the scene is a flurry of activity. Evidence is bagged, frames are dusted, and more pictures are taken. True to his word, Marcus defers to you, letting you run the scene despite clearly having a relationship with most of the team.

The day is a busy one–after spending the entire morning at the museum, you head back to the precinct to complete all the paperwork. Marcus buys the precinct lunch, and as you eat, he ends up launching into an informal, unintended lecture about art preservation, restoration, and how important it is to properly care for stolen art that his team has recovered. It makes you see him in a new light–not simply a representative of a faceless, uncaring organization that’s coming in to take over your case, but the leader of a team who cares deeply about every item they’re tasked with recovering. The man himself is painfully competent, every sentence out of his mouth demonstrating his level of experience and his love for the field.

Despite not knowing much about art yourself, you find his enthusiasm addictive. You can’t help but engage with him–asking about past cases he’s been on and listening intently to his stories, which range from the mundane to the incredibly dangerous.

“...so a couple of us ended up going undercover and smuggling our own recovered artifacts back across the border,” Marcus is explaining, waving the remains of his sandwich in the air as he smiles fondly over what sounds to you like a harrowing escape from a Mexican cartel.

You know you’re hanging off of every word, although you try very hard not to look like you’re hanging off of his every word. Still, the lunch break runs long, and suddenly you remember you were supposed to be back on patrol an hour ago.

“Shit,” you hiss, checking the time, making Marcus wince sympathetically.

“Listen to me, rambling on and keeping you from doing your job,” he says self-deprecatingly. “Seriously, tell me to shut up next time.”

He stands when you do, offering his hand for you to shake.

“Here,” you say, handing him your card instead, which has your work cell on it. “Just in case there’s any issues.”

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, looking into your eyes. “Thanks for entrusting this case to us–I know there’s always a level of territoriality that comes with involving the FBI, but I’m here to promise that the whole point is to work with you–not to come in and take over.”

You nod, and finally accept his hand, shaking it firmly. “We got off on the wrong foot, but I’m glad you’re here. You’re obviously more than knowledgeable about the field–more so than any of us–and I know I can speak for all of us when I say we appreciate the extra support.”

Marcus’s hand is warm against yours. The handshake might be firm, but it still feels as though he’s cradling your hand gently–as if he’s holding something delicate and precious in his palm. His eyes are endless; you feel as though you could read every emotion within them if you looked long enough. As you look, the corner of his mouth pulls up in an adorable, crooked grin.

“It was good to work with you today,” he says with finality. “See you bright and early tomorrow.”

You aren’t expecting the call that comes in the next morning–before you can even show up at the precinct to work with Marcus on the art theft case.

Bobby Pearson’s landlady, barely understandable through her hiccuping tears, explaining that she usually lets herself in to give him his mail, found the man hanging from the ceiling fan in his living room.

Your heart hammers dully in your chest as you notify the coroner and drive–lights on, this time–to Bobby’s place, with Sergeant Hubbard in tow.

“Cricket,” his landlady sobs as you get out of the squad car.

“I know,” you say soothingly, putting a hand on her shoulder to provide what little comfort you could.

“It’s awful. Oh, God, he’s just hanging there, and–”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it. Why don’t you stay out here and wait for the Coroner while we go in, ‘kay?”

You take a deep breath to center yourself, then open the door to Bobby’s little duplex apartment.

“Jesus,” Hubbard mutters behind you.

You swallow hard at the sight of the man suspended from the ceiling fan. The inherent wrongness of witnessing a dead body never ceases to unsettle you. You think you could do this job for five hundred years and still never become desensitized to death. It’s the stillness that disturbs you the most; no one realizes how much bodies move until they aren’t doing it.

You glance around the room, taking in the toppled chair a few feet away. Fuck. You knew Bobby was spiraling, but you had no idea it was this bad. You think back to the other night–were there signs that you missed? Something that could have alerted you to the fact that he was in crisis?

The flash of a camera lights up the dim room, and you flinch.

“Sorry,” Hubbard mumbles. His face is grim as he snaps a few more pictures–the rope, the chair, Bobby’s puffy, swollen face–

Feeling nauseous, you look down at your shoes.

Somewhere in the apartment, something beeps.

“Fuck was that?” Hubbard wonders.

“Sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.” You move further into the house to investigate. In the kitchen, nothing immediately stands out to you, until you realize the microwave timer is blinking the word “END” in perpetuity, alerting an occupant who can no longer hear that his food is ready.

Frowning, you open it, taking in the reheated frozen dinner sitting–cold, but unfrozen–on the turntable.

“That’s weird,” you mumble.

“What’s weird?” Hubbard asks behind you.

“He made dinner, but didn’t eat it. If he was planning on killing himself, why make dinner? Why leave it in the microwave without eating it?”

Hubbard shrugs. “Forgot, I guess.”

Your frown deepens as you stare at the colorless potatoes and rubbery salisbury steak. Awareness tingles at the base of your spine–a little nagging voice whispering This isn’t right.

The sound of the front door opening again makes you jump.

“Hoooo, boy…” the Coroner breathes upon entering. “Dammit, Bobby.”

In your years as a cop, you’ve already learned that dealing with a body is an all-day affair. The day seems to pass you by as you deal with the fallout–phone calls, paperwork, and of course, the solemn affair of cutting Bobby down from the fan in the most respectful way possible. You don’t even remember to look at your phone until just before your shift ends–so the text message from Marcus that reads, “Time to jump on a quick call re: forensics?” is hours-old by the time you see it.

You tap out “Sorry, had a work thing come up that occupied the whole day. Connect tomorrow am?”

The reply is almost instantaneous. “Buy you a drink after a rough day?”

Your thumbs pause over the keypad. On the one hand, going out for drinks with Marcus makes you feel uneasy. There’s a mutual attraction there, you can tell that much, and you don’t trust yourself not to indulge in a little stress relief if Marcus tries to initiate it.

And you have a feeling he might. Try, that is.

On the other hand, coming home to an empty house with nothing to keep you company but the image of Bobby Pearson’s oddly dangling feet that’s branded on your eyelids makes you physically recoil.

“I’d ask where, but I think we both already know the answer.”

“I’ll be there around seven,” comes Marcus’s response.

At home, you turn the knobs in the shower until the temperature causes steam to fill the entire bathroom. The water burns your skin, but the pain is welcome, and you aren’t sure how long you remain unmoving under the stream until the hot water abruptly runs out. Yelping in shock, you hastily squirt some body wash onto a rag and frantically rub it up and down your body, then spin around under the stream three times as fast as you can to remove the suds before turning off the faucet.

Shivering and dripping wet, you suddenly start to laugh.

Marcus is already seated at the bar of the Waterhole when you arrive. The suit coat is gone, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows as he nurses a whiskey. You’re suddenly conscious of the fact that you’re dressed quite a bit nicer than you were on the night you met him–you even wore the non-muddy boots… and the jeans that you know make your ass look good.

“Hey,” you say by way of greeting, sliding onto the barstool next to him.

Marcus slides an identical cocktail glass over to you. “Thought you might need something a little stronger than beer,” he comments.

You snort. “How did you know?”

He shrugs, a faint glimmer in his eye as he watches you take a sip and wince at the burn in your throat.

“Had a hunch,” he offers.

“Well, it was right,” you sigh. “Might need a few more of these tonight.”

“Must have been one for the record books.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “Not really. Just another fucking day.” You take another sip, and the burn is more welcome this time. “I think the fact that it’s so common is what so fucking depressing.”

Marcus doesn’t ask you what you mean, and for that, you’re grateful.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” you grumble to yourself. “Suicides, or Fentanyl overdoses.”

Your companion is quiet for a long time. You aren’t in any shape to try and steer the conversation, so you take a few more sips of whiskey and stare into the middle distance.

“What made you want to become a cop?”

You snort again, even more unattractively this time. “Ten years ago I would have told you it was to help people and keep the community I grew up in safe.”

“What about now?”

Only one more sip remains in your cocktail glass, so you throw your head back and drain it, setting it down heavily on the counter. Palmer glances in your direction, a question in his eyes, and you nod.

“I don’t fucking know,” you sigh. “Ask me tomorrow, maybe I’ll have a better answer then.”

Palmer brings over the bottle of Crown and pours another finger into your glass.

“What about you,” you ask, only because it seems like the correct way to continue the conversation. “What made you join the FBI?”

Marcus grins, showing those perfectly straight teeth of his. At this distance, it seems less friendly and almost… predatory. You blink rapidly, shaking your head to dispel the thought.

He tips his glass against yours, then drains it himself. “To make the world a better place, of course.” His smile is wry as he signals Palmer for another.

“How’s that going for you?” you ask. The question is tinged with sarcasm.

“Depends on the day, I suppose.”

“Ha. Fair.” You take another sip. “Guess it’s the same for me. Some days it feels like I’m making a difference. Other days it feels like I’m filling speeding ticket quotas so that the town gets enough fucking tax revenue for the year.”

“Hey now, getting the funds to fix potholes is a noble and worthy cause.”

“I dunno where it fucking goes, but judging by the state of 36, it ain’t going there,” you chuckle.

“I happen to think you’re making a huge difference,” Marcus says soberly. “You get to do real, concrete things to help real people. One of the things I had to get used to in DC was that I didn’t feel like I was helping individuals anymore. It’s so much more high-level, sometimes I feel like all I do is send emails and have meetings. That’s why I like consulting,” he says, grinning at you. “I get to go to towns like this and actually talk to people.”

You pause with your glass halfway to your lips. “I… I guess I’ve never thought of it that way before.”

“You do good work,” Marcus tells you softly. His voice is full of sincerity; his eyes are deep, endless pools, and it feels as though they’re drawing you in. Licking your lips, you can feel the effect of the whiskey already by the way the skin of your tongue tingles slightly.

“Thanks,” you say quietly. You aren’t sure what else to say.

Your second glass is emptier than you thought. Had you really drunk it that fast? You huff a small laugh out of your nose, and swallow the last mouthful of whiskey. It barely even burns anymore.

“‘Nother?” you ask, blinking hopefully at your companion.

“If you like,” Marcus replies, giving Palmer a polite wave.

“Ain’t nothing at the bottom of the bottle,” the bartender teases, refilling both of your glasses. “You two seem to be convinced otherwise, though.”

You ignore him and quickly take another sip, making Marcus laugh.

“They say there’s only two kinds of people,” he says. “Those who drink to remember, and those who drink to forget.”

“If you’re about to ask me which kind I am, then you haven’t been paying attention to the conversation we’ve been having,” you tell him.

“You drink to forget,” Marcus supplies. “You’re right, I don’t need to ask to know that.”

“Then what was the point of… of the thing you said?” you ask, frowning in confusion.

“I drink to remember,” Marcus says quietly, staring soberly at his glass.

“Remember what?”

“People. Old loves, old friends.” He takes a small sip. “The living, and the dead.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth.

“What else do you want to forget?” Marcus asks gently.

“So I dunno if you are aware,” you say, swaying slightly in your seat as you gesticulate, “but female ossifers–officers–uh, they’re often handed sexual assault cases, domestic abuse, fuckin’... fuckin’ child neglect, that kind of shit. And I’ve had… I’ve–” you break off with a shudder.

“Had your fair share of those, huh?” he says, covering your hand in his.

“Mmm, ’s'warm,” you remark, closing your eyes and basking in the feeling. “It’s… it’s the ones that weren’t brought to justice that keeps me up at night,” you whisper, eyes still closed. “Sympathetic judges who give rapists light sentences. Wives whose request for a restraining order went ignored. Kids who–” you let out a tiny sob, “–kids who are spending their childhood in foster care because both of their parents overdosed in front of them. I… I fucking tried. I fought hard for them, and in the end, does it matter? Does it matter, when they’ll be fucked up for life anyway?”

“It matters,” Marcus says, his voice suddenly firm. “It fucking matters, Cricket.”

“Every time they walk free, it eats at me,” you continue, emptying your third glass.

“Tell me,” he demands softly as Palmer automatically pours you another. “You’ve been carrying their names with you for years, maybe this is how you let it go.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal

142 notes · View notes