#First it was John Hancock | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

submissivekillers · 1 month ago

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kinktober day 3 - public sex (john hancock)

very mild cw on this one for mention of needles/injection near the end, in the context of radaway use

It was never out of the ordinary to see John Hancock out on the balcony of the Old State House — at least for residents of Goodneighbor, who’d had plenty of time to get used to the sight of a ghoul in colonial garb getting stoned out of his mind.

Especially on a cool, clear night like this - almost unreasonably pleasant for an evening in the nuclear wasteland - the citizens who hadn’t flocked to the Third Rail weren’t surprised to see their Mayor perched on the landing over their heads, elbows braced on the flag-draped railing and the cherry of a lit cig glowing amidst the street lamps. Some raised a hand or shouted in greeting as they passed, while others lingered, exchanging pleasantries or giving reports from the Neighborhood Watch.

If Hancock’s answers came delayed, his voice notably quavering, no one thought much of it. And from their vantage point on the ground, no one could see how his hands gripped the rail, so tight that his knuckles would have been white beneath the radiation-damaged skin.

All the better for you.

“Shit, sunshine.”

Hancock hissed, barely audible. His thighs were shaking, the lean muscle flexing beneath your fingertips. You hummed, swallowing with an audible gulp, and heard the railing behind your head creak worryingly.

Pulling off his cock with a sleazy gasp, you replaced your lips with a loose fist, clicking your tongue at John in mocking disapproval. “Careful baby, this is a historic building, remember?”

“I’m gonna be history if you don’t stop teasing me, sweetheart,” he wheezed, hips twitching into your hand when you pressed your thumb into the dripping slit at his cockhead. You rolled your eyes fondly and chased the pump of your hand with a long, languid swipe of your tongue, flicking at the deepest ridge of his textured skin that you knew would make him whine around his cigarette. One of his hands released the rail and found its way to your hair instead, curling into a loose fist at your nape.

You drew back and swiped at your mouth, cleaning some of the drool and come that had accumulated on your chin. “Okay, just try not to be too loud — mmph.”

In the same movement, his fist tugged your hair back and his hips pitched forward, sheathing himself in your open mouth. You whined through your nose as Hancock pressed deeper, bullying his way into your throat with little pumps of his hips. He paused, your throat tight and hot around him; you could feel him leaking steadily into you, the taste of his cum vaguely metallic on the back of your tongue. When he pulled out, a thick, glistening strand connected your mouth to his tip.

“Deeper, baby,” you slurred, saliva dripping from your swollen lips. “Don’t wanna waste a drop.”

“Sunshine—” He rasped, and that was the only warning you got before he slid back into your throat in one smooth slide. Your nose pressed into his rough skin, the short, whimpering breaths you managed to huff through your nose heady with his scent, and your eyes fluttered shut as you let out a final groan around him. That was enough — Hancock came with a curse down your throat, one, two, three pulses before he pulled you back and let the rest trickle onto your outstretched tongue. You shivered, your head light and thighs wet.

“Jesus,” you croaked, swaying as you rose unsteadily before he caught you by the waist, “You were a little backed up, huh?”

“Your fault, leaving me behind so long,” he growled, hands sliding down your hips to give your ass a squeeze. You smiled, swiping the last drops of cum from your chin with your thumb and sucking it into your mouth. A low groan rumbled through him as he watched you, fingers flexing tighter against you. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

You grinned. “But what a way to go, right?”

His answering chuckle was muffled into your mouth as he leaned in to kiss you, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you through the door into the State House. “We should, uh, probably get some RadAway in you.”

“Way ahead of you.” A familiar voice drifted from Hancock’s quarters.

You locked eyes with John and laughed, a flush rising to your cheeks. Nick was lounging on one of the couches in his shirtsleeves, a prepped IV of Radaway beside him. He glanced up from the files in his hands when you stumbled through the door, a playful gleam in his yellow eyes.

“Sorry, Nick,” Hancock drawled, not sounding particularly sorry at all. “Hope ya didn’t wait long.”

Nick scoffed, automatically reaching out to hold your waist as Hancock guided you to a comfortable seat, slumping on the armrest beside him. “Should’ve known better than to leave you two alone for ten minutes.”

“Hey, at least nothing’s on fire this time.”

The grey skin of his brow ridge quirked, his gentle hands holding your arm steady as Hancock slid the needle into the crook of your elbow. “Small miracles, I suppose.”

You laughed again, then cut yourself off with a grimace as the RadAway started to take effect — it always gave you a killer headache, a pulsing in your temples making you wince and shut your eyes against the bright lights in Hancock’s quarters. Without waiting for your word, John was already up and moving to hit the lights, replacing the glare of the ceiling light with the dim glow of a table lamp you’d scrounged from Sanctuary (he’d teased you, as they all did, for picking up everything electronic that you could get your hands on, but had accepted the gift with pleasure all the same.)

Nick’s hand on your chin, the cool plastic of a water bottle raised to your lips. You took a few eager gulps, then let yourself recline on the armrest again, breathing slowly.

“John,” you called as his footsteps drew nearer. His palm cupped your cheek, warm and rough against your skin, and you nuzzled into the touch. “How d’you think we should apologize to Nick for making him wait?”

A gravelly chuckle as he moved around you, then the cushions shifting beneath you, a soft grunt from Nick and the sound of a folder scattering on the floor. “I got a few ideas, sunshine.”

“Get started without me, won’t you?” You sighed, blinking in the dim as you watched Hancock settle in Nick’s lap. “I’ll just enjoy the show for a bit.”

Nick chuckled, exasperated, but tilted his head all the same as Hancock bent to mouth at the ragged skin of his throat. “Don’t you two ever turn off?”

“What, with you and sunshine? Never.”

#kinktober 2024 #john hancock x reader #fo4 x reader #fallout x reader #weeee first nonslasher fic on the blog!!!#anyway its still october 3 in uhhhhh [googles] anchorage. so this is fine!!!#hancock fic became a hancock/nick fic with the encouragement of bloodybrahms <3 love u bb!!!

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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 1 month ago

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Preview

Please enjoy this excerpt from my forthcoming Hancock one-shot! As I said previously, I'm going to be focusing solely on finishing this up for the next couple of days. Once it's wrapped up, I'm planning a major inbox cleanout (currently sitting at over 100 messages in there...I'm terribly sorry, but also, I love hearing from you guys so much!), with lots of blurbs and shorter posts to hopefully get the oldest/simplest requests fulfilled. I also have a few other things planned for funsies, because, y'know, Kinktober.

Brace yourselves to be absolutely sick of me in the back half of this month. Thanks for reading!

John Hancock (FO4) x Virgin!Reader One-Shot

Warnings: smut (18+), very sexual pining, loss of virginity, corruption kink, reader's first "real" orgasm, absolutely perverted thoughts, mutual and consensual drug use, discussion of addiction, mild exhibitionism, finger fucking, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), cock piercings, possessive sex, manhandling, hair pulling, breeding kink, slightly dishonest creampie, jealousy, self-hating John.

Preview Word Count: 2,200

Notes: Reader is a former vault dweller but is explicitly not Nora/the Sole Survivor. Post-Institute destruction. It was difficult to choose an excerpt that's representative of the whole piece; do not let this preview trick you if it seems overly romantic. It's nasty.

Your heart raced under your skin, your pulse flying under the press of his fingertips as he pushed you firmly against the decrepit wall. You exhaled harshly through your nostrils, hands coming to knot themselves into his work flannel as his mouth pressed forward with its assault on yours. He expected you to begin to push him away using the shirt for leverage, but couldn't force himself to pull back first through the blinding possessive rage he felt.

John had always been more of a “free love” sort of guy most of his life, jumping from partner to partner without much thought or care, and, because he'd never put much emotional investment or time into any particular partner, had never really cared enough about another person to feel possessive of them. Jealousy was such a negative, ugly emotion that he hated to waste any of his time on it, but the fire he'd felt in his gut from the moment he'd watched that asshole place his fingers under your chin to tilt your face up, obviously angling for a kiss, could not be ignored.

He heard the whispers of the people around Sanctuary, around every settlement and trade outpost; the speculations about why a woman like you would choose to travel with a ghoul as a companion, why you'd spend almost all your time with him, how you were so comfortable touching and being touched by him. Criticism from shitheads about his own actions and choices rolled off of him like water off a mirelurk shell, valid or not, but it stirred him up fiercely to hear these people you'd given so much of yourself to judge you, as if they had any room. Some of the more hateful ones called you a fetishist and a freak when they thought no one else could hear, and if it weren’t for you specifically asking him to not start trouble around the settlements unless you started it first, he would have made those people swallow their own teeth long ago.

That guy had added himself to that list the moment he made it clear that he pitied you for your choices.

John hadn’t previously had much problem with him, save for noticing the glint in his eye when he spoke with you. He couldn't necessarily begrudge him his attraction to you, though; you were, after all, the most beautiful woman in the Commonwealth, hands down. Beyond that, you were kind, generous, hardworking, and terrifyingly smart. You’d give the clothes off your back to anyone who needed them, and would offer a stranger your shoulder to cry on if they needed. It was nearly impossible to not fall in love with you, just a little. He knew; he had tried and failed as miserably as he'd ever failed at anything.

The guy’s feelings themselves weren't the problem, though. The problem was that he obviously thought himself some sort of contender for your affections. Or, he was trying to make himself one. It couldn't be tolerated. If this trespass was allowed, every man in the Commonwealth who fancied you or cut of your vault suit would feel comfortable trying to pick you up right in front of him, and it'd be nothing but trouble for everyone involved.

His mouth found the side of your throat, placing open-mouthed kisses and sharp nips the way he knew you liked in a beeline from your clavicle to your ear. When you squirmed, letting out an airy moan as you yanked him closer, he latched onto your pulse point and sucked, bathing the skin with his tongue hard enough to leave a spotted, wine-colored mark that you wouldn't be able to hide the next day. You liked that, too, but you’d never admit it out loud.

Well, unless he made you, maybe...

A low, drawn out moan escaped your mouth, your hands moving up to cup the back of his head, pulling him still closer. He obliged you, pressing the line of his entire body against you, making you feel his throbbing need against your belly, and you whimpered in response, your hands finding the top button of his flannel and beginning to work it open.

He paused his ministrations, reaching up to cup your cheek gently, your own fingers stalling for a single beat as he gazed into your eyes, trying to reassure you that he wasn’t upset with you. And he wasn’t. You hadn’t done anything wrong. But he was upset at that guy’s uncharacteristically bold actions, his disregard of his place in your life. The disregard of the others.

He needed to assert his place. He needed to show you how he felt.

Promptly, he resumed his ministrations. By the time you'd managed to undo the last cracked button, he’d left a huge, oblong purple bruise along the side of your elegant throat.

“John,” you whispered in between harsh breaths, your hands moving to yank the thin shirt over your head. “I want you.”

The tone of your voice was sure and clear despite how it trembled. When he fully looked up to your face, you were gazing at him dreamily, your brow furrowed with effort as your hips began to move, trying to find some friction against his. Just like the previous night, he could clearly see your desire, your trust, in the way you gazed at him. Still, though, a tug of guilt in his chest had him chastising himself as he hesitated; he should protect you and tell you to not do this. Not only because of the societal response you could expect for being with a ghoul, but because he was far from anyone’s ideal man. He didn’t deserve you. He wasn’t sure he could be everything you needed, and wasn’t sure a man even existed on Earth who could be all that a divine woman like you deserved.

Even knowing this, he couldn't pull himself away from you. The overwhelming desire he'd felt since the moment you'd met burned too hot in his gut, long transformed from a deep want to a need.

“John.” you repeated, slightly louder though just as winded.

His head dropped to your shoulder, kissing across it placidly for a moment. Your hands traveled up his back, eventually moving up to grab the tricorn from his head and toss it onto the counter beside you. He felt the warm bloom of self-consciousness as you pecked along his bald head gingerly, your lips feeling extra plush against his ruined skin.

“This really what you want, sunshine?” he asked, forehead coming to rest against your own as his hands rubbed your sides.

You didn’t respond vocally, but instead reached out to stroke his cheek like he had yours, thumb swiping back and forth for a few moments. There was a silence, but a warm, comfortable one that wrapped you together in your own little bubble. When your eyes met again, he had his answer.

He led you by your soft hand to the next room, the two of you dropping onto the mattress in the corner, chuckling at the plume of dust that rose from the thing as you cuddled close. Your hands absentmindedly petted at him, one twiddling at one of the frayed tails of his shirt, averting your eyes. Soon, the unoccupied hand began to move down his chest, stroking the wiry muscle of his exposed torso. Your palm was warm and soft against him as you explored his chest, eyes following your hand as it slowly moved lower. He tensed a bit as your hand swept along his abdominals ticklishly, fingertips dipping below the waistband of his jeans. You hesitated a moment, your fingers retreating slightly to sweep back and forth along the upper seam, toying with the loose threads there.

John was radiating tension at the way you were touching him; you had never been quite this bold before, and his head swam with the overwhelming amount of emotion that he felt as your fingers began to dip below again, shyly. He was proud of you, knowing how much work you’d put into getting over your nerves to get to this point; at the same time, he was beyond touched that he was the man you’d chosen to share these milestones with. Both of these tender feelings made the overwhelming arousal he felt at your soft hands on his body a little embarrassing.

His breath caught in his throat when the tips of your fingers lightly brushed his erection, the sound odd. You froze, eyes moving to his to assess; he gave you a small head shake to convey that you hadn’t hurt him or anything, his usually silver tongue caught in his throat.

Given the green light, you slid your hand just a little further down, warm against the side of his shaft as you gently explored; your ginger poking and prodding was unpracticed, almost clinical, your hand trembling a little as you made him squirm. He was already rock hard, electricity sparking from where you touched him, and his frazzled emotional state didn’t help in the slightest. He gave a little grunt, trying to remain quiet and calm but feeling a mounting need to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you down against the filthy mattress and make you come undone.

He wanted you naked.

Generally, when you two got to fooling around, you were more than okay with him touching you both over and under your clothes, and you responded to him beautifully, making it easy to figure out what you liked and what you didn’t. However, you were often very skittish to fully remove your clothes when he made it clear he actually wanted to touch you. In the past several weeks you’d been so bold as to let him push up the hem of your shirts or open the blouse of your dresses to softly fondle and kiss your breasts, which you held and shielded with your hands when he wasn’t directly touching them, your face dusted with a dusky, embarrassed blush.

It hurt him terribly to see that you doubted your own beauty; if he had his way, he would spend every day from here to the next end of the world showing you how gorgeous you really were. But at the same time, the lingering shyness you demonstrated drove him wild.

A sharp inhale left his mouth when you suddenly wound your index finger lightly around the head of his cock, the softly calloused pad collecting some of the precum that dribbled from the slit and dragging along his piercing. You jumped a little at the sound, but when he looked at you in the dim light, your eyes were wide and the corners of your mouth were turned up ever-so-slightly in an expression of gentle confidence. He didn’t dare interrupt you, not wanting to risk throwing you off whatever wave you were currently on, instead tucking what remained of his lower lip between his teeth as you shimmied a little closer to him, the new proximity granting you a little more length of your arm to slide into his pants.

When your soft fingers curled all the way around his shaft, he nearly lost himself.

He cried out, the sound embarrassing and dragging out as you moved your grip on him up and down, slowly, hesitantly, his face burning with the shameful realization that he’d nearly cum in his pants like a teenager from a single touch from you. He was grateful his blush couldn’t be read on his tarnished skin as he dropped his face to your shoulder once more, placing a series of little kisses across the tan softness there as your blush began to work it's way down to your chest. One of his hands swept down your spine, caressing you softly as it slipped low and came to rest in the small of your back.

“Fuck.” he grunted, his jaw clenched tight as you continued your gentle ministrations, “I wanna see you, baby. Please.”

Your hand paused for a moment, giving a couple more gentle strokes before pulling back. When he lifted his head again, you were looking at him straight-on.

“Only if I get to see you, too.” you replied simply, your voice just above a whisper.

He was surprised at that; John had no real issues being a ghoul, but generally made it a practice to stay mostly clothed during sex for the ease of things (and, you know, just in case someone decides they don’t like what they see). His shirt was already hanging open, exposing his chest, but he went shirtless or open shirted frequently, both at home and on the road. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to you. He pulled back from you a bit to straighten up, his hands coming to work the fly of his jeans down as he gazed back at you, lips swollen and throat heavily marked where you sat, leaning back against the moldering wall.

“Deal.”

#this has turned into almost as big a monster as the first part of duplicity #john hancock fo4 #hancock fo4 #john mcdonough #hancock x reader #john hancock smut #submission

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