#I also love Nick Valentine's voice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sinisterexaggerator · 6 months ago

Text

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

6.8k+

Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren. Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company.

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends.

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment.

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action.

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.”

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you.

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around.

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed.

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high.

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part.

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger.

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth.

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner.

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose.

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose.

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable.

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds.

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints.

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud.

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown.

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life.

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin.

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance.

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm.

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes.

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center.

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl.

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit.

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it.

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings.

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time.

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption.

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin.

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking.

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again.

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips.

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous.

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection.

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return.

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss.

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

319 notes · View notes

finniestoncrane · 7 months ago

Note

I'm here with my boyfriend, Nick Valentine. Romantic Comedy. Front row.

I'll have salted popcorn, banana ice cream, and a cup of ranch.

Thank you so much

(God lord I'm sorry the order sounds stupid. Also I'm sorry for my stupid message about really old monster movies. I gave you like... 12 messages on just that)

HOORAY!! my first nick valentine fic!! i love this old man so much ;-; (also don't worry all the orders sound a bit nuts, there's only so much cinema food i could add before i had to start putting in condiments lmao) 💚🩷 cw: just pure fluff here 🔞minors dni🔞 send a request • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie2k (to follow or to block)

"I think I've got this thing working. Took a lot though. It's a bit of an antique, and a rusty one at that."

"Takes one to know one, huh?"

Nick looked up from the projector, his degloved hand still fiddling with the dials, his eyes narrowing as your playful teasing registered with him.

"You're lucky I put up with you, kid."

He shot a quick smile in your direction before he heaved himself up, walking towards the pile of film reels to take a look through them. You crouched down by the second pile, searching for a horror, as if there wasn't enough of that in your day to day life.

"Well, well... what have we here?"

You turned to Nick who was as giddy as you'd ever seen him, presenting you with one of the reels.

"A noir detective movie? Really?"

"Don't knock it before you've tried it. This one was my favourite."

"I don't know... I'm more in it for a horror movie."

"You don't think we live through enough horror movies as it is?"

Scoffing, you folded your arms.

"You don't think I live through enough noir detective movies as it is?"

Nick tossed his film to you, catching you off guard and causing you to drop the one you held in your hands.

"You got a piss-poor negotiation style, kid, you know that?"

That was it. Argument over. But given how excited he had seemed, you couldn't help but go along with it. And once you had the film in the projector and made sure it was showing on the decrepit screen, you followed him back outside to a rusted car. He opened the door for you and then walked around to the other side, sitting on the bench seating beside you and lighting up a cigarette.

The seat creaked below him, a spring bursting out and pressing into him. You giggled a little, standing up and pulling him over to your side before sitting down in his lap.

"Is this really comfortable? We could try another car."

"I like being close to you, Nick. Makes me feel safe."

He smiled, just a quick expression before he coughed and distracted you both from that sweet sentiment.

"This is a great way to waste an afternoon. I promise, you'll love it this movie."

And you did, if only because it reminded you so much of Nick. If only because as you sat in his lap you could feel his excitement. It was soothing, to watch him experience some joy, some relaxation. Soothing enough that you hadn't quite realised that you were falling asleep until Nick shifted you awake.

"Hey, you're going to miss the ending."

"It's ok, I think I figured it out. The detective saves the day and the world feels better for having him around."

"How did you know?"

The sarcasm in his voice was evident, but you chose to ignore it as you buried your head back into his chest and tried to go back to sleep.

"Just a hunch."

#finnie2k #finnie writes #x reader #nick valentine

89 notes · View notes

chadfallout76podcast · 9 months ago

Text

"Deah Shroud!: A Nick Valentine Mystery" EXPLAINED and AMA

It never occurred to me to do this last year, but a lot of people have asked me questions about our Fallout 4 play in the last year in the Discord, so I wanted to open an AMA but also explain "Death Shroud!" and some of the broader themes involved in it.

**SPOILERS AHEAD**

Part 1: Pre-production

Before I get into the story, I wanted to explain how this production even came about. Over the years after working together on some official community projects with Wes Johnson through Bethesda, we became good friends. I took a couple of his acting classes and he talked about the Fallout For Hope charity initiative I started and asked for help in organizing the gaming community for his Alzheimer's Association fundraiser. The idea was to host a month-long digital event of discussion panels, game shows, improv and a play with as many different voices of video games, film and TV as we could round up. In our second year of his VoiceAPalooza fundraiser, I wanted to do an original old time radio show and see if could bring back as many of the cast that we could from Fallout 4. It was Wes who first suggested an adventure with his Silver Shroud character (that he voiced in Fallout 4's radio plays) teaming up with Nick Valentine (voiced by the amazing Stephen Russell). Valentine is, for me, one of the best written, unique companions in Fallout lore.

So, I reached out to Stephen Russell who had joined us before for charity work and he was all in on bringing Nick Valentine back to life! After that things moved fast with Bethesda's Pete Hines and Emil Pagliarulo joining us to have some fun for a good cause. We tried to get EVERY companion from Fallout 4 that we could, but schedule wrangling is tough, and some people are just impossible to track down or find. Matt Mercer would've loved to have joined us as Macready, but unfortunately scheduling didn't work, so the best we could manage would be a holotape (the only reason our snarky gun running merc had to take the big sleep in the story).

After having everyone plugged in to reprise characters, it was time to put fingers to keys and find the story...

Part 2: The Deep Lore

The origin of this story started with a thought: how would the NPC's and characters we love perceive modification of their universe by us? We, as players aren't the true creators of this universe or these characters (Bethesda is). If anything, we the players are the equivalent of "lesser gods", reshaping it in new ways, unexpected and subjective ways, and sometimes even chaotic ways (I'm looking at you avalanche of adult mods with realistic jiggle physics and Thomas the Tank Engine Vertibird).

It started with a mental image of the small ways in which we start out modding games, or even the first mods we (using the "Engine of Creation) actually create. I had a mental image of Magnolia doing her thing, singing away sultry in a crowded and smoky third rail when she looks one way, back the next and sees new curtains. A subtle thing, something a little startling, but in a universe where recreational drug use is met with a YEEE YEEEE WHEEEE...a change you simply dismiss as being overtired or a little too juiced.

I'm a sucker for old time radio. I grew up listening to classic radio horrors like The Whistler, Suspense, and Lights Out on vinyl records and cassette tapes when I'd spend summers with my grandmother on a little island off the coast of Canada. Getting the tone, feeling and sound to stage an old-time radio show was the easiest part of this whole process...it's baked into my brain lol. The key of course is finding the right narrative voice.

Enter: Bill Lobley. If you play Fallout 76, he is the announcer for the "Tales from the West Virginia Hills" holotapes, but before that he's a prolific voice actor, maybe best known for his role as the truly vile Jeremiah Fink in Bioshock: Infinite. He has a FANTASTIC transatlantic voice for old time radio and was perfect as narrator in the script.

Part 3: What Is Going On?!?!

I had the base idea, the voices to pull it off, but what was the meaning and message of the whole thing? I always start there. From a meta experience level, the story is about dealing with subjective reality that’s being torn apart. After Fallout 4 launched in vanilla, we the players changed that world and reshaped it with mods. The small changes in perceived reality are meant for the omniscient player (us) and are not meant to be perceived by the characters themselves...and yet, what if they were? And if they were...WHY?! The answer was right in front of me: there's a difference between something born into a world and something MADE into a world.

You take someone like Magnolia or Nick, both synths, that obviously weren’t naturally born from two people. They were conceived as an idea...a human idea sure, but still they were made, not born. Without even needing to say in the script, the Trickster from the Grognak comic books who shouldn't exist yet does IS also an idea. Some MADE into a world but not born...a different world sure, but still the creation of it. Nick, Magnolia, any synth as ideas themselves would sense that the world was wrong and being changed in a way no one else would because of fundamentally who they are and what they represent.

Everything that unfolds is because Nora as a keystone event in the Commonwealth, a focal point of the causal nexus making her a unique entity in that world. A causal nexus is the link between a cause and its resulting effects and ignore the science mumbo jumbo, because here's an example of how that works:

The Sole Survivor, Nora, listened to Kent's message, chose to answer him and put on the outfit of the Silver Shroud. As a unique figure she shifted perceived reality of everyone in the Commonwealth by becoming the Silver Shroud, acting like him and making people believe that a fictional character exists.

Unfettered belief and faith in an idea = manifested reality.

Rejected belief and faith in the idea = dispels that reality.

This HAS happened before in Fallout lore in the instance of people with horrifying backstories and personal tragedies choosing to become someone else such as the Mechanist (Fallout 3 and Fallout 4) or even the Ant-Agonizer (Fallout 3). This time however it was a unique figure who did this, a figure fated and meant to reshape the Commonwealth for good, bad or ugly.

This opened a door, the door through which another figure could influence and enter a new universe provided it take the form of something already in it...a reality side-step into the form of the Mechanist. Concurrently, the moment that happened, reality counterbalanced by making the Silver Shroud who was already believed to be real BECOME real as the ying to the Mechanist/Trickster's yang.

Now at home in reality, the Trickster found himself very much alive and unbound by story but had very little power to do much at all. He needed something more, an idea and faith that already existed in the Commonwealth with the infinite universe of ideas made, but not born like himself. His goal wasn't power, it was to sow chaos, reshaping reality into a realm for any and every idea despite the consequences to reality itself.

So what did he need? The belief in the Old Gods and a focus point of belief in the idea: a staff. The universe is as adaptive as it is remarkable and where the Mechanist had its opposite: the Silver Shroud, the Trickster needed its twin: enter Sheogorath...because what better staff to tear apart and reshape reality than the Staff of Sheogorath. There is a quest added in the new Skyrim Anniversary Edition in which you can build it for yourself with a few items: Branch of the Tree of Shades, Ciirta's Eye, Fork of Horripilation. In this universe it would have to fashioned with things FROM this universe.

Two eyes were needed:

The eye of a True Believer: Kent Connolly

The eye of a True Seer: Mama Murphy

Affixed to the top of a staff of the purest heartwood from a Twice Born Tree. Living wood from Harold, born a man who eventually mutated into a living tree.

Lastly, it had to be soaked in the tears of ages end: barrels of radiated blessed waters courtesy of the Cult of Atom.

The Trickster had no magic of his own in this universe in which to act, but thankfully courtesy of some powerful allies, he was able to make contact with shadowy cults and worshippers of the old gods who gave him the name of someone truly of faith in the old magic to make all of this work: Jebediah Blackhall, who in this spin of the universe did unfortunately get his hands on the cursed book: the Krivbeknah.

Finding allies was all too easy, as the events post main quest left the Commonwealth changed. To many, the Sole Survivor and his/her companions would be hailed as heroes. To others, they would be villains, particularly in light of what Nora CHOSE to do to the Railroad to end the synth threat for good. That's a lot of blood on the hands of heroes...

As the Mechanist/Trickster, Blackall and the Lombardos began using the staff, its changes and shifts in reality rippled backwards through time, as changing one specific thing would change its entire existence. You change some curtains and the manufacturer of those curtains only every made one pattern...the world object becomes changed universally. Tapping into the Engine of Creation to make these changes, leaves anyone MADE not born aware of them as they don't fit into the design as it shifts around them. Nick, Danse, Magnolia would all feel and see it, be thrown off for a bit before settling into the changed reality state.

At the climax when everything starts falling apart and you get everyone from GlaDOS and the Joker strolling on in, the only way to end it all is to separate the Trickster from the Staff and restore the saved intended state of reality. The Silver Shroud finds himself powerless against the Trickster...only someone from this universe would be able to intercede, hard wired into the Engine of Creation itself as an existing element connected throughout its framework and history. After sending the Trickster off packing to the moon (thanks GlaDOS), but its a little too late for reality. It collapses around them, finding themselves elsewhere...the point between the mind, creation and the outcome of reality.

After the Shroud fades away, Nick has the power and choice to roll the universe, his universe back along the tapestry of choices that led him here. They all were haunted by the choices they made the first time around, something Nora couldn't live with...that ultimately led her relationship with Danse to fall apart. So Nick decides to go back further, as far back as he can go and he finds himself back in his office with Ellie waking him up.

There are consequences to what he's done, that he's not yet aware of, ones that will become clear in our next episode. The synths remember, as he remembers...Danse, Magnolia and everyone else remembers the fall of the Institute. They all find themselves at their starting point, moving towards their intended fated position to encounter the Sole Survivor. For Nick? He's starting down the path that will led him to be held prisoner and meet the Sole Survivor for the first time.

As he'll soon discover however, things don't play out the same way this time. Moreover, while he was rolling back reality to an early saved state, he made a huge mistake and completely forgot about something and someone so incredibly important...

You'll have to wait to see what that is...

#death shroud #chad: a fallout 76 podcast #chad: a fallout 76 story #fallout 4 #fallout for hope #wes johnson #fallout #fallout fanfic #nick valentine

100 notes · View notes

concook20 · 1 month ago

Text

Wild Kratts New Backstory And Headcanons! (Crew)

I'm gonna redo backstory and their headcanons, I did do one before, but with new ideas and potential, I decided to redo my previous headcanons!

Up first is Crew, since I came up with the creature power suit design too, and I wanted you guys to check it out!

Full Name: Martin William Kratt

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual

Birthday: December 23rd

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn

Job Application: Animal Rescuer/Artist (Side Job)

Relationship:

Chris: Best Friend Ever!/Brother

Aviva: Best Friend

Koki: Best Friend Ever!/Previous Crush

JZ: Best Friend Ever!

Zach: Enemy

Khris: Moral Enemy

Donita: Enemy/Secret Past Relationship

Dabio: Neutral

Gourmand: Moral Enemy

Paisley: Neutral

Rex: Neutral/Don't Mind

Vert: Extrovert

Phobia: Coulrophobia (Fear Of Clowns)

Favoritism

Color: Blue and black

Singers: Lady Gaga, Taylor Swift, Metallica, Bruno Mars, Micheal Jackson, and KISS

YouTube: Game/Film Theory, Nick Crowley, and Markiplier

Animal: Falcon

Hobbies: Artistry (Sculpting, drawing, paint, etc.), playing guitar and drums, parkour, and surfing

Past Relationships

Martin used to date 3 people back then. One was when he was 13, and even at that age, he dated a 14 year old girl, who was mean, bossy, and threw stuff at Martin, whenever he didn't want to do anything, he broke up with her when he moved. He then dated a 16 year old boy, while being 17 as well, as they broke up after the two were falling apart. When he was 21, he dated a non-binary person, who was 19, only for it to end when Martin turned 24. He had a crush on Koki during high school, but she rejected him gently and told him she likes girls, which he understood and the two still remained friends.

Headcanons

Martin started an artistry side business, where he helps kids with improving their art, selling his own art to people who like it, and drawing people like the people who draw the people in funny designs and such.

In the group of friends, Martin's, not only help keep the group together and happy, but is also the dumb one

Martin has the mouth of the sailor, which can surprise anyone.

Martin has ✨ ADHD ✨

Martin can go feral whenever something happens to the crew or family, ESPECIALLY, to Chris. So watch out! The reason why he's overprotective is that there was an incident with Chris, which made him turned against his father and vows to keep Chris safe, no matter what.

Each Valentine's day, he always watches Pedro Pascal edits.

Martin is in therapy to control his anger issues and his anxiety.

Martin gives me Narrator, from the Boys vibes, prove me wrong!

Martin makes stupid dad jokes, no matter how much people hate it.

Martin used to have long hair, but he cut it short after his hair got pulled a couple of times.

Martin gets to have his Christmas early, since his birthday was a couple of days earlier, and it sometimes makes him annoyed.

Martin and JZ always rambled a lot to each other, to the point they, even, make jokes about making a podcast.

Martin always goes to the zoo and imitates some animal noises.

Martin does funny pranks, they're tamed and funny, but still, the crew could be annoyed by it.

When he wakes up, he has a Sam Elliott's voice, like deep and almost sounded western.

Martin is a love expert, and even if he's dumb sometimes, he's also an amazing lover and partner, since he'll never forget how long you dated or your favorite flowers.

Martin has a fear of clowns, the reason why is because when he was 3, he and his mom went to the circus. He enjoyed the show, but he needed to use the bathroom and left, without informing his mother, but as he went to find the bathroom, a clown saw and followed him. Martin noticed, and got scared as the clown tried to take him and pull him into a room. He panicked, screamed, cried, and tried to pull away, before his mother saw and yelled at the guy, as he ran off, turned out that guy didn't work at the circus, as he tried to kidnap boys for his own sick dreams.

Full Name: Christopher Fredrick James Kratt

Age: 22

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Birthday: July 19

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

Job Application: Animal Rescuer/Low-class Singer (Side Job)

Relationship:

Martin: Best Friend Ever!/Brother

Aviva: Best Friend Ever!

Koki: Best Friend

JZ: Best Friend Ever!

Zach: Secret Friend/Crush

Khris: Neutral/Don't Mind

Donita: Enemy

Dabio: Neutral

Gourmand: Enemy

Paisley: Neutral

Rex: Neutral

Vert: Ambivert, Mostly Extrovert

Phobia: Nyctophobia (Fear Of Darkness)

Favoritism:

Color: Green and black

Singers: NF, Melanie Martinez, Bruno Mars, Rihanna and Nico Collins

YouTube: Game/Film/Food Theory, Nick Crowley, Sam and Colby, and Coryxkenshin

Animal: Cheetah

Hobbies: Reading, trees and rock climbing, archery, and singing.

Past Relationships

Chris hasn't been in the dating game, though, he did date someone back then. The girl was a popular cheerleader at high school, when Chris was 16 and a nerd back then, but she embarrassed Chris during high school for being a nerd and embarrassingly clumsy or shy. Chris was humiliated, but he turned it to determination as he worked out, changed his outfits, and felt confident... While being insecure.

Headcanons

Before Chris wanted to do animal rescuing, he used like singing. He has an amazing voice, but he never sings in front of anyone, even Martin, but when he's alone, he sings to music he listens to.

In the friend group, Chris is the same thing as Martin, but he's smart enough to behave... Sometimes.

Chris loves his brother Martin, but the one thing he doesn't like is him being over protective, it makes him smothered, annoyed, and jealous how Martin can do anything, while Chris has to 'be careful', but Martin doesn't know, cause Chris doesn't wanna hurt his feelings, so he keeps it pent up.

Chris has ✨ Autism ✨

Even if Chris dated a beautiful girl, he has a huge crush for goths.

On his birthday, he collects rocks that are left on his window, making him confused, but keeps anyways cause they're pretty.

Chris knows 2 languages, German and Spanish.

Chris is a picky eater, he has certain tastes he hates like olives, pickles, burgers, mustard, etc. And mostly a health nut.

Chris is a romantic person but they hide it very well, after getting humiliated, and if he shows it, he's very clumsy, when doing so.

Chris is the #1 hater of Martin's jokes.

Chris is an insomniac, which he hates to be.

The brothers will eat a pepper, but Chris wouldn't feel it, even when his brother is dying.

Chris was kidnapped for ransom when he was 16, while his father forced him to go to the store to get some food for the family. His father wasn't even going to pay the kidnappers the ransom money, since he is very greedy and he thinks its punishment for being bisexual... He was found a couple of weeks later, traumatized and scared of the dark.

Backstory

Martin and Chris were both brothers in the Kratt Family, with their parents names being Linda and William Kratt and they have twin young sisters, named Christine and Susan, who were 18. Their parents got into a divorce, when Linda found out William cheated on her, and the siblings got to choose where to stay, where Susan and the brothers chose to stay with their mother in Canada.

Chris's relationship with his parents is half good and bad, good is his mother, who loves him, cares for him, and even supported him when he came out as bisexual, however, his father is distant, cruel to both brothers, tries to force sexism and his business job into them, and homophobic, where he outright hates Chris for being bisexual, making Chris heartbroken, as he was a daddy's boy.

Martin's relationship was like Chris's, only with him being a mama's boy and he despised his father, when he was 19 years old and Chris went missing. After he found out his dad literally sent Chris to he captured and wasn't going to pay his brothers freedom, he let out all of his anger and went feral, to the point he left his father bruised, bloody, and scared. He hated him ever since, and never even went into contact with him after he took Wild Kratt's idea and made it real.

The brothers love for the sisters is like the parents, where the two love Susan, who adores them, and sees Martin as a father figure, and supports Chris, even buying him a pride flag. However, they don't like Christine that much, since she's a total daddy's girl, where Martin felt bad for Christine for liking the man, and Chris is jealous of Christine for her getting the love while he can't.

Martin wanted to save animals when he was young, after watching an animal show, where there are bad people who take good and wonderful creatures and hurt them for their own selfish needs, so he vows to save any animals, be it pets, birds, rodents, even some insects. His father thinks it's dumb, while most people don't like Martin saving any animals, but his mother, sister, and Chris supports this idea, even with Chris joining in, and that actually helps Martin out to save many animals.

Martin got the idea to save animals around the world, but was hesitant to hire Chris, who begged and was excited to join, because he heard he'll have to face people who tries to hurt these sweet animals, and he's worried his brother would be hurt, but after thinking about it, and some reassurance and excitement from Chris, he, reluctantly, agreed, and thus! The Kratt Brothers created the Wild Kratts Show!

Full Name: Aviva Carmen Maria Corcovado

Age: 22

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Birthday: February 7th

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Job Application: Wild Kratts Inventor

Relationship:

Martin: Best Friend

Chris Best Friend Ever!

Koki: Best Friend Ever!/Crush

JZ: Best Friend

Zach: Moral Enemy

Khris: Neutral

Donita: Enemy

Dabio: Neutral

Gourmand: Enemy

Paisley: Neutral

Rex: Don't Mind

Vert: Ambivert

Phobia: Claustrophobia (Fear Of Closed Spaces)

Favoritism:

Colors: Purple, golden brown, and white

Singers: Taylor Swift, Rihanna, Shawn Mendes, Camilla Cabello, and Elvis Presley

YouTube: Steve Reviews, Valkyrie, and ASMR

Animal: Chinchilla

Hobbies: Yoga, jogging, gymnastics, and dancing

Past Relationships

Aviva was forced into in only one, which ended badly. Aviva dated a guy when she was 18 and heading to college, only to find out her boyfriend was a controlling, abusive cheater, who tries to keep Aviva where she lives, so he can control her, but once she left, he began to stalk and follow her, to the point she put a restraining order on him, but... He breaks it, though, she doesn't know... Yet.

Headcanons

In the group of friends, Aviva is definitely the mom friend, taking care of the group, including the brothers.

Aviva wears glasses, but she has ok visions without them, too, but mostly, she wears glasses.

Aviva is very flexible, since she used to do gymnastics when she was 7.

Aviva couldn't handle criticism, so be careful with what you say.

Aviva chews her nails when she is nervous.

Aviva cries while watching disney movies.

Without MatPats theories, Aviva knows the FNAF Lore.

Aviva hates being alone.

Like Chris, Aviva knows some languages too, like French, German, Russian, and Italian.

Aviva got a secret admirer from poems, which makes her gushy and giddy, or nervous and scared, due to her ex.

Aviva has a fear of closed spaces, because during her relationship with her abusive boyfriend, he got angry and shoved her into a crate, locked her in, and buried her alive. She was panicking, scared as this didn't happen to her before, until a few hours after her panicking, Aviva's sister came to visit and let her out, worried. That's when they broke up and she hates closed spaces.

Backstory

Aviva has a mother, named Imelda, sister, named Tia, step father, named Eduardo, and step brother, named Roman. She has a father, named Carlos, who was an inventor and shown Aviva his greatest invention, even making suits for people whenever he needs. But he died, when she was 3 and her sister was 2, from a car crash, she missed him deeply, to the point she wanted to follow his footsteps of being an inventor.

She loves her mom and sister dearly, while they love and care for her, even supporting her dreams of being an inventor. She doesn't like her step dad and brother, however, as they're sexist jerks, trying to make Aviva give up on her dream, even setting her up with her ex. She hates them, but used their rudeness and sexist remarks as fuel for her determination, as she began to go to college and get a job at the Wild Kratts.

Full Name: Brianna 'Koki' Lawrence Thompson

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Lesbian

Birthday: November 13th

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Job Application: Wild Kratts Technician

Relationship:

Martin: Best Friend Ever!

Chris: Best Friend

Aviva: Best Friend Ever!/Crush!

JZ: Best Friend

Zach: Enemy

Khris: Enemy

Donita: Moral Enemy

Dabio: Neutral

Gourmand: Enemy

Paisley: Neutral

Rex: Neutral

Vert: Ambivert, Mostly Introvert

Phobia: Hemophobia (Fear Of Blood)

Favoritism:

Color: Red, yellow, and pink

Singers: Rihanna, Taylor Swift, P!NK, and Nicki Minaj

YouTube: ASMR

Animal: Snowy owl

Hobbies: Meditation or relaxing, cosplaying, acting (musical and plays), and working out

Past Relationships

Koki used to date a couple of girls in college, it didn't end well, as the first girl was straight and pretended to date Koki for a place to stay, while cheating on Koki with a guy she was with before. The second relationship was a bet-like relationship, like the person bet they can date that person for a while. Well Koki began to close off on love in general, until she met Aviva and began to fall for her.

Martin did confess his feelings for Koki, but she rejected him for two reasons, her sexuality and her struggle with love. Martin can relate and offer to help her find love, so when he finds out she likes Aviva, he mostly helps her out by either getting them to hang out together or even leaving gifts for Aviva, as Koki gave him an ok to do so.

Headcanons

In the group of friends, Koki's the one gay emo best friend. She is closed off from everyone, but her group of friends, which is the crew.

Koki has a creature power suit like the trio, but she rarely uses the suit, unless it's absolutely necessary.

Koki enjoys wearing grunge or gothic like outfits, it makes her feel comfortable and relaxed.

Koki forgets to eat most of the time.

Koki suffers from depression, which she's getting better from with therapy.

Koki is an insomniac.

Koki instinctively cleans messes in their own house as well as other peoples.

Koki writes poems for people she likes, even Aviva, which Martin gives to Aviva in secret.

Koki eats spicy food like Chris, and sometimes, the two battle it out to see who can eat more spice... Never ends well.

When she was around 2 to 3, she got abused by her mom as she cut and hurt Koki, to the point she bleeds, making her panic more which gets her hurt more than before. She began to be nervous around blood, making her even scared of before, making her freeze up, when she sees blood.

Backstory

Like I said, she was abused by her alcoholic mother, named Brianna, who was in a divorce with her father, named Axel, who has another family with a mom, Michonne, with 2 sons and a daughter, 21 year old named Marion, 18 year old named Julian, and a 17 year old named Becca, she has a twin brother, but they got separated, due to him being sold away to another family, since her mother don't want to deal with two kids, sadly, Koki never got the chance to find him. Koki hated staying with her mom, even changing her name to Koki, since she was named after her mother, so she goes by the name her father wanted to name her instead of her mother, which was his mother's name, Koki.

After she moved out of her mom's when she was 4, she bonded with her new family. Michonne treats her like a daughter and Koki adores her like a mother, while her siblings bond with her like siblings. She was intrigued by her father's tech skills, and he taught her how to do it, since the others don't seem interested in it. After she went to college and went to join the Kratts, the family supported her, meanwhile she cut off her mother for good.

Full Name: Jimmy Zander 'JZ' Sanders

Age: 21

Gender: Transgender Male

Sexuality: Aroace

Birthday: April 23rd

Zodiac Sign: Taurus

Job Application: Pilot of the Wild Kratts

Relationship:

Martin: Best Friend Ever!

Chris: Best Friend Ever!

Aviva: Best Friend

Koki: Best Friend

Zach: Enemy

Khris: Enemy

Donita: Neutral

Dabio: Neutral

Gourmand: Moral Enemy

Paisley: Neutral

Rex: Neutral/Don't Mind

Vert: Introvert

Phobia: Astraphobia (Fear Of Thunder And Lightning)

Favoritism

Colors: Orange and teal

Singers: Billie Eilish, NF, Eminem, The Weeknd, and Melanie Martinez

YouTube: Game/Film/Food Theories, Jacksepticeye, Markiplier, H2O Delirious, Vanoss, Coryxkeshin, and Cartoonz

Animal: Raven

Hobbies: Playing video games, napping or chilling, cooking or baking, and watching YouTube.

Past Relationships

JZ didn't get into a relationship, in fact, he doesn't really think much of it, he doesn't really mind, since he has friends with the crew, who supports him, no matter what. He's just happy to be there, you know?

Headcanons

JZ was a big fan of anime, not those weird ones, like MHA, Death Note, Attack On Titans, Demon Slayer, and Spy x Family, though, no one knows, cause he doesn't wanna look weird.

In the group of friends, JZ is the quiet guy who keeps it to himself, unless someone wants to talk to him.

JZ is the baby of the group, since he's the youngest, which they care for and protect him. He doesn't mind it, but it makes him feel smothered and weak, so he sometimes thinks about sneaking off to fight bad guys like Martin and Chris.

JZ suffers from anxiety and PTSD.

JZ is in therapy most of the time, in order to control his fears.

JZ has a snack stashed hidden somewhere, where no one, not even his closest friends, even know where it is.

JZ enjoys Martin's dumb jokes, or anything dumb to laugh at.

JZ will remind others in the midst of chaos how good he's being.

JZ was banned from drinking energy drinks.

JZ plays games like Doki Doki, FNAF, and Detroit Become Humans.

JZ is a sleepwalker, and Chris and Koki know about it.

JZ has a creature power suit, but it is very, very, very, very, VERY rare to see him with one.

JZ has noise canceling headphones when he's stressed or scared when a storm comes. He uses them at night to sleep, and if he doesn't have them, he has bad dreams about his parents death and the car accident he was in as a 2 year old.

Backstory

Out of the group, JZ has the calmest backstory here, though it did start with tragedy. He had two loving parents back then, until they died in a car accident on a stormy night, as a thunder struck onto a tree and it fell, crushing the car the family was in. People got JZ out, but his parents died, when the car, immediately, exploded with the two. JZ was horrified by storms since then, as he lost his parents from it.

JZ has to move in with his grandparents, who adore and care for him. His grandmother, Wanda, began to teach him how to cook, knit, and crochet, it helps him feel relaxed and happy to spend time with her. His grandpa, Connor, told him the story of how he used to fly a plane, where JZ was inspired and began to try to save the money to go to flying school.

His grandparents did die tragically, but JZ has nowhere else to go, so he had to stay at the shelter, until he met up with Chris again, who offered him a place to stay, which was the Tortuga, and the group is finally made!

Finally! Made The Crew's New Bio! Hope You Guys Like It! Villains Are Up Next!

#wild kratts #martin kratt #chris kratt #aviva corcovado #wild kratts koki #wild kratts jimmy #kratt brothers #headcanon #my personal opinion #please don't judge me

26 notes · View notes

ragingbookdragon · 2 years ago

Text

Does This Unit Have A Soul

Nick Valentine x Sole Survivor

Word Count: 1K Warnings: None

Author's Note: ...I do in fact have a desire to fuck the robot

It is, a lonely night that she finally comes to the realization that there’s something more than just friendship for the synth. The radiation storm coming has her upping the speed to find the nearest shelter and just as the first burst of sickly thunder snaps across the land, she’s pulling Nick and Dogmeat inside the small building. It’s musty, the last traces of a trader caravan evident as the layers of dust cover over one another.

She drops her gear, shucking off the leather jacket and armor before collapsing onto the ground, already pushing RadAway into her body to cleanse the burst of radiation she’d received from the storm. Dogmeat busies himself turning about three times before he plops down beside her with his head on her thigh. Nick, however, is pushing a chair up against the door and laying a landmine. It makes her laugh lowly in her throat, remembering the time she and the original Nick Valentine shared a hotel room together when they were on a case. He’d pushed one of the wooden chairs up underneath the doorknob and put a bottle behind it. You’re paranoid. She’d told him and he, being the wise-ass he was had cracked back, Yeah, and paranoid cops survive.

The chuckle is loud enough to register in his CPU because he looks over his shoulder and, “What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” she retorts, and he rolls his eyes.

“You were laughing.”

“I was not.”

“You were too.”

It slips out before she can help it. “You’re paranoid.”

Nick freezes, like he’s been struck by lightning and she sees it when he obviously remembers, because he lowers his head and replies, “Yeah, but paranoid detectives survive.”

She’s never explicitly told Nick she knew the original man, but she also knows this is still Nick Valentine, and he’s always been as sharp as a whip and able to jump to answers faster than light. She smiles softly, almost sadly as she asks, “How long have you known?”

Nick sighs, shoulders drooping as he turns and walks over and sits beside her along the wall. “Since just before helping me with Winter.”

“How come you never said anything?”

He shrugs. “You and Nick, the thing you two had back then wasn’t mine to intrude on.”

“It wasn’t like we were a thing, Nick. I was just his best criminal attorney and he my best detective.”

“But you knew.”

“Knew that he loved me?” she laughs. “Nick didn’t love me. Lust, maybe, but he never loved me. Not like Jenny.”

Nick eyes her for a moment, watches the way those words, Not like Jenny, come out of her mouth, the tone of her voice, the flash in her eye. “Green is best saved for mutants, doll.”

She startles for a moment, wide-eyed staring at him. “I beg your pardon?”

He gives her a knowing look.

“I was not jealous of Jenny. The two of us were friends. Just because Nick and I were good friends more doesn’t mean I was jealous of him having another relationship with another woman.”

“But this was before you married…Nicholas?”

“Nate,” she corrects with a scowl. “And yes, it was before I married him.”

Nick doesn’t say anything, but that annoying hum escapes him, and he lights a cigarette and looks away.

“I wasn’t jealous of her.”

“Of course not. But you were attracted to Nick.”

“Oh, for God’s sake! Anyone who knew Nick Valentine was attracted to him. He was a lady-killer! With that stupid, cocky grin and that face of his! Being a cop was a plus!” And then she realizes it all of two-hundred years later. “Oh my God, I was attracted to Nick the whole time.”

"Well I coulda told you that,” he snorts. “I’ve got loads of memories about his thoughts on you.” He’ll never tell her, but he enjoys the way she flusters at that and looks away. Though, he worries when her demeanor turns solemn. “Doll?”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” she murmurs.

“For what?”

She looks back, eyes sad, lips pulled down. “Back in May of 2077, we knew that it was getting dangerous for Jenny to continue being without witness protection. When the request came in for it, I pushed, but…I didn’t push hard enough and…and then…” her words fall short and she reaches up to wipe her eyes. “Oh, Nick, I’m so sorry. It was my fault that Jenny was killed. I should’ve pushed harder for my bosses to get her in, but I didn’t. Nate was at home with the baby and so much was happening and I just—”

Nick rests his hand on hers, the cool metal stilling her. “You didn’t kill Jenny,” he murmurs. “And Nick knew it too. He didn’t blame you.”

“You should’ve.” That’s the one thing she does, never separates the original and the synth. They’re both Nick, just different times and situations.

“I don’t,” he says and curls his hand around hers. “And Jenny wouldn’t either.”

Her lips wobble and she stares at him. “Do…do you think he and Jenny are resting now?”

Nick nods. “I do. I think their souls are finally at rest.”

She lays her head on his shoulder, cuddles close to him, knees brushing the cool of his thigh. “Do you think ours ever will, Nicky?”

She only calls him Nicky when she flirts with him; it makes his center circuits burst with something fierce. He lets out a deep breath and wraps his arm around her, letting her cuddle against his chest, ear pressed to the synthetic skin beneath his shirt. “I think…when it’s finally your time, doll, and you’re old and white haired, yours will.”

“I said ours.”

“Do you really think this old unit has a soul.”

Her head cocks up, stares him straight in his yellow lit eyes and says, “More than anything, I do, Nick Valentine.”

He smiles, softly at her, ushers her back to lay down, knowing she’s plum-tuckered out; he waits until she’s snoring against him, brushing his fingers through her hair and murmurs, “What a woman.”

Nick used to say that all the time about her. Back when he would watch her take down someone in court. Justice prevailing. What a woman.

But this time, Nick is here, she is here, it’s them against the world.

“What a woman, my girl is.”

#nick valentine x reader #nick valentine x reader imagines #nick valentine x reader imagine #nick valentine imagines #nick valentine imagine #nick valentine x sole survivor #nick valentine #sole survivor #fall out 4 #fallout 4 #fallout 4 imagines #fallout 4 imagine #fallout

391 notes · View notes

drewsbuzzcut · 10 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/drewsbuzzcut/737730544334487552/also-christmas-night-is-when-nick-asks-dallas

Can we get a blurb on this?

When You Know, You Know

nick moldenhauer x dallas blankenburg

a so it goes blurb

warnings: talk of marriage

“Baby, I’m going to take Layla to get some ice cream from the store, want to come with us?” Dallas asks, leaning over the back of the couch where Nick is sitting. Her hands go to massage his shoulders and she presses kisses to his cheek.

“I actually need to make some phone calls to my family, sorry,” Nick says, leaning to the side to connect his lips to hers.

“It’s no problem. I’ll be back,” she responds before leaving with her baby sister.

“Mr and Mrs. Blankenburg, Nick, can I ask you guys a question?” Nick asks Dallas’ family, voice a little wobbly and eyes growing a bit teary.

“Sure. What’s going on sweetheart?”

“I know June and I haven’t been together for long, but I love her so much. There’s not a day that goes by that I’m not thankful for her. It’s safe to say that she’s the one for me, without a doubt. I know this is going to sound completely insane, but I want to ask for her hand in marriage. I know your acceptance means everything to June, so I wouldn’t dream of not asking before proposing,” Nick says smoothly, a silent sigh of relief escaping his lips.

“You both are only 19,” Dallas’ dad says.

“I know, sir, but when you know you know. I am so sure about June,” Nick explains.

“Look Nick, we adore you and we love the way you treat our daughter,” Mrs. Blankenburg starts and Nick can feel his enthusiastic mood falter.

“But,” Nick adds because he knows there’s a “but.”

“But this seems like a drastic move. Please don’t be offended by this, but I don’t want my daughter to feel like she can’t pursue her career because she has to be a housewife,” she says and Nick feels a little shocked at the statement. He’d never hold Dallas back.

“I would never expect June to be a housewife. I know she wants to be a designer and she’s already an amazing one. The way June encourages me with hockey is the same way I will always encourage her with her endeavors. Just because I want to get married doesn’t mean I want to start having kids right away. I just want to be able to love your daughter forever,” Nick defends himself.

“Mom, dad, I don’t think there’s any reason for us to not want them to get married. Nick is a great guy and he treats Dallas with so much respect and love. They’re prefect for each other. Dallas has been the happiest I’ve ever seen her,” Blanks contributes to the conversation, and it makes Nick smile.

“What about living arrangements and school?”

“For the remainder of this school year we will stay where we are, but I was thinking for the next school year that we would rent an apartment together. School will still remain an important part of our lives. Marriage wouldn’t take away from that.”

“You really want to marry our little girl? You really want to be the one who always makes her happy?” Mrs. Blankenburg questions, voice breaking and tears springing to her eyes.

“Yes. I’ll always want her. She’s the love of my life,” Nick states.

“You have our permission. All of ours,” Mr. Blankenburg concludes and gets up to bring Nick in a hug.

“Thank you, so much. I already picked out the ring and I’m planning to propose on Valentine’s Day, because I know she really loves that holiday,” Nick exclaims, his blushing cheeks on display.

“Can we see it?”

“Of course,” Nick pulls out the small ring, going around and going in depth for his explanation on why he chose that ring. He’s counting down the days until February 14th.

a/n: To the anon who requested this, I am so sorry it took so long. I hope you enjoy!

#nick moldenhauer #nick moldenhauer x oc #nick moldenhauer x reader #nick x dallas #so it goes au #umich imagine #umich hockey

92 notes · View notes

topguncortez · 2 years ago

Note

11. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” If you could ❤️

In Sickness, In Health | Nick "Goose" Bradshaw x Female!Reader

warnings: exhaustion, dehydration, sickness, passing out, Goose being fucking adorable

Goose had been silently watching you all week. Going into February was always a busy time for you at the flower shop. One, you had started planting all your hanging baskets, succulents, and rose bushes. Next, Valentines Day was the second busiest time of year as couples came in looking for flowers for their significant other. And spring was usually when prom and wedding season would be in full blast.

You were spending your days down in the basement working under the heat lamp, watering and watching your plants grow. You spent hours working on specific arrangements and baskets that you knew would see good. You also spent hours on the phone, contacting different growers about getting seeds for certain strains of plants. The kitchen table had become covered with magazines, seed packages, and past receipts from the year prior.

"Baby," Goose said, walking into the kitchen. You were barely awake, your eyes straining as you read over a magazine on perfecting the planting of hydrangeas, "Why don't we call it a night on the flower stuff."

"Mm, I can't," You said, rubbing your eyes, "I gotta get these ordered by next week if I want to have them in bloom for May. The old ladies love their red hydrangeas. They say we always have the best ones."

"Well," Goose said, "Can't argue with that," You smiled and he placed a kiss on your cheek, "A couple more minutes, then I'm taking you to bed. I'm gonna go check on Bradley."

"Yes sir!" You said, giving him a mock salute. He shook his head with a laugh, heading upstairs to check on the sleeping three year old. You stretched as another yawn fought its way out of your mouth. You grabbed your coffee mug and frowned seeing that it was empty. You pushed yourself out of your chair and walked towards the coffee pot on the counter, but white spots filled your vision.

"Whoa," You blinked a couple times as you went to reach out for the counter, placing your mug down. You winced as you missed the spot, the mug crashing to the ground and splitting everywhere. You went to crouch down to pick up the glass, but felt your head start to swim, and before you knew it, you crashed to the floor.

--- --- ---

Goose whistled as he walked down the hallway to your son's room. He gently pushed the door open, and noticed that Bradley's reading lamp was still on, and the little boy was playing with his two model planes.

"You," Goose said, pointing at the little boy, "Are supposed to be in bed." Bradley giggled shyly as he set the two planes down next to him.

"I'm not tired, daddy," He smiled and shook his head.

"You and your mother both," Goose muttered and walked into the room, "How about another book?" Bradley nodded and Goose grabbed a book from the pile near Bradley's bed. He sat down next to the little boy and he cuddled into his dad. Goose could never get tired of the way Bradley liked to curl up on his lap or your lap when you would read to him.

Goose was half way through "Goodnight Moon" when he heard the sound of glass breaking. His head snapped towards the bedroom door. He waited a moment, expecting to hear your voice that you were alright, and then he heard another loud thud.

"Stay here," Goose said, gently moving his son off his lap. He pressed a quick kiss to Bradley's forehead before running down the stairs to the kitchen.

"Y/N?" Goose called out as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, and saw you trying to pull yourself into a sitting position, "Holy shit, baby!"

You held your hand up as you leaned against the kitchen cabinets, out of breath, "There's glass." Your voice was weak and Goose looked down at the glass on the floor, and then to your bleeding elbow.

"What happened?" Goose asked, kneeling down next to you and gently touching your face.

"I needed more coffee and I just. . . my vision went black," You said.

"When was the last time you ate?" Goose asked, "You skipped dinner with us," You just shrugged and shook your head, "Okay. . . when was the last time you drank anything beside coffee?" Again, you shook your head, "Baby, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

"No," You pouted, "It's late. I'm fine. Bradley is sleeping-"

"You need hydration," Goose said, "You are going to work yourself sick. If you won't let me take you to the hospital, at least take a couple days off. Let Margery or Jack do some stuff. Please, honey." Goose held your hands in his, almost near tears and you felt your heart break.

You didn't think that you were working yourself too hard, but with you being in your current position, you knew you were probably on the brink of a stress induced attack.

"Okay," You said and Goose kissed your forehead, "I need to clean up the-"

"Your time off starts now, lady," Goose scolded you, "I'm taking you to bed, and then I'll come clean up the glass."

You smiled at your husband, "I like when you get all demanding."

"Sex is part of the time off deal," Goose smirked and winked at you.

You groaned and Goose chuckled, his arms going around your body and easily picking you up from the floor. He took you to your shared bedroom and gently laid you down on the bed. He helped you change out of your work clothes, and slipped one of his old academy t-shirts over your head. He tucked you in and placed a kiss on your lips before he walked back down to pick up the mess in the kitchen.

When Goose returned back to the bedroom, after cleaning everything up, he was met with the sight of not only you, fast asleep, but Bradley curled up with you. He smiled to himself, taking in the moment before climbing in and laying next to his family.

343 notes · View notes

lacontroller1991 · 2 months ago

Text

Fluff/WhumpTOBER Day 3: Nick Valentine x GN!Sole Survivor

Day 3: Favorite Scene/Set Up For Failure Masterlist Warnings: 18+, Language, Suicide/Homicide, Blood Word Count: 1.2k

“You want me to do what?” Father, Shaun, stares back at you with your eyes, his face set in resolve.

“You heard me. I need you to wipe out your friends. Starting with the Railroad. They have caused us too much trouble, keeping us from finding what is rightfully ours. They are a threat to us. You know this.” His words pierce through you as you freeze in your tracks. You know he’s your son, but do you really have the means of wiping out your friends, the very people who helped you find him?

“Shaun, you know I can’t do that,” you comment softly, sitting down next to the head of the Institute. “Surely there is another way, one that doesn’t involve the death of people I care about.”

He shakes his head, spurring on a coughing fit, blood spewing into a white napkin. “I am dying. Are you really going to let everything that I’ve built, for you, go to waste?”

You know he’s lying. You know that even though he is biologically your son, he is not your son. You’d like to believe that despite never raising him as your own that he wouldn’t be capable of mass genocide. You’d like to believe that he would take your compassion and his father’s love for life. But here he sits, telling you to do the exact opposite. And here you sit, actually contemplating it.

“You know the Railroad is only in it for themselves. Despite them wishing to liberate synths and allowing them to have self freedom, you know it’s all about revenge for them. And the Minuteman. They pose a threat to our existence. They need to be taken care of.”

Tugging your bottom lip in between your teeth, you play with your fingers, wishing you would’ve just stayed frozen. This is an impossible choice. Your blood or your friends who had become your family. “What about Valentine?” Shaun takes your hands in his, his are cold and frail while yours are warm and youthful.

“You know what needs to be done.”

—————

Blood. Blood surrounds you as you collapse to your knees, having taken out the Minuteman, all in one place. The people who sought to make the Commonwealth a better place. Looking down at your hands, you resist the urge to vomit at the sight of blood soaked skin. “What have I done?” Your eyes look around before spotting Preston, lying on the ground. If you didn’t know otherwise, you would’ve assumed that he was sleeping. Crawling over to his body, you wipe the blood off of his face, drops of water removing dirt and grime. “I’m so, so sorry.” Leaning down, you press a kiss to his foreheads, wishing it didn’t have to be this way.

“(Y/N)?” His voice causes you to look up from where you kneel, eyes immediately spotting the old synth as your heart breaks. You don’t have what it takes to tell him that you killed everyone, but you have a feeling that he already knows. “What the hell happened here?” His hand reaches for his gun as you sniffle, falling onto your butt as your eyes look over the massacre.

“I killed them.” You can hear the gears whirring in his head before he crouches down next to you. His poker face gave Deacon a run for his money.

“Now why would you go and do that for?” His voice is flat, no judgment but also no friendliness. It reminds you that he too, is a synth, made from your flesh and blood.

“Father told me to do it. Told me that they’re a threat to the Institute.” The words tumble out of your mouth, void of emotion. Shock setting in.

Nick sighs, shaking his head, trying to come up with some logical explanation and finding none. “I warned you what would happen if you decided to help him out. Now look at where that got you.”

“I’m sorry, Nick, he’s my son. My only son.”

Nick draws his lips in a tight line, standing to his full height. “I know.”

“He wants me to kill the Railroad, kill Deacon. He wants me to kill you. I can’t. I can’t do this. Nick, please, help me.” You turn to him, grabbing onto his pant leg, tears running down your face as his yellow eyes peer down at you.

“There’s nothing I can do to help. You made sure of that yourself.” Shaking your head, you mess with the latches on your pipboy, taking it off.

“Get this to Deacon, to Danse, anybody. Get it to them, bring down the Institute.” Tears flow freely down your face as you hand the synth the piece of technology. “It has all the information on how to get inside and what needs to be done to insure the destruction of that horrible place.”

Nick takes the pipboy into his other hand, looking down at you with curiosity, “Just what are you going to do? Kill more people?” Your eyes move from his and land on the ground, eyeing a gun within grabbing distance. He catches on. “You are not going to kill yourself.”

“What other choice do I have? I can’t ask you to kill me. I can’t ask Deacon to kill me, or Mac, or Danse, or Hancock. You know they wouldn’t be able to do it.”

Nick knows that you’re telling the truth. Deacon would be too distraught with the betrayal to be able to kill you. Mac and Hancock are too loyal, and well, Danse owes you his life. And Nick? Nick loves you. “I’ll do it.”

Your eyes light up with gratitude but it doesn’t reach your face. “Nick. I can’t let you.”

“Doll, I would rather have me do it than you do it,” he pockets the pipboy, extending his metal exposed hand out to you, allowing you to take it. Hoisting you to a standing position, he looks you over one last time with a sad smile on his face. “I loved you, you know.”

“Oh Nick.” You launch yourself into his arms, clinging onto him like your life depended on it, knowing how this moment is going to end. One of his arms wrapping around you, synthetic lips pressing a kiss to your temple as his other hand pulls back the hammer on his gun. “I love you. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” He pulls the trigger and a loud crack echoes in his auditory processors as you go limp in his grasp. With a sigh, he sweeps your body up into his arms and carries you to the yard behind your house, kneeling down on the ground next to your spouse’s grave. Carefully, he lays your body on the ground before standing up and dusting the dirt off of his knees, the pipboy burning holes in his coat pocket. “Goodbye, (Y/N). I’ll make sure to end it.” He lowers his head in a bow before walking away from the grave, wishing he could cry.

#nick valentine #nick valentine x reader #nick valentine x sole survivor #sole survivor #fallout 4 #whumptober #writing challenge #fallout companions

17 notes · View notes

1slightly-mad1 · 1 month ago

Text

Well, I assume some updates are in order since I’ve decided to come out of nowhere and post stuff. Life has been meh. My parents and myself lost our houses from Helene, so that’s fun. But luckily we found somewhere to live, we’re just waiting on the approval. But enough about that, let’s get into what I’m into at the moment.

Currently, the hyperfixation is the band Ghost. When I say hyperfixation, I mean full on obsession I’ve been listening to them non stop. I’ve been listening to them for some time now, but only recently started getting into the lore and fandom (basically after Rite Here Rite Now came out). I love Copia and Terzo and Secondo and Primo. I can’t wait until the reveal of Papa V. I was supposed to go to my first ritual back in August last year, but both of the Florida shows got cancelled because of the hurricane so I didn’t get the chance.

Very recently, I got into Fallout (because of the show). I played Fallout 4 (completed 2 playthroughs) and find that I’m in love with Ghouls. Yes, I romance Hancock. Yes, I love Cooper Howard/The Ghoul. I also love Nick Valentine (it’s a crime that you can’t romance him, imagine the possibilities with the sole survivor) but he jumpscares me all the time.

I was very active on Twitter during the final season of The Bad Batch (that one I’ve been into since Clone Wars season 7). I’ll give you 3 guesses as to who my favorite character is. It’s Tech. It’s always Tech, it’s always going to be Tech. Needless to say, his death devastated me and him not coming back devastated me further. But, I still loved the final season because I love clone troopers in Star Wars in general. I actually met Dee Bradley Baker and told him how much Tech meant to me, which he referenced in the Clone Wars panel the following day (he also talked to me in Tech’s voice).

That’s all I can think of that’s most recent off the top of my head. Before anyone asks, my favorite Ghost song is Mummy Dust and no it’s not because of how horny it gets on stage, I find it easy to get hyped to and that’s fun for me.

7 notes · View notes

theturncoattournament · 7 months ago

Text

Who would be the best new main character? (Round 1)

Note: I recommend reading this blog's pinned post that explains what this tournament is about before voting

PROPAGANDA:

Nick Valentine- i want to play the game as the robot detective man

The Question- He was one of the most popular characters on the show outside of the original seven, and the episodes that focused on him were always good, he'd be an interesting character to follow even closer, especially after the Cadmus Arc where he gets less to do and more totally new side stories could be written around him and his antics. You'd probably get to see more of the Huntress this way, too, which is also a bonus (plus Jeffrey Combs does such a good job voicing him that I'd love to hear him get even MORE lines to deliver lol).

#best new mc round 1 #best new mc polls #nick valentine #the question #vic sage #fallout 4 #fallout #justice league unlimited #dcau #polls #tumblr polls

18 notes · View notes

mail-me-a-snail · 9 months ago

Text

the thing is i do love nick valentine for being a robot detective who has a mysterious past and a sick as fuck last name. but i also love him because his voice actor plays belethor from skyrim. well. he also played a whole host of other people from skyrim but i was very attached to belethor

#hes my guy. hes my silly guy :(#whiterun was home 2 me...snif #my post

16 notes · View notes

sinisterexaggerator · 5 months ago

Text

Final Straw

Nick Valentine x Fem Reader | Ao3

Summary: You're sick to death of listening to people insult and belittle Nick; you take matters into your own hands, much to the Synth's surprise, but your methods are a little bit unorthodox.

Warnings: None, except for blood, violence, and foul language. NICK GETS SUPER PISSED AT YOU, and you also share a kiss. 💋

IT'S FLUFF.

Notes: This is SELF-INDULGENT AF. I hate it when people insult Nick in the game. This is my way of getting them back! And I want to kiss him and tell him I love him so bad. ;-:

Word count: 2k

It was the final straw, the one that broke the brahmin’s back, Nick Valentine left to defend himself against hate and bigotry for the umpteenth time, and you would not be party to it.

For so long you had traveled by Nick’s side, learning of the many facets to his personality. If there was a single thing about him you did not like, it had to be the ease with which he practiced self-deprecation, not knowing how to remedy the awful perception he had about himself.

Oftentimes, he regurgitated what came out the mouths of others; it had been internalized, compartmentalized, processed, and stored in his long-term memory, the detective unable to let things go—just like so many cases that remained unsolved.

“Shit, a Synth— don’t come near me. What a freak, thinks he’s human…”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t go near you if it meant tomorrow I’d wake up from this nightmare.”

Your soul ached, knowing that every insult, every snide remark caused some level of psychic damage to your partner, his expressions all too readable for those times he was robbed of his fragile dignity, though always walking away the bigger man.

A culmination of varying factors led you to this, Nick’s tragic past haunting not only himself, but you; what you wouldn’t give to make it better, only wishing you had the power to convince him he was worth more than half the Commonwealth combined.

If Valentine could equate himself to nothing more than garbage, you could be the one to remind him that someone else’s trash was frequently another’s treasure— in this case, he was yours.

Though not privy to your feelings, you adored Nick completely. So much so, you were not above engaging in a physical altercation on his behalf.

“Say that again,” you threatened scathingly, turning to face the asshole who had just dared to disrespect your companion, and for no good reason.

“I said he’s a freak, lady—and what’s a pretty thing like you doing traveling with him, anyway?” the ill-mannered caravan guard asked, acting as if Valentine was some disease he could catch, making a blatant show of his disgust.

The hired gun pulled no reaction from the Synth, though Nick stared at you tight-lipped, unnatural, glowing eyes trained hard on your face. His silence spoke volumes, instructing you with a stern look beneath the shade of his hat to drop the matter and turn the other cheek—it was something you weren’t willing to do this time, meeting your newfound enemy head-on.

“Apologize!” you demanded, shoving your adversary backward with a forceful push, both your palms making contact with his ribs. Your cheeks burned, accompanying a rise in your temper, readying yourself for if this vermin should do anything but grovel at Nick’s feet.

“Forget it, this guy ain’t worth it,” Nick offered laconically, hoping to appeal to your common sense. “I’ve heard worse in my time; being called a freak is the least of my concerns.”

“But you’re worth it!” you protested, Valentine’s forehead arcing upward at the conviction in your voice. He had a momentary lapse, his concentration faltering as he tried to get a handle on the situation, Nick having visualized an entirely different outcome based on variables that were currently in flux—namely the sudden change in your mood.

It seemed the shithead had caught on, smarter than he looked, eyeing the two of you with suspicion and derision, as if the very idea you could have feelings toward this hunk of junk was baffling when able-bodied, strong men like him existed.

“Oh, I get it. You’re real sick, lady, a real pervert—you fucking a machine? What’s the matter, human men aren’t good en—”

The jerk was cut off mid-sentence, your balled up fist coming into contact with his jaw; a resounding crack split sound waves as blood spurted from his lips. His colleagues had already wandered off down the road, not wanting to be a part of whatever trouble he had found himself in, having silently agreed to let this member of their team fend for himself.

“You fucking bitch!” the guard twice your size growled, swinging wildly only to miss. Your leg extended; you were pleased when he stumbled, only wishing he had fallen flat on his face.

“Now, wait a—”

He was quick to right himself, spinning on the ball of his heel—you were quicker, kneeing him in the nuts so hard he doubled over, but you weren’t finished yet.

Lifting your arm to gain momentum, you drove the point of your elbow into his spine, causing the offender to drop onto the dirt at your feet.

“I'd say he's down for the—”

Nick couldn’t get a word out; you didn’t appear to be listening, the android observing your uncharacteristic actions with rapt concern. You were pounding your knuckles into the bastard’s nose repeatedly, sticky crimson coating your fist and the man’s sorely wounded face.

As if coming to from a trance, Valentine whisked forward, snatching your wrist before you could cause the poor schmuck any more damage, thinking he may look worse off than even he, what with his bare wires and metal frame exposed to the elements.

“Hey! What’s gotten into you?!” Nick barked, his tone alone condemning your inappropriate conduct, the Synth yanking you up so fast you audibly gasped.

“There ain’t no excuse for this—this guy may be a jackass, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to die!” Nick protested, brows knit in anger the likes of which you had never seen.

You glanced down, only now seeming to notice the extent of his injuries; the man was out like a light. You only cared because he did.

“Nick, I—” you began, voice quavering, losing all resolve as you had been forced to witness Valentine’s sweet disposition vanish, quickly replaced by something undeniably frightening.

You never once imagined yourself to be the victim of his choler, finding you absolutely hated it, breaking down all at once to cry despite not meaning to. You felt simultaneously overwhelmed by guilt and embarrassed beyond measure, unable to look him in the eye.

“Don’t Nick me, this isn’t like you, this—” The man froze, his grip slackening as he loosely held on, thoroughly confused by how you could go from nearly murdering a man in cold blood with your bare hands, to shedding tears in the span of under a minute; he moved to grasp you by your shoulders.

“What’s going on?” he asked, perplexed, the question dry on his tongue. He searched your face for any hint of what the matter was, wondering if you’d lost a screw sometime after leaving Diamond City, as he thought he had a handle on how you operated.

You could not will yourself to respond, vision clouded, droplets pelting your cheeks as you gazed at the ground. You felt worse than a scolded child; you had never meant to upset him so, it being decidedly more terrible than any physical pain you had yet to endure.

“Look at me, damn you!” Valentine demanded, gently jostling you back to the present moment, though your tears only increased, Nick having never cursed at you before.

“Valentine,” you whispered, eyes shimmering, Nick’s fury subsiding to a dull roar as he waited for you to explain yourself. The crease of his brow evened out, the Synth notably more relaxed, though he did not trust you wouldn’t lash out again.

“Go on,” he urged sharply, wanting to get to the bottom of your behavior. It was unnerving, not knowing what else you were capable of at the drop of a dime.

It was an understatement to say that he was surprised when you lifted your arms, pulling the man forward to enfold in your tight embrace. You buried your cheek in the tattered, stained fabric of his coat, crying more softly now as it started to rain.

“Don’t listen to them,” you pleaded, “don’t ever listen to them. You’re perfect just the way you are,” you spoke with earnest, your lips pressing a tender kiss to the spot that lacked a heartbeat, though the gesture stood apart on its own.

“I can’t stand it—the way people treat you, the way they talk down to you—if only they knew—if only they could see what I see—” you sobbed, the sound of your cries muffled against his chest; it was firm, his shirt smelling like coolant and ozone—cigarettes mixed with something earthy—you breathed in deeply, overcome with silent relief when Nick placed his metallic hand on the crown of your head.

“I... I appreciate you, doll,” he started, his voice turning toward a soothing cadence, the way he pet your hair in long, slow strokes comforting you more than it should. “But you didn’t have to do that; would have preferred if you didn’t. Jerks like him get their comeuppance, but it shouldn’t be at the price of dirtying your hands.”

You had never been this intimate with him, nor had you ever planned to be—his words were unscripted, and his affection given of his own volition. You curled in tighter, nuzzling your way into the crook of his good arm, wanting to entomb yourself there for all eternity.

“I’m sorry,” you offered apologetically, feeling the pressure of Nick’s own arms around you, returning your hug, making you feel as if you could die happy at this moment, not minding in the least that there was an unconscious, bleeding man lying only a hairbreadth away. “It hurts me, like I know it hurts you.”

Nick was quiet, mulling over the fact it didn’t do you or him any good to disparage his own person when there were others to do it for him. He had never considered the effect it might have on those around him; it came naturally to want to harp on his own shortcomings—or had it come natural to the real Nick? That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it.

“You’re right, it does. But I shouldn’t let it bother me, not when I have people like you by my side.”

“I love you, Valentine,” you countered, not recognizing the softness of your own voice. You felt a shift beneath you, your head being coaxed to rise by way of a slow tilt of your chin.

Nick stared down at you, gleaming, golden eyes emoting dolefully as he gazed into yours. He held a deep-seated sorrow, not only for you, but for himself, wishing that he was human, if only so he could touch you, hold you, kiss you the way he wanted to.

“That’s not the smartest thing you’ve ever said, but I take it you mean that,” Valentine replied, bending low to brush soft, silicone lips across yours of flesh and blood; they were cool and rough in texture, but not unpleasant. The fact he was kissing you at all was a dream come true.

“With all my heart,” you replied, cupping the Synth's battered cheek in the bowl of your palm, fingers trailing over artificial skin in a light caress.

“So, that’s what this was all about,” he remarked, conjuring up a smile. “You know, I’d give you mine,” he added solemnly, his glum tone indicative of something he was not telling you.

Instead of elaborating, Nick changed the subject, always one to brighten a dark mood. “Next time, just tell me what’s on your mind instead of beating the living daylights out of some poor schmo, all right?”

You managed a smile of your own, delighting in his sarcasm, glad for the fact your confession had taken a lighthearted turn. “I can’t make any promises,” you quipped.

The detective gave a small shake of his head, that lopsided, infectious grin of his spreading up one side of his face. “Taking a page out of my book, are you?”

“I learned from the best,” you breathed, kissing him once more. Though selfish of you, for all you cared, the world could undergo another nuclear war, and you wouldn’t bat a lash, not for as long as you had your funny Valentine.

#Nick Valentine #Valentine fallout 4 #Fallout 4 #Fallout #Nick Valentine x Reader #Nick Valentine x Fem Reader #Fluff #Fanfiction #Fallout fanfiction #My writing #Synth #Synth detective #Nick Valentine x Sole Survivor #Sole Survivor

238 notes · View notes