#John hancock x Sole survivor

[details-and-space-paraphernalia]

chapter four of "orange-colored, purple striped, pretty green polka-dot sky" is now available!!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62074687/chapters/159592831

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Elaborate on the piercing in Hancock’s dick I can’t stop thinking about it. What can he do with it.

I was waiting for this ask, Anon, just so you know. Somebody was gonna send it after I mentioned this headcanon about him. You were just quickest (and horniest) on the draw. Good for you.

John has mixed feelings about his piercing. As disclosed in Carnal Lessons, it's a self-inflicted piercing he barely remembers acquiring, so he's often ashamed when he looks at it. It reminds him of all the things he considers himself a failure at.

Still, it's plenty of fun sometimes.

Its primary use is as a weapon for teasing. Doesn't matter what genitals you have or how you use them, he's gonna find a way to tease you with that godforsaken barbell. All he has to do is pin you down on your back (which is a breeze, even if you're larger than him; ghoul strength is no joke) and rut himself against you a bit. It'll find a spot to do what he wants, which is elicit a sudden, indignant reaction from you. It pretty much always works.

You may have some reservations about it when you first see it, afraid it might snag or somehow otherwise hurt you when it comes time for the main event. However, he assures you that he's never had any complaints, and if you're worried, he's more than happy to take things slow and use lots of lube. He's right, though; it doesn't hurt as it slides against your wet, well-prepared walls, only adding an intriguing edge to each of his thrusts. When he pulls out, you barely feel the thing.

It's also a minor source of anxiety for him when oral comes into play. When he was younger, even wilder, and a little less irradiated, he also had a tongue piercing, and he managed to chip three different teeth with it. He knows hardware is tough on teeth, always worries at least a little when anyone goes down on him that it'll be an issue. For that reason, he's incredibly hesitant to move all that much when he's receiving oral; as much as he'd love to vigorously face-fuck you, he probably won't.

He does love to rub it along your lips and tease you with it, though, especially if you're waiting patiently for him to slip his cock into your waiting mouth. He's just very, very mindful of your teeth when he does.

[destructive-poet]

pulling hancock to the bedroom by the flag around his hips

[ayupimqueen]

Without Pandora, There’s no drama❤️‍🔥⚔️

They went from self insert to an actual character lmao.

And they are a lot happier by living in the end of the world than in her pre war life.

Also of course they are hancock’s partner, they are idiots in love.

[vennshine]

Self indulgent post cuz why not :P

[witty--fool]

Rain In My Heart

Detective Valentine is faced with one case he can’t crack: His own feelings.

Nick Valentine has urges, hopes, daydreams, and wants like any other man–yet he thinks he’s not a man. Not one of flesh and blood, he thinks he’s nothing more than a machine, masquerading as a human.

A birthday celebration for the General of the Minutemen stirs something within, something that’s been waiting to be released for a long time: a longing for a gal that belonged to John Hancock. There’s a rain in his heart that he’s desperately trying to hide–yet he is desperate for any kind of release.

Amidst the festivities, tensions and unspoken desires simmer beneath the surface. Hancock's passionate nature contrasts sharply with Nick's reserved demeanor, yet both men are captivated by the same woman in their own ways. A fleeting moment—a kiss on the cheek, a dance under the flickering lights—fuels these emotions, setting off a chain of events neither man could have foreseen.

Now featuring art by @buttbitchsblog on Tumblr!

[labrat-wasteland-wonders]

[Life’s worth living

When nature’s giving

Happiness to everyone

So let’s go sunning]

[wastelandbfs]

Chapter 5 - now live!

She blinked at him, big blue doe-eyes peerin’ up at him. He wasn’t a tall man, but somethin’ about her in that moment made him feel giant. His hands twitched, fingers dragging against the textured wood of the counter but wishing they were against soft skin, instead. She was magnetic, pulling him in. Like a siren, she called to him, and he felt ready to dash himself against the rocks.

[eupheme]

— made for me

john hancock x curvy!f!sole survivor/reader

rated e - 1.5k

tags: head-over-heels!hancock, showering, body worship, praise kink, PiV, Oral, some descriptors of reader being curvy

prompts: from this ask, “you're so good for me, so fucking good around me, fucking made for me.”

You need him. Not just tonight, but always - and Hancock is all too happy to oblige.

Fuck, he’s missed you.

Been too goddamn long, the days stretching into weeks since his girl had last stepped foot into Goodneighbor.

Always off on a mission for the Minutemen. Trying to save a world that has long grown rotten, because you still see it the way it was before.

Maybe that’s something he loves about you… though he’s not ready to say that out loud.

You had stopped by to see him the second you got in. Leaning against the doorway to his office in the Old State House - only the weariness in your smile had prevented him from taking you right then and there. Already aching to peel you out of the worn vault suit that always hugs your curves so fucking perfectly.

Had even been plannin’ something nice - hell, he had had the time. A night at the Third Rail. A real dinner this time - instead of something warmed up from a can, around the fire.

Something romantic-like.

All of it drop-kicked out the window when you had leaned into his embrace. Chin pressing into his collarbone, as his arm tightened around you. A hand slipping across his chest, to brace right over his racing heart.

A hushed mumur in his ear.

“I need you.”

He’s yours.

Your cry is muffled into the pillow, fingers fisting in the worn sheet.

This is what you’ve been craving.

The grime has been scrubbed from your skin - hair still damp from the first truly hot shower you’ve had in weeks. Wandering hands when Hancock grew impatient, his clothes and tricorn hat still draped messily across a chair from when he joined you.

Unable to wait any longer.

Bruises sucked across your skin, clever fingers slipping between your thighs. Teasing at your breasts, unable to stop touching.

His already cock hard and aching when it pressed against your belly. A slick smear left behind, a mark against your skin that was not from the shower.

He couldn’t do everything he wanted to do to you there. It had been an easy decision to move to the bed. Firmly guiding you, a hand pressing against your back as you dipped.

“Hands and knees, doll.”

It had been easy to follow - easing into position before the words had left his lips. Eager to do as he asks.

If there’s anything you’d learned about the wasteland, it’s that Hancock was more than capable of taking care of you. That yes, you might call the shots out there, but here listening came second nature.

You need him everywhere. Need to forget all those long hours away - your knees inching wider, back arching, as he growls.

The snap of his hips plunges him deep each time. Pairing with the creak of the floorboards beneath his feet, where he stands at the end of the bed.

He likes it this way. The fit of his hands against your waist. The plush curve of your ass, bouncing with each powerful thrust.

It has you melting into the mattress. Sinking lower, flat palms and locked arms slipping, your body stretching out. All that responsibility you carry on your shoulders, easing for a moment under his touch.

Hancock follows the slope of your back, skin pressing against skin. His mouth at your ear - the harsh pant of his breath making your skin prickle with desire, as teeth nip at your neck.

A hand slipping to cup the soft weight of your breast again, unable to resist. His thrusts slowing as he moans - long and rough and low - starting a lazy roll of his hips.

It’s bliss, the wet slide of his cock. How full he makes you feel, the warm and comforting weight of his chest where it presses into your back.

“Been too long, sunshine,” It comes out ragged, more than just need layered in his words. His fingers tugging at a pebbled nipple, just to feel how you clench around him.

You hum turns into a moan, as his hand dips - curving past your stomach.

“Missed you,” You sigh, “I need this. Need you-”

He has unsettled you at first.

How he peeled away from the darkness, on that late evening in Good Neighbor. Shadows cast across his face - skull-like. The rough rasp of his voice.

“Whoa, whoa. Time out.”

The glint of a knife when he flipped it in the air. Catching the hilt easily before burying it deep into the gut of that thug. Done with his attempt at diffusing.

How quickly your opinion had changed. His charms softening that razor-sharp edge, though he was no less dangerous.

Your thumb had ran along it, expecting to get cut. Waiting for the sharp prick and red bloom of blood, the iron taste in the air.

But somehow - along the way - these drab hotel walls and the warmth of his touch has begun to feel an awful lot like home.

“Know you fuckin’ do, gorgeous.” He coos, a rough sound in his throat when his fingers press against your clit, “Look at you, taking me so well. So goddamn wet, were you thinking about this?”

Hancock hilts himself, unmoving, as his fingertips circle. Your moan is loud, thighs tensing - rocking back, fucking yourself on him.

He laughs, a hand grasping at your hip. Loving how soft you feel beneath the raw pinch of his touch. How easy it is to lose himself in your pleasure, a new kind of drug.

An even better kind of high.

“Yes,” You squirm, “Always thinking about you.”

It’s not quite what he meant, but damn if it doesn’t affect him. Not just needing the way he makes you feel - and he knows he’s good at that - but him, as well.

“Fuck.” Hancock rasps, unable to help the buck of his hips. Starting to fuck you again, leaning back to see the mess you’ve already made around his cock. Slick smeared across his base, his balls sticky where they kiss against your cunt.

“Been thinkin’ about you too,” His fingers still circle - he can hear the change in your breath. Held from when he sunk into you. Short and needy as he picks up.

Ragged now, as you meet his thrusts. Pushing back against his cock, and then against his fingers when you shift forward. A never-ending loop of pleasure.

“Not gonna let you sleep, you know that?” He coos, “Gotta make up for lost time.”

Exhaustion nips at you, but you think it’d be worth it.

Maybe you need the rest, but you need him more - eager to spend the night wrapped up in Hancock until his touch is the only thing you can remember.

The pleasure swirls to a breaking point, his sharp tongue toying at the pulled-tight string in your belly.

“Please,” You moan, instead, “Anything you want. I’m so close, please-”

He laughs, a short, harsh thing that turns into a groan.

“Yeah?” Hancock husks, fingers dipping down to gather more wetness. Harder when they press against your clit, now. Tight circles that have you clenching tightly around him, “Gonna come already, sweetheart?”

His name a garbled whine, your face buried in the mattress. Heat licking at you, unable to do more than just hold on. Hips moving on their own, chasing the high that is just within your grasp.

“Then come on,” He growls, fingers pinching into your hip, “Lemme make you feel good, baby. I’ve got you.”

You break, under his touch. A much-needed shattering, his name moaned into the sheets as you come hard around him.

He can feel the way you stiffen under his touch. How you bear down around him, how your pussy becomes even more slick with your orgasm. Warm and tight, pulsing around him as he keeps up the pace.

Words spilling from his lips, as a strung-tight thread is plucked inside his belly.

“You’re so good for me,” Hancock husks. Voice rough and low and more ghoul than he’s sounded in a long time.

“So fuckin’ good around me.”

Practiced fingers drawing out your pleasure. Eyes half-shut as you whine, back arching. His praise shooting straight through you, down to thrum with the pleasure radiating from your core.

His teeth grit - a part of his heart slipping free with his words.

“Fuckin’ made for me.”

You almost don’t catch it. Everything hazy and muted. A hand slipping between your thighs, fingers twining with his. Squeezing, so he knows. A silent ‘for you.’

He eases from you, soon after - a gentle touch against your back, guiding you to the bed. Shooting him a little frown as you flip over, seeing the way his fist moves to wrap around the base of his swollen cock, squeezing.

Edging himself, holding back the orgasm swiftly building in his own belly.

Fitting between your thighs instead, his expression dark - hungry. Hands curving around your knees when they start to press close, a sharp grin sent your way when you sigh his name.

“Think I was kidding?” He husks - eyes dragging over you. Down, to where he split you open, made you come. All that soft, slick skin - begging to be devoured.

Because if you want him to make you forget - then he’s sure as hell going to see it through.

His tongue peeking out between his lips, just before he closes the gap. A warning and a promise gritted out, just before his head dips to taste you.

“Sunshine, you’re in for a long fuckin’ night.”

hi anon thank you again for requesting this! And thank you all so much for reading 💖💖

[inkegg]

Two Polaroids so far! I think I want to do at least one more :>

[details-and-space-paraphernalia]

chapter three of "orange-colored, purple striped, pretty green polka-dot sky" is out now!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62074687/chapters/159309205

[iwritefandomimagines]

NOT GOING ANYWHERE — JOHN HANCOCK

masterlist

pairing: john hancock x reader

description: you couldn’t be happier with the life you’ve built in goodneighbor with john. when a handsome stranger makes your acquaintance at the third rail, though, your beloved mayor needs just a little reminding that you’re all his.

warnings: tooth rottin’ fluff baby !!! bit of swearing as per. of course the handsome stranger is coop !

author’s note: this was a request i HAD to start immediately so thank you so much for it and sorry it took a while. john hancock deserves the world and you, dear reader, wanna give it to him here <3 enjoy!

———

“What’s a pretty little smoothie like you doin’ in these parts?”

At the sound of the gruff voice beside you, you had to fight off the deep, frustrated sigh that threatened to escape your lips.

It’s not like you didn’t get asked that same question every time a newbie swung into town, but it was growing increasingly boring of late.

You’d been living here over a year now, and at least nine months of that time had been spent practically attached to the mayor’s hip.

Hancock had been enamoured with you as soon as he met you, and for once you felt that his attentiveness was genuine — not just the usual curiosity about your past or your once evident naivety about the world.

That naivety was gone, now, anyway.

“I live here,” you replied, swirling the bourbon around in your glass as you looked up at the man who’d situated himself at your side, “Home sweet home.”

He was handsome, undoubtedly, a cowboy hat hung on his head and a smirk beset on his face as his dark eyes flashed over your frame.

He chuckled, leaning up onto the bar and signalling to Charlie — who immediately got busy pouring him a drink.

“Surprising, saw a pretty little thing like you as more the Diamond City type,” he took a sip of his fresh drink, “Not slummin’ it here with folks like me.”

You scoffed at that, “New around here then?”

“Just passing through,” he hummed, “Couldn’t waste a chance to talk to ya, could I?”

It was at that moment that you saw Hancock descend the stairs, and you breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Sorry to say it, but your flirting is a little rusty,” you chuckled, “Besides, I’m spoken for.”

He turned around now, a hearty laugh escaping him as his eyes locked with Hancock’s — the latter now just metres in front of him.

“Oh, maybe slummin’ it was underestimating it, heh,” he swirled his drink in his glass, “Here I am forgettin’ my manners and trying it on with Mrs fuckin’ Mayor of Goodneighbor.”

Hancock rolled his eyes, “Like you’ve ever had any manners, Howard.”

“Well I had been hopin’ to ask you about the sweet thing I’ve heard you’d been so taken by, hm,” his eyes scanned over you again, drinking you in, “My mistake for hitting on her first.”

Hancock’s arm swung to hook around your waist protectively, and you looked between the pair, “You know each other?”

“We’ve crossed paths a fair bit,” they didn’t seem as frosty as you’d feared when you asked that question, so you were relieved that the hint of tension appeared to be based on the new ghoul’s advances as opposed to any previous issues.

“Well, it was nice meeting you…” you trailed off, realising that in your short lived conversation you hadn’t learned the ghoul’s name.

“Y’can call me Cooper. Coop if you like,” he side-eyed the mayor with another chuckle, “Though I s’pose your mayor wouldn’t be too fond’a that.”

You shook your head, again leaning close to Hancock to kiss his cheek. His grip on your waist loosened just a smidgen at this action as he seemingly relaxed.

“Hm, well if you don’t mind, we’ve got some stuff to do.”

“Oh, I’ll bet you do. See ya’round.”

You looped your arm through Hancock’s now, smiling at the other Third Rail inhabitants as you made your way back to the Old State House beside a grumbling Hancock.

You could see he looked frustrated, his teeth gritted and his eyes barely leaving the floor as he navigated to your room.

“I leave you alone for two minutes and Cooper fuckin’ Howard is trying to hit on you,” he shook his head, “Lucky I came back when I did.”

You stopped for a moment, just before you were both about to settle down on the couch, “What, y’think his god awful flirting would’ve worked on me if you hadn’t?”

He shrugged, slumping down and pocketing the jet he’d been contemplating taking. He figured now wasn’t the time.

“Hancock, seriously,” you frowned, settling beside him and cuddling into his side, “You don’t need to worry about that kinda thing. Really.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Sweetheart, it ain’t hard to see you’re out of my league. Can’t help worrying you’ll skip out on me sometime.”

It broke your heart to hear him talk like that — Hancock was the best thing that had ever happened to you, and there was no chance in hell you’d give him up if you could help it.

“That’s not gonna happen, like ever,” you cooed, “I’m so happy here, with you. Goodneighbor is home… You’re home, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He seemed briefly satisfied by this, but the slight pout still remained on his face, “I know, sugar, I know. Just hard to believe I lucked out this much. Howard’s right, you shouldn’t be slumming it here with us.”

You heaved out a deep sigh, “I’m not slumming it here, though. Goodneighbor might be dysfunctional, but I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else. We got a good thing going here.”

“We do, don’t we,” he leaned into your touch now as you cuddle in close to him, “‘M sorry, sunshine. You’re right.”

You pressed a kiss to the rough skin of his cheek, “I love you. No amount of flirting from some random irradiated cowboy is gonna stop that.”

He chuckled now, “Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, reaching up to pull his hat from his head and place it on your own, “I much prefer my men in a tri-corn hat.”

“And I resent that my girl looks so much better in said tri-corn hat than I do,” he licked his lips, eyes scanning over your entire figure.

You’d never get over the way that, as impossibly dark as his eyes were anyway, they always seemed to darken just that little more when he took you in, permanently twinkling in adoration.

“Nuh uh,” you shook your head, immediately replacing the hat on his head, “Not even remotely true. I’m one lucky girl.”

The sing-song lull of your voice made his heart swell, and he found himself almost more dazed than he’d have been after the hit of jet he’d long forgotten about wanting.

He reached to pull you into his lap by the waist, smiling into a kiss as you curled into his lap just as he’d hoped you would.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” his rough hands caressed the curve of your jaw now, “No wonder sons of bitches like Cooper Howard are droolin’ all over you. You’re an absolute dream.”

His touch sent goosebumps across your skin as you smiled so wide your cheeks almost ached, “Hm, you may have told me that once or twice.”

“Just so damn pretty,” he murmured, his insecurities bubbling back up for just a moment, “And stuck up to this ugly mug every day.”

You pulled back briefly, pouting down at him from your position in his lap as you shook your head.

It broke your heart that, even when assured of how you felt, he still worried your feelings were somehow stunted by the way he looked.

“Baby, there’s no face I’d rather wake up to,” you hummed, pressing gentle kisses to every inch of irradiated skin on his face.

You were sure that if he was still capable of doing so, he’d be blushing crimson.

You finally reached his lips again, giving them one gentle kiss before showcasing a big toothy grin again, “If anything, I feel like I’m dreaming. Luckiest girl in the commonwealth.”

“Now you’re just being crazy,” he kissed the corner of your lips as you rolled your eyes, causing him to raise the space where his eyebrows once were, “You been at my stash of chems without telling me again?”

You shoved his arm playfully, “Me? Crazy? Never! Crazy ‘bout you, maybe!”

For a beat you were wordless, just giggling at your own cringeworthy line as you curled in closer to him.

You lived for moments like this — when all the hustle and bustle and danger of his life as mayor fell away for just a moment so that he was all yours to be completely yourselves together.

The giggling soon stopped though, replaced by your attempts to blink away sleep as you nestled closer to him.

It had been a long day, and the couple of bourbons you’d knocked back while waiting for Hancock’s working day to be over (well, not that he ever really took a moment from his duties besides when you were alone) had begun to make you sleepy.

All Hancock could do was smile as he tucked your yawning figure into his chest, kissing the top of your head.

“You get some sleep, sweetheart,” he scooped his arms beneath you to lift you over to your bed, “I love you.”

Your reply came out almost too incoherent to understand, the wave of sleepiness hitting you so suddenly and so hard that you could barely keep your eyes open to smile up at him.

“‘M in love wi- you,” you managed as you curled up, “C’mere ‘n’… cuddle. Need you.”

He laughed, his whole body warming at the sight and sound of you, “I’m not going anywhere, sunshine. Never.”

And as you fell asleep with a Cheshire Cat grin on your face, Hancock was certain he’d never been more in love.

———

um john hancock you’re the love of my life fr !!!!!! i hope this was okay, it’s a lil messy but i’ve been ill this weekend so it’s a bit short & written amidst kinda flu-ey delirium (i’ll inevitably come back to edit) but i hope you enjoyed — feel free to request more hancock/other fallout characters while i finish up NMFR pt.3 for u lovely people. and here’s my masterlist <3

[apraxvalith]

Sketchpage Commission WIP [The rest is of this page is v NSFW but at least I can share this lol]

[cywritesthings]

Weathering a Storm (John Hancock/Fem Sole Survivor)

You can also find this over on AO3! Pre-relationship, warning for mild language.

Prompt: a sudden storm kicks up. Nora had not given much thought to just how severe the changes to the weather could be after the war. She was, unfortunately, going to find out from first-hand experience, much to the chagrin of her faithful companions, John Hancock and Dogmeat.

When you had escaped your frozen prison back in late October, you hadn’t really given thought to how the nuclear apocalypse may have affected the weather during the seasons. Hell, you hadn’t given thought to how nuclear radiation could’ve changed anything at that point.

You probably should have. Preferably before the middle of December, as the idea of combating radioactive snow and the freezing temperatures was now not just a damned idea, you are very much living it. Even with your wool-lined boots and the thick jacket you picked up in Diamond City, the bitterly cold wind whipping against you has long since pierced your protective clothing.

And, based on the constant stream of curses coming not too far behind you, your ghoulish companion is suffering similarly. Even Dogmeat is struggling, his usually high and wagging tail only a mere inch from dragging the ground.

Maybe it’s time to find some shelter…

Just as the thought struck your mind, the wind begins to pick up, and a new contender joins the falling snow: sleet. The horrid mix of ice and rain comes in sudden sheets, quickly drenching you and no doubt your companions, too. Your fingers are already numb as you fumble with your Pip-Boy, desperate to find something close enough to run to…

There!

“This way!” You half-scream over the roaring wind and rain, darting blindly to the right. Your Pip-Boy showed what seemed to be a house (or previously a house) in that general direction, and at this point, you have nothing to lose.

Well. Except your life from hypothermia. Or a fatal tumble to a broken neck. Slipping and landing on something sharp in a not great location.

Those thoughts put a further pep in your step, and thankfully, you can see Dogmeat running beside you as well as Hancock in your peripheral vision. You blindly grope forward as you run, and while it takes what feels like an eternity to find something solid amidst the pouring rain and ushered darkness-

OOF!

The air is knocked from your lungs as you practically clothesline yourself across the railing to the stairs.

“Found it,” you wheeze out, stumbling up the stairs. The door doesn’t budge when you try it, and you let out an exasperated cry as you jerk at it again.

“Move, sister!” Hancock budges you to the side, and delivers a hard kick to the door. The rotting wooden frame gives way under the force, leaving the door to swing open. He pushes against your back to get you inside, Dogmeat eager to follow.

You barely manage to turn the light on your Pip-Boy with your frozen fingers, but once the bright blue light shines through the darkness, you make for a nearby cabinet to push against the door. The door that Hancock has his back pressed against, the only thing standing between the mostly dry inside and the icy storm raging outside. With a few shoves, you have the cabinet wedged well enough that he can make a move to help force it the rest of the way against the door, propping it up on the stairs.

Your teeth chatter so hard, you’re impressed you don’t bite off your tongue when you speak. “W-we sh-sh-should go upstairs-s-s. Warm air r-rises.”

Hancock, breathing hard, nods and pulls out his knife, then waves for you to head up first. “You got the flashlight, might be better for you to head up first, hm?”

“Y-Yeah.” You draw your pistol, though you doubt your aim would be well enough to use it at the moment with how hard you shiver, and head up the stairs first. They are made of concrete versus standard wood, much to your relief; less likely to step on a rotten stair and go tumbling backwards. Dogmeat pushes in front of you, loudly sniffing, followed quickly by even louder sneezes.

A few minutes of checking the two rooms upstairs, and the three of you settle in the room closest to the door and with the fewest windows. While you peel off your sodden outer clothes, Hancock pushes the armoire in front of the sole window, trying to block the draft and any potential shards of glass, should it not hold up against the storm. Your coat and the pants you had on over your vault suit hit the floor with a nasty shlunk and shlop noise, followed by your boots and soaked socks. Not too far behind, Hancock starts stripping his centuries-old duds off, with similar unpleasant noises.

Still shivering, you get your flip lighter out and light the oil lamps you’d found in one of the hallway closets, then proceed to set up candles around the room. Still, the heat from those were so little, and even your vault suit was uncomfortably damp...

You look at Hancock, who’s back is to you as he rummages in the armoire, looking through the clothes inside. You barely manage to catch the sweater and pants he tosses at you.

“I can still hear your teeth chatterin’ away over the rain, Nora. Get out of that damned suit before you catch your death.”

“What about you?”

He laughs hoarsely as he pulls out a dusty white shirt and slacks. “Covered.”

You stare at him for a moment longer… and you can feel heat start to warm your cheeks, down to your neck. “Do you… mind turning around?”

“’Course not. You just had to ask.” He gives you a wink before turning his back to you, his pure cotton undershirt showing off just how lithe his figure is under that big, red coat. “Gonna ask the same of you, though.”

It takes a second for his words to process, but you chuckle once they do, turning your back to him as well. “I think that’s fair enough.”

Your icy fingers struggle with the zipper for a moment, but you do eventually manage to get the suit unzipped to your waist. Now the fun part: trying to get out of this damned thing when it’s practically suctioned to your skin. You nearly pull your shoulder out of socket just getting it off of your arms and down to your waist, but curses start to stream from your lips as you fight to get it off of your hips and legs.

“You need some help over there?” Hancock teases, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice.

“I am fine, mind your business, sir,” you huff angrily, nearly ripping the damned suit before almost going headfirst into the bed in front of you. “Son of a fucking bitch.”

“Whoa, whoa, that’s no way to talk about your good pal’s mother.”

With a cry of success, you manage to wrangle the last of the suit from around your ankles. “Oh, you are so funny. Is the Mayor of Goodneighbor also known for his astounding comedy routines?”

“Why, of course. Who do you think they get down in The Third Rail when Mags is sick?”

“I can’t stand you,” you huff, shaking out your damp hair. Your underthings and the thin tank top you wear under the vault suit aren’t too bad off, just damp, so you slide the sweater and pants on over them. “Are you ready for me to turn around, or do I need to continue to protect your… modesty?”

“And here I thought I was protecting yours… nah, I’m good if you are, sister.”

“Neato.” You sigh as you turn around and sink onto a patch of dry floor, trying to soak up as much warmth from the oil lamps as possible. You notice Dogmeat has taken residence a ways outside the room, likely because he keeps shaking off so much water. And, well, your other companion sits across the lamps from you, picking through his coat’s pockets, likely looking for a chem of choice to use. “I gotta say, you clean up rather well, John Hancock.”

He laughs as he pops a few mentats out of their blister packs, then dry swallows them. “Why, thank you, beautiful. Gotta say, the old world looks pretty good on you, too.”

You snort, tugging at the hem of the woven sweater. “Well, thank you, good sir. I do happen to be quite a fan of this type of sweater. I… actually think I have a few put away somewhere…”

“...why didn’t you wear one?”

“Well, I… didn’t think the winters would be so severe.”

“I mean, didn’t the term ‘nuclear winter’ get coined in your time, sister?” He teases lightly as he fishes a can of purified water out of his bag and takes a long drink.

You snatch it out of his hand when he offers it to you, huffing. “Yes, but I never thought to take it literally.”

“Hmm. Wonder who’s fault that is then.”

“Certainly not mine.”

“No, ‘course not.”

You sigh and set the can of water between the two of you before snagging a dusty pillow, turning it to the less dusty side, and stretching out on the floor. “How long do these storms tend to last?”

“Should let up in a few hours.” He mirrors your actions, but uses his arms as a pillow instead. “One good thing ‘bout it, though.”

“Nothing’s gonna brave the storm to fuck with us?”

“Yep.”

[mahiiimahiiii]

Girl send help girl, he's going to get 3rd degree burns.

[theranciddwarf]

John Hancock would be a bridezilla and you will never be able to convince me otherwise. That is all.