#fallout 4 fluff

[sweetcocopowder]

Pitch Black Dahlias | PT. 1 | PT.2

Synopsis: The news had taken everyone by shock. The Minutemen had been the one to take down the Institute. It's evil being rid of the Commonwealth once and for all.

But that doesn't mean that Nate's work is over. There is a still a lot to. And that includes helping Danse with his current dilemma of finding out who he truly is. And the pre-war man thinks bringing Danse along on some Railroad jobs will help out.

Hopefully.

Word Count: 2.2K

Pairing: Paladin Danse x Nate (Male Sole Survivor)

Warnings: Slow Burn. Trauma. Eventual Smut.

The only times Danse has had the time to visit to Diamond City, it’s all been for Nate. He sees no need to come to this part of the Commonwealth by himself. Yes, he has travelled and scouted around Diamond City when he was stationed at the Cambridge Station. But even those little expeditions were dangerous at that point of time. Those memories still spark a pang of hurt deep within his chest.

He pushes it aside as he walks down the stairs to the Diamond City centre. He hasn’t seen Nate in two weeks. A whole two weeks since they infiltrated the Institute together with the Minutemen and destroyed the evil from the Commonwealth.

He was more than honoured to do so when Nate had asked him to be by his side. It had given him something to shoot at and fight for.

A part of him only hoped that it would have been the Brotherhood to participate in such a role. But Danse couldn’t argue with Nate when he was set in his ways. His mind was made up ages ago. The whole ordeal out of the Listening Post was probably what tipped him over the edge. It always something that Danse stills ponders on. Still thinking that that day was his last.

But he’s still here, alive, as a synth can get, and standing naked in Diamond City. Not naked per say, but he feels like it.

He’s come without his power armour at Nate’s request. He felt more at home inside of one. But the fact that Nate had asked him to come without one? It made him feel weary travelling from the Castle to Diamond City without it. But he trusts Nate’s judgement even if it might be questionable at times.

Like standing still while aiming down his scope as a super mutant suicider came barrelling his way. Danse was still his sponsor back then and hounded into Nate for being so stupid. He left it out of the report, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing he did for the Brotherhood matters.

He pulls his bomber jacket closer around his chest, the late autumn breeze cold today. He ventures through the market to Nate’s residents at the Home Plate, ignoring the multiple people calling his way trying to upsell their products. He doesn’t need a haircut, or some ammo, or a… swatter? He eyes the red faced man before continuing on.

Anyways.

Danse gives three sharp knocks on the door and takes a step away. He eyes the empty power armour rack, wondering where Nate has kept his T-45. It wasn’t at the Castle, he just came from there. Maybe he’s left it up at the Red Rocket with his wide collection of power armours. He waits a few minutes before knocking again. He doesn’t want to intrude even though he knows Nate wouldn’t care. It’s more out of respect than anything.

“Danse.”

Slowly -at the sound of the very unique voice-, the ex-Paladin turns to meet the synth detective with a frown. Valentine narrows his gaze to him with a raised brow.

“Valentine,” he responds back blandly.

“Glad to see you out and about after everything,” the detective says with as much sarcasm as possible.

“Where’s Nate?” Danse gets to the point, his tone blunt and firm.

But Valentine doesn’t faulter to the demand. His stark yellow eyes flickers behind the former soldier before back at him. “He’s this way,” he says instead with a small wave of his hand.

Danse hesitates for a moment, glancing to the door before reluctantly following after Valentine. He’s well aware that his hate towards the synth is something that’s hypocritical. Yet there’s something so intertwined in Danse’s heart that he hasn’t been able to rid himself of yet. Could be the same reason why he was so ready to die by Nate’s hands. Dropped to his knees and begged that he needed to be the example, not the exception.

Yet Nate had still dragged him from his knees and pleaded. Showed him mercy that Danse didn’t deserve. The ex-Paladin doesn’t think he deserved it. He’s heard from others that Nate has a bleeding heart and Danse wouldn’t be the one to object to those claims. Sometimes it’s a dangerous thing. Getting them into more trouble at times.

The two don’t get far. Valentine stops just outside the chems store and points a skinny, metal finger upwards. Danse looks up without a word and doesn’t see it at first, but when he does he can’t help but stare.

There’s a small, makeshift balcony atop of Nate’s residents, one that overlooks the city. A grand view of the place. It’s a lovely little spot that Nate paid a pretty cap for. But there in his little red throne -a single seater couch- with his head lolled onto his chest, is Nate fast asleep. His hands are overlapped on his torso with his legs outstretched. He reminds Danse of one of those older settlers at Sanctuary that can be seen napping the day away. Every, single, day.

“How long has he been up there?” Danse asks casually. His shoulders have relaxed and his head is slightly cocked to the side like a dog.

“Around three hours now,” Valentine answers with a chuckle. “As far as I know from Piper they came back from the Railroad. They’ve been keeping him on his toes lately trying to help the synths you and him helped out.”

Danse swallows thickly. “It was all him.”

“Whatever you say, big guy,” Valentine speaks softly. “But at least give yourself some credit.”

There’s no response to that and the synth detective hums at that.

“Is that why I haven’t seen high or nigh of you lately? Didn’t want to deal with other synths?” Valentine asks, jabbing at this point.

Danse swallows thickly and changes the subject. “Why was Piper with him?”

Valentine lightly rolls his eyes and looks back up Nate. “She wanted a story. The aftermath of the Institute and what nots. Don’t know how good it’ll be with the Railroad wanting to stay hidden and all.”

“Does it matter anymore with the Institute gone?” Danse asks a genuine question.

It takes Valentine back a bit, the question actually making him wonder. “To some degree, yeah. There’s still synths out there that believe in what the Institute was doing.” The detective pauses for a moment, staring at the soldier. “You’d know that if you didn’t go off hiding away. Nate needs you right now more than ever.”

Danse swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I’ll wake him,” is all he murmurs before walking off.

He brings the spare keys to Home Plate out of his jacket pocket and unlocks the door. He wouldn’t normally let himself in, despite Nate having told him in the past that this place is more welcome to call home than anywhere else. Like the Castle and Sanctuary.

“It’s ours,” he has said once. It sounds weird on his mind as it did hearing it the first time from Nate’s mouth.

Yet whenever Danse is at those settlements as well, he feels more of the need to keep on his toes and work. Make sure that everything is in order, checking the defence systems more moving onto the water supplies, then onto the generators. Keeping his mind and body preoccupied so that he doesn’t have to think of other pressing matters. Just like the Brotherhood had ironed into him.

But Home Plate, it’s probably the only place that Danse has ever felt relaxed. The noise that seeps in through the thin walls of the place reminds him all too well of the Prydwyn, an all too welcoming murmur of noise. Theres no checklists at Home Plate. Only the mundane need to keep the place tidy of dust and other critters that decide to make themselves home.

Danse is quick to take himself up the stairs to the balcony. He opens the door as quietly as he can, peering around the corner to where Nate still sleeps peacefully on the couch. The ex-Paladin can’t help but watch for a moment with his brown eyes. The usual frown that has somehow become a permanent thing on Nate’s face has now smoothed out.  

With a quick glance out below, Valentine is nowhere to be seen and the people of Diamond City pay them no mind. One other thing that was ironed into Danse was their concept on attraction. A Paladin had to be at his best at all times. And that meant to having someone you love dearly being on your mind. The quality and the care for a Paladin’s garrison was all that Danse was able to think about.

Yes, he had come to a point in his sponsorship with Nate that his brewing feelings could mean something much more. Seeing someone being able to hold their own and being able to lead. It had wanted Danse to know more about Nate and who he was before the war. What things were like back then.

Slowly, Danse kneels down to one knee next to Nate’s outstretched legs. He brings a hand up gently and caresses the sleeping man’s face who stirs. Nate inhales deeply as his dark blue eyes blink awake through a squinted, peeping gaze. He looks to Danse with a bleary expression before a warm smile comes to his lips. He leans into the rough hand on his face, cupping it with his own. He turns his face into Danse’s palm and gives it a light kiss, his movements still filled with the grogginess of sleep.

“I think I may still be dreaming,” Nates murmurs groggily.

Danse stands up and places a kiss to the other’s forehead. “Rise and shine.”

Nate groans loudly as he stretches his stiff joints in the couch. He looks out to the small city and blinks.

No matter how much the Brotherhood had said about attraction and love, Nate had always made it feels welcoming though. Something that Danse still finds himself having trouble pulling away from. These past two weeks have been hell sent. But he won’t admit that out loud where the world can hear.

Nate then looks to his pip-boy as he licks his lips. His face goes from placid to wide and frantic within less than a second.  

“I was out for over three hours!?” He exclaims as he suddenly sits up straight.

Danse responds quickly with, “Your body needed the rest after everything you’ve been putting yourself through.”

Nate stands up, running a hand through his hair as his peace is disrupted by his own mind and responsibilities once more. This is probably the first time in months that Nate has had some time to himself.

“We’re going to be late!” Nate exclaims. “Did you let me sleep that long?” He asks with no bite to his tone.

“I only just arrived here,” Danse states.

That seems to calm the other man down a bit, his tense shoulders sagging. “Okay then we would have been late anyways,” Nate says more to himself than to the ex-Paladin.

“Why did you want me here?” Danse asks.

Deep blue eyes focus back onto the soldier. “Did you pick up those care packages?” He asks.

Danse could make a comment. A bad comment that would most likely have Nate snapping at him. Because why did Nate have him go to a Railroad drop point to meet up with Deacon of all people to hand him this, box? A care package of some sorts. Deacon hadn’t said much, had just said good luck before moving on with a fat grin on his face. He had tipped his wig of hair like some man in a suit would tip their fedora. It was odd and only had Danse confused even further.

But knowing that this job had to do with the Railroad, he couldn’t help but let that old hatred towards them linger and simmer. He’s aware it’s wrong, they help others of his kind. Synths. Yet there it was, that distaste that comes to his tongue whenever he’s near them or mentioned.

So, he replies with a simple and bland, “Yes.”

Nate picks up on his though and looks to him with a raised brow. “You didn’t do anything stupid with Deacon, did you?” He asks with a hand on his hip.

Danse’s brows shoot up. He should be offended at Nate saying such a thing! “No! I wouldn’t harm one of your contacts even if they’re-“ he cuts himself short. “I wouldn’t,” he repeats himself, his voice more on the verge of a whine than anything else. He clears his throat, hoping to cover it up.  

He shuffles around inside of his bomber jacket and holds out the two care packages to Nate instead. Hoping to distract the man from his current inner panic.

Nate takes the packages with a thank you. He opens them both up without a word, looking inside to make sure that everything is intact. From where Danse stands, he can’t see anything but from the look on Nate’s face, everything is satisfactory.

“Alright!” Nate exclaims as he snaps the packages shut. He places them under his arm as he makes his way back into Home Plate. “I want you to join me for a delivery!”

“A delivery?” Danse can’t help but ask.

“A very, dangerous delivery,” Nate grins slyly before he disappears inside.

Danse can’t help but roll his eyes at the comment. Isn’t everything dangerous when it comes to the man? The way he does things is, questionable. Danse groans to himself, before heading inside after the other.

[sinisterexaggerator]

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.”

[just-some-trans-nobody]

Nick Valentines x GN reader

Pure fluff for y'all, with a touch of angst at the end. I know theres like zero demand for fallout 4 fanfic but I made a poll idk how nany months ago asking if I should make some Nick Valentine fanfic and I got a couole of yes and exactly one follower from that poll. So this goes out to the small anount of people who said yes and that one follower I got from it, theres nore Nick fanfic to come I've just haven't gotten around to it yet but I promise I'll post some every so often.

Like always minors don't interact!

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He loves playing with your hair when he thinks your asleep. Sense he doesn't sleep he'll join you in bed when he needs a break from going over files and lay down with you so he can olay with your hair.

It started with him sitting on the edge of the bed looking at the wall as he thought about his most current case but when you started to stir in your sleep, having a bad dream, he laid down next to you and held you in his arms whispering sweet things to you until you calmed dow.

He found himself enjoying having you in his arms. Thus started a routine of him slipping into bed with you every so often to take a break.

Normally he would take a smoke break when you slept but he found himself craving a cuddle more than a smoke lately.

Soon every so often turned into every night of him crawlling into bed with you and getting up before you woke.

One night he had been loat in thought about something and hadn't noticed you waking up until he heared your tired voice ask him what he was doing.

"What? Oh sorry didn't mean to wake ya." He said pulling his hand away.

He was surprised when you asked him to keep playing with your hair. More than happy to oblige he started playing with it again.

It soothed you back to sleep in his arms snuggling into his chest as you slept soundly.

The next night when you got into bed you patted the spot next to you with an expectant look.

"You want me to join you or somethin?" Nick would ask looking to the bed then to you. Nodding you head you gavw him a big smile.

Who could say bo to that?

Nick was now "going to bed" with you every time you were. Really it was him laying in bed playing with your hair as he talked avout whatever case he had currently going on until you fell asleep.

He wouldn't admit it, at least not out loud but he adored this nightly routine the two of you had going on though he never hid the smile on his face every time he saw you getting ready for bed or how fast he was to crawl into bed with you to cuddle.

Nick always played it off cool as if it wasn't the favorite part of his day or anything.

If you asked he would probably say aomething like. "Just doing my job to keep those pesky nightmares away." Or "only making sure you don't stop breaming in your sleep. You humans are rather fragile after all."

Acts as if he isn't often the first one in bed waiting for you.

Before he atarted cuddlibg you every night he would work straight through the night till morning. He wouldn't even realized you had gone to bed till you walked oast him yawning telling him good morning.

Now though? He reminds you every night at 9pm sharp that you need to go to bed.

He'll play it off as your human and need to get a healthy amount of sleep as he actively take his coat and tie off to get comfortable.

If you buy him a pair of pajamas to wear he'll laugh avout it and say he doesn't need them.

He's wearing them the very next day.

If you gad gotten them before he started cuddling you every bight he would just give you a weird look for the thoughtless gift and put it in his empty dresser to collect dust or to be used by guests staying the night. He didn't sleep why would he need pajamas?

Now though? Might own three different pairs

You bet they match with your pajamas.

If anyone else sees him in his pajamas he'll puff out his chest as he puts his hands on his hips. "What? You never seen a synth in lounge wear before? Beat it, it's time for bed."

Nick takes bed time very seriously.

He's big spoon. It feels weird for him to be little spoon

Wont fight you if you want to try big spooning for once but he wasn't really into it

Nick much more prefers having you in his arms. It helps ground him and reminds him that you truly are here now with him and bot some memory from the past seeping into his present.

That and how can he play with your hair all night if he's not facing you silly?

He will lean in every so often and place a soft kiss on your forward as he whispers a soft "I love ya." As to bot wake you.

If he ever lost you he would lay in the bed alone holding onto your pajamas as he tried to think back on all those nights he spent laying in bed with you. He would stop after a few weeks as it hurt too much but after a few years when he had time to heal he would start doing it again so he could feel like you were there again. Nick didn't know how much he missed this, how much he missed you.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

More of pirate-Eclipse with Fallout4 Hancock lines bc I’m a simp sucker for both of them hhhfhfbfbfh

Tiny bonus below the cut: a small compilation of design concepts for sea-monster reader 👉👈

[bisexualiteaa]

would it be alright if you were to write a fluff(maybe smut?) hancock x reader who has adhd who's just overwhelmed with quests and doesn't know which one to do first? Lol please and thank you:)

Of the People, For the People

John Hancock x ADHD!GN Reader (FLUFF!!)

CW: reader struggles with their ADHD, John thinks it’s cute, cursing, guilt, restlessness, slight OOC Hancock, slight suggestive themes towards the end, fluff, possible grammatical/spelling errors, briefly proof read

AN: as someone with ADHD this ask actually really hit home. It was half the reason why I could never start games like Fallout and Skyrim in the first place was because there are so many things you can do, the idea alone was overwhelming to me because I knew it’s start and never finish just about everything pushed my way. Then the TV series came o it and all that changed upon the simple acquirement of a hyperfixation on the ghoul and thus my love for fallout was born! 😂 I am still rather new to Fallout games, lore and such so please be gentle if I have gotten anything wrong, I’m still doing my best at learning everything I can to write these well and properly! But I hope I did your ask some justice with this Anon! Hope you all enjoy some more love for our Mayor Hancock. 🥰

Tag-list: @expirednukacola

“Ugh, there’s just too much to doooo” you whined as you plopped down onto his bed in the state house, exhausted and sore all over from setting up not one, not two, but three whole settlements in one day. Of course it wouldn’t be a day out in the commonwealth if you hadn’t run into monstrosities along the way or people along the way to other settlements who needed other things from you. For instance, there was someone who needed saved from thinking they were a synth and returned to their parents, other people who needed help getting their settlements started, people who needed you to kill some super mutants, people who needed you to eliminate some feral ghouls some place else, and after that you couldn’t even remember if you tried. Thank goodness for your Pip-Boy keeping track of these things or else you feared you’d never remember it all. There was just so much that others, especially Preston, were asking of you to do out here that it was beginning to become just a bit too overwhelming to take on all at once. You loved that you could be help for people, so unfortunately you never really paid your own wellbeing any mind until now that it was at such a detriment you could hardly even think straight, much less accurately hit a target or properly even speak to someone without sounding like intelligence was your dump stat. You wanted ever so badly to be that light for people who had seemed to lose hope because it’s what you would want others to do for you if you were in need. You lived and breathed by that golden rule taught to you so long ago. Come to think of it, the only person who you’d done everything for last that you could remember was Hancock, which was actually how you two ended up together.

“Being commander of the Minutemen will do that to ya, sunshine” Hancock teased, leaning against the door frame as he looked at you, tiredly splayed out on his bed in amusement, finding it funny that the commander of such a large militia could be so…well, you. Anyone else would likely be overwhelmed with power to the point of paranoia, or the opposite and let it go to their head and break them of the person they once were, but you were still yourself through everything. He admired the way you wanted to help people, the way you helped the poor and needy in the ways he wished the rich would do, but he could tell it was taking a clear toll on your wellbeing in doing so. He genuinely couldn’t remember the last time you told someone no, or that you flat out just couldn’t help them because he could see that look in your eyes when someone asked you for help. He saw the sympathy, the pain, saw the way you felt so bad knowing that if you didn’t, they likely wouldn’t make it out in the harsh world of the commonwealth. His heart ached for you in that sense, because he remembers a time when he wanted to help everyone in his town that he could, any way he could, hell it was the whole reason he became the mayor of Goodneighbor in the first place. But just like you, he needed someone to make him realize that you can’t do everything, some things just have to play out and fix themselves on their own. “But I think you need to take a break from it for a day or two, give yourself a chance to recoup. You’re working’ yourself to death and I’m startin’ to get worried” he added, walking into the room to join you and he watched you sit up, looking completely defeated and worried at the idea of not helping others or running things for just a day, let alone two but also at the fact that now he was concerned for you. “But they need me, John. If I don’t help them…what would become of them? What kind of leader would I be to just leave them in shambles? I can’t live with the idea of lives lost because of me…” you said with a guilty tone, clearly torn between the idea of helping yourself or helping others, and the sweet innocence of your good natured personality made him smile softly as he closed the door behind him and sat down next to you on his bed.

“Even heros need a vacation, love. Helping people who won’t make it is wonderful, it’s one of the many things I love about you. But people can just as easily be hurt when they’re guided in the wrong direction because the person directing them isn’t taking care of themselves the way they need to. A good leader needs strength sure, but that strength depletes and needs replenished every now and again, and that’s okay” he said, grabbing your hand in his, squeezing it in the hopes to offer you some level of comfort to assure you his words meant no harm, he simply just wanted you to look out for yourself as much as you looked out for others around you. He knew it got through to you when he heard you exhale an audible deep breath you’d been holding in for so long. “I guess, I just…I don’t know. It feels extra difficult for me because I can never stay focused on just one thing. I get started on one project, then someone comes along and I get so side tracked trying to help them that I forget all about where I started! I probably have twenty of these damn missions at least half started before I dropped them for something else entirely. It’s so frustrating and overwhelming because then they all start to pile up, and then I don’t know where to start!” you explained, making him laugh. Who would have ever guessed his big, fearless commander of the Minutemen, partner was easily sidetracked by their ADHD. But he wouldn’t want you any other way. “Yet you completed everything I asked of you with no issue” he pointed out with a smug grin, making you blush at the realization that he noticed that. “Well…yeah. I did it because I liked you and wanted to get closer to you. I was fixated on it because I wanted it to better my chances of being with you, so to me it wasn’t work. It was just doing something that you, someone I care for, asked me to do, so I did it” you admitted bashfully, making him smile at the wholesome reason you gave him. “That’s so fucking cute” Hancock replied as he put his arm around you, pulling you into his side, making you blush even more before covering your face with your hands. “It’s cute until you realize I killed someone for you” you quipped with a grin once you’d moved your hands away to look at him, making him chuckle at your reply. “Made it even” he joked, referring to when Finn tried to haggle you when you first showed up to Goodneighbor. “Fair enough” you responded as you chuckled, but he could still tell that you hadn’t fully come around to the idea yet, something still had its hold on you but at least you started to open up to the idea.

“C’mon, let’s just take the next couple of days to relax. The settlements will be fine, they run pretty well on their own, I’m sure they can survive a day or two without you. Maybe Nick or Codsworth can run ship while you take the time to yourself” he said, making you lean your head against his shoulder as you contemplated it. “Poor Codsworth, I wouldn’t do that to him. He tended to my house for two hundred years despite the absolute state of decay it was in from the explosions, thinking the family would come back any day and it drove him nearly mad. I could only imagine what running settlements would do to him” you said, making him chuckle. “Okay then how ‘bout Nick? He’s traveled with you long enough, he’s a smart guy, I’m sure he could handle it. I’m sure he’d more than understand that you need some time to yourself to get back that good ol’ fighting spirit” he added. “You think so?” You asked skeptically, making him sling his arm around your waist to hold you close and help ease your nerves the best he could. It was times like these that you wished you had the confidence and aloof attitude Hancock had about just about everything. “I know so. Think about it, you set them up, taught them what they know, they already manage pretty well on their own, they got this! Just lay back and relax for a change!” he said, easing your nerves just a little bit more at the idea. For someone who never wanted a leader to be too comfortable, he really wanted you to be, it was strange yet heart warming to see how much he cared about you and wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself. So you finally gave in, maybe a couple of days to relax and do what you wanted to do didn’t sound bad after all. Maybe you could enjoy a couple of drinks one night, or hell, maybe enjoy just sleeping in a bed two nights in a row for a change, give your body a rest from sleeping on the cold hard ground in a sleeping bag. And not have to worry about all the things floating around in your mind that need done. That sounded like heaven to you once you convinced yourself with Hancock’s help that it could really be useful. “Okay, but if I do, I can’t just lay in bed all day. I literally can’t, I’ll go crazy” you said, making him laugh, knowing the way you can’t sit still for more than a few minutes at a time just on the regular while you’re on the go. “We don’t have to, these couple of days are for what you wanna do sunshine. Though I wouldn’t mind it of course if we spent all of it in bed, but staying in bed all day doesn’t necessarily mean *just* sleeping, ya know” he said, his voice slipping into that characteristic deep, gravelly suggestive tone with a mischievous grin painting his thin, irradiated lips as he pulled you into his side, making you laugh. “John!” You said, seemingly flabbergasted at his reply, but truthfully you hadn’t expected anything less from him. “Oh you know I love it when you yell my name, keep doin’ it sunshine” he said flirtatiously with that ever recognizable smirk painted across his face as he crawled on top of you on the bed, littering your face and neck with kisses through a shared fit of laughter. Maybe a little break wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[olsenmyolsen]

Fallout

master list

dark master list

Fallout/Marvel AU (Gender Neutral Reader X Wanda Maximoff)

Summary: You and your wife, Wanda Maximoff, are finally living your dream life in WestView. It was perfect until the bombs fell.

Word Count: 1.3K

Content: Fallout TV Show and Video Game references. Not a happy ending. I wrote this in like one hour.

Yakety Yak played from the tiny radio resting on the end table next to the couch as Wanda Maximoff, dressed in a red A-line skirt and Oxford shirt, reading through a lifestyle magazine her neighbor Agnes had lent her.

"Wow, is the death rate of single men really that high?" Wanda quietly questioned to herself before you came in through the front door. Sweating and out of breath.

"Gosh, it's a scorcher out there!" You said as you huffed and puffed in the middle of the entryway to the house. Wanda smiled at your voice and rose. "Let me grab you some water, dear." You smiled as she whizzed by you. Her perfume and infectious personality making you feel hotter all over.

"Honey?" Wanda pulled you from your thoughts as she handed you a tall glass of water. You accepted it and chugged the whole thing before handing it back to Wanda, who only took a single kiss as a form of payment.

"So I take it the lawn is done?" Wanda asked as she came back from the kitchen. You nodded. "It's perfect. Way better than Norm's." You smiled with a goofy grin while Wanda shook her head and chuckled at your stupid rivalry. "I'm sure it is." Wanda stepped behind you and started to push you to the back room. Where your bedroom was. "Now, why don't you take a shower so that way when I kiss you again, I'm not worried about getting a grass stain!"

Wanda was proud of her joke and let the inviable audience loudly laugh at that one. You playfully rolled your eyes and accepted it, but not before reaching out and grabbing your wife's hand.

"You know a shower is only fun if I have help?" You made your eyebrows bounce. Wanda smirked. "Really? You managed yesterday without help, so I think you'll be just fine." She scrunched her nose and began moving you once again. You went to reply, but the doorbell interrupted you. "Shower!" Wanda pointed back with a smile and laughed at your pouty face. But yet you retreated and went to take a shower as Wanda answered the door to a man dressed like a salesperson.

"Hello is this the Maximoff residents?" Wanda clasped her hands over themselves in front of her. "Yes, it is." The man was holding a clipboard and looked at it as he began marking some stuff off. "Okay, great! And there are two of you, correct?" Wanda nodded as she looked over the man.

Who was he?

"I'm sorry, but who are you? Who are you with?" Wanda asked as the man lifted his eyes to her with a smile. "Oh, I'm sorry. Please forgive me." He stuck his hand out. Wanda took it gingerly. "My name is Steve Rogers and I'm here with an opportunity for the future!"

The man was a mix of nervousness and overzealous.

"The future?" Wanda questioned as she looked the man over. Steve cleared his throat before speaking up. "Why yes, Ma'am. You see, Vault-Tec is the foremost builder of state-of-the-art underground Fallout shelters."

Wanda tilted her head with her eyebrows scrunched. She had heard of Vault-Tec, but why was a salesperson at her door? "Vaults?"

Like safes? Wanda wondered.

Steve nodded. "Yes Vaults! Luxury accommodations for you and..." He looked down at his clipboard. "Y/n Maximoff to wait out the horrors of nuclear devastation." Wanda's eyes went wide. "I'm sorry!?"

Steve kept going.

"If you haven't noticed, Ma'am, excuse my language, but this country has gone to heck in a handbasket. Now more than ever, people need to be prepared. The big kaboom is inevitable. Sooner than you may think. If you catch my drift." He said the last part softer and quieter. But he said it with a smile.

Wanda took a step back.

Steve noticed. "Now, now, I know you're a busy woman, so I won't take too much more of your precious remaining time. I'm here to tell you that you and your partner have been selected and pre-approved for our own local Vault. Vault 89!"

Wanda seemed a little surprised but nodded and smiled. She didn't like the feeling that was turning in her.

"Wow, well, thank you!" Wanda politely said while Steve nodded and tipped his hat to Wanda. "Thank you for trusting Vault-Tec with your future!" He turned on his heels and walked with a purpose off the front porch. Wanda watched as the man admired the lawn before hopping into his car.

As Wanda locked the front door, you were leaving the main bedroom. All dressed and clean. "Who was it?" You asked, startling your wife. You looked at her wide-eyed as she shrieked and composed herself before laughing. "Sorry." She said before fast walking to you and wrapping her arms around your body. Your clean smell invading her nose, making her feel better.

"No need to apologize." You replied as you held Wanda. The two of you softly swaying in the middle of the living room. "Are you going to tell me who it was, or do I have to guess?" You kissed the top of Wanda's head. "It was Vault-Tec." She said with her Sokovian accent slipping after she turned her head to face you.

"Vault-Tec? The company Cooper Howard promotes?" Wanda nods to your confused face. "Promoted. But yes. We've been selected for a Vault. Vault 89." Wanda said as she was reading your eyes. "Now, why in the hell were we selected?" You questioned, only to earn a shrug from Wanda. "Maybe only the house with the best lawn gets in," Wanda said as she couldn't hide her bright smile.

"Oh, you think you're funny?" You asked, looking into your wifes green eyes. She nodded. "I saw him admiring all your hard work before he left." She squeezed and poked your arms as she said it.

You laughed and untangled yourself from Wanda as you brought the two of you to the couch. "Well, I guess that means the Vault will be free of Norm." Wanda threw her head back and slapped your arm at your comment. "Honey!"

You chuckled before flipping on the TV. A weatherman was complaining about how hot the rest of the summer would be for WestView before a producers ran on screen and the broadcast suddenly cut. A singular tone and a screen that read Please Stand By followed.

Wanda's smile faded fast, as did yours.

It can't be.

"No, no, no," Wanda whispered as her voice broke and quivered. You immediately rose and went to the window. You didn't see anything through the shudders until it was all white.

What followed was smoke and fire.

The glass broke and sent debris flying above you as you protected Wanda.

"But this is our home!" Wanda screamed as you tried lifting her.

It was real. It was happening. Fallout was coming.

Wanda thrashed about in your arms as she didn't want to leave the house you and her worked so hard for. She has the deed that you bought hanging above her bedside table. Pictures of family scattered around the house. Your music collection and hidden snacks would be forgotten to time. You didn't want to leave either. But you needed to survive. You couldn't do this without Wanda.

"Wanda, please let's go!" You yelled as the noise outside was growing louder and more chaotic. But only one thought processes through your wifes head as Wanda escaped from your hold and runs into the bedroom. Returning out of it moments later with one thing in her hand.

With tears running down her face, she opens your hand and placed it down. "Wanda..." You flip the plastic stick over before the air left your throat. "You're..." Wanda nodded and cried harder.

She was pregnant.

Tears fell onto the carpet below your feet as you brought yourself closer and kissed Wanda.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

You did everything you could to get Wanda to the Vault that day. Through crowds of panicked people. Through the incompetent security of Vault-Tec. Through the white flash of another bomb being dropped.

The two of you made it.

But that same day was the last time you saw Wanda before she was separated from you at the Vault checkpoint.

You don't remember anything after that until today.

Time passed. She's not here anymore.

So, as the doors open and the sun blinds as you stand dressed in blue and yellow, you're prepared to find Wanda and your children. Whatever it takes.

You're prepared for Fallout.

dividers by @/benkeibear

[v1nsmoke]

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 // 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

oneshot - fallout's john hancock x reader

tw: mentions of drugs (usual hancock activity)

summary: after days of exiting goodneighbor, you and hancock finally get to talk

fandom: fallout

a/n: there is not enough talk about this fella omg… now that liking the ghoul from the fallout show is accepted, i can come forward (i chose the “romance hancock” option every playthrough). no pronouns used, so gender neutral ig? also the inspiration for the title is that one song thats viral on tiktok rn, also galvanized square steel mentioned

tags: -

wc: 0.6k

“Day twenty-five since leaving Vault 111, today is Monday and my location is Diamond City, it’s currently 2:41 PM. Me and my companion are at the noodle shop,” you say, speaking into your Pip-boy. 

Recently, you’ve been documenting every day, usually just a brief summary on that day’s experiences. These experiences consisted of hourly radroach attacks, accidental overdose on jet, or encounters with hostile Mr. Handy’s. Or accidental near-death situations with a deathclaw. That only happened once. 

You weren’t sure anybody would ever hear these, even better, be interested in these daily logs. Your companion seemingly couldn’t care less about these logs, as he ate his portion of ramen next to you. 

“The Institute remains undefeated, and I doubt it will change today, I’m not in the mood for it,” you continue.

“If it depended on your mood, it would be there forever,” Hancock cuts in with his sarcastic remark.

A sigh escapes your lips at his words.

“Maybe I should switch back to Dogmeat and send you back to Goodneighbor,” you reply.

“Now, what good would that do for you?”

“It would spare me from more of these remarks.”

“But can Dogmeat give you this?” He asks as he slides you a jet.

Hesitantly, but you accept it with a smile. 

“John Hancock, the ghoul you are,” you sigh.

A smile creeps onto his features. 

“See? You like me enough.”

“Whatever helps you sleep…”

You’ve been traveling with Hancock for the past week or so, after you accepted the offer of Bobby, who just so happened to lie to you. One thing led from another, and after finishing off Hancock’s bodyguard, you managed to solve the bad blood between the two of you by killing Bobby herself. 

Hancock was useful and good company, helping out where he could and making small talk with you. Not to mention that he was supplying you with a different kind of drug every day. They don’t have that stuff in Vaults…

Last night, the both of you got high as hell in the home you bought with hard-earned caps here, in Diamond City. It was mostly a box, so you decided to illegally expand it with galvanized square steel and eco-friendly wood veneers. So, after the finished construction - that lasted four days with the cheap and friendly workforce including Little John (Hancock) and yourself -, the two of you decided to celebrate.

He plopped down onto the mattress - the construction fee was too much for you to spend even more caps on a normal bed -, resting his back against the wall. You popped open a bottle of Nuka-Cola, taking your place on the mattress next to him.

“So, how do ya like it?” He asks, taking a Jet out of his pocket.

“So far so good,” you reply with a sigh.

“That’s all? Not ‘I love this place more than the Vault’?”

“I do like it more than the Vault, cause you’re here.”

He stays quiet for a few seconds before speaking up.

“That’s good.”

“That’s all? Not ‘Wow I, too, am really glad that I’ve got you and get to share Jet with you and that you defended me from that Deathclaw’?”

He lets out a slight chuckle, hanging his head low. 

“Thank you, then. For these past few days I’ve spent with you. Never thought I would find anybody who would accept me as their companion.”

© v1nsmokes 2024. Do not modify, translate or rewrite.

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

“I got it from here..” Paladin Danse X Reader

______

(This was the winner and lemme tell y’all, stormy is happy)

Whoever first warned you that expeditions into the wastes would be difficult, seriously understated just how bad it was. Of course, in hindsight it was a stupid thing to be asked for the everyday dweller who had been born in the rotting, broken world around them. A world that was not your own. This was a world that demanded you to be strong, be vigilant, be fearless..but you were so very afraid.

Every ghosting of shadows over your campsite, every slight breeze rustling debris somewhere in the distance filled your body with cold dread- especially at night.

Tonight was no different, naturally. Even strapped in armor, loaded down with enough ballistics to turn a person into something resembling a macabre slice of Swiss cheese, and a stomach that wasn’t rumbling as a horrible reminder of just how famished the wastes left you..you were still scared. However the man in front of you, just mere feet away and leaned up against a post..he was scared too. Perhaps there was some comfort to be found in the mutual fear considering as far as you were concerned, he was the bravest man you knew.

For a brief, decent moment you were able to appreciate the man you found to be a constant companion of your’s. He watched your back when you went scavenging in the remains of the old harbor, meticulously clearing out whatever building you thought looked promising, then when night fell far too fast to retreat back to a settlement, it was he who secured an acceptable shelter to sleep for the night and fortified it with his beloved power armour serving as blockade from any intruding assailants. Even so, he just wouldn’t rest.

Those familiar deep, amber eyes systematically swept the surrounding area with his vantage point out the window. It was a pattern, up for a while..down..sweep from side to side and repeat again and again. It was his training after all, keep those under his command safe in shifts as the darkness of night cloaked whatever hostiles there might’ve been.

There was something different about your beloved friend tonight, or perhaps it was more the fact you finally took to noticing it for the first time. His sharp eyes faltered in their pattern, his body was heavy against where he rested, his head even rested against the wooden post in such a manner that if you couldn’t see his eyes you’d probably assume him to have fixed off. As silly as it sounded, it was then you finally noticed the speckling of silvery grey dappling his rich black hair right above his ears and randomly in his stubble. Danse was getting old..a silly thought in itself but sure enough he was, age wasn’t something he had the luxury of escaping.

That was something only ghouls and you seemed to be able to evade. Alas, Danse was human as far as you knew. He was flesh and blood and aged as was befitting of someone of his higher rank anyways..

“Danse..?” Your voice cut the comfortable silence residing between the two of you, amazingly drawing his attention with a blink that lasted a bit too long.

He didn’t say anything to acknowledge you, he didn’t really have to anyways considering you knew he was giving you his attention by the way those sweet puppy dog eyes locked with your’s, albeit in a tired haze. Exhaustion was no stranger to you, that was even before all the abominations that had befallen your life. So it was no hard task to elucidate the mysterious shrouding of his construction.

“I…” You began to speak up, words cut short when the man in front of you stretched his neck and furrowed his brows- yawning for what had to have been the first time you had ever seen him do so in the many nights you spent alongside him.

“My apologies..” He grumbled, his voice a gentle grumble from the back of his throat- a tone that you maybe liked to imagine was what he sounded like first thing in the morning. Maybe that’s what he would sound like….no such things weren’t appropriate to entertain, Danse didn’t deserve such thoughts even if he had no way of knowing of their existence. “You were saying?” He asked, trying to be nonchalant in the way he desperately attempted to rouse his mind back to full acuity.

You couldn’t help the right press of your lips when you took in his exhausted state. He was always the one to protect, maybe now it was time for him to be protected- if only for a moment.

With an abrupt clear of your throat, you gathered your bearings and rose to your knees from your sleeping bag. After the initial jolt of feeling your blood pressure drop out from the sudden shift to an upright position, you were quick to grab your gun and meet him which thankfully didn’t require much movement in part of the less than spacious shelter you found yourself in. Of course, seeing you stumble even that small bit made your beloved companion scoff under his breath, the tiniest curl of his lips just barely breaking his helplessly tired expression.

“Let me take watch, just for a bit.” You offered, your gun slung over your shoulder and a smile on your equally weary face. Naturally, the stubborn Paladin had every intention of dismissing the offer..however your free hand clasping over his bicep in a gentle grip that shocked the both of you extinguished whatever fire he had about him. “Go rest, I got it from here..” You certainly didn’t..but you’d try for him.

He sighed, looking outside the window then to the sleeping bag. The exchange of glances allowed you to see how the light flickered from the lantern across his features, illuminating not only his freckles but also his newly acquired purple bags under his eyes.

Strange, you didn’t know someone could look like they were kissed by both the moon and the sun.

Deciding his exhaustion would only be more dangerous in the long haul, he buckled with little additional persuasion. “Thank you…I appreciate it. If anything goes wrong, I mean anything..wake me up. I don’t care if you believe it’s just the wind, I mean it.” He instructed, a worried chew of the inside of his cheek enough to signal to you that the apprehension may be for more than just fear for your lives..he knew how afraid you were of the wastes even after proving to be a capable fighter. Perhaps there was more though..

Once you nodded he was quick to finally go lay down, a joint or two of his popping on the way down which only made you chuckle as quietly as you possibly could as not to embarrass him. After that, it didn’t take long for him to fall into a light slumber- leaving you to gaze up out the window and into the vastness of the dark night.

You were afraid..but tonight you’d put your fears aside if it meant he could get some rest.

[mrs-mayor-hancock]

Morning Bliss

Hancock x reader (fluff)

——————

The sky was just starting to get light. You and Hancock had a rough night, super mutants had tried to attack Goodneighbor again in the middle of the night. Once you’d finally fought them off you were both so exhausted and hardly had any energy to climb the stairs to your shared bedroom.

You were snapped back to reality when your husband rolled on top of you in his sleep. Annoyed, you shoved him off and sat up, you placed your feet on the wooden floor and started to stand up before being pulled back onto the bed, “Where do you think you’re going?” Hancock asked. He kissed your temple, tucked you into his side, and pulled the blankets over you. You placed one leg in between his and laid your head on his chest, his heart beat at a slow and steady pace. One of his hands rested on your hip while the other stroked your hair.

Within minutes you were feeling extremely sleepy. You tilted your head up to look at him and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. You made out with him for a while, but stopped before it went too far, you both knew you wouldn’t have the energy to do anything. You both laid there in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. As the sky started changing colors, both of you fell asleep enjoying a blissfully quiet morning.

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

undeniable | porter gage x female! sole survivor

a/n: am i finally back on my bullshit, uploading on a random sunday night? this is different from what i usually write, but hey! im definitely writing something. im too tired to revise or edit this bc its 12 AM, so ill look it over in the morning. just thought i'd post something silly.

♡ based off a modern au where gage and the sole survivor are childhood bestfriends in another life.

For as long as Gage can remember, she’s been a burden. Being nearly five years older than her and her guardian -- or her best friend, as she likes to call him -- he’s always felt inclined to watch over her. He doesn’t know why, he knows he doesn't necessarily need to, but the thought of abandoning her feels wrong. So he tries to find reasons as to why -- was it because they both grew up in terrible conditions together and only had each other? Or was it because he knew the moment he let her dumbass go into the real world alone, she’d somehow get herself killed? 

He shakes his head. Finding a reason was nothing but a waste of time, his mind overworking itself more than it already was. He dumbs it down to simply getting used to the routine of caring for her since they were children. If he fucks up his schedule now, he’d have to go through the trouble of rearranging everything around once again and readjust to his new lifestyle. 

‘Yeah,’ he thinks to himself, unlocking his apartment door, twisting the knob, ‘It’ll be nothing but fucking trouble.’ 

Once he pushes the door open, his boots thumping against the tiled floor of his apartment, he sees her sitting on the couch, distracted by the show playing on the television. His eyes darted over to the coffee table in front of her, papers and open textbooks strewn across the poor thing, obviously untouched and just displayed prettily to mimic the idea that she was being productive. 

With a low grumble, he tosses his bag on the counter nearby and takes off his boots before grabbing the remote lying on the couch. She’s so invested in her little show that she barely even notices him walking in with a scowl and an annoyed sigh. Sole jumps when the television shuts off suddenly, a gasp leaving her lips before turning her head to the side. 

“Hey, I was watching!” she whines, already rising from the couch to pick another fight with him. He doesn’t show any reaction and instead, crosses his arms with an unimpressed expression while he holds the remote hostage. 

She tries her best to grab it from his hand but he rolls his eyes, gently pushing her back down onto the couch. 

“Quit watchin’ and start studyin’. Yer not gonna get shit done like this.” 

She huffs angrily, her eyes narrowing at him, “Gage, a little break wouldn’t hurt every once in a while.” 

“And what have you accomplished since I left for work this afternoon?” 

Sole swallows nervously, her mouth going dry at his questions as she opens and closes it, trying her best to stand her ground. He raises a brow, giving her a chance to respond and redeem herself, but he already knows. She was a fool for thinking she could get away with such a lie, knowing that Gage knew her better than anyone else.

“Thought so,” he stuffed the remote in the back of his pocket, “Now be a good girl and finish yer damn work. I’m not paying yer tuition for you to fuck around.” 

Sole groans but listens obediently, pulling the coffee table closer to her. She grabs her laptop and unlocks it, opening her notes before reaching over to snatch one of her textbooks. 

“I don’t understand why you’re on my ass about my studies so much, Gage,” she complains, highlighting something in her book a bit roughly, “You didn't even finish high school, so why does it even matter?” 

He doesn’t spare her much of an answer, walking over to the kitchen to find something to cook for them, “Exactly my point. You wanna be better than me.”  

“But you make so much money, you’re able to provide for both of us!” she throws her hands in the air, desperately trying to prove a point to her stubborn roommate, who seemed to be firm on his words.

“That’s only because I got connections. Now shut your mouth and study.” 

He doesn’t find much in the fridge nor the cabinets, silently setting a reminder in his mind to do a grocery run first thing tomorrow before work. Eventually, he decides to heat up some leftovers they had for lunch and cut up some fruit for her to snack on while she did her work. It’s shit, he knows, but it’ll do till tomorrow. 

He makes his way back to the living room, plopping on the couch next to her and setting the food on the coffee table, maintaining a good distance between their dinner and her work. The last thing he wanted was to spill anything on her laptop and notes -- it would only give her another reason not to be productive. 

He doesn’t say much, but his eyes flicker over to her for a moment, a small smile on his face at the sight of her seemingly focused on her work now, a sense of satisfaction overcoming him. Gage leans back on the couch, pulling his phone out to distract himself while he kept her company in the living room. He takes a few bites of his portion of the leftovers, glancing at Sole here and there to ensure she was still on track. 

It’s a peaceful few minutes, he can’t recall how long, as they both sit in silence, her music playing softly in the background to fill up the white noise. Suddenly, he hears a sigh, sounding a bit defeated, and his eyes set on her sulking figure. 

“Gage, I know that you want the best for me, but I’m nearly twenty-three and you still treat me like a kid.” he stares at her, not showing any reaction but notices how she refused to make eye contact with him, her eyes glued to the screen of her laptop. 

When she doesn’t get a response, she closes her eyes before turning her body towards him, her expression serious, but he can see right through her. She’s pleading, but not in an annoying bratty way like she usually does, so he decides to listen to her troubles. 

She scoots closer to him and he watches, his phone long forgotten in his hand, “I’m really grateful for you and all that, but you need to trust that I can do well in school and balance my time. You can’t take care of me forever.” 

Instead of getting a response like she’d hope for, she was met with the usual silence he often provided her when she tried to set her boundaries. With an irate expression, she turned back to her laptop, her face flushed in embarrassment, feeling like her words vanished into thin air. 

She should’ve known better than to talk to Gage — he was a man of few words and she didn’t know why she expected him to at least say something to show that he at least cared about her feelings one way or the other.

Before she could continue studying to hide her embarrassment and anger, she hears his voice and freezes. 

“I know.” his voice is gravelly, a bit of exhaustion mixed into it, and her head shoots to him, a bit stunned at his broken silence. Her eyes are wide, body paralyzed at the sudden response. There’s a slight flush on his face but she convinces herself it’s the lighting. 

Definitely. 

He knows she’s waiting for more than just that and he sighs, crossing his arms as he makes eye contact with her the best he can without losing his shit, “Just want you to have a good future. Want you to live a better life than what I’m giving you right now before I send you off.” 

Suddenly, she’s overcome with guilt and she immediately leans over to him, her hands finding his as she cuts him off, “No, that’s not what I meant!”

With another breath, she composes herself before speaking. 

“Gage, you’ve given me everything I’ve wanted and needed, the last thing I’ll ever do is criticize your care for me. I don’t plan on leaving your side, even when I get a better life.” 

His heart twinges and his feelings for her resurface, but he pushes it down. 

She pulls on the sleeves of his hoodie, playing with the fabric with her fingers, “I just want you to trust me more. I know I’ve been slacking a bit, but I’d never fail school, especially when I know you’re working hard to provide for both of us and paying for my tuition. I’d never do that to you.”

“Wouldn’t say I’m working hard,” he downplays it, not wanting her to fret about such a miniscule matter. 

She groans, “You work twelve hour shifts everyday. Sometimes fourteen!”

He shrugs nonchalantly and Sole pouts at his stubbornness, smacking his arm with annoyance. Gage bites back a smirk, amused by her behavior and catches her wrist midair, her eyes rolling. Instead of providing her with a response, he digs in his pocket and hands her the remote to the TV and her eyes light up, a smile forming on her pretty face. His heart aches at the sight. It was such a small action but it was more than enough to validate her feelings. 

“Thank you, you’re the best!” she jumped over, throwing her arms around his neck as she embraced him tightly. 

His face flushed heavily and tried to seem annoyed to cover it up but the stutter in his voice and the tenseness of his shoulders gave it away. Gage pushed her away with his hand as he groaned quietly, “I get it, don’t need to be so damn happy about it.” 

However, she pecked his cheek and he froze instantly, his body paralyzed and his voice raising in embarrassment, “Q-Quit it!”

She giggles and doesn’t take much offense to his words, knowing that he was nothing but a big softie for her. As she released him, she smiled at him happily once more before turning to the TV and putting her show back on. 

Gage rubbed the spot where she kissed, his face a deep red as he tried to regain his composure. Suddenly, he pushes down the real reason of why he refused to leave her side for the millionth time, reminding himself that there were several other possibilities other than that. 

‘What a damn burden,’ he thinks to himself, desperately trying to fight back his feelings for her, his eyes glued to her gleeful form next to him. 

Suddenly, her kiss lingered on his skin a little too long, the feeling of her arms around him marking his skin, and he’s left absolutely horrified, realizing that he could no longer convince himself otherwise. 

Maybe accepting it was better than constantly running and Gage thinks it over for a moment but ultimately shakes his head, wanting to do anything but that. 

‘Just a stupid thought. Some stupid fucking feelings,’ he settles for that answer but knows deep down that he’s already lost the battle, his heart hammering in his chest. 

[wastelandbfs]

Rating: Teen and Up Chapters : 2/?

Synopsis

Home Plate Cafe is a cosy escape from the hustle and bustle of Diamond City, the radio plays softly as patrons enjoy an assortment of coffees, teas, and baked goods. Nora has settled into this slower pace of life and has come to adore the little things: the sound of teacups tinkling against their saucers, the soft glow of the fairy lights in the window, the smell of warm sourdough and arabica coffee. But mostly she enjoys the steady stream of customers and the simple fact that every day, without fail, Nick Valentine will stroll through the door and send her heart racing.

[draped1ncerecloth]

Hear me out, Nick Valentine x TransMasc Reader

First off, bro is hot. No reason for the robot detective to have my mind in a grip.

SECOND, the disconnect from his own body/personality makes it match with the struggles the reader would also have so erm 😞

Nick Valentine x Trans masc reader

Some good old fashioned fluff since he’s perfect for it.

Warnings: tooth decaying sweetness, mentions of body dysphoria, swearing, ooc Nick valentine.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

“Have you figured anything out yet?” Nick called from his desk, sorting through the paper work as you scanned over your own newly discovered clues. “Nothing. I can’t seem to figure out we’re this bitch could be camping out at!” You sigh in frustration at the current project you had spend days of restless nights, the heat of the summer days and the soaked sweat clothes you’re currently drenched in makes the already tedious task much more daunting. It’s been about a year now since you first met Nick, him helping you with your issues and you of course saving him from people who wanted him dead. You hadn’t really known why Nick had been caught but all that had mattered was that you saved his ass and he was eternally grateful.

“Well, the sooner we are to figuring this out, the sooner we are to finding this man and putting him behind bars.” Nick called back. He never really took much bite of your tone or the way you would grow even more agitated by his words in the current moment. There was nothing he had done wrong but they way your very old and worn binder had been cutting into you after a whole days work, and the way your clothes clung made the whole action of breathing so much more difficult. Pain spreading through your body and the lack of oxygen made the oncoming headache much worse. But hey, in the end at least it was more comfortable and reassuring than anything else.

After some shuffling of the files Nick had neatly written and tucked away had been dropped and the way you let out a loud sigh, Nick finally popped out of his chair and asked if you were doing ok. Unfortunately this pissed you off to no extent. “No! I’m not alright Nick! I and tired I’m hot I can breath and worst of all, I can’t seem to figure this out!” Your hands thrown in the air as you fully turn to him, he watched in silence as he let you express what’s you felt. He knew you weren’t mad at him or whatever he might’ve said but he didn’t understand what had you this upset to begin with. “Hey, calm down kid, why don’t you take a seat and just breath.”

You threw the remaining files in your hand, down on the table and laughed. “I fucking can’t breath, I’m hot, I’m exhausted, I feel like my ribs are about to break, I need to take this off!” He watched in shock as you quickly removed your shirt and revealed your binder, quickly shoving your shirt back down and sucking as much air as you could. The pain was excruciating, and your back cracked from new found freedom of mobility. Then you sat. Only then did you start to cool down. To relax. To focus on breathing and letting the pain wash over you and out. “Forgot to take it off again?” He asked quietly, walking over to your side and rubbing your shoulders. “Mmhm.” He said, taking in his touch. “That’s unsafe, you need to be more mindful about these things, you could get hurt you know?” Nick tried to comfort you. “It’s unsafe but for me, I feel more safe. It’s….” You stopped yourself.

“It’s what dear?” He questioned. Worry washing over him. “It’s not like you really realize just how comforting it is to bind.” You winched at the way you said it, the way you doubted how much he cared made you feel guilty.

“You’re right, I don’t know the full extent of how much you need it kid, but I do know how important the comfort of needing something like that can be.” The synth let out a sigh and moved to sit on the desk in front of you. “Look, you know it doesn’t make me see you as any less. I am not bothered by you needing to take a break from binding. But it can be dangerous if done incorrectly, and you know this.”

“I know. I just don’t know how to explain it. It’s like, without it. I am just. Wrong.” You tried to puzzle your words together but only ending with half made sentences. “You feel as if, it is not who YOU are. That you’re incomplete.” You nodded. “Look kid, I love you, I hate to see you in pain. I can’t say I know how you feel but I myself have my own feelings about myself too.” He removed his coat and took his fedora off, setting them on the table. “A robot programmed to basically be part human. Used for something that I never turned out to fit. There’s no one like me, I don’t know who or what I am. But I do know that even though I can’t be at peace with what is missing, I do know I make peace with what is there.”

Nick and you talked back and forth about your own insecurities and he himself opened up slightly about his. Though things were different for each other, you still found that you felt the same about these situations. Standing up, you wrapped your arms tightly around him and Nick did the same in return. “I love you Nick, thank you.” You mumbled to him.

“I love you too darling. Now, let’s pick up these files and get you cleaned up and relaxed. It’ll all be okay.”

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Authors note: Sorry this is short, I haven’t gotten much time w Nick valentine yet!! I do wanna explore his companion ship now that I finally got to play with him♥️

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hard Feelings

Hancock x Fem! Sole Survivor / Reader Insert

(AO3)

Summary: You are the General of the Minutemen. Hancock is your companion when out on missions. It's all fun and games until there are hard feelings at play, the ghoul thinking that one day you just might leave him.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for PiV sex, public sex (sort of), MAKEUP sex, switching, praise kink, heavy petting and kissing, fingering, biting, angst, a small domestic dispute, and negative thoughts and feelings associated with oneself (Hancock). In this fic, Hancock displays golden retriever boyfriend energy, and he is more submissive. He also experiences low self-worth, and feelings of inadequacy, which leads to doubt. At some point, he has a panic attack.

Notes: Another fanfic that is completely self-indulgent. I was inspired when I took Hancock to the Starlight Drive-In for the Minutemen mission. We were briefly separated when I (sole) climbed onto the roof of the movie screen. Hancock ran around down below in a panic, thus this idea blossomed; I mention it in this post. I stole Teeth's nickname for Hancock: Hanni. ;D )

Word count: 4.7k+

A gentle peal of thunder rocked the night, just hours from daybreak, the eerie green glow of your pre-war Pip-boy casting its luminescence across the present object of your interest: a sullied movie poster. It was curling at its edges, the faded face of a starlet frozen in time with her mouth agape having snatched your attention, for better or worse, as this potential settlement had yet to be explored—there was no telling what lurked out there among the shadows.

Rita Jean Scarlett was staring into the eyes of not man, but insect, The Barfly calling out to you from a bygone era. It was an Old World tale of weird science gone wrong, filled with hubris and lessons learned all too late. Not too far off from the reality of things, you mused, though meant as fiction, actor Chip Weathers having adorned the costume of the “ghastly” monster for his starring role. 

The creature had bulbous eyes and sticky clawed feet, yet wore a suit and hat. Once considered the stuff of nightmares, now things like this seemed to you like child’s play. You regularly joined in the company of ghouls; robots; synthetic humans, and even super mutants. You faced adversaries on the daily that would make prey animals of yesteryear look like teddy bears—an unnerving thought, but it caused you to smile regardless. 

“What are you grinnin’ about?” a curious voice asked, the creak of worn red leather signaling his closeness; two thin arms encircled you, pitted hands smoothing over skintight, extruded rubber, shiny as the ghoul’s black eyes.

“Just about how things that used to be science fiction are now science fact,” you offered vaguely, casting a glance downward to the sight of yourself being molested, Hancock groping your tit—like any typical man—before it maneuvered lower, gliding over your belly to dip between your thighs.

“Hancock!” you breathed, your pulse quickening, loins already beginning to throb as blemished fingers stroked the line of your vault suit, teasing you at its seam. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, ignoring the tone in which he had been addressed. He asked another question, even as he continued to fondle you sans mercy.  

“Things like me?” 

Hancock was unhurried, enjoying the sleek texture of the glossy fabric against the underside of his thumb. He was positive he was making you wet, wondering how long you might last before you were begging him to fuck you, just like a few hours previous.

However, his query caught you off guard, your mind preoccupied as your palm came to rest over John’s explorative hand, holding it firm, the ghoul taking liberty with your breasts again, cupping one’s shape to give it a squeeze.

“Things that shouldn’t exist? Like that monster up there who thinks he’s human,” he growled silkily, finely wrinkled digits pinching your pebbled nipple through that damnable suit that left nothing to the imagination, John’s prick hardening against the back of your leg.

“You might say that,” you replied without thinking, thoughts clouded with pleasure that would all too suddenly end, so careless was your answer that the ghoul recoiled.

“Really,” John flatly returned, as if for some reason not at all surprised, his warm, gentle touch leaving you longing, confused as to why he was beginning to walk away.

You turned from the ticket booth, staring after your lover as he kicked a loose rock across asphalt; it bounced, ricocheting off an overturned cigarette machine. Hancock pretended to be engrossed in the diner just up ahead, a part of the Starlight Drive-In theater, you both having been warned about raiders before traveling here.

“Hancock.” You followed closely behind; he did not pay you any mind, as if he had not heard you, acting about as mature as a spoiled child who was giving you the dreaded silent treatment.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you claimed, though it was the truth. To be asked that question to begin with seemed like he was fishing for flattery, but who were you to deny the charismatic Mayor of Goodneighbor a harmless stroke to his ego, especially when he meant so much to you.

“Is that where the “might” part comes in?” he snapped, his tone irritated; it was becoming obvious that he had not expected you to agree with him on such matters, the conversation quickly devolving. 

“Is this our first fight? Are we fighting?” you asked, Hancock’s beady eyes narrowing beneath his hairless brow at the flippant way you were brushing off his feelings, or so he thought. 

“Look, if you don’t want to travel with a ghoul, why didn’t you just say so— got better things I could be doing,” he groused, namely chems with his name on them. 

“Is that so? Well, far be it from me to stop you from doing those better things,” you returned, not understanding why he couldn’t just forgive you for something said in passing.

“Always a smart ass,” he complained, as if Hancock himself wasn’t guilty of using his fair share of sarcasm.

Had you not been so heated, you may have remembered just how self-conscious the sociable, charming mayor actually was. His confidence was partially a façade, though he wasn’t one to normally bring down a mood with his own insecurities. Being the introspective sort meant that Hancock wasn’t afraid to get to the heart of things, even at the cost of his own self-esteem. 

John had even allowed you in, being vulnerable by sharing details of his sorrowful past; it was no secret the ending had been bittersweet, if not unhappy. His own appearance had sickened him; he found it hard to believe a gal like you wanted anything to do with him, much less desire to share a bed together, especially since he wasn’t exactly a looker by human standards.

Perhaps you had failed to give him reassurance when it was needed, though temporarily blinded by your temper. Instead of trying to clear things up, you made it worse. 

“You’d be one to know,” you baited.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hancock shot back, droplets of rain beginning to descend toward the ground.

“You know what? Go over there, check that place out.” You gruffly dismissed him, pointing toward the diner. “I think we both need some time to cool off,” you added, voice sounding less than amicable toward the man whose forehead lurched, as if he had been punched in the gut. 

“Yeah? Fine.” John’s feelings were hurt more by this simple demand than anything you had said thus far, Hancock behaving like a scolded puppy whose owner had treated it unfairly.

You shook your head as you watched him march away, Hancock’s red frock coat glistening thanks to a now steady sprinkle. You sighed, turning toward a slew of rusting, run-down autos, spying a shed somewhere in the distance—you hoped it had a crafting station, as your orders from Preston Garvey were clear.

---

No raiders were present, only mole rats and radroaches. Hancock had kept his distance at your request, though you weren’t so oblivious that you failed to notice the way he routinely hovered only a stone’s throw away. The ghoul was caught basking in your shadow more than once, stealing glimpses, a frown pulling down the edges of his thin-lipped mouth. Yet he would move along the moment you laid your eyes on him, as if embarrassed, not wishing to be the victim of your ire.  

Overall, he seemed to be taking things about as well as you had hoped, though he had technically been the one to start it. You weren’t a mind reader, either, refusing to try and decipher his body language despite the moping, waiting for a time you felt more at ease.

Although, it undeniably tugged at your heartstrings—knowing he was suffering in some capacity—but you kept a clear head, focusing on the task at hand—building a radio relay tower from spare parts in order to reach out to others, reclaiming the theater in the name of the Minutemen with the sole purpose of making the Commonwealth a better place, one settlement at a time.

It was when another accursed mole rat burst forth from its earthy den that you yelped in surprise, drawing your double-action revolver almost a moment too late. With teeth nipping at your toes, you shot the beast, Hancock having dashed to your aid.

You glanced back at him, rattled; he seemed satisfied knowing you weren’t hurt, though his gaze lingered, as if there was something on the tip of his tongue. 

After a moment, he asked, “Can we talk?”

“Not right now.” You shook yourself off, taking a deep breath to assist in the slowing of your pulse. You returned to your workstation, deciding it wasn’t appropriate to address any more personal issues at this juncture—you both had a job to do.

“Sure, got it,” Hancock said grouchily, the ghoul wandering off to continue sifting through various piles of refuse for any usable materials to add to your haul, though inside it felt as if gnarled fingers were cinching tightly around his heart. Anxiety was welling within him, as not being on good terms with you did not sit right; beneath the surface, he was a troubled bundle of nerves, though he did not want to rush you by any means.

If only you knew about the disturbing thoughts that were crawling up John’s brainpan, slithering through the cracks to possess his mental faculties, feeding them fear; unsurety, outwardly expressed by way of a sour attitude. So involved was he with the many voices collecting in his head, that he failed to notice when you had finished installing the relay tower, your instincts guiding you to the Starlight Drive-in’s once magnificent three-story screen.

You took the stairs, moving past a shoddy door to climb to the top. The sun was newly risen, a fine mist hanging over the expansive parking lot, rays of light from your planet’s star casting a beautiful glow along remnants of grass, present in patches, though the area was plagued by the contamination of rads—another item on your to-do list. 

You were enjoying the view when you observed Hancock poking around the last place he’d seen you, determining you were in a better mood and willing to talk. You had planned to call out to him when you saw him run the other way, circling the diner, and then the first place you had gathered—the ticket booth where you had exchanged unpleasantries. 

Confused, you continued your study of his erratic behavior, wondering if there was some unknown enemy skulking about, yet Hancock had no weapon drawn, his gait all at once frantic and without rhyme or reason, the ghoul seeming to have no particular destination in mind. 

“Hancock?” you asked yourself quietly, baffled at how John was going insofar as to peek inside doorless cars, or even under them, kicking into a full-fledge run as he made his way toward your perch. He wasn’t paying heed to anything that wasn’t at ground-level, failing to notice you up high above.

“Han—” you were enthralled, the ghoul almost as fast as a feral, which was a less than comforting thought, watching as John ran a lap around the base of the screen. 

You followed, pushing off the railing to walk the few short steps to the opposite side, catching him turn the corner as he looped back around. It wasn’t until you heard his panicked breathing and the terrified whisper of your name that you completely understood, gut clenching as Hancock came to a disconcerting stop. 

The poor thing looked to be having a meltdown, head darting to the left and right, though the only thing visible to you was the top of his tricorn hat. He began to pace, first one direction, and then another, not keeping to east or west, but zigzagging as if he couldn’t decide where to go, or what to do. 

He called your name again, this time louder, sounding more distressed. You could not tear your eyes away as Hancock fell to his knees, fingers digging into soft dirt as the ghoul appeared to be in the throes of a panic attack.

Was he—

Spurred to action, you turned toward the way you came in, quick to rush down the stairs as swiftly as your legs could carry you. You sprinted around the bend of the building, nearly bumping into an abandoned cooking station off to your right, skirting it in the nick of time; you passed behind the structure, witness to a heartbreaking sight.

“Hey,” you whispered, Hancock having pushed himself back against the wall, knees to chest. The ghoul was tightly hugging his own legs, his marred face buried in the folds of his coat.

You weren’t sure what was happening, or why, only that he seemed deeply upset he could not find you, not expecting your brief absence would have such a negative effect. The ghoul was mumbling words you could not discern as you tiptoed forward, bending down to his level to address his huddled form.

“Hanni?” you asked gently, calling him by a pet name you had given him so long ago, John’s head shooting up, onyx eyes glistening, though you dare not think he had shed tears on your behalf. 

Hancock gazed at you, his expression a mix of sadness, incredulity, and stark relief. You placed a hand on his shoulder, concern marking your features, John not budging from his half-fetal position. 

“I thought—" he began, voice cracking, words quavering with an emotion you could not quite define, “—I thought you’d skipped out on me,” he offered pathetically, the amount of hurt present in his eyes enough to make you feel as if you deserved to die. So devastating was the look plastered across his handsome, ghoulish face that you wanted to cry, moving to cup his ruined cheek in the crux of your palm.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, tone soft but firm, staring at your reflection within gorgeous, dark depths, as if the answer lay hidden somewhere deep inside them.

“Because I don’t deserve you; because you can do better than me,” he answered without hesitation, “because who would want to be stuck with this ugly mug; wouldn’t wish it on my own worst enemy,” he finished flatly, Hancock’s dispirited disposition arising from being rejected—that’s not to say he blamed you.

“Didn’t wanna talk, ignoring me, couldn’t find you—just figured you were through,” he continued, tone solemn, making you feel awful. 

You had deeply sinned to make this man react in such a manner—that was your first thought, Hancock’s gloomy mood permeating your defenses. All the walls you had in place came tumbling down, feeling nearly sick to your stomach as you scooched forward, prompting Hancock to drop his knees, legs finding even ground.

“No,” you berated, “none of that is true.” You shifted, straddling the ghoul, your other hand joining its partner to cradle his jaw opposite. “I won’t leave you,” you pledged, placing a kiss atop his furrowed mouth. “The thought never even crossed my mind.”

Hancock searched your face; he expelled a dejected sigh, breathing out through the hollow cavity that once housed his human nose. “You—you’re the best thing I’ve got. I don’t want to lose you, sunshine. I’d be dead in a ditch somewhere if it weren’t for you, hopped up on chems,” he admitted, hanging his head. “But don’t think I would blame you for hittin’ the road. I’d manage, somehow. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to make do, so just say the word. Don’t feel obligated to stick around.” 

“Is that what you think? That I would abandon you? That I would get sick of you? That I don’t want you here by my side? Hancock—” you emphasized, running your thumb over the curve of his ear, forcing him to look squarely at you with a gentle redirection, “—I mean it when I say I love you,” you lamented, kissing his raised flesh. “Please, don’t doubt me.” 

John lifted his head with your help, the concave divot residing front and center brushing lightly across your cheek. He presented you with a kiss this time, his cock enlivening beneath you, unable to help his arousal at the admission of your heartfelt words. 

“I won’t, not anymore,” he promised, another kiss administered, and then another, returning each touch of his lips with one of your own until they picked up in fervor, Hancock’s sly tongue subtly snaking its way between your teeth. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” you cooed, warm, wet muscles intertwining in an orchestrated dance that rekindled the deep-seated ache of your loins. 

“You listen so well,” you needled playfully; you had the ghoul’s number, knowing just what made him tick.

Hancock moaned a sound of gratitude, your impromptu praise causing his prick to flex, lean, wilted fingers creeping forward to place themselves deliberately along your thighs; they ran up the dips in your hips, and smoothed over the shape of your waist.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hancock grated between avid swirls. His cock was riding up against your slinky blue vault suit—like liquid latex poured to conform to your body, it fit tight as a glove.

John held no complaints, only that you were still wearing it. Fortunately, you had ideas. 

“Being such a good boy for me,” you teased, your own hands roving, exploring the contours of his slender chest and waist, sweeping back and forth; you hooked his partially corroded throat, carefully capturing Hancock between the crook of your palm, thumb trailing his Adam’s apple in a light caress. 

“Not sure you know what that does to me,” he purred, the ghoul at your mercy as you gyrated your hips, your own sex succinctly aligned as you massaged his erection through faded black slacks.  

“Are you so sure?” you asked, grinning into your kiss, one of Hancock’s hands sneaking along synthetic fibers for three fingers to stroke the underside of your jumper. He pushed up only slightly, cupping your mound; you felt it in your core, a subdued moan breathed straight into the ghoul’s mouth—Hancock was so turned on, it was a wonder he didn’t just nut right then and there.

“You teasin’ me, sunshine?” John panted, groping your breast, digits fingering stitchwork; you bit down on your bottom lip as you reached for the clasp at the front of your collar.

“Get this off me,” you instructed, fumbling with the pull of your zipper.

“Is that a request?” Hancock asked cheekily, though he did not expect an answer.

“An order,” you responded, feigning authority, Hancock doing as he was told, though there was a hint of a smile crawling up the side of his face. 

“Yes, ma’am,” the ghoul chortled wryly, watching as you shed your suit like a second skin. You ushered it past the arc of your shoulders, the slopes of your breasts, to the base of your hips, leaving yourself half naked and assailable; John was unable to help his amorous stare.

“You’re so beautiful,” he declared, moving to knead doughy flesh, mouth finding your throat; Hancock sucked the sweat off your flawless skin, his other hand working its way underneath what was left of your vault suit, two fingers dipping into your already soaked cunt. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, slipping in and out, thumb pushing itself between the folds of your labia to rub your throbbing bud. 

“Yes, let’s,” you returned, swirling your hips, riding Hancock’s thick fingers as you clumsily moved to untie the flag wrapped about his narrow waist. 

“Right here?” he asked, perplexed. Though not one to argue, being out in the open without cover was dangerous; he knew better than anyone the risks of the Wastes. 

“I want you,” you answered, as if that in and of itself was all he needed to hear. You knew there might be consequences, but at that moment, your hormones were the ones in charge, a sharp gasp escaping as John’s fingers curled against the anterior wall of your sex.

“I’m all yours, love, forever,” Hancock vowed, following your example. He hastily unbuckled his pants after releasing your tit with reluctance, pushing apart the flaps to withdraw his glaring hard on; precum was already seeping out the slit at its head. 

“Promise me,” you insisted, lifting up off your thighs—and Hancock’s fingers—to shimmy the rest of your suit down toward your knees. It might be a little awkward, but you were too desperate to care, taking up the ghoul’s girth in the breadth of your palm.

“Cross my heart and hope to—” 

“Don’t you dare,” you protested, shoving your tongue back into John’s mouth, guiding his cock inside you. You sank down onto your haunches, inch by delicious inch, his variegated shaft filling you full up.

Then, the ghoul went rigid. “But sunshine, what about—” 

“Shhh, that’s it,” you whispered, though Hancock hadn’t done anything to warrant a reprimand. It was your own descent that had you crooning, dipping forward to feel that delightful pressure snug against your walls. 

“Not sure you wanna end up like—”

“—I took one a few hours ago, remember?” The darling man was more concerned with your well-being than even you; you could physically feel the tension leaving his body, John relieved to know you had things under control.

“You do love me,” you stated breezily, flicking the tip of your tongue inside the helix of the ghoul’s ear; Hancock shuddered, both his hands returning to your hips, touch featherlight, prompting you to press your palms against the partition behind him to prop yourself up on either side of his head.

“Wouldn’t mind you turnin’ Ghoul,” he replied throatily, thinkin’ spending an eternity with you sounded like the best damn thing a guy could ask for. 

Hancock watched with bated breath as you rose up to enshroud him in your shadow, breasts level with his eyes. He groaned his appreciation, seizing your right nipple between puckered lips, John’s bony hips pushing up against the round of your ass. The ghoul sucked diligently, dull nails clawing gingerly into supple, human flesh, incapable of keeping a straight face.

“What was all that about not doubting each other?” John huskily reminded you, the point of his tongue flitting against your sensitive skin. He returned to suckling, as if a babe latched to nurse, the hand left idle finally slipping down your thigh. Hancock spread your lower lips apart with the underside of two fingers, a third taking its place atop your thrumming clit, engorged with blood. 

“Shut up,” you urged, wanting him to belay speaking for fear the moment might spoil, Hancock grunting in indignation before he bit down lightly on your nip. 

You gasped a broken breath, cunt rising to the head of his cock. You dropped back down; Hancock bottomed out, sequestered in the deepest part of you, snug as anything, the ghoul hypnotized by your pretty writhing. 

“Why don’t you make me.” Hancock intensified the patient revolutions of blotched fingers, dragging you down by compressing your cheeks with his thumb and index; you slumped your shoulders just enough, angling to meet his current height, tossing your arms about John’s neck to humor him with another passionate kiss.

“Done.” You rocked forward, feeling Hancock’s sizeable member immured to its base. Indecent sounds kept each other company, the squish of your conjoined loins combining with the wet, obscene spirals of your whorling tongues. It wouldn’t take much longer to climax, your slick cunt tightening its grip on John’s rock-hard cock. 

The ghoul’s chest heaved between ragged breaths, Hancock practicing his self-control. He didn’t want to cum until you did, sliding his palm up to carefully cradle the small protrusion distending your lower abdomen. 

Feeling the outline of himself inside you was nearly too much to handle, a visible tremor preceding what was to be an early warning.

“I-I can’t hold back, angel.”

“Wait,” you countered, guiding the ghoul’s head toward your breasts, driving his noseless face into your cleavage; Hancock’s tricorn shifted backward as he followed your lead. He vested himself in the cocoon of your limbs,  moaning his approval, grabbing onto a fistful of ass as your back arched in pleasure. 

You opened your eyes to gaze at the sky—it was pale blue and cloudless, for once.

You came hard, the flat of John’s palm supporting your spine as you released your ecstasy to the heavens, the ghoul’s tepid seed discharging in spurts to paint your inner walls white; his ejaculate had been offered as payment for your lovely little song.

The ghoul felt overwhelmed and full of deep affection for you; Hancock’s teeth bore down on beautiful, unblemished skin; he broke capillaries, drawing your blood to the surface, leaving his mark in the form of a dark red welt. 

You gasped at the bite, Hancock ensconcing you tightly in his arms, both of you allowing your orgasms to run their course. His grip was a comfortable vise, brittle nails burrowing into lithe flesh with almost paradoxical tenderness; John was always so careful with you.

From an outsider’s perspective, the embrace of a ghoul meant certain death, with the expectancy you would be rent into unrecognizable pieces. Such a pose as you presented now was questionable, one that evoked alarm from bystanders, settlers who had followed the beacon to their new home, expecting to find the general of the Minutemen, but not like this.

“Ghoul!” someone shouted; you heard the shuffling of leather, the clink of metal.

“No!” you yelled, protecting your lover with the entirety of your body, encapsulating his slight frame. You shielded his vitals with your bare back, hunkering down to speak to these newcomers over the peak of your shoulder. 

“He’s not feral!” you growled, hating that you had to defend him, knowing how John must feel at this moment as he gazed up at you with surprised, wide eyes. You cared not that a horde of people had seen you naked; you only cared for Hancock, determined to preserve him and all his parts.

In reality, the ghoul was seconds from tears, knowing—without a doubt—that you had meant what you said. You were guarding his wretched life with your own without question, willing to die to keep him from harm, just as he gladly would have sacrificed himself to see you live another day. 

A day, he thought, that might have been better off without him, but now he was glad to be alive (in some form or another), swallowing hard against the knot in his throat, eyes never once leaving your impassioned face.

“We’re together; we came here together, and we will leave here together, do I make myself clear?”

A person stepped forward, separating themselves from the crowd. “Yes, General,” they said, having fortunately, or rather unfortunately, recognized you.

With a sigh of relief, those gathered departed. John practically smothered you, so forceful was his hug that it nearly choked the air from your lungs. 

Hancock didn’t know what he’d done to get someone like you, and he was afraid to ask. If there were any powers at be—something, or someone—watching over him, he supposed he’d owe them one, but for now he was more than happy to count his blessings. And the sad thing was, everything, all of it, could be a dream—or one long, hallucinatory chem-trip. If this turned out to be nothing but a fucked up Jet flashback, he’d just as soon never wake up. 

“I’ll follow you to the end of the Wastes,” Hancock blurted, voice strained and rasping, fingers; arms; chest tightening as he spoke against soft tufts of hair. “You and me together, the world ain’t got a prayer.”

Despite what had just transpired, you cradled him against the bow of your neck, oblivious to the inner workings of his mind, only wishing to absorb him, for him to live in the space between your ribs that stored your heart. All you wanted was to keep him safe for all time, knowing that he deserved the world, though the ghoul would most certainly outlive you. 

It was a melancholy thought, if ever one existed, but you did not allow your mind to dwell. “Sweet man,” you murmured, “it doesn’t stand a chance in hell.”

—-

Fallout Masterlist

[steampunkferretpresents]

I don’t really write much. Thought I would practice.

A Tranquil Evening

Just a short scene walking through the wasteland with Hancock.

Here I am, a 40-year-old woman, my long red braid moving with the breeze, decked out in my stained, ripped and repaired vault suit and carrying a plasma rifle. Beside me, Hancock.

Now, this ghoul, dressed in his signature red colonial coat and tricorn hat, has this undeniable pirate-like swagger.

He pretends not to be enamored, but his eyes say it all.

We walk through the skeletal remains of a once-thriving city, now shrouded in various unpleasant smells and darkness.

The green glow in the sky, remnants of the latest rad storm, gives everything an eerie, almost otherworldly feel.

Dogmeat, ever loyal, trots beside us, completely oblivious to the ominous vibes permeating the air.

Me too.

I glance at Hancock and smile.

If his ghoul skin could blush, it would be now.

He sheepishly places a hand on the back of his neck and looks down, trying to hide the warmth in his black eyes.

We've seen so much, been through hell and back, through adrenaline fueled, life and death situations, but moments like these are what make me really feel alive.

As we walk, I can feel the eyes on us peering from the shadows of abandoned buildings.

They watch, but they don't dare approach.

Maybe it's the rifle slung across my back, or maybe it's Hancock's reputation. Maybe it’s MY reputation?

Who am I kidding. It’s Dogmeat’s reputation.

Whatever the case, they let us be.

Hancock's voice breaks the silence.

“You know,” he says, his tone casual but laced with a hint of something deeper. “I don't mind the company. Makes the night a little less dark.”

| smile softly.

“Well, somebody's gotta keep you out of trouble,” I reply, my voice teasing.

He laughs, a raspy sound that always sounds so endearing.

“Guess that's your job now, huh?”

We continue walking, the silence between us comfortable, filled with unspoken words and shared history.

The city's ruins loom around us, the remnants of a forgotten world.

But with Hancock by my side, the darkness feels a little less oppressive.

The wasteland might be harsh, but it's moments like these that remind me why I keep going.

We reach a small clearing, the remnants of a park, perhaps.

The green glow casts eerie shadows, but there's a strange tranquility here.

I sit on a crumbling bench, patting the space beside me.

Hancock hesitates for a moment, then joins me.

For a while, we just sit there, side by side, watching the world around us.

Dogmeat lies at my feet, content and oblivious.

Hancock reaches out, his hand hovering near mine, then pulls back. It’s dark. I don’t think he knows I saw.

I catch his eye and smile again.

“The night's not so bad when you've got good company,” I say softly.

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “not bad at all.”

In the heart of the wasteland, amidst the ruins and the glowing eyes, we find a moment of peace.

And for now, that's enough.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

what if. consider this. what if,,,,,,,,,,,, pirate-Eclipse using Romanced Hancock Fallout4 lines

also pov ur pirate husband is cute and sappy and smooth as hell but ur just a fish and ur tiny fish heart cant take it

[weniswastelandwenis]

Man Under the Sea

// Hancock x Sole Survivor x X6-88 Oneshot //

The sky lit aglow with an ominous green haze, enveloping the entire wasteland in its uneasy lime hue. A sharp thunderclap sounded out, accompanied by violent howling winds which whistled through the broken windows. Sole lay uneasily on a mattress on the floor, waiting for the radstorm to pass. She had attempted to catch an hour or two of sleep, but every so often the booming thunder would startle her awake, or a tiny droplet would sneak through a hole in the roof and land on her forehead.

She resigned herself to stare at the ceiling, before being startled slightly at the sound of the door opening. Heavy footsteps sounded throughout the room and without looking up she knew who was approaching by the cadence of his uniform steps.

“You’re still awake.” X6-88 observed from where he stood above her. He must have finished patrolling the perimeter. Sole looked up at him silently at first. His face was expressionless and set resolutely as he stared at her.

“The weather is keeping me up.” She explained.

“You need to sleep, otherwise your body will fail.” He affirmed, droplets of rain dotted his face and armored coat. The water pooled at his boots and in the doorway. X6-88 didn’t take notice of his current state and continued to stare at her.

Lighting struck, illuminating his stoic face, followed by a loud rumble of thunder. She sat up quickly and looked to the window, but he did not react to look away from her. Her Geiger counter ticked ominously and X6-88 stepped forward.

“We should get back to the institute. It is clear you will not be able to sleep under these conditions.” He said. She reluctantly stood, the old springs of the mattress creaking as she gathered herself. He watched her silently, holding his arm out expectantly. She gazed at his arm with unsure eyes.

“This always makes me feel sick.” She said.

“If nausea occurs, we can visit the bioscience division if necessary.”

She placed her hand on his arm, bracing for the inevitable vertigo to come.

“X6-88 ready to relay back to the institute.”

White light flashed before her eyes blinding her temporarily, before settling on a cascading kaleidoscope of cerulean hues.

When she opened her eyes father was standing before them, hanging brain.

“Daddy.” X6-88 said firmly, performing a dual-handed salute.

“Both hands?” Father asked proudly. “Your two handedness has improved. I do hope to see more of that in Daddy’s bedroom.” He whispered in his ear, hoping Sole hadn’t heard.

She did.

Sole cleared her throat, both men unaware she too was in the room.

“Excellent, you’re back. I do hope your travels in the commonwealth have proven fruitful?” He questioned, both hands clasped behind his back, dong still hanging and swaying slightly in the breeze produced by the institute’s air conditioning.

“They have, thank you.” She forced herself to look at him eye-level even though the shriveled thing was just hanging there like that.

There was still rain on X6-88’s form, along with perspiration which was produced quite quickly much to Father’s chagrin. He gave X6-69 a knowing look. Sole excused herself from the room quickly yet respectfully and left to explore the rest of the Institute's bowels. She looked over her shoulder, and as she was leaving she saw Father plugging his phone charger into X6-88s multi tool sexily.

Sole strode through the halls, trying to forget what she just witnessed. She would never get used to the sterile environment the Institute provided. Synths strode past her like worker bees, not paying her any mind. She supposed Father was the queen.

Absent-mindedly she peered down at her Geiger counter and noticed it was getting dangerously close to the ‘dead’ level. A trip to the med-bay wouldn’t hurt.

When she arrived at the med-bay her Geiger counter strangely began to go off again. When she looked up she found Hancock, rifling through the medicine drawers and filling his pockets with jet. To his left was a dead doctor with the star spangled banner tied around her neck in a lethal stranglehold, hanging from the ceiling.

“Hancock, what in tarnation!?” Sole half squealed and half screamed. She was happy to see him as they were friends with benefits, but brushing another Hancock-induced death under the rug wasn’t what she had planned for today.

“Sister, check out this haul! No wonder these bitches love being down here so much, they’re all high as a kite and jerking each other off.”

“Tell me about it. I just saw my son’s dong.”

Suddenly X6-88 strode into the room, his tall gait strong and immovable. His muscles rippling and writhing under his skin. His height was impressively tall. He opened his mouth and an alarming air horn-like noise emitted from it.

“Intruder alert! Intruder alert!”

Sole and Hancock covered their ears (although Hancock just has ear holes) in an attempt to not be deafened.

All the sudden Father sprinted in, almost tripping as his pants were around his ankles.

“What seems to be the problem!?” His eyes shot to the dead doctor. Hancock had a “did I do that?” expression, kind of like Urkel from Family Matters.

Everyone’s eyes shot to the handkerchief around the dead doctors neck, that clearly had “property of Hancock” lovingly stitched onto the edge. Sole blushed and covered her “property of hancock” tattoo lovingly stitched on her arm.

“X6-88,” Father said expectantly and held out his hand.

X69 shot out his multi tool as ordered.

“Get ready for the ass beating of your life you little bitch.”

”And then, uhhh…” The campfire crackled around the huddled group of dirty children of Little Lamplight.

“You mungo! What happens next?!”

MacCready took a long drink from his juice box and stared up at the stars.

“There is no ending, we’ll never know what happened. And that’s life, sometimes stories just kind of… end.”

FIN