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that-blue-vault-dweller · 2 years ago

Note

One shot idea that I got at like 3am. Nora and Piper have gotten themselves into trouble and once they unravel the mess they are in they are both afraid of going back to Diamond city because they just know that Nick will somehow find out.

A/N: Thank you so, so much for this request!!! I've really enjoyed writing for these two and it's actually been the first time in a good while that I've actually enjoyed writing a fanfic lol 😅

Sorry it took so long to reply! It took me a while to get back inspiration for this fandom, but I'm going to do my best to keep it for at least a little while longer 💙💛

Word Count: 1.6k+

“My place or your place?” Nora asked, stopping finally in the nonstop sprint they had been on since running into that Super Mutant Behemoth and bringing down all of the ghouls in the nearby area on their heads.

By some miracle, they had defeated the thing, and Nora honestly still was not sure how.

The entire thing had been partially both of their faults with Nora reminiscing over the days that she would go on the swan ride and Piper deciding to indulge her with Nora more than happy to go along with it and help her. Piper had led the way, Dogmeat following as she brought them over to the swan when something suddenly emerged out of the water.

Which led them to somehow killing the thing with no large weapons— at least none that were compatible with the remaining ammo that they had between the both of them— and one lucky hand grenade that Nora had happened to throw in its basket, the blast radius destroying its head.

But they then realized they had lured all of the ghouls in their direction, and there were far too many to reasonably take on considering the fact that they were almost out of ammo for the pistols they had on them.

So they ran and here they were now, trying to decide which place to go to refill on ammo so that they could actually go to the place that they were originally aiming to go before the entire escapade happened.

Piper looked behind her as she paused before replying, shaking her head as she squinted. She then looked back at her best friend, apparently satisfied with the lack of ghouls following them.

“My place is closer,” Piper pointed out, trailing off a little as she stopped and started to sit down on the sidewalk there below her. She did not sound overly enthusiastic about heading back to her own place, and Nora raised an eyebrow as she looked down at the other girl.

“But?” Nora asked, and Piper shook her head.

“Blue, you know we can’t go back there,” Piper told her, and Nora paused, going through all of the reasons why they should go back there. She ultimately came up with no reason they should not, and she looked at Piper, utterly lost.

“Umm… Why?” Nora questioned, furrowing her brow as she leaned against the streetlight and tried to regain her breath. Piper just waved her hand in the direction of Diamond City lazily, pulling out a cigarette.

Dogmeat came over to inspect her to see if it was anything he could eat, and Piper leaned away from him, trying to keep her cigarette out of his reach. He gave up after a short moment of this and she then returned to what she had to say in response to Nora’s question.

“Because of Nick! He’ll know!”

“How would he know?”

“Because he just will! And then we’ll get a lecture!”

“You say this like you speak from experience,” Nora huffed incredulously, unable to help the smile that was tugging at the corners of her lips.

Piper was one of a kind, and honestly, Nora could see Nick giving her a good scolding back when the girl was younger. She was instantly picturing Piper around the age of sixteen and Nick acting as a sort of father or grandfather figure for her, the girl just as fiery as she always was and Nick just as tired as he always was.

“I do have experience. He’ll have our heads, mark my words,” Piper told her, pointing at her with her good hand before taking a drag from the cigarette.

“He’s never tried that with me,” Nora acknowledged, and Piper released a long breath from her mouth, smoke billowing between her lips.

“Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything,” Piper shot back, and Nora thought about it for a few moments before returning her gaze to Piper’s, concern starting to grip at her a bit. She knew how Nick could be when he disapproved of things despite her having never seen the lecturing side of him.

“He can’t be that bad.”

“Look, you remember when he got upset with Vadim that one time when some of his famous moonshine got into some of the schoolkids’ hands, and he fussed at him for a solid fifteen minutes?” Piper asked, and Nora nodded.

“Yeah… I thought he was never going to stop. Poor man didn’t even mean to for it to end up with the kids. Didn’t it come from Darcy Pembroke?” Nora questioned, trying to remember the entire thing and Piper nodded.

“Imagine that lecture but like for twice that amount of time or better,” Piper explained, bringing the cigarette to her lips once more, and Nora wrinkled her nose as she thought about Nick’s unrivaled ability to scold people.

Nick could certainly do a good job lecturing people and he would not let anyone get in a word edgewise if it was something that he was particularly worked up about. Nora definitely did not really want to be on the receiving end of the whole thing…

“Well… where should we go then? We need to restock on ammo somewhere… Goodneighbor maybe?” Nora suggested and Piper scoffed, letting out another breath of smoke.

“Ugh, I hate it there,” Piper grumbled, and Nora shrugged tiredly.

“I know, but we don’t have much of a choice. It’s a long ways between here and Sanctuary and that’s where I keep my ammo. And if Diamond City’s out of the question, Goodneighbor’s our last option,” Nora explained, and Piper sighed, standing up as she offered Dogmeat a scratch.

“Guess we better get going,” Piper agreed reluctantly, dropping her cigarette as she snuffed it out with her boot. Nora huffed, smiling softly as she realized Piper’s hat was drooping a little too far down her face.

“And play it quiet,” Nora told her, adjusting Piper’s hat playfully. Piper’s eyes sparkled and she feigned offense as she placed her hand on her chest as if she had been utterly scandalized by the other woman.

“Are you implying that I don’t play things quiet?” Piper asked, and Nora could easily see that she was barely able to keep the cheese-eating grin off of her face. Nora raised an eyebrow, her own smile starting to come onto her face.

“It was a warning for both of us, but if the shoe fits,” Nora conceded, and Piper offered her own raised eyebrow in reply.

“I’m pretty sure you were aiming that one at me, Blue,” Piper pointed out, and Nora smirked knowingly, unable to help her amusement as an old saying came to mind.

“Hey, the bit dog hollers, I always heard,” Nora joked, lightly bumping into her with her shoulder. Piper narrowed her eyes and bumped into her in turn before throwing an arm around her as the both of them started to head out, Dogmeat walking ahead of them with his tongue lolling happily.

“Not so fast, ladies,” a voice spoke up, and Nora and Piper froze in place, sharing a horrified glance before turning around quickly.

There behind them was the one and only Nick Valentine.

“Nick! What are you doing here?” Nora asked smoothly, trying not to look like she was guilty. That one time that she and her sister had brought a puppy home to her and Nate’s place in a Pre-War Sanctuary Hills randomly came back to mind.

Just like she had then with her biological sister in the face of Nate’s dissatisfaction, she now glanced at Piper briefly, wordlessly sharing a silent agreement to pretend nothing had happened and that they were perfectly innocent.

“What are you two doing here so close to Boston Commons?” he asked, watching them carefully. He offered Dogmeat an affectionate rub of the ears in response to the dog’s nose against his good hand.

“Aww, Nicky… Look at this guy, Blue, he’s a sweetheart. All worried about us,” Piper pointed out, grinning and trying to disguise the panic that Nora could see shining in her eyes.

“That was really sweet of you,” Nora told him, smiling softly, hoping her tone would throw him off-track from the situation that he doubtlessly was doing his best to sniff out.

Nick very unfortunately did not look amused.

“Yeah, well, when I heard from our mutual friend in the spying business that a couple of wastelanders were crazy enough to try to take on a Super Mutant Behemoth with just a couple of ten millimeters, a hand grenade, and an attack dog, I knew something was up,” Nick stated drily, and Piper’s smirk fell as she let out a loud groan. Nora sighed deeply, closing her eyes as she winced a little at the knowledge that they had been caught.

“What did I tell ya?!” Piper cried. Nora tried to appease him with an apologetic look.

“In our defense, we didn’t aim to take it on at all, much less with only the two handguns. We did have other weapons but we ran out of ammo before we even got to Boston Commons,” Nora explained with a nervous chuckle, and Piper groaned once more, still mourning the fact that Nick had found out.

“Every single time! I’m telling you, he’s like… He’s got eyes in the back of his head or something!” Piper cried in utter exasperation, pointing at him accusingly.

Nick smiled humorlessly before turning in the direction of Diamond City. Nora knew what was coming next.

“C’mon. You two can tell me your story on the way back. Then when we’re actually back, I’ll tell you how careless that was,” he told them, a certain Dad-like exhaustion in his tone.

Nora and Piper shared a glance before sighing deeply, the both of them trailing behind him as Dogmeat proudly ran along and took point, not having the first idea of what was happening between the humans and the synth.

Piper leaned in closer to her.

“What did I tell you?” Piper questioned in a whisper, and Nora just shook her head tiredly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know…”

#nora hale #piper wright #nick valentine #fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout #female sole survivor #sole survivor #f!sole #fallout companions #fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 oneshot #fallout 4 fanfic #fallout 4 fic #fic #fanfic #fanfiction

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sinisterexaggerator · 7 months ago

Text

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

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

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

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

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

6.8k+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get back here, scavver!”

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

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

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

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

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

Hancock almost shivered.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

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v1nsmoke · 7 months ago

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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.”

#v1nsmoke #john hancock #fallout #fallout 4 #john hancock fallout 4 #john hancock x reader #john hancock fo4 #sole survivor #fo4 #hancock fo4 #video games #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff

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citruslullabies · 3 months ago

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Trigger warnings: none

Romantic/platonic?: romantic

Requested by: no one!! Just a fun lil thing

Category: heavy fluff

Ship (romantic or platonic): prewar!Cooper Howard x female!reader

Word count: 1000

He's a Doll

The apartment had been so quiet, so calm and peaceful. It was almost suspicious just how calm it had been.

It was a nice saturday evening and you were home alone while your spouse was out doing odd jobs, sipping on a cup of tea while reading an article about the war. It was always a topic your partner avoided but you found it interesting, always keeping up to date on the new information coming out.

Cooper Howard, while at one point a well known and beloved actor, had fallen back into the bottom after his divorce with Barbara. A woman you had never met - nor cared to. You honestly were about to give up on the dating game since you were getting older, and age certainly wasn't kind to anyone. You were a 36 year old woman who already had bad back problems and creaky knees, who would want that??

But he did. You both had met when out grocery shopping, with you trying to reach something on the second to highest shelf and trying to regrettably monkey climb and remembering your age in the process.. when all the sudden hearing a chuckle from behind you. And there he was, a very exhausted looking Cooper Howard chuckling at your dispense before helping you out.

The both of you had met when his divorce was still being finalized and custody as well, it seemed like everything was going south for Coop until he fortunately went down the right aisle at the right time. He couldn't even remember how it happened, meeting and then talking and it somehow took off from there. You'd be lying if you said you understood how it happened either.

The radio was playing in the background of the calm little apartment, legs tucked into your side as the hot cup pressed against your lips and a soothing sweet liquid spilled down your throat. With a smile, you continued to read while humming along to the radio station.

“Everyone tells me he's no good

He doesn't love me like he should

I would forget him if I only could

He's a demon, he's a devil, he's a doll”

The lyrics rung out of the little box, causing you to hum along to the beat and drift off into your own little world inside of your head. The song oddly enough reminded you of Cooper, well, besides the whole cheating aspect.. the lyrics were so sweet and reminded you of the sweet devil you fell in love with.

“That man can look me in the eye

And tell the biggest, sweetest lie

And I forget the lipstick on his tie

He's a demon, he's a devil, he's a doll

Sometimes I make up my mind

That I'll stop being so blind

And tell him off real bad

But then he turns on those charms, and there I am in his arms

And I forget why I'm mad”

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you continued to listen, while the song wasn't necessarily about a good relationship it reminded you of yours in a good way. You and Cooper have fought, but he always somehow manages to calm you down before you blow your top off.

The door opened and Cooper was greeted with the sound of music and your humming, which was a pleasant surprise. He closed the door behind him and put his keys up, looking at you in the living room completely off into your own world.. a devious idea sparks in his head.

Quietly, he walked up behind the couch and leaned over just enough to be hovering. He stopped and admired you for a few moments.. the way you seemed so relaxed and at peace, despite that god forsaken news report on the nuclear fallout and war being in your hands. He chuckled quietly and then grabbed your shoulders abruptly earning a startled yelp and a quick swat to the arm.

“No need to get your panties in a twist darlin, ‘m sorry.” The southern cowboy said with a laugh as he saw your irritated gaze, his pearly whites on full display as his eyes were crinkled up. Oh you couldn't stay mad at him no matter how hard you tried.

Your gaze softened in almost an instant when seeing how joyous his face appeared, rolling your eyes playfully as you folded up the newspaper and tucked it into your arm. He smiled when he felt a delicate hand on his cheek from the one he adored, chuckling and placing his larger and rougher head atop your smaller and softer hand. Your hands had callouses, but they were like buttermilk compared to his sandpapered skin. He leaned down and captured your lips with his own, hands sliding down to your hip dips and squeezing softly.

With a content hum, he snaked one hand over to that pesky paper you had rolled up and took it away from you while you were distracted. He was glad to see you after a long day of work, your lips tasting like sweet sun tea with a bit too much sugar but he still accepted the flavor on his tongue happily since it was you. You pulled away and smiled at him, before pressing your cheek against the cushion.

“Well, I'll just accept it as a heads-up that you're sleeping on the couch tonight.” You chuckled as he gave you a fake offended look. He nuzzled his nose against yours with a chuckle, before pouting. “Oh sugar cube, you're so cruel to a poor cowboy down on his luck.”

You both stayed like that for a while, just adoring each other with playful jabs.. the music continuing to be sweet as it filled the room and danced around the both of you.

“He's a palooka, he's a brute

He drives me crazy but he's cute

Why do I love a guy I ought to shoot?

He is a demon, he is a devil, he is a doll~”

Thank you for reading!

Oh my god this is so old, I might rewrite it - I just realized I never posted it!!

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fallout4reacts · 1 month ago

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I FINISHED THE HURT PART OF THE HURT COMFORT FIC FINALLY

now to bridge to the comfort part… which might take me longer than I think…

#we already at 20k words #this was supposed to be a oneshot #I don’t know what oneshotd apparently #please I just want danse to come to the rescue #fallout4reacts #mod #fallout #fallout 4 #paladin danse #wip #fic wip

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hiscloakmydaggers · 27 days ago

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Late Night Talking

too much angst i need to write them happy again. they are a happy couple, its just that i get some kinda sick thrill putting my babies in crazy shit

wordcount: 400

｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ☀︎ ｡ﾟ☁︎

“Did you ever love someone else before me?”

Deacon always wondered that every time he stared into Nic’s eyes, lit up by night-time lights. Usually curiosity didn’t get the best of him like this, but tonight was different. Somehow wearing a straight face (just slightly watery eyes disturbed the peace of it), he asked, “did you ever love someone else before me?”

“Of course, I loved my brother.” It was a lazy response from Nic, who hadn’t really considered the words. “We were inseparable.”

The spy rolled his eyes. “No, not like family. I mean… you ever loved someone the way you love me now? Like ‘mwah mwah, let’s get married.’”

Nic’s head rose from his husband’s chest. His brows furrowed and nose snorted, “I wouldn’t say I did.” He sat up properly, hands still on Deacon’s waist. His head pounded gently in thought, wanting to say the worst things in the right ways.

“I had this one woman. I forget the way her name was spelled, Hailey or Hayley.” There was no point in differentiating, both names sounded the same. “I… I don’t really remember her. Except for the fact she was my first partner… and first time,” he blushed at his own confessions he already knew. “I don’t know if I loved her like I love you though. Nowhere close.”

Curiosity got the best of Deacon again, 2-0. “Well, how do you love me?”

“You’re so obvious sometimes. But I like to compliment you… so you’re lucky, too.” He turned them both over, so Deacon was now laying on Nic. “She was like a school crush. We broke up after a month, I cried for a day, and then back to business. We had nothing.” Deacon chuckled at him instead of vice-versa for once.

“You, though… I have your hand in marriage, I have your trust, your body, your soul.” If he had less self control, he could go all night with the list. “...so much. And you have so much of me.“

“Yeah, there is a lot of you.”

Nic playfully slapped his cheek. “Shhh. I mean… I feel so close to you.”

Deacon grabbed his hand, gently rubbed a thumb on it, “right back at ya. Love you, love the fact you’re still here with me of all people.”

“What do you mean?” Nic cupped his cheek. “…Why would I be with anyone else? You’re the reason I’m still here, Deacon.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

abrupt end? yeah i know, there is more but its pretty long. but wow, new nic lore dropped!!

#deacon fo4 #deacon fallout 4 #fallout 4 #f/o #yumeship #self shipper #oc x canon #deanic #oc #fo4 companions #spencer nic roach #writing #fluff #oneshot

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htchnr · 5 months ago

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y'all my writers block is crushing me alive 😭 PLSSS send me Hotch, Ash Williams, Sam Axe or Brisco County Jr or Porter Gage requests 😭😭

angst or fluff pls (or both lol) i feel like i'm burning out on smut and my writing is getting repetitive and ew so no smut pls 🫠🥲

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sparkyz-plug-writes · 2 years ago

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[☆Intro post but for my writing!☆]

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I'm Sparky/Kozie and this is just a blog for writing requests!

!!Masterlist!!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

!!Rules!!

Be specific! Like the gender of the reader (if it is not specified I will make it gender neutral) and if it's headcanons or oneshots!

Don’t request something I’ve said I won't do Thanks!!

I won't to spicy/lemon stuff bc again ew-

But I might do a tiny tiny bit of spice, the rest will be mostly platonic, angst or fluffy romance

Specify if it's romantic, platonic or familia

And finally don't rush me, I'll try to hurry as fast as I can but things like oneshots can take a while (⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠;⁠)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

What I will do:

A bit Gore or death

My OCS

Character headcanons with or without reader

Oneshots

Angst

X readers

Oc x canon?

Fluff

Oc x reader

Hurt/comfort

Yanderes (don't do this shit irl)

Some heavy topics (I SWEAR IF U ROMANTICIZE THESE I WILL HURT YOU-)

Platonic (this will including yanderes ig-)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

What I will NOT do:

Lemon/spicy stuff, I hate it and it's uncomfortable for me

Again romanticizing sensitive topics

Problematic shit (like inc##t, age-gaps for romantic etc)

Tiny spicy stuff for child characters (like the collector or sprig)

Transphobia/homophobia

Racism

Abuse (obviously)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Fandoms Im writing for:

Amphibia

The owl house

MCSM (Minecraft: story mode)

Payday 2 (still getting the dlcs-)

Gravity falls

Cult of the lamb

Fallout 4

A hat in time

Steven universe

Murder drones

Cookie run kingdom (don't know ovenbreak very much)

And The Mandela Catalogue

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alleycatsulli · 9 months ago

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Hey guys! New chapter/smut fic is up on AO3 in the Fallout 4 oneshots book! Me and @matchamarshmallow collaborated on this one together and it’s part 1 of “Willing Prey” and is MaxDanse❤️ posting the link below!!

Thank you so much for working with me Shay 💕 I’ve had so much fun writing with you and I can’t wait for our future creations!!

#fallout 4 #paladin danse #arthur maxson #elder maxson #fo4 danse #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #smutty one shot #oneshot #smut #smut fic #collaboration #maxdanse

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everydayyoulovemeless · 1 year ago

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Gorski Cabin ↠ MacCready x Reader

➼ Word Count » 0.4k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Summary » You and MacCready have to get a little closer than usual when stopping at a cabin you found on your way to Sanctuary.

"God, it reeks in here,"

"Yeah, well there's a corpse over there." You pointed to the body as he followed you into the wrecked cabin.

The sun started to set quick as the two of you tried navigating your way from Diamond City back to Sanctuary, forcing you both to stop at the nearest structure or risk getting lost in the dark.

“It’s kinda cramped in here. Hope you don’t mind sleeping close to one another.”

“N-no, it doesn’t bother me.” He stammered, a little flustered at the idea.

You nodded, “Good. I call sleeping on the far side of that body.”

He rolled his eyes, moving toward it, “Here, I’ll move it since you keep crying.”

“Can it, RJ, it freaks you out too.”

The ugly turquoise beams that kept the ceiling from falling inward threatened to shatter in on themselves as they wavered and groaned above you. Being in there was fear-inducing, but way safer than sleeping outside if you counted the amount of ghouls you both encountered on your way up that hill. The cabin wouldn't be all that bad if it weren't for the locked basement door that clung hauntingly against the ground. You stared at it for a minute before hesitantly going to kick at it. Its sturdy metal latch beckoned you to crawl down and eventually, you found yourself patting down your pockets for bobby pins.

“Welp, I found a bomb in the basement," You announced, climbing back up the ladder, "but I cleaned it up and we should be good to sleep here for the night now.”

“Comforting.” He retorted, "We should start heading to bed soon if we want to leave early in the morning. I'll take the first watch."

“What, this place freaking you out?” You teased, coming to take your place on the floor beside him.

“Yes, actually,” He spoke, sitting crisscross on the floor, “this whole area is strange, so lay down so we can leave sooner.”

You let out a humorous breath as you went to take your place on the floor beside him, unrolling your sleeping bag as you went.

"This has been fun," You muttered tiredly, "we should do this again sometime."

"What? Travel?" He questioned, holding his gun firmly against him as he stared down at where you were laying on the ground.

You nodded, "Yeah, we work well together."

A light blush dusted his face as he rolled his eyes, "Yeah, whatever, now close your eyes, we can't both be exhausted in the morning."

He watched as your chest rose and fell peacefully as you drifted further into sleep. He didn't want to admit it out loud, but he liked being around you. It reminded him of how much he missed being close to someone—to have someone to care about, and he wouldn't trade that feeling for anything.

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #maccready fo4 #rj maccready #fo4 maccready #robert maccready #robert joseph maccready #maccready x reader #maccready fallout 4 #maccready #maccready x sole #maccready x sole survivor #oneshot #fallout oneshot #fallout 4 oneshot #fo4 oneshot

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atleastonebraincell · 3 months ago

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✨Kinktober✨

What a better way to kick off a new blog than my own kinktober prompt list!

I’m not doing a prompt every single day since I’m hoping to get through them all, if I’m lucky my motivation will carry me through the whole month.

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sinisterexaggerator · 7 months ago

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NSFW / 18+

[Hancock]

➤ oneshots:

Nothing to lose

Ao3 link | Tumblr post

hancock x f!reader

Little Red Dress

Ao3 link | Tumblr post

hancock x f!reader

Summary: You're wearing a little red dress, one that teases and tantalizes Hancock. You're the Mayor of Goodneighbor's prized possession, and it does not bode well for you to tempt him so, especially in public.

Hard Feelings

Ao3 link | Tumblr post

hancock x f!reader

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.

➤ headcanons:

First impression

NSFW Alphabet

Possible explanation for why Hancock likes you addicted to chems

Game glitch (cw:suicide)

[Nick Valentine]

➤ oneshots

Final Straw

Ao3 link | Tumblr post

valentine x f!reader

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

True Colors

Ao3 link | Tumblr post

valentine x f!reader

Summary: Nick Valentine hardly ever leaves your thoughts, but you're barely on his radar. Your infatuation takes a rather interesting turn; you're caught red-handed in his bed, wearing candy apple lipstick and a freshly laundered dress. What is to become of you? Will you be able to confess your feelings, or will you run away instead?

➤ headcanons:

First impression

[Valencock]

✩ Coming soon.

[Cooper Howard / The Ghoul]

✩ Coming soon. Maybe? Idk.

➤ Memes/random: #1 | #2 | #3 |#4 |#5 |#6 |#7 |#8 | #9 | #10 | #11 | #12 | #13 | #14 | #15 | #16

➤ Thot thoughts / incorrect quotes: #1 | #2 | #3 | #4 | #5

#I made a Fallout masterlist!#Masterlist #Fallout #Fallout 4 #John Hancock #Hancock #Nick Valentine #Ghouls #The Ghoul #Cooper Howard #Valencock #Headcanons #oneshots #extras #More to come soon #Consider this a place holder #My writing #Fanfiction

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commonwealthoccurences · 2 years ago

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Cabin Fever

CW: Suspension of disbelief required. Friends to lovers, Danse is sweet, etc.

It started with wistful reminiscing.

The Brotherhood of Steel was on a sort of lockdown. The Institute was getting frustrated with their interference and began actively hunting down Brotherhood members. Elder Maxson wasn’t so much worried about this as he wanted the Institute to think he was; while they were on a lockdown to convince the Institute that they were retreating, scared, Paladins were moving in the shadows in an attempt to gather information and hopefully catch the Institute by surprise. Unfortunately, while Maxson said they provided valuable insight, Sole was not a Paladin.

They had been stuck in the Prydwen for two weeks, and they were past getting cabin fever.

Danse was kind enough to humor them in the few glimpses of free time he had between getting sent out into the Commonwealth. Their musings often turned to before the war. Not out of some stinging homesickness and nostalgia, but for the conveniences and commodities that the modern day should’ve had if the bombs hadn’t dropped. Sole sighed and leaned back. No one was even supposed to be on the decks except for the guards, but they had kindly turned a blind eye when they’d skulked out and sat against the railing for a breath of fresh air. It was minutes after Danse had finished debrief that he joined Sole on the deck and sat next to them, looking out over the Commonwealth. “You’re not supposed to be out here.” He said, though it was little more than a throwaway comment.

Sole smiled and rolled their eyes. They were biting at their nails, a bad habit they had kicked before the stress of the lockdown got to them. That drew a look of disapproval out of Danse, an eyebrow raised and the corners of his mouth downturned. Sole sighed and pulled their thumb away from their teeth and made a point to spit the bit of nail in their mouth between the bars of the railing, off into the abyss of empty air above the Wasteland. “Y’know what I miss?” Sole started.

“Air conditioning?”

“Good guess. It isn’t summer yet, though, you’ve got time before I start complaining about that again. No, I miss peanut butter and banana sandwiches.”

Danse grew confused and tilted his head at them. They had to resist the urge to brush their hand along his jaw in affection, so they looked away instead, squinting at the setting sun. “God, how do I even explain this?”

There was something still so odd about the idea that bananas simply didn’t exist anymore. Sole never really remembered just how much was missing until moments like this, where the reality of having to explain a fruit that had been so common slapped them in the face. “Hmm. I’m sure you’ve seen some examples on old advertisements. Bananas were… long. Yellow. A fruit. Seedless. I don’t know how much more information I can really give.”

“A fruit… were they like mutfruit?”

“God, no. Mutfruit are far too acidic. A little too sweet, too. Bananas were very neutral, soft, not very acidic at all. If you ate one you wouldn’t know they were slightly acidic, even.”

“Sounds good.” Danse offered in reply.

Sole knew he was humoring them, but they lappreciated it anyway. They stuck their legs through the railing and swung their feet back and forth. There was really no reference for nuts in the Wasteland, nothing Sole could even think to compare peanuts to. They rested their forehead against the railing and looked over at Danse, who appeared to be lost in though. It was mere minutes, though, before a Brotherhood member stepped onto the deck and announced yet another field summons for Danse.

They couldn’t resist sighing in disappointment as he stood, tucking his helmet under his arm. For a second, he was going to leave without another word. After a year of knowing Sole, he knew goodbyes were hard for them. Instead, he paused in the doorway to the Prydwen and rapped his knuckles against the doorway. “I’ll be back soon.”

He didn’t receive a response, but he wasn’t expecting one. When he returned to the deck minutes later for departure, Sole was gone.

It was weeks of sparse news and shaky reports of survival that kept him from returning "soon." Sole cursed him for saying that as they paced their quarters, their nails all bitten down to the beds and bleeding. Haylen had been kind enough to apply ointment one day without any questions, but their teeth were a force to be reckoned with, and their skin was raw by the next hour.

Sole knew the risks when they joined the Brotherhood, when they got attached to Danse. They questioned if it was worth it; every breath felt like dry-drowning. Their pacing grew sluggish until they were folded up in a chair in the corner, knees tucked to their chest, startling themself every time they began nodding off.

News came a week and a half after the scouting unit's last report– two weeks after they were supposed to return. The sudden rushing in the halls alerted Sole that something was happening, but it wasn't until they stepped out into the halls and saw familiar faces on stretchers and the tight-lipped Brotherhood doctors that realization dawned on them.

Sole didn't have time to get nauseous and start shaking. They'd started moving before they even fully realized what was happening. Protocol called for a clearing of the halls and the orderly, single-file transportation of the wounded before the rest of the soldiers involved could unload from the deck. Sole wasn't sitting and waiting to find out if Danse was one of the wounded. Protocol be damned.

They dodged medics and makeshift stretchers and shouting assistants like their life depended on it, paying no mind to the cries about their blatant disregard for what the Brotherhood had established. The wind was so fierce it bit at their skin when they emerged from the Prydwen, scanning a crowded deck so fast they felt dizzy. But there was a familiar set of armor amongst the mess of higher-ups and Scribes attempting to help.

Sole got a running start before Danse even turned, nearly barreling him over when they caught him in a hug, one arm around his neck and the other around his back. "You're alive." They exhaled.

"We're okay. Just, uh--" Danse shifted their weight off of his shoulder with a grimace that almost hid the red gracing his cheeks. "Dislocated," he explained.

"God, I'm sorry." Sole took a few steps back, looking him over.

Other than the way he was holding himself that obviously indicated something was wrong with his shoulder, he had a small gash above his eyebrow. Another scar to add to the list. He seemed okay, though, and he wasn't on one of the stretchers. It felt like the air had returned to their lungs and the sense to their head, if only slightly. "Let's go, I can fix your shoulder."

"I can see the medics after I debrief with Elder Maxson."

Unfortunately for Danse, the look of furious determination on their face was enough to change his mind. Maxson knew how they were, anyway. He would guess where Danse had ended up. Sole tended to take it a bit personally when Maxson sent Danse on missions where things turned out poorly, especially if it was preventable.

Humoring Sole as always, Danse fell into step behind them. He was always slightly off when he returned– he couldn't wash the rhythm of being in the field away for hours until he had settled into the Prydwen again. He was still stiff, his footsteps carefully practiced and even in pacing.

"Ought to strangle Maxson the next time I see him." Sole mumbled under their breath, moving around their quarters. "Lie down."

Danse removed the last of his armor and obeyed readily, familiar with the routine of Sole setting dislocated limbs back into place. They smoothed their fingertips over his shoulder as a silent apology before handing him a rag to bite down on and positioning his arm. Patiently, they waited for his nod of consent before jerking his arm upward abruptly. The groan he let out was one of simultaneous distress and relief as he rolled onto his opposite side; anything to get away from anything touching the area.

Sole sat quietly on the edge of the bed and rubbed their fingertips across their brow. There was a moment where all was silent except for their breathing; Danse's labored, but slowing, and Sole's steady with relief. "Let me see that cut on your forehead." They requested.

Danse took a moment to get himself upright and sighed. The blood had already congealed, a scab forming, and they both knew this would be more for Sole's peace of mind. They pulled a first aid kit out of their nightstand and began tapping alcohol out onto a piece of gauze. "How bad was it?" They asked, unsure if they wanted the answer.

"Certainly not the worst. They figured out what we were doing, somewhere along the way. Set up an ambush. McMullen got the worst of it since he was leading– my shoulder was already dislocated and we had to keep moving, but he'll be alright. Looks worst than it is since you weren't there."

"I should've been there."

Sole's inability to join the Paladins was a tense subject, one that they had furiously fought Maxson on, but had ultimately lost. "Probably would've been better off if you were. But you were safe here."

Sole shook their head slightly and placed a butterfly bandage over the cut. "It'll be a scar by next week."

"Thank you."

They nodded and sunk down onto the edge of their bed next to him. "Oh. Wait."

Danse began rummaging around in the knapsack he had tossed to the side. Carefully, he pulled something out and handed it to them, but wouldn't make eye contact. "What is it?" Sole asked.

"I tried to– there weren't really adequate substitutes, but– I mean, we ended up in an Institute lab and they had been working on Old World things. Part of it was culinary, and– well, there weren't bananas, but there was banana flavoring, and I made a paste out of fern flowers, because you commented once that they tasted sort of nutty, and–"

Danse's rambling was quickly cut off by Sole's lips pressed against his own, their hand cupping his jaw as they leaned down from where they had gotten up out of a rush of excitement. After a moment, Sole pulled away, and Danse hesitated to open his eyes, his lips still parted slightly. He finally blinked at them. "Uh, yeah."

Sole rushed forward again, pushing him back flat onto the bed, climbing in his lap and kissing him more insistently. Their hand had caught him from hitting his shoulder against the hard, Brotherhood-issue mattress, and served as better leverage to pull him against them. When they finally pulled away again, they whispered a breathless, "Thank you." Against his mouth.

"Uh huh."

Sole sat back against his thighs, refusing to pull away from him, and unwrapped the sandwich. The bread was stale, but all Commonwealth bread felt that way, no matter how freshly baked it was. They took a bite and chewed. And chewed. And chewed. Danse stared up at them and took the time to gather his thoughts again. "Uh… so?" He asked.

They paused. "This tastes like shit, I won't even lie to you."

Sole tried to suppress a laugh, but it broke free. It was hard for Danse to feel disappointed– at least they were laughing. "Really?"

"Yeah. God, it's awful. And way stickier than I expected. I hate to tell you, but banana flavoring barely tastes like bananas." They laughed and leaned in for another kiss, lingering.

Danse pulled away with a grimace. "Yeah, it's disgusting, and you taste like it now."

Sole chuckled with delight as they rolled away from him, the sandwich abandoned on their bedside table. "You should go debrief Maxson."

Danse sighed. "Yes, I should."

"Mhm." They walked him to the door, but held their hand against it to prevent him from opening it. "And while you're gone I'll brush my teeth, yeah?"

"Uh. Yeah. Sure. That's--" Danse nodded.

Sole pulled away from the door and grasped his collar, drawing him into another kiss. "Good luck." they said, opening the door for him. Danse emerged from their quarters both bright red and grimacing from the taste.

Fun fact, banana flavor (the commonly consumed variery) changed in the 50s so presumably the discrepancy that we experience between real bananas and banana flavoring wouldn't have happened to Sole, but again, suspension of disbelief.

#Fallout 4 #Fo4 #paladin danse #oneshot #fluff #gn sole survivor

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