#fallout 4 smut

[eupheme]

— a good, good neighbor

john hancock x f!sole survivor/reader

rated e - 2.8k

tags: friends-with-benefits vibes, mutual yearning & jealousy, mention of chem usage, references to threesome, horny!desperate!hancock, desk/office sex, semi-public sex, piv, blowjobs

prompts: “i want to fuck you so badly” + “i'm simply enjoying the view. it's not every day i get to fuck someone so pretty.”

“How did you imagine us?”

“Every way,” Hancock husks, “Keeping my cock warm while I work. Eating you on the desk or bending you over it.”

“Hell, I’ve even thought about the balcony. I’d take you right over the fuckin’ railing if you’d let me.”

(Or - when you come back from a mission, Hancock can’t wait to get his hands on you)

Despite the bustle inside the Third Rail, it’s all just dull noise.

Hancock can’t say he’s heard a word Fahrenheit has said. It’s not his fault she had cornered him inside the entrance, right as he was on his way in.

Where he has a perfect view of the bar.

A perfect view of you, where you perch on one of the stools in front of Charlie. Looking like a dream, in your soft, faded clothes.

Not that he doesn’t like your vault suit. The way it fits like a glove around your hips and thighs, the swell of your tits.

He’s always been a fan.

But there’s something about this - how you look like you belong here, with him. It’s been a while since he’s felt his heart stir, but you really seemed to have woken it up.

His partner huffs, finally stepping to the side. Her own plans tonight, eyes already drifting over to the stage. A long-suffering sigh - a hand that pushes her undercut back, a scrunch of her nose.

“Remind me to let you two… debrief next time, before I talk to you.”

Hancock grins, only now coming back, “You got it, sister.”

He owes her one. Tomorrow he’ll sit down and really listen, but it’s been a long fuckin’ week and the chems he downed in his office are just now taking effect.

Tipping him towards being too high to be jealous that you’re talking to another ghoul - a sentiment that he’s only just becoming acquainted with.

That was never really his style, before now.

And just a tad too sober to suggest Deegan just join them, if your conversation doesn’t wrap up soon.

Really fuckin’ soon.

It’s as he sidles up to you that he notices just how good you truly look. Scrubbed clean from the wasteland, and he’s already imagining you in the Rexford, hands sliding over your wet curves in the shower.

Getting ready to come here, applying that pretty shade of red that darkens your lips - a treasure found on a recent favor you did for Daisy.

Something that had kept you away for days, his jaw gritting as you had left without him.

It’s the same shade as his coat - and that does something, too. A clenching in his guts, a wash of need as he imagines it marking up his cock. A pretty ring around the base, staining his skin.

Christ, he needed to get it together.

Your eyes brighten when you see him, “I was hoping you’d find me. Heard you were still working.”

He fits against you, leaning on the bar. A hand draping across your shoulder - eager to touch, as your head tips up to his.

“Never too busy for my favorite girl.”

The smile you give him, those pretty painted lips stretched wide, shoots straight to his cock. Uncomfortable, where it strains against the front of his trousers - and maybe, he just might be head-over-heels.

He needs to get out of here.

“You want to get out of here?” He asks - the back of your neck warm where his palm curves around it, thumb brushing over soft skin.

Feeling the low hum in your throat, as you answer.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“I want to fuck you so badly.”

Hancock growls it in your ear, as he wrenches the door to the Old State House open. Bypassing your room at the Rexford, opting for something closer.

He always seemed to like you in his bed. Late nights turning into slow mornings, getting acquainted with the soft drag of fingers against skin. Comparing scars until you’ve learned each and every one.

You think he’d keep you there, if he could. If you both weren’t so prone to wandering.

The rough admission sends your pulse racing. Never expecting to miss someone like you did him. Never thinking you’d get a chance like this again.

But something about being with Hancock feels so easy. Something invisible that ties you to him, but that tether is never-ending. Both of you always finding your way back to each other, in a slow orbit.

Never knowing what it truly meant to know that someone had your back - until you were looking down the barrel of something you weren’t supposed to come back from, out in the wasteland.

Knowing he would be there, as soon as you called.

“Then fuck me,” You sigh against him, at the landing of the second-floor staircase. The railing pressing into your back as his tongue licks into your mouth.

Hands fisting in the collar of his frock as his hips roll against yours. Getting turned around in path back to his room.

Ending up across the hall, in his new office. The door still cracked open as you both stumble inside. A soft sound of surprise when you find yourself bumping up against a heavy wooden desk, instead of the couches you’ve come to know so well.

He’s already herding you to the other side, moving his chair out of the way. Hoisting you onto the edge, before stepping between spread thighs.

Mouthing at your jaw, hands slipping beneath your shirt.

“Wrong room,” You sigh, as your arms wrap around his shoulders.

“Right fuckin’ room.” His hips meet yours, rolling himself against your core, “Know how many times I’ve dreamed about having you in here?”

The thought of him thinking of you has your thighs tightening around his hips. A needy moan when his hand fondles a breast over the fabric of your bra, before it’s slipping beneath.

“How-” You start, and then squeak as his fingers pinch against the tight peak of your nipple, “How did you imagine us?”

His black eyes are hazy when he pulls back. A shine on his lips from where his tongue soothed a mark left against your neck.

“Every way,” Hancock husks, “Keeping my cock warm while I work. Eating you on the desk, or bending you over it.”

You whine at the thought - a jolt of pleasure arcing through you as his hips jerk against yours, grinding against your clothed core.

“Hell, I’ve even thought about the balcony. I’d take you right over the fuckin’ railing if you’d let me.”

God, it’s tempting. Heat flaring to life in your cheeks at the thought - knowing he would.

He’s opened the doors to a lot of new aspects of yourself, but there’s still a shred of your old-world modesty that clings to you.

But it still sends a liquid warmth pooling in your belly. He can feel the way your hands tighten their grip that you’re picturing it too.

The balcony is out of the question, but the rest…

Your palms push at his shoulders, and he allows you just enough room to get down. To flip around until your hips are flush with the edge of the wide desk.

“Why don’t you show me?” You coo, with a glance over your shoulder, “Mister Mayor.”

There’s a flash of teeth with his smile - words as sweet and smooth as honey, “Sweetheart, call me that again and I’ll show you anything you want.”

His hand is quick to press at the small of your back, bending you across his desk like he had imagined. Your hand slipping down to work at the button and zipper of your pants, where he’s already gripping at the fabric to tug your layers down.

Hancock’s hips press into your bare center. Nudging the hard, clothed curve of his cock against yours, fingers already smoothing over your skin. Gripping on before nails drag over the curve of your ass, then slipping between your thighs.

You stifle a moan when he touches you, all slick and swollen already. A day-long lingering anticipation of seeing him, keyed up by his own laid-bare desire.

“You miss me, doll?” Hancock husks, when he finds how wet you are. The tips teasing your clit as he frees himself.

Fingers petting at your folds. Slicking them up until he can smear your arousal against his cock - the rough skin shining in the windows of light that peek in from the city outside.

“Yes,” You whine - he always seems to pull things from you, when he has you like this. Making you soft, willing to lay yourself open if it means he keeps touching you, “Hancock, please-”

The word strings out - as he grasps at your hips, tugging you back just as he drives himself deep into you. This is what you needed - the aching stretch, the way your blood sings already.

Squirming when he stays still, slipping half-way while his hands keep you pinned against the desk.

“Don’t slow down now,” You huff, as you rock back into his touch.

Hancock’s own laugh is low and throaty - you gasp when you feel his fingers slip from your hip. Boldly tracing where you stretch around him, letting his thumb rub at your clit until he can feel you clench.

“Just enjoying the view.” He husks, “It’s not every day I get to fuck someone so pretty.”

His words shoot straight through you, settling in your heart. So much understood and even more left unsaid.

You’re used to the before, when there were neat labels and expectations. Left on uneven footing now, with how the world has changed.

Maybe even scared to bare yourself fully - to let yourself feel so deeply for another person again.

But surely this - this partnership, his words, him - must mean something.

“It could be.”

It slips from you with a sigh, too late to snatch back. Something fluttering in your belly, a heady mix of apprehension and pleasure as he growls - a sharp thrust that has him filling you again.

A shift of his fingers until he’s circling your clit, with just the right pressure that he knows you need. A shallow roll of his hips that starts slow, and steady.

“That right?” His voice is low, lilting up at the end.

You couldn’t really ask him to join you - but tonight, you could pretend. The time you had spent together on the road was some of your best moments in this aftermath.

But you respected his decision to stay, to work a little harder at this Mayor business. Even if it had left you unsure of where you stood with each other.

Even if you did miss him, want him by your side.

“Yeah,” You manage, “Keeping touching me like that and, yeah-”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he answers, “Sunshine, you’re gonna have a harder time getting me to stop.”

He makes good on his promise.

A hand catching under your thigh, hoisting your knee onto the desk top. Opening you up further - a stifled cry pulling from you when he nudges deeper, stroking a spot inside you that steals your breath.

The door is still ajar - the thought of your whines and the slick drive of his cock has your heart pounding.

You’re sure he’d love that too - the shout of his name as he makes you come, echoing to where the drifters sleep above, and where the Watch lingers. The sound of his hips knocking yours into the desk, the rhythmic creak of old wood.

It still lingers as a whimper - bitten back as the pleasure builds. He hasn’t forgotten in the time you’ve been apart, pounding into you again and again. His touch circling just as he bottoms out, a pressure in his own belly with each gasp he pulls from you.

“Fuck, John.” You keen - a number already seeming to tick down inside you, with each circuit of his fingertips, “I’m gonna come-”

“That’s my girl,” He coos - keeping the same rhythm, the same steady pound that threatens to break you, “Give it to me. Soak my fuckin’ cock, sweetheart.”

His girl.

It echos - your cry going silent, when as the pleasure washes over you. Leaving you trembling as you ride out the waves of pleasure, meeting the thrusts that grow lazy.

You needed this, needed it as much as he does. So much packed noise inside your brain going quiet the harder he fucked you, now blissfully silent.

“Look at you,” It’s muted, as your back arches - as you drip around his cock, “You feel so fucking good, not gonna last-”

Almost as if he gets off to this - making you come. Taking you apart, until each breath is a wrung-out gasp, your fingers curling into fists.

It leaves you thinking that if he’s staying here - if he’s been thinking about you, you’ll give him something to remember.

Another check off of his list.

“Hancock,” You breathe - eyes heavy and dazed as you glance over your shoulder.

Where he’s arced over you - grinding himself deep. His own gaze blown-wide with need as it tips to meet yours.

“Come in my mouth,” You beg, “Let me taste you.”

Eyes flicking to his chair, still pulled up next to the desk. He’s always been able to follow you, a rough sound in his throat when the catches what you mean.

“Fuck.” His hips stutter, before he’s slipping from you, “Yeah. Yeah, doll. Anything you want.”

You’re sinking to unsteady knees in front of him, as he drops down into the chair. Knees spread wide as your hands run up his thighs, to where his cock hangs heavy against the unzipped fabric.

Already missing him inside you. A rough groan when your hand wraps around, before you’re swallowing him down. Tasting yourself smeared across him, as your cheeks hollow, your fist pumps.

“So fuckin’ perfect, you know that?” Hancock hisses, the words coming out ragged. Hips bucking into the wet suction of your mouth.

No teasing this time, no kitten-licks. Just the familiar weight of him on your tongue, the jerk of your spit-slicked fist.

A ragged sound slipping from him when your eyes drag up to meet his. Peeks of reddened and rough skin along the way that make you want to take a bite as well.

Noticing how he’s marked up with you - faded shades of red stained on his lips and chin. Littered across on his cock, down to the base.

You think you like the look of it, something warm flickering in your belly - an echo of the pleasure he gave you before.

Wanting him to think about you every time he sits here, after you leave. The feeling of your mouth around him, how hard you made him come. Leaving your own mark on this room, as well.

He groans at the way you watch, the soft lap of your tongue. How you squeeze him bringing him closer - waiting for him to show you how much he needs you.

“Fuck. You’re gonna make me come, gorgeous.” It’s a rough warning, as his hand cradles your jaw. The bite of nails against your neck, as his hips buck.

The groan he makes is loud and low - shameless - as he comes. His cock throbbing in your mouth, each pulse leaking his spend as you swallow him down. Coaxing every drop from him, until you’ve taken it.

Keeping him in your mouth, after - your tongue sweeping lazily across his skin, until he goes soft. Easing off him then, letting your head rest against his thigh.

Hancock’s head still tips back, lost in that soft haze. The shallow rise and fall of his chest, a week’s worth of want spilled across your tongue.

“Was that like you imagined?”

There’s the tilt of his head as he grins, his thumb reaching to press against your lower lip - a low growl when you nip at it.

“Even fuckin’ better.”

The room shifts in front of you - Hancock’s boot propped against the desk, sending the chair back and forth on a slow sway.

Your legs thrown over the armrest, where you sit in his lap. The sounds of Goodneighbor muted outside, as the lights spill across the floor in the dark room.

“Thought I’d stick around a couple days.” You tell him, “Skip out later this week, maybe.”

“You just got in.” He rasps, fingers tracing a pattern against your shoulder, “Got somethin’ going already?”

You hadn’t planned on it. Had been hoping to stick around Goodneighbor for a while. Spend some time with him, before heading out.

But…

“Edward asked me to do a job for him,” You stifle a yawn, your head tilted against his, “Some girl he works for ran off, said she does that all the time.”

Duty always calls.

"Edward?" Hancock’s brow lifts.

“Deegan?”

His tongue clicks against his teeth, a soft pinch of his fingers against your skin, “Didn’t know you and Deegan were that chummy. Edward, huh?”

Your elbow sinks into his ribs, and he grins.

“Well, you don’t gotta wait on me,” He hums, already thinking ahead. “You wanna get this show on the road tomorrow?”

A small mark puckers your brow as you lean to face him, your gaze searching.

“I thought you stopped running.” It’s soft - a question, hidden in your words.

Hancock huffs, “Not running.”

His voice drops - a softness to his beetle-black eyes as he thumbs at your chin, drawing your mouth down to his.

“Just realized I’d rather be by your side.”

With his admission, the hungry press of his lips…

You think you fall just a little harder.

loved the idea of a desperate/lovey Hancock paired with a sweetly oblivious “what are we” Sole, haha 💖 thanks for reading!! and for this perfect request!

[seigephoenix]

hey lovely, we both know what fandom i'm requesting, aren't we? So I'm requesting Fallout Ghoul fluff/smut, which Ghoul you can decide. I love all of them with my whole heart xD I trust you. Prompts I would like included: Forehead kisses, laughing, knife play (as explicit as you like), Use your teeth, “You make me nauseous.” “It’s called love. You’ll get over it.” (Generally add some snark, I know you're damn good at it xD). Godspeed! Love you haha

It is finished! I used my Sole Survivor for this cause I love her so much. She and Hancock fit well together.

Content Warning: snark, blood mention, wounds, first aid, oral, p in v, more snark. Length: 2.3k

Goodneighor’s neon sign flickered as the roar of an alpha Deathclaw echoed through the night.  “Deathclaw!” The cries from the residents broke the brief silence that followed.  No one would be stupid enough to take on a Deathclaw would they?  That’s what the residents asked themselves as they quickly rushed forward to reinforce the gate against the beast.

That was the exact question Georgia asked herself as she darted around the corner with the Deathclaw hot on her heels.  Her lungs burned from her sprint through the middle of Boston.  Roughened voices yelling about popping her eyeballs out reached her over the growls of the Deathclaw as she passed by the super mutant stronghold.  I could sure use Strong right about now actually.  Georgia chastised herself for going it alone, she hadn’t even let Dogmeat go with her this time.  Somewhere in her mind she had wanted to keep everyone safe…  To the detriment of her own health.  Georgia wheezed as a bullet grazed her ear.  She briefly felt the flash of pain in her side, one that almost stole her breath from the impact, but she forced her legs to continue.  Her body acted on instinct now, she just needed to go.

She zipped around a corner and saw an open doorway.  Thank fuck.  She curled down out of sight as the Deathclaw ran further down the road.  She knew the things could track her smell, but she hoped this one was just enraged enough to not notice she wasn’t in front of it anymore.  Georgia almost pitied the raiders that grabbed its attention but never had she been more relieved to see the crazy sons of bitches.  She used the distraction to rush through the piled streets and found her way to Goodneighbor.  The door was sealed.

“It’s me!  Georgia!  Let me in!” Georgia heard the chain and locks shuffling and soon she almost stumbled into the location as the door swung open.  She scrambled out of the way of the door and breathed out as she saw the chains and locks being put back in place.

“You sure chose a shit time to come calling.” Georgia gave Daisy a halfhearted thumbs up.  “That wound looks nasty.  Come on and patch up at the shop.”

“Thank a million Daisy,” Georgia wheezed as she slowly stood up.  Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the sharp throbbing pain stole her breath.  She just hoped the bullet had been a through and through, skilled doctor she was not.

“I’ve got it from here Daisy.” Georgia wanted to groan as she heard him.  That whiskey rough voice that had captured her attention the first time she’d visited Goodneighbor.

“You sure Hancock?” Daisy asked as the mayor joined them.

“Yeah, I think we can handle this one at my place.”  Georgia assured Daisy it was fine.  She shuffled off next to Hancock who wrapped an arm around her waist.  She groaned and glared at him as he put pressure on her bullet wound.  She knew it was going to be beneficial in the long run, but it hurt damn it.

“Lookin’ a little green there peaches.”  Georgia glared at him for the nickname.

“You make me nauseous.”  She eased her way up the steps with Hancock’s help, leaning on him just enough.  His laugh felt like a shot of whiskey, burning on her nerves but with a warm finish.  She clenched her teeth and looked at the flight of stairs ahead of her.

“You know what they call that around here?”  His voice in her ear did not give her any help in making it up those steps.  Heat unfurled in her belly that had nothing to do with the bullet wound.  “Come on sugar, you know what they call it.”  Georgia gave a dry laugh as she put one foot in front of the other up the stairs.

“Why don’t you go ahead and tell me mister smarty pants.”  Georgia hissed as she eased herself down onto the wooden chair by the kitchen counter.  She groaned when she pulled at her shirt to get to the wound.  She huffed when he beat her to the punch and lifted the shirt off her.

“Let me look at it.”  He crouched down between her legs, poking the wound despite her cursing.

“Is it a through and through?”  He looked at the back and saw the exit wound.  “Good Lord, at least one thing is going right.”  Georgia breathed and he gave her a look.  The same look he got whenever her accent thickened.  “Don’t.”

“You sound like molasses.”  Georgia arched an eyebrow as he reached for the first aid kit.  He leaned down until his mouth was right next to her ear.

“Slow and sweet.”  She gave a short laugh that morphed into a pained hiss when he applied the antiseptic.  Georgia sent him a vicious glare over her shoulder.  “Easy there, peaches.  Don’t make more work for me.”

“Call me that one more time.”  Georgia could hear how thick her accent was and she had to laugh at herself.  Only when she was mad, in pain, or around other southerners.  She’d gotten all sorts of ribbing from her companions, especially Hancock and Deacon about the way she sounded.  Even back before the war, the people she knew in Boston and C.I.T. would tease her mercilessly about her accent.  She was too used to it now.  Georgia flinched as he wiped the wound clear of anymore oozing blood.  She released the breath she was holding once the Stimpack was applied and bandage was wrapped around her.

“Thanks Hancock.”  Georgia smiled at him as the pain was settling into a dull throbbing ache.  He ran his hands up her sides, resting them on her collarbone as he leaned in.  Georgia’s heart kicked up a notch as heat zipped along her nerves.

“Only you can make my name sound sinful.”  Georgia flashed him a grin as she felt the pain easing from the wound.  “Let me get that ear looked at.”

“Ah damn.  I forgot about that.”  She looked at him with a sardonic smile.  “Had other matters to concern myself with.”  His hand brushed against her cheek, tilting her face until he could see her ear better.  Georgia swallowed around the lump in her throat as his thumb stroked over her pulse point.  She knew he could feel her heart racing, he was probably enjoying it.  The little shit that he was.

“Still feeling nauseous?” Hancock laughed at the cutting glare she sent him.  “Come on peaches, don’t look at me like that.”

“Don’t push it Hancock.”  He leaned over her neck, right where her shoulder began and opened his mouth over her pulse point.  Her body threatened to melt under his touch when his tongue pressed against the warm spot.  Every time, she was so weak for this man.  She felt the moment his teeth nipped at her throat, fuck.  Georgia let out a sharp gasp, but the bite wasn’t painful, instead she felt her body heating up in a different way.  Her thighs squeezed together for some relief.  “Couldn’t have given a girl a shot of Rad-X?”  Hancock merely grinned against her neck before his hand slid down and cupped her breast gently kneading the softness earning him a swift gasp.  Her chuckle ended on a groan and her fingers dug into his coat.  His thumb pressed down on her nipple, teasing and toying with the hardened point.  Her legs trembled with need.  Too long.  It had been too long since they’d had time to do this.

“As many times as we’ve done this princess, I don’t think you need it.”  Georgia groaned as he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to her feet.  His mouth pressed against her uninjured ear.  “Don’t you protest now.  You know what happens when you do.”  His hand slid lower until he grabbed the curve of her ass as they walked towards his bedroom.

“You love it when I fight back.” Georgia hissed as he eased her onto the bed.  A shaky moan left her lips as his fingers pulled down the old cargo pants that had seen better days.  Hancock pressed his mouth against her panties, already soaked from her arousal.  His tongue trailed up until he pressed it flat against the little bundle of nerves.  “Fuck.”

“Only you could make that word sound like a benediction peaches.” Hancock murmured before he pulled the soft fabric to the side.  His tongue slid inside her earning a keening cry from Georgia.  Her head fell back as her hands sought his shoulders for some leverage.  “No fighting me now.”  Hancock turned his head and bit hard on the inside of her thigh.

“Hancock,” Georgia whined as he toyed with her clit, lapping everywhere but the spot she so desperately needed him at.  “Please don’t tease me like this.”  Georgia’s head fell back as he turned his full attention on her.  Teeth and tongue toying with her until she felt that heat coil low and tight between her legs.  The warm throbbing was as addicting as any chemical, and he was the only one who knew to trigger that high.  Georgia’s legs tightened around his head as she clawed her way towards that edge.  Her neck arched, his name on her lips; she was right there.  He lifted his head just as that coil was about to burst.

“Not yet darling.” Hancock smirked as he rested his cheek against her leg.  Frustration cut her razor sharp and she bared her teeth at him.

“You absolute dickhead.” Georgia hissed between her teeth as she struggled to look down at him.  He pressed an open mouthed kiss against her thigh, just above the mark he’d left which was already turning a dark blue.

“Now, now.  Where’s the fun in calling me names?  All you have to do is use your words.”  He grinned as he heard the vicious curse leave her lips.  “Peaches, that voice of yours does things to me that shouldn’t be considered legal.”

“Hancock, put that mouth of yours to good use damn it, and let me come already.” Georgia whined as he rested his chin just above her aching clit.

“Now what incentive do I have to listen to you?” Hancock smirked as Georgia practically growled at him.  “Say please.”

Georgia narrowed her eyes at him as he merely smirked at her with those impish smile on his face.  Her body screamed at her pride to just say the damn words already!  Georgia clenched her jaw and glared at her lover in frustration.  “Please.”

“Please, what?”  Georgia huffed in outrage as Hancock chuckled.  “You can use your words, can’t you peaches?”  Georgia sneered at the ceiling but she had been so close.  She took a deep breath.

“Please fuck me Hancock.”  He rose to his feet and she already missed the feel of his body heat.  Georgia yelped when he picked her up and switched spots with her.  Her knees rested on the mattress on either side of his hips.

“Fuck yourself on my cock yourself princess.”  Georgia splayed her palms across his shirt as his cock nestled between their bodies.  She shook her head but he merely folded his hands behind his head.  She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You are so evil,” Georgia whined as she reached between them for his cock.  She slid his cock inside her body, relishing each thick inch that spread her lips.  “Making me do all the work after getting shot.”  Georgia’s head fell back as she sat down, moaning at the stretch of him inside her body.  Hancock grunted before he grabbed her hips.  She rocked back and forth, desperately trying to gain that friction against her clit again.  She wanted to chase that high with him.  Her body tightened around his cock as she found the rhythm.

“Good girl.  Who’s the only one who can fuck you like this?”  He grasped her wrists in one of his hands, holding them tight against his chest.  She groaned as her hips ground down on his, finding that friction against her clit.  Her back bowed as that languid heat coiled tight inside of her body.

Her body tensed with that familiar heated knot.  The steady climb towards release was all she sought.  The world fell away to just the two of them as she rode his cock despite the pain in her side.  That pain only added fuel to the fire in her belly, heightening the pleasure to overwhelming levels.  Georgia felt the tears welling up as her body was right there, but she couldn’t bring herself over the edge.  She needed him.

“Hancock.”

“Fuck peaches, you make my name sound like something holy when you speak it with that angelic voice of yours,” Hancock whispered as he reached between their bodies with his free hand.  His thumb pressed at just the right angle and Georgia almost sobbed as her released washed over her.  His name fell from her lips in a litany as the waves crashed over her in languid pulses.  Georgia registered that he arched his hips against hers but the heat and pleasure consumed her senses.

Sweat plastered her hair against her forehead and she leaned forward heedless of the pain from her wound.  Her lips brushed a trail of kisses over his chest and up to his neck.  Hancock gave her a weak chuckle before he eased her off him and settled her next to him.  Her breathing was choppy as she came down from that pleasure high.  Georgia turned so she faced him in the tiny bed.  His arm slung across her waist, careful of that wound.

Her fingers traced over his face, now so familiar and comforting to her.  He was her place of solace in this shitty new world she’d stumbled out into.  A respite against the chaos of the wasteland.  She smiled as he looked down at her.  “Penny for your thoughts.”

“Nothing much.  Just thinking nauseating thoughts is all,” Georgia teased as he smiled down at her.

“Well now peaches, that’s what they call love.”

[sweetcocopowder]

Day Five: Marking

Synopsis: The new Overboss shows Gage how different he is from Colter.

Word Count: 2.1K

Pairing: Porter Gage / Nate (Sole Survivor)

Warnings: Marking. Blow Job. Come Swallowing. Slight Ptsd.

“These left over from Colter?”

Nate’s intruding hand is quick to be swatted away from where it was hooked in the raider’s singlet. But Nate had seen every single old and fading bite mark and hickey covering Gage’s chest and collarbone. The singlet does shit to cover them up but Nate had wanted to see just how far down they went.

The Overboss raises a brow as he sits back on the couch, waiting for an answer. He lounges like a king, giving the raider an almost lazy look. Gage thought Colter was dangerous. A brute that had pure strength to back his threats. And while Nate is built like some soldier from the Brotherhood of Steel, it’s that certain look in his eye that he gets that has Gage watching just what he says. Like there’s some other motive always conniving in his head.

“Yeah, boss. But I don’t see why you’d care much about that,” Gage answers gruffly, moving off to pour himself a drink at the counter.

It had been a full week and a half since Colter was killed in his own little game. Yes, Gage had set the man up to replace him. But that was necessary. Colter was getting them nowhere. They needed someone like Nate to take them that extra step further. And the man had cleared out half of the park so far. The three gangs had their own little area in Nuka-World and it had satisfied them very much. There’s only two more parks to clear out and then they’re finished.

Then they can expand outwards. Back to the Commonwealth where they can grab a foot hold once again. Shank will help them get set up and help Nate further more. He’ll-

“Do you miss Colter?” Nate asks from the couch, snapping Gage from his thoughts.

He leans on his fist to look over the couch at Gage. He looks to the raider with a smirk playing at this lips, his brows raised. He’ll wait for answer until the raider gives him one. It was a bit unnerving at first but over the week and a half Gage had gotten use to it.

Gage turns his attention away though, having Nate in his blind spot. He pours himself a glass of shitty whiskey. He really wishes the caravans would bring better stuff. Commonwealth probably keeps it all to themselves. Maybe he can ask Shank to bring a special order his way.

“Nope. Not one bit, boss,” Gage answers into his glass. “Got rid of him for a reason, I’ve told you this.”

“Not going to get rid of me like that when you get bored?” Nate calls out, a joking tone to his voice.

He hears the man shuffle around on the couch. He should look his way. See what he’s doing but he instead down his whiskey in one go, hissing at the burn. He pours himself another.

Gage chuckles at that though. When he gets bored. He did get bored. And boredom is what had got Colter killed. Let’s just hope that Nate doesn’t get bored himself.

“No, boss. Colter was running this place in the ground. Got comfy here when the other gangs were about to go at each other’s throat. Did nothing ‘bout it. Why he had to go. You’ve done more than him in the short time you’ve been here than Colter did in the entire year he was here.”

It’s quiet for a moment. A little too quiet.

“How did he treat you?”

Nate’s smooth voice comes from right beside Gage this time round, causing the raider to jump up from where he sits with a loud exclaim of something on the verge of, “Fuck!”

The raider is quick to take a step back, looking to Nate with a wide eye. He’s more shocked than anything. Not by the notion that Nate had snuck up on him, but the notion that Nate would be worried for a man like himself. This man dressed head to toe in combat armour is a man that Gage can’t seem to understand on some days. And tonight is one of those times. He’s seen how kind the man can be. But there’s something darker under all that charm and smooth talk.

“You shouldn’t worry yourself about that too much, boss,” Gage insists. “It’s all in the past now.”

But Nate doesn’t let up. He raises a brow with slightly pursed lips. Something dark flickers over his feature before it’s quickly replaced with that charming smile that Gage has gotten so use to over the past week and so.  

“All I want to do,” Nate begins as he crosses the distance between them again, “is show you that I ain’t Colter.”

A finger hooks into Gage’s singlet again to bring it down, showing his bare and bruised chest. They’re all fading now, all yellow and green. But some are still purple, some still in the shape of bites. Colter wasn’t nice. But it made Gage feel wanted. Needed. Yes, he knows very well that he’s useful by himself. Can shoot and stab as good as anyone around here. But the sex is what had Gage keeping so close to Colter. And it was the sex that had Gage stabbing Colter in the back as well.

But despite this, he doesn’t push Nate’s touch away. He feels his face flush something bright on his tanned skin. Nate has shown him over and over that him and Colter are far from the same coin. So maybe it’s pure curiosity that he wants to see what Nate will do.

“And how would you do that, boss?” Gage asks with a raised brow, his voice low and gravelly.

The finger hooked in his singlet moves up to grab at his chin. Gage doesn’t move, his eyes fixated solely on the man before him. Letting the fingers on his chin tilt his head up to look up at the boss. Colter never did this. Wasn’t much for the romantics.

“I’m not good with words, but I can show you,” Nate smirks.

A shudder goes down Gage’s back, goosebumps rising on his skin. The raider can’t find words, his tongue feeling tied to the bottom of his mouth. So, he just nods instead.

Nate’s hand caresses the side of his face before gripping the back of his hair. He pulls back lightly to expose Gage’s neck and the raider panics for a split second, his eye staring wide at the flaking ceiling. He wants to reach out and grab Nate, but he holds his hands flailed out at his side, waiting for the boss to make a move. He could wring his neck and kick out his legs. He could headbutt him and break the bottle of whiskey to stab him in the neck. He could-

Warm, soft lips settle upon his jugular, causing the raider to flinch at such a gentle touch. Another hand wraps around Gage’s waist, pulling him close all as Nate gently sucks and kisses at his neck. It leaves the raider breathless, mouth open and slack type of way.

This is nothing like what Colter use to do. Colter use to bite like some rabid dog, making sure that he marked what was his. Making sure that everyone in the gangs knew who he belonged to. But he doesn’t think what Nate is doing will even leave the smallest of a mark for the morning to come.

Nate’s mouth ventures lower to his collarbone, littering his salty skin with kisses and light grazes of teeth. He keeps going lower, letting go of Gage’s hair so that the raider can watch what his boss is doing. He doesn’t know how to fully grasp this. He finds himself blinking wildly with his mouth agape. Nate being so gentle with him is almost enough for Gage to go insane. He doesn’t think he’s ever experienced this type of touch in his life. It’s all so foreign.

The boss keeps going until he’s on his knees in front of Gage, his fingers hooked into the raider’s belt. Gage lets out a shaky breath at the sight. The Overboss at his knees in front of him, kissing and mouthing at his hardening length behind his jeans. Gage can’t help the keen that comes from his throat, something deep and gruntle.

Nate looks up through his lashes, his deep blues shining with lust. “May I?” He asks, as if he even as to.

He’s the boss. He could do whatever he wants with Gage, and Gage would allow it. He’s let it happen more than a few times in his life. It keeps him alive and seeing the sun rise the next day. But Nate doesn’t. And Gage doesn’t know if it’s dangerous or stupid, yet he’s falling for it all the same.

With a shaky exhale, he manages out a quiet, “Yeah, boss.”

With calloused fingers, Nate unbuckles his belt and pulls down his jeans in one swift motion. Gage’s half hard dick is only but a hair’s breath away from Nate’s mouth, the anticipation of such a lustful act hanging dangerously in the air.

Nate wraps a hand around his length and Gage can’t help the small hic in his breathing. But the boss doesn’t stroke Gage or wrap his mouth around the head of his cock, no. Instead, his warm mouth latches onto the inside of Gage’s thigh to suck at the soft skin. And this time, Nate sucks hard enough to leave his mark.

Gage groans deep in his throat, his hand instinctively resting on Nate’s head. He doesn’t want to grab, doesn’t want to overstep.

When Nate pulls away he grins at his work, rubbing a thumb over the fresh purple mark. Then he does the same a little closer to Gage’s dick, his skin much more sensitive the closer he gets. The raider’s heart beats loudly in his chest, his breathing shaky and uneven.

Nate marks Gage where no one can see it. Making sure that he evens out the raider’s other thigh with multiple marks before moving back to the other. All while he manoeuvres Gage’s hard cock so he can get as close as he can without touching him. He looks upon his work with a smirk, rubbing a thumb over his most recent one. He looks up to Gage who stares down with a hazy expression. He leans heavily against the counter behind him with a shaky hand, the other still nestled in Nate’s hair.

“Much better than the shit Colter did, hey?” Nate asks, looking for some approval at his handy work.

Gage finds himself nodding a little too hastily. “Yeah, boss. Much better,” he breathes out, his words sounding a million miles from here.

Nate chuckles, something that comes from deep within his chest. The boss doesn’t waste any more time now. He takes the head of Gage’s cock into his mouth and swirls his tongue over the tip. Gage groans, the hand on Nate’s head now gripping into his dark hair. Before the raider can let go, Nate hums in approval, only taking more of Gage into his mouth.

“Boss,” Gage groans out through his teeth.

He doesn’t think he’s going to be able to last much longer. The coil of pleasure constricts within his gut, making his legs and knees weak where he stands. He can’t get his breathing under control and the noises that slip past his lips seem to only to urging Nate on. He squeezes Gage’s thighs firmly as he bottoms out, his nose hitting the dark curls of pubic hair before he pulls off of his cock. He licks the underside of his cock, lapping at the precum before bottoming out again. Gage can feel his dick hit the back of the boss’s throat and it pushes a pure, horny moan from his mouth.

“Boss, I-“ Gage tries to hold on, not wanting to let go.

But Nate hums again, looking up at Gage with lustful eyes. The sight alone has the raider coming undone. His orgasm hits him like a train, nerves shooting through him like electricity as he comes down the boss’s throat. He holds Nate where he is, fingers gripping tightly into his dark hair. And Nate takes every last drop.

When Gage finally lets go, Nate coughs and splutters as he leans on the back of his heels. He covers his mouth, trying to be modest. Gage tries to collect himself the best he can, but he finds himself having to lean fully against the counter behind him for extra support.

When he looks over to the boss, he wears a smug grin on his flushed face. “Better than Colter?” He asks.

And Gage can’t help but chuckle heartedly at that. Was it jealously that drove the boss to do so? He doesn’t think he’ll ever know. But there’s one thing he can say for sure about the boss.

With a scoff, he breathes out, “You’re an odd one at that, boss. But a good type of odd.”

[atleastonebraincell]

✨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.

[sinisterexaggerator]

John Hancock - NSFW Alphabet

Only out to have a little fun! Enjoy (or not)! This is just my take on his character.

3.8k words (oops).

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A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex):

No matter how you decide to do the deed, Hancock has your best interest at heart, as long as you stay in his good graces. He wouldn’t necessarily baby you after sex, but he’ll make sure you’re all right, as you may wind up participating in several experimental or unusual scenarios. But in the end, John wants to make sure his little ray of sunshine is well-rested for round two.

He'd offer you chems for a bit of a pick-me-up, a cigarette precariously hanging from the corner of his mouth—he needs a smoke after. It just “feels right.”

He would pat his shoulder as a place for you to rest your head, then pull you in nice and tight before sharing a drag with you, going insofar as to place the filter against your lips, held loosely between two fingers. No uncomfortable post-coital silence—unless you’re into that.

Hancock might even get all philosophical on you now that his head’s clear. I can see him being into pillow talk regardless—we know he loves to run his mouth—nothing a romp in the sack with you won’t cure.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

I have a feeling Hancock isn’t picky, as long as your heart is in the right place. There is more to him than being a “drug addict.” I’d say he’s well-read, even though he acts on instinct—he may be pretty well fond of your brain.

Hancock puts a lot of stock into how people think or speak versus their actions. He’s not a pushover, doesn’t take any bullshit, and if your belief system matches up with his—if he, “likes the way you operate”— you don’t have much to worry about.

Still, I see him favoring something warm and supple to grab onto, something soft to kiss. And he’ll take his time when he’s in the mood, dishing out compliments as he explores every inch of your body.

Maybe with being a Ghoul, it’s a real treat when you get to knock boots with a human. I can see him missing out on what that feels like from time to time.

As far as his own body, I see this man as a bit self-conscious, though he doesn’t let onto that fact quite often. Comments about his “ugly mug” are made in jest, but there is some truth to that within his own thought process and how he perceives himself, most likely, despite the whole “King of the Zombies” vibe he says the ladies love.

Personally, I think his confidence is partially a façade.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person:

Hancock always makes sure you get yours. Multiple orgasms are in the cards, as he knows exactly how to make your toes curl, and he’s not above using that information to his advantage.

You’re the wettest thing in the Wasteland when Hancock’s around, and you can bet your ass he’s going to comment on it every chance he gets. Otherwise, he loves to play in it; to spread the sheen between his fingers; to lick it clean off while you watch, or to smear it over his withered skin, lubricating his cock with it.

All in all, it’s a stroke to his ego to know he’s the one responsible for making you cum that hard that often. You can be damn sure he’s out to fuck you every chance he gets. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

I mentioned this in another post, but Hancock likes it when you’re addicted to chems because he’s the one providing. As long as he’s supplying the drugs for you to get your fix, you’re not going to leave him high and dry.

Maybe he fears being, “skipped out on,” thinkin’ it’s just another reason for you to stick around. It ties into him being insecure—call it insurance. He’s not proud of it, but you don’t seem to mind, and there’s no one around to call him on it.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?):

Based on comments we hear throughout the game, Hancock was known to be a looker before being a Ghoul. He’s still a looker even after his transformation, and he is well-aware his physical appearance garners the attention of the ladies, or so he says. From this we can infer Hancock has no trouble in finding someone to fuck. I’m sure he has been around the block more than a few times, but it would be the appearance of someone special in his life that might make him rethink his whorish lifestyle.

Despite being a bit of a promiscuous rascal who most likely participates in a lot of meaningless sex, when he finds the right person, I am sure he is more than happy to be monogamous. But overall, I would say he definitely knows what the hell he’s doing—why else would Bobbi make that comment about everyone being in love with him?

Hancock’s a catch, contrary to whether or not he believes it himself, and for more than one reason, me thinks. And it is common for even those people who are “good-looking” to be self-conscious and worried about how others perceive them, so that doesn’t change the idea of him still being insecure despite his charm and charisma, though him saying he’s charming could be him playing at being facetious.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual):

The Couch Surfer*

Hancock loves to bend you over the arm of the couch in the Old State House with you face down in the cushions as he plows into you from behind. It allows for deeper penetration and more thrusting power, with your feet either on the floor, or with your knees pulled in toward your own body as your legs hover off the ground.

This also makes it so neither of you have to get entirely undressed if you don’t want to, or if there is simply no time for anything but a quickie. With both of you pulling down your trousers, or with you hiking up your dress, it makes for easy access, and the angle is just right for hitting that sweet spot.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc):

Hancock is a switch in more ways than one. This can go either way, as he’s not afraid to get weird or try anything once. At the same time, if you’re his special person, he may be inclined to take things a bit more serious. Think body worship in this case, or copious amounts of praise, romantic notions in your ear—that sort of thing.

This doesn’t account for if you’ve pissed him off, as all bets are off, and I’m sure he can think of more than one way to set you straight, even if that involves being more condescending than usual, or withholding sex all together because he’s just “not feeling it after the way you’ve been actin’.”  

In fact, he may be able to home in on if he’s frightening you—that in and of itself can be a turn on. Oh, you’ve been misbehaving lately? Get ready to meet No More Mister Nice Ghoul. Although, you’d have to fuck up royally for him to take any of that so serious.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.):

No hair, don’t care (obviously)! But Hancock may enjoy running his fingers through yours, and he does so gently, not afraid to brush that stray strand out of your eyes.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…):

This can also go either way, depending on Hancock’s mood. One minute he’s treating you like the filthy whore you are, and the next minute he’s spewing off the most romantic things you’ve ever heard. He’s not afraid to speak his mind, no matter the topic of conversation. He’ll tell you to suck his cock like a good little slut, but then don’t put it past him to confess how much you mean to him in the same breath.

In other words, you can simultaneously be the best thing that’s ever happened to him, while also receiving an earful of the dirtiest, raunchiest trash talk to have ever been uttered by man. He knows you’re going to come undone regardless—he just has that effect on you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon):

Hancock loves to force you to watch him masturbate when it’s impossible for you to touch him. That American flag at his waist serves well in a pinch, able to tie your hands up so he can sit back and pleasure himself without you interfering.

Long, languid strokes drive you mad, Hancock not skimping on the heady eye contact, enjoying it when you come unraveled at the seams. You’re begging to join in, to please him yourself, but this is where the fun begins—cry for him all you want to, those handcuffs aren’t coming off, not until he says so.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks):

Oh, man. OK, here we go!

Praise kink – Hancock gives Golden Retriever boyfriend energy. Maybe it’s the fact he follows you around in-game, but he would take so well to you praising him. “Mn, yeah? You like that? Let me show you what else I can do…”

Role-play – I can see this man being into role-play scenarios. He already basically cosplays as a historical figure— it gives him the freedom to mess around with you knowing he doesn’t mean any of it in the end. You can be sure he’d have a safe word if that’s something you’re wanting. He’d take on new roles himself, or play along with yours. “Big bad Mayor” comes to mind for those of you who want a little more bossing around.

Sensation play - Hancock is big on touch. He loves to trace your skin with his fingers, or for you to touch him. I can also see him being into sensory deprivation, blindfolding himself so his sole focus remains on the feel of your hands smoothing over his callous flesh. I’m sure besides a lot of one-night stands, he barely gets anything in the way of attention. It’s always quick and easy— to really be close to someone? That takes guts.

Brat taming – This is a given. Maybe it’s not a game, you’re just really a brat. He doesn’t mess around when it’s time to get serious, so if you’re in his way, or if you’re rubbing him wrong, expect to hear about it. Think daddy/little girl vibes in most cases, but this can spill over into the role-play arena as well. But it’s not all negative—if you’ve been a good girl or boy, he’s willing to praise you for a job well done.

Degradation – Shit-talking him to the point of degradation is a thing he’s into. Not that he believes everything you’re saying, but he’s able to take a few verbal punches without psychic damage. The more sarcastic and ruthless you are, the more he respects you, and the more it may turn him on. He enjoys someone who isn’t afraid to stand up to him, but he also enjoys being put in his place, if you have the balls to try.

Bondage – Tie him up and have your way with him, or he’s liable to do the same to you. He loves a strong, take-charge woman, and a go get ‘em kinda man. He has the most fun when you’re the one who’s “powerless.” He’ll drive you wild before he finally gives in—the best part is watching you squirm and beg for him.

Exhibitionism – He will fuck you anywhere and everywhere; he doesn’t care who watches, but watching’s all their going to do. Hancock’s always down for a quickie, or something a little more intimate, but it doesn’t matter if it’s in the privacy of his suite at the Old State House, or the backroom of the Third Rail. Sex is sex, and there is no one he rather have it more with than you—anytime, anyplace.

Knife play/ Gun play – This Ghoul will use any and all means with which to get his rocks off, and he has a special place in his heart for knives. He’ll draw blood, or not, running the blade across your skin, not afraid to use the hilt to fuck you. The same goes for guns of all sorts, shells or bullets removed. Expect them to be put into places – like your mouth, or cunt. He’s not shy about it.

*I should add he is a total switch. He can play at top or bottom. IMO he plays bottom more frequently for male partners, and tops for female partners, but again, he loves a woman who knows how to take charge – he wouldn’t mind if you stepped on him.

Overall, he has a lot of sadistic qualities, but he’s also a bit of a masochist— he knows when and where to draw the line. He would never hurt you or do anything without your consent, UNLESS you’ve done something to get on his bad side, then there is no telling what might happen.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do):

As I mentioned earlier, this man is an exhibitionist, so he would settle for fucking you anywhere he could. However, the riskier, the better, as he’s not afraid of getting caught—it’s part of the thrill. But if he’s feeling romantic, maybe he takes you to the roof of the Old State House, out under the stars.

Afterward, he lays with you there, pointing out the various constellations he’s read about in books. Maybe he even dragged an old mattress up there—no one will miss it—as it’s a place you frequently rendezvous.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going):

Violence and compassion, LOL. Allow me to explain:

Put simply, you putting down assholes for all the right reasons gets him hard. Hancock’s all about dispensing justice, about helping out the little guy, so if he gets to watch you kill evil fucking people while doing just that? Talk about a bonus— a really attractive one.

“Mn, the way you cut that guy’s head clean off—I wanted to fuck you right then and there. You should have seen his eyes bug out—bastard knew what was coming.”

Also, you doing a lot of chems and lowering your inhibitions for him? You willing to get freaky with him? That just makes you soulmates.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs:

Cannibalism, which is self-explanatory considering his comments in the game in regard to Sole if you have/use that perk. Hey, at least he’s not too judgmental.

I also do not assume he’s into torture, or blood and gore. A quick, merciless death is more his style, but considering his thoughts on Pickman and his “artistic flair,” plus not wanting to go anywhere near the gallery to see for himself, makes me think he’s adverse to that kind of thing. He doesn’t necessarily like hurting people or causing pain, only when the situation truly calls for it.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc):

I see him as preferring to give, though he won’t turn down a blowjob. It is a high all its own to get you off so easy with his mouth.

All those delicious little sounds; the way you writhe beneath him; the way you hold the back of his head; the way you say his name… It’s addicting, almost more so than chems. And I should say he’s not above eating ass.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.):

Again, both—depending on what his mood dictates. He’s not afraid to fuck you hard and fast, but he can also slow down and make love to you when he’s feeling soft. He’s a moody Ghoul, but it is a part of his charm. Time spent with him is never boring.

Sometimes, pure, unbridled lust wins out, or maybe he’s feeling sadistic for whatever reason—in this case, you may find yourself unable to walk the next morning.

But he can also be sensual, taking his time to please you proper while sending you to heaven on a cloud of fluffy, romantic words. He’s multifaceted, and so is your love for each other.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc):

I don’t think I am alone when I say that Hancock commenting offhand about, “you just say the word if you wanna take a little, uh, chem break” is most likely a euphemism for sex and very suggestive.

He sure as hell has nothing bad to say about quickies. Getting down and dirty at a moment’s notice is in his wheelhouse, so don’t be afraid to tell him when you’re in the mood, no matter where you might be or what you might be doing.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.):

Bears repeating, I guess. He’s up for almost anything and everything, minus the eating human flesh part. He’s not afraid to take risks in any aspect of his life, always out to do the right thing, even if there are consequences.

In relation to sex, he’s not shy, and doesn’t expect for you to be either. Feel free to open up to him about your deepest, darkest desires—he would be thrilled to help you out in that department.

Expect him to offer chems beforehand, or to check in with you if it’s something a little more high-risk. Safety first and all that nonsense—he truly cares about your well-being, but it’s also nice to know he’s met his match. That’s not to say he wouldn’t have fun corrupting you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…):

I’m going to say that the regenerative effect that Ghouls possess also allows them to recuperate quickly after sex. Hancock has a stamina stockpile; he could go for hours, or for multiple rounds.

Of course, he also doesn’t mind just holding you, slowing down to bask for a little while in your amiable company.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?):

Back to the knife-play, gun-play kink, I suspect he not only uses various, dangerous tools to pleasure you, but also rope, or handcuffs. Everyday items that can he repurposed into something new and fucked up—alligator clamps for your nipples, or an Institute shock baton as a cattle prod—if you’re into that sort of thing. In other words, he’s not afraid to experiment.

As it’s the “end of the world,” I am not sure he has access to expensive, exotic toys, but if he did, he would be sure to use them. Maybe there’s an old sex shop with a few top of the line products still on the shelves. He’d nab anything for shits and giggles, trying various things out on you and on himself. Not like he has anything better to do.

But even so, he probably prefers it just being you and him, nothing fancy. He doesn’t need it— you’re all he needs to have a good time.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

Hancock often plays unfair. He loves to tease you to the point of edging. He’ll take you as far as the cusp of an orgasm, then let the feeling dissipate, driving you toward insanity a little more each time.

And he’s so good at what he does; you’ll cum when he allows it. Lucky for you, this time he’s feeling generous—but if you pout? He’s done for.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make):

Hancock may make you scream his name, but he’s more of a subdued moan, heavy breaths in your ear kind of Ghoul. He’ll whisper sweet sentiments or speak all the filthy, filthy things he’s going to do you, but may be a bit of a pillow biter when roles are reversed.

He’d still take it like a champ, though, chomping down to keep from “embarrassing” himself. I also bet he’s a bit of a whimperer, or a whiner, fingers digging into the sheets as he buckles down under you like a common whore.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice):

I’ve got two:

1) Hancock is an over-protective boyfriend who is always out to “watch your back,” whether that be keeping his eye out for creeps, or intervening in a conversation on your behalf. I can also see him as the slightly jealous type, though he would bring it up only due to his own insecurities. Otherwise, he quietly stews until it eats away at him enough he feels the need to say what’s on his mind.

“Hey, if you’re getting bored of me, just say the word—I’ll go.” I don’t think he wants to stick around where he’s not wanted.

2) Hancock is into PDA maybe more than he should be. He’d let you sit in his lap in public while his hands travel your body. He’d caress your waist and thighs, and whisper jokes in your ear that are only meant for you to hear— Hancock loves making you giggle. He’s also up for dragging you into dark corners for steamy make-out sessions, or just wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. Let ‘em stare, he gives no fucks who sees you together.

Of course, he’s also OK with just gazing at you lovingly when no one’s looking— not even you.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words):

Hancock’s cock is just as scarred and damaged as the rest of his body, but he can still get it up, and the striations and respective bits of raised tissue are basically just another way of saying “ribbed for your pleasure.”

It’s variegated in color, or various shades—pale, deathly white, intermingled with dark, almost cadaverous-like patches. If you’re into necrosis, this is the man for you, though nothing is falling off or anything like that—he’s 100% intact, willing and able.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?):

I imagine he has a pretty high sex-drive, but sex isn’t everything to him by any means. He’s always down for a quick romp in the hay, but he’s also not opposed to cuddles.

Yes, he’s a cuddler. With the sappy, over the top romantic lines he says in game, how can this man NOT want to bury himself in your arms every chance he gets? And don’t put it past him to be clingy, either. That’s not always what he’s about, but it can happen with the right combination of brain chemicals and fluffy feelings.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

I see Hancock as waiting for you to fall asleep first, or at least being cognizant enough to know what is going on in the event he has to keep you safe from whatever’s lurking in the dark, whether you’re hiding in the ruins, or walled up somewhere in Goodneighbor—can never be too careful.

In addition, I peg him as someone who may be a bit of an insomniac. He’s a bit hyper in game, and with the fact he pumps himself full of chems just to try to get high, I imagine even as a Ghoul it could fuck up your sleep cycle.

Still, when he falls asleep he sleeps hard—but don’t mind waking him. He’s ready to go when you are, just give him a minute.

--

If you enjoyed this, be on the lookout for my John Hancock x Fem! Reader fic in the next day or so! 6.8k+ words of porn with plot. :D

P.S.: if you have a specific request, or just want to talk about Hancock in my inbox, feel free!!

****

Edit: Here’s the fic!

[certified-fiction-fucker]

i’ve realised, ghouls are perfect for people with breeding kinks who don’t wanna get pregnant (as long as you’ve got a good stockpile of radaway)

[hanckocks-dagger]

Shake, rattle, and roll

masterlist

John Hancock x f!reader

Description: After three weeks on the road, you come home to Goodneighbor to find a sweet surprise from Hancock. Naturally, you fuck him about it. 

Tags: Such sappy smut guys, holy shit theyre in love, Hancock is a simp. Reader could be viewed as SoSu or not, no y/n, female anatomy

Warnings: smut! Pretty vanilla though, honestly, so nothing else to mention

Word count: 6K

Cross posted on my ao3

The last day of travel was always the worst; with the end goal in sight

The morning sun beat down on you, the trek from Lexington having seemed almost endless. There was only one thing on your mind as you marched over the Harvard bridge; Hancock's bed. You had the full intention of crawling right into it and staying there, comatose, for several days.

Of course, it wasn't quite that simple. You needed to unload the spare weapons you'd picked up, throw those to KL-E-0. You also had some things to drop at Daisy's, some things to pass on to Ham for the Third Rail...

You pulled your pack higher onto your shoulders, ignoring the ache of your back from the weight of it, all the junk you'd decided to ferry back with you. The straps of the bag were sure to leave deep, painful indents in your skin, almost permanently rubbed raw after weeks of travel.

Downtown, you skirted between Diamond City outposts, making your usual wide berth around the city itself. Despite being human and technically welcome inside the city, you'd taken to avoiding it, as if their prejudice was infectious. You hadn't entered the gates in months by now, and even though you missed Power Noodles and stopping by the agency to bother Nick, you felt no real urge to step inside.

The inhabitants' paranoia, towards the institute and towards outsiders, made the air in the city oppressive. Compared to the freedom of Goodneighbor, even with all of its own problems, Diamond City felt tyrannical in comparison.

You made a wide berth around the old scrap yard, overrun by feral dogs, climbing a fire escape to reach the elevated turnpike.

The closer you got to Goodneighbor, the hard it was to push forward. With the end in sight, close enough that you could practically count the steps you had left, aware of every finite amount of energy you had to eke from your body. Still, you reused to break, pushing forward, hands wrapped tight around the straps of your pack, like a schoolchild with their brightly colored schoolbag

Just a little further. Just a little more. The turnpike turned North, and you had to duck and pause as some gunner scouts passed, the highway connected to some high-rises, precarious wooden planks forming bridges.

Crouched down low, your calves burned, your fingers ached as you gripped your revolver, checking the bullet count on autopilot and lining up a shot, just in case you were spotted.

You weren't, the mercenaries passing from one end of the bridge to the other, wood creaking under their weight, loud, unconcerned conversation passing between them.

You sneaked past them in a crouch, knees and back protesting, familiar flood of adrenaline humming through your blood, heartbeat in your ears. The thrill stayed even once you were out of eyesight, until you'd shaken out your joints and rolled your shoulders, back to your brisk pace.

One of these days, you promised yourself, zeroing in on the broken jaw of the freeway that you used to find your bearings, you'd find a way to make a portable Ham-radio. Staying away so long was making you half-insane. You hadn't heard his voice in over two weeks, and at this point you would have sold all the loot you were lugging around to see his face a few minutes sooner. You'd pay insane sums to be able to hear him on the regular while you were away. Joking, complaining, hell, even just reading off his fucking caravan logs.

The body of the freeway dropped to the ground, crumbling concrete surrounding a Gunner camp, probably the one those two idiots earlier were supposed to be protecting. Well, you thought, pulling a trip-mine from your pack, it wasn't your fault if they were fucking morons.

Behind the rusted body of a truck, you waited for the perfect moment to strike, listening with patience to the Gunners as they yelled and laughed, carefree in the way only over-confident assholes ever could be. On a different day, you would have attacked with something more complicated, something that could blast the entire camp in one go, but today, you were tired and homesick.

At the right moment, you activated the mine and tossed it, scurrying from behind your car to drop off the side of the freeway, landing in a crouch in an alley a street over from Goodneighbor, booking it as the mine went off and the yells changed from happy to panicked.

You'd often thought, as you and Hancock laid spread eagle on the bed, or sprawled over the couch, that between the two of you, you were by far the one more likely to turn feral. He was too clever, his mind too sharp, even dulled by drugs. You were the one running around the wasteland, scampering like some little creature, hoarding old-world junk, killing nearly indiscriminately. You survived on the high of your own adrenaline, surviving scrapes by the skin of your teeth, by clawing, biting, crushing, choking.

You held your breath until you could see the glow of the welcome-sign, neon arrow pointing at the door, like to the entrance of a dingy nightclub. It shone like a beacon even in the daylight, beckoning you home.

When your fingers touched the door, you swore you gained a second wind, the eerie stillness of downtown Boston turning into the hum of bustling Goodneighbor residents. You greeted the Neighborhood watch as you entered the town, and they variously tipped caps or winked at you, hands always on their guns.

Daisy's was full, the sure sign of a newly passed caravan. You spotted that Railroad guy, sipping from a bottle on the bench in front of the store, doing his usual job of completely failing to fit in by being almost unnaturally nondescript. That might work in Diamond city, but not in Goodneighbor.

Your steps were slow as you maneuvered through the crowd, aware of the pack on your back and the guns slung over your shoulders. You headed for Kill or Be killed, planning to unload some ammo and spare rifle you'd picked up. You kept your eyes peeled for that flash of red in your periphery, the heat that filled your chest whenever you were near him.

KL-E-0's store was empty, meaning she was probably on the second floor, conducting some less than savory business. You'd hustle out of there if you heard the sound of her laser powering up, but you decided to spare a few minutes.

You leaned your forearms onto the counter, taking some of the weight off your sore feet and back, eyes running over the visible apparel, wondering what things you should offload.

Sure enough, barely a minute passed before you could hear the wood creaking above you, footsteps descending the staircase and an achingly familiar voice:

"-Talk when my girl brings something new, call it a uh- personal favor."

You raised your head from where it had been lolling, that familiar voice sending a sweet ache through your chest and a giddy smile onto your face. His girl.

Hancock was turned away from you, speaking to KL-E-0, trusty shotgun in his hands.

If your pack had been lighter, you would have bounded into his arms and dragged him right back to the old State House. You would have indulged the exhibitionist in him, wrapped your legs around his waist and let him stick his tongue down your throat right there in the street.

Instead, though, you settled for walking over, supporting the bottom of your pack to keep it from rattling. KL-E-0's red eye flickered over to you for a moment, inscrutable as always, but she stayed quiet, allowing you to surprise Hancock as he chattered about the recoil of his gun.

You wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, smushing your face between his shoulder blades. You breathed him in, the familiar smell of tanned hide, cigarettes and that ever present old-museum-smell that he'd tried many times in vain to get rid of. You inhaled with a shudder, pressing a kiss to his back, feeling his momentary frozen shock melt away as he seemed to register who was touching him.

He spun in your arms, leaving you face to face with soft eyes and a softer smile, a hand coming up to cup your cheek.

Warm lips pressed to yours and you melted arms sliding up to hook around his shoulders, pulling him flush to you. A corner of your mind– or your heart– which had spent the past two weeks growling about being apart from him, finally quieted down.

"Is that your gun digging into my hip, or are you just happy to see me, love?" He asked you when you separated, leaving you to snort and hide your face in his shoulder, so giddy you thought you might burst with it.

You swallowed past your joy, composing yourself so that you could lean back and flick the tip of Hancock's tricorn-hat upwards, giving you a better view of those lovely dark eyes, always so emotive, crinkled at the corners.

"Good to see you too, Mister Mayor," You breathed, hands sliding from his shoulders down to his waist, backing out of KL-E-0's store, dragging Hancock along with you. He came willingly, not allowing even an extra inch between the two of you.

All thoughts of bartering, even your own body's complaints were forgotten, your heart singing. You blinked against the sunlight, convinced suddenly that the weather was reflecting your mood.

"What's your plan for the day?" You asked, when it became clear Hancock was too busy staring at you to say anything. The two of you seemed to be wandering in a leisurely pace towards the old State House, but you didn't care where you were going. You'd follow him around all day if you had to. You could be going right back into the Wastes for all you cared. You'd trail behind him as he did whatever he needed to do, collapse from exhaustion and let him carry you back to bed.

"Oh, you know," He said, pulling you up the steps to the Old State House, opening the door for you, ushering you inside, "Was gonna get high and mope around all day, waiting for you." He had no sooner shut the door than he grabbed you by your belt, pinning you to the wall, your heavy pack hitting the wall. "Probably drive Fahrenheit crazy with my pining–"

You hum, smoothing out the lapels of his coat as his hands wander.

"Now, I'm thinking we go up and let the whole town we're reunited."

"Sounds perfect," You agreed, pressing a kiss to his jaw before pushing him gently in the direction of the staircase. He led the charge, half toppling over every step in his desperation not to let go of you.

The second you hit the landing he whisked you back into his arms again, hands restless as he squeezed your sides, traveled up your arms, touched your face, all before coming right back down again to squeeze your ass. Another breathy laugh escaped you, so happy you couldn't put your smile away even as you kissed him.

His hand slid up to your lower back, guiding you towards the bedroom, your lips still locked together.

you pulled away at the door as Hancock filled with the stubborn doorknob, always jammed right when you needed it to open. You keep your arms hooked around him, but you give a salute to the neighborhood watchman stationed in front of your door. His face stayed stoic, either used to yours and Hancock's antics, or from copious threats from Hancock. Both seem equally likely.

He did give you a nod, though, as Hancock crooned in victory, having managed to fling the doors open. You gave him a smile, right as Hancock grabbed your arms and pulled you in. You kicked the doors shut behind you, already laughing as Hancock showered your face with kisses, dipping you like a dancer.

You separated from him enough to finally drop your pack, which thumps to the floor. Your guns come off, placed down with more care, followed by your bandolier and scavenging jacket.

Hancock cracked the doors open as you busied yourself, calling out, "Make sure to keep all the riff-raff out today, yeah brother?" And then the doors were shut and locked. A peaceful quiet descending over you.

He takes your hands, pulling you to the center of the bedroom, leaving you bathed in afternoon sunlight peeking in from the open balcony door. The room was as clean as it ever was, five hundred years of grime that you'd long given up on trying to get rid of.

With the door open and the spring air flooding in, everything felt fresher, not weighed down by centuries of history, but just a normal bedroom. Your books had been stacked in neat piles on the dresser, where you could see one of your shirt sleeves peeking out from the drawer. The bed was newly made, and....

"Is that..?" You stared, taking in the sharp white color of the fresh sheets, looking brand fucking new. Not Commonwealth new either, no, this looked like the bleached and pressed sheets of a fucking prewar hotel.

Your eyes sought out Hancock's, expecting to find him grinning, boastful, the usual exaggerated ego coupled with his general cool-demeanor, but instead you found him looking... uncertain. One hand rubbing the back of his neck like he was... bashful.

"Where did you get this?" You asked, stepping over to the bed. You ran a hand almost irreverently over the fresh sheets, feeling the starched, crisp texture of it, not rotting and mildewed like almost everything was.

"Oh, a uh– new trade caravan passed through last week. From somewhere out west, they've been growing cotton and weaving shit.

As if in a trance, you started shucking off your clothes, not wanting to sully the fresh sheets with your blood and dirt stained layers. You only get as far as your outer shirt when Hancock's hands sneak back onto your waist, almost timid in their touch. You half wanted to slap them off in your urge to get naked, get under the sheets and let him touch you there all he wanted.

Instead, you spin around to face him, guide his hands under your shirt to the warm skin of your stomach. "You're an angel, you know that?" You said.

He laughed, "Only for you, sister. Devil to everyone else."

You laughed back at him, finally shedding your shirt. As you try to wrestle off your boots with the force of your heel, all the examples to the contrary fly into your head: Every kind action he'd done, every willingly shared drug, every situation where he'd chosen less violence than he needed to. The nights you'd spent watching him agonize over whether he was good enough for his community, whether he was making the right decisions.

Instead of bringing those up, you pecked his lips in thanks. With his 'help' (groping), you got your undershirt and bra off, leaving your torso bare.

You leant down to unlace your boots, your earlier attempts having been futile, but before you could Hancock had you off your feet, tossing you head first into soft, fresh sheets. He took over, hands trailing teasingly over the waistband of your pants before he turned to your boots, sliding them off and taking your socks with them.

You groaned, cheek smushed into the mattress, as nimble hands pull your pants down and off. Trailing fingers, tickling the backs of your naked calves, up into the hollow of your knees. You had to stifle a giggle as a feather light touch against your inner thigh made you jump.

The bed shifted as he climbed onto it, his legs bracketing yours, knees pressing into the flesh of your thighs.

Fingers on the waistband of your underwear.

"How about we get these off?" His voice, low and gravelly, suddenly hot in your ear. A gentle bite to the cartilage of your earlobe, the drag of fabric as your underwear was pulled down your legs and then tossed somewhere.

"You know," You breathed, raising yourself onto your elbows so you could crane your neck and tried to catch him in a kiss. You missed, but settled for kissing his shoulder, hovering just by your head. "I'm feeling a bit exposed here. You've stripped me bare and you're still clothed."

You turned underneath him, determined to get him to kiss you again, were met with his grinning face just above yours. "Well, let no one call me an unfair man," He said, sinking onto his haunches, just out of reach of your desperate mouth. He plucked his tricorn from his head, settled it onto your.

You raised yourself to him, stole a quick peck, languishing in every brush of his lips against yours. It was dangerous, how much you'd missed him on the road, pining to the point of distraction. The times you'd ducked into buildings to ease an ache brought on by reminiscing, imagining him besides you, or on you, or in you. Imagining him being beside you as you stumbled into firefights, imagined his hands patching you up, rather than your own.

"You didn't happen to remember to take any Rad-X this morning, didya?"

His words pulled you from your stewing. You groaned. In your excitement to get home, you'd completely forgotten.

"Can't we just... skip it? This once?" You asked, pulling on his collar, dragging him down to lie on top of you, his mouth in reach again. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, hooking one leg around his waist to ground him to you, keep him from getting distracted.

"You and I both know you'd regret that in the morning, sister."

He was right, the bastard. Spending your morning throwing up, hooked to a Rad-Away was not your ideal first day back. So, lamentably, you release your grip on him, hands and leg flopping to the side as he leant over to grab a bottle from the nightstand.

"I'm sure we can find something to... entertain you, while we wait for it to kick in."

You pouted, making a show of how frustrating his interruption had been, how desperate you were to get him back. Here you were, naked, spread-eagle and waiting, with patience you didn't have.

You watched, silently, as he dug into the bottle, drawing out two pills. As he stepped back over, you pulled yourself back onto your elbows, waiting for him to hand them over, or maybe deposit them into your mouth himself.

Instead, as he kneeled onto the bed, he put them into his own mouth, leaning over you to meld his lips to yours. You grabbed at him, feeling his arms wrap around your waist to support your weight as you melted in his arms. Slowly, in long, deep, searing kisses, the pills moved from his mouth to yours. Once they were on your tongue, he pulled his mouth off yours, scarred lips shining with spit, and moved to your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin as you gather enough saliva to swallow the pills.

Rad-X was quick to kick in, but the effects weren't instantaneous, leaving the pair of you with at least ten minutes to kill. On a normal day, you would have been happy to spend those minutes making out, taking your time in stripping Hancock off his clothes, egging each other on with dirty words and dangerous fantasies. But you'd spent over three weeks away from Goodneighbor, over three weeks of precarious mental foreplay, dreaming of his touch at night, fantasizing of him in the day. Suddenly, even the prospect of radiation sickness was not enough of a reason to stay away.

You tore at his coat, rucking his frilly shirt out from under his sash, exposing his slim stomach. You watched the muscle there tense under your touch, as you ran cold hands over his hips, tugging him closer to you. With practiced hands, you made quick work of untying the sash at his hips, satiny fabric sliding from your fingers and onto the floor like a waterfall.

Hancock bit into the flesh of your shoulder, making you hiss and dig your nails into the skin by his hip bones in retaliation.

You pull his chin upwards, leading his mouth to yours again, keeping those teeth from doing any more damage just yet.

Your generous hands wandered, up and under his shirt, roaming over the breadth of his chest, feeling it expand as he inhaled. You nipped at his bottom lip, drawing out a rumbling groan, felt both in your mouth against his, and in the vibrations against your fingertips.

You scooted to the edge of the bed, bracketing his hips with your thighs, freeing his hands so you could tug his coat off. Your hands slipped up under his collar, pushing his narrow shoulders backwards, giving you enough leverage to push the heavy coat backwards, the heavy fabric thumping to the ground.

Sometimes, when Hancock looked particularly vulnerable, usually collapsed on one of his couches, bleary with the haze of jet, his outfit reminded you of a child playing dress-up. In ancient coat tailored for a man with broader shoulders, a hat fit for a pirate and a disdain for the sort power he wielded.

You pulled your lips off of his, formulating a plea that would get you what you wanted, what words would make him understand just how badly you  ached for him, just how unbearable the emptiness in you was. You pressed a chaste kiss to his sternum, bare but hiding in the ruffles of his shirt, and made a blind grab for the waistband of his pants, words suddenly elusive.

His hands stopped yours, stilling them just by the button on his pants, so close to their goal.

You whined, the sound almost entirely involuntary, tilting your head up to meet Hancock's gaze with your own, sure now that he was teasing you.

"John," You managed, "This is cruel."

His eyes crinkled, as if you were the one making the joke, as if you weren't the one burning from the inside out.

"Well, now, I can't have you destroying my reputation. I worked hard to be known as a generous lover."

"Then stop teasing and fuck me."

But he only snickered like a bawdy teenager, gentle hands guiding yours to grasp at the fresh sheets. You watched helplessly, heartbeat in your throat, as he stepped back, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows before sinking to the floor in front of you, guiding your legs over his shoulders.

"This'll coast you over, sister."

He grabbed you by your thighs, tugging you closer until you could feel his breath on your [core]. Your thighs trembled, heels digging into his back, desperate to push him closer, to get his mouth where it needed to be.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, hands balled into fists, half convinced you would burst into tears if he didn't do something. You swore you could feel him laugh, right up against your pussy, unable to hear it over the rush of blood in your ears, a split second before his tongue was finally, mercifully, on you. The slick drag of it landing quickly on your clit, lapping at it teasingly, every strike on your nerves making you seize, already so worked up from being near him.

You cursed on an exhale, lungs burning, every nerve in your body sparking, your blood heating. There was an obscene slurping as he sucked hard against your clit, pressure just on the right side of pain, his fingers digging into your thighs.

Your head pushed hard into the mattress, Hancock's hat falling into your eyes, rendering the outside world suddenly dark.

Suddenly, all pressure vanished, making you let out a long, pitiful whine, releasing your death grip on the sheets to raise the hat and see what the ghoul would be torturing you with this time. You raised your head, found Hancock on his knees by the bed, looking at you with pure reverence, fingers running up and down over the plush, soft skin of your inner thighs.

You could feel the way his ministrations had spread your juices, the way the skin at the meet of your thigh and pelvis were glued together, sticky, pulling at your pubic hair just enough to be uncomfortable.

"What are you starin' at?" You panted, trying to get his wandering mind back to the matter at hand.

He grinned up at you from his perch, "What do you think?"

Fingers, crawling slowly, teasingly, up your thigh, into the divot where leg meets hip, tickling. Then, slow, gentle strokes through your pussy lips, scooping up all your wetness. A teasing, fleeting touch across your clit, making you seize, arching off the bed with a whine.

Then, the slick, slow glide of those fingers inside you.

"F-Fuck," You huffed, meaning to say something more like 'fucking finally, you torturer'.

"Such a pretty girl for me," Hancock says, that sly purr sending its own spark up your spine, mixed with his fingers, a slow, tantalizing in and out, "Been thinking about you for  days,  love. All alone out there, with no one to help you out. Running back home, to me, to let me help."

His fingers stilled. You clenched around him, every muscle in your legs seizing, your chest heaving.

"Is that what you were doing?" His voice was delicious, closer now. There's a bite into the flesh of your stomach, just above your belly button and you tensed against it, squirming into his fingers.

"Yes," You breathed, grinding hard onto his fingers, willing something, anything, to put pressure on your clit. You try squeezing your legs together, but Hancock's arm is in the way. A pathetic whimper escapes you.

"Wanna tell me about it, sister?"

You get out a "Please," legs moving restlessly, trying to get him to do anything, go in our out, anything at all. Blindly, you reach out and get him by the back of the neck, trying to push him downwards. You can feel his smile against the skin of your hip.

"Nngh- mmm, yes, I thought of you. Every day I was away." His head sunk lower, chin resting on your pelvis. "Thought about this, or sharing a hit of jet, or letting you pour wine into my mouth."

His mouth found your clit again, and you were sure you could cry, feeling his tongue flicking at the little nub, fingers starting to move again, a slow, languid in and out.

You arched off the bed, hands gripping the back of Hancock's head, legs going over his shoulders, pressing into his back.

"Shit," You breathed, one hand shifting to grab his forearm. The pressure on your clit increased suddenly, sending a spark through you that left you limp. Your hands slid from their grips, spilling onto the bed.

You looked down, finding Hancock's eyes on you. Then, he twisted his fingers in a way you didn’t recognize increasing the suction on your clit until you felt like he was trying to give you a hickey. You gasped, fingers digging hard into the bed, fabric rustling in your palms, hips snapping upwards, further into his mouth.

"Wait, that felt– do it again," You panted, to which he happily obliged, tongue and fingers twisting in a way that lit a spark in your body, like the strike of a lighter. A few more repeated movements and you moaned, probably loud enough to wake the drifters in the attic. Hancock's free hand wandered up the bed, catching one of yours in his own with a gentle squeeze. A moment so sappily romantic it managed to push you over the edge, your orgasm cresting over you like a warm wave.

Slowly, with a few extra nips to your inner thigh, Hancock sat back. Face wet with you, mouth curved up into a smile. You squeezed your legs together, shading your clit from the open air, chest heaving as you recovered from over stimulation.

"Get up here, please," You called, voice languid, hands reaching out to embrace him, crush him to you, hold him there forever. He obliged, crawling up against you, the texture of his pants against your naked thighs sending goosebumps across your skin. He slotted perfectly into your arms, pressing his mouth to yours.

You ached for him, wanting to get him closer, to tangle with him until you were impossible to separate. You kissed him like you were starving, all teeth and desperation, hands moving to shove off his vest, to unbutton his shirt, to get him naked, get him closer. He helped you, tossing the vest and then the shirt to the floor, warm chest pressing to yours, your tits trapped between the two of you, his rough skin grazing against your nipples, heat building behind your sternum.

Between your bodies, you felt his hand work at his pants. You were pressed so close together that every fumble grazed against your core, sending shocks of heat through you. You were so overwhelmed with need you couldn't decide where to put your hands, sure you'd be more of a hindrance than a help if you tried to get involved.

He made quick work of it, tugging down his pants, followed by his underwear.

He lined himself up, your excitement mounting until you were sure you would come again the second he entered. He captured your lips in another searing kiss, and finally your hands moved without you having to think about it, settling low on his hips in an effort to drive him closer.

"Ready?" He asked, and you felt your mind flash back to your first time with him, a rushed affair after a night drinking with him at the Third Rail. Even then, as it was a desperate fumble to get naked as fast as possible, spread over the couch in his office, clawing and biting with ferality, both of you desperate to get closer, even then, he had paused, hands on your panties, and asked, in that same soft tone, if you were ready, as if he expected you to have changed your mind.

"Yeah, I'm ready," You breathed, eyes squeezing shut in anticipation.

It's a slow, slick, delicious glide that has both of you groaning. Something in you slots into place, all your frenetic energy calm, as you grip at Hancock's back, burying your face in his neck as he starts to move.

"God, that's so–" you gasped, unable to finish, unsure of the words. You hitched a leg up onto John's waist, dragged him in for another kiss.

His pace was achingly slow, his touches sickeningly sweet. You focused on the fullness of it, the way the glide and drag of it seemed to fill your lungs even as he stole your breath with his tongue.

You wanted to live in this moment forever, here with him, inseparable in every way, as close as you could be. Hancock's hips drove deep, making you arch your back with a gasp for air, his lips vanishing off yours. The pace stayed sweet, sentimental, and you relished every sound that came from his mouth, every trembling breath.

"Wait," you breathed, tapping his shoulder like a time out, "Lemme, ugh–" With a few moves, you've twisted the two of you around, him on his back, you supporting yourself over him. He looked up at you, eyes twinkling with pure adoration, as you settled yourself with your legs under you, hands moving to his chest so you can keep your balance.

You settled yourself down onto his cock, your hips flush with his, and his hands found your waist, squeezing with that same softness. You set a pace, still calm, but decidedly faster, enough that your tits jiggle as you move.

"If this is some fucked up hallucination," Hancock rasped, voice choked, "I swear I'll lay off the drugs."

You laughed, breathless, grinding down to find that perfect spot inside you, hitting it over and over again, until the pleasure of it turns the inside of your eyelids white and your hands buckle, give out.

Arms caught you, of course, Hancock flipping you back over, managing to land that sweet spot again, enough that the tension spreads across your body, every muscle tensing up as you moaned, inches away from your second orgasm. His fingers on your clit do the trick, a few tight circles and the tension suddenly seeps out of you, a long, silent exhale. He fucked you through it, pace slowing down as you catch your breath.

You lean up to capture his lips again, grinding your hips to meet his thrusts, encouraging him to speed it up, to chase his own pleasure, relishing in the way his pace grows frantic, sloppier.

He gripped your wrists, bringing them over your head, held tight in his hands. Your torso lengthened, chin tilting upwards, exposing the length of your neck to him. He pulled away from your mouth so you take the chance, craning your neck upwards to nip at his skin, finding the soft tendons and sucking hard.

Through gasping breaths, he asked, "Where– nngh– where do you want me?" Your legs tightened around him, hands clawing at his back, using all the strength you had to keep him where he was.

Already, you can feel the way your own pressure is building back up, the way the repeated slide of it drives you right back to the edge.

"In– in me," You gasped, muscles shaking as he managed to hit that perfect spot in you over and over, back arching clean off the bed. You still weren't ready to let him go, even as you neared your third orgasm, still desperate to keep him where he was.

"Are you–"

"John," You cried, his hips slowing as he stopped again to check, your welfare always at the front of his mind. Sure, it would leave you raw and burning, making the next round a bit more pain than pleasure, but all you could think about was keeping the sensation of him imprinted on you as long as possible. "I'm sure, please."

He rutted against you, hips grinding against yours. His head dropped to your shoulder, gasping against your sweat slicked skin, two fingers sliding down against your throbbing clit.

You whimpered against him as pleasure flooded your body again, your grip on him weakening as your muscles shook, legs slipping from around his waist.

You mumbled words of praise as he came, hands roaming around his back, onto his cheek, your whispers of, "So good, so perfect, you're perfect, baby," audible only to him as he moaned. You felt the heat of him inside you, the slow building of fullness even as he softened.

You felt the slow, familiar tingling that preceded the lightly burning pain that would start. You felt Hancock shifting out of you, his mouth twisted into a guilty frown in the skin of your shoulder.

You clenched, feeling the slow dribble of heat spilling onto your skin.

Hancock's lips traced a path across your shoulder, down your arm, the occasional wet smack or nip at your skin pausing his journey. He detached himself from you slowly, regretfully, as if taking his skin off yours was some great sin. And it was, but in the service of a greater good, grabbing a clean strip of cloth from the bedside drawer, cleaning you up in gentle caresses, stickiness removed from your inner thighs, even softer touches over your pussy lips.

You let him busy himself, even as your fingers itched to get him back, wanting to tell him that you'd had worse pain, that you'd hurt for him every second if you had to. Instead, you only smiled at him when he glanced up at you, reaching up to pull him back to you. He came willingly as you pulled him back into your arms.

Tension faded out of your muscles and you melted into the bed, hands wrapped around Hancock's middle. "Did you miss me while I was gone?" You asked, smiling, voice soft. You just wanted to hear him say it, your own little version of 'I love you'.

Hancock raised his head, pecking your lips gently, leaving them tingling.

"More than you could ever know," He said, painfully earnest.

"Mmm, I think I have some idea."

Notes:

The smut chapter took me ages to write for some reason, so if it sucks... uh. No it doesn't (if u see any spelling errors pls let me know tho)

Thanks for reading! Please leave me a comment, or request something, or just come chat with me!

[bisexualiteaa]

Sugar, Oh Honey Honey

AN: OKAY HEAR ME OUT! HEAR ME OUT! I was scrolling through here and stumbled this wonderful gif posted by @the-casual-cat of Barry Sloane and it got me and @expirednukacola thinking…what if that scene, but with Cooper or Hancock? 👀 I started with Hancock, but if y’all would like, I will absolutely do a version with Cooper next! Hope y’all enjoy!

CW: FLUFF! Slight OOC Hancock, established relationship, slight deviation from the game, cursing, kissing, make out, slight suggestive theme, implied seggs, briefly proofread, possible spelling/grammar errors.

The gif in question 😮‍💨🥵🤤

You and Hancock were off exploring the commonwealth, out to gather some supplies for your next trip and maybe some goods to sell in trade for ammo and chems. It was a rather successful trip, didn’t stumble across anything too crazy, but you gathered enough food, stimpacks, ammo, and other useful items to bring with you to keep you stocked when the time came that you would both hit the road again. As the sun began to set along the wastes, you looked to the sky, feeling the damp humidity hang within the air as dark clouds started to accumulate in the sky. A radstorm was coming, and coming quick with the way the wind started to pick up. Unfortunately that meant your return to Goodneighbor for the night would likely be too dangerous. So instead, you both set on the look out for a place with a good roof, or as good as they get anymore anyway, and not holed up by any raiders. You both did the best you could to try and find something as fast as you could, but unfortunately you couldn’t quite beat the rain before it began to drizzle. Hancock offered you his signature tri-corn hat to keep your head and your hair protected from the harsh, radiated rain water. You smiled, accepting his offer and placing it on your head, thanking him for it as you both continued your search.

“Ya look pretty cute like that, sunshine. Might just have to let you steal it from me more often” he complimented, almost unable to take his eyes off of you, making you giggle softly. It had been a while since the last time he really got to spend any quality time with you, so he couldn’t help himself in the way he drank you in like the tallest glass of water this side of the desert. He was snapped from his thoughts when you stopped in place, finally stumbling across a house that looked like it would be sturdy enough to hold out in as the storm passed. One that had a nice roof that wasn’t too terribly beat up compared to the rest, had no fire or light of any kind coming from it to indicate anyone was using it for shelter. It was perfect, just what you both had been looking for. You grabbed his hand before quickly leading him inside the house.

There was a routine you both had when you scavenge places for supplies and find somewhere to hole up for the night out in the commonwealth. You would both split up, one person inspecting one half of the house, and one person taking the other. Inspecting every room, behind every door, every nook and cranny you could think of to ensure there were no traps, and no people here that would be angry to find unknowing trespassers. Once the house was thoroughly swept to ensure there was no threat, you made your way into the kitchen. A taller, yellow box resting on the counter caught your eye. You gasped excitedly, finding it to be a well intact box of your favorite cereal from before the bombs fell. Sugar Bombs, ironically enough. “Holy shit! I didn’t know there were any of these that were still around!” You said in shock, picking up the box to inspect it. You knew it was well past its sell by date by now, but in that moment the state of the actual contents inside didn’t matter to you, seeing the box was enough to bring you back to that nostalgic place of a time before the war. Hancock was still off in another room, collecting what things he could manage to find before he heard you, wondering what it was you were going on about. “What’d you find that’s got you so excited, sunshine?” Hancock asked, genuinely curious as he came back into the kitchen, seeing a box clutched in your hands. “Only my favorite cereal of ALL time!” You said, smiling excitedly as you turned around to face him, holding out the box of cereal to show him what you had been so ecstatic about. He loved the way that some of the smallest things brought you joy, even in hard times like these. In the wasteland there wasn’t much to be happy about, between the awful creatures and people trying to kill and maim you around every corner, to the stifling heat and radiation ready to bake you the moment you stepped outside. Not much made people happy to be alive anymore. It was nice to see you find happiness in something, and he had to admit, the fact that it was over something as simple and small as a box of your once favorite cereal, was even cuter. He couldn’t help the smile that stretched to his thin, irradiated lips as you looked so overjoyed.

“Sugar Bombs! 100% of your daily value of sugar” you quoted the slogan everyone knew, from the box and the commercials they used to advertise on TV about them. “These things were the shit back then. Best way to get a shit ton of sugar in your diet to start the morning off right” you said through a laugh, recalling some good memories of spending weekends and mornings before school on the couch enjoying a bowl as you watched whatever was on the TV at the time. How you would happily kick your feet with every bite. “Did you ever try them, John?” You asked him, genuinely curious but he was far too entertained by the way that the box was still clutched in your hand like you’d found a long lost treasure. “Yeah, I tried ‘em once. I remember them being stale but it was the only thing around I could get my hands on” he said with a chuckle. “I used to eat the fuck out of these as a kid. Good and stale. Not sure I’d do the same now but it’s at least cool to see and reminisce on” you said. He loved learning new things about you, especially about your past. He always felt like he talked too much about himself and his own past, so it was nice to get bits and pieces of yours now and again. It’s why he loved moments like this where it was just the two of you, it felt almost intimate in a way. “Yeah, they’re good and all but…I’m already lookin’ at 100% of my daily value of sugar right here” Hancock said with a sly grin, making a bashful blush rise to your cheeks before you smiled. “Speaking of, that reminds me…” he spoke, slipping his arms around your waist to pull you close to him as you still held onto the box of cereal in one hand. You smiled up at him dreamily, charmed by his smooth moves and charming words as he looked down at you, absolutely love struck. He adored the sight of you in his hat, he really did need to lend it to you more often, but more so than that, he adored being here with you. “I haven’t had my daily value of sugar from you yet. What’dya say we fix that?” He asked, his low, gravelly tone dipping even lower at the prospect of his question.

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, a soft giggle escaping you before looping your arms around his neck. His free hand came to rest on your cheek gently as he leaned in, pulling you to him and into a sweet kiss. You smiled and hummed into it in delight, always loving the feel of his rough skin against your own, the way just a kiss from him could ignite a fire in your core. Your body acted on pure instinct and need, as your free hand moved to rest just beneath his jaw, both of you doing all you could to keep the other close. When you had time alone like this, distance was the last thing you wanted between you. Soon your once soft and innocent kiss took a more intimate turn. Your hand slid down from his jaw, gently cascading down the front of his frilly white undershirt before looping around his waist, pulling him against you to effectively rid of any space standing between you. If there was one thing he loved about you that made you different from most, was that you were a woman who made it known what she wanted. He was honored to know that in this moment, and in all other moments down the road, that he was what you wanted. That out of all the people who populate the surface, it was him you chose. He’ll never truly understand why or what you see, but it made him happy and he considered himself a lucky ghoul nonetheless. You felt his larger hands begin to do the same to you, one resting on your back, keeping you to him, and the other trailing down your side before pulling you against him by the fabric of your shirt. There was need laced in the kiss, evident by the way your hands roamed each other’s bodies. It was heated, passionate, and something you normally didn’t get to share outside of the safety of his room at the old state house. Out here, there was a sort of thrill to it. You both smiled into your deepened kiss as you dropped the box of cereal to the ground, in favor of allowing your hands to properly roam underneath the fabric of his red coat. Hancock tapped the back of your thigh, a signal that he wanted to pick you up. As he did, his hands rested on your ass, holding you up before placing you down on the kitchen counter behind you without breaking the kiss. It was skillful almost, and you were always surprised by his strength, how he lifted you so effortlessly as if you weighed nothing in his hands. The position you were now in made it quite evident where the night was going to be leading, but you certainly didn’t mind. A night of passion with Hancock was always wonderful, and he couldn’t be happier that it was with the woman he loved most in this wasteland existence.

[gogogodzilla]

day 19, 69ing

john hancock x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, drug use, sex while high, teasing, dirty talk, fingering, hancock calls reader sunshine kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

To Hancock, getting high was second nature. He was always popping one chem or another on your travels. You didn’t mind. Whatever he had to do to get through the day.

You ventured through the gritty streets of Goodneighbor, looking for your friend. You had a surprise for him, after all. The raucous sounds of the Third Rail on a Saturday night graced your ears, and you found yourself being pulled there. 

You nodded to the security guard and descended the steps. Smooth jazz and the low murmur of voices greeted you as you entered the bar. A grin fought itself onto your features as you spotted, through the cigarette smoke and lively conversations of the patrons, your favorite Mayor seated at the bar, talking to Whitechapel Charlie. 

You sidled up next to him, leaning on the bar, nodding to Charlie as you sat. “Room for one more?” 

“Look who decided to finally show up,” Hancock drawled, pushing his tricorn hat back to let his eyes rake over your form.

“The super mutants trying to kill me didn’t seem to care that I had a date tonight,” you retorted, chuckling a little at your joke. 

You and Hancock weren’t exactly together, but you couldn’t deny that you felt strongly toward him. The lingering glances and semi-sexual remarks while you were traveling were enough of an indication that Hancock liked you too. 

The usual grin on his face widened at your reply. He rubbed his chin, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Date, huh?” 

You leaned into his space, emboldened by his gaze on yours. “Yeah, although it’s a little crowded in here,” you titled your head, glancing around the room and its various patrons. 

“Why don’t you and me get outta here, sunshine?” Hancock suggested as he slid from his stool and offered you an arm. 

You stood and took his arm, “Thought you’d never ask, mayor.” 

You were giddy as you made the short walk to the Old State House. While on your adventures out in the Commonwealth, you’d found a bottle of Day Tripper. It was popular back in your day for those attempting to escape the troubles of their everyday life, and you didn’t think that Hancock had ever tried it before. 

Fahrenheit nodded to both of you as you entered the old building from her usual place at the bottom of the spiral staircase. Her gaze danced between the two of you for a moment before Hancock led you up the stairs. 

You sauntered toward one of the couches in the middle of the room, and Hancock shut the double doors to his room behind him. Your heart rate picked up at the telltale sound of the lock clicking. You took your seat and patted the cushion next to you. 

He sat next to you, eyes dancing across your features. “There’s another reason why I was late,” you mentioned as he reclined and threw an arm over the couch. 

He hummed, turning his head to look at you. You rifled through your bag before your hands wrapped around the blue-green bottle. You pulled it out and handed it to him. 

He took it from you and raised an eyebrow as he read the label. It was white and covered with flowers. From what you’d heard about the effects, you assumed that the label was supposed to reflect how you felt while you were on it. 

“Where’d you find this?” 

“West Roxbury Station, out by University Point. I wasn’t lying about the super mutants trying to kill me,” you laughed, giving him a half-shrug. 

His mouth curved into a smile, “You’re somethin’ else, sunshine.” 

You inched closer toward him, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I thought we could try it together,” you divulged, biting the inside of your cheek. 

His grin grew wider, “Didn’t take you for the partying type.” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you replied, coyly. 

Hancock kept his eyes on yours as he undid the orange top of the bottle and shook out two small pills into one of his hands. 

He picked up one pill, “Open up, sunshine,” he ordered, smirking. 

Your breathing hitched before you opened your mouth for him, allowing your tongue to stick out over your bottom lip. Hancock held out the pill for you pinched between his thumb and pointer finger. You met his gaze as you leaned forward and you wrapped your lips around his fingers. His thumb escaped your lips to cradle your chin and his pointer finger stayed trapped within the wet confines of your mouth. 

You were a little surprised at the boldness of your actions, but the thought was quickly replaced by much more obscene ones as you swallowed around Hancock’s finger and a soft growl escaped him. 

He retracted his hand and popped the remaining pill into his mouth. He reclined against the red cushions of the couch, waiting for the effects to kick in. Slowly, the world around you began to transform. Color intensified and became more vivid, time seemed to slow, and the air around you hummed with energy. 

Hancock chuckled as you looked around the room, “Welcome to my world. Ain’t it a trip?” 

A laugh bubbled in your throat, and your eyes met for just a moment. Warmness spread throughout your body like the heat from the good whiskey Charlie served on special occasions. Hancock’s eyes were half-closed and the corners of his mouth were turned up in a lazy grin. 

You watched as he slowly sat up and tugged off his coat, also feeling the warmth that felt like it was humming under your skin. His shirt shone like a beacon in the light of the nearby lantern in your drug-induced vision. It was like your limbs were moving on their own as they reached out and stroked the fabric on his bicep. 

His breathing hitched in his throat as your fingers trailed up and over his shoulder to the bare skin of his neck. Something inside you ignited as soon as your fingertips dragged over the column of his throat, and it felt like your entire being was being drawn toward him. 

You crawled toward him, settling yourself on his lap as you cradled his face in your hands. He chuckled as he gripped your thighs, keeping you still. 

“I… need to touch you,” you murmured as you leaned forward and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. It wasn’t enough. 

You moved your face upward, eyebrows furrowed. “Need to taste you,” you practically begged as your lips ghosted against his. 

He leaned forward, and your lips collided. Your movements were clumsy, the drug making your muscles uncooperative. Your senses were heightened, and you could taste a hint of the liquor Hancock had earlier on his tongue. You groaned against his lips, which were rough and marred against your own. You wondered if other parts of him tasted this good. 

You pulled away and a small string of saliva connected the two of you. You moved to press sloppy kisses along the column of his throat, letting your tongue drag over the skin there. Hancock’s hands wandered over your body, squeezing and kneading wherever you could. He probably would’ve ripped your vault suit off of you if his limbs were working properly. 

“Wanna taste you, sunshine,” he rasped out as he grabbed your hips and ground them against his hardened length. You whined at the sensation as arousal coursed through your veins. 

“Lay back,” you ordered, shoving his shoulder lightly. Hancock followed your orders as you stood on shaky legs. You slowly peeled off your vault suit, thankful for the zipper, and Hancock palmed himself as he watched you through lidded eyes. 

You tugged your underwear down and kicked them to the side. You were practically drooling at the sight of Hancock before you. His shirt was open, exposing his scarred chest to you. He had unbuttoned his pants and freed his cock from its confines. He slowly stroked himself as you neared. 

In your drug-induced haze, an idea struck you. You straddled Hancock’s face so you could easily lean down and take his cock in your mouth. You could both taste each other that way. 

His hands moved to grip your thighs as you hovered over him. His breath fanned against your core and you shuddered, rocking your hips slightly. 

“All for me,” Hancock breathed against you, a hint of astonishment in his voice. 

You nodded as you reached down and began to slowly stroke him. “Only for you,” you slurred, tongue heavy in your mouth. You were already drunk on the feeling of him. 

Your grip around his cock tightened as he took you in his mouth. Your thighs squeezed around him as he devoured you, swiping his tongue through your folds before moving to circle your clit. 

He bucked his hips, reminding you that you had a job to do. You pumped your hand slowly before swiping your thumb over the tip of his cock, gathering the precum dripping from there. 

Hancock groaned against your core as you stroked him, sending vibrations through your body. You rutted your hips against his face, chasing your high. 

Hancock dipped his tongue into your entrance, and you leaned forward, moaning. You swirled your tongue around his red-hued tip, and your eyes practically rolled in the back of your head from the taste of him. 

Hancock’s grip tightened on your thighs as he brought you even closer. Moans escaped him as you slowly bobbed your head and clenched around nothing. 

You hollowed your cheeks around him, taking him even deeper than before. Your movements became sloppy as you neared the precipice. Hancock’s mouth wasn’t like anything you’d ever experienced before, and coupled with the finger he slid inside you, your release was rapidly approaching. 

He quickly added another finger and pumped them inside you while he sucked on your clit. You moaned around his cock before relaxing your jaw to take all of him. 

Hancock’s tongue circled your clit once and then twice, and then you were coming undone above him. Pleasure wracked through your entire body in waves, and your thighs began to shake. Hancock continued his efforts, allowing you to ride out your high. 

He tensed under you before coming with a strangled groan. You pulled away and watched as white tendrils coated your hand. You continued to stroke him until pleasure veered into overstimulation and he tapped your thigh. 

You slowly slid off of him, both coming down from the high of your orgasm and the high from the drug. You giggled a little as you took his sash and cleaned him off. You didn’t expect your plan to work this well. 

“I’m glad we did that,” you whispered as you lay on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Hancock chuckled, “I should party with you more often.”

[seigephoenix]

Kinktober 2024: Knifeplay

A bit on the darker side of things this time. So if you have any issue with cutting or the like, please skip this Kinktober piece. Also I'm back on the plot bullshit train again. Plot left me alone for one Kinktober it seems.

As with my last Fallout 4 Kinktober. Georgia's story diverges from canon in that Nate survived. This delves into their past relationship.

Content Warning: knife play, cutting, descriptions of cutting skin, p in v, mentions of emotional abuse Length: 3.5k

Georgia kicked the barrel as she stormed into the settlement.  Another shitty encounter at Nuka World as she tried to negotiate a treaty with Nate’s stupid raiders.  She didn’t want all out war, no one wanted that.  It ended with casualties on both sides.  Nate’s words still stung and she fought the urge to pull her gun on him.  You don’t have the balls to go to war Georgia.  You didn’t back then and you certainly don’t now.  What do you know about fucking war?  Nothing.  Whatever she thought was still left of the old Nate was long gone.  He was a raider, plain and simple, and she’d have to make a decision about him soon.  She tossed her pack into the corner as she strode into her home, wishing she could just punch something.  Her anger rose high and was almost buzzing in her ears.  She still let her ex husband get to her, and she shouldn’t.  The words cut too deeply for her to ignore.  Georgia collapsed onto the couch, throwing her arm over her eyes as she thought back to her confrontation with Nate.  Nothing ever went right when it was between them it seemed.

“What’s the matter Georgia?  You too scared to come at us with your precious little Minutemen?  Yeah, I know you’re the one running that place.”  Nate sneered as Georgia stood in front of his “throne” in Nuka World.  Georgia clenched her fists as she watched him and the mocking way he saluted her.

“Nate, we don’t have to end this in violence.  Just stay the hell away from my settlements.  Hit up the Gunners, hit up the raiders, but leave my people alone,” she demanded as she pointed at him.  She noted the raiders that began to converge on their position.  “And tell your lackeys to back off or I’ll put a bullet in their brains.  You know I can do it without fucking looking too!”  Nate’s eyes narrowed but he waved the others off.

“Boss, who is this chick to you?  Normally you’d gut someone for talking like this.”  The man she’d heard Nate call Gage spoke to Nate from his side and Georgia’s lip curled in a sneer.

“This is my wife,” he said with a flourish of his hand.  “Not that I had much of a choice in marrying her.  My parents heavily hinted I’d be disinherited if I didn’t.  Signed up for the military and took off first chance I could though.  Could you imagine coming home to that every day?” Nate’s cruel laughter tore at her but she clenched her jaw and refused to retort.  He wanted a confrontation, he always did, and she never gave it to him.  She’d heard worse growing up and worse still from the other students at C.I.T.  The hillbilly, the hick, cold hearted bitch, etc.  The list went on and on with what she’d heard.

“Ex-wife,” she spat in return.  “No documents remain that back up our marriage so as far as I’m concerned, we are no longer married.”  Nate’s eyebrows shot up.  “Keep your men away from my settlements.  Otherwise you’ll find out just how much I know about fucking war.”  Georgia stood her ground when he ambled down the steps to where she stood.

“You’re soft.”

“And you didn’t wait a nanosecond to up and abandon your family.  Left Shaun in the hands of the bastard that kidnapped him.  Left me for dead!  I tore apart the fucking Commonwealth to find my son!  You just sat here on your ass getting piss drunk on shitty beer and telling yourself you can make something of yourself because of how much you fucking hate looking in the mirror!”  Georgia yelled in his face.

“Tore apart the Commonwealth?” Nate asked quietly and Georgia scoffed.

“I for sure wasn’t looking for you.  I wanted to find my son and find him I did.”  Georgia sneered at him as Nate gaped at her.  “It took half a year but I found Shaun.  I found my son.”

“Where is he?” Nate asked with a note of desperation in his voice.  Georgia leaned in until their noses were scant inches from each other.

“Fuck off.”  She spun on her heel and marched out.  Nate yelled for a raider to grab her but she put two bullets into the two that reached for her, dropping them where they stood.  She looked over her shoulder and pointed the gun at Nate, pulling the trigger.  A thin line of blood dripped down Nate’s face as he gaped at her.  “Come at me or mine and I’ll put the bullet in your skull next Nate.  Seems I’m not as soft as you think I am.”  She turned and stormed out of Nuka World leaving her ex-husband staring at her back in disbelief.

“Yo peaches.”  Georgia groaned as she heard Hancock’s voice above her.  “Another shitty encounter with the Nuka World raiders?” She nodded without moving her arm.  “He got under your skin again?  What’s eatin’ you?  There’s more than just him this time isn’t there?”

“Ugh, yes.  It isn’t anything I haven’t heard before but.” Georgia sat up startling Hancock to his feet.  “It’s a fucking big ass wound in me.  My Mama was the prettiest girl in the county growing up.  Won all sorts of pageants.  She went on to the big one when she was twenty.  Then she got pregnant with my brother and all those dreams burned to ash.” Georgia sighed and set her feet on the floor.  “She married my dad and had my brother.  He was a boy so they put pressure on him to succeed.  Daddy…  Daddy was from a less than scrupulous family.”  Georgia rubbed her eye as she brought up old memories.  Hancock skirted the couch and sat next to her as he listened.  He sensed she needed to get this off her chest so they could start healing the wound in her soul.  Though he kind of wanted to punch the people that put it there or stab if Georgia would let him.

“Daddy ran a chem manufacturing business.”  That got Hancock’s attention.  “When I was born, Mama decided that I was going to be the child beauty queen that she wasn’t.  Except, I turned out more like my Daddy than her.”  Hancock watched her hands move as that southern drawl got thicker as she spoke of her family.  He knew that meant she was getting more emotional.  Peaches rarely let the accent out unless she was around others, she was getting angry or worked up emotionally.  “In other words, I ain’t the prettiest girl at the party.  Which Mama hated.  She hated that all her dreams were dashed when my nose wasn’t perfect and my eyes spaced too far apart.  I got the blonde hair she wanted to badly, but it was straight as a pin.”  She chuckled as the memories of her mother came back.  “Daddy wouldn’t let me get plastic surgery so Mama had to watch her dreams go up in flames a second time.  So I tried to make myself useful.”

“Useful?   You’re smart as anyone I know peaches.”  Georgia scoffed and clasped her hands between her knees.

“My brother was smarter than any of those scientists down in the Institute.  Vault-Tec snapped him up right out of university and he moved out west.  Mama and Daddy stayed long enough to see me into college, then they shoved right off with him.  Leaving me in yankee territory and no support system.  Met Nate as I walked out of the registrar’s office.  He treated me to coffee and didn’t see me as a hillbilly bitch who probably fucked her way into the college.”  Hancock tightened his hand on the side of the couch as she spoke of her past.  She’d never opened up like this before, he wondered what happened to get her to crack.  “Nate introduced me to his family.  Remember I told you I didn’t want to divorce him because I’d lose his family.  Nate said the only reason he married me was because of his father.  He’d be disinherited.” Georgia shook her head.  “Had I known, I’d have never put in the patent on that machine.”

“Wait.  A patent?” Hancock asked and Georgia gave him a sardonic smile from where she sat.

“A manufacturing machine that streamlined the production in cars.  It saved on parts and the people getting injured.  Filed the patent and that’s when Nate formally asked me out.  If I hadn’t been so naïve I’d have seen it for what it was, but I was desperately searching for family.”  Georgia sighed.  “They treated me proper and were a blessing to me.  I was real family to them, but it meant being chained to Nate.”

“You also said he started off nice enough until he went to war.”

“That’s what I thought.  He’s told me differently.  Way to shatter everything I had held onto.”  She leaned her head back on a heavy sigh.  “What’d you drop by for Hancock?  Is Shaun bothering you again?”

“Naw, the kid’s fine.  I don’t mind him hanging around so long as he doesn’t get in the way.”  Georgia gave him a skeptical look.  He put his hand on his chest in mock outrage.  “I promise.  If the kid gets in my way, I’ll shoo him away.  But I did come here for a reason.”  He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled until she was plastered against him.  “You said you wanted to try something new right?”

“Wait, now?  I dunno, I’m not in the best mindset.” His fingers flexed against her side and she shuddered.  He was right there.  She did want to get lost but she wanted to make sure all she thought about was Hancock.

“This’ll help clear those dark thoughts from your mind.  Trust me peaches.” He brushed his hand against her cheek, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear.

“What if Shaun comes in?” Hancock chuckled when his fingers trailed down from her cheeks over her chin, down until he spread his fingers between her breasts.

“He’s spending the night with Duncan.  MacCready made sure to flip me off when I dropped him off.”  Georgia let out a bark of laughter and he smiled down at her.

“I bet he did,” she said with a grin.

“We’ll go slow peaches.  Come on.”  He grabbed her hand as he headed towards her bedroom.  “Now go on and strip for me.”

“What?  Not gonna cut off my clothes?” Georgia grinned but her breath hitched when Hancock pushed her against the wall, his hand grasping her throat and tilting her face up to his.

“You said you like this vault suit.  If that’s changed, I’d love to cut it off and expose that pretty ass.”  Georgia’s breath stuttered out when his thumb pulled at her bottom lip before sliding down her throat to the zipper on her suit.

“Not.  Not my suit, but anything else is okay.”  He flashed her a wolfish grin before tugging the zipper down until he eased a hand inside to cup her breast.  He felt her moan against his shoulder as her hands clawed at his coat.

“Take it off peaches.”  She pulled and tugged until her vault suit puddled beside them.  Hancock groaned when his hand circled her throat again, he could feel how fast her heart raced against his palm.  “Good girl.”  He felt her swallow and knew she was soaking those cute panties of hers.  Instead, he ran the flat side of the blade against her thigh relishing the tremor in her.

Georgia gasped as the cool metal dragged against her heated skin.  She craved more, craved his touch.  Heat pooled between her legs as he pushed the end of the knife up against her clit, teasing the sensitive nub through the cloth as his teeth closed over the sensitive skin of her ear.  She just wanted more.  “What’s your safe word tonight?” Hancock asked when he eased the blade between her skin and the cotton of her underwear.  With a quick flick of his wrist, the cloth fell away from her hip.

“Fuck.”  He chuckled as he leaned in, keeping her throat firmly in his grasp.  Just enough to keep her still but she could still breathe easily.

“Now that’s not a proper safe word.  You’ll be screaming that at me later.”  He leaned in to bite her earlobe chuckling at her keening whine.  “How about stop.  Just say stop and I’ll end everything tonight.”

“Fine.  Fine.”  Georgia called out desperately as the spine of the knife dragged over the curve of her hip.  Following the small dip before falling away just over her desperate mound.  “Hancock,” she whined when he lifted the knife away from her skin.

“We’re going to try something a little different, a little bit more.  You good to go?” Georgia nodded and Hancock pressed down on her shirt with the knife.  She was stunned when the tip easily sliced the cotton in two.  She trembled under his touch when the tip grazed her skin, leaving a long thing trail of reddened skin behind in its wake.  Georgia swallowed as his hand tightened on her throat when the shirt parted easily, showing off mark left behind.

Hancock leaned in and his tongue trailed up over the mark.  Georgia’s head fell back against the wall at the burn left behind.  Her thighs clenched hard, arousal dripping from her with every inch he licked.  He pulled away ignoring her needy whimper before moving her to the bed.  “Now, lay down.  Ass up.”  Georgia nodded and eased out of the tatters of her shirt before stretching out on her stomach.

“Good girl,” he whispered leaning over her.  He eased himself onto the bed, straddling her thighs with one hand planted squarely on her lower back.  “Remember you just have to say stop.”  Georgia nodded and hissed when the tip scraped against her ass cheek.  Her fingers clawed the blanket at the euphoria burst between her legs.  The burning melted into pleasure-pain and she’d never be able to think clearly anymore.  Hancock eased the blade under the other side of her panties, twisting until the fabric fell away from the metal.  His fingers pulled until his hand squeezed the globe of her ass, hard.  Georgia whimpered desperately when his thumb pushed against her dripping folds.  “Not yet peaches,” he murmured despite her pleading.  “We’re not done yet.”

Georgia wanted to look over her shoulder but he wouldn’t let her.  A hiss escaped her when the blade slid up her back, just next to her spine.  Fire followed along with a flood of exhilaration.  Georgia moaned in desperate need as he eased the knife down the same path on the other side.  “Just seeing these on you makes me want to fuck you peaches.  Those are my marks on you.”  Her needy core clenched hard at his words, she wanted his cock inside of her.  “Now.  How fond are you of this bra o’yours?” Hancock hooked his finger in one of the straps, tugging lightly.

“Not.  Not at all.” She managed and groaned when the knife easily sliced the cotton away from her.  “Fuck Hancock.”  He leaned down over her, letting his cock rub against her ass.  She rocked her hips back against it, wanting to feel him in her.  Wanting him to fuck her until she couldn’t remember her fucking name.

“See?  Told you that’d be a bad safe word,” he whispered in her teeth before nipping sharply at it.  Georgia let out a keening cry when he pressed the edge of the blade against her shoulder.  “You ready for a little more?”

“Yes.  Yes please.” Georgia groaned when the edge of the knife cut a little more deeply.  The pain was sharp and burning, but his lips followed.  She felt like she was floating and all she could think about was Hancock.  His fingers were steady as they guided the knife down her back.  She felt the way the knife moved.  “What are you spelling?” Georgia asked in a haze.

“Making sure everyone knows you’re mine.”  His voice was hoarse and right there.  She rocked her hips against his.  “My initials are carved into your skin.”  His hand slid underneath her to cup her jaw, tilting her head back to the point of burning pain.  “You’re mine.”  She whimpered and agreed.  His teeth tugged on her bottom lip, teasing her until her fingers twisted in the sheets.  He leaned back and eased the flat of the blade over the reddened and raised marks on her back.  Georgia hissed but he felt her trembling.  She was getting off on this and he’d pay a million caps to see her like this again.

The knife pulled away as her back curved into her ass and he leaned back to admire his work.  He teased her with the flat of the blade before flipping it.  The knife cut quickly and cleanly right across the globes of her ass.  Georgia hissed out whimpering when the burning ebbed into a dull throbbing.  A throbbing that matched her clit’s aching rhythm.  Hancock eased his thumb over the shallow cut, relishing the wanton sound that came from her lips.

“Hancock, please.  Please fuck me,” she whined and reached back for him.

“One more thing peaches.  Then I’ll fuck you until all you remember is my name.”  Hancock saw her fingers twisting harder in the sheet and elation swelled inside.  He eased her onto her back, pausing to just look at her.  All those gorgeous blonde waves fell out of the sensible bun, spreading out around her like a halo, but he knew his peaches was far from heavenly.  She’d give the devil a run for his money.  Her breasts moved with each rapid breath she took.  Lips swollen from how much she’d been biting them and eyes glazed over focusing only on him.  He set the flat of the blade on top of her breast, easily sliding it over her skin admiring the freckles dotting her shoulders.  His eyes were engrossed with how her nipples pebbled as the flat of the blade ran over them.  Hancock twisted and her lips parted on a breathy moan when the edge sliced into the underside of her breast.  He couldn’t help but smirk as she responded to his touch.  He eased himself between her legs, pushing his knee against that greedy cunt of hers. 

“Well look at that.  You’re soaking my knee there, peaches.”  Her legs trembled at his voice, yet her hips still rocked against him desperately seeking the friction she needed.  Hancock set the knife aside before running his hands under her thighs, until he forced her legs wide for him.  “You ready for me to fuck you like you deserve?”

“Please.  Please.”  Anything else was beyond her.  Hancock freed his cock, letting it slap against her mound, teasing her until she whined for him to stop playing with her.  Her head fell back when his cock eased inside, agonizingly slow.  Georgia grabbed his forearms, almost clawing at him.  He rocked against her at a slow pace.  She rolled her hips against his seeking the contact she so desperately wanted.

“Use your words there Georgia.”  He hissed when her walls clamped down on his cock when he said her name.

“Please fuck me.  Hard.  Fast.  Just make me forget my own name Hancock.  Please,” she begged and he flashed a wicked grin before he gave her what she wanted.  He set a brutal pace, slamming his hips against hers as her moans filled the room.  He grabbed her hips, holding her in place as he gave her what she wanted.  He angled his hips to hit her clit with every thrust.  Her back bowed, fingers digging into his arms, and her lips parted on a soft scream.

Georgia couldn’t stop the scream as the orgasm crashed through her.  No slow glide but harsh crash.  As a tsunami hit the beach.  Georgia whined when she felt his cock twitching inside of her.  He kept his weight on his arms as he leaned over her, keeping them pressed tightly together as her body still trembled beneath him.

“Hmm.” Hancock eased his mouth over her temple in a comforting gesture.  He reached for the stimpak on the table and gave her a dose to help heal the knife wounds.  Hancock slid to the side and ran a hand over the front of her body.  “You feelin’ okay?”

“A little sore,” she admitted while turning to face him.  “Probably going to soak it off later.”  Hancock grasped her chin to tilt her face.

“Honest?”

“Honest.  That was incredible Hancock.  Thank you.” Georgia admitted with a soft smile.  He nodded and pulled off his coat.  Georgia’s fingers closed into her fist at the sudden loss of him.  She turned over to face away, she couldn’t watch him leave.  Surprise flitted through her when he curled around her back, draping one arm over her waist.  “Hancock?”

“Go to sleep peaches.  I’ll be here to chase any nightmares away,” he said smiling against her shoulder as she thanked him.

[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.”

[gogogodzilla]

day 9, size difference

paladin danse x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, from danse's pov, mentions of riding & blowjobs, no dialogue, mentions of reader's breasts kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

Danse was a hulking figure, and he knew that. His power armor helped, of course, but even out of it, he towered over his peers. He towered over you. 

You stood tall in your own ways. You were a leader in every sense of the word. When you defended him against Arthur’s rage, he swore you were eight feet tall. 

Danse loved how small you were, physically, compared to him. It was cliché, but he loved to hold your hand against his, taking in the difference. He also loved the difference in a more selfish way. His size made him feel like he could protect you, even if you were perfectly capable of handling yourself. You’d proven that time and time again. 

In a more intimate setting, he loved towering over you and bending your smaller frame however he liked. His favorite was to have you under him, legs pushed up so they were nearly over his shoulders, taking his thick cock like you were made for him.

He loved watching you squirm as he pushed inside you. You were so good for him. He was nearly drooling as your tight hole swallowed him inch by stimulating inch. Just when he thought he couldn’t possibly fit another centimeter inside you, he was buried completely. He was gentle, most of the time. He knew he had to be and he didn’t want to hurt you. Other times, however, he’d lose himself and get so wrapped up inside you that he couldn’t contain himself. He’d bury himself to the hilt over and over again, the tip of his length brushing up against that sensitive spot over and over again. 

He’d apologize profusely when he saw you wincing as you rose from bed. He wasn’t a monster, and beneath his rough exterior, he cared for you. It’d gnaw at him for ages afterward, and he’d be terrified to touch you. You’d coax him back into your bed when you were ready and convince him that you’d speak up if you were hurting. 

In your not-so-rare moments of boldness, he loved when you rode him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you slowly sunk down his cock, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you focused on taking every single inch of him. Large hands palmed your breasts as you began bouncing up and down on his cock. When your thrusts became sloppy or you slowed down, he was quick to grab your hips and rut into you from below. He loved seeing you become a whining, cockdrunk mess as he took what he needed. If he was feeling particularly nice, he’d grab the globes of your ass and help guide you up and down on his cock. He loved watching your tits bounce as you leaned back and let him move your body how he wanted. 

He loved it when you jerked him off, your small hand barely wrapping around his length as you stroked him. You quickly made up for it by using both hands to milk his cock or using one hand to stroke what your mouth couldn’t reach. Fuck, he loved that mouth of yours. He loved the way you gagged around him when you tried to take all of him. Trying to be so good for him. 

You were always good for him, in any way he could get you. He thanked whatever omnipotent being was out there that he was lucky enough to spend even a second with you. He loved enveloping you in his arms when he held you at night. He loved the way it felt like he was keeping you safe in a world that was hell-bent on killing you at any waking moment. He loved that he could provide that solace for you.

[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