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fallout4-reacts · 11 months ago

Note

An actual prompt this time! I know you're busy and have plenty of things to write yet, take your time.

Soo I was thinking that maybe companions (and Maxson) horribly failing at confessing to Sole. Like for example they could clear out some Raiders, companion is impressed, tries to confess BAM Sole gets fucking decked by random raider they didn't kill. I feel like you could get pretty creative with that one. Like deathclaws, something exploding, just settlers running in, other companions interrupting etc.

Yeah! Sorry for my waiting list but this one just take me out of my bed literally Maybe it's better then just writing nothing and you all will forgive me... I will not taking it as an habit but it was just what I needed I think And maybe an EPIC ask... I think it will be (not in the sense I'll do an epic job, in the sense hmmm Titan Quest like the F.E.V. one and all) Oh, and take note you ask for... horribly

Part 1

Danse / Deacon / Nick Valentine

(Part 2 : Hancock, Preston, Strong)

(Part 3 : X6-88 alone because of a bug)

(Part 4 : Gage, MacCready, Piper)

(Part 5 : Cait, Curie, Codsworth, Dogmeat, Elder Maxson)

Danse : Sole returns. Sole returns to the bunker after a few days. Danse had time to clean and make the space more comfortable. He didn't consider establishing his new camp there because, after all, he didn't consider living at all.

But now he did.

And Sole came back.

Danse kept himself occupied during his few days alone, trying not to worry about what was happening to him. But he pondered his new envision of himself. Beyond the initial distaste, he felt a sense of conviction, similar to how Sole stood.

Whatever he is, he is a person with convictions for which he fought. He was a man of honor —a synth?— whose his brothers and sisters could trust.

He'd come a long way. His damned way into this group that turned his back on him after he had dedicated his blood and soul for them. And Maxson, whom he almost considered a friend, treated him as if he were a worm to be crushed.

After being reassured that he agreed with Sole on his right to life, his thoughts couldn't help but wander.

He recalls Sole standing in front of him, defending him against Maxson.

And even more.

More, a lot more.

He can't help but replay in his mind all of these events, all of these moments. When Sole emerged as an avenging angel, slaying all the ghouls in their way, Danse was convinced that his squad's final hour had arrived. They entered the paladin's life as a mythical entity, too great for regular mortals, an enigmatic spirit of the times sent to save them.

Then there's how they forced a comedy at Fort Strong while killing mutants. Danse had admonished them a few times for their lack of seriousness in the face of a critical assignment, but he couldn't keep a smile from rising on his face in the midst of their antics.

And all of their nonsense, every time they could.

Danse had pieced together Sole's intentions and the horror of their past, and he couldn't help but admire this person's trustworthiness. When Danse expressed concern about Sole's moral status following such heinous ordeals, Sole merely grinned and remarked that the companionship they were blessed with helped them get through.

Even after they returned from the Institute, learning the injurious truth, they had held on, had rounded the corner, and Danse felt better to know he had been by their side to help. To morally support them.

And now that Sole is standing in front of Danse again, slightly smiling and wondering what's next for him, Danse feels his throat tighten.

Because Danse has realized that he has strong affections for Sole.

Much more than a simple friendship.

He nods slowly.

"Perhaps we should consider venturing to Sanctuary. I am unable to endure it any further. First and foremost, I am a soldier, and a soldier without a purpose doesn't progress very far. I humbly express my desire to align myself with the esteemed Minutemen's structure. In the utmost, their cause is righteous, and they shall not forsake me nor open fire upon me. I have received word that their General harbors a troubling acceptance towards synths."

"They tolerate and love them a lot," Sole admits with a half-smile.

They proceed without adding anything. Thus far north, there is no road that crosses directly, at least not according to Sole. As best they can, they cross the countryside in wreckage, cutting valleys and hills.

And Danse remains quiet, lost in introspection.

Yes, he likes Sole a lot more than simply as a friend. There's a lot more. Soon, Sole will return to their Rail Road operations, to which Danse has never been requested (and he now understands why), while Danse will begin his Minutemen duties, most likely limited to the Castle for the time of his training. And, while it appeared to him at first to be the finest way to fill his days, he now has a peculiar uneasiness at the prospect of leaving Sole without delivering anything of what he feel upon them.

They are in the midst of the wreckage of a plane that crashed there two centuries ago. They passed through a few Minutemen (apparently, it is in the profession to check out every nook and cranny of the Commonwealth), but they are now alone and isolated in front of the cabin of the downed craft.

He clears his throat slightly in an attempt to catch the attention of his partner.

Sole looks at him.

"Something's wrong, Danse?"

When the realization occurs to the fallen Paladin that he would never again have his title before his name, he swallows hard. But that's not the issue he's having right now.

"I…I'm not really a man of words but…"

Sole erupts in laughter.

"Are you not a man of words? Yes, you ate a dictionary at birth!"

For a few whiles, the poor man panics, unable to restore balance after the sting of Sole. He had seized his courage in both hands in an attempt to open his heart, and his partner had fallen back into amusement. But he needs to tell them. He has to. He knows deep down that he has to.

"Sole, please."

They instantly calm down, recognizing that the man in front of them appears to be death serious.

"Oh, sorry."

"Don't be like that. What I'm trying to say is this—

Sole's expression shifts from calm to dread in an instant, while Danse hears the anger of a beast he despises beyond all in his back. He despises her much more now that she's interfering in such an important situation.

He turns, weapon in hand, to fully answer to the deathclaw, and then follows a long and deadly combat. The beast is fierce and perhaps ancient, and it not easily defeated.

When they eventually prevail against the monster, with a few bites and scratches here and there, Danse don't dare trying again to express himself. And Sole now has to patch them up as soon as they find out a settlement, so they regretfully didn't think to inquire furthermore.

Deacon : His deathly bunny and he jumped into a plethora of wolf dens. Nothing, however, tops being in his favorite den.

The spy like it when Sole stays for the evening and then retires to the back of the HQ for a well-deserved rest. Despite the fact that he does not require sleep himself —as a synth, eh— he enjoys lying on the mattress next to Sole when they ask it, with a roll of the eyes at his answer.

They normally spend a few more moments on their mattresses talking about everything and nothing until one of them falls asleep —more often then none Sole, because Deacon is a synth, yup.

"Tell me again how he almost swallowed his beard."

Sole bursts out laughing.

"I told him to go to hell. That I was only in their camp for my friend Danse, and that by turning their back on him, the entire organization may roast, I would never support them again. Anyway, it's irrelevant now. Let them go to fight like the big boys they are against this blasted Institute and get the heck out of my territory."

Deacon like it when Sole becomes engrossed. The fire in their eyes awakens his heart's hearth. He would never have confessed to them. Never. Never previously has it's not have seems important.

There is still a serious moment, which Sole elaborates on.

"It's very little Deacon, to remain silent and, moreover, serious. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, you know. There isn't much to eat here. Perhaps a programming error. Perhaps I should run a diagnostic."

Sole's chuckling is priceless. Deacon smiles quietly as he listens to the pleasant melody in his ears. They stare at him again when his friend grows still serious.

They sit on the mattress and motion for Deacon to do the same. As he straightens, the spy stares down. Sole is right. He has words on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't dare to voice them for the first time in his holy life. Sole gently takes his hands in their, searching for his eyes.

"Deacon, you know you can tell me anything?"

The man glances into the other side and swallows cautiously. Yes, he has the right to tell Sole anything. But what about that? Can he? He has to. He has a debt to Sole. He owes them a frank and honest sincerity. And even the thought seems weird to him. A straightforward and open sincerity? He has no recollection of what it tastes like.

"I'll be honest then," he says, hesitantly, as if he must step into the void. "It's been a while since I should have told you."

He takes a deep breath, ready to blow it all, when an unusually powerful vibration is noticed.

Sole turns their gaze towards the headquarters, and suddenly they hear screaming and gunshots.

"But…"

Deacon leaps to his feet. This kind of roar his still heard in his worst nightmares. Just like the day the Coursers assaulted the old HQ. But isn't Tinker Tom meant to put cameras? How did the Coursers gain access to the facility, this time?

"The Brotherhoods!" yells someone from within.

Sole and Deacon are already on the front lines of defense, positioning themselves to hold the soldiers for as long as it takes for the others to flee. They didn't even need to talk. With Gloria, they hold the line and exchange gunshots with their enemies, keeping them in respect for so long that Deacon is confident their friends will have no problem to disappear in the ruins of Boston. Gloria then makes a strangled gasp and collapses to her knees, her gun no longer firing shots. Deacon peers at her, fear on his face as he realizes his friend has been badly shot.

"Glo!"

A grunt and a thud behind his back make him fear the worst. He attempts to hold the BoS at bay, but his weapon is too slow without Gloria's gatling and Sole's assault rifle.

Desperate, he throws a couple of grenades into the tunnel to gain time, and he manages to push the invaders back slightly.

He rushes alongside Sole right away.

"Eh!"

His friend clutches their bowels in agony, or what remains of them. Deacon wraps his arms around them and softly cradles them.

"Don't worry, everything will be alright. Let's go locate Carrington."

As he glances around, searching in the room... he realizes that the doctor is among the casualties. He growls and attempts to drag Sole further away, hoping to hide them.

"We're going to get through this," he said. "We're going to get through this, I promise" he repeats dejectedly.

“Liar,” breaths Sole before becoming limp in his arms.

Nick Valentine : They came to a halt near the GNN, in the ruins of an abandoned house of which he believes was once a settlement.

He finds it weird that the occupants simply vanished overnight, leaving no trace.

It happens occasionally, such as at University Point, although there are traces. There are dead settlers, downed synths, evidence, and clues.

But here, just the emptiness of tranquility, as if no one had lived there since the war.

But Sole is worn out, hungry, and thirsty, and all he wants is one evening off, possibly one night.

While his companion actually runs aground on a dingy old mattress in the living room of the modest house, Nick ensures that nothing threatens them. When the synth returns from his excursion, his partner hasn't moved one inch.

He moves careful closer.

"Well, ya gotta keep that belly of yours satisfied. And imbibing a beverage would assuredly be a wise course of action."

He was met with a growl in response. He looked around. The previously residents provided a fire pit. He reaches over, takes Sole's bag, and begins cooking something for them.

"I'll rouse you from your slumber once the soup is ready."

Another grunt joins in. He can't help but sneering. Of course, he finds a cauldron (even two) and every necessary instrument in Sole's backpack to prepare the thrifty dinner. Water canes, carrots, and a piece of meat that he starts cutting into small cubes. He whistles merrily, converting himself into a maid of the household, as he frequently does with Sole.

"Ah, the pangs of nostalgia for the flavors of garlic and cilantro doth visit me on occasion. Parsley and mint!

“Salt, pepper,” Sole mumbles under their arm, their head shifting slightly to reach a more comfortable position.

Nick digs deeper into the bag and uncovers a pepper and salt shaker.

"Well, I must say, this here stuff seems to possess quite the remarkable dose of radiation, and it should lacks any discernible flavor."

“Still good,” corrects the other.

Nick chuckles a little and adds the condiments, pleased to be able to improve the soup he's making.

He sits down and glances around the room while waiting for the meal to be ready. It had to have been a nice house. Here had to live a lovely little family. He takes note of the stairs. The bedrooms should be on the second floor. Children, most likely. A pleasant existence.

Normal.

His gaze is drawn to the limp figure on the mattress. His artificial lips slowly form a tiny smile. Sole, in all their magnificence, is a stunning, authoritarian, and noble individual. But the visual of Sole spread out, blindly trusting their companion for safety, entirely abandoned to the sleep that stole them, is something that few can boast of seeing.

And Nick owns it.

He has it all and meticulously details his friend.

And once more, this odd sensation arises in the hollow of his components.

It happens from time to time. Often. More and more. When their gazes cross. When they cheer at a triumph. When a file is closed. When they're simply the two of them at the end of an evening by the fire. When Sole departs for a while and then reappears on his doorstep.

And Nick can no longer mislead himself.

He experiences a feeling. This is not a programming error. His circuits are flawless in that. It's just a true, intense, genuine emotion.

He serves a bowl of soup and kneels next to Sole, softly shaking their shoulder.

"Stand up, Sleeping Beauty, lunch is served!"

Sole scolds and growls but sit in front of Nick, gratefully taking the bowl that their friend hands them. They begin to eat it carefully, as if lost in contemplation. And Nick can't stop admiring them, always fascinated by the elegance of their features and the brightness in their eyes.

His companion frowns as they glance back at him. "I got something stick in my teeth?"

Nick sighs and laughs a little.

"There's absolutely nothin' on here. None of it, pal."

"So what?"

"It seems that this, ah, old carcass of mine hasn't been spinning as smoothly as I'd prefer for quite some time now."

Sole places the dish on the ground, their face etched with anguish and earnestness.

"Nick, what's wrong?"

The synth is astonished.

"Oh, nothing to be awry. Not quite how you're envisioning it. It's just a tough nut to crack."

"Say so, and we'll figure it out together. Perhaps I am able to help you."

He places a sympathetic hand on Nick's metal one, the synth constantly amazed at how tactile Sole is with him despite his nature.

"How can you…help me?"

Even though Sole is the organic, it's Nick who swallows with difficulty. He lowers his head, his eyes hidden by the brim of his fedora, but Sole's hand rises from his to tuck beneath his chin.

"Hello, I'm here. I will always be there for you. No matter what."

After getting some good breaths, Nick takes the plunge to opens his bag. He opens his mouth to respond, but then a radroach erupts between them, knocking the bowl of soup over and driving both to rush to their feet and draw their weapons.

After the "vicious" opponent is dispatched, a nice laugh and a new bowl of soup, Sole raises an eyebrow.

"But what did you want to tell me, before our surprise guest wasted your delicious soup?"

Nick swallows and makes a dismissive hand motion.

"Nothin', absolutely nothin'. Drop it..."

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jqmalikhsgib · 4 months ago

Text

planets aligned

two

note: i changed a detail in the first chapter. eddie has one kid instead of three!

“holy, fuck!” you moaned out. you were currently on your back right now while eddie was eating you out.

it had been two days since you’ve met eddie. the two of you had left the hotel and went straight to his place. his daughter being out with her friends on vacation for the weekend.

you’ve gotten to know more and more about the musician over the last two nights. he was definitely a character. more importantly, he made you cum more times than you could count. eddie was definitely a keeper in so many ways.

you didn’t even have the time or energy to call your best friend and let her know how that preston guy stood you up. you were either too busy laughing or too busy moaning. it’s been the best two days of your life.

eddie hums into your cunt as your phone vibrates. you simply roll your eyes, ignoring the annoying ringing. you grabbed his t-shirt, so close into cumming.

“right there.”

your phone rings once more. “answer it baby. i promise i won’t stop.” he smirks before diving right back into your pussy. you groan but simply answer the phone call.

“what is it?”

“finally! ive been trying to get ahold of you for two days yn! where the hell have you been?!” fariah yells into the phone.

“i—im sorry fariah. i ha—d my phone off.”

“yn? are you okay?”

you look down at eddie as he smirks. he knew you were about to cum. he loved watching you squirm.

“fariah, i cant talk right now. c—all you later.” you didn’t even let her finish what she had to say. you ended the call immediately as your legs start to shake.

“fuck, eddie! that was so good. come here.” eddie lifts his body up and kisses you passionately. you didn’t even care that you tasted yourself. you just needed him to fuck you.

“ready for me baby?” eddie lines himself against your cunt. he slowly thrust into you as you moan out his name softly.

“god, you always feel so good baby.” eddie states. he stills, letting you adjust to his size. when you tapped his shoulder he slowly pulls out of you before thrusting back in.

eddie rest his forehead against yours. you look one another in the eyes as he fucks you nice and slow.

that’s the thing about eddie. he already knew your body. after two days of constantly fucking, he knew when you wanted it nice and slow and knew when you needed him hard!

“feel so full. please.” you didn’t even know what you were asking for. you just knew eddie felt amazing inside of you.

eddie slowly picks up the pace. he lifts up one of your legs and puts it on his shoulder. the new angle leaving you a moaning mess.

“fuck. fuck. fuck. im already so close baby. you always feel so good wrapped around me.”

“please don’t stop, eds. so close baby.”

“yeah?” eddie gently rubs his fingers against your clit. giving you the friction you needed.

eddie pulls all the way out of you before slamming right back in. he knew he hit that spot just by the look on your face.

“cum for me, princess.”

you didn’t even need to be told. you felt yourself let go. eddie hums happily. he continues to fuck into you until he reached his own peak, cumming right inside you.

“god, does it get better each time or am i insane?” you giggle.

eddie laughs and shakes his head. “naw baby, you’re not crazy. it’s just that good.” eddie reaches his bedside table and grabs his cigarette and lighter. he lights it up and turns to you.

“come here.”

you cuddle against him as he blows the smoke away from your face. “i like this. being close to you. i don’t want it to end.” you sigh as you play with the tattoo on his chest.

“trust me baby, neither do i. but we’ll have plenty of time to get to know one another. i told you, im too damn old to be playing these little boy games. need someone to lie next to at night. think i found my girl.” he smirks.

“are we moving too fast?” you asked concerned.

“do you think we are?”

you simply shake your head. you haven’t felt like this in a long time. eddie makes your heart skip a beat. in the last two days he’s really been the best man you’ve ever met. sometimes you feel like you’ve known him your whole life.

“look yn, im not gonna sugar coat shit! i fall hard and fast. been that way since i was a boy. i knew my wife two months before i popped the question and we had a small wedding with our families. she got knocked up within the next month and a half. im not the kinda guy that takes things slow. when i see someone i like or care about, i go all in! that scares most women off. it’s why ive been single for a little while. if you’re in this with me, you’re in! i want you to be apart of my life and apart of my daughters life. i want to get married again eventually, have more kids, and grow old with the next woman i marry. if that frightens you, the door is downstairs. i won’t judge you or hold it against you. i just know what i want, baby.”

you simply shake your head. “im not scared eddie. i want all that and more. im fully in.”

eddie smiles. he kisses you passionately.

“good! cause i don’t know if you know this or not, baby, but im already head over heels.” he states before putting out his cigarette and flipping you onto your back. you squeal!

“gonna need some breakfast in us before we go again, yeah?”

you kiss him gently. “absolutely!”

#jqhotchner #jqhotchner masterlist #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson series #dad!eddie munson x reader #modern eddie munson #older!eddie munson x reader #planets aligned jqhotchner

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mlmxreader · 5 months ago

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I'll Be Okay | RJ MacCready x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ "Call me up anytime" With MacCready please? ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and MacCready talk about what's going to happen when he leaves to see Duncan.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ mentions of violence, mentions of sickness, swearing

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

MacCready watched, his head tilted slightly to the side, his hair all scruffy and messed up as the blanket pooled around his waist; the scars on his torso and back more than visible as he rested on one arm, his gaze almost mesmerised as he took note of everything you did.

The way you scrubbed your face in the sink, the movements of your fingers and the dirty water dripping back down.

He liked to take note of everything you did, always worried that his second chance would be ripped away from him as quickly as his first; his smile reached his blue eyes when you turned to look at him, flashing that smile that always made his heart skip a beat.

"Broken?" You asked quietly, and when he shook his head, your smile seemed to get a little brighter. "Today's the day, right?"

MacCready nodded, humming softly. "Yeah, erm… yeah, I'm going to see Duncan. Hopefully in a few weeks he'll be strong enough to finally come home."

You nodded back, moving to straddle his waist, your hands on his chest as you gazed at him so softly. "I hope so… but you know he'll be safe here, don't you? I won't let nothing hurt him."

Gently, he rested his hands on your thighs as he sucked in a harsh breath. "I know. I know. The Minutemen are just a flare away."

You saluted playfully. "At a minute's notice."

He wanted to laugh, but when he caught the way the sun washed over you, he lost it. "Yeah..."

Slowly, you leaned down to kiss him sweetl,. "Do you want me to come with you? Preston wouldn't mind if I did, you know he understands those things."

But MacCready shook his head as he swallowed thickly. "No, no, it's fine."

"Okay," you whispered, almost completely under your breath. "But you know you can call me up anytime. I can be there."

"At a minute's notice?" He hummed as he raised a brow.

You nodded all too confidently. "Obviously!"

MacCready was almost smiling as he tapped his fingers gently against your skin. "Thank you… seriously, thank you. I didn't… I didn't think you'd be so ready."

"You are my favourite mercenary in the world," you told him. "And my favourite person of all. I would do anything for you, and as your… okay, it's not official, but as your life partner? I want to be part of your family."

"What makes you say it's not official?"

You shrugged, pursuing your lips for a moment. "We never talked about it, and I know you still love your wife, so I figured, y'know?"

MacCready shook his head, swallowing thickly. "I do, I still miss her but... for once in my life everything is going well and I have you to thank for that and... and I want you to be there. I like being close."

You smiled, leaning down a little so that most of your weight was on him. "I like being close, too...and if you want me here, then that's where I'll always be."

He almost gulped audibly, his heart hammering in his chest. Easy silence for just a moment. "Maybe... maybe when he's better, we can get Duncan together, and bring him home?"

"That would be great," you agreed quietly. "You'll have to let me know when - Preston can probably lend us a few Minutemen to make sure it's safe."

"I wouldn't want to -"

"I'm his right hand man," you pointed out. "He will understand. Trust me."

"Okay." MacCready fell back a little, the back of his head hitting the comfortable pillow you stole from Covenant. "I'm really grateful, you know."

You moved over, laying on your side next to him as you splayed your fingers out on his chest. "I know. I'm grateful, too, I mean, without you I would never have been able to get those Brotherhood cunts to fuck off."

"I've never seen someone swear so much," he laughed softly. "Not to mention at a Brotherhood Knight."

You shrugged as you grinned. "Well, I had to impress the best mercenary in the Commonwealth somehow."

He moved, putting his arm under you so he could pull you a little closer. "Don't teach Duncan those words, please?"

"I won't," you put on a false tone of offence. "I can't believe you would think so low of me."

MacCready couldn't help the laugh that slipped quietly from the back of his throat. "You taught Hancock."

"He asked!" You defended. "He asked me to teach him what coc oen meant!"

He wanted to roll his eyes, but he couldn't find it in himself as he smiled and shook his head fondly. "You're, erm... you're not gonna go anywhere while I'm away, are you?"

You shrugged, thinking for a moment. "Only the Castle... why?"

"Just..." he shook his head. "Don't worry. I just wondered."

You knew he was lying, you could see it in his blue eyes; how the worry swirled around, probably crashing in his brain.

You knew MacCready always worried about something happening, he was always the more protective one, but you didn't see any way that anything could go wrong for you; you would be travelling with a group of Minutemen anyway, and there was a reason why Preston had you as his second in command - third in command overall.

But you knew that there wasn't a switch he could turn on and off, so you leaned over, gently cupping his face and trying not to laugh at how the coarse hair tickled your palm as you got him to look at you.

A soft kiss here, just a little sign of affection and reassurance as you hummed softly.

"I mean it," you told him, whispering against his lips. "I'll see you off to Daisy's, but after that? Call me up anytime, R.J. Any time. If you need me, I will be there. If you want me, I will be there."

Gently, he rested his hand on yours. "I know. I'll be okay, promise."

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

thank you so much for reading! If I may just ask for a moment of your time, I'd like to bring Mahmoud to your attention; he needs help rebuilding his life due to recent events, and even just £1 would go such a long, long way - please, if you have anything to spare, consider giving it to him.

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citylighten · 5 months ago

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My Pietro and Sal gameplay have both been interesting and led to me having so many different headcanons. I’ve always struggled playing Fallout 4 because my main gripe is that I can’t recreate ANY oc want due to them having a set backstory and dialogue that reinforces certain plot things, but Pietro has a pretty good Sole Survivor AU. He's canon divergent though. More undercut!

-Pietro Impellizzeri was an notorious and powerful gangster Pre-War. He’s similar to Vito Corleone of The Godfather in the sense that he immigrated to America as a child and rose to the top of his community’s underworld.

-He had crossed paths with the human Nick Valentine on numerous occasions over ‘missing people’ as well as a ‘dirty money trail,’ but Pietro always knew how to throw the detective off. They were neither enemies nor friends, just merely people who kept a tense eye on one another.

-As a Boss, in terms of his conduct, Pietro was a composed, fair man but he was also known to be ruthless when the situation called for it. Outside of public events, he was seldom seen. If his men saw him it meant something bad was going to happen. Despite having such affluence and respect, Pietro's over-indulgence in the finest things (liquor, media, women) kept him blind to the things going wrong in his personal life.

-Pietro was married to Jasmine, who was a pinup model before marrying him. Their marriage was based on sex, possession and material interests. Ultimately, Pietro was a largely inattentive husband due to the demanding nature of keeping things afloat in his criminal empire.

-As a nuclear war approached, Jasmine began a series of affairs with men. Some powerful, some were Pietro’s enemies. Her wrongdoings ranged from supplying large sums of money to her lovers, to telling inside secrets. There came a moment, days before the bomb dropped, when Pietro (at his limit) considered murdering his wife. However, this did not come to be as the bombs fell over America.

-Needless to say, when Kellogg shoots Jasmine, Pietro feels guilt. Yes, he was plotting to murder her, but he knew that line of thinking wasn’t right. He doesn’t come into the Wasteland in the pursuit of being a better, kinder man, instead his decent actions come largely from the need to survive and understand the world he’s in.

Whereas Sal comes out Vault 111 ready to murder and massacre anyone in Eve’s name, Pietro’s mentality is: “I need to understand what civilization is like now. I need to know who is in charge of things.” Especially because since Pietro has been at the top for so long, it’s been years since he was doing dirty work for himself, let alone personally killing others on a continuous basis.

-When Pietro meets Nick Valentine there’s tension. But, they recognize they need each other to find Shaun, however there isn’t full trust between the men. Gradually, as the two spend more time together, Nick believes that Pietro can become a good man in this new world and often pushes the idea that Pietro is kind. Pietro does not believe himself to be kind, because he’s not burying the man he used to be before the bombs fell.

-There are times when Nick and Pietro split and his companions become MacCready, who reminds him of a lackey he would’ve used Pre-War, and Preston, who is yet another character who believes there’s an inner goodness in him. As a result of Preston and Nick - plus an envy for the mayor of Diamond City, Pietro decides to invest time in building the Minutemen and building settlements to lead. Despite possessing aspirations to lead, Pietro is shifting morally. Often, Nick helps him on Minutemen quests which strengthens their relationship.

-While helping settlements, Pietro meets Rosaria at Covenant. The woman is a secretary for Jacob Orden, the town’s mayor. Even when Pietro seems like he could be trouble for the settlement, she helps him learn more about the Amelia Stockton case with her insider information. After that, she leaves Covenant to affiliate herself with the Minutemen, which allows Pietro to see her more often. Time with Rosaria [who enjoys farming] has Pietro nostalgic about Sicily and as a consequence, he grows to enjoy things about nature as well as treasure the present he gets to spend with her.

-And that’s all for now because I haven’t completed his run yet 😘

#hes complicated af and i love him #this is a minuteman run he's not interested in the brotherhood. institute. or railroad #oc: pietro

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idolatrybarbie · 9 months ago

Text

series masterlist | main masterlist

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader, marcus pike & f!reader

word count: 7.8k

rating & summary: mature - 18+ only! | You can finally put a name to the feeling that’s overtaken your gut.

tags: heavy dubious consent - kissing, lies and manipulation, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional abuse, discussion of canon acts of violence, obsessive behaviour, controlling behaviour, misogyny, allusions to stalking. dead dove; do not eat.

notes: the behaviours of marcus pike are based upon the misogynistic and predatory philosophies of pick-up artists (link) and personal experiences with stalking. i would like to emphasize that these are bad people doing bad things. thanks to @wannab-urs for the beta and for being my revisionist history expert.

You drive to the car rental business housed in a hovelling little building next to the runway. The airport itself is huge for such a small place devoid of anything else, though you figure things worked out that way for that very reason. Lubbock Preston Smith treats you just fine, and your short flight to Dallas is distinctly unmemorable. The layover lasts a little over an hour before Southwest Airlines is herding you back onto another airplane.

It’s been a day and a half. You haven’t called Marcus back yet. What are you supposed to tell him?

Hey, I’ve decided that I want to help this criminal because…it’s what I want to do?

Terrible.

You wonder what Frankie’s life would look like, now that you’ve been in it for all of one week, if you weren’t in contact. Probably the same as it has been for the last eight months: quiet. Blow-your-brains-out quiet, solemnity trapping him inside his busted trailer. Seriously, that thing needs a bath.

The moon keeps you up. Truly, you let it. One slide of a curtain and you could fall asleep in half darkness, dead to the world. But you can’t. You don’t want to. Growing back into having that word—want—after years of doing what’s best is about as strange as Francisco is.

Somewhere between twinkling stars, your phone buzzes next to you on the nightstand. It usually stays silent, your alarm the first thing to wake you right before sunrise. When you pick it up, an unknown number is scrawled across the screen. You can’t quite place the area code.

“Hello?” you ask hesitantly.

“Hey.” Frankie.

“How did you get this number?”

“Luck?” he asks. When you don’t say anything, he gives you a real answer. “Aren’t too many of you in this digital copy of the New York City phone book.”

Setting that aside, you say, “It’s late, Frankie.”

“I know that.”

“Why are you calling?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“That’s what television is for,” you say. “Or…porn.”

“Trust me, you’re a last resort,” he says. Then he asks, “Is it weird for you?”

You resign yourself to having this phone call. “Is what weird?”

“Knowing I’m guilty.”

Is it? Surprisingly, no. In the eyes of the law, you’re just about as bad as him. Just about.

“What answer will make you sleep better?” you ask instead.

“I don’t know,” Frankie says. “Honestly, I had no clue what was goin’ on. Will told us to lay low for a while—”

You want him to continue, but you have to stop him. For both of your sakes. “Stop.”

“What?”

“You have to stop. Might not want to incriminate yourself over the phone. It’d be better if you—”

“Stop? Yeah,” Frankie agrees.

“What else can I do?” you ask him.

“Well, if you can’t listen,” he says, “…stay. On the line. Just like this.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

For an hour, you listen to Frankie Morales breathing. You can tell when he slips unconscious, exhaustion winning out. Your heart beats a little faster when you hang up, tempted to re-dial only to hear him pick up. You don’t, of course; doing that would wake him. When you fall asleep, you picture Frankie dreaming. It’s peaceful.

In the morning, you gather your notes on Frankie Morales together. Here is what you know so far:

The government is planning to extradite him and his retired special operations team members and friends, Will and Benny Miller, and Santiago Garcia for their illegal actions in an unsanctioned operation in Colombia. Their travel spanned into the Peruvian Andes, leaving jurisdictional territory a little murky without legal help.

Frankie Morales is single, fourty-two, living (or hiding out) in Lubbock, Texas. He’s lived there for eight months after having his pilot’s license revoked a second time for an apparent relapse using substances. So far, you haven’t noted any signs of addiction or using, but he could be hiding it. God knows his closet is crammed full of skeletons already.

He grew up in Texas, just like you did. He had a little brother (status and whereabouts unknown) and a mother (deceased). He was in the flight academy straight out of basic training, finishing his degree in mechanical engineering at the University of Texas Rio Grande Valley. Frankie’s mother died two months after he got home from a second tour in Iraq.

He’s guilty: of the espionage, the theft, the murder. All of it. The government has photos, surveillance footage, and probably a haul of eyewitness testimonies. The odds are unequivocally stacked against you—against him. Yet for some reason, you still want to try and save him.

This is it. You’ve officially gone insane. You’re going against everything Marcus has ever told you, any reason you’ve ever learned or logic that has managed to worm its way into your head. All on a whim. What? Because he’s nice to you sometimes? Anyone can whip out a pitcher of fucking lemonade!

No, this is something else. A pull, a fascination. The darker parts of you are drawn to him. You are so sick and tired of everyone else saving you. You want to be good because you are good. Not because Marcus tells you so. Not because your mother can finally bear to flash you a smile at annual family dinners these days. Because of something you have done; earned and given to you by yourself.

A text from Marcus interrupts your thoughts.

Are you still alive?

Rolling your eyes, you pick up the phone and call him. It starts to ring. For some reason, you seem to be able to hear both ends: your dialing, and his obnoxious Mick Jagger ringtone. The song is muffled, sketchy pop beats stowed away by the limits of sound travel.

A knock at your front door surprises you. Getting up, you tie your robe at your waist, unlatching the deadbolt before unlocking the door.

“Marcus?”

"Would it kill you to answer your phone?" he asks.

"What are you doing here?"

"You didn't call me back."

"I was getting to it."

"I thought you were dead," Marcus says. "You hang up on me, and you were still at that Francis guy's place..."

"Frankie," you correct him.

"Yeah, him. Whatever." You don’t know why the dismissal in his tone irks you so much.

"I can't talk about this right now."

Marcus huffs out your name, staring out at your kitchen before facing you. Him in his work suit and you in pajamas, you rest on uneven footing. “I told you he’s bad news. Get yourself out of this.”

“Can we reconvene for this lecture later? I have to go to work.”

“I’ll come with.”

“Marcus—” You already know he won't budge. “Okay. Fine,” you say. “But you have to behave.”

“Me? Always,” he says.

You roll your eyes, shooing him to the couch as you start to get ready.

There are two sides to your identity as a journalist now: what you’ve been sanctioned to do, and everything else that you haven’t. The job you fill at the Post is pretty mindless. You’re a staff writer, barely entry-level enough to get you acknowledged by upper management. You write up quick stories pulled from blind lead wires about how the economy isn’t doing well, or submit story ideas on housing that always get shot down. All of this means it lets you focus way more time on Frankie than you should.

When you're ready, Marcus takes your purse from you, freeing up your arm. He leads you to the street, hailing a cab. When the vehicle rolls up to the curb and sloshes a mix of rainwater and slush onto his shoes, Marcus doesn’t even blink. He opens the door for you, letting you get in first. Chivalrous, gentlemanly. Laying it on a bit thick, but when is he not?

The ride is quiet. You watch slick streets pass by from your window, listening to the cab’s tires rolling through dirty snow and pools of water. When you glance over, Marcus is doing the same. You're dreading the conversation waiting for you, but you can't bring yourself to regret the decision made. Marcus was right about your gut. You believe that Frankie deserves a shot at redemption. Each piece of the puzzle pulls you closer to him. He reminds you of yourself. The road ahead won’t be easy, but with the help of people like you and Marcus, maybe he can rebuild a life after all this—whatever is to come.

You get out of the car first, leading the way inside the statuesque building as you shake off the soggy snow that’s settled over your jacket. Taking the stairs two at a time in your shoes is a struggle.

“Here,” Marcus says. He offers you his hand halfway up to the second floor.

Seven flights of stairs later, you welcome him to the Post’s offices. The floor is barren of another living soul, just as you’d predicted.

Marcus stops short, standing next to the Tetris maze of cubicles. You shake your head, beckoning him around a shadowy corner to your cozy nook of the building.

“An office?” he asks.

“You're surprised?”

“Is it bad if I say yes?”

You put on an exaggerated frown, unable to keep a straight face when he holds his hands up in surrender. “They seem to like me around here.”

“You make that part easy.”

“For now,” you say. Taking a seat in your plush rolling chair, Marcus sits down across from you. “I have a feeling the story ideas I push aren’t exactly winning me any favours.”

“‘Cause you want to write about something real?”

“Exactly,” you say. “I’m sick of business puff pieces and reports on the next Amazon stock shift. I want to write about the people. What’s going on, what they’re going through? I’m working at the fuckin’...diet Financial Times.”

“When what you want is full sugar Wall Street Journal,” Marcus says.

You sigh. “A pipe dream.”

“Not for you.” Fixing him with a hard stare doesn’t stop him. “Look at what you’ve done with only a couple years under your belt. In another five? Ten? You’ll be running this place, babe.”

You let air punch out from your nose, ignoring the pet name. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” Marcus says.

He sounds so confident, unshaken in his sureness. But you don’t live in Marcus’ world. You don’t get the things you want. You work for them. Not that he doesn’t, but of course Pike’s the guy to get a promotion that seemingly falls from the sky.

“Alright, Mr. Agent Man. Enough optimism from you,” you say.

The next hour is all but silent as you open up a spreadsheet, scrolling through digital receipts stored in your work email. You continuously switch between the two browser tabs, reading numbers and typing them in. The expenses of your White House trip trickle into their appropriate boxes as software organizes everything automatically. Marcus sits with you, eyes caught on something through the glass side wall of your office. He gets up and leaves, returning moments later with red licorice vines.

“Want some?” he asks, offering you the bag.

You bite your tongue between your teeth, dialed into your task. “Pass.”

“More for me.”

When your neck starts to hurt from hunching your spine, you sit back, shoulders stretching wide. You don't know if Marcus has been watching you this whole time, or if the movement caught his attention. The intensity of his gaze has your heart jumping to your throat. The moment you take notice, the force in his stare melts away.

"What?" you probe.

"You ditched the case, right?”

"Seriously? Right now?" Marcus doesn't speak, waiting for an answer. "I didn't. We can’t just give up on him.”

"You never listen to me."

“Since when have you been my boss?” you ask.

A beat of silence. “Since when have I not?” Marcus retorts.

You scoff. “You’ve got some nerve.”

“It’s always—Marcus, I don’t know what to do. Marcus, please help me. And it’s fine—”

“Sounds like it isn’t. I thought we were friends,” you say.

“You’re missing the point.”

“Which is?”

“This is my wheelhouse. You don’t want to hear it, but I’ll say it anyway. On this, I know better,” Marcus says. “And honestly? You know it too.”

You know what I’m talking about.

“That’s low,” you say.

“But it’s true.”

You stand up, walking away from your desk—from him. He follows you out of the office, his dress shoes catching on the carpet tile. Marcus won't let up that easily.

“I want to make it all go away,” you say. “The indictment, the investigation. All of it. And if we can’t do that—”

“We can’t,” Marcus interrupts you.

“Then I want to make sure that Frankie stays here. In America. No extradition.”

"I don't think you know how this works," he says.

"I've worked in this business just as long as you have.”

"As a journalist. You are not a political animal. You are not a monster. You can't rip this apart for yourself. For him."

"And you?" you ask.

"This favour stopped being for me the moment you stepped on his porch," Marcus says. "You are not one of them—you are not a senator, you are not the District Attorney. Most importantly, you are not a lawyer. The girl who gets the congressman of Rhode Island's coffee every morning has more political clout than you do."

"Well I'm glad to see you have so much faith in me," you say.

"This isn't about faith! You think this is about belief? It's about not getting yourself fucked over in the process. You are not the thing that goes bump in the night, or makes a phone call to execute a cell block over in Oklahoma. You play the game. I play the game. Frankie played, too. And then he stopped playing, and he went against their rules which is why we're standing here, discussing whether or not we can save him when that's not for us to decide!"

You've never seen Marcus this angry. You've never seen him this anything. His emotions never really leave gift box range: happy, nicely wrapped, and convenient when you need them.

"You imagine yourself as the immovable object to the unstoppable force. You're not. You're a little girl who has no clue what she's doing."

"And you do?" you spit back. "You did? Didn't we all learn our lesson the first time? Or is your memory so short that you've forgotten sitting at that table with me."

He remembers. That temper of his liquifies, Marcus' eyes soft before he coaches his face into a hard mask once again. "An innocent man doesn't run."

"Bullshit. Innocent men run all the time. It's how they get shot in the back," you say. "Just because you have made up your mind about what he is doesn't mean that I have to."

"You should. It's all laid out there in front of us both."

"You are the one who led me to this case."

"I didn't have all the facts then. Going to San Antonio was rash. I wasn't thinking," he says.

"You were thinking. You were thinking that these men didn't deserve extradition. You were thinking that I owed you a favour, and it was the perfect time to call in. And now what? Now that you know they're not cookie-cutter American patriots, what? This is what they're owed?"

"Yes."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"It's what he deserves. All four of them. It's what's right. What's fair."

"When has anything we've ever done been right or fair? You think what I do here is saving lives? Feeding the public articles about how billionaires fucking the everyman is a good thing?" you demand. "And you? Is sending another crime boss for a cushy plea stint at club fed saving the day? We aren't in the business of right or fair, Marcus. I thought you knew that."

"So what, you and this pilot? You think saving him is gonna right all your wrongs?" There's an edge creeping into his tone. He's hedging too close into the territory of implication.

"I never said stopping that extradition order was the right thing to do," you say.

"It's selfish," Marcus says.

"And so what?" you ask. "We're already here, aren't we?"

The two of you in this room, you're both shiny and candy lacquered to hide the filth on the inside. Sometimes you used to wonder if Marcus was the exception to that rule, but you know better now. Good people don't do what you do. They never make it this far.

Marcus is simply better at hiding it.

He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."

"Roles reversed, you would do the exact same thing."

"Hell would freeze over first." He spits your name out with an edge that's not an edge, but a tender hint of concern—no, pity. A dichotomy only Marcus Pike could manage. "You're not a fixer. You can't fix this."

"And you're not my keeper. I'm not asking you to save me this time, Marcus. I'm asking for your help."

"What if I say no?"

"You don't want to do that. You don't want to make me do that."

Marcus scoffs, walking towards you. He's in your space in an instant. Instinctively, you step back. He meets you there despite it. Marcus is so close now; you've never seen him like this. You don't want to.

"So you're all big and scary now?" he asks. His whispered breath over your lips makes your skin crawl.

He takes your jaw between two fingers, forcing you to look at him. The touch prods at that empty part of you, dark and deep, exposing you. When Marcus kisses you, a ghost of connection, you let him. It feels wrong; your stomach churns in the two seconds between its start and end. Marcus doesn't kiss you like he wants you—at least, not in the traditional sense. This isn't about love. It's for power.

He lets you go, walking away without another word. You hear the door to the stairwell swing open with a whine. You can only breathe again when it clicks shut.

You stay frozen in time for the next twenty days. Every blink has you reliving that moment. Your dreams are precariously empty. Marcus is gone again.

Hot breath chafes at the back of your neck, a delusion your mind has concocted to justify the fear that pumps through your blood at a constant. You can finally put a name to the feeling that’s overtaken your gut, swaying every thought and decision you make. Marcus has you, but not in any way that’s comforting.

He doesn’t call. Frankie does. A lot. Twice one week grows to twice a day. The worst starts when he grows bolder, leaving messages. He sounds about as scared as you are, more desperate with each voicemail. You start to really worry when he stops calling altogether.

You find a little bit of wiggle room in your vacation days, flying back to Lubbock close to Presidents’ Day. Texas has taken on uncharacteristically moody weather, the sky swampy and grey as rain drowns out any hope for sunshine. You get the same truck to rent, filling it at a Gas n’ Sip on the way out of town.

The backroads flood with rainwater, puddles gathering into small ravines on the scarred asphalt. You splash through them at sixty miles an hour, racing in the rain. After taking your sweet time to get here, a sense of urgency floods you. Scraping together the last minute trip, your mind filled itself with nightmare scenarios. Maybe he’s gone even further off the grid; maybe you’ll never find him again. Or worse, maybe he’s taken up all of that mindblowing quiet literally.

The trailer park is about as flooded as the roads, if not worse. The sea of gravel has been swallowed up by water. All you can see in pretty much every direction is a gathering of murky liquid. The truck is absolutely drenched by the time you park in front of Frankie’s home. His own truck is there too, a weak flicker of hope.

Stepping out of the truck, your shoes are immediately submerged. It soaks through to your socks, but you can’t muster up enough care to notice. Trying to dodge the wind, you rush up the steps of the trailer and pry the screen door open. You knock five times in quick succession, then step back and wait. Air blows violently against the right side of your face. Squeezing your eyes shut only does so much; you’d rather press your face against grimy siding and get out of its path entirely.

When the wooden door behind the busted screen opens, Frankie’s face goes on a journey. Moody to shocked in a millisecond, and shocked to something you can’t quite parse in the next. He’s still in his pajamas.

“Hi,” you say. His eye has recovered, for the most part. The last remnants of a yellow-green bruise smear his skin.

“You’re back,” he returns.

“Can I come inside?”

Frankie seems to think about it, giving you a onceover. You almost think he’ll tell you no. When his eyes land on your sopping wet shoes, he frowns. Leaning forward, he opens the screen door towards you.

Inside, you take your shoes and socks off.

Frankie says, “I guess you got my messages.”

“You stopped calling.”

“You stopped answering.” Touché.

“I got worried,” you say.

The words make Frankie freeze, pausing his ambling through the kitchenette. Facing the broad expanse of his back, you watch his shoulders relax. He turns to you. His jaw ticks before he sighs.

“If you don’t wanna help me, you could just say that. Not hearing from you—”

He worried. Well, you knew that. But this is different. Nothing selfish here, it’s not anxiety over the situation at hand. Just you. Frankie worried about you.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Things got complicated.”

“In New York?” Frankie asks. “City girl too busy for a poor old country bumpkin, eh?”

It’s a joke, you realize, a laugh hiccuping from your chest. “Something like that.”

Frankie smiles then, mustache hiking his lip up to show you a flash of teeth. “I was just about to make lunch,” he says. An offer.

“Sure,” is all you give him.

You sit at his table once again, flipping through notes stuck together with raindrops. Frankie silently cuts up part of a head of iceberg lettuce right against the peeling surface of his countertop, the thick noise of chopping lulling you into focus. You haven’t looked at any of this in a while; time to play catch up.

A light clatter distracts you. By the time you look up, Frankie’s already standing at the sink, water running. A plated sandwich sits in front of you, lettuce and lunch meat jutting out at each side. Frankie finishes up in the kitchen, wiping his hands off on his jeans as he finds you staring.

“What?”

“You didn’t make one for yourself?” you ask.

“I’m not that hungry,” he says.

Disregarding any manners, you pick up the sandwich—already sliced in half—and take a bite. It’s a little more leafy greens than anything else, but you aren’t one to complain. Frankie sits across from you, waiting.

You say, “I wanted to circle back to what you said on the phone,” with bread still in your mouth.

Frankie shakes his head. “Don’t chew with your mouth open,” he says.

All you do is blink at him, swallowing the bite before you speak again. “You mentioned something about Will Miller a few weeks ago.”

“Right. Will, he told me to get outta dodge for a while. All of us to go dark. I’m living my stupid fuckin’ life, and then a few hours later my sergeant is giving me orders again.” Frankie prods his tongue into the side of his cheek, silent in thought. “I did it. Of course I did it. You get an order, you take it.”

“Even if you’ve been retired from Special Forces for almost a decade?” you ask.

“It’s not an if,” he says. “It’s an always.”

“And why is that? William Miller hasn’t been your army sergeant in—”

“Look, I’ll level with you. I get that you don’t understand. It’s not something I can explain for you to understand,” Frankie says.

You like a challenge. “Try me.”

“The training…it’s like a switch. Once you turn it on, you can’t—The people, your team. They’re family. They’re more than family. Your mother isn’t operating an AR-15 to save your life or dragging you to safety from a frag. I owe that man my life. That’s never going to change. They are the men that will always have you, no matter what. So when he asks you to do something, you do it.” He pulls at the whiskers of his moustache. “There’s no turning that off.”

Hot pants of breath beat down the stretch of your neck, your eyes stuck wide as you try to reign in the flood of sick crawling up your esophagus. Frankie looks confused as the quiet draws on longer than socially appropriate. Clicking your pen once, twice, three times, the beast at your back disappears.

“Could I use your bathroom?”

“Uh, sure,” Frankie says. “First door that way.”

He points further into the mobile home, down what’s barely a hall with two doors on either side. Spotted wood flooring turning to chipped tile as you step inside, the door pulled shut behind you. Your knee knocks against the lip of the sink, oddly low to the ground; you have to hunch to reach the tap. Cool water pours over your hand after a moment of anticipation.

The cold flow relieves some of the burning in your body, splashes of it against your eyelids running to your lips and tongue. Your mind is scattered, heartbeat in your ears. You can only grasp one thought through all the noise. This is what it feels like to be haunted.

Marcus owns you. You aren’t sure when exactly that happened. When you let that happen. So many moons ago, back in Austin? Or that diner, maybe, when he got you back after years of interim silence.

He was right. You are not a monster. He is. The world of politics is an ugly one, full of ugly people. Still, you don’t like to get acquainted with things that go bump in the night. You never noticed there was already something under your bed.

The door opens again with a creak. Frankie slouches in his seat, chin resting against the heel of his hand that’s propped against the table. You watch him, spotting the way he shakes out his shoulders. His arms let the fabric of his t-shirt loose before pulling it taut again. You want to trace your hand along the line of his spine.

Frankie refuses the rest of your sandwich, so you finish it alone. You ask him to recount the whole story, beat by beat: how he got involved, when, what the original plan was. He says that after the recce, they were supposed to hand off their gathered intel to Colombian authorities, but Santiago—Pope, he calls him—had other ideas. They went into Lorea’s estate expecting your average narcos cash stash, and wound up with a mansion spilling American dollars from the drywall.

You can see the anger in his eyes when he talks about the helicopter, the crash. Frankie slips in a mention of some pretty Colombian girl, but she’s gone from his story as quickly as she appears. The helicopter was overweight, sending them into a tailspin over the grassy plains of Peru.

“There were people there—villagers. We, uh… They were scared. A bunch of big Americans drop down from the sky with guns yellin’ English at them.” Frankie takes a long pause, staring at his hand. “I don’t know if Tom shot first, or if I—”

Oh god.

“There were a few of them dead. Pope worked out a deal with their leader. Gave him some money. We took a pack of mules, and we were on our way.” Frankie looks up at you. “I thought I’d never think about it again, I thought… I don’t know what I thought. And then Tom died. It all just went to shit.”

“Your friend died. You killed some people. In the process of all this, you broke some laws. From the sounds of it, that’s been your whole life. So what makes this different?” you ask.

“We didn’t…” he trails off. “There was no flag on our shoulder this time.”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s not it,” you say. “That’s the reason the government is after you. That’s not why you are the way you are about it.”

A well of anger and loneliness. Self-pity has stained the man known as Francisco Morales.

Frankie bristles. “Maybe it’s just sad, hey? Maybe I wish I’d done better. Been better. Maybe Redfly wouldn’t be dead.”

Redfly. Tom Davis. From what you could unearth of the man all those months ago, you don’t think it would have mattered. He seemed more likely to stick a shotgun in his mouth than Frankie, probably in one of those shit condos he was trying to sell. Better to die in those mountains.

“What happened to the money?” you ask.

Frankie shakes his head again. A silent no.

“You know I could just find it. Make this easy.”

“We gave it to his kids. Two daughters.”

“Offshore accounts?”

Frankie gives you a look: what do you think?

You hold his gaze, half challenge and half fascination. Abruptly, you switch gears. “I’ve got one rule.”

“A rule?” Frankie asks.

"I don't give a shit what you tell the D.A., or your lawyer, whoever. But you don't lie to me. If this is going to work, it's because you're honest. And I'll be honest too."

"Fine," Frankie says. "But I have some terms of my own.”

“Such as?”

“I show you mine, you show me yours.”

“Excuse me?”

“You haven't told me a thing about you and this case," Frankie says.

“There is no me and this case, Frankie. I didn’t do anything illegal here.”

“But you know about it,” he says. “If the government was going to move on me right now, I’d already be in a cell somewhere…which means they haven’t. And yet, here you are.”

You wish he was as stupid as he looks.

“And?”

“How do you know about this case?”

“I know someone at the Justice Department. He brought the case to my attention,” you say.

“Brought it to your attention,” he says flatly.

“Yes, Frankie. He brought it to my attention.”

“Bullshit.”

“Frankie—”

“I think that your friend went looking for something he shouldn’t have. And fuck, did he find it,” he says. “The only thing that doesn’t make sense to me is how you’re the one sitting here, not him.”

“It’s complicated,” you say.

“Don’t lie. You’re bad at it.”

Fuck. Fuck. You’ve painted yourself into a corner here, no way out.

You deflate, tired of keeping up the brave face. “Everyone’s got their marching orders.”

Anything left of that unsure sense of judgement in your chest melts away as Frankie’s face falls. He’s a good little soldier. So are you.

“Marcus Pike…he wanted me to drop this. You. He thinks you deserve jail, that you aren't any better now than the man you were in Colombia. Probably worse. He says it’s the right thing.”

“And what do you think?” Frankie asks.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

You don't want to see him go away for it. The Colombian government will demand to see him rot, but that's never sat right with you. Now the thought makes you sick, gut rolling whenever it crosses your mind. But like it or not, Marcus has gotten into your head. You need something to drown him out.

Frankie takes your empty plate and puts it in the sink. He pulls a bowl out of his cupboards. You grab your phone, tapping at the screen to wake it up. No messages, no missed phone calls.

“I should go,” you mumble, already reaching for your shoes. A warped water line has formed on the canvas upper, like brown and grey watercolour paint. You shove your damp socks in your pocket.

Frankie stops what he’s doing, pouring milk into floating bits of instant oatmeal.

He says, “It’s still raining like hell out there.”

“I’m not made of sugar.” Frankie doesn’t have a pithy comeback for you, simply standing by. “I’ll be back tomorrow—early. So be up this time.”

Frankie nods wordlessly, putting his bowl of brown sludge into the microwave. He stands in the kitchenette, watching it spin and spin behind glass. You head for the door, looking down into your purse in search of the truck’s keys. When you look up again a few steps from the exit, Frankie is there too.

His nose is inches from yours now. Frankie looks at you with something—a feeling you can’t quite grasp. It rolls off him in waves, overwhelming. He’s standing just out of reach. He is always standing just out of your reach.

When you stretch a hand up to his jaw, it feels normal. Natural. Like you were meant to hold him, like he was meant to be held. His stubble is prickly against the skin of your palm.

Frankie leans into your touch, his hand moving to hold your own in place. With your fingers splayed across his cheekbone, you can feel the fine lines around his eyes. Up close you can see the tiniest of sun spots along the column of his throat. The loose collar of his shirt creeps up and back down again with every rise and fall of his chest.

He turns his face, still in your grasp, and presses his lips to the skin of your wrist. Immediately, you yank the limb back to your own body. Like a jolt of sparking electricity, his face flashes through your mind. Marcus and his ugly, docile kiss. The scent of his cologne, eyes so close they could burn through flesh.

The memory of him this close, closer… It holds you in a tight grip, overtaking the present and launching you into the past. Back to the cost of doing business. The price of helping Frankie. But you cannot do this—this with Francisco Morales. Neither of you get that luxury.

You say, “Tomorrow. Nine o’clock.”

Then you watch him expectantly, waiting for Frankie to step aside. The trailer door squeaks open at your pull, whining when it slams shut again. You feel eyes at your back crossing the short distance to the truck. Whether they belong to Frankie or Marcus, you aren’t quite sure.

You eat again at a place called Taqueria Jalisco. The chicharron en salsa feels like an undeserved treat. You eat half of the food, washing it down with two strawberry mojitos.

Your waitress—Carla—comes back around to your table in the middle of a staring contest with the remnants of dinner. You order a Long Island Iced Tea for dessert, smiling politely as she clears your dishes. The alcohol settles a hum in your body. You feel like a live wire, unrestrained in your power to damage and destroy. So far, you seem to be your only target.

The Palm Tree Lodge happily accepts your business again, even giving you the same room as your last stay. Wrapping yourself in bedsheets, you close your eyes. The first thing that appears behind them is Frankie’s face, soft and careful as you held him. You feel a whisper of touch where his lips had been against your skin, rubbing over the spot with your thumb.

You should be scrolling through your phone, dredging your mind for any of your old classmates that went on to law school and owe you a favour. You should be thinking about any lawyer at all, but you aren’t. You can only think of him. Sweet brown eyes staring out from that despairing face. The look that makes you want him.

He is failure, primed and bottled. That makes you want him more.

Focusing, you find a place for his trailer in your mind. You’re standing by the steps, but it isn’t raining here. The sun-mottled sky shines blue and canary yellow as a glass of something cool sweats in your hand. You urge yourself to advance, taking careful steps up to the door. Before you can pull it open, you slip inside all on your own. Frankie sits at the kitchen table with his back to you, shoulders stretched beneath the thin fabric of an undershirt.

You go to him, taking a sip of the drink you’re carrying before you set it down on the table. Candied cranberries wash onto your tongue, fizzing up in your mouth. Hands empty, you rest them over each one of Frankie’s shoulders. He leans into the touch, the whiskers of his moustache brushing against your fingers as he sets a kiss to your skin.

You’re chasing a disaster. You shouldn’t want him. Wanting has only ever brought you bad things. You get the sense that if you told him to, Francisco would do it, no matter the ask. It’s hard to tell if that is a scare or a solace.

You and Frankie are the same in the exact way that you and Marcus are two of a kind. Fair is foul and foul is fair.

It continues to rain, worse today than before. You make good on your promise, knocking on Frankie’s door again at nine o’clock sharp. The door opens two seconds later. Frankie is dressed, just like you’d told him to be; a pink button up that’s been through the wringer, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest as it reveals a white undershirt like the one haunting your imagination. He lets you in without much fanfare, offering you something hot and warm from the brewing pot of coffee.

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Frankie says. “I don’t have any creamer, only sugar. It went bad a few days ago.”

“No worries. I like it black.” You do not, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You and Frankie continue this stilted little dance as he sets down the mug on the table, not even trying to hand it to you lest your fingers touch. He seems to sit a little further out from the table today.

From your bag, you produce a scribbled list of twenty names you could scrape up on the drive here, eyes dividing their time between the paper and the splashy roads ahead.

“What hoop am I jumping through today?” Frankie asks you.

“No circus tricks for you. It’s all on me right now.”

“That’s a relief.”

Typing out the first name to locate them in your contacts, you say, “I’m sure it won’t stop you from being a clown.” You hit dial as a snicker wriggles its way out of him. Let’s hope you can find Chuckles a lawyer.

By the fifth phone call, neither of you are laughing. Pacing across the stretch of floor between the kitchen and the living room, you listen to another one of your peers professionally shoot you down.

“No, Alex. I get it. Thought I’d try anyway, right?” you ask. “Thanks. Yeah, bye.” You hang up, hand sliding from your forehead to your jaw. “Fuck.”

Frankie’s crossing out the names on the list for you, drawing a squiggly line through the name of your old friend from Rice.

“Who’s next?” you ask.

“Aditi Patel. Oregon area code,” he says. Frankie feeds you the numbers as you type them in, both of you waiting on the dial tone. She doesn’t even pick up, sending you straight to voicemail.

This cycle continues for the better part of two hours: another phone call, a rejection or an answering machine, followed by another line on the page.

Hanging up again, you ask Frankie who follows Ryan Treho on the list.

“No one,” he says. “That’s it. That’s all of ‘em.”

“Let me see.”

He hands it to you, gazing up as you look it over. Frankie is right. Every name on this list has been called, every one giving you some variation of no. The hum you thought was Frankie’s ancient-looking fridge ratchets up an octave in your ears, noise crowding around you as you stare at the piece of paper.

You can barely hear Frankie’s question of, “What do we do now?” as the rattle reaches a peak, squealing like static. You’re drawing a complete blank, breath halting as you will yourself to fix this.

Frankie grabbing your hand pulls you out. You’re standing beside his seated form, facing forward while he slouches in his chair at an angle.

“I’ll figure something out. Call some people. Don’t worry about it.”

“A little difficult, don’t you think?” Frankie asks. “What are you going to do?”

Call Marcus.

You don’t want to tell him that, though. You know your eyes are glossy, hot tears threatening to spill at any time as you try to put on a brave face. Cool, calm, and collected; that’s who you are supposed to be. Strong in the face of an adversary. So why do Frankie’s brows knit together, his face coloured in concern?

“I don’t know.”

The chair drags loudly against the floor when he kicks it out, nodding at you to take a seat. You do, folding yourself in half the moment your ass hits the chair as you duck and hide from him. Saltwater streaks down your cheeks, never making it past your lips as you wipe harshly at your skin.

“I’m scared,” you say.

“Everything is gonna be fine,” Frankie says. It feels warped for him to be comforting you.

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I just—”

You can call him. He could help you. You already know he would.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Him.”

Living in this blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nightmare has turned your life inside-out. There’s nowhere to run, no one to go home to. There is no home anymore.

You try to backpedal, mumbling a quick, “I’m being dramatic,” as Frankie takes in your broken face. “It’s fine. I’ll have to call Marcus. Figure out a new game plan.” The very last thing you ever want to do. More likely than not, you’ll have to see him; he’ll want to see you.

“I never told you why I punched out my neighbour’s grandson,” Frankie says.

“You didn’t. What does that matter?”

“Can you just—?” Frankie purses his lips, restarting his story. “He was talking about…you. Calling you names and—it was offensive.”

“So you beat the shit out of him,” you say. “That’s great, Frankie. I can’t pummel the fact that no one wants to represent you.”

“This isn’t about that. I’m saying, if your friend at that fancy Justice Department ever did anything to you…y’know.”

“You’d go to prison for assault on a federal officer,” you say.

“Seems like I’m headed there regardless,” Frankie says. He waits on you for an answer.

“I’m fine. The stress is fucking with my head.” Lie. You know it, and Frankie knows it too, judging by the scowl on his face. “I’ll be okay.”

You grab your things, making for the door.

“What happened to being honest with each other?” Frankie asks.

“This is me being honest. And the truth is, I’m going to be alright. Okay?” He doesn’t anything. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Rushing to the truck, you yank open the door to get out of the rain. Settling yourself, you put the keys in the ignition. You reach to turn them…and then you don’t. Nothing you want is at the other side of this truck’s engine rumbling to life. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to leave. You don’t.

Time passes blindly, the rain and the sky staying the same as water beats against metal. It seems almost everflowing, like it has always rained and it always will. The sound of precipitation lulls you into a dead stare, the upholstering of the steering wheel suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. You don’t notice Frankie at the opposite window until he pulls the passenger side door open, scooting in along the leather bench seat.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Frankie runs a hand through his hair, dotted with wet drops as he smooths it over. This is the closest you two have been physically since yesterday, heat from his thigh radiating against yours. With the crown of your head against the headrest, you watch water through the windshield.

“I have a wife. And a kid.” The words appear from nowhere.

“Oh.”

Frankie clears his throat. “Well, had. I’m sure they think I drove off to shoot myself, wash away on the beach. We lived in Florida…Miami. Not great for the recovering addict.”

“Okay…”

“I thought I’d tell you because of the whole honesty deal. You know, and not to say—fuck.”

You start to ask him if he’s alright.

“Are you a friend?” he blurts out.

“Uh…” You fix your gaze on the dashboard.

“Sorry. Thought I’d ask.”

“I don’t know what I am. To you or to anyone else.” Dragging your eyes to his face, you meet Frankie’s baby browns. “Do you want me to be that? A friend?”

“I want to turn back time and never have to meet you like this,” Frankie says.

The sky continues to pelt the truck with rain at all sides, heavy drops sounding off against the roof. Reaching up, you smooth out a crease in his forehead with your thumb. Worry ages him.

Your ring and middle finger cradle the ridge of his jaw. “You smoke?”

A curt nod. “They’re back inside.”

Next thing you know, Frankie’s jogging to the trailer as you wait under the short overhang, out of the wet. He comes out with a carton of Camel Lights. You take it from him, along with the butane lighter he offers. There are no chairs on his tiny porch. You opt for sitting right in front of the screen door, spine sliding against the mesh.

Frankie joins you on the ground. It doesn’t really surprise you. Keeping a cigarette pinched between your lips, you hold it between a peace sign and light it with an inhale. Then you put the lighter back in Frankie’s hand. After the first few drags, Frankie takes it from your lips with careful fingers. You watch him smoke, lips wrapping around the stains of your saliva. Instead of handing it back to you, he slips the cigarette back into your mouth.

When he lays on his side, head falling softly into your lap, you don’t even blink. A puff of white smoke leaves your lungs, the slow wind taking it up into the clouds. Frankie’s coarse curls slot easily between your fingers.

I want to turn back time and never have to meet you like this.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

#frankie morales #marcus pike #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #the mentalist #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedrostories #fic: revisionist history

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zirawrites · 2 years ago

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what about the fallout 4 companions cheating on sole?

Cait: Cait followed Sole as they packed their bags; an unreadably blank expression making their lover seem more machine than human. “Sole, I dunno what got into me. You didn’t deserve that. At least believe me when I say it wasn’t to hurt you.” When Sole continued to ignore her, Cait covered her face in shame. “I’d forgotten why we fell in love. Or maybe I was ignoring it. Just... please, tell me what you’re thinking.”

Curie: Curie wasn’t aware of every social etiquette, but it didn’t take an actual human to understand cheating was wrong. She futilely wiped the hot tears on her cheeks as Sole looked at her with pure astonishment. “I am so ashamed, my love. I cannot even ask for your forgiveness.” Curie let out an undignified snivel. “What we have... I cannot bear to think I threw it all away. I feel so incredibly, unbearably stupid.”

Danse: Danse was a soldier, and every great soldier knows how to follow rules. Stay within boundaries. Respect their peers. Danse was sick with himself when Sole confronted him about being unfaithful. He felt even less of a man than when he’d discovered he was a synth. He felt like nothing at all. “Sole, forgive me. I was misguided. They were a mistake. You are all who matters.” When Sole turned away, Danse hung his head. “I understand. I was a fool to even consider you’d still want me around.”

Deacon: Deacon had done a lot of shitty things in his life. But screwing over his partner? Someone he considered his best and only friend? He was too cowardly to lower his glasses and expose the tears welling in his eyes. “I’ve lied a lot, but trust me when I say you are the love of my life, Sole. I’ll do anything to gain your confidence again.” But Deacon knew he’d already lost Sole when they crossed their arms and folded into themselves. They were as alone and scared as the day they stumbled into HQ.

Hancock: “Shit, Sunshine. I wanted you to hear it from me.” Hancock knew gossip spread through Goodneighbor like wildfire. He was almost as disappointed in himself for not stopping it as he was disgusted with himself for cheating on Sole; the best damn thing to ever happen to him. “I could go on about how it was chems or booze or peer pressure, but the truth is I was a selfish asshole. I let the love of my life go because of my own fucking actions. Trust me, losing you will haunt me for the hundreds of years I’ll be walking this earth.”

MacCready: MacCready didn’t know why he strayed from Sole. They had chased the Gunners off his back. Saved his son from a horrible, painful death. Took down the Institute and brought the Commonwealth out of its Dark Ages. He’d never done anything half as altruistic, yet Sole saw something in him MacCready still couldn’t recognize. Until they discovered he had cheated, of course. He watched Sole blink back tears, and his own eyes began to well like a small child being reprimanded. “Shit, Sole. I’m so...” He turned away. He couldn’t stomach looking at them. “Damn it. Damn it, Sole. I just... I don’t even deserve you.”

Preston: Preston was the one who admitted to cheating. He sat them down and explained how a drunken celebration at the Castle turned into something steamy and shameful. Then he answered all of Sole’s questions, only starting to cry when they asked if he ever loved them. “Of course I love you, Sole. And I’ll never forgive myself for losing you.”

Piper: “Blue, wait!” Piper chased Sole up the stairs as they walked through Diamond City. “It was a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake. And I completely regret it.” Sole was more intent on watching the gates open than listening to Piper’s pleas. “Can we talk about it? I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just...” Her voice cracked. “Don’t leave me, Blue.”

Nick: “Breaking your heart will be the biggest regret of my life.” Nick didn’t try to convince Sole to stay. He was mature enough to understand just how badly he’d hurt them. And that Sole deserved better. “Take care of yourself, Sole. You deserve a hell of a lot better than me.”

X6-88: X6 had never been so embarrassed in his life. He knew how important Sole was not just to the Institute, but himself as well. They were his first love, and most definitely would be his only. “I’m ashamed of my actions, Sole.” He took off his glasses in a rare show of affection. “I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. Though I know I do not deserve it.”

#fallout 4 #fallout 4 reactions #why do you all hate sole!!!!#just imagining deacon and maccready cheating on sole made my heart hurt #my readers are monsters but damn do i love angst #maccready #nick valentine #deacon #paladin danse #cait fallout 4 #curie fallout 4 #x6-88 #piper wright #preston garvey #hancock

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the-void-writes · 7 months ago

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For Riley!! 🎮📚🩹🎶🔺🌈🍎💔💘😊!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH 😁💖 I’M SO HAPPY TO TALK ABOUT THIS KID

Here’s some references for Riley. Credit to Wervty and Naylissah on Picrew for the images

🎮 What are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?

Riley loves guitar and wants to learn how to play it. He also likes exercise, even if Rio’s training gets ridiculous or excessive. To everyone’s surprise, he shows a lot of interest in studying health and medicine. Avery makes him his unofficial apprentice.

📚 What level of education has your oc most recently completed/is currently in (GED, undergraduate, grad school, phd, etc)?

Vesely has a school program for patients, so technically Riley is still getting a high-school education. The last official schooling he had was in junior-high.

🩹 Does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

I’m not sure if it counts, but since his powers generate large amounts of electricity, it scars his arms and damages the nerves. Too much use of it also starts to affect his heart.

That’s why Riley and Thomas work so well together. Thomas’ phasing means that when they touch him, the electricity can move through his body without hurting him, but he also had less control over it.

🎶 What type of music does your oc like? Do they listen to music very often?

Lots of alternative rock, stuff he can turn on during training and headbang to. He also loves the older rock that Jason listens to like Venus Wonder (the Freaks-universe equivalent of the band Queen).

🔺 Does your oc know how to use any weapons?

Aside from his powers, which generate strands of electricity, Rio teaches him how to use a staff as a conduit while he fights.

🌈 What is your oc's sexual orientation/gender identity? What pronouns do they use?

Riley is bisexual and transgender, the latter of which he is very defensive about. He won’t tolerate being called anything other than “he/him.”

🍎 Where was your oc born? Do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? How do they feel about their birthplace?

Riley was born in a small town somewhere around Preston (I haven’t come up with a name lol). He hates everything about that town, from the school that bullied him, to the church that called him a demon, to the childhood home where his mother called him horrible names and forced him to wear dresses and regularly called the cops to have someone take this kid away. Thankfully, Jason and Rio were the ones to rescue him, and he’ll never have to see that town again.

💔 What are three of your oc's negative traits?

Riley is incredibly defensive to the point where he starts fights that aren’t necessary. He’s so used to pain and having his heart broken that he lashes out the minute he thinks someone is going to hurt him.

He can be grumpy, even with friends. Kevin lives and breathes to pester him, and though their banter is mostly playful, there are times where Riley says something hurtful. He always apologizes later.

He has little respect for grown-ups or authority figures. There have been days where this highly-powerful and rightfully-angry teenage boy has hospitalized trained officers by electrocuting them. The only adults he trusts are Jason and Henry, and eventually his adoptive parents (Avery gets a pass because he’s still technically a college graduate).

💘 What and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

His friends are the most important things in his life. They welcomed him, supported him, and loved him when his family refused to. He says he would kill a man for them, even though he doesn’t really want to.

This also becomes true for his adoptive family. He doesn’t trust them to stay, at first, but he grows to love them dearly.

😊 What are your oc's career/general life desires? What do they want to get the most out of life?

Riley wants to be a doctor. Ever since Jason mentioned it as an option, ever since he showed faith that Riley could help people, Riley’s wanted to follow that path. He never thought he was capable of anything other than destruction, and now he wants to live up to the hope that Jason gave him.

#writeblr #ask games #writeblr ask game #wip: freaks of preston

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slocumjoe · 2 years ago

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some things I love about the companions 💞

Ada; is best girl. She's a cool ass robot who gives me glue and doesn't judge me. No, this is not my "transformers prime permanently rewired my brain" bias for robots. At risk of sounding like a 12 year old boy, Assaultatrons are just badass designs. And she's blue!

Cait; is a lot funnier than anyone gives her credit for. Also, weirdly educated? For example, she wonders if Raiders like tunnels as a "Freudian" thing. Few people she'd have met would known about Freud, so she'd have to have gone and read about it herself. Also also, is on Danse's level of romantic sweet talk. Girl makes me swoon.

Codsworth; somehow hates the wasteland more than X6. His wording and tone is very optimistic but you can tell that, underneath his chipper facade, Codsworth is so fucking grossed out by everything he sees. Also, the only two companions he doesn't trust to keep you safe, are Piper and MacCready. Make of that what you will.

Curie; X6-88 (like, 10 years old) calls her unqualified and she (200ish) basically tells him to get the fuck back in the play pen

Danse; Sending his eyebrows to space by showing the smallest amount of care and affection. I'm pretty sure this man would die if someone asked if he was okay.

Deacon; talks a big game about being a liar, and being very good about it, but if you don't read that 'recall code' ASAP, he bugs you about it constantly because he hates lying to you. It's not even that you're being naive, he genuinely hates that he's being trusted when you were supposed to question him.

Dogmeat; my favorite thing about Dogmeat is that I'll spend an hour scrapping all dog houses in Sanctuary, make him a little area in my backyard with a house, food bowl, toys, a rug, and classical music, and he thanks me by getting up on my countertops to sleep, using my antique pie collection as bedding.

Gage; Wears a fake eyepatch and throws hissy fits when my army of sexy chads curbstomps his furries, Nepo babies, and Joker stans. This is entirely wishful thinking and I get why this didn't happen, but I would have liked an option to convince him "Hey, I'm coming back with my army to wipe out all these raiders, but I'll give you a chance to join me or leave since you also seem to hate these chuckleheads." I appreciate his shady convict uncle vibes. I would let him teach Shaun how to cheat at cards.

Hancock; takes mentats to feel "intellectual" when he has the second highest INT of all the companions. Also, his puppy dog eyes. "IM FERAL NOW" as he gets his ass kicked by a legendary god roach

MacCready; dork man. he has more cliche stock line jokes than Deacon. I unironically vibe with his taste in trailers, fucking LOVE leopard print (fake bc we don't fuck with wasteful animal hunting like that). He's a very cozy companion to travel with, for lack of a better description. Like if a thermos of soup was a human.

Nick; Nick is what I imagine Mac would be like as he got older—just a laid-back weirdo who wants whats best for you and will insult you so you understand that. I love his tacky ass agency sign. I wish you could put him in other clothes, because I need him in a bathrobe wielding a cane against my enemies. Just really succumb to the grumpy uncle vibes.

Old Longfellow; reminds me strongly of my old neighbor, an elderly southern gentleman who was a sniper in the military, had a chunky rottie named Baby, and once watched me play Fallout and gave his opinions on the design of the weapons in game. That man is now in Thailand with his girlfriend. I've never traveled with Longfellow but I'm pretty sure its a 1 to 1.

Preston; if you don't take Preston to Quincy, I don't blame you, because oh man, does he not have a great time there! Preston sounds five seconds away from snapping his gun over his knee and going for strangulation in Quincy. King shit.

Piper; I was pretty harsh to Piper but I love her gaslight gatekeep girlboss approach to her life. She's like an adult Junie B Jones. Piper has never had her shit together and is self-medicating with sugar harder than Hancock and Cait do with drugs. She's a cringefail woman. If Bethesda was brave they would have gone with her pixie cut concept.

X6-88; a blank canvas for me to go wild on with the fanon. But I love how he's just an asshole 10 year old murderbot that's scared of heights, thinks Power Armor is so cool he privately fangirls over Danse, is scared of children, and gushes over how awesome the Survivor is to his courser buddies. What a babe.

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout 4 companions #paladin danse #preston garvey #piper wright #robert joseph maccready #nick valentine #john hancock #i have literally nothing to like abt strong sorry #hes real big and green. i guess green is a nice color?#oh wait. Mack Ree Dee. there. good Strong thing

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imagine-silk · 5 months ago

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Fallout 4: Sole not having experience with same-sex relationships

》FOR THE GAYS!!! This was inspired by @dareactions post that was the same prompt but for DAO.

【Cait】 "... That's your problem?"

She looks at you like you're crazy. Out of everything she's done and all the baggage that comes with her that's your concern? She can and will call that the dumbest idea you've ever had and you wanted to keep a deathclaw at one point. She low-key also doesn't let you break up during this time and will tell you "if it's 'because of that no'".

【Curie】 "I do not understand. Is it still taboo?"

She knows before the bombs dropped it was a social topic and was fought for but she sees no reason it would remain a problem when survival was on the line. People should be helping one another, not hurting. Why would love of any kind be an issue?

【Danse】 "That's- that's not a problem. Right?"

He forgets things like that can be a problem because most of the very few relationships he's had were with men. Fraternizing in the Brotherhood is looked down on and can be punished so you have to sneak around. Sneaking around with a woman is harder than sneaking around with a man. Bringing it up in the first place will make him look at you like a kicked puppy.

【Deacon】 "And here I thought I was universal."

He again hides behind false bravado hoping it's enough to get him through it. Your laugh calms him down a bit but you have to have this conversation because he wants his rejection to be as swift as possible. When you assure him you don't want to break up he laughs it off and says, "of course you don't, have you seen me?".

【Hancock】 "You're in for a ride."

He's kind of afraid this is a deal-breaker for you and you'll leave him. So he turns up his charm and make you feel special. He tries becomes someone you won't leave. You can see this over-correction and ask him about it. After a while you coax him into confessing his fears to you and explain your lack of experience was your issue. He drops all his fears and relaxes, telling you he has enough experience for the both of you.

【MacCready】 "So?"

He also hasn't been in a gay relationship, his only relationship being Lucy, but he couldn't say he thought it would be different. Because he lived a pretty sheltered life and kids naturally don't think about that stuff he doesn't see any reason it would be a problem. If you explain it to him he'll straight up say he thinks maybe people before the bombs dropped weren't that great.

【Nick】 "Can't say I'm not in the same boat, pal."

He never thought he'd ever be with a man but here he was. Nick before the bombs was only ever with women. But he couldn't imagine wanting to be with anyone else than you. That being said, he also feels like him being a man is not more important than him being a synth that is literally falling apart. He's not going to bring it up if you're not worried about it but he thinks it's kind of silly.

【Piper】 "Come on, Blue, don't tell me you're getting cold feet."

She's all for the truth and she's happy you told her instead of letting it fester. That being said she doesn't want something as unchangeable as your gender to be what kills your relationship. She'll also send Nat to go over and be extra nice and cute so you feel better about the situation. She has faith that you'll come around after you're done second guessing yourself.

【Preston】 "Then follow my lead."

He's been in a surprisingly large amount of relationships being a person of his position, men making a good chunk of it. He's not going to tell you it will be the same on the virtue that relationships are inherently different than one another. All he asks is for you to trust him and trust your feelings for him.

【X6-88】 "If that is a deal-breaker you should not have entered this relationship."

He's not very good at expressing his emotions and still lashes out when he's hurt. Seeing this as a problem is something that genuinely upset him because your relationship with him is full of taboos. He's a robot made to only kill and follow orders and you're a human who's done great things for the Commonwealth. Race might also turn out to be an issue if his gender was a problem. You'll have to explain you don't have an issue with your relationship but with your lack of experience. He doesn't understand that either because compared to him you have all the experience in the world.

#ask and you shall receive #fallout 4 #fallout imagines #fallout x reader #companions react

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everydayyoulovemeless · 1 year ago

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How The Fo4 Companions (+Maxson and Tinker Tom) Are With Synth!Shaun

➼ Word Count » 0.9k ➼ Warnings » None

MacCready's really good with him! You can always find him outside showing him little tricks on how to stay hidden or just simply playing tag. He's great with kids in general and Shaun is going to love when he comes over, especially since he's fairly laid back and childish himself when it comes to most things.

Nick likes to sit out on the porch and listen to Shaun ramble on about his day. He thinks he's really intelligent for the age he appears to be and doesn't mind answering any questions the kid might have, especially if they're about the Commonwealth or his job.

Cait's kinda scared of Shaun. She's worried that parts of her personality will rub off on the kid and refuses to go near him. If you asked her to babysit she would, she'd just be distant and would only really give him one-worded responses.

Danse treats him like he's in the Boy Scouts. He'll take him camping and show him how to tie knots and start fires and all that. He's usually not sure what to say to him so he's glad Shaun has the child-like charm and curiosity that makes it easier to talk to.

Preston's the kind of guy who'd play dead if a kid pretended to shoot him. He loves playing silly little games with him. One of his favorite things to do is to pick him up and pretend to drop him. He'd also 100% play cops and robbers with him, or as they like to call it, Minutemen and raiders.

Codsworth still feels upset about what happened with the original, but it doesn't stop him from treating Shaun any differently than he would've before. He's constantly there to dote on him and make sure he follows some form of sanitation. He also gives him small chores to do around whatever settlement he's in to help keep him from being bored.

Piper likes to take him and Nat to go explore the Commonwealth. She never takes them anywhere dangerous, they mostly just walk around Diamond City or Concord after it's been cleared out. Piper really doesn't like sitting in one place and thinks that it's a lot more fun to go snooping around the surrounding areas. She even teaches him how to direct the conversation in a way that gives you the information you want.

Curie's better with babies and hasn't spoken to a ton of kids in her life so she'll probably ask him more questions than he will to her. She'll teach him ethical ways to study and investigate things if he ever wanted to, and she's very careful about him not getting hurt. She and Codsworth are especially good caretakers when they're watching him together.

Please don't leave Shaun with Strong. He'll just insult him for being small and weak and encourage him to eat human flesh. There's nothing that could go right with this. And PLEASE don't tell Strong that he's a synth, if he hears he's a robot, he might attack him.

You're gonna have to keep an eye on Hancock cause he doesn't interact with kids very often. He'll ask if he wants to try some of the chems he's got on him to see which ones are his favorite or teach him all the best places to stab someone. The one thing you can trust with them being together is that Hancock won't let any harm come his way.

Deacon loves Shaun. He's the type of guy who still does the 'got your nose' thing. He'll hang him upside down, tell him bad jokes, and would steal one of those funny Minutemen hats for him. He even helps him build a fort in your living room.

X6-88 isn't too sure how to feel about being around the younger clone of his former boss. He's taken care of this same kid before, but he felt it was different because he knew that he was only meant to be a part of an experiment of sorts, not to be genuinely raised. He'll still do what you ask and look after Shaun, and he'll try his hardest to get along with him, however, he'll still come off as closed off and cold.

Dogmeat usually just follows him around and defends him from any mole rats that might pop up randomly from the ground. They're hardly ever apart from one another.

Old Longfellow is actually really good with him. It's like the kid he never got to raise and he's genuinely so happy that you asked him to watch him. He'll take him hunting and fishing, play darts with him in the bar, and makes sure that he doesn't touch any alcohol while he's there. (well maybe a sip but he won't tell you that)

Gage isn't sure what you expect him to do so he just sits up in the Fizztop Grille with him and lets him run around semi-unsupervised. He does try to keep him away from all the other raiders, and will maybe take him out on some of the rides, but other than that, he won't do much.

It's best to try and avoid the whole, 'my-kid-is-a-synth' thing because Maxson will want him killed if he finds out. Other than that though, he'll show him around the Prydwen and let him fly around in a Vertibird for a little bit before grouping him in with the other squires while he gets back to work waiting for you to come pick him up again.

He and Tinker Tom are always playing hide and seek, although, it's more like them hiding under a counter to avoid a possible alien invasion because Tom had told him some crazy story of his and it ended up going haywire and they're both now panicking behind furniture.

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fallout4-reacts · 10 months ago

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k-peasants asked: An actual prompt this time! I know you're busy and have plenty of things to write yet, take your time. Soo I was thinking that maybe companions (and Maxson) horribly failing at confessing to Sole. Like for example they could clear out some Raiders, companion is impressed, tries to confess BAM Sole gets fucking decked by random raider they didn't kill. I feel like you could get pretty creative with that one. Like deathclaws, something exploding, just settlers running in, other companions interrupting etc.

Here, here, part uh 4… after the false start of the part 3…

Part 4

Gage / MacCready / Piper

(Part 1 : Danse, Deacon, Nick Valentine)

(Part 2 : Hancock, Preston, Strong)

(Part 3 : X6-88 alone because of a bug)

(Part 5 : Cait, Curie, Codsworth, Dogmeat, Elder Maxson)

Gage : This Sole is an Overboss! What a magnificent and fantastic Overboss! Everything Porter had ever wanted to do came true! Nuka-World is now a flourishing domain, having conquered so many colonies that the Commonwealth can be considered under the yoke of the raiders, its inhabitants paying an extraordinary tribute that fills the chests at an incredible rate. His people are blessed and happy, and he owes it all to Sole.

Gage never imagined having such strong and lively feelings for another person as he did for himself, but he fell hard for Sole.

And Sole seems to notice it in a far more personal way than one would anticipate from an Overboss towards a lieutenant.

And when a raider wants something, he takes it.

So, once his feelings for his superior are made clear, Gage doesn't waste time. He plans their entire evening and ensures that Sole has enough drink. When he realizes they are alone in the Fizztop, he grabs his bravery with both hands.

"Hey, Boss!"

Sole looks up from his glass and smiles at Porter.

"Yeah?"

And this smile almost steals the poor man's courage. He takes the time to set himself on one of the stools in front of the other.

"I… I've been thinking about this thing you told me, about our friendship and all that bullshit."

"Yeah?"

"Well, what I'm saying is—

"Is that Mason's voice I hear?"

"We always hear Mason's screaming at this hour."

"But these are not screams of pain?"

Gage and Sole leap to the terrace and gaze downward. Preston Garvey, the foolish Minutemen colonel, smiled morbidly at them from the center of the lake, where he had erected a terrible altar.

"I told you you'd pay me, Sole!" the man yells angrily while igniting more fire under Mason.

Sole then realizes that the entire area has been taken over by Minutemen. Damn! He believed he had confined them to their silly castle, but it appears that they have returned in force.

"You know what, Porter?"

"Yes boss?"

"We'll finish this conversation later."

MacCready : Sole pays close attention to MacCready. The mercenary casts an interested gaze their way.

"I have something in my face?"

"Nope. I'm just curious why you didn't leave."

The mercenary with the rat's face smiles with all his rotten teeth.

He replayed the conversation in his thoughts over and again.

Sole carried Mac through the twists and turns of a hidden and forgotten vault, where they fought radscorpions, mirelurks (including a Queen mirelurk), and ghouls, the worst of which who was not feral. They have since established their camp in the main cave, waiting for the sunrise to return to the surface.

To be honest, Mac isn't in any rush to get back up. He never feels better than when he has a good granite sky on his head, but he knows they can't stay confined in the bowels of this hill forever.

The Commonwealth will be expecting them.

And there is a child waiting for him near the Capital Wasteland, assigned to the care of trusted people. Butch and the Tunnel Snakes will offer their life to save his son if necessary, and they will at first not take any unnecessary risks that could imperil him. This is what allows Mac to postpone his triumphal return to Duncan, who is undoubtedly on the mend.

Healing thanks to the help of Sole.

Sole glances at him now, puzzled as to why he is still there.

And the answer, he knows it by heart, having processed it in his thoughts over and over since he found it. Why is he still present? For the one only reason that could exist.

"Listen to me carefully, Sole. What I want to say is delicate, and I don't want to... It's difficult for me to talk to you about this, but I understand you should question my decision."

"A little, yes. If I had the opportunity to be with my son, I would not procrastinate as much."

Mac takes his time swallowing. Yes, it was far more delicate than he had imagined. He didn't count Sole's struggle to find their own kid... and the heartbreaking defeat they experienced along the way.

"Exactly. I don't believe I have the right to forsake you. Not right now. Not after everything you've done for me. No, especially in a situation when you need someone by your side."

"What greatness of soul for a mercenary."

MacCready straightens and swallows sideways.

"How could you!? You know that — argh! — I gave back your caps!"

"And I told you you could keep it."

"Do you really think my motivation is still just money?"

"No." The tone of his friend confuses Mac. He raises his eyebrow, and Sole makes a hand gesture. "So, you tell me, what's so important?"

"Yes. What I was trying to say to you was that-

"Not all ghouls are dead."

"Sorry?"

"Not all ghouls are dead!"

Sole leaps to his feet before Mac notice the abrupt change in the speech. Then he realizes at the same time that Sole fires his first shot. He retrieves his trustworthy Mighty and begins to shoot himself.

It is a true horde that falls on them, and they are in a big cave on absolutely flat land, the fools, the lethal sea forthcoming on them despite the accuracy of their guns. Three ghouls appear to replace each one that dies.

Sole and Mac, surrounded and besieged, realize their horrible mistake.

Their one and only, but fatal, mistake.

Piper : The reporter speaks to them as they approach a settlement.

"Hello! I have a few questions about the living conditions in the colony; would you be willing to answer them?"

Sole takes a step back. They have to repair a water purifier at Sturges' request, and they don't want to interfere with Piper's work on her new article, "Life in the Commonwealth with the Return of the Minutemen." This is, at the very least, the first draft. Piper wishes to develop a more enticing title and believes she can do so by researching the backdrop of her article.

Sole approved all along.

This is the best plan of action concerning Piper. Approve immediately before she launches into an argument about the advantages and disadvantages of her point of view. Her conversation is already something; if she believes she needs to persuade her interlocutor, it could run all day.

Quite strangely, the purifier's filter has become clogged from the inside. Because the duct is too tiny, Sole is unable to reach it. To see what is causing the blockage, they must disassemble a large piece of the devices. As the day is already well begun, they proceed immediately.

Piper returns after around ten minutes to see how they are.

"Hmf. Everyone declines my interview requests. I expected everyone to be overjoyed to be in the next issue, but they're all too busy."

"Take it back tonight at the bar when they're done with their chores," Sole suggests, gripping his wrench, which refuses to loosen the shaft.

"Wait a minute, that's a fantastic idea. They will definitely be even more ready to comply if my incredibly popular acquaintance additionally offers a few caps to pay for the round."

Sole chuckles, despite the fact that they are losing patience after the obstinate piece.

"You know I'd do anything for you, sweetheart."

"What a charmer," says the reporter, blushing.

But Sole's motivation is more selfish than making Piper blush. Every time they told her something in this taste, she reddened, stammered, and eventually shut up. They must concentrate if they don't want to twist the rotor situate under the duct or damage the nets, which would necessitate some redoing, and all of the required gear is in Sanctuary. During this break, they renew their focus to their given task.

Piper, on the other hand, is in a completely different mindset. She coughs briefly to regain their interest. They grunt to indicate that they are paying attention and modify their position to change the pressure point.

"You know, Sole, I've been wanting to talk to you about something a little tricky for a while."

"Not really your way of going in circles," Sole grumbles, thrusting their tool.

"No, I confess, but it's something that, let's say, is difficult to discuss."

"I didn't think there was anything too tough for you to discuss," they groan before throwing all of their weight on the tool to give it one last push.

"It's actually a very personal matter. So, if it's not too problematic..."

"But keep going!" Sole attempts to remain calm as they begin to feel the piece shift.

"I just wanted to let you know that all this time we've been rummaging together, I know it was not easy, I was not easy, and many don't really like me."

They eventually get their hands into the conduit to find the obstruction.

"But I'm quite pleased with you. More than just content. You never seem to get tired of my little crazy... I must admit... I do feel that—

"A MINE!" yells Sole, vigorously shoving Piper away as the entire purifier erupts out of its cement block, taking Sole's arm and a significant chunk of what should have been connected to Sole's arm with him.

Piper, out of breath and on her back, worries of the fire and blood that fly in all directions and then fall all around her. She has no idea if she is injured; she is absolutely frightened.

#fallout 4 #fallout #fallout 4 companions #fo4 #fallout companions #fallout 4 reactions #fallout 4 react #sole survivor #porter gage #fo4 maccready #fallout maccready #maccready #rj maccready #robert joseph maccready #piper wright #fallout piper #piper

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