#if he wants to grab danse and make out and just walk away and know its his decision. then he will bc hes the one in control | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years ago

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Male!Companions react to waking up alone after spending the night with Sole.

Hey all! So, just a heads up, I’m also working on this prompt for the Female!Companions for FO4, and also a bunch of companions from FONV and FO3, but if you have any specific requests or want me to add anyone, just let me know! Sorry this is so damn long, but I hope you all enjoy!

Also, there is a bit of angst in here with some mentions of suicidal thoughts, so just a heads up on that!

P.S. If you’re one of the lovely folks who has sent me an ask, I am currently working on writing them up and I will definitely get them out as soon as I can, I just really like the prompts y’all gave me and I want to do them justice :)

Danse:

Danse sat up with a start, immediately trying to gain his bearings, only to find himself still in the bunker, in his own bed. He let out a shaky breath, still dazed from the heavy sleep that had claimed him. It had been years since he'd slept like that, the last time he recalled sleeping so peacefully was when he was stationed at the Citadel in the Capital Wasteland. Even more than that, he had barely slept at all since discovering his true identity. Danse shook his head, trying to clear it of its sleepy fog, he went to rub his eyes, and he felt his heartbeat increase tenfold as the memories of his night with you came flooding to the forefront of his mind. Even now he felt the heat of a blush rushing to his cheeks. He turned his head, expecting to see your peacefully sleeping form on the mattress beside him. When he didn't, he wasn't sure what to do. Immediately, a slew of emotions and thoughts ran through him, ranging from shame, to panic, to anger, and most of all, hurt. Before he allowed himself to arrive at any premature conclusions, Danse called out for you, looking around the room. Nothing. He stood up, holding the blankets around his waist to conceal himself as he made his way to the hole in the wall that allowed him to peer into the other section of the bunker. Still nothing. The slew of contradicting emotions bubbled up again, leaving him feeling slightly numb. He stood there, just staring, trying to grasp a hold of any clear thought, but they were inadvertently tumbling into his consciousness at an alarming rate.

All at once, one feeling prevailed over the others, and Danse found himself feeling extraordinarily guilty. Guilty for agreeing to last night, for jeopardizing his friendship with the one person he had left in his life by greedily pushing too far. What right did he have to you and your feelings anyway, when his weren't even real? The pain of being deserted by you was overshadowed by the knowledge that he didn't deserve you in the first place. Even when he thought he was human, he had trouble rationalizing his feelings for you, thinking you deserved better than someone like him. Someone as hard headed, as inexperienced, and emotionally ignorant as he was. But now? Now, he wondered why you even bothered to waste any of your time on him, even just as his partner, when it was proven that he's nothing but a machine. Why had you even suggested last night, when you knew the truth about him?

He simply couldn’t understand it. Why had you allowed him to be with you in such a way? To be with you so intimately? Why had you allowed him to touch you so invasively? Why had you spoken to him so softly, so earnestly? How could your gaze have been so full of admiration, of love? He was a goddamn machine, and you’d let him share a bed with you, make love to you. He didn’t even know what love was, didn’t know if it was possible for him to even feel it; and yet, you’d been more open with him than he had been with anyone before. And he wasn’t even human. He was at a complete and utter loss for any form of explanation or reasoning behind your actions.

Danse stood alone in the bunker, staring ahead with brows furrowed low at no single thought in particular. It was then that he realized his heart was still beating out of his chest, he took a deep breath, and prepared himself to leave the bunker in search of you. Because, even now, when you were at the center of his feelings of uncertainty, of guilt, of hurt, he still felt the need to seek the counsel of the one person left he could truly trust, the one whose opinions he had sought in the darkest hours of his existence. He needed you.

More than that, he needed to make sure you were safe. At least that's what he told himself as he dressed, donning his power armor, before he rode the elevator up to the surface, his iron-clad hands clenching tightly as he gripped his laser rifle.

As Danse arrived at the surface, he noted the sunlight bursting through the lone window of the bunker, indicating how late he'd slept in, and he mentally kicked himself for his irresponsibility. If he had woken at his usual hour, would you have still been beside him? Perhaps he could've spoken to you before you left, encouraged you to hear him out, begged you to stay with him. Even just as a friend, just as a partner. He felt he simply couldn’t cope with the loss of you, of the security that you provided him.

Danse shook his head in an attempt to banish these useless thoughts from his mind. He couldn't control the past, he had to keep looking forward. With that, he crossed the threshold out into the Commonwealth.

Danse returned to the bunker a few hours before sundown, feeling utterly at a loss, he'd been everywhere he could reach, everywhere you could've gone in the period of time you had had to get there. He checked every house, farm, settlement… everything in the bunker's vicinity. His limbs felt weak and numb as he approached the entrance to the bunker. He could feel heat rising up in his face as his chest ached. He felt like he needed to hit something. Tears of frustration and dejection threatened to spill over, and he brought a gloved hand up to roughly wipe away the first drop that fell. Though, through the blur of wetness, he spotted a silhouette in the doorway ahead of him.

"Where the hell have you been?!" You shouted, running from the bunker and straight into Danse's arms. For a moment, he remained still, unable to reciprocate your relief in his state of utter shock. In the next instance, his rifle fell from his grip and he was wrapping his arms around you, as tightly as he could without injuring you.

"I believe I could ask you the same question, soldier." Danse said, willing his voice to remain stable. You pulled away so that you could look up at him, your expression one of confusion,

"I thought I told you last night. I had to go to Greentop nursery in the morning and talk to the settlers about their mutant problem." He blinked at you in surprise. At least, you thought you had told him, but maybe it had slipped your mind. It didn't surprise you, given last night's activities.

"But… Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because Danse, I've never seen you sleep in, I wanted you to get some rest for once."

"I would have rather been with you." He said quietly. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued,

"It was irresponsible of you to leave me uninformed, you should have woken me. You scared me, Sole. I thought…" he took a quick breath to steady his voice, "I don't know what I thought. I woke up and you were gone, I wasn't sure if you were in danger, or if you were angry with me, or whether or not you even meant to return."

"Danse, of course I was going to come back, I just didn't expect you to be gone when I did."

"And for that, I apologize. However, I implore you to understand--"

"Danse. It's okay, we're both here now, we're both safe. And I don't know about you, but I'm starving. C'mon." You turned towards the bunker and went to make your way inside. Danse stood a moment, watching you walk away. Feeling began slowly returning to his limbs, and for the first time all day, his heartbeat slowed to its normal rate. He reached down to pick up his rifle, a small smile spreading across his lips as he moved to follow you back into the bunker.

Deacon:

Deacon opened his eyes, only to immediately close them again, as the bright morning sun showed through the windows of Ticonderoga safehouse, and directly into his retinas.

“Damn,” He said, reaching over to grab for his shades from beside the mattress. Once they were placed onto his face, he decided it would be safe to open his eyes once again. Deacon groaned as he rolled his shoulders, and sat up, stretching his arms overhead.

God, he felt good. The tightness of his muscles serving as a reminder of the… ahem, events of last night. Last night, with you. How the hell had that happened? He almost couldn’t believe it. After so many years of being alone, of feeling emotionally inept, and unable to move on. Here you came, seemingly out of some sci-fi novel, with your futuristic, time-traveling backstory, and inhuman good looks, and for some reason, you’d thought he was, of all things, cute. That was the word you had used, he remembered it vividly, and of course he had feigned being annoyed by the use of the word to describe him, but in reality? He adored the fact that you thought so. No one had ever referred to him as such, and the fact that it confirmed you reciprocated the feelings he had for you; that was truly extraordinary. These feelings that he had tried so desperately to bury deep down, where they couldn’t meddle with your friendship, or your professional relationship, or his own crippling fear of being committed to someone again (given how well it went the first time). Now, he barely understood why he had tried so hard to snuff out his emotions if this was one of the possible outcomes of revealing them to you. He never dreamed that you could have returned the affection he had for you. However, if last night was any kind of indicator… yeah, he’d say the two of you had pretty strong feelings indeed.

At least, that’s what he had thought. Until he turned to you excitedly, looking to see if you had woken yet, and found your spot next to him quite empty. His jaw clenched at the sight, but he took a breath and resolved himself to looking around the safehouse for your belongings. His teeth worried anxiously against the inside of his cheek as he noticed the distinct absence of anything belonging to you. Deacon stood in the middle of the safehouse, bringing his hands up to roughly rub at his face.

“God dammit.” He said aloud, unable to keep something from escaping him. Deacon liked to think he had a good bit of self control, it came with the job after all, a spy with no sense of restraint and proper judgment didn't live very long. However, you had this way of making him forget everything he thought he knew about himself. There he was last night, doing the one thing he vowed he'd never do again. Falling for someone. Him! Deacon, the immature, sarcastic, dishonest, and unemotional agent of the railroad; and here he was, head over heels for a widowed, pre-war saint like you. What a pair you two would have made.

I suppose it really was too good to be true. He thought bitterly.

Deacon grabbed his things and set off into the Commonwealth without so much as a glance over his shoulder. He stared dead ahead, refusing to address the pressure he felt in his chest. Trying desperately to maintain his cool and unbothered exterior, to remain the type of person he was before he'd met you. He always knew he could change the way he looked in a day or less, but the way you'd changed his perspective of the world, of his place in it, and his future? He didn't think you could have changed who he'd turned out to be if you had all the time in the world. Deacon was firmly set in his ways, so much so, that even he couldn't change who he was. No matter how much he despised himself at times. But man, had he been wrong, all the disguises in the world couldn't mask the fact that, for the first time in years, Deacon had a priority in his life besides the railroad, and besides himself. And that scared the shit out of him.

Now he wasn't really sure what to think. If you had simply wanted nothing more than a one-night stand, you could have just told him so. At least then he would’ve been prepared for this shit. For you leaving him, seemingly without a second thought.

The sniper shook his head roughly as he kicked up the dust of the wasteland, his footfalls much heavier than they had any business being. He always had prided himself at being a good judge of character, at being intuitive, but he never would have expected something like this from someone like you. Someone who cared about the happiness of everyone else more than their own well-being, someone who was kind, and selfless, and empathetic, someone who constantly put their own life at risk for the benefit of complete strangers. Sure, he did that occasionally, but his life was worth a hell of a lot less. You were a good person, and always had been. From the moment he saw you, everything he heard about you, all of it pointed to the fact that you, even after all you’d lost, after everything you endured, you were a better person than he could ever hope to be. And now, for you to do this to him? It was completely out of character. Whatever, he thought, if this is all you wanted from me, then fine. It's all you're going to get.

As he approached the Old North Church, Deacon mentally prepared himself for the possibility that you too would be at the Railroad headquarters. He decided to simply not acknowledge your… ordeal, and act as though nothing had changed. Though, if Deacon was honest (which he rarely ever was), he would rather not have you as his partner anymore. With the way he was feeling-- the way he had once felt about you, it would be too complicated. He didn’t need complicated. The railroad missions provided enough of that.

He entered HQ quietly, and mulled about, visiting with the others and picking up missions left and right in an effort to acquire enough distractions to keep him out of the church for as long as possible. He figured that way, the likelihood of bumping into you would be decreased enough for him to get a handle on himself before having to face you. But, of course, his plans were all for naught, he realized as you stormed into the catacombs, your glowering eyes falling directly to the bald sniper in the corner of the room; the sniper who was trying desperately to make himself seem distracted as he felt your eyes burning into the back of his head. At least you had the decency to lower your voice as you approached him,

“Deacon!” You hissed, shouting his name as quietly as one could shout.

He continued staring at the blackboard, a hand at his chin as he feigned interest in what was written there.

“What the hell?” You asked, taking another step towards him, close enough that he could feel your hot breath on his cheek.

“Hmm? Something wrong?” He asked, turning his head towards you while his eyes stayed glued to the board in front of him. You took a step back, and the next thing he knew, you had extended your hand forcefully towards his face, leaving a stinging red mark imprinted on his cheek in its wake. Deacon’s head snapped back towards the blackboard at the power of your blow, his sunglasses barely managing to hang onto his face by the bridge of his nose.

I’m not sure if I deserved that or not…

He brought his own hand up to rub the spot you had just slapped, finally letting his eyes meet yours from beneath his crooked shades. He nearly gasped at your expression. Your eyebrows were knitted together above your tear-filled eyes, your mouth a straight line as your chin trembled slightly. He’d say you looked sad, but behind your eyes, all he could see was fire. The same fire he’d felt when he saw that you had deserted him that morning. Or, at least, when he thought you’d deserted him.

Almost without thinking, Deacon grabbed your hand and dragged you back to the more private area of the railroad HQ. Despite your clear vexation with him, you allowed him to lead you to the back of the church catacombs, near the emergency exit.

“Alright, you finally ready to explain yourself?” You asked, wrenching your hand from his grasp.

“Me? I’m pretty sure it was you who walked out on me, and who just slapped me in the face for asking a simple question.” Your nostrils flared at that and for a moment, Deacon thought you were going to do something violent again.

“Okay, look, I know I’ve fallen for your lies before, but I think it’s pretty damn ridiculous for you to think that I’ll believe this one. I was there, Deacon! You left me. You took all your shit and left me alone at the safehouse. I don’t care what happened the night before, even if it was awful for you, or awkward for you to see me in that way, or whatever, you still don’t abandon your partner. We agreed to that the moment I became an agent.”

Deacon’s jaw dropped to his chest at his realization, and your accusation. He had left you? When? How? When was he supposed to find that out?

“Look, Sole, I’m a liar, I’ll give you that. But I’m a good one,” you rolled your eyes at him, a scoff sounding from your throat, “so, I wouldn’t even attempt to lie to you if I could see that you absolutely knew the truth.”

“God, if you’ve got a point, make it, asshole.”

“Ouchies, no need for name calling there, slappy. I’m just trying to figure out the miscommunication issue we’ve got going on here.” You glared at him, and he was forced to continue.

“The truth is,” Deacon looked down at the floor as he spoke softly to you, feeling as though the words were being wrenched from his throat, “I only left because I thought you had first. I woke up, and you were gone. Your things were gone. I thought that was it, that you were done with our… partnership. Done with me. And hey, I can’t say I’d blame you. Especially if you’d really think I could just up and leave after spending a night like that with you.”

“Oh.” you whispered, before trying to explain yourself, “I wasn’t-- I didn’t just leave, I mean, I went up to give High Rise the MILA for Tom. I was gone for five minutes, Deacon. I was coming right back.” The two of you stood a moment, as realization washed over you. And a bit of regret, too. And a sprinkle of foolishness.

Finally, he brought his gaze up to meet your eyes. Hoping his apology was as evident on his face as it was on yours. You brought your hand to his cheek, soothing over the angry red mark that you had left earlier, and Deacon flinched slightly at your touch, his eyes falling once again to the floor.

“It really only took you five minutes to think that I had left you?” You asked gently, the anger that had once been prevalent in your voice dissolving into concern. Deacon chuckled dryly.

“Haven’t I taught you anything? When you assume the worst, it’s a lot harder to be disappointed.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But I bet it makes it all the better when you find out you were wrong.” Deacon smiled weakly at you, shaking his head.

“Yeah, no. I’m not seeing the appeal in being wrong just yet.” The hand that still rested on his cheek slid to the back of his neck, grasping firmly as you pulled his face towards yours. The pressure of your brow displaced Deacon’s shades as you crashed your lips into his. He toppled backwards against the wall of the catacombs as you pressed more forcefully into him, his arms falling behind him to steady himself against the cold brick, as your unoccupied hand slunk up to his chest, keeping him pinned between you and the wall. You pulled your head back, but kept your hands in place as you murmured,

“What about now?”

“Hmm?” Deacon’s ginger eyebrows raised above his glasses as his mind went blank. You cocked an eyebrow at him, a smirk forming on your face.

“Oh, right. I suppose so. Though, I think I’m gonna need a few reminders every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” you mused, “I think that can be arranged.”

Hancock:

The ghoul awoke with a purr, stretching one ruined arm out to blindly search for your sleeping body. He distinctly remembered curling up with you wrapped tight in his embrace before lulling off into the best sleep he's had in years. For the first time in months he didn't have the nagging ache of wishing you were pressed against him as he settled in for the night. The thoughts of you lying so close but so painfully out of reach were finally pushed from his head to make room for the sheer bliss of being able to touch you, to feel your unbelievably soft skin, to breathe in your sweet scent and relish in the closeness of your body against his.

That was of course, until this morning. Hancock opened his eyes lazily, his dark gaze sweeping over the mess of bed sheets and pillows that littered the plush mattress. The sight of the disheveled blankets bringing back heated memories of last night. Before his brow furrowed at the realization of the current situation he found himself in. Hancock slowly rose from the bed, his dark eyes searching the surrounding room for any sign of you. He found his trousers, his hat, his coat... but nothing of yours remained where they had been tossed last night. If Hancock had a nose, it would have been curling alongside the rest of his scrunched up face as he thought of you leaving in such a hurry this morning. Hancock felt a pain in his chest and immediately craved a hit of something, anything, to numb the hollow feeling that began spreading through his body.

Sunlight shone through the windows of the old state house, the beams of light diffused by the ringlets of smoke rising from the ghoul's mouth as he took yet another hit of jet, trying hard to keep his mind blank, but inevitably failing as his thoughts returned to last night's events. Coming almost in slow motion, he picked apart every movement; every touch, kiss, lick, and caress, nitpicking every action he had made and thinking about what he might've done to warrant your desertion of him. But deep down, he knew that his actions mattered little. You had assured him on numerous occasions that him being a ghoul didn't bother you, but you had never really seen him before. Not in the way you saw him last night. Had never felt his rough skin on yours, had never run your hands up his ravaged body, the softness of your touch only amplifying the harshness of his own leathery flesh. You had never uncovered the gross discoloration of his radiation-ravaged body. But last night, you had finally gotten a good, long look. And here he was, thinking that you of all people could’ve seen past that. You had been able to forgive him for his past, after all. Hadn’t you? But maybe that had been part of it too. Maybe you’d finally realized all that he really was. A reckless and cowardly poor excuse for a man, who spends his life in a haze of delirium rather than facing the pain of being alive. A pain that he had inflicted upon himself to break away from that same self-righteous fog that he’d found himself in in the first place. It’s no wonder you’re gone. Maybe you were never even really here. Maybe you were just another daydream of his, just another hallucination. God, if that was the case, he didn’t even know what he would do. After having you so close, being with you like this? He didn’t really see the point in living without you.

Hancock sighed heavily at the thought. He didn't know how long he sat simply thinking, his perception of time temporarily altered by the jet, but he had to do something to alleviate this torture, and if chems wouldn't do it... well....

"I need some air," he rasped aloud as he stood and headed for the balcony, donning his coat and hat on his way out. The mayor had to keep up appearances, after all.

He almost didn't see you as he stepped through the door, the way you leaned out against the rail, eyes closed, a soft, beautiful smile playing at your plush lips. Hancock could've stared at you until the world around him turned to dust, but you moved long before that musing could come to reality. Turning to look at him, your smile brightened further, and Hancock couldn't keep himself from touching you. He grabbed one of your hands in his, using his other to caress your pink-dusted cheek, affirming that you truly were physically there, standing in front of him.

"And what were you doing out here all by your lonesome? Trying to give a ghoul a little taste of heartbreak?" You let out a soft laugh,

"No, sweetheart," you called him affectionately, leaning into his light touch upon your cheek, "I thought that you would sleep longer. I just wanted to get out and enjoy some sunshine." You turned once again towards the morning sun, the rays highlighting every one of your perfect features. Hancock beamed at the sight of you, before turning and looking out at his city in thought,

"Hmm," he mused, "Sunshine, huh?"

MacCready:

MacCready had been lying on his back for a while now, staring at the crumbling ceiling of the dingy little room at the hotel Rexford. This certainly hadn’t been his idea of an ideal location for your first time together, but who was he to complain? It was safe, and private, and it had been a damn good night. But he’d been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, waiting for you to stir. He’d thought it was odd, given the fact that you always woke up first when the two of you traveled together, but he’d like to think you hadn’t yet stirred because of the way he had exhausted you last night, his chest puffed out at the thought of it and he let out a contented sigh. The thoughts of your night together spilled into his consciousness, and he stretched out his arms in front of him, snickering slightly at the soreness of his body, and suddenly, he couldn’t wait for you any longer.

“Geeze, you awake yet, sleepyhead?” MacCready rolled onto his side to face the lump under the covers. He ran his hand over the mattress, over to you, but as he reached the lump beneath the blankets, all he felt was plushness. He withdrew the covers from atop you, only to find… pillows? Just a pillow, and a blanket. MacCready’s body spasmed as he jolted out from under the covers on his side of the bed, his head flying from side to side as he looked for you.

“Sole?” He cocked an eyebrow at the empty hotel room, and as he noticed your absence, his expression quickly changed from confusion to one of anger. You had left? But why? Had he done something wrong? He didn’t think so… but maybe he just... wasn’t everything you expected from him. Feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach, MacCready climbed from the bed, grabbing his trousers from the floor and stomping around the room in pursuit of the remainder of his clothes, not failing to notice how everything belonging to you was no longer in the room either. Heat rose to MacCready’s face as he pulled on his duster, but he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, or anger, or heartache, or some combination thereof.

What the heck? He thought, you were the one to suggest doing this, why would you do that if you were just gonna leave me like this? Right when MacCready had thought he’d found the one. The person who could help him move on from Lucy after everything he’d been through. You were perfect, not just for him, but for Duncan too. You were selfless, and kind, compassionate, resourceful, sometimes you were a bit of a sarcastic ass, but he loved that about you. You were a parent and a spouse, just like he had been. You were both lost, and broken when you found each other, just a couple halves that had made each other whole. You were his future... Or so he’d thought. But who was he kidding? You were so out of his league, the two of you weren’t even playing the same damn sport. He should’ve known this would be the outcome. But then, why the heck did you let it go this far? Sure, he was the one who had poured all of his feelings out onto the table, but he didn’t know what he’d expected you to do. He just felt like he would explode if he held them in any longer, especially when the two of you spent so much time together. He saw you every damn day, and all he wanted to do was hold your hand, he wanted to sleep beside you and hold onto you through the night, to have you run your fingers through his hair and tell him that you felt the same way. MacCready never imagined you’d do something like this to him, never thought you’d get his hopes up, dangling the future he'd always dreamed of having right in his face before ruthlessly snatching it away.

He rolled his eyes at his own ridiculous train of thought and groaned as he bent down to grab his rifle.

“At least you paid for the room up front.” he mumbled as he placed his hat on his head and made his way to the door.

MacCready’s footsteps fell heavily onto each stair as he headed down to the lobby, wondering where he’d go from there. He considered going and looking for you, but what was the point? Clearly if you wanted to see him, you wouldn’t have freakin left. Was he really petty enough to seek you out just to tell you how messed up it was that you’d left him the way that you did? Maybe… but he needed a drink first. To the Third Rail it was, then. What was it, 10am? He could drink at 10am. He could do whatever the heck he wanted, especially now that you were gone.

MacCready reached the bottom of the stairs, looking straight past the small crowd of people that were gathered in the lobby as he made his way to the exit. Just as his hand reached the door, he heard his name being shouted. His body shuddered at the sound of your voice, and he stood stock straight as he decided what to do. One fist clenched as the other hand pushed the door open and he crossed the threshold into Goodneighbor. The door never closed behind him, and he felt an iron grip on his forearm as he tried to head towards the Third Rail.

“Ow, hey!” He spun to face you, face slightly contorted in his confusion. What was he supposed to think now? He was still angry and hurt, but should he be? Ugh.

“Wait, Mac. I know how it must’ve looked, but really, it’s just a misunderstanding.” He stared at you, his deep blue eyes clouded with suspicion. He didn’t say a word, not wanting to ruin anything by making false assumptions or accusations. Instead, he waited for you to explain, wrenching his wrist from your grip as he folded his arms over his chest.

Before you could continue, Rufus came up from behind, asking quietly if he could go through the doors.

“Come on,” you urged, “let’s get out of the doorway.” You herded MacCready to one of the couches in the lobby, seating yourself next to him.

“Alright. Explain.” He said, brows still furrowed. You almost snickered at how put-out the sniper seemed. You couldn’t quite tell if it was an act or not, but knowing MacCready… yeah, probably not an act.

“Rufus was having some trouble with Drinkin’ Buddy.” You told him, “The bot shut down and no one could get him to turn on again. This morning, some sort of warning light started flashing, so he came up and asked if I could help him fix it. I would’ve asked you to come along, but you were still asleep, and I know how you hate being woken up…” You trailed off, waiting for him to say something in response.

Man, MacCready felt moronic. Why had he been so quick to assume the worst? Okay, maybe not the worst, the worst would’ve been… Well, that’s not important. He shook his head, finally letting himself breathe deeply again.

“You sure that was it?” He asked, uncertainty coating his tone as he narrowed his eyes at you.

You leaned forward, smoothing a hand up his chest to the back of his neck as you brought your lips to his. Your fingers fiddled with the hair at the base of his neck and held him to you as your mouth moved against his, trying to answer his question without having to use your words. This was better, anyway. You felt a hand move to your waist as he relaxed into the kiss, his strong grip pulling you nearly into his lap as he returned your fervor. Only when you needed air did you pull back from him, your heartbeat still racing as you watched his gorgeous eyes flutter open.

“Did that answer your question?” You asked cheekily. He smiled, face still pink from the heat of your kiss.

“I don’t know, boss, I may still need some more, ah, reassuring.” You snickered at that, and glanced back at Clair’s desk.

“Any more convincing and we may need that room again. You think if we go now, we won’t have to pay the hotel for a second day?”

God, I think I’m in love. MacCready thought as he nodded to you, a boyish grin spreading across his lips. At that, both of you scrambled off of the couch, quickly making your way towards the stairs and up to the hotel room.

Nick:

The synth didn't sleep, but he didn't mind it. He stayed awake beside you in bed, replaying memories of the night over and over in his mind. Although he wasn't sure how comfortable it could be, he had his arms curled around you, holding you tightly to his synthetic chest while the memories of his favorite night (in either of his lifetimes) were running through his mind. You snored softly in his embrace, utterly at peace, as he gazed affectionately at your soft features. Nick didn't often feel blissful, and he never would've imagined himself in this situation, being completely content with the person he admired, and adored so adamantly, safely wrapped in his arms. He should've known it wouldn't last.

Without a sound, he felt as you slowly and gently pried his arms off of your body, climbing off of the shared mattress. Nick figured that you would give him an explanation; perhaps once you were out of bed? When you went to go and dress yourself? Before walking through the door? But you were silent throughout, even as he heard the door click shut behind you. Nick closed his eyes tightly, sighing to himself and wondering if the pain in his chest was substantial enough to cause him to short circuit. What had he done wrong? Even if it was nothing, he would understand why you had left. Even at his best, Nick could hardly amount to what any average human could give you, and he could never give you everything you wanted. Everything you needed, and deserved. He wasn't real. So he wouldn't blame you for leaving, hell, if he hadn't been so caught up in his own blissful feelings, he might've encouraged you to go. And he had, before last night had truly begun, he recalled asking you if he was what you really wanted. Then, you had seemed so eager, almost laughing at the thought that he couldn't be enough, after all this time the two of you had spent together, and all your pining over him. These thoughts circled through the synth's mind as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He willed himself to grab a file and get to work, to do something, anything, to distract himself from the pain, but it was as though the weight in his chest was too much to bear. The height of his earlier high only amplifying the depths of his current low.

Every attempt to look through a case file was a failure, his yellow eyes roaming the first few lines of writing before his mind drifted off. To thoughts of where you could have gone, whether or not you would come back, and thoughts of last night. At the way you made his pistons fire at triple times their normal rate, the way you made his metal heart flutter in his chest, and the way you had come so beautifully undone in his arms. That was it. The moment he needed to remember for the rest of his days on this ruined earth. At that very moment, nothing else seemed to matter. He was sure he'd been foolish before, thinking you could never care for him in such a way. How foolish he'd felt then... it was nothing compared to now. The synth brought his metallic hands up to his face, the tips of his fingers displacing the worn hat on his head. He imagined tears flowing from beneath the heels of his hands as he dug them into his eye sockets, but of course none came. Would that have been acceptable? If he had been able to shed real tears, like a real human being, would you have stayed after last night? If he had been able--

The door to the agency burst open at that moment, interrupting the old detective's thoughts, and sending his head shooting back to see who had busted in so aggressively, his hat flying from its usual place atop his head.

The fact that the synth couldn't breathe didn't matter in this moment as he huffed a massive sigh of relief at the glorious sight of you, the light of the early morning sun casting a warm glow around your body.

"Oh doll..." the words escaped him as a smile began to spread across his synthetic lips, "for a moment there, I thought you were an angel." You giggled at that, your flushed smile causing the whirring in his chest to increase exponentially.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, I was just about to open up a missing person's case on ya." You finally closed the door and made your way to his desk, leaning down to give his cheek a chaste kiss as you smoothed your hand over his chest, stopping to grab at his tie and pull him up towards you.

"Always the professional, hmm detective?" You smirked at him and he gave you a crooked smile before bringing his good hand up to stroke his thumb over one of your soft cheeks.

"Although," you continued, teasingly bending down to pick his hat up from the floor, "your uniform doesn’t seem to be up to the usual standards."

"Oh? Is that what you think?" He said, reaching for the hat before you held it behind your back, a mischievous grin forming on your lips,

"Sure is. You don't have your hat.”

“Oh? And whose fault is that?” He interjected playfully.

“And” you continued, “look at this coat, full of rips. It’s practically in shambles." you ran a finger down his side, allowing the tip of your fingernail to catch at the tiny holes littering the worn fabric.

"Hey now, my coat's always looked like that. You didn't seem to find fault in it when you were cold last night." You shook your head,

"Nope, I'm sorry Mr. Valentine, it's all in disarray, I'm afraid we'll just have to scrap the whole thing."

"Well now, if that’s what you were after, you could've just told me, darling. No need to insult--" His sentence remained unfinished as you tightened your grip on his tie, pulling him in for a kiss that was anything but chaste. He had so many questions left unanswered, but for reasons unknown, he couldn't seem to think of a single coherent inquiry to voice to you in this instance. Looks like it will just have to wait until later.

Preston:

Preston felt uneasy. His eyes had opened slowly when he had awoken, his heartbeat had remained consistently calm, dapples of sunlight shone through the holes in the curtains beside the bed, indicating that he had slept through the night. Why did everything feel so… so peaceful? No nightmares, no panic attacks, the usual insomnia Preston tended to face in the wee hours of the morning had never reared its infuriating head.

Then he remembered.

It was all because of you. Amazing, incredible, infallible, irresistible you. Heat flooded to his face as a coy smile touched his lips. Suddenly, he felt he had to be near you, he had to see you to believe what his mind told him had happened last night.

“Mhm, good morning," he sighed, as he turned to face your side of the bed, "how are you-- ?" Preston's eyebrows creased as he noticed your absence, his voice trailing off as he realized his question had no recipient.

"Sole?" He sat up, rubbing his awakening eyes before glancing around the room of your Sanctuary house.

"Sole?!" Preston said, louder than the first time. Perhaps you had simply gone to the washroom? Or to the kitchen maybe? Rising from the bed, Preston fetched his trousers from the pile of clothes that rested at the foot of the bed, trying not to dwell too much on the thoughts that it inspired.

But... only my clothes are here. He reflected, feeling a pang in his chest, before reminding himself that you might want to be clothed, wherever you’d gone, even if it was just in your own house. He released a bit of his anxiety in a quick breath, before heading for the bedroom door, he opened it gingerly, glancing down the hallway before making his way to each of the rooms in search of you. He did so slowly, hesitantly, in fear of what he might find. Or, rather, afraid of what he wouldn't find.

Preston stood in the empty kitchen, numb, his fear utterly realized. He collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table, afraid to let himself think, but unable to do anything else in his current state. Why, why, why did he have to act on his feelings for you? He just had to tell you how you made him feel, he had to be vulnerable and had to “put himself out there.” He just had to be intimate with you, he had to ruin everything. Why couldn’t he have just been happy with the way things were, with you as his friend? There he was, his life in danger, unable to help the people who needed him most, the Minutemen in complete disarray after having failed those they vowed to protect, and there you were. Here to save their asses, to turn his disaster of a life into one full of hope, full of light, and now, you were gone. You had left because he was an inarticulate, inexperienced, greedy, fool of a man who couldn't keep his mouth shut and just settle for having you as his general, and as his best friend. Why had he needed more? He didn't deserve more, not with you, hell, the whole damn world didn't deserve you, so how did he ever think you could want to be with him?

But you told me you did. You said you cared about me and-- No. Actions speak louder than words, and your absence after the first night you two had spent together… that spoke volumes.

Maybe you finally realized that I'm nothing special. Not compared to you. Maybe you realized that, next to you, and without you, I'm nothing at all. Preston balled a fist and pounded it weakly against your worn kitchen table, the dull thud resounding through the empty house. He sighed, sliding the chair back with a groan as he rose to his feet, heading once again to the back of the house. Entering your room without you felt like a crime, but he figured he might as well remove his things, and put on the remainder of his clothes, before leaving.

He stared down at the pile of tousled fabric at the foot of the bed, slowly untangling each individual article, secretly hoping that, if he took long enough, you would eventually make your way back into the room. That you would give him some inconsequential excuse for your absence, and he could forget all of the confusion and uncertainty of the morning. As Preston gingerly began to re-dress himself, thoughts came unbidden to the forefront of his mind. The way your soft, gentle fingers had undone each of the buttons of his shirt, the pressure tickling his neck, then his chest, down his stomach to his naval, your hands wasting no time as they moved upward to push the silky material off over his shoulders. He recalled the feeling of the smooth fabric of his scarf, as it unraveled slowly around his neck, a chill creeping onto the sensitive skin before you had chased it away quickly with the heated touch of your sweet lips. He remembered the breathy gasp that had escaped from you as your hands grasped tightly at the lapels of his coat, his mouth colliding with yours over and over again as his mind screamed for him to stop, to slow down, to ignore the fire blazing beneath his skin.

This is your general! It had told him, this is your friend, your recently widowed friend, your friend that you desperately need to keep in your life! If you screw this up, how will you ever be able to forgive yourself?

He should have listened to his head then. Why hadn’t he? Preston was sure that, if he had, it would have spared him from the awkward discussion he was bound to have with his superior officer in the near future. It certainly would have saved him the pain he was feeling now.

At the same time though... Last night had been the best night of Preston’s life. Did he really regret having those memories now? Yes, he had to. After all, what did last night matter if it hadn’t made you happy?

Preston shook his head, releasing a breath he was sure he’d been holding since he left the kitchen. Pulling up his boots, he grabbed the remainder of his things and left the room, glancing back at the empty bed one last time before placing his hat atop his head and pulling the door shut softly behind him.

The beams of morning sunlight chased away the fog that had settled in the streets of Sanctuary, bits of bright blue sky peeking through the gaps in the clouds. Looks like it’ll be a nice day. He thought somberly, trying desperately to perk himself up, lest he bump into any settlers on his patrol. He wouldn’t want to worry anyone with his troubled expression, and he certainly wasn’t prepared to answer any questions about his current state. Preston started towards the bridge, planning to begin his patrol of the perimeter from there. He was so focused on his destination, he nearly failed to notice the hand waving him down from the side of the street. When he did turn to look, his breath caught in his throat.

“Sole!” He exclaimed, much too loudly, as he noticed you, nearly dropping his laser musket. A wounded settler was seated on the curb, you were kneeling next to him on one side, wrapping a bandage around his arm, with Sturges standing on the other, an empty stimpak in hand. As soon as he processed what he was seeing, the Minuteman lieutenant tried desperately to compose himself, a blush inadvertently creeping up his cheeks as his eyes met yours. He adjusted his grip on his musket, and cleared his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Is everything alright over here?” He asked, making his way over to the group, “What can I do to help, general?” you gave him a small smile, assuring him everything was alright, and finished tending to the settler who, as Preston found out, was a new arrival who’d run into a pack of mongrels on his way to Sanctuary. When they were all certain the settler would be okay, Preston quietly asked the general if they had a moment to talk, much to Sturges’ amusement.

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it, then. And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” Sturges slapped Preston on the back as he passed by, snickering to himself. Preston felt heat rising to his face again and quickly motioned for you to follow him behind the house, hoping to get a little privacy. He took in a sharp breath, before releasing it slowly, and you smiled warmly at him. That’s a good sign, I suppose.

“How are you feeling?” He asked you quietly. Your eyes looked past Preston, almost as though you hadn’t heard him, and he felt a pang in his chest. Turning your head slightly, you glanced to either side, ensuring no one else was looking on, before turning back to him, looking into his eyes as a flush touched your cheeks.

“If I’m honest?” you started, and Preston’s breath caught in his throat, “I’m a little sore.” you said with a little smile, and Preston felt his knees wobble as his legs nearly gave out in relief.

“Heh, if I’m honest, me too.” He said, shyly looking down at his feet as he felt heat rise to his cheeks. “So, about that,” he continued, “last night, I mean. Did you, ahem, did you like--”

In an instant, your lips were on his own. The kiss was soft, but forceful, affirming all that Preston was uncertain of.

“Last night was… amazing, Preston.” You told him after you had pulled away, your hands resting on his shoulders, keeping his body pressed to yours.

“Then, when you left this morning ... ?”

“Sturges was looking for you when he found the settler on his patrol this morning, but he obviously didn’t find you in your bed, so he came to find me and--”

Preston groaned, an embarrassed smile forcing its way to his lips,

“He didn't see anything, did he?” You giggled at that,

“No, honey, he didn’t see anything.” You rolled your eyes playfully, before pulling at his shoulders, urging his ear to your lips, “But someone did. And I hear they really liked what they saw. You know who it was?” you whispered.

“Who?” you heard him breathe.

“Hmm, you really don’t know?” You sneaked a peek at his face, noting the goofy grin that spread all the way to his warm, chocolate eyes, and you couldn’t help but lean further into him. Preston drew an arm around you, his hand on your lower back, keeping you anchored to him, and all apprehension following this morning’s events seemed to be forgotten.

“You might just have to remind me.” He said cheekily, pulling you into another kiss.

X6-88:

The tightness in his chest was the least of the courser's worries as he woke to find himself utterly alone. You were gone, that, he knew. But where-- no, how? How had you woken and readied yourself without also waking him?

He never should have agreed to last night. Not only was it completely inappropriate, given your future position in the Institute, but it had distracted him from his main duty. The most important mission he'd ever been assigned: to watch over his charge, to keep them safe. To protect you. He had grown distracted, and now you were gone. The future director of the Institute, someone he respected and idolized, a person he cared about, more than anyone he'd ever come across in his existence, was just gone. His loyalty to you was akin to his loyalty to the Institute itself, and that was non-negotiable, unbreakable, hard-wired into him. You had won his devotion on your own, which made it that much more meaningful. And that much more painful when he realized that you might not feel the same loyalty for him. But why would you? And why did he care? He was allowed to feel allegiance towards you without you needing to return it, was he not? But … if you had felt this loyalty for him, you surely wouldn't have left him alone, correct? At least that's what it seemed like, but X6 wasn't particularly knowledgeable when it came to this subject. He didn't know, these thoughts confused him, and normally you were the one to help him make sense of his more... human tendencies and emotions, but clearly in this instance, he was on his own. You had treated him like no one ever had, like a real person, and so he thought he could start acting like one. Feeling like one. But he was wrong. X6 wasn't wrong often, and he hated the feeling. In his current state, every feeling he had was a negative one. He decided to shut it out. These feelings weren't helping him protect you, which was still his mission, reciprocated loyalty or not. Sitting around, contemplating his emotions didn't help him to find you.

The courser sat up and climbed off the mattress, grabbing his clothes that he had folded neatly beside the bed last night, noting that only his were present. After you had fallen asleep, X6 had untangled his body from your own as gently as he could, so as not to wake you, and had placed your clothes beside the bed in preparation for the morning. He had retrieved his courser uniform from the floor, with the intent of dressing himself and sitting on watch for the night, but you had stirred, sleepily requesting he return to the space beside you. He remembered hesitating, before folding his coat and placing it on the table beside your own clothes and doing as you had asked. Sliding beneath the covers, he had laid on his side, placing an arm around your waist. He remembered wondering if what he had done was correct, if he was doing this all right, but you had seemed happy, and that was all that mattered to him. So, if he had done nothing wrong, why had you left? Taken your clothes, and your bag, and your gun, and vanished without a trace? And when had he started caring about your happiness? Your health, and your safety, yes, he should certainly care about those, given the nature of his orders. But now he cared about how he made you feel. He wanted you to be happy, and he wanted to be the one to make you feel that way. But why?

X6 shook his head, attempting to clear it, and grabbed his rifle from the top of the dresser. It was distracting thoughts like these that had forced him into his current predicament, he wasn't about to make that mistake again. Placing his shades onto his face, he prepared to head through the door, and out into the wastes to search for you.

X6 surveyed the surrounding area outside of your home in Sanctuary: the gas station, Abernathy farm, Tenpines bluff, even the inside of Vault 111. Yet, there was no sign of you. He returned to Sanctuary and found your house still empty, the hollowness growing in his chest as he realized that your leaving really had been intentional. Elsewise, he would have stumbled across you, or some sign of you, by now, right? He stood in your old kitchen, his knuckles paled at the death grip he held on the edge of the counter, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold his emotions at bay.

How could he have agreed to last night? And why would you have presented the idea if you had meant to do this to him in the end? With a groan of frustration, X6 pounded a hand against the countertop, leaving a small indent in the shape of his fist. Not only had you left him, you had done so without warning, without explanation, and now he couldn't find you. He couldn't find you. That's what he did, he was a relentless hunter, a cold pursuant, he completed all of his missions efficiently, he followed Institute protocol, he followed orders. What he didn't do was get wrapped up in human emotions, he didn't throw caution to the wind and give into his most base desires. He was a synth. He didn't yearn, or want, or love. Or at least he hadn't.

Not until he met you.

The courser sighed, fists still clenched in frustration. He didn't know what to do, you were his mission, but if you commanded him to leave--? But you never actually had ordered him away... In his eyes, there was only one option for him to consider.

"Unit X6-88, ready to relay back to the institute. Alone."

A flash of blue, and he was back. No one asked him to report in, and he didn't offer. He started straight towards the SRB, wondering what the consequences would be for his behavior. A memory wipe would be the best outcome, especially if... Oh. But if they saw the memories from last night, what would happen to you?

X6 stopped in his tracks, turning quickly to go up the stairs that ascended to the residential portion of the Institute. Once again, he was at a loss. He didn't want to lose those memories, but more than that, he didn't want anyone else to see them. You were the first person he's ever met that treated him as a human, saw him as one, made him feel like one, and he couldn't bear the thought of what the Institute scientists would say about you, say to you, or do to you, if they saw what you had done with him. The courser looked down at his feet as he walked quickly, moving instinctively towards your quarters. He turned down the hallway, and recoiled at the figure that appeared as your door dragged open. X6’s eyes widened beneath his shades, and he cleared his throat to keep himself from gasping in surprise as your eyes met his.

"There you are! I was wondering when you would finally turn up, I finished with the meeting hours ago. I was just about to go out and look for you. Don't tell me you slept in this late?" You said with a grin that spread all the way to your glorious eyes. X6 couldn't form words, he just stood gawking at you, his mouth half open, looking like a complete fool. Right, the meeting with Father. How had he forgotten?

"Is everything okay?" You asked, your smile being replaced by an expression of concern. The courser didn't answer, he still couldn't keep his thoughts in order; instead, he stepped forward until his chest pressed against yours, urging you to back into your quarters. You did so rather hesitantly, a confused expression causing your brows to crinkle. When the door had closed behind him, X6 slowly reached out his arms, wrapping them tightly around you, just as you had shown him last night, he pulled you to his chest and held you firmly. The warmth of you, your soft hair and sweet scent calmed his strained nerves, and he finally allowed himself to take a deep breath and close his eyes, just for a moment. As quickly as he'd initiated it, he pulled away from the hug, squaring his shoulders and straightening his posture,

"I'm glad you're safe, ma'am/sir."

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libertybri · 3 years ago

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Fallout 4 - Companions + select NPC react to Sole being hit on!

Sole enters the bar with their companion after a long day, looking to order drinks and wind down for the night. Their lover sits on their barstool and begins to order two drinks while they climb onto their stool. However, before they sit down, they feel a hand graze their lower back and a man step in between them and their lover. "Excuse me, sugar, could I buy you a drink... or several? If you're looking to take it to-go, I've got a room we can settle in." He grins and winks at Sole, and as they open their mouth to protest, their lover grabs his shoulder and turns him around.

MacCready:

"I'll give you a ten second head-start, buddy, but you better run fast because I'm a pretty dang good shot." He chuckles to himself as the guy takes off out of the bar and then he turns to Sole gleaming, "What'd you think about that, sweetheart?"

Hancock:

"You must want to meet the last guy that tried that shit." His menacing voice and twisted stare is enough of a threat to send the guy running. Hancock meant it too, already had his knife out of the holster and everything.

Cait:

"I eat guys like ye' for breakfast and spit 'cha out. Touch 'em again an' I'll rip yer ugly face off." She stares him down menacingly and he takes off running.

Piper:

"Get lost, they're with me." Her words are simple enough to provoke the man once again. "You can join us too, babe." He smirks, thinking he's won. Piper stands from her stool and pushes her long coat behind her belt, showing off how strapped up she is. Though she might not actually make an attempt to shoot the guy, her silent but acting response is enough to scare him off.

Nick:

"Commencing self-destruction sequence in 5... 4... 3..." Perks of being a robot, no one knows when he’s or not when he pulls this. That guy sure did shit his pants when Sole started playing along, though.

Preston:

"You should be more respectful when speaking to the General." He reminds the man of Sole’s title rather than their relationship to him, to let him know who he was intentionally messing with. The man mutters an apology and leaves feeling embarrassed.

Danse:

"Their boyfriend declines your offer, and rebuts this: leave the premises or I will have no choice but to drag you outside myself." His oddly calm nature doesn't match his threat one bit, but it works and the guy leaves.

Maxson:

He stands up and towers over the man, looking down at him with a deep glare. "Leave." He only has to say this before he can go back to enjoying the evening with Sole.

Curie:

"Oi, I do not believe that was very nice of you, monsieur. Perhaps ask someone whom is not in a committed relationship." Just to seal the deal and further exploit her own jealousy, she takes Sole’s hand in her own and shoos the man off.

Deacon:

"I wouldn't mess with them if I were you, buddy. They have some kind of ick that makes you explode from both ends... yeah, it's really gross, trust me." He doesn't feel the need to scare the guy off, he just pleases himself by messing with the guy and picking at Sole. Two for one combo.

Desdemona:

"They’re not interested. Move it along." She doesn't give him anymore time of her day, grabbing Sole’s hand and forcing them in the barstool behind her. The man stood behind the two and tried to speak again, but she just ordered the drinks and ignored him until he walked away.

Sturges:

"If I didn't know any better I'd think ya were tryin' to steal my partner. Heh, there's not really much competition there, though, now is there?" The guy looks over Sturges for a moment and takes in his appearance. Well-built, nice hair, and stained hands and a face, this was a working man. Humiliated, the guy leaves them alone.

X6-88:

[shoots the guy] "It appears my rifle has misfired."

Gage:

"What’d you just say to ‘em?" He doesn't spare any time, getting up from his stool and taking the guy by the collar of his shirt and threatening to "beat 'em to a pulp" if he didn't beg for Sole’s forgiveness and run off shitting himself.

Mason:

"Back... off..." He says this through gritted teeth, already fuming and ready for the kill as soon as Sole gives him the permission to do so.

Mags Black:

"Do you want to take care of him or should I, boss?" She is clearly annoyed by this man's antics, but understands when Sole wants to fight their own battles. At their beckon, she would take care of guy without another thought.

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout companions #fallout fandom #fallout fanfic #fallout deacon #fallout preston #maccready #elder maxson #paladin danse #porter gage

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commonwealthoccurences · 3 years ago

Text

Companions React: Sole Breaks Down

Request: “Could I ask for companions comforting a sole that’s usually an emotional rock, that they hadn’t seen this vulnerable ever? Like they come back from being away and just crumble into a sobbing mess. Pretty please?”

Note: *bangs spoon against pot* come get the hurt/comfort. CW: Mentions of unnamed characters deaths.

The setting:

Upon Preston’s request, Sole took off to a distant settlement to reorganize their resources, set up defenses, and bring them into the trade route. These excursions usually took about a week or two, so Sole could make sure they were fully stable before returning to Sanctuary to attend to their other duties. With this trip, however, they requested their companion stay in Sanctuary; they could handle this on their own, and the companion deserved a break.

Two weeks later, Sole returns, shoulders weighed down by their pack, ladened with goods the settlers had insisted they take with them. It had been a tough week, though that wasn’t really a new thing in Sole’s book, or anyone’s, really. Unfortunately, Sole hadn’t been able to predict the fact that some sort of disease would run through the tiny settlement while they were there, taking several of the members with it as it left.

They scrubbed at their skin in a nearby body of water every morning of those two weeks, rubbed raw and pink as a result of Sole’s quietly hysterical distress. They wanted no trace of settlement on them. There were elements of guilt in their relief to return home, but with returning home came the fact that they were safe enough to reflect on their weeks away from Sanctuary. There seemed to be no hiding from what had happened.

Sole got through the main street of Sanctuary well enough, sending nods to passing settlers, with a brief stop to drop off some of the food they had brought back with them with their local merchant; he would give it away to those that dropped in throughout the day. Once they made it down the road and to the entrance of their home, they felt the dam break. Their hands shook as they pulled the door open and moved inside, doing their best to ignore the tears that began to trickle down their face.

(*Gage’s scenario takes place upon their return to Nuka World’s Fizztop Grille)

Cait:

Cait was waiting just inside, having taken up residence in Sole’s living room with Dogmeat.

She went to make a joke about Sole being late, but when she looked up, she lost the words quite quickly

Sole’s shoulders were shaking, and it was quite obvious that they were trying to hide that they were crying, but it was impossible to not see

She practically tripped over herself to get to Sole, who was acting casual by rearranging the items in their back they had set on the floor

Her desire to comfort and protect Sole overrode her hesitance for physical affection and she found herself hugging Sole far too tightly than she should’ve

But it was partially panic on her end that caused her to grip them so tight

“Christ, what’s a matter?”

The only sound Sole made was a choking whimper and Cait gripped them even tighter

Curie:

She reads the distress in their stance the moment they cross the threshold into their home

Similarly to Cait, she gets up from where she’s sitting immediately, but stops short of Sole

“Oh, goodness. Are you alright?” She reaches out but doesn’t quite touch them, not wanting to intrude

Sole shakes their head, unable to disguise their very obvious distress

“Physical or emotional?”

Sole opens their mouth to say emotional and gets out about half the word before choking on their own breath and curling forward into themself

“Would you like a hug?” Her voice is quieter this time.

Sole nods and she brings them in for a soft hug, rubbing their back

Danse:

Danse is far more emotionally intelligent when it comes to other people’s feelings than people give him credit for

He’s seen it happen before; soldiers compartmentalize their emotions as much as they can, for years even, but everyone has a breaking point

And sometimes it’s over something one might consider small, like breaking a dish, or sometimes it’s loss that brings them to their knees, as it would anyone

Regardless, he’s known all along that one day Sole won’t be able to suppress their emotions anymore

When they come in crying and shaking, looking defeated, he’s unsurprised. Sad in an inevitably knowing sort of way

He gets up and walks over, taking their pack from their hands and helping them shed the heavy jacket that was weighing them down

He requests they sit and takes off their boots before going to get them a glass of water

He doesn’t say much, considering he doesn’t have much to say, but he’d much rather show how he cares via actions rather than words, anyway

Deacon:

He’s somewhat similar to Danse in the fact that he knows Sole’s going to need to break at some point, however it’s in less of a “I’ve seen this before” attitude and more in the fact that he can relate

But Sole has an easier time trusting than he does, so he knows their break is coming at some point, whereas he knows that there’s never going to be a point where he allows someone else to see what Sole is allowing him to witness

So when they stand there, defeated, looking over at him like a lost child, he simply opens his arms

He’s not one for hugs, but he makes exceptions, and it seems this is one of those situations that calls for an exception

When they sob into his shoulder, he pats them on the back and replies with a simple, “I know, Boss. I know.”

Gage:

Gage is chewing at a piece of dried Mirelurk, grimacing at the salty taste.

Sole makes their way across Fizztop Grille, dropping their pack carelessly next to one of the couches.

Similarly, they drop down next to Gage where he’s sitting overlooking the rest of Nuka World, not saying a word.

After a moment, punctuated by a very obvious sigh, Gage looks over at Sole. He chews contemplatively for a moment, “You and me both. Wanna talk about it?”

Sole shakes their head and Gage responds, “Cool.”

He pats them on the back, admittedly, awkwardly and a bit too harsh to be comforting, but it’s Gage

He’s doing his best

Haylen:

Haylen has Dogmeat in her lap chewing at a Radstag bone, her hand running mindlessly over his fur

She doesn’t jump up when Sole comes in, cautious at the idea of spooking them

“Sole,” She calls out, shifting to move her feet flat on the floor

When they don’t respond and instead sniffle, she’s motioning Dogmeat off her lap and stepping towards them

“Everything alright?”

Sole shakes their head and she presses her lips together in worry, “Anything I can help with?” another shake of Sole’s head

She brushes their hair away from their face with a soft, “Oh, Sole.” and brings them into a light side-hug

Hancock:

He really does like to think he keeps his cool easily, but he really doesn’t in this case

Sole’s crying and that’s not something he thought would ever happen

“Whoa, whoa. Talk to me, what’s going on, Sunshine?”

“Bad day.” Sole chokes out

He suppresses nervous laughter, knowing it can’t just be that, but lets it go and instead puts an arm around their shoulders to pull them in for a tight hug, snug and reassuring, with his other arm finding their waist

MacCready:

He’s alert immediately, thoughts jumping to them being hurt, and potentially fatally so

Considering he thinks its an emergency, he’s in front of them and examining them for injuries within seconds

Sole doesn’t protest for the longest time, but eventually they grab ahold of his wrists and shake their head

He stops for a moment and looks them over again before sighing; this is something he doesn’t know what to do about

“Sit. You’re going to collapse if you’re not careful.”

When they’re seated he helps them shrug off their coat and sits nearby, not pressuring, but available if they want to talk

Nick:

Nick’s view is similar to Danse’s, and he isn’t quite surprised when they come in crying

He sets the pen he was writing with down and shifts back in his chair, opening his arms for a hug if they want

When they cross the room he wraps them in a hug and rubs their lower back, trying his best with the awkward angle him sitting provides

“You need to take time for yourself.” He recommends, but other than that, he remains mostly silent

Piper:

The queen of panic, despite her best efforts

She’s used to tears because of her experiences with Nat, but not from Sole of all people

She does something similar to Mac, where she checks them over briefly, before she realizes this isn’t a physical injury that’s hurting them

She’s competing with Cait when it comes to tight hugs, wishing she could protect them from whatever’s bothering them so

A sympathy crier, she has to blink away her own tears

“Let it out, Blue. We can talk about it later, okay? Everything’s gonna be just fine. I swear.”

Preston:

Preston’s not sure how to handle things, considering how used to Sole being a rock he is

He knows it’s not quite right, considering he knows other people view him the same way, and it’s incredibly difficult being the one holding it together all the time, but he’s still genuinely surprised when he sees they’re crying

He knows what to do when he realizes what’s going on, though; exactly what he wishes he could request from someone else

He brings them into a hug and mumbles reassurances; that they don’t have to be the tough one all the time, that their emotions aren’t weakness, and that everything’s going to be okay

X6-88:

A fan of mutual silence, X6 helps them get comfortable and brings them into their room; he’s always viewed quarters as the safest place to be, both in the Institute and when Sole gave him his own quarters afterwards

He helps them into bed, making sure they’re comfortable, before asking if they have any small injuries they need addressed before settling in

If they say yes he cleans and dresses their wounds as gently as possible before settling into bed near them, a respectable distance away, but within reach if they need, and begins reading a book Sole left on their nightstand

He knows it’s hard to be alone when you’re being attacked by emotions, but they don’t seem to want to talk about what’s going through their head quite yet; instead, he rubs their back and encourages them to cry it out

#Fallout 4 #Fo4 #Companions react #headcanons #hcs #hurt comfort #fanfiction #mild angst #Cait #Curie #Deacon #Paladin Danse #Gage #Mayor Hancock #Nick Valentine #RJ MacCready #Preston Garvey #X6-88 #Scribe Haylen

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fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 3 years ago

Note

Crushing companions caught under the mistletoe w Sole

Cait:

•Internally freaking tf out but masterfully hides it.

•Full force goes for the kiss with a wild grin on her lips, maybe even kissing a bit too roughly but the way she chuckles afterwards makes it funny..and hopefully properly masks her embarrassment.

•Turns so red that her freckles disappear when she walks off for a much-needed drink.

Curie:

•Kind of just smiles at you and waits for you to make the move.

•If you were to lean in and kiss her, she’d close her eyes and sigh afterwards..having to remind herself that she was indeed alive and probably needed to move before another stranger meets her under the mistletoe.

Danse:

•The very second he realizes what’s happening, his eyes go wide like saucers.

•He can’t move. He wants to. He doesn’t want to. He’s freaking out.

•If you go ahead and take initiative to smooch him, the Paladin will be reduced to ridiculously red faced mess. He’ll excuse himself as soon as possible and curse hisself the entire time he walks off.

Deacon:

•Hah. He planned this…..he didn’t think it would actually happen though.

•For a moment, he’d kind of freeze. However the longer he waits, he realizes it becomes more awkward..so just before you can leave, he pushed his glasses up and gives a quick kiss before power walking his happy ass out.

Gage:

•Is almost oddly too calm when it happens.

•He sort of just shrugs whenever you notice it, as though saying “your call, boss” without actually saying it. He sort of smirks if you take him up on it, but deep down- he knows he has fallen hard and is terrified.

Hancock:

•Oh please-

•He makes no bones about grabbing your face and giving you a nice quick smooch- even if his stomach is doing flips- after which he’ll wish a very merry Christmas. Then he’ll conveniently preoccupy himself with some other merriment…

Macready:

•Pretends to not be bothered, putting on his best poker face as he waits for you to close in for it.

•Loses his shit afterwards.

Maxson:

•Just about loses his mind. Yknow the whole

internally screaming thing? That’s the gist.

•He probably won’t go in for it at all and will try to avoid acknowledging the presence of the mistletoe..until you kiss him on the cheek and walk away..leaving him grinning like a boy as soon as you’re out of sight.

Nick:

•Kind of just motions up to the mistletoe with a somewhat bashful smile. Afterwards, he gives a lighthearted kiss on the cheek and leaves it at that.

Piper:

•Awkwardly starts babbling about how “it’s cool if you don’t want to” and “it’s stupid anyways”- that is until you decide to go for it and kiss her, causing her to visibly melt.

•She has a whole fit over it later after given ample time to process.

Preston:

•Takes off his hat and everything-

•If you decide to give him a kiss, he’ll give the cutest little grin and sigh as you walk off. He never thought his general would be caught under the mistletoe..but boy, is he glad it happened.

X6-88:

•Has no clue what’s going on until the moment came and passed.

•All he knows is that the feeling of your lips brushing against his is permanently seared in his mind.

#fallout 4 #fallout #paladin danse #fo4 companions #fallout companions #danse #elder maxson #curie #porter gage #fallout Christmas

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that-blue-vault-dweller · 3 years ago

Note

the image of curie trying to sneak into the cuddle pile actually made me squee it was so cute! companions cuddling with sole reaction someday? <3

Aww!!! I'm so glad you enjoyed it!!! 🥰 Curie is one of my favorites to write (with my other two favorites being Piper and Cait) so I had quite a bit of fun throwing that in. 😊

Also, I may or may not have given Cait, Piper, and Curie a little extra description than the others, but it was not my fault. I was a victim of circumstance. Cuddling + my favorite girls = me getting description happy 😂😂😂

Thank you so much for this beautiful request! I hope you enjoy! 💙💛

Cait - Is always surprised when it happens. The first few times F!Sole suddenly just is leaning on her, her chin propped on Cait's shoulder as her arms wrap around Cait's middle, Cait is shocked as can be. She is a little stiff with it for the first several times, carefully wrapping a bony arm around F!Sole and sort of just letting her stay where she's at while Cait is frozen in place. However, as she grows more accustomed to it, Cait loosens somewhat and might even quietly signal F!Sole that she wants to cuddle by leaning against her a little more or carefully touching F!Sole's hand or shoulder and just being more touch-oriented in general. She is not much of an initiator, but if she has had a bad day, trusts F!Sole a lot, and F!Sole is lying down or sitting somewhere nearby, Cait will crawl over and just collapse on her best friend, knowing she'll make it better by being there for her unconditionally.

Piper - Absolutely adores the affection. Whenever she sits near F!Sole literally anywhere, F!Sole will just reach over and pull her over so she is leaned against her totally, her head resting against her best friend's chest or shoulder and F!Sole resting her head on Piper's as she just quietly listens to Piper talk. Piper will snuggle closer, never missing a beat as a big grin grows on her face while she yammers on about her day or whatever she has found out. However, if her best friend doesn't start cuddling her when she sits near her, Piper herself will usually initiate it. She'll just suddenly squish against F!Sole, completely unannounced as she carries on as if nothing happened, her arm tightly wrapped around her. If F!Sole is lying down anywhere, Piper takes that as a pure invitation to just flop down on top of her and be an aggravating little turd. But Piper knows her best friend secretly loves to be close with her found family and Piper is definitely no exception to the rule.

Curie - Is positively as happy as can be when F!Sole cuddles with her. When F!Sole first reaches her arm around Curie's neck and pulls her near so that her head is underneath F!Sole's chin and Curie is practically lying on her, Curie is practically popping with excitement and pure happiness. She loves all of the new sensations of actually being able to feel things when people touch her, and to be so near to someone that means so much to her is a true gift. When Curie finds out that F!Sole loves to cuddle with her friends, Curie has no problem springing impromptu cuddles on her. If F!Sole is lying down, Curie will sneak over and cuddle closely to her until F!Sole wraps her arms around her. Even if F!Sole is standing, she's not off-limits, and Curie will hurry over and just grab her around from behind, sometimes scaring her half to death if she is not expecting it. However, she takes it well, knowing that the girl is just excited to show her friend affection.

MacCready - Is pretty uncomfortable but finds it to be sort of nice. He never particularly wants to sit there very long with her but he usually lets her cuddle him for as long as she wants until he gets so uncomfortable that the only excuse he can think of is that he absolutely has to use the bathroom. She has since learned to release him before he gets to that point, understanding and respecting his boundaries. He never initiates cuddles, and he would honestly be fine with just occasional hugs since they do not make him feel quite as awkward.

Deacon - Is really squirmy and it does not last too long. He is not overly comfortable with cuddling or any extended contact, and it usually consists of the two of them sitting on a couch together and she just randomly throws her arm around his middle and leans her head against his shoulder. He sort of awkwardly pats her back and lets his hand rest there uncomfortably. He just wants to get away as soon as he possibly can without hurting her feelings in the process. Needless to say, he is definitely not an initiator and he honestly is not going to find her just so she can grab onto him. He cares about her in his own way, but touchy-feely stuff is not his thing.

Codsworth - Is very happy when she tries to cuddle him. It usually is more like a really extended hug, but he very much appreciates her effort even if he cannot truly feel the contact. He loves the sentiment and it lets him know that she truly sees him as family. And that is the greatest gift of all. As for initiation, he tries to in his own extremely strange way. He will usually reach a pincer around her, and she gets the message, quickly hugging him tightly. It just feels nice to him to see evident proof that she feels so much affection for him.

Hancock - Loves every single minute of it, and is not ashamed to say so. As soon as she does it, he is surprised, but he returns the affection quickly, asking her what got into her today. But other than that, he just happily holds her, grinning widely in spite of himself. He will not usually initiate it, but he has plenty of ways of trying to trick her into initiating it herself. If she's sad, then he says that he read somewhere in a Pre-War book that cuddling can raise serotonin levels. She usually just chuckles in reply to him before taking advantage of his offer. It always makes him very happy to just hug her tightly and not let go, feeling her warmth against him.

Danse - Does not know what to do, but secretly loves it to death and longs for more of it. Whenever she springs it on him out of nowhere the first few times, he is shocked and almost frozen, but he reacts soon enough and slowly brings his arms around her. He does not know what he is doing, but he knows that he absolutely loves the feeling of her actually wanting to be close with him and show that she cares in such a sweet way. It is a tenderness that he has never really experienced, and he just encloses her in his arms totally and enjoys it. He is never going to initiate it, worrying that he is imposing or something, but he openly welcomes it whenever F!Sole initiates. After finding out about his true identity, he usually wordlessly and unintentionally clues F!Sole in that he needs cuddles when he looks so serious and perturbed.

Preston - Enjoys it quite a bit, but it shocks him when she first does it. However, he does not have a problem reciprocating by putting an arm around her carefully. He is happy as can be when he is receiving affection like this, and it makes him feel like he actually matters to someone in a way that is more than just as a respected officer. He does not ever initiate it since he is sort of a bit too shy and uncertain to do so. However, he will ask for it very occasionally and very sheepishly, really hoping that she will not turn him down. He is always very pleased when she welcomes him with open arms.

Valentine - Honestly is terribly shocked, but he does enjoy it. When it first happens, he just sort of wraps an arm around her and pats her on the back kindly, expecting her to only hug him for a moment, but when she just snuggles closer and rest her head on his shoulder, he is very surprised. After all, his body is not exactly like that of humans and cannot be comfortable to lean against. But she seems to have no problem with that. He would never initiate cuddling, but he is always open to it if she wants to. He does not want to push her into anything, and he definitely does not want her to feel like she has to do it. Even if he does enjoy it greatly.

X6-88 - Is completely standoffish about it, but for some reason finds that a tiny piece of him actually likes it. Needless to say, he absolutely hates that part of him. When she first starts to spring these sorts of things on him, he insists that they need to find something more constructive to do. However, as time goes on, he insists much less and mostly retains complete silence, just letting her hold onto him but not really reciprocating. He would never initiate this sort of thing directly, but the closest he will get to it is sitting down on the same couch she is sitting on and just staying quiet in hopes that she will do it. She soon realizes what this gesture means, and she knows that he wants cuddles when he does that. She finds it quite adorable to be honest.

Dogmeat - Is absolutely thrilled any time she does it. Whenever she calls him over, giving him lots of pets before just hugging him close, he is wagging all over, panting happily and snuffling at her face. In fact, he oftentimes is the one initiating the cuddles, hurrying over to give her lots of kisses before trying to fit into her lap even though he is much too big for it. Literally every time that she is sleeping, he is either lying right next to her or on top of her. He is literally the best cuddle buddy ever because he is up for it twenty-four seven.

Strong - Absolutely hates it and will literally get up and walk away if she starts trying to do it. He will also fuss about it for a really long time, and makes a special note to bring it up in front of her other friends just to try to embarrass her and keep her from doing it ever again. However, when he least expects it, she will do it again to try to get him into the habit of letting her do it. Plus, she also thought it was kind of funny how he fussed constantly and let such a silly thing get to him.

Maxson - Is extremely uncomfortable with it, and believes that it is even somewhat inappropriate. However, he does secretly like it, and that feeling nags at him. He is usually significantly more chill about it if she initiates such a thing away from others, but he is still very uncomfortable. He is not in the least accustomed to such things, and he is one of those people that had originally thought this sort of thing was for either little kids or for people in love. But when he realizes that she is just showing she cares in a beautiful deeper than friendship but not at all romantic sort of way, he warms to it a little more. He will never initiate it, but he is eventually simply okay with it and lets her do as she wishes as long as absolutely no one can see them.

Sturges - Does not mind it at all, and actually likes it somewhat. It makes him a little uncomfortable the first few times she does it, but he soon realizes that it's her way of showing him that she cares about him. He is slightly self-conscious of how greasy and sweaty he often is, but since she does not seem to mind it, he just goes with it. He does not initiate it ever because he considers it to be the gentlemanly thing to do to let her decide if she wants to cuddle or not.

Glory - Is extremely uncomfortable and dangerously close to shoving F!Sole off when it first happens. However, she slowly figures out that it feels really nice to have someone's arms around her when the person is someone that she trusts as much as F!Sole. She is never fully comfortable with it, but she definitely craves it to a degree and will very hesitantly sort of bump F!Sole's shoulder to let her know that she would appreciate some love right about then. Especially if she has had a particularly difficult time with a mission or she is just feeling less than her usual self.

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hellothere-generalangsty · 3 years ago

Text

The Bad Batch - Quart d’Heure Américain

Summary: In French, we use the expression “quart d’heure Américain” (lit. “American quarter”; I think it’s “Lady’s choice” in English) to talk about that moment during an evening out/ a party where they play slows and couples dance together (very sweet and romantic, yes)

So here is the Quart d’Heure Américain, Bad Batch Edition™

Pairing: Crosshair x reader; Echo x reader; Hunter x reader; Tech x reader; Wrecker x reader; the Bad Batch x reader

Reader description: f!reader [she/her], no real physical description

Word Count: 5463 words

CW/ TW: Nothing, just pure fluff and cute relationships (some established, one not quite yet) also there’s a LIL BIT of someone being sad/ a LIL BIT in pain BUT promise it doesn’t last and it gets all soft

Tags: @loth-wolffe @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @allamarisss

@imalovernotahater @murdertoothpick (if you want to be added to the tag list for future stories/ if you want to be removed and not tagged again, please let me know! )

Notes: This is for you all, because you deserve it and I hope it’ll sooth whatever you need soothed; and here is a quote that quite grasp the concept of this small fic

“Quand je danse, je danse” –Montaigne (“when I dance, I dance”; enjoy the moment and don’t think about anything else)

Crosshair: Something Stupid – Nancy Sinatra, Frank Sinatra (1177 words)

Had someone asked you beforehand, you never would have been able to tell that Crosshair was an amazing dancer. You didn’t expected him to invite you out that night, especially not when everyone in town was speaking about this Dancing Night. But he did, and now he was next to you, moving like he had done it all his life.

“You’re doing great, mesh’la,” he complimented as you tripped on your feet.

“I already told you,” you nodded a thank you when he helped you get back up, “I don’t understand Mando’a.”

Well, you did, but only a few words. You grew used to them, because Crosshair would use them all the time when speaking to you, but never once did he told you what they meant. So you did what every logical person would have done, and asked Tech.

“Well, mesh’la could be translated to ‘beautiful’, and cyare to something like ‘love’ or ‘my heart’. Why you asking?”

“I heard that on the radio, in a song once and I just wanted to know what it meant. Thanks Tech!”

And you had left him as soon as he was done explaining their meaning to you, because the more you stayed here, the more he could guess why you really asked. But you didn’t want Crosshair to stop calling you mesh’la or cyare. It sounded so peculiar when he would whisper it close to your ear as he would walk behind you; “out of my way mesh’la”, “you truly are a lost cause, cyare”. It wasn’t really a lie not to tell him you knew; more of a covered truth.

The song changed and went from a catchy tone to a slower, more sensual one. Crosshair waited for you to come to him before gently grasping your waist, a hand holding your own, fingers folded around yours. He pulled you closer, so close you could feel his chest moving according to his breath. You looked straight at him, trying to decipher his expression, to find any feeling uncovered behind those bewitching whisky eyes.

“Are you scanning me?” he softly asked.

“Maybe.” you confessed. “I want to know what’s going on behind this pretty face.”

It slipped out. You didn’t mean to say that; yes, he had a pretty face, yes you meant it, but-

“I think, about you mostly.”

Ho.

“You’re…pretty.” He sharply nodded, as a way to keep up his facade. You almost tripped over again, so taken aback by his little confession.

“Sorry,” you muttered, “sorry, I- that’s very… very kind of you to say.”

He didn’t say anything, but the grip on your waist tightened. You decided to try it, and slowly came to rest your head on his chest. You could hear his heart beating, muffled by the layers of skin and cloth. You felt a cold spot on your waist, and a hand brushing your hair off of your face, tucking them behind your ear before resting on your shoulder.

You couldn’t yet guess it, but he was craving for more, he wanted you closer to him, wanted to bury his face in your neck, hum your scent and kiss you all the way to your jawline, your cheek, the tip of your nose; and your lips.

But never once did he flinch, or let out any sign of his heart bleeding to feel you so close, yet so out of reach. Instead he held you there, slowly leading the dance, almost silently telling you to “move left, come back to me, and left again; great job mesh’la”.

He couldn’t yet guess it, but you were craving for more. More Mando’a’s nicknames, more gentle touch on your face and body, maybe a bit of appreciation in his eyes, a bit of love on his mouth.

And you thought you could hold on, spend the night glued to his body, feeling the warmth of his embrace, the delicacy of his moves; and still be able to pull out a straight face, to pretend mesh’la and cyare were unknown words to you, that your heart wasn’t racing at the sole thought of getting more.

But you didn’t.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum”.

It slipped out tenderly, purposefully. And this time, he almost tripped on his feet.

“What did you say?”

You raised your head, taking a small step back to look at him in the eyes.

“I said I love you, but I guess my accent sucks a bit. I- I asked Tech about it last time.” You confessed in a small voice.

Crosshair couldn’t even speak anymore. He completely stopped moving, staring at you like you were the only one here, with him.

“Look, we can just…forget about it if yo-”

“Shut up.”

Your eyes widened at the command, and nothing could have prepared you to the devastatingly exquisite sensation of his lips brushing against yours before completely diving in. Nothing could compare to the fire in your belly, to the sweet bite on your lower lip, his teeth briefly pulling on it before letting go; and the overwhelming sensation filling your mouth as his tongue caressed yours in a heated, terribly slow kiss.

None of you could pull away; if he tried to release your lips, you would dive right back in, and if you gasped for air he would barely give you time to breathe before coming back to you. He couldn’t resist the urge to hold you tight in his arms, and you were too afraid of letting go so you firmly held his face against yours.

You felt his weight shifting to the left, then to the right, and once again you followed his lead. You felt it, the uncontrollable grin against your mouth, and the way he spin round with you, making sure no one else but you existed in that moment.

When you finally let go of each other, you were both heavily breathing, and a mutual stare was enough to get you both chuckling like kids.

Yes, you loved him, with all of your heart and soul, and you would gladly learn more Mando’a if it got you that type of enthusiastic reaction every time you did so.

“Your accent is actually quite cute,” he managed to tell you, and your smile only grew wider, and his eyes only got lovelier. “But maybe you should say it again, just in case it was luck.”

“I sure will, but I think I need you to tell me; how do you say it, again?”

He shook his head, both defeated and amused.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum”, you repeated, and he nodded in approval. “I think I won this round.”

“You did.”

He grabbed your arms and pulled you closer, leaving small misses on your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and your lips. The song was over; it had been for a few minutes now; but you didn’t care. Crosshair was still dancing with you, his hands on your back, a smile on his face; and maker he was even more handsome when he smiled. You had him, and he had you, and you were glad you said something as stupid and childish, and sincere and deep as this.

I love you.

Echo: Everybody Loves Somebody – Dean Martin (1168 words)

“Alright, open your eyes.”

Echo’s voice tickled your ear, making you smile. Your eyes had no trouble getting used to the light outside; it was dusk already, and a small campfire was gently crackling a few meters away from the Havoc Marauder. Earlier that day, you made a stop on an isolated planet to get some supplies and land foot for the night. It was a quiet place, mostly villages and beautiful landscapes, covered in grass, moss, and flowers like you’d never seen before.

Echo asked you to wait inside, and it had been almost an hour, but now that you were standing here…

“Is it…Did you do that for me?”

“I’d dare say for us,” Echo smiled, “today is a special day for us, remember?”

Ho.

“You forgot, right?”

“Echo, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t be! I kinda hoped you would, this way it could be a real surprise for you.”

You couldn’t quite tell what about him always got you flustered. Maybe the way he was fondly looking at you, or the softness in his voice when he whispered “Surprise!”, or how he left your side for a moment, bending over the blanket to grab a small package before giving it to you.

“I don’t have anything for you,” you quietly confessed.

“Take it.”

You accepted the gift, giving him another look of apology, but all you saw in his eyes was…something soft – soft and loving.

You carefully unwrapped the paper, exposing a Tooka plush, proudly wearing the colours of the Bad Batch.

“I thought it was more than time for you to have your own.” he said as he got closer to you, a smile glued to his face. “Do you like it?”

You barely nodded, too occupied trying to decipher your gift. The limbs were gracefully mixing a red and black pattern, and the symbol of the Republic’s paramedic had been carefully stitched in white, where the heart should be. You softly stroke it, the tip of your finger following the edges of the seam.

“I.. I love it,” you couldn’t help but smile at the attention. “I’ll call him Handsome Jr.”

“Whatever pleases you, love.”

You shifted you attention to Echo, the lovely grin on his face making your heart melt even more. You closed the gap between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his waist, just above his prosthetics. He held you against his chest, resting his chin on your head.

“I’ll get you something tomorrow, I’ll be up before the sun.”

“I already have everything I need, cyare.”

“Echo…,” you chuckled, “I don’t want you to get nothing. It’s an important date for us.”

“Well, if you insist…There is something you could do for me.”

“Anything, Handsome.”

He waited an instant, savouring your embrace.

“Would you dance with me? The way we did that night?”

You remembered that night. It was quite some time ago, before the Citadel. Echo invited you to the base you were both settled in for the night, on Corusant. His general gave his troopers a night off, and his first thought was to take you out on a date. You remembered the way Fives came up your office, panting, still fully armoured, and asked you to follow him. You didn’t know it at the time, but Echo and some of his brothers were taking care of decorating and preparing dinner.

You remembered the cantina being empty, except for a table with two plates and beautiful flowers in a glass way too small for them; and how every clone you had crossed path with in the hallway innocently smiled at you. They knew, obviously, but none of them made any comment, only wishing you a good night.

You remembered Echo, blacks on and slightly stylised for the occasion, offering his hand to you for a dance. And you repeated the answer you gave him that night.

“Of course, Handsome. I’d love that.”

He took a step back, looking at you intensely, falling in love all over again with the shape of your face, the light in your eyes, and the delicacy of your lips. He wanted to kiss them, so badly, but there was still something to do before that.

A static sound resonated behind you, and a voice emerged from it.

“Not that- The other one, Tech.” Echo threw a look at his brother, who was already changing the station, until he got the right one. He then barely let slip a “Pretend I don’t exist.” before disappearing inside the ship.

“Sounds familiar,” you joked, thinking about the way Fives did the same things all those years ago.

“Some things never change, right?”

You didn’t need to hear the end of the sentence; his eyes were speaking for him. He brought you closer, his prosthetic arm gently pressing your waist as his left hand held yours. The Citadel changed him, but deep down he was; and would always be, your Echo.

“You’re so beautiful, my pretty boy,” you said, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Some things indeed never change.”

He chuckled and started moving his legs, inviting you to follow his lead. He never really had a chance to dance since he joined the Bad Batch, but tonight; tonight was all he needed. Holding you close, smelling your hair, delicately balancing you on your left, a step back, on your left, a step back…

“Your love made it worth waiting.”

You slowly raised your head until you could look at him. His eyes were shining, wet from the emotion, filled with adoration and fond memories of you both. You smiled, trying to swallow the knot forming in your throat. His hold on you was so gentle, his smile so sincere. You knew he was falling in love with you all over again. You knew, because you were too.

You let your hand slide to his neck, pushed yourself on your tiptoes until you could feel his warm breath tickling your face. He tightened his grip, pressing his lips against yours, abandoning himself in your arms, making you feel like nothing but you mattered.

His kiss was gentle, he took the time to taste you, for the first time, the hundredth, the thousandth; it didn’t matter. Even after all these years, he couldn’t get used to the softness of your lips, the warmth of your tongue, the dizziness in his head and the knots in his stomach when you were confessing, wordlessly, your love for him.

Nothing broke you apart. The sun could go down, the song could stop, but none of it mattered, because all you truly needed was each other.

“Waiting for someone like you.” you finally replied.

“Waiting for you, and only you.”

You kissed him again, taking great delight in the sensation of your pounding heart, of his tongue against yours, of his hand letting go of yours to slim on your waist, down to you hip, finding his way to the back of your pant.

He was all you ever needed.

Hunter: Ain’t No Mountain High Enough – Marvin Gaye (989 words)

“Everyone, out, let’s go.”

Hunter waved his hand toward the door, a tired, maybe a bit painful expression glued to his face. Hi brothers obeyed, knowing what it meant, and left the room in silence. You tried to copy them, because you knew Hunter was getting overwhelmed by his senses; it happened sometimes, and you knew you couldn’t sooth his pain by remaining with him. But he firmly pressed his hand against your chest.

“Not you.”

Echo closed the door behind the two of you, giving you a sympathetic look before disappearing behind the grey metal sliding. Hunter tilted his head back until it touched the cold wall behind him, letting a long sigh slip from between his lips.

“Could you turn off the light, please?” he barely whispered to you, eyes closed.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t say, and switched the light off. All that remained was the small, dim blue light above your head. Tech had it installed after a bad power cut that lasted three days. Hunted asked for the blue shade, because it was the one which was the less aggressive to his eyes. You liked it, because it nicely highlighted his features, blending his tattoo a bit more with his skin, making the marking look almost natural.

You could hear him, deeply inhaling, slowly exhaling; probably trying to sooth the pain away. After a moment, he opened his hand to you, and you gently took it, slightly stroking the skin on his palm with the tip of your thumb.

“Love you.”

You softly kissed his knuckles.

“Missed you, too.”

His voice was barely breaking the silence of the room, but you still heard him relaxing a bit more.

“Can you hug me, sweetheart?”

He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, even if he truly wanted to. He managed to cut off sound and light, because he wanted to focus on your touch, and your touch only. And it felt great when your arms delicately wrapped him, when your body pressed against his, holding still as you listened to his heartbeat.

“Is it okay like this?” you asked, and he nodded, a light smile on his face. “I love you too.”

He straightened up his head, blindly stroking your back, his hand getting lower and lower…

“I see what this was all about.” And the smile in your voice betrayed you, and the chuckle he let out showed you he felt a bit better.

“I just wanted some time with you, sweet thing” Hunter stated, innocent.

“Well, here I am now, pretty boy.”

He finally opened his eyes, taking a few seconds to get used to the lighting, but immediately shifting his attention to you, your face. You were another kind of beautiful; the kind he could hold against him at night when he had troubles sleeping; the kind that could sit on his lap, telling him all about your day while he stroked your hair; the kind of beautiful that he never knew he could have.

He gave you a soft kiss, humming your scent as his lips brushed yours, and you tried as hard as you could not to make it too much for him. But how could you, when he tightened his embrace, humming to you that song you liked so much, when you could feel his warm breath against the crook of your neck, and his low, slightly raspy whispering in your ear.

“From that day on, I made a vow…” a kiss on your skin, “I’ll be there when you want me…” another kiss, gentle, loving.

He pushed himself away from the wall, his head buried against you, singing to you the way you liked it, and it came naturally to you both. He balanced you one side, you came back and led him to the other side, and you kept going like this, following the low rhythm of his voice, barely giggling when he would – more or less in a dramatic and theatrical movement – bend you over like in those holomovies, pressing kisses against your neck, your jawline, crawling his way back to your mouth.

That mouth. Hunter missed it so much, the way you moved it, the softness of your lips, the warmth of your tongue, and the tight embrace as you tried to remember each curve, each spot; barely biting his lip to let you know you were here, you missed him too.

And you couldn’t help but fall in love again when he kept humming against you, when he led your hands to his lower back, a grin painting itself as they slid down the back of his pants.

“I love your heart,” he told you, lips on your skin, “the way it beats. I hear it pumping faster when I hold you, and- maker, I love it.”

He abandoned your neck for a moment, diving into your eyes like it was the first time ever, hypnotised by the blue reflection on your iris.

“I love you, the way you feel under my fingers,” he touched your face with the tip of his thumb, “the way your brush your hair over your shoulder, how you always come back to me when the lights are out and the night is still; I love you and your smile,” you granted him one, tender and oh so caring, “and your eyes, and your mouth. I love how you move your hips when you dance with me, how you crave for closeness, and how I can’t do anything but offer it to you every time, all the time.”

And you knew words couldn’t possibly offer a good answer, so you simply hummed back.

“Nothing could keep me from getting to you, baby.”

He let out a sweet laugh, kissing your nose and the top of your head, seeking for your embrace once again as you led him dancing.

“I know, sweetheart.”

And I love you for that, too.

Tech: My Guy (Single Version) Mary Wells (1078 words)

You didn’t expected Tech to ask you out tonight. He was usually quite content living around the Marauder, but when you walked next to that clothing shop, something ticked in him. He dragged you in, told you all about the different tissues, how the colours were applied, how the stitches on this dress were obviously done by Twi’leks because you see that little knot? This is a signature from the crafters, more precisely from the members of a tribe that moved around…

You loved hearing him talking. Sometimes you would ask him a question, fully aware of the answer, simply because you were eager to hear it coming from him. And every time, without any hesitation, he would answer with as much precision as possible. He probably didn’t know it, but it was one of the reason you fell for him.

“What about this one, cyar’ika?”

“This one would fit you perfectly.” he had held the dress against your body, bending his back to get a better look at it. “The colour matches your skin tone and the shape would really highlight the curves of your hips.”

“Then I’ll take this one.” You had nodded with a smile.

And now, a few hours later, you were wearing said dress while walking to the counter of the restaurant to order another drink. As the bartender was pouring a blue liquid in a fancy glass, a man smoothly accosted you.

“Were you sculpted out of Kyber crystal? Because you sure bring some light in here.”

“Thanks, but it’s mostly because my cyare chose that dress for me,” you confessed.

“Well, he sure have good tastes,” he took a step back and pursued, “may I ask which one of these…?”

He threw a look at the tables around, and you pointed to the one where Tech was visibly waiting for you, waving when he noticed you looking at him.

“Is it…Is it him?”

“It is indeed,” you fondly smiled.

“Well, at least he got some taste in dresses and women,” he conceded, visibly surprised by his “intellectual” look. But you couldn’t care less, because he didn’t had Wrecker’s body, or Hunter’s features; but he had soft shapes and sweet lips, he knew everything there was to know, and even more, because he loved learning almost as much as he loved you.

You grabbed your drinks and started walking away, only turning around to slide a little “Glad you recognise it” before returning to your table. When you pushed his glass in front of him, Tech gently grasped your hand.

“Thank you for the drink,” he glanced at your body, a little something lightening his eyes, “and for buying that dress. You really are the prettiest.”

“I couldn’t be that pretty if I didn’t have you to tell me all about cloths, you know.”

“Love, you could wear sheets and you’d still be the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.”

You slightly bent over, bringing his hand close to your lips, kissing his knuckles as a thank you. There was a brief silence, Tech analysing every inch of your face, so focused on the curves of your lips and the shape of your eyes that he stopped talking.

And you heard it. The soft music playing in a corner of the room. When you looked behind Tech, you noticed a jukebox, and a few people dancing. You got up, pulling on Tech’s arm to drag him with you to that part of the room. He tried to protest, but the way you moved in that dress, how it fell oh so delicately on your knees… He couldn’t resist.

He grabbed your waist, offering you a soft kiss on the cheek as you started swinging in rhythm, left, right, left, right, and a turn. In a second, you were barely touching his hand, and then you were pulled against him, spinning round until you crushed in his arms.

He chuckled, bewitched by your smile, your movements, and you could tell he only had eyes for you. Truth be told, he was all you could focus on too. Nothing could take your attention off your guy, because nothing could equal his lovely smile or the soft kisses he landed on your lips every time he pulled you against him before letting you spin away in rhythm.

“Cyar’ika, tell me all about dance.” You asked, panting a bit.

“Well, you have to be more precise, because there are a lot of dances out there,” he laughed, and you felt your heart melting at the warmth of his voice.

“Then tell me about all of them. Tell me about this one,” and you wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing slowly to calm your racing heart.

“This one would be a form of slow dancing, quite far from the twists and swings you did earlier,” he confessed in your ear, making you shiver. “but initially it was a- well, it depends of the planet actually, but it was originally a ritual to make official a relationship between different people.”

“So if you danced with someone, it meant you had a certain relationship with them?”

He firmly grabbed your waist, lifting you for a few seconds as he turned round.

“Exactly, it meant you shared a profound bond with them, that you were able to get comfortable with them being very close to you…”, he let you spin away from him, “or very far.”

You proudly smiled at him, letting go of his hand and taking a step back. He understood what you intended to do and grounded himself, catching you up without any problem as you run into his arms.

“Well,” you muttered in the crook of his neck, “I don’t want to be far from you, smart boy.”

“And I don’t want you away from me, pretty girl.”

You lifted your head to look at his eyes, filled with love and appreciation. The music stopped as you filled the gap between the two of you, kissing him with the same energy you had dancing. You could feel him smiling against your lips, carrying you like you weighted nothing until you let go, sliding back onto your feet.

You kissed him once again, a gentler contact, taking your time to memorize the shape of his mouth, the soft touch of his hands on your hips, the smooth tone he used to tell you how fitting this dress was.

Yeah, nothing could compare to your guy, your Tech.

Wrecker: You Aksed Me To Be Yours – The Tymes (972 words)

You knew the mission was rough when Wrecker struggled to give you a full smile as you entered the cockpit. He was sitting there, all alone, and your heart got tight when you heard his low “hi, mesh’la”.

“You want to talk about it?”

He refused with a shake of his head, visibly upset.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No, I want you to stay. I- I need company.”

You quietly nodded, offering your hand to him, which he held close to his heart. You kissed the top of his head, softly rubbing his check with your free hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself rest on the embrace, taking a long, deep breath.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, “t’was a long day without you.”

“I’m here now.”

The remark made him smile a bit, as he realised that you were indeed here with him. He pulled you closer to him to hug you, straightening in his seat so you wouldn’t have to bend too much to snuggle in his arms.

“You smell good. You always smell good, it’s amazing.”

You slightly blushed, letting out an amused sigh. Even when things went wrong, he always found something positive to comment on. People usually looked at him as the “big dummy”, but you knew how sensitive and emotionally invested he really was, under all the muscles and loud exclamations.

“Do you think we could, like…get up for a bit?” he asked, hesitant.

“Sure, everything’s fine?” You let go of his grip and helped him get up. He wrapped his arms around you, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Yeah, t’s’all fine,” he murmured, “I just wanted us to stand.”

You rubbed his back, slow movements tracing imaginary lines and shapes against his blacks. He let out a sigh, tired yet satisfied. You felt the upper part of his body move; slightly at first, rocking from one side to the other. When he felt you following his lead, and with the absence of any question or remarks, he marked a more regular pace in his balancing.

You started humming, lips barely touching the skin on his neck, your warm breath tickling him until a light shiver shook his back. You left kisses, here and there, still humming the song you heard on the radio earlier that day. It was a beautiful ballad, something sweet about love and closeness. You found parts of Wrecker in the lyrics, and knew you’d have to sing it to him.

It wasn’t the first time Wrecker did something like that. Usually he would do it before going to bed, or after a long time away from you. He would grip you tight, whispering soft words to your ear, telling you how much he missed you, how pretty you were, how lucky he felt to have you in his life. But this time, you wanted to make that first move.

“I see that love is there, so real and so true…”

You felt his fingers tighten, then relax. The rocking slowly turned into a dance, moving step by step, never following a precise direction. Your voice was a balm to him, healing the wounds no one could see, covering his heart with warmth and love.

He slightly let go of you, just enough to dive into your eyes, scrutinizing the details in your iris, the way light reflected on them, adding to the sparkle they usually carried. You could see how his attention shifted from your eyes to your lips, then your eyes again, and the delicacy in his silent ask. You gave him your most heartfelt smile, and he leaned toward you, kissing you in a tender, desperate way, as if something or someone would come in at any moment and rip you both away from each other.

You let his tongue meet yours, dancing the way your bodies were. His hands left your waist, raising to cup your face and pulls you even closer to him. You held his wrists, preventing him from pulling away, savouring the taste of love coming out of his mouth.

He only broke the kiss when he truly needed to breathe, deeply inhaling and exhaling. You couldn’t stop a chuckle, to which he grinned.

“I know, I know…”

“How do you expect to kiss me if you faint?”

“I don’t know!” he laughed, his nose wrinkling in such a lovely way. You could read through him like an open book, and now you just knew he was contemplating how beautiful, and soft, and delicate you were. “I don’t know, I just want you. I want to hold you, and kiss you, and dance with you all night.”

You pecked his scarred cheek, nodded in approval.

“Then let’s dance all night, and hold onto each other, and kiss you breathless.”

He relaxed the tension in his shoulders, visibly happier than when you arrived.

“Can you sing that song again? I really liked it.”

His eyes gleamed with happiness when you took back where you stopped. You couldn’t tell if you got all the lyrics right, but it didn’t matter to Wrecker. You were here, ready to spend the whole night on your feet just to make him feel better, and it was already working so well. But he never told you so, too content to hug you and kiss you and feel you.

And you, of course you knew. But you played along, because you loved him so dearly, so profoundly that you could spend every night in this cockpit, humming and swinging with him, as long as you could feel his breath on your neck, his hands stroking your hair and your back, his lips pressing against your skin, where he knew he could get a shiver from you.

“Thank you, cyar’ika.”

“Anything for you, ner Wrecker.”

Anything for you.

________________

I hope you guys enjoyed it; it's really not the angsty stuff I was supposed to work on (that I will do now) but I guess I just had a soft spot for the boys tonight and the songs I listened to didn't help getting over this idea!

#the bad batch fic #tbb fic #crosshair x reader #echo x reader #hunter x reader #tech x reader #wrecker x reader #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch #soft batch #soft tbb #sw writing #mesa writes #the bad batch writing #Soft Hour for the Boys

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persephone-plasmids · 3 years ago

Text

Trying

A Danse and Nora fic

[Part 1]

[Read on AO3]

Danse woke up before the sun, his chest heavy with the memories of the night before. Nora had kissed him. But she’d also been drunk, so it hadn’t counted.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from reliving the moment in his mind over and over again. He’d hardly slept as he wondered what was worse: Nora remembering the kiss and regretting it, or forgetting about it and the two of them never addressing it again. He wasn’t sure what he could even hope for if she did remember. She’d never reciprocate his feelings. And he couldn’t fault her for that. He was a Synth. An abomination.

Danse scowled up at the ceiling before rolling out of bed, pulling his boots on, and leaving the partially destroyed house in Sanctuary where he now stayed. The settlement had turned into a place for all of Nora’s strays to reside; himself included.

Fog hung heavily in the early morning air as Danse began his normal jog around the perimeter of the settlement. He’d run up the rocky hills to make sure no Raiders had taken up residence overnight then splash through the river a few times to cool himself down before making the jog up the hill to the entrance of Vault 111.

Today, the sight of the large metal vault entrance only made his stomach turn. It reminded him of his interaction with Nora the day before. She’d been grieving the loss of her husband. She’d gotten drunk. And she’d kissed him.

Had he taken advantage of her compromised state? He tried to assure himself that he hadn’t. He’d pushed her away. He’d been the one to stop things before they went further. But he also couldn’t deny that he’d kissed her back. That he’d enjoyed kissing her back. And he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t spent the entire rest of the evening replaying the kiss in extreme detail, imagining what it could have been like if it had gone further.

Danse shook his head, ashamed at his own thoughts as he jogged back down the hill to Sanctuary.

The sun was beginning to melt away the heavy fog and by the time Danse had showered and donned his Brotherhood jumpsuit for the day, the haze was nothing but a distant memory.

There’s no avoiding it forever. I’ve got to go check on Nora, Danse thought to himself as he exited his home and stepped out into the streets of Sanctuary. Settlers were just starting to make their way to their assigned tasks for the day. Some held rifles to guard the perimeter while others grabbed gardening tools. Danse rolled his eyes as Hancock stumbled through the streets with a dazed smile on his face.

“Just getting in, Hancock?” Danse asked, the disapproval heavy in his voice.

“It’s my duty as mayor of Goodneighbor to check on my citizens every now and then,” Hancock replied, the lazy smile still on his scarred features.

“Funny how it’s only the patrons in The Third Rail you seem to check on,” Danse answered.

He hadn’t intended on harassing the Ghoul today. In all honesty, he was trying to be better. Mostly for Nora’s sake, but also because of his own revelation that he wasn’t as purely human as he’d always thought. Danse hated being a hypocrite. But purging his deeply ingrained prejudices from his mind was proving much more difficult than he wanted to admit.

“It’s not my fault I know how to have a good time, Danse,” Hancock said. “If you ever want to loosen the leash Maxson put on you, you’re welcome to join us.”

Danse shook his head at the Ghoul but didn’t respond. He knew he wouldn’t have anything kind to say. Instead, he made his way to Nora’s house, ignoring the stinging reminder from Hancock that he was no longer a member of the Brotherhood.

Standing in front of the door to Nora’s home, Danse squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and knocked. His body told him he needed to leave immediately, because whether or not she remembered the kiss, this interaction would be painful. Seeing her would remind him just how incredible it felt to kiss her… and that he couldn’t do it again. But he didn’t run. He stayed right where he was.

His heart hammered in his chest as the door knob turned, but it wasn’t Nora who greeted him. Instead, Deacon stood in the doorway wearing Nora’s old flowery apron over his usual T-shirt and jeans, raising his ginger eyebrows behind his sunglasses.

“Morning sunshine,” the spy said with a grin.

“Deacon?” Danse asked, his confusion slowly turning to anger as it always seemed to. He needed to work on that. “What are you doing in Nora’s house this early?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, soldier?” Deacon asked. “But a gentleman never kisses and tells.”

Danse set his jaw firmly as he stared at the man in front of him. He was already calculating how much physical damage it would do if he punched Deacon right then and there. The spy would live. But Nora would never forgive Danse. So he refrained.

“Oh man, I can see all those little Brotherhood cogs turning in your brain. It would be adorable if it wasn’t so sad,” Deacon said with a laugh. “At ease, soldier. I was totally kidding. Just wanted to get a rise out of you. I didn’t realize it would be quite so effective.”

Danse could hear the laughter in Deacon’s voice, but it was muted by the sound of his own blood rushing through his body.

He definitely needed to work on his anger management skills.

“Where is Nora?” Danse asked simply, refusing to acknowledge just how close he’d been to getting into a physical altercation with Deacon.

Danse was usually close to getting into a fight with Deacon, but the idea that the spy had slept with Nora was definitely the thing that would have pushed him over the edge… had it been true.

“I feel like out of the two of us, you’re the one who should know she headed over to the Prydwyn before dawn,” Deacon answered, turning around and heading back into Nora’s kitchen without another look in Danse’s direction.

The Paladin followed the spy and perched on one of the barstools at the counter.

Deacon, still wearing the flowery apron, was stirring mirelurk eggs in a frying pan.

“Nora went to the Prydwyn?” Danse asked, his mind trying to play catch up. “Why?”

“Personally, I don’t think she needs to keep things friendly with the Brotherhood of Bigots anymore now that The Institute is destroyed, but she said something about an open line of communication between the factions and blah, blah, blah.” Deacon shook his head. “Maxson said he wanted to meet with her about something or other. Probably wants to start a fun petition forbidding Ghouls from speaking or something.”

“Maxson asked for her?” Danse repeated. This gave him pause.

There was a time when Danse had worshipped Maxson. He’d thought the man could do no wrong. That was, of course, until Maxson had wanted him killed for being a Synth. Danse could understand the difficult position Maxson had been placed in, but after their years of friendship, he still had a hard time with just how quickly the Elder had turned on him.

He also saw the way Maxson looked at Nora when Danse had still been allowed aboard the Prydwyn. The Elder was young and Nora was beautiful. It only made sense that he’d look at her the way he did. But Danse didn’t like it, even though he was fairly certain the only reason he was still alive was because Nora had been the one to convince Maxson to spare him. Danse wasn’t sure anyone else could have swayed the Elder the way she did.

“Do I sense a love triangle? Because you know I love some juicy gossip,” Deacon said, grinning over at the Paladin and plopping some eggs onto a plate for him.

“That’s inappropriate, civilian,” Danse said, staring at the eggs in front of him and wondering why on earth Deacon would ever make him food. They hated each other.

“Hate to break it to you, tin can, but you’re a civilian now too,” Deacon said, taking a seat beside Danse with his own plate of eggs.

“You and I are not the same,” Danse emphasized, taking a bite out of the eggs. They were surprisingly good.

“You’re completely right,” Deacon agreed, though Danse could tell from his tone that he wasn’t going to like what came next. “I’ve been able to let go of my bigoted ways, while you still look at Hancock and Valentine like they’re Mirelurk scat on your boot.”

“That’s…” Danse began, but he didn’t know what to really say. Deacon wasn’t wrong. Danse wasn’t doing a great job of changing his deeply ingrained beliefs.

“Admitting you have a problem is the first step, champ,” Deacon said, with a soft pat on Danse’s shoulder.

It would have been a kind gesture, if the spy hadn’t immediately snorted from trying to hold back his laughter.

“I’m… trying,” Danse managed to say, even if it felt like injecting a Stimpack directly into his temple to utter the words.

Deacon glanced over at Danse for a moment, but it was hard for the Paladin to read his expression behind the sunglasses. He had to remind himself that this was probably the reason the spy always wore them.

“A good first step would be to actually spend some time with the people you hate,” Deacon offered, being surprisingly helpful. “You might find that you actually have some fun with Hancock. Plus, you and Valentine are a bit more alike than you might think. He’s a giant stick in the mud too.”

Danse huffed under his breath and simply said, “Noted,” before taking another bite of eggs.

The two men chewed in silence for a moment before the front door opened and Nora strode in wearing the all-black Brotherhood of Steel jumpsuit reserved for high-ranking officials.

Danse’s eyes involuntarily roamed over just how perfectly the jumpsuit fit her curves, though he immediately hated himself for the very visceral reaction the image gave him.

“Deacon Marie Jones! What are you doing in my apron?” Nora asked dramatically, walking up behind the spy and wrapping her arms around him in a familiar embrace.

This did nothing to lessen Danse’s animosity towards the spy.

“Your middle name is Marie?” Danse asked.

“I just make up names for him,” Nora replied. “Since he won’t tell anyone his real name.”

Deacon leaned backward into Nora’s embrace as she held him tightly before finally releasing him. Danse hated how casual their physical contact was. She wasn’t like that with the Paladin.

“I thought we agreed the apron looks better on me,” Deacon said.

“Everything looks better on you, Deacon,” Nora agreed with a laugh, walking over to the frying pan and scooping a few eggs for herself. “I bet even this ridiculous black jumpsuit would look better on you.”

Danse refrained from pointing out how false that statement was.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone look so good in a jumpsuit before.

“Give yourself some credit, Charmer,” Deacon said, his voice as smooth as ever. “There are only so many people who can pull off a dog collar.”

“It’s not a dog collar,” Danse mumbled, finding himself irrationally annoyed by the comment.

Nora’s lips quirked up into a grin as she set her plate down and walked over to Danse. The Paladin swiveled in his barstool to face her but he didn’t anticipate just how close she’d get to him. Nora walked right up to Danse, positioning herself between his knees as she grinned down at him.

Danse swallowed hard as his dark eyes met hers. She took one finger and hooked it under the metal ring at the neck of Danse’s Brotherhood uniform and gave it a soft tug. She didn’t manage to pull him closer from his sitting position, but it did cause her to take another step closer to him, now standing squarely between his thighs.

“What exactly would you call it then, Paladin?” Nora asked, raising a challenging eyebrow at him.

Danse felt like his heart might actually beat out of his chest as he stared up at her. She still had a firm grasp on the clasp at his neck and he worried she’d be able to visibly see the nervous way he swallowed.

“It’s… It’s an attachment for the Power Armor,” he managed to choke out.

He hated that Deacon was here to witness just how easily Nora could set him off balance.

“I guess your big brown puppy dog eyes just make the term ‘dog collar’ feel more fitting,” Nora answered with a smirk.

He could feel the heat of her hips against his thighs but tried with every fiber of his being to ignore it. Their close proximity was only making it more difficult for him to focus.

Thankfully, Nora released her grasp on the metal ring and stepped back around the counter to retrieve her eggs. “Thanks for the breakfast, Deeks,” Nora said casually, as if she hadn’t just upended Danse’s entire world.

“Just paying off my debt to society,” Deacon said, finishing his own plate off and rinsing it in the sink. “I should have never suggested that game of strip poker.”

Danse’s eyes widened at this comment but Nora just shook her head with a laugh.

“He bet me that I couldn’t convince a Diamond City guard to give me their uniform.”

“I didn’t take into account that she wouldn’t use stealth to get what she wanted,” Deacon said with a scowl. “I still think it’s cheating if you use your feminine wiles.”

“You’re just mad that you have to make me breakfast every Tuesday for a month,” Nora said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Deacon shook his head and grinned. “Well I’m off to go start some rumors around Diamond City that Piper is actually a Ghoul. Wish me luck.”

“You’ll need it,” Nora replied before the spy disappeared, leaving her and Danse alone.

Danse took a deep breath, wondering if he wanted to come right out and ask Nora if she remembered what had happened the night before, or if it would be better to just ignore it.

He decided on the coward’s way out.

“What did Maxson want?” Danse asked, trying to sound uninterested.

“Ugh, that man,” Nora began, exasperation heavy in her voice. “He wanted to try to convince me to pledge my exclusive loyalty to the Brotherhood again. But I told him, for the millionth time, I’m not going to abandon The Railroad or The Minutemen. There’s no reason we can’t all play nice.”

“I’m sure he loved that,” Danse answered, a genuine smile now playing on his lips.

“He threw a bit of a tantrum,” Nora agreed. “Luckily no one was around to see it. He had me meet him in his private quarters this time.”

Danse raised an eyebrow, still trying to pretend like he wasn’t incredibly interested in this particular point. “Oh?”

“I think he thought it might intimidate me if we were alone,” Nora laughed. “He poured me a drink, stood in front of his Brotherhood of Steel flag, and tried to look super intimidating.”

“And?”

“And it didn’t work,” Nora said, giving Danse one of the smiles that made her eyes crinkle in the corners while his heart melted into a puddle inside of him. “My affection isn’t that easily swayed.”

“Of course,” Danse responded simply.

He could feel Nora’s eyes on him as he looked back down at his now empty plate. He was running out of reasons to be in her kitchen but he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.

“How are you feeling?” Danse began cautiously. “Do you have a headache from that bourbon last night?”

That was casual, right? That was something a totally normal friend would say whether or not they’d kissed the night before… wasn’t it?

“I had a bit of a headache this morning,” Nora began. She was pushing the eggs around on her plate with her fork but not taking a bite. Her eyes were no longer on Danse; now she seemed laser focused on the food in front of her. “I told you I wasn’t that drunk.”

Danse’s cheeks instantly flushed at her words.

She remembered.

She remembered and she really was lucid enough to know that she was kissing him.

What did that mean? Did he ask her about it? Did he ask if she regretted it or did he even dare to hope that she actually somehow felt something for him other than friendship or fondness?

“You can hold your liquor well,” was all the Paladin said, also staring intently at his own plate.

If anyone had walked by the scene in the kitchen, they’d think the two were Synths whose recall codes had been read to them.

The silence between them pressed on for a few moments before Nora softly cleared her throat.

“Listen, Danse… I’m sorry about what happened. You were totally right that I wasn’t thinking straight and… I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

Danse felt his entire chest tighten at her words.

She regretted it. She wished it hadn’t happened. He’d made her uncomfortable.

And now that he knew she remembered everything, he felt even worse for kissing her back. What could she possibly think of him now? That he was just like the rest of the Wastelanders; ready to take advantage of an inebriated woman at the drop of a hat?

What did he say to make this better?

“I’m… I shouldn’t have… engaged,” he said quietly. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but Danse had never been good with things like emotions. Synth or not, talking about his feelings wasn’t something he ever thought he’d be comfortable with.

Danse dared a glance up at Nora who was still looking down at her plate. She was frowning with something like disappointment in her eyes.

“I should probably get changed out of this jumpsuit,” she said after another moment of awkward silence. “Preston has a place nearby that he wants me to check out to set up a possible settlement.”

“Of course,” Danse responded, a bit too quickly. “I’ve got some work to do on my power armor.”

Nora nodded as Danse stood up and made his way towards the door.

Before he touched the handle, he heard Nora’s voice, soft and hesitant.

“Would you… want to come with me?”

#fo4 #fallout #fallout 4 #danse #paladin danse #nora #sole survivor #fanfic #fallout fanfic #fallout fic #fallout 4 fanfic #fallout companions #danse x sole #danse x nora #danse x sole survivor

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nightingaelic · 3 years ago

Note

Do that last one about Drunk weddings for the Sole Survivor, too. I may have my biases, but Fallout 4 can have a little love, as a treat.

Cait: "Don't be makin' so much noise in the back if you aren't going to share, you hear?"

Prior to her journey into Vault 95, Cait is just as stumbling drunk as the sole survivor, giggling with reckless abandon and daring guests to go a round with her outside the venue. She enlists the sole survivor to help her change out of her dress to make good on these bare-knuckle boxing promises, but the two of them wind up forgetting about the whole thing and singing loudly over the music on the dance floor. Post-sobriety, Cait heckles the sole survivor after they pass the point of no return, but she abstains in favor of demolishing Piper's gifted stash of Nuka-Cola.

Curie: "Do not indulge too much, mon glaçon. Excess of drink is the cause of many health problems."

Curie, ever the picture of innocent poise, laughs politely when the sole survivor starts making outbursts at the party, then corners them in the bathroom when she's free and insists they drink several glasses of water and eat some mirelurk cake hors d'oeuvres in front of her. She enlists Danse to help her carry the sole survivor to bed when they finally wear themselves out, and she does it all without staining or ripping her dress.

Danse: [speechless, awkward blushing]

Paladin Danse turns beet red when the sole survivor climbs onto a chair to get the party's attention for a toast, and dashes to their side when they start to wobble. To him, a wedding is no reason to let down his guard and drink, but the rest of his Brotherhood brethren don't share that viewpoint: Particularly Proctor Teagan, who is just as far in as the sole survivor. Once embarrassed, Danse tries to stay on the opposite end of the room, and steers his new spouse clear as well. He will give up his avoidance tactics if asked to dance, though.

Deacon: "Everyone drink up, we're trying to erase any memory of this get-together in case the Institute captures us and demands to know what menu and color scheme we picked."

Given his career and his own personal history, Deacon insists on having a small affair with close friends over a large shindig. He's mostly joking about forgetting the party- or is he?- but either way, he's handing out bottles of Bobrov's Best like it's going out of business. Valentine keeps side-eyeing him and calling him an "enabler," but Deacon couldn't care less.

Hancock: "Cheers to you, cheers to me, cheers to us and the whole fucking Commonwealth!"

The sole survivor's drunk? Good, so is Hancock. Like Deacon, the mayor of Goodneighbor is handing out bottles of booze left and right, along with palming chems to anyone in the Third Rail who looks too mellow. Whitechapel Charlie complains loudly when the groom and the sole survivor start dancing on the bar, but Hancock does not care one whit about property damage on his special day. That is, unless someone starts getting fresh with Magnolia.

MacCready: "So when I said partnering up with you beat drinking myself blind in Goodneighbor, that wasn't me saying we should switch spots, boss."

MacCready is too overwhelmed with disbelieving happiness on his big day to care if the sole survivor is wrecking shop. He's too busy staring at his new spouse holding Duncan and laughing with joy to notice the sole survivor spilling drinks on other guests, but he will perk up if they manage to hijack the jukebox. He'll roll his eyes, switch the song back to something more to his taste, and then drag the sole survivor onto the dance floor to work off some of their excess energy.

Valentine: "Gonna water that battery acid down with anything, or do I need to tell Vadim to cut you off?"

The synth detective takes in the sole survivor's antics with a wry smile before pulling them aside to make sure they're going to behave for the rest of the night. Any further shenanigans will earn them a withering frown from across the party. Rather than leave his new partner's side, he enlists Ellie and Piper's help in strong-arming them away from the moonshine supply and out into the fresh air for a bit.

Piper: "Really, Blue, on my wedding day? I don't do many editorial cartoons, but I think this might warrant one."

Piper has roses blooming in her own cheeks from drinking, but she'll insist the sole survivor switch to Nuka-Cola, park them in a chair next to her and toss tongue twisters at them until they can recite them back to her straight. Like MacCready and Danse, she will also accept some impressive dance moves as penance for their crime of disrupting the celebration, but if she starts dancing too, she'll slip quickly into the same territory of overdoing it.

Preston: "No thanks, but you keep going. We'll see whose head feels better come sunrise."

On the opposite end of the scale from Deacon, Preston doesn't want to forget a second of this day and is therefore abstaining. His Minutemen compatriots aren't though, so the sole survivor fits right in with the crowd. Ever the model of manners, Preston will join in on their drunken rendition of Dion's "The Wanderer," but he'll just as quickly bow out to go grab his new spouse a drink, chair, snack or anything else they might need.

X6-88: "Strange. The sensation leaves me unbalanced, but... warm. Perhaps the SRB was right to restrict substances such as this."

The Courser is puzzled the first time the sole survivor hands him a drink, but he accepts it and downs the lot admirably, shaking his head at the taste. He likes the way it makes him feel for a little bit, but learns quickly that if he keeps going, he'll wind up draped over the nearest furniture like the former vault dweller. Once the sole survivor is hiccupping and incoherent, he easily hoists them over his shoulder and deposits them as far away from the liquor supply as he can, ignoring the impressed cheers of Deacon and MacCready.

BONUS!

Gage: "No, I don't care if it was brewed in a settlement, that stuff'll knock you on your ass just as well as the beer that's been sitting still for 200 years."

Porter Gage has been dry for decades, and his own wedding isn't going to be enough to ruin that streak. Seeing as he's pals with a whole bunch of raiders, he can't well keep the rest of them from indulging, but he can sure as hell protest if the sole survivor tries to push a bottle on him. Repeated inquiries will earn them a black eye, but he'll let them steal his eyepatch for the rest of the night as condolence.

Longfellow: "Here's to full glasses an' fulsome lasses, ain't that right, honey? Bottoms up!"

There's not much to do on the island when you live alone, other than get really good at your hobbies and drink. Old Longfellow lives accordingly, and he can out-swig anyone attending his little party, including the sole survivor. By the end of the night, those who dared to pick up a glass around the man are under the table, while Longfellow is still singing sweet, fully-coherent lullabies to his new gal beneath the glow of the bottle lanterns. Knowing him, she's probably just as seasoned at drinking as he is.

Maxson: "Dull senses make for poor soldiers, but I suppose we can set our weapons aside for one evening."

Any Brotherhood of Steel Elder's marriage is a huge deal, and subsequently warrants a huge celebration. Alcohol flows freely at such parties, and any drunken behavior on the sole survivor's behalf is probably drowned out by hundreds of other Knights, Scribes and Lancers acting foolish too. Like Longfellow, Maxson holds his own in contest with everyone else, but doesn't push those around him to keep up. Anyone counting his drinks can't help but wonder where he's putting it. If the sole survivor's not too far gone, they can spot him dumping his glasses after a sip or two to keep up the mythic image, but he'll swear them to secrecy.

Desdemona: "Being able to take a moment to breathe can be just as vitally important for an organization as resupply missions or exterminations. Stop touching my hair."

The Railroad leader appreciates being able to cut loose, but she's still too paranoid to trust any glass handed to her and favors the flask inside her ballistic weave-armored dress that she fills herself. Once relaxed, this is the only time she'll allow the sole survivor and friends to get rowdy and fawn over her in the least. Liquored-up compliments on her outfit, her leadership abilities and her organization are fair game, but any probing into her personal background will result in her simply standing up and walking away.

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wastelandlovingscenarios · 4 years ago

Note

Romanced!companions react to their precious fem!sole survivor getting slapped or strikes by an npc right in front of them? Can we categorize this; who would be the violent/threatening/just angry group? >:^0

omg, i’m pretty sure none of them would be remotely calm if that happened... but damn imagine the outcome of that poor npc. they lived a good life. this was a short request while i work on like 7 other ones, LOL.

thank you for requesting and please enjoy!

the next request i’m posting is gonna be a react that turned out a little longer than i expected so buckle up. 🤠

Danse:

violent/threatening

danse would for sure fall under the violent criteria of this situation. he already has one foot in the door once someone dares to go too close to sole, but hit her? that’s a totally different story for another day. that person better be praying to some god out there to give them mercy cause danse knows he won’t. the minute he hears that slap on soles face, it will trigger him to attack without a word. and to answer the question; does danse need a gun to do the job? absolutely not. those muscles are not just for show after all. no matter how many people hold him back, he will always fight his way through the crowd of people and beat the living fuck out of the person, even if they’re begging for him to stop. he won’t even realize the damage he’s done until after and won’t regret it either way, knowing that it was well deserved on their case. now if it was a situation where it was shoving or showing signs of starting a fight with his beloved, he’d step right in front of them and stare them down angrily with the biggest scowl ever. in some cases, that’s more than enough to scare most people off towards the other direction but in a few, he’s forced to threaten them. “i advise you step away unless you desire for this situation to escalate into something that involves solely you and i.” no one will ever be a threat to sole on his watch and he will make sure that nothing will stop him from protecting her.

Deacon:

threatening mixed with violence (depending the intensity of the situation)

deacons nice. he’s really laid back in most situations and is more than willing to let things go if he feels like it’s not worth the trouble. following that, deacons nice to a certain point and if you cross that point? consider yourself on his hitlist for the rest of your life. the intensity of the situation will determine how he’ll react towards it. if the person were to do as simple as shove sole, he’d keep an eye on them and say something within the lines of, “woah, woah, take it easy.” now if it was something like a slap or a punch, he wouldn’t even let it happen, not while he’s around. deacon would have fast enough reflexes to catch their wrist and he’d grip it enough to leave a mark, a displeased expression on his face. he’d even go as far as making jokes with an evil smile, such as, “oops my hand slipped,” or “oh you dropped this,” and proceed to deck the person as hard as he can with his free hand, not caring whether or not he knocks them unconscious. after that incident, he’d constantly terrorize the poor individual, often pulling pranks on them without any breaks. sometimes, he’d even go near them and speak in a happy tone while patting their back in a manner where it seemed a little too friendly.

Maccready:

threatening

mac is aware he’s not muscular nor is he made for fighting, which is why he sticks with guns during most situations. hes a lanky man and gets intimidated a little easier than most people, knowing that many of them could take him down with something as simple as a punch. it’s easier to say he’s more confident with a gun in his hand in these instances. despite his weaknesses, he would not hesitate to step up, knowing that hes unable to control his anger. he’d immediately point the gun at the persons temple and cock it just for intimidation purposes, but knows that he’s more than willing to pull the trigger if he needs to. it benefits him and the commonwealth more than damages it, seeing that this world needs one less asshole living it in, so who is he to care if this person dies or not? he’d slowly press it harder against the persons head, angrily speaking, “back away now.” if the person does so, he’ll gladly let them walk away without an injury and instead tend to sole. he wouldn’t let them go without some snarky comment like, “yeah keep walking and please let the door hit you on the way out.” if they refuse to move away from sole though, he’d gladly take the butt of his gun and smack it against their temple within seconds, completely ignoring the persons body knocked out on the floor. mac would get sole up and out of there as soon as he can, complaining under his breath about how much of that guy was an asshole and how he shouldve shot him.

Hancock:

violent group

consider one thing; that this person who fucked over his lover is beyond dead in his eyes. no one touches his sunshine, and if they dared to? theyll be wishing they hadn’t. hancock can quickly become someone’s friend, but the same can be said if it were an enemy. if he’s willing to stab someone for getting even a little too chummy and touchy with sole, imagine what he’d do if they dared to inflict pain on them. depending on where they are, like a bar for instance, he’d grab a glass bottle and crack it on the guys head, pushing him down on the floor without another word. using his shotgun, he’d make sure he’d put a few bullets through his body before he decides he’s completely satisfied with the new makeover he’s given them. now if he was in a more violent mood and was definitely not having it, he’d want to have their blood on his hands and wouldn’t care if it stained his clothes or not. he wants to send the message to everyone watching that if anyone dares to fucking cross his line, they’re gonna learn it the hard way and he will make it very known how the outcome of the situation will be. for example, he has a knife and what better way to use it than to stab the fuck out of someone for pissing him off? in some cases (depending on the severity of the situation), he’ll shank them in a place where he knows it’ll hurt the most and leave them there to suffer so they’ll get the idea that if they fuck with the people he treasures, they have another thing coming.

Nick Valentine:

mix of threatening and just angry.

honestly, nick is very civil about most cases and he won’t get violent unless absolutely necessary. he will definitely be beyond angry and give the person so much fucking shit for their actions. nick almost never yells but in this case, he’d yell so loud, it would fill up the silence of the room. nick also uses a lot of profanities when doing so, unable to maintain his professional attitude and his usual cool. “now what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” he’d even go as far as shoving them back, keeping a distance between sole and the person who deemed themselves as a threat to her presence. he’d try to minimize the possibility of violence arising, knowing that both him and sole are not as replaceable as they seem. he’d sneer at the person who striked sole, talking in the most irritated tone possible, “if i wasn’t here controlling her anger, you would’ve been dead on the pavement just a few minutes back, pal. consider yourself lucky that you were spared.” regardless if the person continued talking or not, nick would casually take soles hand and pull her away from the scene as he let out a remark loud enough for them to hear; “we don’t have time for the likes of you anyway, so take your trouble elsewhere.” nick has like zero shame when it comes to back talking or insulting someone he’s not fond of, so you best believe he won’t shut up until you both are out of sight.

Preston:

honestly, just angry.

preston will avoid violence at all costs, considering he doesn’t favor the idea and as much as he hates seeing sole get hurt, he doesn’t want to risk starting another issue. sole has a reputation amongst the commonwealth and the last thing he wants is to taint it or fuck it up, so he lets sole decide whether or not violence should be pursued. also considering that she has more than enough on her plate, he doesn’t want to add on to the list of problems she already has. so unless this guy is literally on the verge of gravely injuring his other half, he won’t do much besides step in front of sole to protect her from any further hits. he’d rather take the hits than to let someone as important as her take them firsthand. he wouldn’t forgive himself if such a thing happened. even if sole did most of the work in the end, he’d still send them the dirtiest look he’s ever given anyone and his hand would already be on the trigger of his laser musket, ready to fire at the guy anytime just in case. before officially leaving the person to do their own thing and bidding them goodbye, he’d get a little up close and personal, talking in the most threatening tone possible (even if he’s not the greatest at it); “once you mess with the general, you mess with the minutemen. i’d suggest you choose your battles a little better next time around.”

Sturges:

just angry

we all know by now sturges is a huge pacifist and will refuse to resort to violence unless he has no absolute choice but to do so. sturges is a very kind man and just like deacon, he’s willing to let most cases go but he respects sole too much to let violent situations like this slide. even if he’s very afraid to get into a violent situation head on, he’ll try to keep it as calm as possible, not wanting to escalate the situation more. being the considerate lover he is, he will ask sole to stay back and keep away from the person as much as possible as he tries to handle the situation himself. even if sturges doesn’t show it, he does get very angry in these instances and will not allow it to happen regardless of the reason. he’ll probably talk to the person with a firm tone and an irate expression but do nothing further than that unless the individual wants blood spilled, which in this case, sole is brought back into the situation. knowing sturges, he’d probably tell the person something like, “hey buddy, i really don’t appreciate what ya just did to my girl. ya need to quit it cause it ain’t right.” or, “if we got a problem, you can always just come to me instead of strikin’ that beautiful lady of mine. i’m willin’ to fix it with ya and if not, then i’m willin’ to take the hit.. though i’m sure my girl wouldn’ appreciate such a motive.” he knew she really wouldn’t. sole would shoot them down before he could let out a soft, “told ya so.”

Gage:

the ceo of violent

even if the raider life consists of injuries, blood, dirty work, and violence, he will never allow sole to get hurt under his watch. even if he tells her to toughen up and get used to it, he truly wants to protect her from the world and anything that could run as a potential hazard. that being said, he doesn’t care who the fuck strikes sole- it could be a man, woman, the highest and most royal person in the planet and it’d still have the same result in the end. gage wouldn’t even give them a chance to explain themselves and would simply let out a small, “oh fuck no, you ain’t.” and shoot them down himself before sole could give him an order. he would take the situation into his own hands with or without soles persmission, knowing that they crossed gages line of comfort. if he’s not satisfied with that or feels as if that’s too much of an easy way out, he’ll shoot their leg and come closer to them to step on their chest to block any chance of escaping. “wanna act tough, huh? show me how tough ya are, why dontcha? be my guest and apologize to the overboss. i’ll let her decide if it’s good enough to let ya go.” if sole were to deny every apology, he’d continue to shoot them limb by limb until he decides to put them down completely. now if sole decides their apology is more than enough, he’ll willfully let them go but let her decide their fate on whether they should be put down or not. in the end, if he had his way with that bastard, they wouldn’t be seeing the light for a long while.

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danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years ago

Text

Romanced! Male!Companions react to Sole/Lone/Six being unable to walk the morning after.

I’ve got M!Companions from FO4, FO3, and FONV here, but let me know if you guys want me to include anyone else at all!

Might be just a little NSFW?

;)

Fallout 4 --

Danse:

Danse would feel absolutely horrible. After the initial flush on his cheeks at the mention of sex, his expression would turn to one of devastation. There honestly wouldn't be any sense of satisfaction whatsoever at having hurt you, and he would internally berate himself for not being as attentive to you, and as aware of your reactions as he should've been. That day he would tell you to take it easy and he would be at your constant beck and call in an attempt to make it up to you. He would spend all day beside you, working on cleaning and repairing your weapons and armor, engaging in idle conversation, and maybe listening to the radio. The next time you two are intimate he will be exceedingly gentle with you, and will take extra care to ensure you are more prepared for him before really getting into it.

Deacon:

He would feel really bad to have hurt you enough to impact you like this, but also he would feel just a small twinge of satisfaction at having been able to do so. He'll do his best to take care of you after you tell him about it though, spending the whole day with you in bed, just chatting away, playing little games with you, like “two truths, one lie” or 20 questions and the like. When the time does come for you two to be intimate again, he'll have you take the lead a few times in a row to get an idea of your preferred pacing so he can replicate it better and hopefully not hurt you in the future. But, and he's not particularly proud of this, he will ask your permission to tell some of the others back at HQ what had happened. (He just really just wants to see the look on Carrington’s face, and prove a certain something to Glory about his anatomy. But, of course, he wouldn’t use your name if you didn't want him to. Discretion is this man’s forte, after all).

Hancock:

Is it still considered aftercare if it happens the day after you've had sex? Well, whatever it’s called, Hancock would do all that he can to make up for how he had made you feel. He should know better after all by now, he would feel horrible and try to think back to the way you had reacted to some of his movements in an effort to pinpoint what exactly had hurt you so he could make sure to never do it again. If you wanted chems to numb the pain, he'll surely offer them, and besides that, he'll spend the whole day just looking after you. Holding you close, telling you jokes and stories, making you food, maybe giving you a message, just anything to make you feel better. And when you two are intimate again, he'll be sure to make it up to you. Big time.

MacCready:

Initially, he might feel a distinct sense of pride at having rendered you immobile with his vicious love, but once his brain wraps around the fact that you're actually in pain, he'll feel pretty bad. Maybe not as bad as he should, which he tries to hide, but it's pretty obvious given his little grin he has plastered on his face all day. But he’ll be sure to take good care of you, grabbing snacks and refreshments before curling up next to you with a couple of comic books, really just taking full advantage of the day off. From now on, when the two of you do have sex, he will try to prevent this from happening again by having you be in control for the most part, at least until he learns your body and its limits a bit better. He still might not completely ease up, but he’ll at least make it seem like he’s not as proud of what he’d done as he actually happens to be. And just a heads up, he may just bring up the fact that he was the one who “loved you so hard that you couldn’t walk” at every given opportunity, so just be aware of that.

Nick:

The poor old detective would feel dreadful, this was part of the reason he'd been hesitant to engage in physical acts of intimacy with you in the first place. Even if you assured him it was nothing more than some temporary soreness, he'd have trouble rationalizing being with you intimately for a little while. He would also take an easy day himself so he could keep an eye on you and get you whatever you might need. When you did manage to convince him that you would be okay to have sex again, he would be overly tender and gentle, just to make sure that you know how much your well-being means to him, and to assure you that he would never repeat the actions that had ended up hurting you ever again. As far as he was concerned, he wanted you to wake up feeling good after being with him, to feel satisfied and giddy and maybe just a little tired, but certainly not in pain.

Preston:

Oh lordy, good luck trying to get him to touch you again after he finds out that he hurt you. Initially, his brain would send a little spark of pride to the forefront of his mind when you first told him, but his conscious self would instantly shut it down, disgusted by the fact that it was present at all. He would insist you take the whole day off and would try to keep up on his work while also looking after you in every way possible. You'll really have to work to get him to be with you intimately again anytime soon, as he'll be quite worried about you, and once you do manage to convince him, he'll be extraordinarily gentle and slow. He's very sweet, but you'll have to be patient with him as he pauses with every heavy breath you release, or gasp you take, or moan you utter. Even good noises are scary for him, but don't worry, he'll get back to his usual pace eventually, and now be extra aware of your every reaction to him; which, as it turns out, can be quite handy.

X6-88:

The courser will be conflicted. On the one hand, you were aware that X6’s lovemaking is rough, you've known that from the start, so the two of you wouldn’t be unused to scenarios like this occurring. However, for it to have escalated to physically impairing you enough to prevent you from walking… that made him feel an ache of regret in his chest. Luckily, X6 doesn't miss a thing, and likely will recall which aspects of the night had led to this specific outcome, and he would try to eliminate those factors from future interactions. As for now, he will ensure that you are safe, and as comfortable as possible; he will guard you as you take the day to rest, and will fetch you anything that you require. Normally, when you were hurt, he would recommend paying a visit to the Institute medical facility, but in this case… he would rather try and help you himself if it comes to it. You’re not entirely sure if it’s because he’s embarrassed, or just possessive over certain areas of your body now, but you’d say his crimson cheeks were a bit of a giveaway.

Fallout 3 --

Butch:

On the outside, he would be the prime example of the sympathetic boyfriend. He would apologize and spend the day cuddling with you, playing with your hair, eating snack cakes and drinking nuka cola. On the inside, however, he would feel a certain sense of fulfillment, and would have to consciously hold back the wicked grin that threatened to spill onto his lips at the thought of his lovemaking being wild enough to make it so that you couldn’t walk. He certainly wouldn’t actively try to do it again, but he also wouldn’t necessarily try to prevent it from happening, so just be prepared for anything. But whether or not he’s successful in making you sore again, he’ll fully dedicate himself to caring for you afterwards, ensuring that you’re comfortable and content in his arms at the end of each night.

Charon:

The ghoul can’t say he’s surprised, he did warn you that this might happen, after all. His previous sexual experiences have all been initiated by past employers, so most of them have ranged from pretty negative ordeals to downright violent encounters, and though he'll try to leave that in the past, it's tough for him to let go of it completely since it’s really all he knows. That being said, he will still feel bad about hurting you, and will really try to take more care the next time the two of you are intimate. You'll have to work together on communication and focus more on foreplay in the future, but Charon aims to please, and would never purposefully try to hurt you (unless, of course, if you told him you were into it ;).

Jericho:

He’ll honestly just grin nice and big when you tell him. Sorry. If you wanted tenderness and sympathy, you should probably look into being with someone else. Jericho would consider this to be an achievement on his part, and assure you that this was a sign that the two of you had really done it right. He might complain a bit about having to stay in for the day, but that doesn't mean he won't still take care of you, in his own sort of way. He'll offer you a drink (or a few), or a cigarette (or a whole pack), and would probably just end up falling back into bed next to you and taking a nice, long nap at your side. He wouldn't really promise to change anything the next time the two of you have sex, but he might try to reassure you that it will get easier with more "practice."

Fallout New Vegas --

Arcade:

Oh, he would definitely laugh, because it's a joke. Obviously you're joking with him… right? No!? But-- how? He would be confused by this, and too busy thinking through what he possibly could have done to make you physically unable to walk, to actually address the issue. Once he snaps out of it, he'll ask if you're okay and try to keep his snarky and sarcastic quips to a minimum for the day. As much as Arcade loves giving you a hard time in general, this time he'd be too embarrassed to bring it up. In the event that you do mention it, you'd best be prepared for the pink hue that would adorn, not just his cheeks, nor even his face, but his entire body. When the two of you do have sex again, Arcade will be happy to let you take the lead so you can better control the pacing and keep from hurting yourself at all, (which really is just a win-win scenario, considering the fact that he really prefers you being in control anyway.)

Boone:

His brows would furrow at the news, barely noticeable through his sunglasses, but he would simply set down his rifle and bag and settle back into bed with you. The ex-soldier would curl his arms around you and stay beside you for the remainder of the day, rubbing his arms along your body comfortingly. He’s not big on small talk, but Boone would love to just sit and listen to you ramble all day long. When the evening comes, he’ll be sure to get up and make you both dinner before encouraging you to go to sleep early. Despite his stoic exterior, he's actually quite the tender caretaker. The next time you two are intimate together, he'll consciously focus on being more gentle and controlled with his movements, and certainly won't be shy in making sure you're properly "prepared" for him when he does get a little more rough.

Raul:

Aw, the poor old ghoul would feel horrible about hurting you, the ridge above his eyes would crinkle upwards as he flashed you a sympathetic smile. He'd be a little embarrassed about it as well, feeling like it was rude of him to let his self-control slip enough to have ended up hurting you. He'd take care of you for the day, taking the opportunity to tidy up your living space as he chats with you about anything and everything, telling you stories of his life from before the bombs dropped, teaching you some words in Spanish, and telling cheesy jokes to make you laugh. He would give you a bit of time to recover before agreeing to sleeping with you again, and this time he would suggest either you taking the lead, or using a safe word in case his control started slipping again.

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