#male sole survivor×john hancock

[yamamotomotoya]

A little fun time with Hugo and Hancock.

N5FW

[parasitecompany]

Omg is cannibal nate!

[hanckocks-dagger]

oh, the night's so blue

masterlist

John hancock x f!reader

Description: After a drunken one night stand with your boss and mayor, you'd planned on hiding out in your room for several months. Those plans get delayed when Nate, general of the Minutemen and your childhood friend, asks you to join him on a quest in the west of the Commonwealth.

Tags: Drunken one night stand, Hancock is a pining simp, and a slut. Reader is not SoSu, has afab characteristics and is referred to with she/her pronouns through the story. No y/n

Warnings: Smut! Drunk sex, consentual but I'll throw in the dubcon tag anyway, talk of violence, guns and drugs a lá Fallout ofc

Word count: 6.1K

Notes: So this is a one-shot that sort of feeds into an idea I've had in my head for a while, of a reader that knew Nate from before the bombs, who either ended up in Vault 111 as well or something similar, but got out about a year before Nate did. This might end up turning into a series of semi-connected one-shots or I might just cut it off here, but I definitely have some other ideas for this story rolling around in my head. More story focused than some of my other fics, delving a bit more into what actually living in the game's story would be like, but of course a hefty dose of our lovely Hancock. But I really like Nate, and I didn't want to make the reader the Sole Survivor so we could see the two of them interact. Also my Nate build is usually high charisma, high strength and low intelligence (idiot savant perk ofc), so he's a bit of a himbo <3 my fav type of man.

Also just a small and totally irrelevant thing, but I headcanon Nate/the sole survivor as choosing not to smoke, just because the player isn’t able to smoke in the game. Just a fun tidbit I threw in there. Also, I’m a smoker and I have friends who aren’t and the relentless back and forth teasing is always fun. They all vape anyway, so it’s just a race for who gets cancer first lmao. 

Cross posted on my ao3!

"What's the status on the top shelf stuff?" You yelled out from the back room, wiping drops of sweat from your forehead before they could drop into your eyes. Sure, the new beer tap was ingenious, making the closest thing to actual fresh beer since you'd come out on this side of the cryo-chamber, but goddamn were the canisters heavy.

"Almost out of moonshine, luv," Charlie called from the bar, tinny cockney accent carrying through the open space.

That was fine, you could drop by and speak to Vadim tomorrow before opening, as long as Hancock could supply the caps and lend you some help to carry the bottles back.

"Anything else?" You grunted, heaving a full canister back out to the front, bending down to connect the pipes.

"I think you should start carrying some Fireball, I know how much you used to like it," A new voice spoke up from the other side of the bar, startling you into banging your head on the underside of the bartop. You cursed, shooting to your feet, finding a ginning, familiar face on the other side.

"Nate!"

He said your name back with the same amount of enthusiasm, slouched in one of the barstools, familiar bright blue vault suit looking a little worse for wear.

"When did you get in? How did you get in?" You asked, eyes flitting about. Sure enough, there in the background, spread over one of the couches was mayor Hancock, speaking with a smiling Magnolia and a broody looking MacReady.

"Just landed in town, figured I'd come say hi before crashing at the Rexford."

"Well, shit," You breathed, wiping your sweaty hands on a dishrag, "Can I get you a drink? I want to hear about this oh-so-secret mission you were on."

"Sure, I'll take a beer."

You fished over a clean-ish looking glass, gave it a quick wipe for good measure, and poured. The movements were practiced, muscle memory from a lifetime ago taking over as you tilted the glass, filled it, flicked the spout the other way for some top foam. You slid it over the bar, accepting Nate’s smile as payment. 

You grabbed yourself a glass, calling out to Charlie as you filled the glass with ice, “I’m calling it a night, just leave me a list of whatever needs to be done in the morning.

You poured yourself some of the top shelf stuff, nothing good by pre-war standards, but nowadays it was rare and mostly didn't taste like it was 200 years old.

You stepped around the bar, planning on planting yourself on a stool next to Nate, but he was already rising to his feet, heading for the rest of the group.Hiding your awkwardness, you trailed after him. You knew MacReady tangentially, sometimes bringing him drinks into the backroom, keeping an eye out for disagreements and sometimes running up to get Ham when things were getting out of hand. Magnolia was your coworker of course, and there was plenty to talk about after long shifts, but she was– technically speaking– about twenty years your senior, and married to her job in a way you weren't.

Then there was Mayor Hancock. A charming flirt at the best of times, happy to stand up for you on the job, as the owner of the bar, after all, but there was always something about him you never managed to crack, never straying away from genial small talk. Small talk, of course, these days, meant discussing the last Super Mutant raid, or let him rattle off about his favorite chems. As you approached, he tipped his hat at you and you responded with a little curtsy, using your free hand to tug on your apron like a skirt. 

You fell onto the couch beside Nate, stirring your drink with a finger, using your other hand to untie the apron around your waist. Being off your feet felt good. There were no clocks in the Third Rail, and no windows, so your sense of time tended to get a bit skewed, but seeing as Ham usually tossed out the stragglers by 5 am and you'd had a mess and a half to clean up, you assumed it must be closing in on dawn. A rough 12 hour shift made your liquor feel earned, as you sipped at it, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

"So," You said, catching Nate's attention before he could get sucked into the others' conversation, "What was the notorious General of the Minutemen up to this week? Liberating some more settlements?"

"Mmm, actually doing some work for the Railroad," His tone went hushed, unnecessary and strangely endearing, as everyone in the bar knew and was at least non-committal about their activities.

"Ahh," You replied, matching his tone. "Did it go well?"

"It went fantastically. I brought my own team in," He motioned with his beer toward Hancock and MacCready, "But we ended up getting some help from another agent, too. And, man, what a lady," he went a bit starry eyed, making you laugh.

"Got a little crush, Nathaniel?"

He snorted, and you spotted the tinge of red in his cheeks with glee. 

"Nothing like that, but what a powerhouse. You should have seen her, mowing them down with a minigun."

"Don't sell yourself short, Nate, I've seen you in Power Armor before. Unstoppable force and all that."

Ever humble, Nate's cheeks turned rosier, and he glanced down at his drink. You watched his Adam's apple bob, the shy smile that graced his features.

To put him out of his misery, you turned to the group at large, "So, does this mean you've returned our beloved mayor back, or are you heading out again?"

Hancock's attention snapped up from MacReady so he could grin at you, "What, you missed me doll?"

"Well, you do sign my paychecks," You smiled back at him, then remembered, "Oh, yeah, speaking of, I have to go over to Diamond City tomorrow to get more of Bobrov's best, maybe I can steal Nate to help me ferry it all back."

He hummed, "What d'ya say, brother? 100 caps to keep my favorite employee safe?"

From behind the bar, Charlie gave his best impression of a grunt, "I resent that, mayor!"

"'M sorry, Charlie, you just don't have her charm."

"Or her tits," Magnolia chimed in, twirling an unlit cigarette in her fingers as she smirked at you.

You flushed, eyes flitting around, finally landing on Hancock and MacReady's empty glasses, "Refills, boys?"

"Thought you'd clocked out," MacReady said, even as he handed over his glass. "Well, I'm the club's ambassador even after hours, gotta keep the reputation up."

"You best not be giving free drinks to every sorry brother that walks in here," Hancock called after you as you stepped behind the bar.

"Mm, no," You sing-songed back, "Only my favorites."

The night passed easily. You stayed by Nate’s sidelistening to him tell tales of the people he'd been meeting, the farm he recruited for the minutemen last week. He didn't delve too far into this last mission, always the good soldier who followed orders. You spent about twenty minutes trying to guess his secret Railroad code name.

"Mmmm, buttercup."

"Not even close."

"Sugar bomb?"

The look of offense he gave you was so scathing it had you spitting out half your beer over the table, doubled over in laughter as he complained.

"It relates to my prowess as an agent, not some pre-war pet name!"

"Fine, fine, uhhhh. Striker? Shadow? Tank?"

"Honestly, these are terrible. Never open a baby naming business."

"Uhm, excuse you," You said, taking a sip of beer to try and reduce the heat in your cheeks, "I would make excellent raider names. Chainsaw, evil-eye, uhhhhh," You cast your eyes around, searching for inspiration, "Ricky."

"Ricky?" MacReady asked, eyebrows knit in confusion, "What's wrong with Ricky?"

"Dunno," You shrugged, "Doesn't he just sound like an asshole?" You put on an air, repeated 'Ricky' in an ominous voice, which got MacReady and Nate to crack up again.

Magnolia vanished up to the surface after a bit of flirting with Hancock, insisting on her beauty sleep. As was your usual, you whistled after her, calling lewd, joking comments as she walked up the steps. As was her usual, she gave you a scowl and the middle finger.

"Ehhh, I'll get her to crack one of these days," You murmured into your beer, that tipsy, never ending giddy smile stuck on your lips. You caught Hancock's eye where he sat, now alone on the couch, spread eagle with his gangly limbs. When he spotted you, he gave you a grin, cigarette in his teeth.

Suddenly you desperately wanted a smoke. You patted your own pockets, found that you'd left them at home. You cursed the you from the morning for whatever logic had made that choice, suddenly desperate for nicotine.

Your head, resting against the back of the couch, lolled to look over at Nate. Who, of course, didn't and had never smoked. Goody-two-shoes.

So, you clambered to your feet, ignoring the ache that made itself apparent, and collapsed over besides Hancock.

"Does the good mayor have some cigarettes to share?" You asked, hand on his knee, leaning in close to be heard over a playful argument MacReady and Nate had started.

Hancock's smile got wider somehow, those deep dark eyes crinkling at the corner, giving the appearance of crow's feet.

"For you? Always." He dug around in the deep pocket's of that crazy coat, pulling out a cigarette case. Instead of handing you one, though, he plucked the one from his mouth and stuck it into yours.

Brain slowed by a long shift and plenty of alcohol, it took a moment for the action to catch up with, fingers rising slowly to pluck at the cigarette. You blinked at him, but he seemed unphased, pulling out another cigarette from his case and lighting it.

You leant back in the couch as your brain caught up on his move, staring blankly at a gesturing Nate, MacReady equally engrossed, somehow having missed the interaction that now had your brain reeling. Hancock's arm was stretched out behind you, tantalizingly close, fingers almost tickling the hairs at the back of you neck. You felt the chill of goosebumps, shook off the urge to shiver.

You puffed at the cigarette instead, slowly sinking back in the couch, reverting back to the sort of talk you were used to with the mayor, "How'd you like the trip? Nice to get out of the city?"

Hancock took it in stride, as he did everything, "Oh, yeah. Makes you forget what's out there, staying too long in these walls."

You hummed your assent. You stuck to Goodneighbor because you wanted to stay alive. The furthest you'd ventured in the last year was scoping out that brewery for the Rexford. But Hancock was a ghoul, and even so was more careless with safety than anyone else you knew. Getting out of the city, with only yourself and the stars as company... it was a romantic idea.

"So, what, we're gonna become the Railroad's home base now?" You teased,

"Not exactly," Hancock replied, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, "But Nate knows his shit, and he trusts them. They're doing good, dontcha think?"

You considered this, rolling it around in your liquor soaked brain, "I guess it depends on whether you think the synths are just robots or... y'know, slaves being put through just as much pain as we are."

Hancock nodded, eyes trained on you, expression curious. For all his flirting, Hancock was easily one of the more respectable men you'd met, always willing to listen, even if he was usually a bit too out of his mind to interpret it. He was whip-smart, too, when he was sober enough to put a thought together.

"I suppose it depends on if you believe in the soul. Do you, Mayor Hancock?" Some deep-seated, long ago buried urge reared his head. You remembered being a kid, sitting in a diner with high-school friends, batting your eyelashes at a crush of yours, a coy smile on your face, trying for a sultry voice and missing it by a mile. But now you were about two hundred years older, and had a few years of experience under your back.

So when you looked at Hancock through lidded eyes, purposely hollowed your cheek as you sucked on your cigarette, the one that had been in his mouth before yours, you could appreciate his reaction. The widening of his eyes, the way the hand behind your head seemed to move just a bit closer, the minute shift of his hips as his body turned further towards you.

"I think I'm a bit too sober for those kinds of questions," He snickered. Being a Ghoul made determining age difficult, but sometimes you were sure Hancock was young, younger than you even, the way he carried himself, the carelessness of a teenager.

You smiled back, soft, put your cigarette out in an ashtray on the table, picking up your glass instead.

Hancock said your name, sultry, and that hand finally brushed your shoulder, a gentle, teasing touch.

You answered with a smile, a tilted, " John," followed by a sip from your drink, one you concentrated all your effort into drinking as normally as you could. If you let your tongue slide over your lips to catch the lingering taste, well, no one had to know.

"You know," You said, voice hushed as if you were revealing a great secret, "I feel like I don't know you well enough. You haven't been around enough since you hired me."

"I knew I left the bar in good hands," As if to prove his point, his fingers teased over your bare forearm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Maybe, I should- ah- give you a tour of the Old State House sometime."

The innuendo was painfully obvious, accompanied by a lecherous wink, but you felt your face flush anyway, ridiculously charmed by his brazenness.

Charlie ended up kicking the four of you out, insisting on sweeping before the sun came up. On the way up the stairs, conspicuously a few steps behind Nate and MacReady, the two of you got a bit too handsy, after you'd spent the last couple of minutes petting the velvet of his coat, hypnotized by the luxurious softness of the ancient costume, as Hancock rattled off history facts about Boston, some of which you'd half remembered from history class.

"Found the old fucker's diary in a closet on the second floor," He'd said, as your fingers traced down his arms, across his chest, barely disguised fascination. You wanted to steal his hat, tuck it onto your hair, flick it the way Hancock often did.

"That old bastard was– was kinkier than you could ever imagine," His voice stuttered as your fingers traced near his navel, studying the stitching on the waistcoats he wore.

"Oh yeah?" You snickered, loose enough with drinks to lose your impulse control chasing after whatever felt good in the moment. Mostly that had been cigarettes, but now it was the idea of kissing him, of feeling that mouth on you, anywhere.

"The mayor of Goodneighbor," You breathed, smoothing out his collar, "Keeping himself busy with five hundred year old porn."

Hancock laughed with you.

Outside, the two of you stumbled apart, leaning against the brick wall to share a cigarette, Nate and MacReady somehow still talking, even if Nate was shooting you curious glances and MacReady smirked every time your eyes passed over him.

Eventually, though, when a too loud sentence awoke a grumbling drifted who threatened to hurl a bottle at Nate, it was time to call it a night.

Nate clapped Hancock on the shoulder and kissed your cheek, which got him a punch on the arm, a bit harder than you meant to with the alcohol in your system. He took it like a champ, of course, calling out, "Have fun!" As he rounded the corner towards the Rexford.

MacReady vanished with a tip of his cap, leaving you with smoke in your mouth and the morning sun in your eyes.

"You want to take that tour now, doll?" The brush of a teasing hand over your lower back.

You thought about your dusty apartment, of waking up in a few hours to repeat the same shift for the millionth time. A cold bed, empty.

"Yeah," You breathed, hand catching on the fluttering sash around Hancock's waist, setting a firm pace and tugging him along with you like a dog on his leash. His hands found your hips before you even made it to the door, pinning you against the old wood to kiss you, deep and warm and wet. Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer, till you stood hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest.

Somehow, one of you got the door open, falling through the door, walking each other in an embrace towards the staircase. The kiss deepened, Hancock licked into your mouth as you bumped into the banister, struggled to keep your balance.You let him lead, pushing you backwards up the stairs, hands always gentle, ready to catch you if you tripped.

It was a drunken fumble, your shirt rucked up, trying to get all his stupid buttons unbuttoned as you staggered to the stairs, his lips suddenly attached to your neck.

His hands moved to your exposed waist as you reached the second floor, greedy hands moving over the expanse of skin. You huffed against his mouth, finding it unfair as you struggled to even get under his ridiculous fucking shirt, finally managing to sneak a hand under it, nails gently scratching against rough skin. You weren't exactly versed in Ghoul anatomy, but you'd heard enough complaining from drifters at the bar about the lack of feeling in their skin to know you'd have to push a little deeper, press a little harder. Sure enough, as Hancock lead you stumbling towards his bedroom, you pushed your hand up to his chest, pressing down into the meat of one of his shoulders, you received a deep groan against your mouth.

Then suddenly you were in the Mayor's bedroom. Clean enough, by the wasteland standards. Strewn with chems, as you'd anticipated, but the bed looked as clean as you could be.

Hancock had ended up behind you, hands sneaking around to your ass, your collar pushed to the side so he could kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder. It felt... nice. Soft. Softer than you'd anticipated from him. It sent an ache through you, not to your core, though electricity tingled, desperate for attention you hadn't provided it with in years. The ache was in your heart, extending out to your lungs, stealing your breath the way his kisses had, as he gently guided you towards the bed.

You spun around in his arms to capture his lips again, nipping at his bottom lips, hands moving to his waist, sneaking down into his waistband. The two of you danced around the room, lips locked, hands moving as clothes were unbuttoned, tossed to the side, shoes pulled off.

Then you were naked, falling onto a surprisingly plush mattress, as Hancock dropped his coat onto the back of his desk chair, pants unbuttoned and half falling off his skinny hips. He left the hat on, even as he stripped everything else off, and it made you huff a quiet, airy giggle. He grinned back at you, always happy to be happy, as he crawled on top of you, bracketing you between his legs.

His dick was the same as the rest of him, scarred and pocked, but you found you didn't mind in the slightest as your hands wandered downwards, teasingly gentle touches running over him, drawing out airy breaths and groans.

You were quick to guide him into you, pulling him down for a kiss when he entered you, sending shocks of burning pain through you, uncomfortable but manageable. Still, he noticed, unfocused eyes blinking down at you, a frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong," You breathed, even through the tension of your muscles, "Just– uh– been a while. Gimme a moment."

He seemed unsure for a moment, looking as if he wanted to pull out, but you forced a calm through your muscles, slowly feeling him inch his way further inside, until the two of you were hip to hip. You breathed through the sting, shutting your eyes and guiding his face to your neck, happy when he got the hint and nipped at your skin. Your breath got shaky when he found a perfect spit by the junction of your neck and your shoulder, feeling his teeth sink into the flesh, soothed quickly with his tongue, with his spit-slick lips.

"Okay," You breathed eventually, one hand holding the back of his neck, the other clutching at the muscle on his back, "You can move."

"Are you–"

"Hancock," You said, voice firm. In a more sober state, his caution would touch you, but you were desperate to feel the drag of him, to feel his hips working. "I'm a big girl, it's okay. You can move."

He bent down to kiss you as he slowly pulled his hips back. With conscious effort to keep your muscles calm, your side of the kiss was a bit half hearted, but you gasped into his mouth as he pushed back in, the stretch not painful but, "So fucking perfect," You breathed, "Just like that."

Hancock was amazingly receptive, somehow cataloging every moan and twitch, and he had you pushed into the mattress within minutes, gasping and shaking beneath him. His hips drove into you at a perfect pace, his mouth moving to your tits, gentle bites at the soft skin, pulling your nipples into his mouth to flick at them with his tongue. Your whispered words of direction quickly dissolving into moans and gasps of his name.

Almost the exact second the thought of your clit popped into your head, his fingers were there, moving tight circles, pressure just the right side of too hard. You arched into him, a moan so loud it would have made you self conscious if you weren't too focused on driving him deeper, getting him closer, getting as much of his skin on you as you could.

Your orgasm approached with mounting tension in your muscled, strangled cries of more, harder, "Please, John."

You came with a strangled cry, every muscle in your body tensing and then going completely limp, gasps of air as your peak faded, replaced by a pleasant buzzing sensations. John's pace slowed as you shook, hands leaving your clit to grab at your hips, pull you towards him as he chased his own release. You were happy to let him, your hands exploring him leisurely, gripping at his biceps, his shoulders, wrapping around his neck to guide him into another kiss.

You could tell when he got close, the way his hips jerked, thrusts growing rushed and sloppy, desperate, the way his breath quickened, the way his dark eyes seemed to darken even further. At the last moment, he pulled out, wrapping his hand around his cock, haphazard pace the same as he fucked into his fist, a few more pumps and he came over your stomach. You tensed under the surprising heat of it, but relished the soft groan that escaped his mouth, head tilted back, mouth open,

He half collapsed on top of you, breathing against your mouth, only his arms holding him from falling into you. With every inhale, his expanding chest brushed against your breasts, every touch sending electric shots through you.

He collapsed beside you, still panting, one arm curling around your chest, just under your tits, pulling you into his side. "Just– give me a second, I'll get you something to clean up."

"Mmm," You breathed, relishing the heat of him, positive he was warmer than a normal person, the way it radiated off him, heating your skin at the contact points, "Don't worry about it. Deal with it in the morning." Your words were slurring, eyelids heavy.

"Mmm," Hancock agreed, tucking his face into your shoulder. He held you tight, like little kids held onto teddy bears. It was... nice. Unfamiliar to you, but, as you buried your head into the soft pillow, you supposed it was something you wouldn't mind getting used to.

You woke with a start, unfamiliar footsteps thudding above your head. It took a moment to reorient yourself, to recognize the walls you were blinking at, the hand tucked around your waist, the soft snores in your ear. Your head thudded, your mouth dry as a desert, tasting like cigarettes and whiskey. 

"Shit," You whispered, slowly extracting yourself from Hancock's warm arms, getting to your feet. Stark naked. Your pants were slung over a chair, one sock still in the pant leg, the other tossed onto a desk, surrounded by several tins of mentats and empty jet canisters.

"Fuck," You breathed, hopping around trying to get your socks on. One of your boots was on its side, halfway under the bed. Your shirt was hanging on the fucking doorknob and you tugged it on, ignoring the stale smell of sweat and alcohol that clung to it from last night’s shift.

You swept the room, but couldn't for the life of you find your underwear. The thought of leaving them somewhere was mortifying, but when Hancock shifted in the bed, you decided not to risk staying. You pulled your boots on, leaving them unlaced as you crept over the ancient floorboards. Seeing as Hancock was managing to sleep through the ruckus of the drifters on the top floor, you doubted the creak of the house would wake him, but you were still extra cautious as you cracked the bedroom doors open, just enough for you to slip through and rush down the staircase, pointedly not looking at any of the Neighborhood Watch.

Out in the semi-fresh morning air, you took a deep breath, mumbling another curse to yourself as you began a quick jog home, trying to avoid any knowing glances as you rounded a corner and shouldered the door to your apartment building open.

Shower, underwear, find Nate, get him to ask Hancock for the caps while you cowered in the background with sunglasses and a baseball cap over a dark hoodie. Fuck.

The shower was cold, obviously, and you counted your blessings for having running water at all, even if it was a bit too irradiated for comfort. You did your best to scrub fast, hands brushing through sweaty, greasy hair, soaping the necessary areas. You very pointedly did not linger on the dried, flaking cum on your stomach, exorcizing it with a washcloth and curses.

You were busy drying your hair with your dirty shirt, because whenever the water lingered too long it left an uncomfortable sheen over your hair and smelled a bit like a bog. A knock sounded at the door, sending ice through your veins, a response equivalent to the roar of a Deathclaw or the clicking of a Mirelurk.

For a moment, you contemplated crawling onto the rusty fire-escape outside your living room window and walking into downtown Boston to let some Super Mutants eat you.

Instead, though, you stepped over to the door, moments quiet as you contemplated what the fuck you were going to say. Last night was a mistake. You're my boss. I haven't had sex in two years and I'm sorry for leading you on, can I please have my panties back?

Another knock startled you out of your thoughts, fast and panicked, followed by the call of your name from a voice that definitely did not belong to Hancock.

You opened the door to a panting Nate, already back in his suit and armor, gun tossed over his shoulder.

"Nate?"

"Hey! Have fun last night?"

You flushed, even though his expression was nothing but kind; curious and happy for you, like a good friend should be.

"Uh. What's with the get up?" You deflected, which Nate took in stride.

"Distress call from the Minutemen, they asked me to head out west to Graygarden."

"The... farm run by robots?"

"Oh, that's what it is?"

"Wh- Never mind. What are you doing there?"

"Something about the water supply and Super Mutants. I'm leaving in a few minutes"

"Okay, that's fine, I'll drag someone else with me to Diamond City, no stress."

"No, I want you to come with me."

You blinked, hand tensing on the door frame, "Nate I'm not a fighter."

"Yes you are," He said, looking so genuinely confused it made your heart seize a bit, "We fought together. At Anchorage. Did you forget?"

"No, I didn't–" You swallowed. 

After returning home, witnessing massacre after massacre, you'd sworn to yourself you wouldn't get involved in that kind of shit. Even after the world ended, you'd managed to keep that promise. At night, alone in your cold bed, you could still hear the hissing of sentry bots, the creaking of power armor, the whistling of bullets. "I don't do that anymore, Nate."

Nate pulled one of his more serious faces, a rare sight for a man with seemingly endless drive and relentless optimism, even after losing more than you could imagine.

"Look. I understand what you're feeling–" You took a breath to interrupt him, because his blind patriotism had driven him forward when you'd lagged behind, weighed down by the blood on your hands. Nate pushed forward, "I know you don't believe me, but I really do. And nothing helped me heal those wounds like helping people."

"Helping robots." Your voice was flat.

"Who provide food for over a dozen settlements. You'd be doing good."

You bit your lip, casting your eyes over your apartment to avoid the earnest look in Nate's eyes. Sure, you were... content in your life. Goodneighbor was as safe as any settlement could be, you had steady income, some sort of purpose. But you remembered the day Nate had walked into the Third Rail with Nick Valentine on his heels, bleary eyed, vault suit still pristine. The way your heart had sung, the way an aching loneliness you'd felt since coming off the ice had faded.

Was this what the rest of your life would be? Slinging drinks, small talk with coworkers and bar patrons, waiting for the next time Nate would walk in through the doors like some yearning wife waiting for her husband to return from war?

Besides, you weren't going to be able from Hancock in his own fucking town, not for long.

You shut your eyes, feeling the phantom weight of a gun in your hands.

"Fuck. Fine."

The smile on Nate's face was like a kid's at Christmas.

"Great! I'll meet you at the front entrance in..." He glanced down at his pip-boy, "Thirty minutes?"

"Okay."

And he was off, leaving you standing in your doorway, blinking at nothing wondering what the fuck you'd agreed to.

Under your bed there were some loose floorboards you'd been using to store the important things. Your spare caps, your vault suit and pip-boy, your 10mm pistol and your combat shotgun. The former was familiar to you, used centuries ago in a war no one understood anymore. You'd grabbed it on your stumbling way out of the vault, and it was a good thing to or you would have gotten gored by some very territorial mole rats before even making it to a settlement. The shotgun had been stolen, in your trek to downtown Boston, taken off a raider you'd knocked out with a lead pipe. He'd clearly made some adjustments to it, with a hair trigger, less recoil than expected and a scope you'd never needed to use. You'd been meaning to sell it since you'd gotten in, but it had ended up in the floorboards where you'd simply hoped it would stay unless you were strapped for cash.

A knapsack was quickly filled with everything you needed, a change of clothes, a portable water purifier, all the food that would go to waste if you didn't take it with you. You tucked some spare caps into a hidden inside pocket, wrapping them in cloth to keep them from rattling. Your spare 10mm ammo, a few packs of cigarettes, a lighter, a flashlight.

The pistol was strapped into a thigh holster, a gun belt held your shotgun rounds. The shotgun went around your shoulder. They felt heavier than you remembered them being, their weight an oppressive reminder with every step you took out of your apartment. You'd need to let Charlie know you wouldn't be in for a while, and you'd need to stop by KL-E-0's for some spare parts. Easy enough, it was just the matter of avoiding certain tricorn-hat wearing mayors.

You kept your head down as you made your way through the street. You cut a more imposing figure with your armor, with the glint of weapons. People moved out of your way as you jogged towards the Third Rail, sliding in through the door like a mouse darting into its burrow.

You rattled like a tin can chime as you walked down the steps to the bar, announcing your approach before you could be seen, a cat with a bell. You were skittish, pausing at the last step to peek into the lounge, trying to spot a red coat, a familiar smile. Coast was clear.

"That the new uniform, then?" Charlie's voice nearly sent you flying, a squeak leaving you as the Mr. Handy suddenly appeared in view. The three eyes didn't exactly convey emotion well, but you could hear the dry amusement in his tone, maybe a hint of judgement.

"No, I uh–" You shook yourself, loosening the cotton in your brain, "Nate asked me to accompany him on a mission. Shouldn't take more than a week."

"Seven days and I'll file a missing person's report." Dry, dry, dry.

"Right," You breathed, gripping the banister like a life line, "Right. I appreciate the uh– The thought, Charlie. I'll see you around." Saliva filled your mouth, and you had a second to panic about throwing up on the floor as your stomach rolled, before the feeling faded.

Charlie didn't dignify you with a response, going right back to... whatever it was he did when the bar was closed, so you turned around, rattling right back up the stairs. First vacation in two years.

Again, you kept your head down as you walked through the alley towards Kill or Be Killed, pointedly avoiding letting your gaze slip to the Old State House, like the building itself would summon him. Something burned in your chest, not quite shame, but the next thing to it. In another life, you would've considered chewing on a baby aspirin, kept the landline in view, ready to dial 911, if you were having a heart attack. Now, though, you shrugged it off, grabbing your canteen and taking a greedy drink, washing away the cigarette taste that still lingered in your mouth.

KL-E-0 was in her usual place, piercing red eye landing on you.

"Well, don't you look dressed to kill."

You'd wondered, sometimes, if she had been especially programmed to sound so sultry, or if it was just her natural charm.

"Heading out for a while," You dug your bag of caps out of your pocket, placing it on the table as your eyes roamed over the wares available, "Think you could spare some grenades and shotgun shells?"

"Let's get you outfitted, killer."

The word left a sour taste in your mouth that had nothing to do with the cigarettes. You made it through the trade quickly, enough ammo to last you several encounters, enough grenades to get you through a couple rough spots. You left with your pockets lighter, your bandolier, pack and shoulders weighed down.

"Have fun, baby."

"Yeah, thanks, Kleo."

Nate was standing by the entrance, a respectable distance from the Neighborhood Watch, a focused frown on his face as he fiddled with his Pip-boy. He looked up when you approached, frown turning to a bright smile.

"So," you said, shouldering your gun, "Ready to head off?"

"Not quite, we're still waiting on the rest of the party. You know how he is, always fashionably late."

You didn't manage to get out your confused "Who?" Before a familiar hand was clapping Nate on the shoulder, saying, "So! Ready to get this show on the road?"

Fuck.

Notes: This is so insanely self indulgent it’s crazy, but I do hope you enjoyed at least a little <3

[hallucinaj]

Okay I like it, Picasso ... Wait, Warhol.

Found this sweetass pose from an artwork by Andy Warhol, and thought I would do something magical with it, using ink and watercolor.

[daddyfuckinlonglegs]

Same Old Trouble

A man doesn't get a second chance at a first impression - and sometimes it's all downhill from there.

Nathan Stahl survived the bombs, buried deep underground in cryogenic sleep. Thawed out for reasons unknown, with nothing and no one for company, he clawed his way out into the ruins of the city he called home, and began to acclimate to the pace of life in the Commonwealth wasteland. But even 200 years later, his life before the bombs is catching up to him.

Read it on ao3, tags updated as the story progresses.

Some of you may remember that a long time ago I promised to rewrite the fic that I'd poured so many hours into, because Stahl had evolved as a character and wandered too far from the source material. Divorced from the canon events of the game, allowed to build his own histories and future, he's grown into a much more living, breathing man, and folks, I'd like to re-introduce him.

He is, lucky for us, still a bit of an asshole. I hope you all get to like him as much as I have.

[sweetcocopowder]

Day 11: Crossdressing

Synopsis: Nate needs a plus one to a party but it has to be a woman. And Hancock is his closest best bet.

Word Count: 4.2K

Pairing: Hancock / Nate (Male Sole Survivor)

Warnings: Anal sex. Hand job. Slight exhibitionism. Anal fingering. Crossdressing. Womanizing.

Notes: I had an idea. I kept going. Hancock in a dress!? No problem ehhe

Hancock frowns, glaring toward Nate who’s straightens up in his tuxedo. It’s an old thing that he bought from that goddamn Vault 81 for the occasion. It’s something nicer than anything from Good Neighbour or even Diamond City. But it’s a vast contrast to what the ghoul is wearing.

“Now why is it I gotta wear this?” Hancock complains.

He purposefully pops a hip out as he faces Nate with a frown. He stands in front of a mirror wearing a bright red sequence dress. It holds tightly around his body that has Nate’s dark eyes gazing down at every inch of the ghoul’s body. Hancock raises a brow, waiting for the vault dweller to snap out of it.

“Because Piper couldn’t join me,” Nate states as if that should answer everything.

“What about Cait?” Hancock asks.

“I’d be dead before I got her in a dress.”

“And Curie?”

Nate pauses to that, thinking. “She’s too sweet to be doing something like this.”

Hancock chuckles raspily. “That’s true.”

“So,” Nate walks over with a several things in hand. “We’ll just need to doll you up a bit,” he says.

He whisps a dirty feather scarf around Hancock’s neck and shoulders, causing the ghoul to scrunch up his face as the feather’s tickle is face. The once white feathers are now a dirty brown, bits of… stuff in the scarf that Nate picks out to try and make Hancock look decent. He then straightens the bra that Hancock wears underneath the dress that gives himself the illusion of having breasts. Nate takes a step back and looks Hancock’s chest over before shoving scrunched up paper into the cups.

Hancock’s eyes widen at the action. He watches Nate work, some sort of amazement coming over him at how natural he does all of this. No way he’s done this before.

Then the long blonde wig is being placed gently onto his head. Nate concentrates in straightening it and Hancock doesn’t dare move a muscle. His black eyes stare at the man in front of him, having nowhere else to look. His tongue pokes slightly from between his lips as he concentrates, and the ghoul has to hold back a chuckle.

Once done, Nate takes two steps away to look Hancock over with a grand smile on his face. He’s looks proud of himself that makes Hancock feel less of a fool for agreeing to do this job for the man.

“You guys wouldn’t still have fake eyelashes two hundred years later?” Nate asks. “Or lip gloss?”

Hancock walks over to a draw on the other end of his office. “We’ve got lip stick but fake eye lashes? Is that what people did back then?” The ghoul picks out an unlabelled tin and throws it over to Nate. “Don’t ask why I have this.”

“Noted,” Nate mumbles as he looks over said tin.

He opens it up and inside is a dark red balm similar to squashed up lip stick. This is perfect. Nate sits down on one of the couches in the room and pushes aside all the jet and other chems on the table. Hancock should really at least arrange his chems better than leaving them lying around.

“Come here,” he says as he pats the table.

“Damn we’re really getting into this aren’t we?” Hancock says as he sits where Nate wants him.

Nate laughs at that as he dips a finger into the lip stick. “I really, really don’t want this to turn into a shoot out. I’ve had enough of those.”

“But seeing me fight in this dress would be such a sight,” Hancock grins, making a show of hiking the dress up his thigh a little.

The vault dweller flushes red at this but doesn’t hide it. “Okay, maybe we could rile up a few people.”

-

Said event that the two of them are going to is a party that Marowski is holding. Something underground in a cellar that’s deep within the tunnels. It smells like something died and Nate only complains once.

Marowski had invited Nate for helping him with killing those three men. The ones that had robbed him all those years ago. Nate had been hesitant, but at the time he had been desperate for the caps. And MacCready had urged him to take the job, splitting the caps down the middle. Nate didn’t particularly like being a hired gun, but MacCready being MacCready didn���t have an issue with it.

Maybe he should’ve gotten him in a dress to come with Nate. Because this dress really likes hiking up around his ass. Hancock straightens the dress as they walk along the edge of the tunnel with a grumble. His heels click and clack loudly against the walls. He just hopes that no mole rat or radroach can hear him down here.

But so, Nate had wanted to bring a plus one instead of going into this alone. Because he didn’t trust Marowski with a ten foot stick of him. And also, Piper had wanted the gossip on what was happening in these underground parties. For some reason she couldn’t come, something that Nate hadn’t gone too far into.

With Piper out of the picture, having Hancock rock up, the Mayor of Goodneighbour wouldn’t be the best of things. That would lead to a shootout. Cause even though Marowski likes Hancock, he doesn’t want the ghoul in his private affairs.

But having a woman join Nate as his partner, it would be less threatening. Nate just hopes that people don’t see past the disguise. And if Hancock keeps quiet and doesn’t speak much or speaks in a more feminine voice, then he reckons they’ll be fine.

Nate helps Hancock up the stairs, the ghoul stumbling in his heels once more. He curses loudly, his voice echoing down the tunnel.

Who’s he kidding. This is probably going to end ass up and he’ll have a blast either way. As long as he doesn’t have to wear these heels the entire night.

-

The party is held in an old bunker that use to belong to one of those pre-war survivalist. That’s stocked up on everything and anything to last out as long as they could. But with the three large and long rooms there are, it’s been stripped and rearranged into a classic looking place. Food is being served by Mr. Handy’s on trays and people are conversating and bustling. Electricity has been run down here and lights and lanterns shine with a yellow, dusty glow.

Nate can feel a layer of sweat beginning to form on the small of his back. He’s been so worried of Hancock keeping his cool that he hasn’t realize that he may lose it himself. God he was bred from the army. The last thing he was, was a theatre kid. That was more up Nora’s ally. She would have thrived in this world.

Hancock clings to Nate’s arm like any woman might do. His black eyes glance around the place, spotting a few more ghouls about and conversating. All dressed up just him in either suits or dresses. He’s just glad that he won’t stand out like a sore thumb with the rest of them. But by god is this fucking hilarious. Acting like some bachelorette clinging to Nate’s arm while smiling to anyone that looks his way with his dark red lips.

Nate looks fine himself in that tuxedo, goddamn dashing. Hancock spots a few wandering eyes lingering on Nate, eyeing him up and down with a smirk upon their lips. He’s placed a red handkerchief in his pocket to match Hancock’s dress. His black hair is slicked back and he’s shaven for the occasion. His eyes glance around the room, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. Hancock grins as he cups Nate’s face, making the man look down at him.

“Sweetie now,” Hancock whispers, “Don’t need to get so worried about all this. Just play it cool like you always do and we’ll get out of this with one less bullet in us.”

Nate smiles at that. “You know we still never got that bullet out of my ass.”

“Curie tried,” Hancock chuckles. “But she said it would be better to leave it there,” he whispers as he looks back out to the room.

“Yeah well, wouldn’t be the first piece of metal in me,” Nate chuckles softly.

“Ouch.”

Nate holds onto Hancock’s arm a little tighter. “Let’s get this over and done with. I want to speak with everyone and get the hell outta here.”

A Mr. Handy comes around with a tray of fancy looking pastries. A delicacy out here in the wasteland that Nate doesn’t let up. He plucks two off the tray, thanking the robot before it moves off.

“Well look at that it has cream on it and everything,” Hancock hushes.

“I hope it tastes as good as it looks,” Nate says before popping it into his mouth.

He holds the second one out to Hancock to take. But the ghoul wraps his mouth around the treat and Nate’s fingers, captivating the man’s attention on him. He leaves lip stick marks on Nate’s fingers as he pulls away, his gaze never leaving the man that flushes a beautiful bright red.

“If you keep that up I really won’t be able to last this party,” Nate dares Hancock on.

The ghoul pats his chest. “After you get what you need. Don’t wanna spoil your fun too early.”

-

The next few hours go by with a quite boring manner of things. There’s a lot of talking on Nate’s behalf. Marowski is more than thrilled to see Nate attend his party. Being the man that killed three crooks that wronged him so long ago. There was even a small toast to him that was half assed in itself.

Marowski had commented on Nate’s plus one up and down with a sly grin. Didn’t elaborate anything else on that. Instead sucking on his cigar and blowing it towards Hancock. In that moment, the ghoul had nearly broken his own cover. But with a tight squeeze on his waist from Nate, he kept to himself, smiling at the fat man with all his teeth.

After that interaction, a few others came up and spoke to Nate. All commenting on how a vault dweller of all people had helped Marowski. They also weren’t shy to comment on Nate’s taste to bring a ghoul to the party. Hancock held his tongue but his trigger finger itches. They had packed guns, one strapped to the ghoul’s inner thigh and oh how did want to use it right now. But for Nate’s sake, until he said go, Hancock is going to stay behaved and smiling at the men that leer his way.

Then, the bar was found very quickly. There wasn’t really anyone here that Nate knew par from the big man himself. He had met a lot of people in the wastelands but none of them were these whack jobs. He takes a small sip of the whiskey on ice he’s been served. It tastes closer to a puddle of water than anything else, but he needs something in his system at the moment.

Hancock holds a cigarette in hand as he leans heavily on the bar. He watches Nate nurse his drink with a solemn look. This entire night did not go the way Nate wanted it to go. It wanted to find out more about the underground crime. The main reason why he wanted Piper to tag along. But no one will spill anything. It’s not that their lips are sealed or that they’re closed off, its just that everyone here would rather talk about their expensive whores and how many caps they have.

The ghoul licks his lips before leaning closer to Nate. The man looks to him with raised brows, his mouth still a thin line.

“Well tonight was a turn over,” Hancock comments.

“Yeah. Looks like Piper’s going to have to get her story somewhere else,” Nate says as he turns around, looking around to the crowd.

“You win some, you lose some,” Hancock shrugs before taking a long drag of his cigarette.

He offers it out to Nate, who refuses with a soft shake of his head. He’s never seen Nate pick up a cigarette or a single chem. The only poison he’ll partake in is alcohol. Must be some pre-war thing he has going on.

“I have other ideas to keep tonight interesting at least,” Hancock grins. “Be a real shame to put this dress to waste.”

“We are not shooting up the place,” Nate scowls lightly, the thought of having to put so much effort in it making him twitch.

Hancock rolls his eyes as he leans further into Nate’s bubble. He wraps a hand around the man’s thigh, massaging inwards with his fingers. He hears a shudders exhale come from Nate and the ghoul grins around his cigarette. He leans back against the bar, making a show of popping his hip out. He grabs his cigarette in hand before exhaling into Nate’s flabbergasted face.

The entire night Nate has been a right ol’ gentleman and it’s been driving Hancock insane. He wants Nate to hold him like a man would possessively old their woman. But it’s all been soft touches and careful movements. No wonder why everyone is so head over heels for the man.

“Do you want to leave?” Nate asks as he places down his unfinished whiskey.

Hancock puts his cigarette out on the bar. “Nah, why wait?”

Nate lets himself be pulled away from the bar by the ghoul, an almost giddy look on his face. Hancock finds the small toiletries that’s in this old survival place. It’s only a small room with a sink and a toilet that’s seen better days. Neither of them could care if anyone sees them stoop inside together, their attention is only on each other.

Hancock locks the door behind him but is quick to lean up and kiss Nate. The man towers over him, in height and width. He holds Hancock close to him, a hand clenching into a fist into the back of the dress and the other holding onto the ghoul’s face as they kiss. It’s a sloppy, needy kiss and that leaves Nate’s mouth and chin covered in red lipstick.

After all the light touches and everything from tonight, Hancock can’t get enough of the man. His hands don’t know where to touch. His hair, his neck, his waist, his arms. Everywhere.

With little effort, Nate lifts Hancock up onto the sink. The ceramic creaks but doesn’t give way to the added weight thankfully. Nate continues to kiss the ghoul, his hands never leaving his warped skin. He takes the scarf off of him, discarding it to the floor so that he has full access to Hancock’s neck. A groan escapes the ghoul’s gaped mouth, something he has to stifle in his fist to stop himself from being too loud. He can feel his dick tenting in the dress, the tight fabric becoming an annoying cage.

He doesn’t care at this point, but he doesn’t think it’ll look good on Nate’s shoulders to be hiding the mayor of Good Neighbour into a party. It’d be funny as all hell, Hancock would love to see some of their reactions. The door opening to see Hancock pinned to the sink with Nate hovering over him, engulfing him in his mass. But for Nate’s sake. He’ll try to be quiet.

But it’s very hard when Nate brings out some gun oil from the inside of his jacket and begins lathering his fingers up with it.

“You devious bastard,” Hancock grins.

Nate chuckles breathlessly at that, his lips smothered in red lipstick. Dark blue eyes look at Hancock, trailing from up his crotch, to his stomach, to the work that’s been done on his neck, to the ghoul’s grin that doesn’t seem to be going away any time soon.

“I like to come prepared,” Nate pants.

“For a gun fight or a good fuck?” Hancock quips as he opens his legs a little bit more for the other man.

“A little bit of both,” the man chuckles.

Nate runs a hand over the ghoul’s inner thigh, pulling him off the sink a tad so that he’s closer to his hips. His oil slicked hand dives under the dress and Hancock can’t help but moan as a large hand wraps around his sensitive cock. He grips onto the sink as Nate strokes him a few times. Firmly and slowly. A pace that has him aching for more.

“Maybe I should have you dress up as a woman more often,” Nate comments. “Have you in pretty dresses and lipstick so that the entirety of Goodneighbour can see their mayor.”

A shiver runs down Hancock’s back at just the thought. “Wouldn’t that be a sight,” he breathes out.

Nate grins at that as his hand slips out from under the dress to slick up his fingers again before diving back under. This time, two fingers prod at Hancock’s ass. The ghoul hums as Nate engulfs his mouth in a sloppy kiss. All as he easily pushes two slicked fingers into Hancock. He groans deep within his throat at that, grabbing onto the back of Nate’s head and gripping into his hair.

With a little desperation on Nate’s end, he prods and fucks his fingers into Hancock quickly. It leaves the ghoul pulling away from the kiss, breathless and panting. He knocks his forehead against Nate’s, breathing in his scent. Of sweat, musk and gun powder. A man of the wastelands.

The pleasure coils and grips deep within Hancock’s gut, the friction from the dress on his dick already becoming too much. Nate’s scissors his fingers within him and Hancock grinds his teeth, tugging on his hair tighter. He locks his legs around Nate’s waist, pulling him closer and encasing him in. Even if he wanted to, Hancock wouldn’t let him go.

“I wish everyone could see you now,” Nate rumbles lowly. “See what such a pretty woman you make.”

The words go straight to Hancock’s dick, his heart racing within his chest. He drags his hands out of Nate’s hair to hook a thumb into the corner of his mouth to pull him away slightly. Nate goes willingly and doesn’t stop his movements within Hancock. He slips in a third finger, biting down Hancock’s own fingers lightly. His dark blue eyes watch the ghoul intensely as their gaze doesn’t faulter from one another at all. Not even when Hancock’s face screws up and his mouth become agape so prettily at the new intrusion and the feeling of being Nate’s thick fingers.

“Let them know then that I’m your gal,” Hancock grins something toothy. “Let them hear me.”

He’s playing a very dangerous game, but isn’t that what the wasteland is. Everyone must already know what’s happening inside of this small toiletry. Maybe there’s even some pervert outside with his ear to the door, listening to every groan and moan coming from the two men with his hands in his pants. Probably wondering why they can’t hear a woman’s voice behind the thin wooden door. But maybe they aren’t. all ghouls sound the same after all.

Nate’s fingers leave Hancock to only be replaced by the head of his already leaking cock. When did he have time to undo his pants, Hancock must of lost track of time. Cause Nate is desperate himself as he pushes in, trying not to bite too harshly down on Hancock’s thumb. Hancock can’t help the moan that escapes his mouth, something that comes from his chest. He drags his thumb from Nate’s mouth, a string of saliva connecting the two for a moment before snapping off. The ghoul holds onto the survivor’s shoulders as Nate pumps his hips lightly.

With each thrust, Nate is able to slowly get every inch of himself into Hancock’s warmth. The ghoul pants, his movement making his body buzz. If he wasn’t holding onto Nate he knows he’d be shaking.

Finally, Nate bottom’s out, filling Hancock with every inch of his cock. The ghoul shivers, his legs tightening around Nate’s waist so he doesn’t move for a moment. He wants to relish in this just a moment longer. Feeling only Nate inside of him, feeling every inch of him.

But with a strong hand, Nate grips onto one of Hancock’s legs and brings it up to rest on his shoulder. He holds the ghoul up, keeping him on the sink so that he doesn’t fall. It’s bit of an awkward position, Hancock will give the survivor that. His dress rides up further and his cock springs free. The gun strapped to his thigh is on full display as well, like one of those bands that whores wear for show. But awkwardness of the position goes out the window when Nate begins moving. The new angle giving him more room to hit those certain spots that bring those delicious sounds out of the ghoul’s mouth.

He doesn’t stop Hancock, letting him moan and pant with every movement and harsh thrust that he does. He pulls the wig off of Hancock, throwing it to the toiletry floor so that he can hold the back of the ghoul’s head. All so he can swallow those noises into a deep, tongue filled kiss.

It’s pure bliss. Hancock can’t think straight. Something about being fucked in a tight dress and heels is something that he would not have thought he’d be into. But here he is. Truly, anything is possible in the wastelands.

A large hand snakes down to Hancock’s crotch, finally wrapping around his weeping cock after what feels like ages. The ghoul has to pull away as the oil slicked hand wraps around his balls before leading to the base of his dick. He shakily exhales, trying to catch his breath that Nate has oh so quickly swept away. Nate matches his pace with his thrusts, a quick and firm pace. One that has Hancock needing more.

They might just have to do this again with how much Hancock is enjoying himself. If Nate has any other parties to attend to in the future and needs a plus one, he’ll be more than willing dress up again. He does love it when he gets all frustrated and pent up like this. The social interactions was nailing into him and getting under his skin more than he was letting on. Hancock hadn’t-

Nate suddenly lifts Hancock off the sink, letting the ghoul wraps his legs around his waist once more out of surprise more than anything. With strong hands around his waist, Hancock is pressed against the nearby wall. His back pressed against the peeling paint but he doesn’t give a fuck. He can’t think of anything else when Nate pushes back inside of him and begins a brutal, deep pace.

They’re so close together now that Hancock’s dick grinds up against Nate’s suit. He’s already spoiled the dress, may as well spoil his suit as well. It’s not like they’re being very secretive anyways. Not with the way that Nate is pounding the raspy moans from the ghoul.

Hancock can feels himself coming closer and closer and he tries to hold on. He doesn’t want this moment to end. Not just yet. No yet- his orgasm hits him like a brick to the gut. He holds onto Nate tightly, his nails digging into his suit as he comes. He tightens around Nate’s cock deep inside of him, stuttering the man in his movements. But the new found friction awards the ghoul’s ears with a deep growl that comes from deep within Nate’s throat.

Nate fucks Hancock through his high, his fingers digging painfully into his sides. Hancock loves it though, panting breathlessly as he watches through peery eyes as Nate’s hair has fallen in front of his face. His head is bowed, grunts and groans escaping his parted lips. He looks beautiful, and so Hancock brings him in for a sloppy, breathless kiss that neither of them are too concentrated on. They more or less mouth at each other, needing each other’s taste, smearing the lipstick even further.

With a stutter in his movements, Nate drives himself within Hancock as he comes. The ghoul groans deeply, shuddering at the warm sensation of Nate coming inside of in. His hips stutter as he thrusts shallowly through his own orgasm, small pants hitching off his lips into Hancock’s mouth. It’s cute. Something that the ghoul could watch all day.

Nate pulls out with a soft whine that the ghoul only just catches. He holds Hancock against the wall for a moment longer, his dark blue eyes finally focusing back on him.

“Alright there, big boy?” Hancock asks with a toothy grin.

Nate can’t help but smile back, Hancock’s own being very contagious. “We are keeping the dress,” he says instead.

Hancock chuckles at that, his nerves still twitchy post orgasm. “Oh, indeed we are. Maybe you might see me get to shoot some people while wearing this.”

“Heels and all?” Nate asks, big blue eyes staring into the ghoul’s soul.

“Heels and all.”

-

Like, comment and reblog :)

[creeperhawke]

Imagine, John and M!Sole aren't together yet and John uses Sole's house as a crash pad. He wakes up on the couch from a bender to find Sole quietly making breakfast for them... wearing an oversized tshirt and booty shorts showing off that ridiculous juicy ass and thick thighs. Got John over on the couch practically digging his nails into his thighs to not just jump Sole right there.

[jonathananubian]

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).

I know it's more than a line, but I was having fun. XD

Corbin nodded, his brows furrowed. “Sir, I-” “Ohhh, no, we don’t do that Sir crap here.” Putting his feet on the ground he sat up, leaning forward to look the man in the eyes properly. “Look, you have skills and need a place to stay. I’ve got places to stay and a need for some repairs around town. We can work out payments for each job later. For now why don’t you stay here at the State House, as thanks for fixin the lights.” The relieved smile on Corbin’s face made his heart race. “Thank you, John.”

Tagging @wrennette, @winterinhimring, and anyone else who wants to play. I'm kinda on Hiatus rn.

[crackinglamb]

Chapters: 42/42 Fandom: Fallout 4, Fallout 3 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor, Charon (Fallout)/Female Sole Survivor, Male Lone Wanderer&Female Sole Survivor, Sturges/Male Lone Wanderer Characters: Preston Garvey, Nick Valentine, Brotherhood of Steel Character(s), Minutemen Character(s), A lot of ghouls, Robert Joseph MacCready, Sturges (Fallout), A Lot of NPC's, From both games, A few OC's Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Swearing, Chem and Alcohol Use, POV Multiple, Family Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Major Character Injury, right at the end, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary:

Ten years after the SoSu walks out on Hancock, and the Commonwealth, she's back in town with some new (old) friends. There's another problem knocking on her door and it's going to hit close to home for all of them. Will history repeat itself or can she make it right this time?

NSFW chapters are marked.

COMPLETE!

---

Now complete, with a fresh epilogue after six and a half years. 

[yamamotomotoya]

「お前は多くの人を助けてできた傷を平気だと言うけれど、俺にもその痛みを分けてくれよ。なぁ…」

"You say you're okay with the scars you got from helping so many people, but please share that pain with me too. Hey…"

[parasitecompany]

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Can we get a fic with John Hancock with a shy, innocent virgin f!reader? I feel like he would just go feral with corruption/breeding kink and possessive/jealousy?! Like just wanting to ruin her for anyone else and mark her from other ghouls. Bonus for fluff as well. I love the idea of him falling for her softness and trying so hard to be a gentleman out of respect, thinking she deserves better while internally he’s thinking the nastiest filthiest shit.

(Also maybe you could do a Howard version sometime? I know you get a ton of requests so if not it’s fine, but I'm curious how he would be too) Either way, thank you ❤️ your blogs amazing and I appreciate it!

Carnal Lessons

Pairing: John Hancock x Virgin!Female Reader

Word Count: 19,965 (yes, for real)

Warnings: very sexual pining, loss of virginity, corruption kink, reader's first "real" orgasm, absolutely perverted thoughts, mutual and consensual drug use, shotgunning, discussion of addiction, canon-typical violence and bigotry, descriptions of wounds, mild exhibitionism, finger fucking, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), cock piercings, possessive sex, manhandling, hair pulling, breeding kink, slightly dishonest creampie, jealousy, self-hating John.

Notes: It's finally here! This thing absolutely refused to free me from its clutches, so I'm incredibly happy to have it all finished up. Thanks for the submission, Anon, and thanks for your patience while I worked through the forty-ish page fit it induced in me. I tried SO hard to keep this to a reasonable length (as I said, there's almost never a time when I'm not shooting to keep to around 5,000-7,000 words), I swear, but this idea really needed some room to develop. Please enjoy the first long-form piece on the blog that doesn't feature Cooper Howard in the lead role! As for the idea of doing a version of something like this with him in the future, someone else sent in a very similar ask that's been earmarked for just that.

Reader is a former vault dweller but is explicitly not Nora/the Sole Survivor. Post-Institute destruction.

John McDonough had always been more accepting of vault dwellers than most folks. A certain curiosity towards those who came from such different circumstances than him in youth had slowly grown over the years into some form of sympathy, even pity. There were those who looked down on the people who spent their lives hiding away in those armored chambers, saw them as craven and weak, but John found himself sympathetic to anyone who valued safety and stability for themselves and those they truly cared about. A hard-lived life of barely scraping by and sleeping in the gutter for years had granted him a thankfully varied perspective of the world around him.

When you'd first stumbled your way into his life, he had been very understanding of your plight; after all, you weren't the first poor schmuck that had left their vault, their safe little settlement, only to discover just how truly dangerous the streets and crumbling high-rises of Boston could be. You'd arrived in rough shape, though not the roughest he'd seen by far. Hell, you'd even managed to limp your way into Goodneighbor's front gates before collapsing, a bit of fortitude that had almost certainly saved your life.

Naturally, as the mayor, word of the collapsed, bloodied vault dweller laid out on the ground outside Kleo's had filtered up to him rather quickly, and his innate curiosity had gotten the best of him. Fahrenheit had tucked the information in between a few other pieces of news, seemingly hoping to keep it from garnering too much interest from her friend and boss.

"I think I'm gonna go check it out." he replied, rising from the rickety couch where he'd been perched, taking in his second-in-command's daily brief.

"I know you, Hancock. Maybe you shouldn't." she said, eyeballing him.

"I have no absolutely idea what you mean by that." he retorted haughtily before disappearing down the stairs and out the door. He made his way across Scollay Square, nodding to and greeting a few folks who spoke to him, cutting a wiggling path to the Rex where he'd been told they'd set you up in a room to rest after patching you up as best as they could. Seeking out the room number he'd been given at the desk, he was surprised when he poked his head around the corner to find Daisy still hovering over you a bit.

"Heard we might have a new friend. How're they doing?" he asked, leaning against the door frame with his hands in his pockets. The merchant turned, smiling politely at him and straightening her jacket.

"Hey, Hancock. She's doing much better now, fortunately. Poor thing will probably sleep for quite a while, though. I'm shocked she made it through." she said, taking a half-step back to reveal your unconscious form on the bed. "Tough for a vaultie. Though, I suppose I said the same about Nora."

He hadn't fully heard a single thing she'd said after she'd stepped away, completely distracted by the realization of what Fahr had actually meant. When she'd had told him she thought it was best he didn't come down, he'd assumed it was a joking remark about how he'd disappeared for months the last time a vaultie had popped into their lives, but now he truly understood what she'd been getting at when she'd remarked about how she "knew him".

You were breathtakingly gorgeous, even battered, limp, and filthy like you were. Soft in all the right ways, from your statuesque face to what parts of your body he could see unobscured by the old sheets. Your vault suit was unzipped and yanked down to the waist to expose the dirty tank beneath, the swell of your breasts rising and falling gently as you slept. Your skin and hair were so perfect looking under the sweat and grime that he felt himself overwhelmingly drawn to caress you somehow, his palms itchy. He'd been around the block a time or two, and he'd met plenty of gorgeous men and women, but something about you was immediately captivating, almost haunting.

After a moment, he came back to himself, making abashed eye contact with Daisy once more to find that she was studying him closely. Of course, the older woman knew him well enough to figure he didn't have ill intent towards you, necessarily, but she recognized that glint in his eye as he gazed at you, and it made her hesitant to leave the room before he did, her instincts too strong to be ignored. Hancock, for all his vices and shortcomings, was quite adept at reading a room and quickly picked up on her thoughts.

"Well, I'll let her rest. If you see her up and around later, send her my way so we can chat, yeah? I'm sure she's got interesting stories." he said, trying his best to sound lax and casual. The other ghoul nodded silently, already turning her attention back to you as he turned to leave. Rounding the corner right out of the Rex, he ducked into a narrow alley and lit a smoke, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes with a sigh, trying his best to turn his mind to other topics. It had taken longer than he'd care to admit, but he finally succeeded and returned to the day's business.

When you'd eventually awoken, he'd been very pleasantly surprised to find you chatty and rather accepting of your surroundings for someone who had lived underground their whole life. You were kind, agreeable, though shaken by your ordeal, obviously; he guessed that you'd likely seen plenty of other wild shit on your way in, and that a semi-regular (if a little unsavory) community of folks who mostly just happened to be ghouls wouldn't be that high on the list of things that would trip you up badly. Incredibly thankful for the assistance you'd been given when you'd first showed up, you quickly proved him correct, eager to work, to help out, to find a place where you could fit in.

Early on, you did a lot of running around for Daisy and Kleo, searching for things that had been requested from them, but you'd quickly grown tired of prospecting and shifted to more community-based work, something that only endeared you to him more. You mentioned casually at one point that you'd been something called an "irrigation technician" back home, so it was no surprise that he often found you knee-deep in dirt, picking at weeds, evaluating soil and water quality like it was second nature to you.

Everyone around the neighborhood loved you, almost too much for his liking. More and more, he found himself asking you to do completely made up tasks, or things that were already an assigned job, just to make sure you weren't spending too much time getting close to someone else when he was too busy to hang out with you. It left a bad taste in his mouth to think that he might miss out on the chance to get close to you because of nothing but circumstance when it had been circumstance that brought you into his life to begin with.

Eventually, he'd gotten a bit of that familiar wandering itch, deciding to pack up and make the trip to visit Nora in Sanctuary. He'd invited you to come along with him, both interested to see what his two favorite vaulties would think of one another and hoping for an opportunity to get more personal with you. Besides, he wasn't naive. He couldn't leave you behind and expect you to still be available when he came back, that he knew; Edward Deegan had been in town far more often since the Cabots had left, asking around for you more than once, and he knew that the older man had a certain reputation...not that he had room to judge.

He also knew that he wasn't the only one to worry about.

Thankfully, you'd agreed to come along, openly eager to see more of the countryside and secretly eager to spend more time with John himself. His plan to get closer to you ultimately worked, and far better than he'd expected, but not for the reasons he'd anticipated.

The trip from Goodneighbor to Sanctuary wasn't terribly long, a day or two at most depending on your urgency. In fact, travel times all over had seemingly reduced as the roads had grown slowly safer, busier with the increased presence of the Minutemen and those who felt aligned with them. He had even noticed several trading caravans, though heavily guarded ones, making their way south, something he hadn't seen in years.

Unfortunately, he'd gotten a little lax, perhaps a bit distracted towards the very end of the trip and the two of you had been ambushed just as you'd entered the outskirts of Concord. He hadn't anticipated raiders so close to Sanctuary; in his overconfidence, a small pack of them had managed to get the drop on the pair of you, nailing him with a single round to his shooting arm from some distance before quickly hemming you in from uphill. Fortunately, he was both quick-healing and more than familiar with fighting in pain; his resilience, combined with your own strength and ability to pick several off yourself at a distance, quickly thinned their numbers, leaving each of you dealing with one or two stragglers.

Hancock had been retrieving his knife from the windpipe of the final one standing against him when he saw you fall out of the corner of his eye, your weapon tumbling a few feet away across the split, buckled asphalt. He immediately threw himself towards you, sizing up the burly raider who loomed over you as you attempted to roll out of his reach. The hulking motherfucker pivoted on one foot towards you, crushing the arm that was reaching out for your fumbled pistol under his filthy boot and snapping the bone with a sickening, audible crack. The agonizing cry that left you was sharp and heartbreaking.

Somehow, he'd teleported the ten feet or so that he needed to close the gap between him and the man raising his laser rifle towards you. He couldn't consciously recall a time when he'd moved with such urgency. The blow he delivered to the back of the guy's head with the butt of his shotgun caved in his skull cleanly and dropped him near instantly like a sack of rocks, but John still unloaded two shells into what was left for the satisfaction, his entire body vibrating with adrenaline and worry as he turned to you.

You were either attempting to sit up or curling upwards in pain, neither of which seemed especially comfortable as your mouth laid open in a silent scream. He acted as quickly as possible, gently moving your guarding arm away from the injured one to examine it. Thankfully, the bone hadn't pierced the skin, but the angle your hand sat at made his stomach roll, along with the way you began to whimper and hyperventilate. Wanting to move you out of the open before he administered one of the doctor's bags he kept with him, but distrustful of the surrounding houses, he scooped you up into his arms, wincing along with you as you cradled your limp limb against your chest. Holding his breath almost all the way, he trudged up the hill until he came across the Red Rocket truck stop, settling you gently on the old work bench.

"I'm real sorry, but this is probably gonna hurt, kid." he said, allowing himself the far-too-intimate gesture of pushing your hair away from your face, cradling your wet cheek for a split second. "When we get to Sanctuary, we'll get you something for the pain, alright?"

You nodded, eyes clenching tight as you extended the injured extremity towards him as best as you could. He was as gentle as possible patching you, uncomfortable with the idea of leaving you suffering completely, even for just the short walk across the bridge and up the hill. Eerily quiet despite what he was certain was fairly great pain, you let him do whatever he needed.

It had taken longer than he'd have liked to carry you to the short rest of the way to Sanctuary, his pace encumbered by his fear of jostling or mishandling you.

"It's fine. I can walk the rest of the way." you'd protested halfheartedly, your unmarred arm wrapped tight around his neck as you held yourself up as best as you could. However, you made no move to extract yourself from him. He'd pointedly ignored the handful of inquisitive looks the two of you had received as he'd carried you past the guard posts at the end of the bridge, quickly seeking out the settlement's little clinic building.

Nora, mayor in her own way, had almost immediately heard of your arrival, and found him smoking on the crumbling curb outside, staring off at the old gas station on the horizon absentmindedly.

"Is your lady friend alright?" she asked, lowering herself down beside him and holding out a semi-cool beer.

He smiled at her, almost full-strength, and reached out to warmly shake her hand. His friend looked a little older now, her time in the Commonwealth and her mountain of accrued responsibilities taking their own toll, but she appeared wiser (and more content) for it.

"She'll be fine. If I'm honest, I probably didn't need to rush her up here like that, but, eh. I panicked a little." he replied, cheeks warm as she appraised him with that knowing look. She didn't dig further, thankfully one of his few friends who had ever mastered the art of discretion. John was glad to see her, certainly, and tried his best to focus on their conversation as they caught up a bit, each sipping their drink, but his mind was inside with you.

Soon, she was pulled away, but promised to check in again before disappearing down the street, leaving John as he had been: worrying away on the stoop.

After the doctor had checked you over, fully re-set your arm, and given you another stimpack, along with a sling, the ghoul had helped you to a cot in an empty room at the back of one of the semi-restored houses. He'd offered you Med-X, eager to alleviate the pain he could see lingering, but you'd just shaken your head wordlessly, a nervous glint in your eyes as you sized the syringe up, your breathing still rather shallow and shaky as you sweated lightly.

"You're worrying me here, sister. I'm begging ya to just take something. I know you're healing up, but..."

"I'm fine, John. Really. I just need to rest a few more hours and it'll be healed enough to not hurt so badly." you huffed, resettling your limbs along the bed to allow him some room to sit beside you. You calling him by his real name, the one no one ever called him, didn't even really register.

"I've got some booze." he offered, embarrassed at how desperate he felt to get you to somehow accept what little help he felt he had to offer. "Or weed? Would you try that? I know you're hurting."

There was a different sort of hesitation in your gaze at that, your arm still cradled close in your sling as you stroked over it absentmindedly, protectively with your good hand.

"I really do just need to tough it out a bit longer." you replied, though your tone was a little softer. "Plus, I don't like to drink, and I don't exactly know how to smoke weed."

He chuckled at that, relaxing just a little.

"Not much to know. Inhale, hold, exhale." he said, smiling warmly at you. "I've got a joint if you wanna try it."

You were quiet for a long moment, taking a deep, steadying breath in the cooling twilight.

"Are you gonna light it?" you asked.

And he did, taking a puff or two himself to get the thing burning properly before handing it to you, showing you how to pinch it between your thumb and forefinger and watching with rapt attention as you lifted it to your own mouth.

"Easy!" he said as you pulled hard, the end of the joint glowing bright as it burned. Unsurprisingly, you began to cough wildly a moment later, cheeks wet and shoulders shaking hard as you hacked and gasped, desperately pushing the smoldering little cigarette back at him so you could wipe at your face. Resisting the urge to chuckle at the relatability in your tear-streaked mug, he patted your shoulder gently. Taking another puff himself, he leaned against the wall behind him, giving you a few minutes to collect yourself and find your voice once more.

"Wow." you said eventually,

"Feeling it?" he asked.

"Definitely. Also, that really hurt."

He tittered a bit at your glassy-eyed look, genuine relief washing over him as he took in your relaxing posture and slow, even breaths. Knowing that you wouldn't fess up to still hurting, he didn't ask your status, taking comfort in the knowledge that you were at least somewhat relieved of your pain as he fully settled in beside you, sitting up with his back against the moldering wallpaper.

"If only my friends back home could see me now." you chuckled, playing absentmindedly with your fingers. His stomach dropped a bit at that, always frozen in captivation and fear of stopping you somehow when you got to talking about home in any substantial way, which was so rare.

"Can I ask why you left? Of course, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to." he asked, each word an uneasy labor to force out as he fiddled with one of his rings.

You were quiet for a moment, just long enough that his retraction was ready to launch off of his tongue when you finally responded.

"They wanted me to get married and I wasn't ready." you explained simply, following up after a moment with a very hesitant "Well, it wasn't just that. They wanted me to get married and start immediately popping out babies and stuff. Had a guy picked out for me and everything. I just couldn't go through with it. It didn't feel right. You know?"

John faltered for a moment, genuinely unsure if he did know what you meant. Sure, he was familiar with the feeling of being expected to fall into a certain role and failing, or rejecting the system that wanted to put you into that box completely. He knew what it was like to feel at odds with those who felt they knew what was best for you. But, through all of that, he'd been able to make his own choices, even if he sometimes wished he could go back and make different ones.

"I know what it's like to feel like you need to just get away, for sure." he replied after a hopefully-not-too-long pause.

You nodded slowly.

"So, uh...did you leave, or did you run away?"

There was a long moment of silence, and you didn't look at him when you answered, your voice just a little bit quieter.

"Closer to the second thing."

He nodded, hesitantly placing his hand on your knee in a gesture of comfort, smiling when you placed your own hand over his.

"Was he ugly?" he joked after a moment, earning a gentle laugh from you.

"Nah. It wasn't him. It was all of them, you know? And me, I guess." you replied, eyeballing the stars through a hole in the roof.

"Yeah, I hear you."

He held the joint out to you once more, but you declined, directing the thing away with a smooth turn of your hand.

"You sure you don't want some more? One hit isn't very much, even if it feels strong right now. Probably won't last long."

"I don't wanna hog all your fancy drugs." you responded facetiously, grinning just a little. "Plus, I think I'll literally hack up my own windpipe if I take another drag off of that thing. It's so..."

"...hot-feeling? I could shotgun it to you." he offered, trying to ignore the way his cock stirred at the confused look on your innocent little face. "It means you inhale my exhale. Makes it way less harsh. Only if you wanna, though."

"And it still works? The, uh, smoke, I mean?"

"Yep." he smirked.

"Hmm. Yeah, let's try it." you agreed, much calmer than before as you sat up a little taller and scooted close to him, your hips touching as he filled his lungs with smoke once more.

"Alright," he explained, words strained as he held his breath, "put your lips to mine and take a deep breath in."

You leaned in closer to do as you were told, you cheeks dusted with a tinge of blush as he closed the short distance between the two of you. Softly, he touched his mouth to your own, holding his lips open as he slowly, steadily exhaled. Hesitating for a moment, you eventually caught on, and surprisingly managed to take a rather generous inhale.

What surprised him more, though, was when he moved to pull away and you leaned in again, only to kiss him in full, your lips wrapping around what remained of his own instead of just sitting there. It began as a lingering peck, but after you pulled back a few inches to exhale, coughing much less this time around, he leaned in again, hand moving to cup the back of your head as he held you tight. You'd slept close to one another before, but that was the first night you'd chosen to sleep in the same bed, cuddled close and both content.

From that moment, things began to genuinely progress between the two of you, your relationship quickly blooming from a warm friendship with occasional flirtatious banter into something that was becoming quite serious, at least in terms of the relationships John had had in the past.

You were a flirt, but not in the forward, raunchy way he himself often was. No, you were a much sweeter, more playful sort of tease, and while he quickly found your affection high up on the long list of things he had a major fixation for, it also hampered him in its own way. It made him feel like such a creep to make more forward advances towards you when your own 'moves' tended to be more romantic in nature; hand-holding, soft kisses, chaste cuddles. Granted, he tried to keep in mind that your lack of experience may have made you less inclined to start or say things, less confident to put yourself out there; you often came across as eager, but nervous. He kept that observation to himself.

You were also a rather remarkable person, driven by how much you wanted to help people and make the world you'd found a better place. He found it almost funny how you tried your best to make it clear that you weren't one of those vault dwellers, though you sort of inherently were. As much as you liked to deny it, to insist that all of the "we must rebuild and lead America when we retake the surface" talk they'd drilled into your head where you'd grown up hadn't taken root, he saw some of it in you, in the way you were so eager to help run things, start up new settlements, provide assistance with improvements that would make life better for everyone.

Perhaps you'd decided to embody those values in a different way than you were taught, but it certainly came across as leadership behavior to him. Nora must've seen it, too, the two of you becoming quickly and warmly acquainted, you eager to help her out in any way you could and her with plenty of tasks that could use more hands. One of those tasks, funnily enough, was deciding what to do with the still-untouched Red Rocket. Too small to really be a proper settlement, it was decided that it would be emptied out and sized up for stability and how easy it would be to wire the place. He also insisted on a new guard tower at that end of the bridge to keep an eye on any Concord stragglers. Though, not too close to the building.

The two of you spent the next week or so cleaning the place out together, hauling away rotted junk and evaluating the old building's guts and foundation, which were pleasantly intact overall, much to his surprise. Nora stopped by when she could patch together any significant time alone from the few minutes here and there that she often had between tasks, offering assistance and extra supplies to stock the place up with. Knowing her, she'd long seen right through him and his feelings towards you; his suspicions were all but confirmed when she remarked that it was "quite the little home the two of you were building together".

Occasionally, she would bring Shaun along with her, introducing him to you after a couple of months of feeling you out. For the sake of his cherished friend, John treated the boy as normally as possible, even playing with him a bit when he requested it. But, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force himself to let go of his lingering wariness of the whole thing. Yes, he was happy that Nora had her son back in whatever form it may be; he had seen firsthand how devastated she had been without him.

After all, that was precisely why he found himself so suspicious when she'd told him about the young synth boy. John had never been a parent, himself, but he knew Nora's heart, knew how deeply her love for her child lived inside her; it was exactly the sort of loss that could be easily exploited. She insisted that the Institute wasn't something they needed to worry about any longer, but he sometimes questioned her confidence in this. The facility itself may have been gone, but there was no way of knowing that all of their plans and orchestrations had been annihilated alongside it. Hell, if they'd been worth their supposed salt, they'd have been smart enough to guarantee that exactly that wasn't possible, that they would still be able to continue their work somehow. Shaun had showed up at too perfect a time, in his mind, and for that, he constantly kept one eye on the child who seemed to genuinely like him, calling him "Uncle John".

It was rather clear to him that you noticed the wall he kept up between himself and the kid, but you didn't prod much into it, and for that he was grateful.

The weeks continued to pass by, the Red Rocket becoming your sort of base; close enough to Sanctuary to be useful, far enough away to have some privacy for yourselves.

"We should really get you some actual armor and people clothes, y'know." he said one evening, reclining back onto the little bedroll he'd been using while you two searched for a proper bed and staring hard at your ass as you rummaged through your things. "That suit might protect you alright, but it's like wearing a target on your back."

And it's way too distracting to me, frankly, he finished silently, perfectly envisioning himself accidentally wandering off a cliff to his demise because he was too fixated on your various assets waggling around in that damn suit.

Fortunately for him, you actually agreed, long past growing tired of the perception of naivete and vulnerability that the suit drew to you. Though, he knew you were rather attached to the thing, one of the few slivers of home you carried with you always. You feared it being stolen if you left it behind somewhere, and he understood, helping you rig up a really good hiding spot in the Red Rocket ceiling tiles. The clothes you eventually started to wear around were, thankfully, less well-fitted than the vault suit, scrounged up pairs of jeans and threadbare tees, old button-ups and road leathers you tried your best to keep oiled and stretched.

However, when you felt truly comfortable (and weren't helping with some of the more intense work around the settlements), you'd often wear one of a couple of dresses you'd managed to trade for or scrounge up in your adventures, button-up things that hung well past your knee, but took the "form fitting" issue the vault suit had and multiplied it. Not only did the things emphasize every one of your sweet curves just the right way, they exposed the soft, strong flesh of your arms and legs, the line of your elegant throat as it disappeared into the swell of your breasts. As much as he loved to see you dressed so nicely, almost otherworldly beautiful in just how much you didn't fit into the dingy, decrepit background, it made it difficult for him to focus on any one task. Frankly, it made it difficult to focus on anything but the thought of hiking the flowing skirt up around your hips and having his way with you.

Simultaneously, it made him hypervigilant of exactly how others carried themselves when they were around you.

It had been irritating enough back home to have to deal with the Neighborhood Watch guys tugging you aside to whisper little bits of info to you, Ham's gaze lingering on you as you two passed into the entrance of The Third Rail, the number of people who had always wanted to talk or dance with you when you got inside. Caravan guards and traders trying their hardest to tail the pair of you on the road, pursuing your attention hard.

But once the two of you had begun spending a great deal of time around Sanctuary, the problem only intensified, increasing directly with the number of smoothskin men around who obviously did not see him as any sort of threat. Though he couldn't quite determine if the way they wrote him off was intended to be more emasculating or generally dehumanizing, John remained on his best behavior, both for your sake and Nora's, unwilling to embarrass either of you by association. Regardless, he was infinitely relieved when the former lawyer began to ask the two of you to start running errands to other nearby settlements. Sure, his patience was often tested again as soon as you reached whatever your new destination was, but the alone time in-between stops was incredibly regenerating for him, eager to get his hands on you whenever he could.

This was particularly true at night.

Often the settlements you were visiting weren't all that far away, but the two of you would usually choose to bed down for the evening somewhere on the roadside before turning up, both of you giddy at the unfettered access to one another, the privacy to discuss and say whatever you wanted. More than anything, though, he was desperate to feel you, to kiss you, to have you cuddled up against his chest the way he liked, and he was too nervous to paint you with the scarlet letter of ghoul alliance to be all that handsy during the day. When the sun fell, though, you were all his.

At no point did you explicitly tell him that you were a virgin. You didn't really need to, frankly; the way your lips and hands fumbled nervously against him, your lack of confidence to lead in this single situation, communicated all he needed to know. He wasn't especially surprised, anyway. The place you came from sounded pretty buttoned-up the way you described it, but you were also just a fairly guarded person in general; warm, friendly, but not overly eager to let anyone too close without a thorough sizing up. Fortunately for him, he somehow fit the specs.

It didn't take long for the two of you to start properly fooling around, much to John's partial chagrin. He hated to feel like he was rushing you, but at the same time, his self control completely evaporated into thin air the moment you stripped down to your skivvies to relax. He'd been hooked on you from that first kiss and the withdrawals were some of the heaviest he'd felt.

The first time he watched you come apart on his fingers, it took every ounce of strength in his irradiated body to not pin you down and fuck you until you literally couldn't handle any more. It was the most erotic display he'd ever taken in, the way your exposed chest flushed and heaved, your big, wide eyes brimmed with overwhelmed tears. As you'd crested into your peak, his hand buried in your panties while the other supported your limp head, you'd cried out so loudly he'd had to cover your mouth, soaking his fingers as your body twitched and jerked tensely.

"Holy cow." you'd gasped a moment later, a light sheen of sweat delicately clinging to your face and chest. "I wasn't aware I was doing that wrong."

"Well, I dunno about wrong..."

"Wrong, not as good as you, whatever." you dismissed, waving your hand at him playfully. "I hope you know that that's gonna be your job from now on."

"Is that right?" he grinned lasciviously, leaning down to kiss you on the cap of your bent knee and forcing himself to not firmly plant his rapidly growing head between your thighs. "Since when do you delegate tasks?"

"Oh, don't be that way, McDonough. We're all taking on extra responsibilities for the good of everyone." you replied diplomatically, your cheeks rosy as you rearranged your limbs to lie along his body.

He laughed genuinely at that, wrapping an arm around you and moving to recline himself. The small tent the two of you had set up was filled with your sweet musk, and he strategically angled his hips away from you so you wouldn't feel how completely stiff he was as a result, petting your hair as you drifted off to sleep. John was no stranger to knocking out for long periods himself, usually to will away a nasty come-down or hangover, but he found himself staying awake longer and longer to watch you, caress you. He thought it a much more worthwhile use of his time.

A while later, you'd been sent to the settlement that'd grown up at the center of the former drive-in theater a bit down the road from the Abernathy place. You were rather enamored with the place, both because of its historical use and because it had a fairly interesting crop setup, attempting to squeeze the most use out of what parts of the ground weren't paved. Personally, he felt less welcome at this place than he often did at other settlements, though other settlements coincidentally also seemed to have more ghouls already living there. However, when you wanted to stick around for a bit, caught up in helping work out some kinks with their crop watering system, he didn't object or complain, happy to see you happy. He'd simply make himself scarce during the day, often scavenging or patrolling the outer edge of the place and leaving you to socialize and play in the dirt, which is where he found you upon his return one early fall evening, the air growing chilly as the breeze blew through the little farmyard.

"How was your day?" you asked as he approached, sitting on the steps of the ramshackle barn the settlers had constructed and knocking mud off of your boots and the cuffs of your pant legs. The sun was quickly sinking behind the ridge at your back, darkness beginning to envelop the edges of the place.

"It was great. Camped out watching the ridge for a while, so I'm pretty stiff. Wanna go for a walk with me, stretch your legs?" he asked, rolling a loose cig in his fingers before jamming it between his lips. Smiling, you nodded silently in agreement, sweeping the remaining dust and debris from your pants after you stood before moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, the two of you making your way northwest towards the other end of the paved lot. You chit-chatted a bit about the day's events, what each of you had accomplished. When you reached the decrepit building that made up the old movie screen, he took a pause to lean against the stained wall, finally lighting up his smoke. You busied yourself staring up at the stars quietly, leaving him to study you closely as he puffed away at the thing.

"Have you gone up top yet?" he asked eventually, exhaling the last of his cigarette through what remained of his nose as he tucked the butt into his pocket.

"No. Can you? I thought they had a guard post up there so I've been keeping away. I get so embarrassed when I get in the middle of their patrol routes." you asked, an excited glint in your eyes as you fiddled with the ends of your hair.

"They don't man it at night. Can't hardly see nothin' from it in the dark, strategically, and it's too hard to wire anything up there. Plus, anything happens and you're pretty far away, all things considered. Nor' says they're building a guard tower soon. Wanna take a look? Might still be neat."

You nodded enthusiastically, quickly reaching out to thread your fingers into his and tug him along, the slightly sickly glow of your Pip-Boy flashlight illuminating your way along the mostly intact path. The pair of you climbed the old metal stairs together, hand-in-hand, slowly making your way up to small walkway along the top of the massive screen.

He had been a little surprised that you'd never heard of a movie theater like this before you'd come here for the first time, since even he'd at least read about them once or twice (and vaulties often seemed to know so much more about the pre-war world than people from up-top), but Nora had gotten a kick out of showing both of you what remained of the massive projector in the decayed building at the far end of the lot, explaining to you how the whole place had worked back in the day. The wonder in your eyes had been adorable, and you'd spent quite a while afterwards talking about the few movies you'd watched growing up. It was rare for you to talk so much, so openly about where you came from, even if what you were talking about wasn't necessarily consequential information; he'd spent most of that night holding you in his lap, staring at you dreamily while you mused and remembered until you fell asleep.

"Wow. You can see so far!" you exclaimed quietly as you mounted the final step, pulling away from him by a few feet to look out across the scene. "Well, I bet you could see way further during the day. But still. How cool, John!"

He smiled, watching as you tested the strength of the hand rail before leaning against it cautiously, your head sweeping back and forth as you studied the inky horizon, dotted occasionally with flickering signs of life. There was a melancholic tang to the warmth he felt as he took in your excitement, your joy; this sort of small pleasure shouldn't be so novel to you, and it broke his heart just enough to color the moment.

Letting that feeling fall to the wayside, he leaned back against his own portion of the railing for a minute or two, fishing out the Jet container that sat in his pocket beside his smokes and hitting it quietly a couple of times. The pleasant, buzzing feeling of intoxication wrapping around his consciousness sent his head falling back laxly, lids heavy as he studied your silhouette against the moonlight, the lines of your body and the dancing form of your hair in the slight breeze. The smell of you in the air.

Nuzzling up close behind you after a beat, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his cheek to your temple as he held you close. His heart sped up further, already racing from the amphetamines coursing through him, when you relaxed into his grip, the back of your head resting along his shoulder. The two of you had been enmeshed in whatever your little entanglement could be called for a bit, and you didn't ever seem uncomfortable with him, personally, but sometimes more intimate contact still made you a bit skittish.

For a few minutes, he appreciated the view along with you, rubbing your sides softly, massaging the dip in your lower back where you often complained of tension after a long day. Eventually, however, his hands wandered further, grazing softly over your breasts and smirking at how you sighed in response, lips sliding down to tuck against your throat. Between his physical adulation and the growing chill of the dark, your nipples pebbled quickly, his fingers alternating between playing with each of them, setting you to squirming against him. He toyed along your belt line for a beat, forcing your attention to where his touch was landing as he gently unbuttoned your pants and slid his hand inside.

"It's alright, I gotcha." he assured you, supporting your stiffening form easily as his index finger teased over your swollen peak through your underwear, feeling a growing wet spot that made his core ache.

"I'm dirty, John." you murmured, voice hushed with embarrassment, your face and throat just a bit warmer under his lips.

"You think I'm clean?" he teased in response, nibbling at your earlobe.

The slightly worried fidgeting you were doing continued for another minute or so, but the more the damp patch expanded under his touch, the less nervous you seemed; still high-alert, but drifting further and further into his touch. Soon, you were relying on him to support most of your weight as your hips moved themselves back and forth against his hand. He could feel, see the signs of you approaching your orgasm, but dragged his fingers up and down the length of your slit a few times to tease you, to drag out the moment. The tension made you whimper sharply, teeth closing around your lower lip in an attempt to silence yourself.

"Better keep it quiet, cutie. You'll get us caught." he murmured, low and close to your ear; the shudder that broke down your spine, vibrating through your back and into his chest, was delicious.

His cock was aching against your backside, throbbing with anticipation, and it was unbearable. Head spinning, his hand that had moved to knead absentmindedly at your hip slipped further to press at the back of your thigh, pushing your knee skyward until your foot caught on the lower bar of the rail, balancing your leg there until you took over, bracing it there yourself. This new position granted him more reach, his fingers swiping lower along your now slightly exposed entrance.

"Mm, John." you whispered. A warning.

"Trust me, baby." he breathed in reply, stroking over the velvety soft spot a few more times before moving his fingers back to your needy clit. He wanted to sink his fingers deep inside you, to feel you wrapped around any part of him in that base, primal way, but resisted the temptation, sensing your hesitation.

Your more open stance also granted him easier access to roll your bud between his fingers, and quickly you were dancing along that knife's edge once more, your heat and sounds and smell all overwhelming him at equal speed.

His need had reached a fever pitch, your squirming and whimpering shooting sparks down his spine; this, combined with his already high proclivity for sexual behavior on Jet, was more than enough to send him wrestling his cock free through his suddenly unzipped fly. Your shirt had bunched up in the back, leaving a sliver of flesh exposed that he fixated on as soon as he'd noticed it. Stroking himself a few times in the cool air, he pressed closer, the pierced underside of the head dragging along your smooth, soft skin and making him hiss.

Feeling any part of your body against him like that drove him instantly mad, and he had to focus almost entirely on you to ensure that he didn't blow past you on his way to the finish line. Fortunately, it wasn't an issue, as you moved your hand down on top of his, pressing down hard, and soon stiffened completely against him, burying your face in his shoulder as best as you could to muffle your cries as you came apart; he followed you almost instantly, your sounds overwhelming him as he shot all over the ground.

The two of you savored the bliss of your aftershocks for a moment, clinging to one another, but quickly he felt you attempting to right your clothing, and he allowed you to pull away a bit. Probably smart anyway; neither of you had exactly been silent towards the end, though he couldn't hear anyone ascending the stairs.

"You alright?" he asked as he set to fixing his pants. You nodded silently, smiling shyly at him as you reached for his hand.

"Aht, watch out. Don't, uh, step in that." he murmured, guiding you to his side before you made your way down, passing by a couple people who side-eyed you on your way back to your shared bed, set up at the top of the projector room. Laid down for the night, your cheek on his sternum, he'd assumed you were asleep when you finally spoke up for the first time in a while.

"John." you whispered softly.

"Hmm?" he replied, eyes closed as his hand stroked your back.

You hesitated a moment, blush-heavy and squirming.

"Is your...ah..."

He allowed you some time to try and get your words out, but it was clear you were struggling.

"You don't have to be embarrassed, babe. Whatever it is, you can ask me. I won't be upset or anything." he assured, rubbing your shoulder gently.

"...is your penis pierced?" you finally whispered conspiratorially.

He was genuinely shocked into silence for a few seconds before breaking out in uproarious laughter, his head rolling limply to and fro as you giggled along with him.

"Wow, you could tell against your back like that?" he asked, rather astonished.

"I wasn't sure it's what I was feeling." you replied, sheepish. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be weird about it or anything. I just didn't know that was a thing that people did. Then again, I didn't know people pierced things in their faces until I met that lady at The Third Rail. Remember?"

He chuckled warmly at the memory, at your candor and the pink dusting your face as you sat up a bit, still looking at him curiously.

"You look like you wanna ask me more questions about it." he said.

"Did it hurt?" you asked quickly.

"Eh, it's been such a long time since I got it, I don't really remember all that well." he white lied, fully knowing he didn't remember how badly it hurt for entirely different reasons.

You nodded, the wheels in your mind clearly turning rapidly.

"Does it, uh..." The effort of forcing the uncomfortable words out of your mouth was clear on your face. "...does it have a function, or is it just for looks? Like, do you use it?"

"Oh, yeah." he grinned, ignoring the way he had started to grow stiff again.

You didn't ask for more elaboration on that front, but your mystification was clear, gaze wandering as the very faint smell of your arousal tinged the air. Eventually, you spoke again.

"What made you wanna get it?"

This question, shockingly, was the one that stopped him in his tracks. He'd told you not to be embarrassed when you'd first brought it up, the whole thing rather entertaining to him, but something about this specific inquiry agitated the ugly knot of shame that permanently lived at his core, his own face and chest suddenly feeling flush.

Was there even a way to phrase the truth that wouldn't just be embarrassing? What was the low-key way to say I was incredibly fucked up on Ultrajet at the time and it just felt like the right thing to do, so I did it myself?

There's only one thing he could think to say that wouldn't completely demean himself in your eyes, and it came out on the back of a halfhearted chuckle.

"Don't do hard drugs, kid."

Your face was unreadable in response to that, only for a heartbeat, but long enough to make him physically squirm in discomfort. But you simply chuckled in a satisfied, incurious way, laying a sweet kiss against his cheek before tucking in. He had trouble sleeping that night, but also found it tough to look too long at your sleeping face.

Eventually, you two made your way back northwest, making a very careful sweep through Concord as you went along. Both of you had jokes about what had happened last time; neither of you said a single word until you were turning into the crumbled Red Rocket lot anyway. The very first thing you did after you dropped your pack onto the ground was climb up and double check that your vault suit was still tucked away where you'd left it. When you were satisfied with what you'd found, you unpacked your things and asked if he'd like to go over to "town" and say hello. He agreed, ready for a stiff drink after how tense he'd been on the way back.

You held hands as you crossed the bridge, and it was a real labor for him to not actively gloat at the guards you always passed. After procuring a drink from the fairly well-stocked bar, he noticed you surrounded by the usual flock of folks who wanted to chat and exchange stories, so he stepped outside. Wandering over to where the handful of ghouls who'd taken up residence in Sanctuary usually hung out in the evenings, congregating beneath a little patched-up awning on some decently nice lawn furniture, he easily folded himself into the conversation and made himself welcome.

A few long anecdotes and one too many cigarettes later, the sun was beginning to dip behind the treeline to the west, and he figured it was time to make a reappearance and collect you. However, when he wandered back into the bar, grabbing another beer on his way through, he didn't find you. Exiting through the only other door, he cast his eyes downhill towards the waterfront and found you standing there with someone he never saw you alone with: Preston Garvey.

The Minuteman second-in-command wasn't a bad guy by anyone's report, nor an especially exciting one, as far as John could tell. He was friendly, obviously eager to help out and have a positive impact on things around him, but he was also far too close to you for the ghoul's taste, and his heckles were raised high as he quickly made his way towards you. His sharp ears picked up on the conversation in progress, his steps unconsciously light and quiet.

"...just don't want you to have to deal with that, you know? People can be so awful, and you don't deserve that."

"That's very considerate of you." you replied politely, your eyes seemingly glued to the ground. "But your concern really isn't necessary, I promise."

John had largely closed the distance between himself and the pair of you, lingering about ten feet away, just far enough out that he didn't draw Garvey's eye as he approached. He hesitated to move closer, though, afraid of how he may react if things didn't go his way. The sweating beer bottle in his hand was already clenched tighter in his grip than was likely wise. His entire body felt like it was made of lead, dense and frozen and so heavy that he was sinking into the soft ground beneath him.

"Well, I won't act like I know what's best for you better than you do. I just wanted to say that I think you're great, and that I think you deserve someone who will treat you just as great." the younger man finished up, taking another quarter-step into your bubble and placing his hand against your cheek for a beat. This, alone, was enough to make John apoplectic, but when Preston had the gall to slide his crooked index finger under your chin and lift it your face towards his, he lost it for a split second, the glass vessel in his hand suddenly exploding into a plume of tiny shards, a crumbled, wet, sharp mess remaining in his bloodied grip. Fortunately, you seemed to teleport a few steps back, your hands up in a bit of a defensive gesture.

Every non-existent hair he had stood on end in that moment, his entire body coated with goosebumps as the realization that he was about to make a grave, grave mistake settled onto him. The broken remains of the bottle felt far too useful in his hand, suddenly, and he tossed the whole dripping thing to the ground before turning and pounding sandy soil up the embankment and back across the bridge. John wasn't necessarily one to lose his cool like this often, but he knew well enough that he needed somewhere to direct this anger before it boiled over in a major way.

Shoving the door open, he stomped past the few pieces of furniture you'd dragged in, coming to lean against the old counter top towards the back, the one that you'd told him you'd like to get rid of. However, the two of you had been unable to figure out how to extract the thing because it was welded to the floor. For a few weeks, he'd been pondering how to remove it cleanly to surprise you. He'd been unable to come up with anything thus far.

Something about the presence of the thing only fueled his breakdown, and he delivered a vicious kick to the side of it, the metal and vinyl folding and splintering where his foot met the side. Typically, this little bit of destruction and catharsis would've been enough to quell him into stopping. But seeing the evidence of his anger and his lack of self-control only made him feel like more of a fuck-up, like more of the undesirable, unstable junkie he often saw when he looked in the mirror, and the resulting rage was blinding. Before he knew it, he'd wrapped his arms around the lip of the thing, yanking it once, twice, then a third time with all the strength at his command, until the whole thing broke loose from the base where it had been sealed to the floor. Bits of rusted-out metal and fat splinters of rotted wood clattered to the floor as he swung around, forcing it through the doorway to his right and throwing the thing as hard as he possibly could. It flew further than he'd anticipated, arcing rather high and crashing through the moldy awning of one of the Concord homes down the hill. There was skittering, the flapping of wings in response, frightened creatures fleeing the sudden sound as John stood there in silence, the burning in his muscles and the pain in his hands finally allowing him to focus on something other than his ears ringing in anger. After a long, dizzy moment, he turned and went back into the living room area, slumping against the wall as he studied all the metal shards sticking out of the floor where the counter top had been.

"I thought maybe you'd left." your voice came suddenly from the doorway.

"Nah, I wouldn't do that do you." he replied, trying his hardest to mean it, to not be exactly that type of guy. He couldn't make himself look at you. "Just needed to get away for a bit. Didn't wanna do anything stupid."

"Honey, your hand." you pointed out as you came closer, brow furrowed with worry as he examined himself; the back of his scarred appendage was bleeding somewhat generously, sliced by a nail or something similar in his momentary tantrum. He felt nothing about the wound, any pain he'd felt from what he'd done quickly leaving his body as the smell of you quickly filled the small space, further clouding his already racing thoughts. His beer bottle hand was already healing rapidly.

"It's fine. It'll be fine." he barely muttered in reply, reaching out to grab you just firmly enough by the wrist to pull you close enough that he could give you a thorough once-over.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

You nodded, eyes wide, hair wild and cheeks ruddy as you gazed back at him like a startled doe.

For once in his life, not using the Jet hadn't helped the situation, seemingly. His head still spun with conflicting emotions and thoughts, every muscle still wired with energy from the adrenaline and from your general proximity, making him fidget and grasp for words as his body rebelled, reacting strongly to you. He was drowning in your scent, the tang of your sweat, but it was realizing that Garvey's smell still clung lightly to you from your brief contact that was the final straw.

Your heart raced under your skin, your pulse flying under the press of his fingertips as he pushed you firmly against the decrepit wall. You exhaled harshly through your nostrils, hands coming to knot themselves into his work flannel as his mouth pressed forward with its assault on yours. He expected you to begin to push him away using the shirt for leverage, but couldn't force himself to pull back first through the blinding possessive rage he felt.

John had always been more of a “free love” sort of guy most of his life, jumping from partner to partner without much thought or care, and, because he'd never put much emotional investment or time into any particular partner, had never really cared enough about another person to feel possessive of them. Jealousy was such a negative, ugly emotion that he hated to waste any of his time on it, but the fire he'd felt in his gut from the moment he'd watched that asshole place his fingers under your chin to tilt your face up, obviously angling for a kiss, could not be ignored. This was the final straw.

He'd heard the whispers of the people around Sanctuary, around every settlement and trade outpost; the speculations about why a woman like you would choose to travel with a ghoul as a companion, why you'd spend almost all your time with him, how you were so comfortable touching and being touched by him. Criticism from shitheads about his own actions and choices rolled off of him like water off a mirelurk shell, valid or not, but it stirred him up fiercely to hear these people you'd worked so hard for, given so much of yourself to, judge you, as if they had any room. Some of the more hateful ones called you a fetishist and a freak when they thought no one else could hear, and if it weren’t for you specifically asking him to not start trouble around the settlements unless you started it first, he would have made those people swallow their own teeth long ago.

Preston had added himself to that list the moment he made it clear that he pitied you for your choices.

John hadn’t previously had much problem with the guy, save for noticing the glint in his eye when he spoke with you. He couldn't necessarily begrudge him his attraction to you, though; you were, after all, the most beautiful woman in the Commonwealth, hands down. Beyond that, you were kind, generous, hardworking, and terrifyingly smart. You’d give the clothes off your back to anyone who needed them, and would offer a stranger your shoulder to cry on if they needed. It was nearly impossible to not fall in love with you, just a little. He knew; he had tried and failed as miserably as he'd ever failed at anything.

The guy’s feelings themselves weren't the problem, though; the problem was that he obviously thought himself some sort of contender for your affections. Or, he was trying to make himself one. It couldn't be tolerated. Hell, replace him with Edward Deegan, that rat McCready, or any other random man plucked out of the ether...the conclusion was the same, regardless. If this trespass was allowed, every man in the Commonwealth who fancied you or cut of your under suit would feel comfortable trying to pick you up right in front of him, and it'd be nothing but trouble for everyone involved. John's tolerance for everyone else encroaching on what was his had finally run dry.

His mouth found the side of your throat, placing open-mouthed kisses and sharp nips the way he knew you liked in a beeline from your clavicle to your ear. When you squirmed, letting out an airy moan as you yanked him closer, he latched onto your pulse point and sucked, bathing the skin with his tongue hard enough to leave a spotted, wine-colored mark that you wouldn't be able to hide the next day. You liked that, too, but you’d never admit it out loud.

Well, unless he made you, maybe...

A low, drawn out moan escaped your mouth, your hands moving up to cup the back of his head, pulling him still closer. He obliged you, pressing the line of his entire body against you, making you feel his throbbing need against your belly, and you whimpered in response, your hands finding the top button of his flannel and beginning to work it open.

He paused his ministrations, reaching up to cup your cheek gently, your own fingers stalling for a single beat as he gazed into your eyes, trying to reassure you that he wasn’t upset with you. And he wasn’t. You hadn’t done anything wrong. But he was upset at that guy’s uncharacteristically bold actions, his disregard of his place in your life. The disregard of the others. The disrespect.

He needed to assert his place. He needed to show you how he felt.

Promptly, he resumed his ministrations. By the time you'd managed to undo the last cracked button, he’d left a huge, oblong purple bruise along the side of your elegant throat.

“John,” you whispered in between harsh breaths, your hands moving to yank the thin shirt over your head. “I want you.”

The tone of your voice was sure and clear despite how it trembled. When he fully looked up to your face, you were gazing at him dreamily, your brow furrowed with effort as your hips began to move, trying to find some friction against his. Just like the previous night, like every night, he could clearly see your desire, your trust, in the way you gazed at him. Still, though, a tug of guilt in his chest had him chastising himself as he hesitated; he should protect you and tell you to not do this. Not only because of the societal response you could expect for being with a ghoul, but because he was far from anyone’s ideal man. He didn’t deserve you. He wasn’t sure he could be everything you needed, and wasn’t sure a man even existed on Earth who could be all that a divine woman like you deserved.

Even knowing this, he couldn't pull himself away from you. The overwhelming desire he'd felt since the moment you'd met burned too hot in his gut, long transformed from a deep want to a need.

“John.” you repeated, slightly louder though just as winded, and it sunk in just how much you made it feel like his name again.

His head dropped to your shoulder, kissing across it placidly for a moment. Your hands traveled up his back, eventually moving up to grab the tricorn from his head and toss it onto the counter beside you. He felt the warm bloom of self-consciousness as you pecked along his bald head gingerly, your lips feeling extra plush against his ruined skin.

“This really what you want, sunshine?” he asked, forehead coming to rest against your own as his hands rubbed your sides.

You didn’t respond vocally, but instead reached out to stroke his cheek like he had yours, thumb swiping back and forth for a few moments. There was a silence, but a warm, comfortable one that wrapped you together in your own little bubble. When your eyes met again, he had his answer.

He led you by your soft hand to the next room, ditching his shirt, the two of you dropping onto the mattress in the corner, chuckling at the plume of dust that rose from the thing as you cuddled close. Your hands absentmindedly petted at him, one twiddling at one of the frayed tails of his shirt, averting your eyes. Soon, the unoccupied hand began to move down his chest, stroking the wiry muscle of his exposed torso. Your palm was warm and soft against him as you explored his chest, eyes following your hand as it slowly moved lower. He tensed a bit as your hand swept along his abdominals ticklishly, fingertips dipping below the waistband of his jeans. You hesitated a moment, your fingers retreating slightly to sweep back and forth along the upper seam, toying with the loose threads there.

John was radiating tension at the way you were touching him; you had never been quite this bold before, and his head swam with the overwhelming amount of emotion that he felt as your fingers began to dip below again, shyly. He was proud of you, knowing how much work you’d put into getting over your nerves to get to this point; at the same time, he was beyond touched that he was the man you’d chosen to share these milestones with. Both of these tender feelings made the overwhelming arousal he felt at your soft hands on his body a little embarrassing.

His breath caught in his throat when the tips of your fingers lightly brushed his erection, the sound odd. You froze, eyes moving to his to assess; he gave you a small head shake to convey that you hadn’t hurt him or anything, his usually silver tongue caught in his throat.

Given the green light, you slid your hand just a little further down, warm against the side of his shaft as you gently explored; your ginger poking and prodding was unpracticed, almost clinical, your hand trembling a little as you made him squirm. He was already rock hard, electricity sparking from where you touched him, and his frazzled emotional state didn’t help in the slightest. He gave a little grunt, trying to remain quiet and calm but feeling a mounting need to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you down against the filthy mattress and make you come undone.

He wanted you naked.

Generally, when you two got to fooling around, you were more than okay with him touching you both over and under your clothes, and you responded to him beautifully, making it easy to figure out what you liked and what you didn’t. However, you were often very nervous to fully remove your clothes when he made it clear he actually wanted to touch you. In the past several weeks you’d been so bold as to let him push up the hem of your shirts or open the blouse of your dresses to softly fondle and kiss your breasts, which you held and shielded with your hands when he wasn’t directly touching them, your face dusted with a dusky, embarrassed blush.

It hurt him terribly to see that you doubted your own beauty; if he had his way, he would spend every day from here to the next end of the world showing you how gorgeous you really were. But at the same time, the lingering shyness you demonstrated drove him wild.

A sharp inhale left his mouth when you suddenly wound your index finger lightly around the head of his cock, the softly calloused pad collecting some of the precum that dribbled from the slit and dragging along his piercing. You jumped a little at the sound, but when he looked at you in the dim light, your eyes were wide and the corners of your mouth were turned up ever-so-slightly in an expression of gentle confidence. He didn’t dare interrupt you, not wanting to risk throwing you off whatever wave you were currently on, instead tucking what remained of his lower lip between his teeth as you shimmied a little closer to him, the new proximity granting you a little more length of your arm to slide into his pants.

When your soft fingers curled all the way around his shaft, he nearly lost himself.

He cried out, the sound embarrassing and dragging out as you moved your grip on him up and down, slowly, hesitantly, his face burning with the shameful realization that he’d nearly cum in his pants like a teenager from a single touch from you. He was grateful his blush couldn’t be read on his tarnished skin as he dropped his face to your shoulder once more, placing a series of little kisses across the tan softness there as your blush began to work it's way down to your chest. One of his hands swept down your spine, caressing you softly as it slipped low and came to rest in the small of your back.

“Fuck.” he grunted, his jaw clenched tight as you continued your gentle ministrations, “I wanna see you, baby. Please.”

Your hand paused for a moment, giving a couple more gentle strokes before pulling back. When he lifted his head again, you were looking at him straight-on.

“Only if I get to see you, too.” you replied simply, your voice just above a whisper.

He was surprised at that; John had no real issues being a ghoul, but generally made it a practice to stay mostly clothed during sex for the ease of things (and, you know, just in case someone decides they don’t like what they see). His shirt was already hanging open, exposing his chest to you, but he went shirtless or open shirted frequently, both at home and on the road. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to you. He pulled back from you a bit to straighten up, his hands coming to work the fly of his jeans down as he gazed back at you, lips swollen and throat heavily marked where you sat, leaning back against the moldering wall.

“Deal.”

At that, you sat up more yourself, fingers slowly moving up to work the clasps on the back of your now well-worn bra loose. John stood and busied himself removing his jeans, taking a few extra seconds to fold them before placing them on the floor with his boots. As much as he wanted to stare at you, to fix his gaze on you and savor every moment of your undressing, he knew it would make you anxious or self-conscious, and willed himself to keep his eyes on the floor or the wall for a minute. When he looked back over, you were stripped down to just your panties, your knees drawn up to your chest, obscuring your breasts from his view as you watched him, waiting.

He felt a sudden and unexpected wave of self-consciousness as your eyes traced over his almost-naked form, straining to make out the details of him in the rapidly fading light. He was grateful that night was falling. Following your lead, he left his boxers on and returned to the bed, sitting down gently beside you. You responded by leaning towards him, leaning your head on his shoulder. A few quiet moments passed, the only sounds the creaking of the ancient place's frame and the wind in the trees outside.

"Nervous?" he asked, unable to help himself.

You nodded, but softly; he cupped your face lovingly, kissing you a few times and feeling you relax towards him just enough that he could maneuver you down onto your back. Giggling, your smooth palms ran along his own body in turn, coming to rest along the crown of his head as he laid kisses down your torso. An approving hum escaped you as he let his tongue lathe across one of your nipples, a hand teasing along your mound, but you froze up a bit when he moved towards your stomach. Feeling your tension, he pulled up just enough to look at you.

"I'm sorry. It's not you." you said, eyes avoiding his.

"I know it isn't, honey. It's alright. You didn't do anything wrong. Just relax, okay?"

Your eyes closed, hands petting at his head in soft affirmation as he dragged his lips along your soft skin, minding the few pale scars that decorated it. He could tell you were self-conscious about how soft you were in the middle, but he loved it, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into the plushness. More than once, a simple little peek at your tummy when you were reaching up or changing had been enough to turn him on so badly he'd had to excuse himself for a bit. You'd be incredibly sexy pregnant, he often thought. Moving lower, he switched up and laid some playful bites along the inside of your right thigh, and you let out the most adorable little squeak.

However, when he let his lips ghost over your bare mound for the first time, a heavy shudder broke down your back, your other noises choking down to nothing. It took a great deal of self-control, but he managed to drag out teasing you for a bit, barely letting his breath tickle you before peeking his tongue out to take a small swipe at your folds. He deeply suspected that he wouldn't last long once he finally made it inside you, and he wanted to make sure you were completely satisfied before that happened.

Soon, the temptation to dive straight into you got to him, and he closed his lips around your puffy clit, lapping and bathing it with the tip of his tongue. You cooed at the sensation, grasping at the back of his head and grinding your hips forward. He grinned, delving deeper into your most sensitive place. Quickly, you were trying your best to fuck his face, rubbing your slit along his tongue and nose until he was forced to hold your hips down, wriggling and writhing until you were calling out his name and coating his tongue in your taste.

He was lightheaded from how much blood had rushed to his groin by the time he lifted his head from yours, giving you a second to breathe and regain your vision before pulling himself on top of you. Petting and stroking his favorite parts of you, he found himself lost in admiration for a long second, holding his gaze on your face until you finally looked back at him. There was an electricity in the air between the two of you, a magnetism drawing him in until you were close enough to share breath.

A terse little noise left your throat when the head of him first touched you, just barely laying against you, nestled in the fold where your thigh met the rest of you. Though he’d anticipated it (advancing to a “new step”, as it were, always made you a touch anxious and jumpy at contact, but John’s skin crawled at the idea that he might be doing something to you that you didn’t want), his immediate instinct was to pull away, to hold you and tell you that the pair of you didn’t have to do this, that he cared for you for reasons other than what he could take from your body, and that it would kill him if you didn't feel that. But the way you wrapped your arms around his narrow shoulders, burying that beautiful face against the weathered side of his neck as you tried to pull yourself closer, steadied him. You wanted this, and he wanted to give it to you.

He rested there for a minute or two, not moving, letting you adjust to his presence and listening to your breathing. It was shaky, and he dropped his chin to place a few kisses along the crown of your head, lingering with each. Slowly, he brought a hand to your chest and gently groped your breast, thumb circling your nipple tightly in the way he knew made you crazy, earning a couple quiet whimpers from your lips. You loosened your grip on his neck a little, relaxing back onto the bed enough to allow him to kiss you again, his mouth distracting you while his free hand slipped down to grip his erection, giving it a firm squeeze to alleviate the nearly unbearable pressure he felt as he slid it against you.

He broke away from you before he was aware what was happening, pulling his mouth back to moan as he really felt the silky wet heat of you against him for the first time. Pins and needles of pleasure bloomed up his spine and across his scalp; he was so close to what he’d been fantasizing about for almost a year, what he’d spent so many late nights and hazy jet-fueled afternoons jerking off thinking about. Again, he throbbed dangerously, threatening to blow his load before he was ready.

Forcing himself to focus, to come back into his own body a bit and retreat from the heady pleasure he was slipping into, he braced himself and slid the blunt head along your wet little seam, collecting your lubrication as he stroked over your clit, the swipe of the little metal bar making you shudder. To his surprise, while you were trembling and he could still smell fear pheromones in the air, you let out a moan, your hips shifting to work against his, rubbing yourself back against him. Seeing you growing bolder in your actions, compared to how anxious and tense you'd been before, made his heart and his cock swell simultaneously.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby.” he hissed, unable to keep a better handle on his filthy mouth; you responded with a sultry hum, seemingly appreciating his words but unsure how to respond. Your hips continued to cant against his, your breathing uneven, face pulled taunt in concentration. He groaned at the sight, rubbing himself against you a little faster. All the better if you came again before he slid home, he figured.

After another few minutes of continuing to stroke at your hard nub, you shuddered under him once more, moaning low and throaty as another rush of that shiny slick coated him. God, he’d been addicted to a lot of things in his life, but the best thing by far, and the only one he’d never be able to kick, was the sounds you made as you unraveled. No one else had ever heard your most intimate song, your sotto little moans and whimpers as you experienced feelings you'd been convinced you couldn’t feel before.

Pulling himself up from you just a little, his hand left his member and came up to brush your hair from your face once again, gently stroking your downy, flushed cheek as you worked to catch your breath. Never before had he wished he had a camera so badly; between your fully nude state beneath him, your kiss-bruised pout and throat, the wild crown of soft hair, and the way your deep, dark eyes beckoned to him as they slowly slid open, you were the most gorgeous sight he’d ever taken in. Cupping your face with both hands, he leaned in slowly, your eyes lingering on one another as he pulled you gently into another kiss. He wondered if you could taste yourself on his tongue.

For a few moments, he allowed the pair of you to fall back into you usual pattern of kissing; advancing, gently teasing, withdrawing before resurging once more like the sea. Slowly, his right hand pulled itself from your face, softly brushing the side of your breast and rib cage as it slipped further south. Fingers ghosting just barely over your mound, he gripped his aching cock where it hung heavy between you, giving a light squeeze around the shaft as he repositioned himself slightly, lining up. As the head of him nestled against your opening, you gave a small whimper, pulling back just enough to disconnect your mouths, lips brushing his as you spoke.

“John.”

He waited a long moment for you to say more, but you seemed unable to force whatever you wanted to say out.

“You ready?” he asked gently, voice a soft murmur against your mouth. His body was tense as he awaited your response, ready to pull back if needed, but you wordlessly cuddled up to him again and let out a deep sigh, wrapping your legs just a little tighter around his waist. Peppering your jaw and throat with small, distracting kisses, he pressed forward a bit, undulating his hips back and forth a few times until the head slipped fully inside. You tensed a bit, and he set to marking up the other side of your throat, drawing your attention and making you gasp and hum as he worked his way further inside.

When about half his length had been worked inside, he took a pause, sitting up a little higher to check on you, finding you staring shyly at him, worrying away at your lower lip. Your face morphed a bit when he gave a couple of thrusts of equal depth, and he watched you processing the new sensations, bringing his thumb to your clit again. Breathing heavily in response, you shuddered, and he let a low moan slip himself when you started to work your hips back and forth in a crude arc.

The way you were wriggling and clenching already beneath him set his hips to moving further, faster. Every muscle in his back and flanks burned with withheld strength, effort to not literally fuck you through the mattress, but eventually he'd built up to full-length strokes, using whatever bounce remained in the decrepit springs to move you easily back and forth along his length.

Taking in the bruising along the sides of your throat where he'd been kissing and sucking at your skin, John hummed approvingly, nuzzling you and taking a deep lungful of your rich scent. The lingering edge of his own smell that coated you turned him on more than he'd have thought, and he gave a much harder buck than he'd intended.

"Oh, f-" you gulped at the sudden stab before silencing yourself, the word he wanted to hear so badly teasing across his ears and sending him gnawing along your shoulder again.

"Go on, honey." he growled, his hips steadily picking up their pace, body pinning yours just a little harder. "Say it."

You didn't reply, your face as red as he'd ever seen it as his fingers moved to your abused clit again, earning a pitiful whimper as he began to rub at you again.

"Beg me to fuck you. I wanna hear you say it, baby. I need it."

"John...!" you gasped as he flicked the tip of his finger just right; however, he paused completely when you still refused to say the magic words, simply applying pressure near where you wanted it as he continued to pound away at you.

"Mmm." you whined, clenching around him over and over, those big eyes brimming with tears.

"Tell me."

"F-fuck! Fuck me, John! God!" you finally spat, everything tense and twitching and spinning as he fully let himself go, wrenching one of your legs up onto his shoulder and driving as hard into you as he felt he could let himself without splitting you in two, his fingers back at work. You squirmed under him at the almost punishing pace, fingernails digging firmly into his back; the pain made him growl again, and the sound was seemingly enough to push you over that edge, squeezing and fluttering around him fast and firm as you gasped and sputtered his name.

He was able to hold out for a few more strokes, his hips stuttering as the pins and needles creeping up his spine began to fully wash over him.

“God, baby, I love you.” he huffed breathlessly, overwhelmed and not giving you a moment to respond as his mouth crashed into yours once more. He couldn’t bring himself to feel bad or embarrassed for saying it; he did love you. He loved everything about you, and every day he loved you more and more.

Your reply, whether you'd fully heard what he’d said or not, was to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him back deeply as your bodies continued to glide across one another, yours faltering and growing limp as he crested the peak.

John had never really wanted kids before. He felt himself far too unreliable, too unlike someone anyone should look up to as a father figure. However, that didn't stop the most primal part of his brain from whispering to him how perfect it would be to knock you up, for everyone to see you full to the brim with his child and know that you were his and only his.

"Fuck, I wanna cum inside you." he growled, quickly following up with "I can't get you pregnant." when you made worried, bleary eye contact. Your responding whimper made his gut tighten, hot and sharp and so ready, but he also felt a sting of guilt behind his breast at what felt too close to a lie. Still, when you fluttered around him hard once more, it was the end, his head falling heavily into the crook of your neck, his moans filling your ear as he filled you completely, throbbing into you again and again as you clung to him.

He wasn't sure how long he laid there, almost all of his weight pressing down on you until he regained the presence of mind to hold himself up a bit. Both of you panted like you'd been fleeing for your lives, exposing your overheated skin to the cool air while still desperately holding one another. There was so much racing through his mind, thoughts and creeping worries, but his exhausted body rebelled, refusing to allow him to even sit up. You appeared similarly situated, fighting your way into a comfortable position across his chest before letting your eyes close heavily. Quickly, your breathing fell even and gentle, your hair wild as it laid across his ribs. Somehow, you still looked so innocent to him.

Quickly, he followed you into sleep, clutching you close with no shame, his mind fogged with the smell of him all over you.

-

It was the chill of the very early morning air licking at your slightly exposed back that began to rouse you several hours of deep sleep later, a shiver breaking out up and down your spine as you curled yourself up closer to the man beneath your arm, staving off having to pull away and get up for a few more minutes by sapping his ample body heat as he snored lightly, blissfully unaware. You drew in a long, deep breath, stretching your back as best as you could without moving too much as the very familiar smell of him filled your lungs; tobacco, cologne, and that slight smell all ghouls seemed to carry that was somewhat like an old book. It was a great comfort to you, and soon you felt yourself beginning to drift back off into the inky embrace of sleep.

However, just a few moments later you began to feel the nagging tickle of your full bladder beginning to protest your posture, the feeling rapidly becoming more urgent as you laid there, trying your hardest to ignore it. You huffed, cursing your incredibly regular bathroom schedule mentally. Resigning yourself to your fate, you gently rolled onto your back, giving you just enough space from your still snoring partner to slowly sit up and look around the formerly abandoned gas station.

It was early, the night still holding its grip on the room as the sunrise struggled to break its way through the windows. Grasping around, you found your Pip Boy, strapping it onto your arm quietly as you rose from the floor where the two of you had constructed your makeshift bed set, tucking the blanket around your partner’s still snoring form as you gave another shudder, casting a glance around the room again in search of your jacket. When you didn’t locate it immediately, you made your way for the door, grabbing John’s long red coat from the table near the door where he’d left it instead, wrapping it tight around your naked body as you quickly padded outside. It wasn’t worth waking John up early if you didn’t have to just to turn your flashlight on.

Winding your way around the corner of the place, eyes scanning your surroundings for any new threats, you quickly made your way to the tree line in the back yard, picking a concealed spot before bunching the coat’s tails up around your waist to squat.

You hunched there, nose and toes freezing in the crisp air, and closed your eyes, trying to hurry though your task but distracted by your brain’s undeniable urge to run though last night’s events again in your mind, to dissect each moment for meaning and for the ability to store the memory away for later.

There were so many moments you wanted to keep hold of, turning each one over carefully in your mind as you cleaned yourself up, your walk back to the Rocket much less urgent; the way he’d pressed you against the wall, the heat of his insistent kisses and gropes, the sound he’d made as he lost himself deep inside you.

The sound of his rough voice, cogent, but overwhelmed, as he’d told you he loved you.

Your pulse raced as you remembered how those words hit you, how you’d struggled to try to return them against his smothering kiss. You’d loved him for what felt like eons now, and you were indescribably excited to have broached this particular milestone, despite the mild lingering doubts that he’d only been lost in the moment when he said it. The closeness you'd been building ever since you'd been introduced had always felt so easy, so natural, and so foreign to you, that you concluded it could really only be love.

As your bare feet stepped up onto the front stoop of the place you'd begun to see as home, you could hear the familiar sound of John’s lighter striking, your pace picking up as you hurried down the short hall to see him sitting up on the dingy mattress on the floor, tossing the old gold-plated lighter a bit to the side, onto his folded pile of clothes. Gaze lifting to appraise your body lazily as his head turned to face you, freshly lit cigarette dangling loosely between his thin lips, he smirked at you as you hurried across the cold floor, coat drawn tight around you.

“Well, ain’t this a pleasant surprise.” he mused, voice thick with sleep as he took a long drag, his face briefly lit up by the red-orange glow of the burning tobacco as he slowly looked you up and down. “I can’t lie, wearing my coat’s a real hot look on you, babe. Then again, you could wear a tato sack and look just as sexy. You really don’t need to try.”

Your cheeks burned with discomfort at the positive attention you were receiving, but at the same time, you giggled and felt a warm sensation deep in your stomach, standing a little taller as you approached. Shifting down onto your knees as you saddled up beside him, you kissed him on the cheek and leaned against him, seeking warmth beneath the blanket.

“Cold this morning!” you exclaimed, chattering your teeth as you snuggled your head into his firm chest. John wasn’t a large man in terms of his general build, but the muscle tone he did have was deceptively strong due to his ghoulification. He chuckled at your dramatic show of discomfort, slinging his free arm around you to hold you close, leaning back to blow his latest drag away from you.

“Sleep good?” he asked, rough palm rubbing comfortingly up and down your back, making the lightest of scratching sounds against the old wool.

“Oh, like the dead.” you replied, eyes peeking open to look up at him. “Better than I think I ever have before. I only even woke up because I was chilly.”

“You did seem like you were out pretty good. I woke up for a few a couple hours ago to readjust a bit but I was out. Turns out having the most gorgeous woman in the Commonwealth laying naked across your chest is quite the sleep aid.”

You blushed again as he threw a wink at you, giggling as you sank down further under the cover, your head coming to rest in his lap, the bit of blanket over his groin bunching up at the back of your neck. John had always been very flirtatious with you; he was a flirtatious man by nature, sometimes using it to disarm people, but he was also honest, and you knew he wouldn’t tell you anything he didn’t mean. You could see his attraction to you, the affection he held for you in his deep, soulful eyes when he looked at you, too, and it made you feel genuinely beautiful and not just objectified for the first time you could ever remember.

John finished his cigarette above you, discarding the butt by tossing it in the little sack in the corner for trash and junk, before leaning down over you, peppering your hairline, then your forehead and cheeks, with soft kisses, his rough lips brushing you gently. Working his way slowly down your face, he paused when your mouths aligned, bringing one hand down to cup your cheek.

“Think I’ve got a joint already rolled in the right pocket of my coat. Wanna split it?” he asked, voice low and soft, just a hair above a whisper. He was so close that his lips brushed yours and his body heat soaked into your face like you were laid out in the sun.

“Sounds wonderful.” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him. His hand on your cheek slid around to the back of your head, cradling you against him as you smooched one another. In no rush to pull away, you stayed in his lap until he pulled back from you on his own before sitting back up, fishing around in the pockets of the old coat until you felt the little hand rolled cigarette, careful to not crush or bend it as you held it out to him.

“You wanna go first?” he asked, sifting through the pool of fabric beside him for his discarded lighter. “I’ll light it for you if you want.”

You thought for a moment, and then shook your head. You still weren’t confident enough smoking marijuana to not worry about looking silly. “Nah, I’m not sure I’m cool enough for the first hit yet.”

A warm, raspy chuckle met your ears in response as he placed the joint between his lips, hand cupped over his face as he attempted to light it. The slight breeze that danced across the floor kept catching the flame, bending it before snuffing it out. You drew yourself closer once more, bringing your own hands up alongside his, expanding the shield and allowing him to light it. He smirked at you as he drew in the first hit, holding it in deep as he held the smoldering joint out to you; you grasped it between your thumb and forefinger, feeling self conscious as you lifted it to your lips and inhaled a small amount. When you offered the thing back to him, he insisted you have another, so a second little puff disappeared up into the air.

“Taking awfully small hits there.” he teased as he accepted the joint back.

You blushed, looking down to the tattered blanket that covered your bodies haphazardly.

“It’s just really harsh and I don’t wanna die coughing!” you gave a little chuckle as you spoke. You toyed with a loose thread for a moment before continuing. “Do you think you could do that thing again where you, uh, pass it to me? It doesn’t make me cough nearly as much that way.”

He chuckled as he inhaled another hit, his voice strained as he held it during his reply.

“If you want me to kiss on you, babe, you can just ask. You don’t have to ask me to shotgun weed to you as an excuse.” he jested, leaning towards you, chin tilted down as he angled towards your mouth. You smiled at him as your lips met, his parting as you inhaled his exhale. This time, your lungs didn’t burn at all, but you could feel more of a head change as you pulled back, lips pursed for a long moment before exhaling the rich tasting smoke into the cool air, the tendrils dissipating lazily above your head.

Your hands slid further across the floor behind you, leaning back a little, head cocked in John’s direction, watching him as he took another hit. When he tilted his chin at you again a moment later, you accepted another kiss, another puff, your body sinking a few inches deeper into the pool of tingling warmth you were beginning to feel. Your eyes felt weighty, and your lids drifted closed for a moment in response to the general feeling of peace; when they opened again, he was raking his eyes up and down the exposed sliver of your torso and stomach that was revealed by the gaping, unbuttoned coat opening as you leaned back. Briefly, you felt the familiar urge to cover yourself, but you let it pass, trying to bask in your lover’s attention. You liked when he looked at you.

Things stayed like that between you for a while, the deep indigo of the room slowly fading into lighter hues of periwinkle as the warmth of the rising sun outside began to seep in, the world beginning its gradual awakening as the earliest birds began to sing in the distance. You shared more nips between you, the kisses after each stolen breath growing longer, deeper with each pass, tongues tasting one another languidly as you moved closer over time. The joint was growing short in John’s fingers, and you watched him evaluate it from where your head was resting on the point of his shoulder, your arms wrapped around the arm he was using to support himself.

“Probably one good hit left. Want any more?” he asked, taking a long inhale as the little roach lit up bright red.

You nodded silently, shifting up and scooting in more, hip to hip with him as your lips met once more. You kissed again, but this kiss felt different, the air electrified. Your body felt sluggish and heavy in the most pleasant way, a warm thrum building up between your thighs as you felt yourself begin to slick.

He pulled himself up, now free arm coming to wrap around your waist; you anticipated him pulling you a little closer, but instead, he used his strength to lift you with the one arm, gently swinging you into his lap and pulling a surprised little giggle from you, trailing into a slight cough as the last hit you’d shared left your lips and disappeared into the air. After a moment, you’d cleared your throat successfully and settled yourself, feeling your cheeks heat up just a little when the cleft of your ass pressed down onto his manhood through the thin blanket, finding it stiff. Your lower lip drew between your teeth as you slowly allowed your eyes to meet his, your arms winding around his neck as he smirked at you.

You exchanged a few more kisses, his hands slowly moving up your sides beneath the open coat, stroking you softly. Though his skin was rough and whorled, the radiation emanating from within producing an energy all its own, his touch was a great comfort and only made you relax further; there was no pain to be had from his hands, only pleasure, your body told you. Slackening further against his chest, you wound your palms up and down his torso, eyes following them, dipping your fingers lower and lower into the darkness under the blanket each time.

When John’s hands slowly ran back up, passing the sides of your breasts to tuck into the sleeves of the coat and sliding it ever so slightly down your shoulders, you made eye contact once more, his hands pausing as he looked at you, very clearly asking permission in the nonverbal way you’d come to develop. You hesitated for a breath before pulling your hands back, straightening your arms to allow him to tug the heavy garment the rest of the way off, laying it on the bedroll behind you as you leaned forward again, curling up against him as his arms wrapped around your bare back.

You still felt the unease, the trembling feeling in your stomach as you reclined nude in his lap, but to a much lesser degree than you ever had before, more a sensation of excited embarrassment than ashamed embarrassment, and you’d felt enough of the latter to know the difference. Leaning up just enough to look into his face, you smiled a little at him as his hands continued to stroke your back lovingly.

“How’s your ride, sunshine?” he asked after another few quiet moments passed, now stroking your sleep-mussed hair.

Grinning, you closed your eyes and leaned back the few inches you could for a moment. you felt pleasantly weighty and simultaneously floaty, swaying just a little as you hummed.

“I feel great. Good sleep and now this? I haven’t been this relaxed in quite a while.” you mused, bringing one hand up to cup his rough cheek, thumb sweeping along his thin lower lip. “Though, I don’t think last night hurt me on that front, at all. In fact, I have a theory about why I slept so well...”

Despite always feeling a certain degree of nervousness, exposure at your genuine expression of attraction, you tried hard to give the energy John gave you back to him, to reassure him that you wanted and...loved him as much as he did you. You always tried to return his flirtation in equal degrees, something you didn’t think he was quite used to. The hesitation you felt, the tension within holding you back when you wanted to love him loudly, enthusiastically, was a burden of your own and not one that you wanted to saddle him with. You knew that, as much as he may embrace and shield himself with his image as Hancock, wild, free-loving party-time mayor of Goodneighbor, in reality, John McDonough was really a very insecure man. Particularly after yesterday's events, which you were loathe to bring up directly, especially since he seemed to be in such an improved mood.

He smiled at you, wide and bright and genuine, very clear even in the still relative darkness of the room, leaning forward to kiss you again. Your legs wrapped around his hips tighter as the kiss deepened, pulling your bodies flush together as his mouth broke away from yous, trailing across your cheek, down your jaw and the column of your throat, settling in the hollow of your neck, bathing you with his tongue in that way that sent electric shocks down your spine. Combined with the tickling sensation of his heavy breath in your ear as he licked and kissed you, you quickly began squirming in his lap, flushing bright red in your hiding place against his shoulder.

The only thing that separated your bodies now was the thin fabric of the tattered blanket, and as you attempted to press yourself closer to him, you could feel him even clearer beneath you, prodding your inner thigh as you both slightly undulated against one another. To your surprise, you felt none of the typical seizing fear at the sensation, only more want; you buried your face further into his neck and let out a pitiful little whimper, hips grinding down harder.

John grunted in return, arms around you clenching just a little tighter as he throbbed noticeably against you. Your stomach tightened at this, the previously chilly room suddenly way too warm.

“John.”

His name left your lips for the umpteenth quietly, a tiny little huff of sexual frustration so quiet it barely touched your own ears, but seemed to reach his fine, as he squeezed you once more in response, holding you much firmer this time as his hips shifted beneath your own, arcing to rub himself along your increasingly sensitive seam. His lips left the spot they’d been tending to on your neck, nipping and sucking their way back up to your ear, breathless as he spoke to you in the hushed tone of a needy lover.

“Wanna go again?”

The question wasn’t just for show; no matter how insistently he was grinding himself against you, how desperately his hands may grasp you, you could say no if you wanted. No guilt tripping, no anger, no coercion. But knowing that only made you want him more, made you want to push away your option to refuse him even more insistently, even as you trembled in his lap.

Your lips found his throat, kissing at it sweetly and breathing wantonly to him, almost embarrassed by your own needy tone as you replied.

“Yes, please.”

Your body was loose and weighty as he lowered you down onto your back, the wool of his coat warm against your skin once more as he laid you down, the blanket falling away from his body and yours as you readjusted. He was kissing you again, rather chastely this time as his own warm body spread over top of yours, shielding you as he slowly kissed his way down your neck, across your chest, ghosting down across your breasts. As he moved his body further, he uncovered more and more of your own to the room, increasingly bright with the coming sunrise.

Pulling himself up onto his haunches between your feet, his hands stroked you gently as your heavy eyelids drifted shut. Rough palms brushed the sides of your breasts, cupping and groping them almost reverently, his breathing increasingly strained as his palms continued their southward exploration. You flinched a little as he brushed across the expanse of your midsection, which had grown softer during your time in Goodneighbor, but when he dropped his head to lightly kiss you there, you couldn’t help but giggle, gingerly cradling his head as he peppered your belly and hips with pecks.

Distracted by his gentle affections, you didn’t notice his other hand sliding up through the sheets before you felt him softly grab at the back of your thigh, sliding up over and across your hip as he sat up straight, leaving you pretty much entirely exposed. A little shudder ran up your spine, and you peeked at his face through barely open lids, watching him as he watched you. His left hand slid back up to knead and brush your breasts with his fingertips, swapping back and forth between the two as his right hand stroked the sensitive median between your naval and your mound. You bit back a giggle at the slight tickling sensation, instead giving a shudder as his fingers dipped lower, softly petting over the damp, dark curls that framed you.

Ever patient and ready to put in the work to prepare you, to move at your speed, he stayed that way for a while, paying thorough attention to your sensitive breasts while lightly teasing your apex, slowly re-acclimating you to his touch between your legs. As you slowly felt yourself building towards something, you relaxed, letting your thighs fall open further, and John took this as his sign to increase the boldness of his touches, sliding only the very tip of his long middle finger right down your slit. You gasped a little at the electric, but brief feeling of his rough finger pad ghosting over your swollen, sensitive bud.

Your eyes slowly slid back open, fixed on his face as he repeated these touches over and over for a few moments, his own dark gaze pinned on his hand as he stimulated you. Working to slick itself in response to his touch, your body gave a few little clenches around nothing, making you shiver as arousal wrapped around you in a ticklish gossamer curtain.

"I wanna try something." you blurted, garnering a sudden glut of confidence. John smiled at you curiously, pulling back enough to allow you some room to move.

You yanked yourself over him with far less grace than you'd have liked, but he didn't seem to notice in the slightest, his eyes glued boldly to the way your breasts bobbed and swayed with your moves. Peppering his mouth and face with kisses, you gave his chest a gentle push to urge him down fully onto his back. Your lips trailed down slowly, exploring the whorled skin of his chest, and he smirked at you, the tent he was pushing at you twitching. It was only now, this close and lingering, that you'd noticed he only had one nipple, the other simply absent along the plane of scarred muscle.

Pushing yourself further down his legs, your face came to around his navel and you pulled back to look at him, studying his reaction as you let your fingers play gently over his covered erection. A hiss flew from between his teeth, the sound vibrating just right down your spine and pushing you to grip him more firmly through the sheet, stroking back and forth slowly as you lowered yourself down onto your belly.

John was watching you incredibly close as his cock sprung into view, and it only spurred you on to run your tongue up the side of his shaft quicker, drawing a delicious shiver out of him. Your eyes locked with his as you dragged the tip up the underside, but by the time you closed your lips fully around the tip, his had screwed shut, his hands forming balled fists at his sides. Experimentally, you allowed your tongue to drag along the tip, doing small circles around it and tasting the slightly salty precum gathered there.

The piercing didn't feel as sharp against your tongue as you'd imagined it would, though it was an intriguing feeling nonetheless.

But John had other plans, it seemed, pouncing on you when you were most distracted, yanking himself free from your bewitching oral grip and pinning you down on your back once again. His hands were much faster and less gentle than the day before, eager and greedy and excitable as they groped at your breasts and tummy, slid wetly through your soaked folds. You tensed as he toyed briefly with your peak, but tensed more when he slid one, then two fingers inside you suddenly.

"Tease." he growled as he stretched you, his thumb playing harshly with your nub until you were nearly bowled over with a sudden orgasm nearly out of left field. The feeling of you tightening and gripping around his fingers must've been too much for him, as he was filling you for real before you were completely aware.

He wasn't nearly as gentle as he had been the night before, and the thrill knocked the air right out of you. The tempo of his thrusts was increasing with each passing moment, the blunt head of him beating against your tender cervix rhythmically as your body clenched and trembled around him, dancing on the edge of coming undone yet again. There was no hesitation from John as you let out a gasping shriek in response, your breathing uneven and shaky as your eyes struggled to focus. His hands gripped wherever he could reach with bruising intensity, the sharp, pinching pain of his fingertips digging into your thighs as he forced them open for him only adding to the pleasure you was feeling.

You felt his teeth ghost over your shoulder, replaced by his tongue as he seemed to grumble at himself chidingly. You let out a little whimper as you felt the sharp edge of his jaw disappear, your overstimulated brain fixating on the feeling of his teeth on your neck when he kissed you there. For a long time, you’d wondered what it would be like for him to bite you with real force. However, you couldn't ponder on the idea too long, interrupted by John's primal, almost absentminded growling.

“You know, if I were still human, I’d knock you up.” he said.

His words were low and hot in your ear as he drove himself in hard and deep once more, punctuating his statement with a growl. The words themselves frightened you, a threat to strip you of your autonomy in the name of staking a claim, the very thing that you'd given up everything to avoid. However, the fear, as well as the possessive connotation of the words, also brought forth another wave of arousal so intense that you tightened painfully around him, whimpering as he ripped you right to the edge of yet another orgasm.

He smirked at you, free hand moving to cup your sweaty cheek as he teased you with a series of half-strokes, body pushing insistently against your own; your face pressed back against him, leaning into his touch to ground you as you fluttered around him. However, that grounding touch was quickly ripped away as his grip moved to your waist, flipping you off him and onto your stomach so quickly it disoriented you, your grunts muffled into the grimy mattress.

There was a slick sound as he guided his leaking cock back to your entrance, your body tense as the head played across your slit. He bucked towards you wildly, and when he failed to properly catch, the little metal bar along the underside just barely caught against your bud in an unexpectedly delicious manner, once, twice, a sloppy third time. The sensation made you coo enthusiastically, tossing your sweaty hair and arching your back towards him like a cat at the peak of heat.

"Beg me, baby." he said, teasing across your entrance.

You felt an instant wash of heat up your spine and into your face, equal parts pure arousal and the most genuine sort of embarrassment, and the sadistic look in his own eyes didn't help. Though your brain was running on reserve power, distracted by all the amazing sensations and pulled in a hundred different directions by desire, you knew what he wanted from you, and you were just cognizant enough to squirm over it.

"Go on. Tell me what you want."

Another half-thrust, another teasing bump against your clit. You forced your ass as high in the air as it would go, your voice embarrassingly whiny and nasal when it finally broke free.

"Please, John."

He chuckled darkly at that.

"As much as I enjoy your manners, kid, I'm sorta looking for the opposite." he chuckled, letting the hand that wasn't gripping his erection play along your slit again. "Tell me."

He was teasing you as cruelly as he knew how, forcing you to feel the pressure of the leaking head just about to breech you without the satisfaction of actually following through, and that would have been enough to frustrate you into begging. However, his teasing around your clit had also grown in ferociousness, sending your hips desperately searching out his fingers, and it was more than enough to break you down.

"Please fuck me, John." you whispered.

"Sorry? Couldn't quite hear you." he smirked, and it pissed you off more than anything.

"Fuck me, John! Fuck me!" you demanded, voice slowly growing louder out of pure sexual frustration. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

The last word didn't properly land, stuttered by the way he suddenly slammed himself home again and nearly collapsed you completely, but you managed to brace yourself against the bed just as he began to rut into you with wild abandon. His heavy, warm balls slapped against your clit harshly, making you whine even sharper than before. Your own fingers fought their way between your thighs, rubbing tight and fast circles around your abused clit, and it made you quiver around him. The feeling made him growl harshly, and he actually nipped at the back of your shoulder.

"Where do you want it?" he asked.

Confused and partially distracted by your approaching orgasm, you didn't say anything at first, unsure of his meaning until he clarified a stroke or two later.

"Where do you want me to cum, baby?"

You didn't have the brain power to truly string together a sentence, but you did, shockingly, have just enough control to say exactly what he needed to hear to lose himself in you completely:

"Do it inside." you sighed, and it's all he'd needed to hear before absolutely exploding, gripping at you with bruising force and jamming his cock as deep as physically possible inside you. Like the night before, you could taste him filling you up, an electric, almost acidic tang lining the back of your throat as you felt your warm cunt overflow down your thigh.

Again, the two of you clung tightly to one another in the aftershocks, but this time felt different; there were no rivals, no threats to what you had here, only the presence of love and admiration and the pure, unadulterated desire to express those emotions physically. John pretty much immediately collapsed down beside you, his throbbing, softening cock still buried inside you as he held you flush against him, running his tongue along your sweaty, bruised throat and humming.

"Man, you smell sexy like this, all full of me." he murmured, teeth playing along your earlobe. "Y'know, Garvey's lucky his nose isn't as sensitive as mine. I'd take you out there and walk you by him a dozen times just to make a point."

"Oh, John. Don't mention it. It was so embarrassing for everybody involved. He really thought that little chin lift was going to seal the deal and I have to live with the knowledge of that for the rest of my life!" you replied, playfully clamping your thighs on his hand as your cheeks heated.

The smile he flashed you was a warm one, content and confident in a way you didn't often see from the older man. You weren't sure you'd ever known him to be this...gratified.

"I love you, sunshine."

"I love you, too, John." you smiled, settling back against his chest to resume the lazy morning you'd been sharing together before the distraction. Things were quiet again, the only real sound the breeze in the trees, shaking and dancing together joyously as they shaded your perfect hideaway.

[mr-celestial-writings]

Fallout Masterlist

I have yet to finish Fallout 4, but right now It's all I have access too outside of the Fallout TV show. Both I recommend, but those are all I will be writing for.

Again: Bigotry of any kind will not be fucking tolerated.

================================================

Fallout 4:

Sole Survivor (Male):

[More To Be Added]

Sole Survivor (Female):

[More To Be Added]

Preston Garvey:

[More To Be Added]

Piper Wright:

[More To Be Added]

Nick Valentine:

[More To Be Added]

John Hancock:

[More To Be Added]

Paladin Danse:

[More To Be Added]

Fallout TV Show:

Lucy MacLean:

[More To Be Added]

Maximus:

[More To Be Added]

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul:

[More To Be Added]

Lee Moldaver:

[More To Be Added]

[daddyfuckinlonglegs]

updated this fic again, and there's a little bit of smut this time. Check the tags on ao3, link in the reblog, snippet below.

The aching had begun to subside; not gone, but not wrenching his bones from their sockets any longer, and much of it had been replaced by the constant static, the prickle of pins and needles, the sharp, carbonated fizz of limbs regaining circulation. He peeled his clothes off, and turned his face to the pillow.

Naked, and ugly, he half-dreamed of Nora O’Connor, whose beautiful smile and aversion to panties had almost made an honest man of him in his last year of college. In some approximation of their first night together, he could see himself at his cousin's cabin, up in Maine, with Gordo and Graham and Jim, and Jenny McKenzie, all of them splashed around the campfire like a shimmering oil spill, their young, warm bodies baking in the glow of the flames under an empty sky. Nora was tucked under his arm, her enthusiastic hands fluttering about him, teasing his collar and the tender skin underneath, where he'd caught the sun on the points of his clavicle and one side of his shoulder.

She laughed at that flush of angry sunburn coloring his pale skin, the tiny white line left beneath the gold chain around his neck, and she kissed the tips of her fingers and pressed them gently to the bright, burned bridge of his nose. He watched her fingers until he turned cross eyed, pulled a goofy face, and she laughed at him, settled closer as he rested his nose against the top of her head. Her hair smelled of the campfire, a warm, crackling smokiness against the sting of the other boys’ cologne and the warm, inviting scent of their bodies underneath, all of it swirled together like scotch and soda and rattling ice cubes, the crisp evening air like a cool glass holding it all together.

Nora tucked her hand into his pocket. There were no false pretenses with Nora; he liked that, she always knew just what she wanted. And that night, she’d made it clear, she wanted to fuck him. He was restless, blood like bubbling soda pop beneath his skin, pulled by magnetic force toward the intersection of her thighs, knowing, knowing , the feeling stretched out over a thousand impatient years, she wanted to fuck him . He watched the boys hand around more beer, grinning. He couldn’t stop grinning like that. She wanted to fuck him .

[wander-over-the-words]

Make Like An Atom

Summary: In which Nick’s “brother” is having his partner join a cult, and Nick might just have one or two grievances about that.

Characters: Nick Valentine, [Male] Sole Survivor (Nathan “Nate” West), Grand Zealot Richter; mentions of DiMA, Kasumi Nakano, Brian Virgil, Old Longfellow, High Confessor Tektus, Ellie Perkins, Father/Shaun, Paladin Danse, original Nick Valentine, Kenji Nakano, Eddie Winter, Piper Wright, Nat Wright, Dogmeat, Codsworth, Synth Shaun, John Hancock, Skinny Malone, Jennifer Lands.

Pairing: [Male] Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine.

Warnings: cult-related business, use of derogatory language toward the mentally ill (nothing people don’t call the Children of Atom in canon), radiation poisoning, description of vomiting; mentions of death, murder, execution, firearm usage.

Disclaimer: The Sole Survivor in this is based off how I played him - personality, looks, choices and all.

Notes: First Fallout 4 fic. Takes place during Far Harbor, and after the main story. I’ve always thought it was really sweet how genuinely worried Nick sounds when the Sole Survivor has to join the Children of Atom (he sounds like he’s trying to talk them out of it when it comes to going into the Nucleus), so here’s a fic about Nick being concerned about his bf joining a cult that worships something that could potentially kill him. Cause y’know you probably would be too. And let’s be real: that scene where the SS has to drink the irradiated water must look worrying as hell from Nick’s point of view.

Extra notes: This fic has literally been sitting around for about a year and I’m sick of having it hanging over me, mocking me, so I’m using the excuse of the “obligatory posting Nick Valentine content on Valentine’s Day” to finally get the damn thing posted.

All material belongs to Bethesda.

Fic available on AO3.

…

This is going too far. To hell with it - it’s already gone too far.

Nick honestly - shamefully - hadn’t thought much of it when DiMA wanted Nate to pose as a new recruit for the Children of Atom in order to gain access to their base. His mind had been so clogged with the recent revelations: the possibility of DiMA being family, this supposed information that his own head is failing to store all of his memories, Kasumi’s worries that DiMA is up to mischief, the fact that this case is proving to be a bigger doozy than just leaving the familiarity of the Commonwealth to find one lost girl.

And besides - the Children haven’t seemed like that big a threat until this point, at least in Nick’s experience. There’d been those who had attacked when people had trespassed upon their property (but, hey, who doesn’t do that in the Commonwealth?), but the bunch he and Nate had encountered in the Glowing Sea had been friendly, if just weary. Friendly enough, at least, to give them directions to Virgil’s cave, and to do no more than that.

Turns out, the folks back in Far Harbor had been right when they said everything on this island was bred nastier than that of the Commonwealth. Even extends to the people.

Stumbling upon the Children’s little ‘test of faith’ was not only proof of that, but a pretty fine wake-up call.

It’d been an even bigger wake-up call when the Grand Zealot told Nate what he’d need to do, to see if ‘Atom’ wanted Nate in their beloved group: go and drink irradiated water from the spring nearby and see what ‘Atom’ showed him.

Of course - Nate being Nate - he’d headed off without hesitation, and once they’d gotten to the spring and their geiger counters had started going haywire, Nick had had to speak up. He’d tried to suggest they just lie and say they did it.

Nate had brought up the prospect of them saying the wrong thing and losing the chance to get into the submarine base; joining up and thus doing what the Children asked of him was the only way to get in through non-violent means, like DiMA had wanted (not that non-violent means wouldn’t have been the plan anyway, as Nick’s proud to say he and his guy are on the same page about unnecessary violence).

Nick knows Nate well enough to know that he was going to go through with drinking the damn water, no matter what Nick said, so Nick had told him to at least take a Rad-X before doing this, but Nate had frustratingly turned that down too by ‘reminding’ him that the Children were obviously hoping the rads would do something to him, and the Rad-X might stop that from happening. Assured him he’d be fine, he’s gotten dosed with rads before, they have RadAway handy, everything will be fine.

Then he’d cupped his hands under the trickling water, brought it to his lips and swallowed it down.

Nick can’t begin to describe the panic that’d shot through him when Nate had choked, spraying water from between his teeth as he fought not to spit it out, and collapsed against the rocks, violently coughing, gasping for air; Nick had raced to grab the RadAway from their supplies immediately when he’d heard Nate gasp like he was shocked, and he’d looked up to find Nate staring, staring, up at the rocks above them, at…at something. When Nick had looked, he’d seen nothing - there’d been nobody there, his detection programming wasn’t picking up anything, but Nate had obviously been so sure, for he’d tracked it with his eyes as he’d stumbled away from the rocks, out of the spring, following this…thing he was seeing.

And then he’d taken off, staggering into Fog so thick, he’d almost immediately become a silhouette, and Nick had torn after him, calling for him and asking him what was wrong, what was he seeing.

He hadn’t gotten any answers at the time; Nate was muttering to himself, looking around like the world was unfamiliar to him, and Nick had turned up his auditory receptors to hear him. Occasionally, Nate would stop and say something to somebody - a confused “E-Excuse me,” or “Hello?” - or tell himself this couldn’t be real, and a couple of times, Nick had nearly jumped out of his synthetic skin when Nate had cried out in alarm and stopped suddenly like he was avoiding something, nearly making Nick crash into him.

Nick’s just glad he’d been coherent enough to take down the ferals waiting for them at the shrine Nate’s delusions had led them to. The second Nate had stopped talking nonsense and seemed to come back to reality - when Nick could hear him trying to work out the password to the terminal in the shrine - Nick had been pulling his sleeve up to find a vein to pump RadAway into, ushering Nate to sit down outside while he recovered.

Frighteningly, Nate’s face had been grey, he’d been bleeding from his nose and from the scrapes on his forehead and cheeks from where he’d crashed into the rocks back at the spring, and Nick had spotted a few loose strands of hair on the shoulders of Nate’s coat. Before Nick could get a needle into his arm, Nate had swatted his hands away, grunted out a request for him not to look, and had promptly vomited onto the ground beside them, which brought perhaps a small amount of relief that the poisoned water was officially out of Nate’s system (alongside some of that mirelurk jerky Longfellow had given him).

Once he’d successfully started to get RadAway into Nate’s system and collected a purified water from their supplies to wash his mouth out, Nick had wrenched Nate’s road goggles up into his shaggy hair to see the dazed and fatigued look in his bloodshot eyes, and he’d asked Nate how many fingers he was holding up to check how well the RadAway was flushing the so-called vision from Nate’s system. Even treated him to a stimpak for the wounds on his face, once the radiation allowed for proper healing again.

That’d been another little wake-up call: the rads. Maybe he’d thought too little of it before. There’s no way the Nucleus is as bad as the Glowing Sea, but if it’s enough to keep these fanatics happy…Well, they might be out of their depth here.

Or, at least…Nate is.

There’d been some icon…thing in the shrine, and the Grand Zealot is so pleasantly shocked when Nate shows it to him (because, of course, even to these crazies, Nate would turn out to be something special), and then comes the point of no return.

“I am ready to follow His path,” Nate says.

“Then it will be so,” the Grand Zealot replies.

Nick can’t help himself; he speaks up without even really thinking about it.

“I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” he says. “We barely know these people.”

He catches the slight twitch of Nate’s head as he just barely stops himself from turning around and looking at Nick, and the Grand Zealot looks at him with disdain but says nothing to him. He sees the way Richter looks at Nate, as if expecting Nate to say something in his place, probably tell ‘his’ synth to pipe down, but Nate doesn’t acknowledge it, so Richter goes on like Nick isn’t even there.

He gives a nod to the icon in Nate’s hand. “Head inside and present the icon to the High Confessor once his sermon is done. He’ll be interested in seeing that. Once you’ve spoken with him, you should come see me. Have a task I think you’d be useful for.”

Nick doesn’t like the way he says that.

“And here.”

Richter reaches back and holds a hand out to the guard standing behind him, who hands him a mass of dark fabric and a pair of boots, and Richter gives these to Nate.

“Some more…appropriate attire.” His already-serious expression turns into a harsh frown. “But know this: we are all devoted servants to Atom here. Messenger or no, actions against the Family will not be tolerated.”

Glancing at the body still strewn on the ground nearby, Nick thinks back to the ‘test of faith’ and his coolant turns to ice.

The frown lets up; does this man ever smile?

“Welcome, brother.”

Icon tucked under his arm, Nate looks the outfit over, then smiles with a nod and tells Richter he’s just going to change into this, he’ll meet him inside.

Richter gives him a nod, and Nate and Nick are left outside as Richter disappears into the Nucleus.

Nate gives a huff of a chuckle as he turns around, carrying the bundle of fabric, the boots and the icon as he leads the way back in the direction they’d come.

“You’re gonna blow my cover with talk like that, Nick,” he says quietly over his shoulder as Nick follows him.

“Can’t say I’d be sorry to,” Nick says honestly and just as quietly. “I’m tellin’ ya, doll, I’ve got a bad feeling about all this, and my ‘bad feelings’ are rarely wrong. Come on. Maybe we should just focus on getting Kasumi home - make like DiMA and forget about all this.”

“What, and lose the chance to find out what’s in DiMA’s memories, even though it could end up affecting this whole island?” Nate says with a hint of dramatics, then gives a small snort as he adds, more seriously, “Doesn’t sound like the Nick I know…”

He disappears behind one of the junk fences lining the Children of Atom’s land; Nick stays on the other side to give Nate his privacy, trying to look nonchalant as he feels the eyes of the man at the door on him.

“Yeah, well, the Nick you know didn’t have to watch you poison yourself with rads and go running off into dangerous Fog whilst prattling on about some figure you were seeing. This Nick did, so he’s starting to think this whole ‘joining the Children of Atom’ thing might’ve been a step too far.”

“No turning back now,” Nate says, and Nick can hear the shrug.

Nick frowns softly and opens his mouth to reply, only to stop when the collar of Nate’s coat (the one Ellie had given him as part of the detective outfit he’d received along with the offer of being Nick’s new partner, old clothes of Nick’s) falls into view as it hits the ground, and another shot of ice goes through Nick’s coolant.

That coat has been fitted with ballistic weave, so Nate is shedding his armour for the sake of this charade - meaning he’ll have no protection if someone tries to hurt him.

God knows Nate’s been through some dangerous stuff, and he’s done amazing things since clambering out of Vault 111. He’s already played double agent before, in both the Institute and the Brotherhood (triple agent? Quadruple?), and those had had their own fair share of risks too, but this is…this is different. The Institute were overzealous boogeymen, and Nate had had his son’s good word to protect him, and the Brotherhood were high and mighty zealots who just liked to hear Nate say ‘Ad victoriam’, and they’d trusted Danse’s vouching for him, but these people?

Well, they’re just plain off their rockers, and there’s nobody this time around to make sure Nate is left unbothered in this irradiated hell of unpredictable cultists. And he wishes Nate wouldn’t just…dive head-in and play the hero so recklessly.

(He’s being a huge hypocrite, of course, and Ellie would laugh at his claim about having ‘feelings’ at all about cases, but this isn’t about him, it’s Nate who’s in danger here.)

“Sure there is,” Nick replies. “We just don’t go in an’ let these people try and indoctrinate us.”

“They’re already expecting me, Nick,” Nate says; his tie is discarded onto his coat. “I found this…icon thing, remember? And I saw the, ah,” he puts on a deeper voice of faux-awe, “‘Mother of the Foooog’!”

(Nick might’ve laughed, in another situation.)

“Besides,” Nate goes on over the sound of rustling fabric, “what would we tell DiMA if we didn’t even get to go into the Nucleus? What would we tell Kasumi?”

Nick arches a brow. “That the plan was nuts and we didn’t wanna go through with it?”

“Nick…” Nate says through a fond chuckle. There’s a beat where Nick only hears the shuffling of fabric again, then Nate adds, “We’ve already committed ourselves to the cause. You really wanna just leave Kasumi’s worries floating in the wind like that?”

No, of course, he doesn’t, but…

“Well, we…don’t hafta do it this way. Found another way into the Institute, we can find another way into this place, even if we just…grab ourselves a couple Stealth Boys and wing it.”

“Ah! Sooo, what you’re saying is: I drank some poisoned water foooor…nothing?”

Of all the times to show his wit…

“Nate…”

“Why the hesitation, Nick?” Nate says. “Kasumi’s counting on us, DiMA’s expecting results and the Children already think I must be some sort of figure the ‘Mother of the Fog’ is speaking through or…something. Besides -”

There’s a beat where Nate doesn’t say anything, just gives a grunt, and then there’s the clicking of metal.

Then comes a soft thud and Nick looks to see that it’s Nate’s shoe that has hit the ground, landing atop his fallen coat and tie, and he realises Nate is changing into those boots - that clicking had been the sound of his prosthetic foot being shimmied out of its shoe.

“ - this is an opportunity, remember? To find out if DiMA was telling the truth about you guys having history. Aren’t you excited about that, at least?”

“Not sure ‘excited’ is the word for it…” Nick mutters, brow furrowed as he casts his gaze to the ground, catching the sight of Nate’s second shoe joining the first out of the corner of his eye.

It’s been an uncomfortable lump in the back of his mind ever since DiMA apparently recognised him, the prospect that DiMA is right and Nick has just…forgotten him.

When he’d awoken in that junk pile, still of half a mind that he was the real Nick Valentine, he’d just assumed he was blending in with that which was around him: trash. The Institute’s trash that they’d - he didn’t know - gotten bored of. Maybe he wasn’t doing what he was told and so the Institute got tired of trying to tie their strings to his wrists and make him dance, maybe they’d just found a new project and decided this dingy old prototype wasn’t fun to poke and prod at anymore.

The idea that someone wanted him out, helped him escape…no. Never been a thought. With the way the Institute treated synths, the very idea of mercy, let alone help, was laughable. But a second prototype…sure, he’s wondered if he was the only one ever made, but the fact that another prototype had not only been made and been with him that whole time, but had assisted him in getting out, is…well, it’s knocking a screw loose.

Another prototype…A ‘sibling’. A ‘brother’. Is that how it works? Are they family because they were on the same assembly line? Because they were…‘raised’ together?

When he thinks of his time in the Institute, he thinks of the single room he was in, the feeling of knowing somebody’s eyes were always on him, the yanking of parts coming loose in his head as they pulled him apart and put him back together, but he never thinks of a face like his own. Of someone…being there, with him, in the room.

Was it DiMA’s eyes that were always on him, or their creator’s, or both?

It’s all so confusing, he’s dangerously close to being overwhelmed - so the fact that they’re getting nearer and nearer to potential proof is causing him all sorts of levels of trepidation. If DiMA is right about them being brothers, then he’s right about everything else: that he really is just forgetting things because he can’t stuff anymore memories into his head. He hadn’t remembered Kenji at first, after all…and if he can’t fit anymore memories in, then…how long will it be before his hardware starts tossing out other things, important things, more recent things? The good times he’s had as of late, the fact that he’d completed his mission to get revenge on Winter, the people he knows and loves? Their motley crew back at Sanctuary, and the likes of Piper, Nat, Codsworth, Dogmeat, Shaun, Ellie…Nate…?

The idea of that, it…it scares him. Badly.

But that isn’t what’s important right now. What is important is the fact that DiMA’s little plan is putting Nate in the heart of an irradiated cult who carelessly gun down their own and want to shove rads down Nate’s throat until he’s as sickly and insane as the rest of them.

“And I appreciate how eager ya are to help me with that,” Nick goes on, “but…”

“But…?” Nate presses him.

Nick hesitates, then comes out with it: “But no answer would be worth it…if it costs you, doll.”

There comes silence then, even the sounds of outfits being changed has stopped, and Nick waits for Nate’s answer to that. No doubt, some other attempt at getting him to agree to this harebrained scheme, knowing Nate. He does love what a do-gooder his guy is, but even he has his limits.

“...Nick, could you…come back here with me for a moment? I, uh…don’t think I’m putting this on right.”

Nick blinks once, surprised.

Not the response he’d expected from putting his heart on his sleeve; Nate’s priorities are getting a little skewed. Besides, he hadn’t thought those robes looked particularly difficult to put on - looked sort of just like a jumper and some trousers to him - but heck, what does he know about the uniforms of these loons?

“Uh…alright,” he says confusedly, putting a hand to the fence as he turns on the spot.

He steps behind the junk wall, and before he can process the sight of Nate before him in full uniform, the lapels of his coat are grabbed and he’s pulled forward so suddenly he nearly falls, and Nate’s body is crushed against his in a hug.

Caught off-guard, Nick takes a moment to fully recognise what’s happening, his body frozen and his hands hovering in the air, then his autonomy comes back to him and he returns Nate’s hug, slowly. His hands go to Nate’s upper back and he holds him as he feels Nate lean his head against his own, shifting his fedora. The man’s got only two inches of height over him, but somehow, he’s one of the few people who have ever made Nick feel…small.

“I’ll be alright, Nick,” Nate says, close to Nick’s ear, warmly but seriously. “I promise. I’m not gonna let them talk me into doing anything that I can’t happily be a part of. We’re just gonna go in there, grab DiMA’s memories and go, and we’ll figure the rest out later.” There’s a beat. “Besides, you…do know this is just an act, right? That I don’t really believe in all this ‘Atom’ junk?”

“Course I know,” Nick says, then sighs through his nose. “It’s just that this meeting with the Children of Atom turned out…a little different than what I expected. The folks we came across in the Glowing Sea didn’t even point a gun at us, but these people…”

He gives another small sigh, then breaks the hug so he can look Nate in the face, transferring his hands to Nate’s waist instead as he remains in Nate’s personal bubble.

Looking him in the face has become slightly more rewarding, since Nate has had the courtesy of moving his road goggles up into his chestnut brown hair, giving Nick the opportunity to have his own yellow eyes lock with Nate’s hazel-blue ones.

“Just…watch what you say in there, will ya? Don’t want you endin’ up like that other guy.”

He glances in the direction of the man who had been killed, and Nate puts a hand to Nick’s cheek and turns his head to bring Nick’s attention back to him.

“I always watch what I say. And if I don’t, well - I got you around to keep me in line, right?” he asks, and when he gets a small smile, he leans forward to kiss it.

Nick gladly returns his kiss, turning it from a simple peck to a deeper smooch, enough that both of them close their eyes and hold it for a few calming seconds before Nate breaks it to smile at him.

Nick still looks concerned, thinking back to the image of Nate, dazed and pale, bleeding from his nose, starting to lose his hair, sitting next to his own puke. Nate’s been hit with rads on their travels before, but Nick had never seen him look so…ill.

“Don’t suppose you…packed your hazmat suit?”

He knows how ridiculous he sounds - if Nate packed his suit, Nick would know it, his bag ain’t that spacious - and such as it is, Nate laughs at the prospect.

“No, I didn’t,” he adjusts Nick’s lapels, straightening them from where he’d grabbed at them, “and we don’t really have the time to head back to Sanctuary to pick it up. I’d…probably be offending them, anyhow.” He gives a hiss of a laugh. “They’d probably accuse me of,” he puts on a deeper, dramatic voice, “blocking Atom’s holy touch! Such blasphemy!”

Nick can’t help the short chuckle that leaves him as he hangs his head.

“Alright…” he says wearily. “I can see when I’m beat.” He lifts his head back up to look Nate in the eye seriously. “But you tell me if you start gettin’ sick, alright? Don’t try and play the tough guy act and muscle through it, not even if one of those Children are around to hear you complaining…I’m not losin’ you to rad poisoning.”

“I could end up as a Ghoul instead.” Nate shrugs a shoulder, looking up like he’s genuinely thinking about this. “Hancock’s always saying I’d make a great Ghoul.”

“Yeah, well, he would.” He gives Nate’s waist a shake. “But I’m bein’ serious here.”

“I know, Nick. I’ve been watching my rad count ever since I realised my Pip-Boy has a geiger counter.” Nate looks at him and smirks. “Since when did you go all Mother Hen?”

“Since my guy decided drinking poisoned water for the sake of a bunch of cultists was a good idea.”

“Leeet’s be honest here, Nick: is it really…the weirdest thing I’ve ever done?”

“I’ll get back to you on that verdict,” Nick says dryly, “depending on what happens next.”

Nate laughs, leaning in to Nick’s embrace, and thusly, Nick brings him in and holds him close.

Best thing to happen to him in perhaps ever, this man; saved him from Skinny Malone, from wrestling with the original Nick Valentine’s past for the rest of his days, had so happily helped him find all those holotapes, stood aside and let him kill Eddie Winter on his own and then stood by him where Jennifer Lands had died and let Nick say his piece. Brought him on this whirlwind of an adventure that culminated in exterminating the boogeyman that had had the Commonwealth running scared for so long - and through it all, went ahead and made Nick fall for him.

How many of Nick’s clients could say they’d done that?

Just the one - this one right here, in Nick’s arms (though he hasn’t been just a client for a long while now).

So if anything happens to Nate while they’re carrying out this plan of DiMA’s, Nick will be taking his grievances straight back to ‘bro’.

Nate pulls back from their hug, and Nick rests his metal hand on Nate’s cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over the sideburn lining his jaw, before Nate takes a step back, removing himself from Nick entirely. He pulls his road goggles back down over his eyes, then ushers Nick over with a quick curl of his fingers.

“Here,” he says, “gimme your hand.”

“Hm?”

Nick watches as Nate stoops to pick up a boot, and only then does Nick realise their hug had interrupted Nate completing his new look: his right foot’s found its way into the new boot the Children have provided, while the left is naked, since Nate doesn’t bother putting a sock on his prosthetic.

“Oh,” Nick says, understanding, and offers a hand for Nate to hold so he can balance himself as he goes to one foot, shimmying the boot over his fake foot.

Once he’s finally managed to get it on, he’s all set. Nate steps back and holds out his hands to put himself on display.

“So,” he says, “how do I look?”

Nick looks him up and down, taking in the sight of Nate in the baggy, dark robes, and he replies exasperatedly, “Like a fanatic.”

“Hm - that’s great,” Nate replies, ducking to collect the coat, tie and shoes of his discarded outfit (he’s wearing the robes over his shirt and trousers, evidently), “then I’ll fit right in.”

Nick can’t help the small scoff of a chuckle that leaves him as Nate stuffs his clothes into his bag. Before he can pick the bag up, Nick ducks down and retrieves a bottle of Rad-X from one of its front pockets, waving it at him.

“I’ll slip ya these when you start lookin’ pale,” Nick says. He pops open the bottle, shakes out a pill onto his palm, then holds it out. “Best to take one now, before we head in there.”

Nate hesitates, then stands up to look at Nick properly.

“Are you sure you wanna come in there with me?” he asks. “DiMA said these people accept synths, but…the looks they were giving you when we showed up…”

“Tryin’ to get rid of me, huh?” Nick asks teasingly. “Didn’t think I was being that much of a wet blanket. But you can forget it - you’re not going in there without me, no matter how these people feel. Remember: DiMA said there was some Pre-War security keepin’ the Children of Atom from getting their paws on those memories of his. Could be anything in there, and I’d feel a whole lot better about all this if I was there to watch your back.”

“Are you sure?” Nate winces and adds hesitantly, “I mean…you do look a lot like DiMA. If anyone in there has a problem with him…they could have a problem with you too.”

Nick shrugs. “Half the Commonwealth has a problem with me. Hasn’t stopped me yet.”

Nate gives him a small smile. “Alright. It’s your call. But you may have to hold me back if anybody in there says anything about you.”

“Hey, now,” Nick cracks a smile (he doesn’t approve of Nate’s wish to pummel anybody who gives him lip, but it is sweet), “DiMA wants us doin’ this without violence, remember?”

“Sure, but,” Nate stoops to collect a can of purified water from his bag, “I feel like DiMA would understand if I told him I punched a guy in your honour.”

Nate stands up and plucks the pill from Nick’s palm, sits it on his tongue, then gulps down some water. He gives a hard swallow as the pill goes down, then nods once and drinks the rest of the water from the can. He drops the can to the ground, squashes it with his prosthetic foot, then returns the metal to his bag, most likely to convert it into raw materials for building projects later; funny, what one can make with junk.

Nate picks up his bag and rolls his shoulders, clapping his hands once in preparation.

“Alright,” Nate says, “let’s do this.”

He passes by Nick to walk around the fence, and Nick sighs wearily as he watches him go.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Let’s.”

He follows Nate, gaining the attention of the guard by the door, who watches them closely as they approach. For a moment, Nick thinks he might be suspicious, but then the man just tells Nate that the High Confessor is in the middle of his sermon still, and that Nate should listen in.

Nate gives an obedient nod and raises a triumphant, excited fist as he slaps on a grin and exclaims, “Glory to Atom!”

As Nate disappears into the Nucleus, Nick casts the guard a deadpanned look and half-heartedly raises his own fist.

“What he said,” Nick adds dryly, and follows Nate inside.

[creeperhawke]

dump prompt 2

pre-romance - wtf is punctuation

While living in Sanctuary so close to the only person he's ever truly loved Hancock grew a bit more lax with his chem use. After all, the subject of his affection, M!Sole, flinches away from his touch and refuses to be near him most times. So close yet so far away. One day, he takes some shady psycho he got off a guy who refused to come close to town, he should've known it was a terrible idea. Deacon found him ODing and Curie just barely manages to save Hancock's life. Everyone is exhausted but someone has to look out for him overnight so M!Sole decides to stick by. He is plenty exhausted from the whole ordeal as well so decides the best place to look out for his dear ghoulfriend is by laying the smaller man on his chest. After all, he'd notice any changes immediately, right? This is not what Hancock thought he'd wake up too but he is mighty glad it is despite the bone-deep fatigue, terribly sore body and borderline inability to move.