#hancock x sosu

[mentat2gh0ul]

I DID IT I WROTE A LITTLE SOMETHING PLEASE GO EASY ON ME THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST A DECADE AND I HAD TO GET IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM.

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"Hah-- y'know, I get ya want to travel in the discretion of the night... but did we really have to go through a fucking swamp? I ain't got a clue where I'm going here but whatever I'm stepping on, ough- I'm sure it's long-dead by the stench of it."

It's has been now a couple months since Hancock had convinced himself to temporarily hang the hat as mayor of Goodneighbor. The scheme put in place by Bobbi no Nose hit him worse than a chem withdrawal-- well, no, not really, but it left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and a realization: he had to get out there. The thought hadn't crossed him before the drifter's gambit but now it dawned on him that, perhaps, the view from his balcony up above was getting too cozy and, consequently, felt like he was losing touch of what reality is out there in the Commonwealth.

Luckily for him, every cloud has a silver lining and in his case, it came at his doorstep in the form of a vault dweller with a lot of baggage on their shoulders. In an apocalyptic world such as this everybody got their problems, but the way they handled their own caught his eye so much so that he decided to join them in their singular quest without too many questions being asked.

So here he was, squelching his boots sluggishly through the mud to keep pace with them whilst the fetor of death overwhelmed whatever sense of smell he still had; however the vault dweller, within the safety of their bulky power armor, managed to advance with ease through the sludge and make a path for him to follow; the only light in the darkness of the night being the bright yellow beam from their helmet as they scoured their surroundings. They didn't seem to be the talkative type but Hancock appeared unbothered by it, as their actions spoke more to him than anything else... how rare it is for one to understand the way of the world and still behave human? The ghoul pondered; a glimmer sparked in the dark voids that were his eyes, contemplating the sole survivor's imposing frame which stood before him. It suddenly felt like a knot tightened in his throat which gave him the urge to swallow, a warmth then stirred from his gut and flooded through him making the grip his hands had on his trusty shotgun unsteady. These unfamiliar feelings and racing thoughts overwhelmed him to the point to make his stride teeter...

Crack

And with that sound, he felt the pull of reality yanking him back in. His gaze darted downward and there he saw it: the cracked shell of a Mirelurk egg right beneath his sole accompanied by a pair eggs which sat unharmed right beside. "Shit--" he cursed under his breath as if it could prevent, although helplessy, what immediately followed; two hatchlings bursted out of their spawn to attack but, despite Hancock's momentary unreadiness, he quickly came to his senses and all he needed was to pull the trigger twice to make the newborn crustaceans fly into pieces; the sole survivor had just the time to turn and point their gun before everything was already over.

"Don't ya worry, I'm good." The ghoul reassured them with a confident smirk on his lips, before his attention turned downward to wipe the Mirelurk gunk that stained his trousers with a slight disgust on his face. "Ah-- fucking crabs... well, guess it ain't the first time I've had dealt with those." He chuckled briefly after he spoke, confirming his innuendo to the sole survivor which in response stared at their companion silently; the blank expression of their helmet didn't quite let on what they were thinking but Hancock could tell that they must have playfully rolled their eyes at his comment- I mean, c'mon that was chuckle worthy or so he thought to himself. Their playful stare short lived though due to something having caught the quiet one's attention; the horizon now have tinged itself in an orange glow and the warmth of the sun begun to rise through... it was finally dawn.

The light peeking through the skyline reached his scarred skin like a comforting carress; even with all the uncertainties this fucked up land were to offer, at the very least, the sun always rose everyday... and ain't that reassuring enough? He gave a glance at his towering companion as they seemed drawn by something such as simple as the rising of the sun and wondering if they too thought the same as him- but then, a twinkle from below stopped his thought in its tracks. Hancock's eyes slowly drifted downward and it was like well placed left hook hit him in the gut: it was his reflection.

As the sky begun to turn brighter, it became even more clearer despite the filthy water which funcioned as mirror laid beneath him. His reflection stared right at him the same way he stared right at it... in aversion. Now, he didn't regret it one bit. He have had the trip of his life and the near-immortality was more than appreciated but, he couldn't deny what he had done to himself. It was never a constant thought in his head but every time, even if few, that he was reminded of it, it made his heart sink in his chest... he was now a face he could recognize and call his own but not one he would ever grow fully accustomed to. A pained expression grew on his features as he silently mantained eye contact with his mirrored image, his teeth clenched slightly behind his lips.

Ain't quite the handsome devil I used to be, huh?

And just before his self-deprecating could continue, something in his periferal snapped him out of it and turned his attention to it. The sight that stood before him made the ghoul's eyes widen subtly in surprise as his breath got caught in his throat; it was his quiet traveling companion with now their helmet held under their arm and their unroughed visage exposed to the polluted air- they seemed to be simply scrutinizing the environment ahead of them for a possible way foward. Hancock had seen their face before but now, with their smooth skin shaded by the tangerine colored sunlight, it stirred an foreign feeling from his very heart as he admired them utterly mesmerized by their apperance... they looked like the people on those old, tattered pre-war posters you would often find still hang up because, despite being so unfamiliar to the common folk today, it would still somewhat bring a sense of bittersweet nostalgia... even if unaware of what it truly was like back then. The vault dweller held a beauty from a world long gone- well kept, tidy and confident aura about them with just a pinch of glee but, unlike the world, they have been untouched by the destruction of the bombs that fell... they were right in front of him in the flesh... wondering if-- maybe... if he...

Before his mind could take him to unknown places, the reflection of him that laid on the puddle beneath his boots was like a smack right across the face and made it all dawn down on him. His gaze softened at the discomfort from the sight of his disfigured face as a small smile ached on his lips.

Nah, what the hell were you even thinkin'? No one would wanna wake up to this ugly mug every morning... fuck- wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially not them.

His head sunk between his shoulders as he condemned himself through his inner monologue. Through his ghoulification he killed a part of himself he desperately wanted to run away from... and for that, he had no regret but through the same process he lost something he will never get back- the possibility to find a sense of belonging with someone which, admittedly, didn't give a thought about before meeting them... before this almost fated encounter with the sole survivor there was no one that awakened such thoughts in him and now, with it within his reach, he couldn't grasp it-- and never will, he remarked in his mind.

Before his self-hate could consume him whole where he stood, he heard the feeble sounds of his quiet companion placing the helmet back on their head; he looked over to them and they looked right back causing him to questioningly raise his brow. The vault dweller said nothing but with a small nodding of their head to the side they seemed to suggest to him that this is the way they will head towards now. The ghoul in response nodded in agreement to their request.

"Yeah, gotcha-- right behind ya, partner."

And with that, their stride towards their destination reccomenced. Hancock left behind him his denigrative thoughts as he walked, stepping on the same puddle that mirrored his reflection in the process. Despite his self-depreciative nature, he was quick to get back on his feet because in the big scheme of things it did NOT matter how he felt and what he felt-- he was but a speck in vastity of chaos in the wasteland and if with their help he could do something good, really good then... I guess it's worth the heartache.

[mahiiimahiiii]

So .. how are you liking the multiple companions mod.

[devilry-revelry]

Me, writing a Cooper/Ghoul x Lucy Soulmate AU fic:

The unfinished Hancock x Female!SoSu Soulmate AU fanfic that I haven't touched since 2017:

[fallout-fucker]

Random Sole x Hancock Headcanon - Emails.

Sole figures out how to get some sort of online connection up and running again purely so they can send emails to Hancock's terminal from their Pip-Boy whenever they're apart. Love sick idiots.

Cue Hancock blushing and kicking his feet whilst reading the emails. He invents the ;) emote. Sole, in turn, makes the ^-^ and :3 emotes.

They both invent selfies. Hancock's the first to send one when he realises he can send pictures. It's a fucking process but he barters for old parts here and there and gets help from Kent. Eventually he has a working camera for his terminal. The first selfie was him stood on his couch, high af and surrounded by an assortment of baked goods (Edibles) he made. The email said 'Look what I can do ;D'.

He regularly sends pictures of what he's baking or random selfies when he's high.

Sole then made a similar upgrade to their Pip-Boy the minute they could. They send him random pictures of cats and other creatures they see in their travels. Cool views or old, historic buildings and art they think he'd enjoy. A collection of Dogmeat being cute. They sent one of Danse falling over. They send him pictures of books they'll think he like. Usually literature, history, or STEM stuff. Sole also takes pictures with their shared friends and lets them email him too from their arm for a quick update.

They also show off their new builds and inventions. Gun mods, armour, ect.

They also share a 'Spotting Deacon In The Wild' collection. They have a running joke that every new disguise they spot is a 'Deacon Variant' or new Deacon 'Synth'. They add names for each 'character' and the email will say '[Insert Character Name] Deacon Unlocked!' Like, Butcher Deacon, or Diamond City Guard Deacon, etc.

On that note, they invent memes. Usually from pictures of other companions or each other.

Like when Nick was 'sleeping' one time (Wide eyed stare Synth style) and Sole sent a picture of him, captioned 'Me after the horrors'.

Or when Preston was stood looking out at the Sanctuary River after a long night. Coffee in his hand. His hat and one shoe missing. Expressionless as he stared at the sunrise.

Hancock replied 'Me fucking too, brother'.

Sole will update him on their whereabouts regularly so he stays sane.

Hancock will tell them about how Goodneighbour is doing. From Mayoral plans to general gossip. How Daisy is doing, how the local kids are, etc.

Sometimes Hancock sends the most cryptic chain spam looking things when he is stoned.

Sole can email him whenever they're nearby and plan on visiting.

Hancock sometimes requests items if he knows they’re on their way, but only if they happen to come across it or already have whatever it is.

Will email them questions that he doesn't actually mean for them to answer. Just questions to the void, really. He just uses them as an outlet for his thoughts a lot.

Or for help on a crossword puzzle.

Sole will email him when they can't sleep just in case he's also awake. Nights feel really lonely when everyone you knew died 200 years ago.

Sometimes they ask him for knowledge. Like 'Do you know if this plant is poisonous?' or things that most Commonwealthers know for survival, but Sole is still figuring out.

They ask him for leadership advise. Especially during big decisions.

They both tell each other things they've seen/heard through the grapevine that they think the other should know. 'I heard that guy you were looking for was seen in Bunker Hill' 'Some Gens 2s were spotted patrolling Medford Hospital' 'Hi :) Sorry for the late response, I was running for my life :( Tell your traders to stay away from the East Bridge- Gunners'

[ghoul-foolery]

Dirty Windows | 1 | Female!SoSu x Hancock

A Soulmate AU

-

Hancock never thought he would find his soulmate. Once a common occurrence, soulmates turned into a bit of a rarity after the bombs dropped. It was to be expected when there was an influx of people getting shot in the face on a daily basis. So when Hancock discovered that he had a soulmate he was ecstatic; all of the people in the Commonwealth, and he was one of the lucky few.

Too bad his soulmate didn't want anything to do with him.

\\

Notes: I was writing a Ghoulcy Soulmate AU, and then I was suddenly drawn to this after years of not touching it. Originally posted on Ao3

\\

Hancock took a steady pull of his cigarette. Perched on the rotting sill of his open office window located in Boston’s State House, he relaxed into the gentle chill of an early spring evening. Goodneighbor had gone quiet some hours ago. He would be concerned if the town’s uncharacteristic early evening if it wasn’t so pleasant. Goodneighbor going to sleep was a rarity, and he chose to enjoy the downtime with several cigarettes and a couple canisters of jet as he attempted to master the art of blowing smoke rings. He would ultimately discover, after smoking through nearly entire pack of cigarettes, that it was a feat that required an embouchure that he didn’t have the lips for — or he was too fucking stoned to do it right.

Flicking the still smoldering butt out into the night, Hancock returned to one of the two limp couches in his designated office space, and flopped down. He reached for the mentats tin on the rubbish-covered coffee table. Why not end the night on a high note?

Hancock snickered to himself, amused at his own drug addled thoughts, “On’a high note.” Because he was high. Ha-ha.

He fumbled with the old tin, eventually managing to lodge the blunt end of his thumbnail into the lip of the lid. The little tin box opened with a satisfying pop. He placed one of the white tablets on his tongue. It immediately began to dissolve, coating his tongue in chalky grit. When he eventually swallowed he was already feeling pleasantly fuzzy. The tingling was in his toes, his fingers. It danced along his teeth and the grooves of his brain. The ghoul sank further into the couch, glossy black eyes staring up at the ceiling, his mouth ajar as his thoughts stumbled from one to the next. He thought about starting a community garden; it would be tucked away from the main thoroughfare but still sizable. He remembered and clung to an old poem from an old book he had stashed away in his desk. He pondered the essence of the whole fucking cosmos. Or perhaps not, actually. He was blitzed and keeping his thoughts in line was becoming more, and more difficult.

When he started to hear whispers he thought nothing of it. On a livelier night he would have assumed that it was regular ol’ street noise. In the uncharacteristic silence of the night he figured it was a hallucination. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He’d experienced visual and auditory hallucinations before. They weren’t typically triggered by mere mentats, mind you, but it had been a long and drug-fueled day and he was content with riding the wave until he crashed.

The whispers belonged to one person. It started as a weak, warbling, like he was hearing someone talk from behind a closed door. Then the voice abruptly grew in volume; suddenly shrill, like he was standing next to a woman as she screamed for all she was worth. 

“Nate! No, Nate, please! Honey, please wake up!”

The ghoul’s brows furrowed. The voice was frantic, desperate as she cried for help.  Phantom hands — smooth, delicate, small — swam in and out of his vision. They moved in front of him as if they were his. The vision ebbed when he tried to divert his attention; it went beyond superimposition when he focused on it. Hancock could feel the sensation of the blood stained Vault-tec jumpsuit chafe under his palms as smooth hands gripped and pulled at the material. He was peering up at the face of a dead man, his body heavy and limp, slumped in some sort of pod that reminded him of Goodneighor’s Memory Den. 

“Nate! Please — please don’t do this! NATHAN!”

He’s dead. He’s gone. Fuck, if his heart wasn’t breaking. It was shattering into millions of pieces, leaving him more numb and empty than he had ever felt. And goddamn, it felt fucking real. As real as the jumpsuit under his palms, as real as the chill that had sank into his bones, as real as the couch he still lounged in. 

A sudden hand on his arm made his body jolt. The vision of the dead man was abruptly ripped from him and in its place was Fahrenheit’s stern face. She was blurry, swimming in a lake of wavering tears. He was crying. Fuck, he was sobbing. His shoulders heaved, his lungs hungrily taking in air in short, frantic gulps. For all of a moment, Fahrenheit looked on the brink of amusement. Her right eyebrow was curled upward and the corner of her mouth was lifting into a smirk as she readied to deliver some snide remark, but then her expression changed. The almost-smirk vanished, the haughty brow lowered, and then a look of awe lit her features. Hancock sniffled, the tears that had been cascading down his ruined cheeks came to an abrupt stop as if the well had run dry. The ache in his chest was gone. So was the dead man in the pod. So was the frantic, begging, voice. He blinked. He took one more big gasp for air to steady himself but it was shaky. He was shaking.

“S-sorry,” he rasped. His voice was weak and frail at the edges. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. That was, uh— that—”

Though he wanted to blame it all on the chems, he knew that that wasn’t the case. That was something else. Something he never thought he would experience in all of his lifetime. For some goddamn reason, the Powers That Be decided to gift Hancock with a soulmate. He was shocked. He was elated.

Fahrenheit’s voice was barely audible when she said, “You found them.”

“It’s a woman.”

“What does she look like? What’s her name? Where is she?” 

Soulmates were a rarity these days, because that’s what happened when nuclear bombs fell and annihilated the majority of the world's population. Fahrenheit was still missing her signature scowl. It made him uncomfortable. Hancock shook his head, reaching for his smokes that were in the breast pocket of his coat — anything to stop the shaking of his hands.

“I dunno. It’s exactly how they say. Y'see through their eyes. All I saw was her hands. And I heard her voice.”

“Whose Nate?” When Hancock glanced at Fahrenheit she added, “You were saying his name.”

There was no way for Hancock to know who Nate was, and yet he did. Hancock knew exactly who Nate was. Nate was his soulmate’s dead husband. Hancock swore, chucking the pack of cigarettes to the floor in a fit of irritation. So much for that high he had been riding. Coming out of the vision, he felt debilitatingly sober. Leave it to the universe to give him one of the best gifts anyone could ever receive, and then somehow make it completely awful.

Fuck you, too, universe. Fuck. You. Too.

-

[ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ]

[a-rogue-tiddy-bot]

It's not enough to leave kudos. I have to tell the world about this Hancock x F!Sosu enemies to lovers who are still enemies fic. Hancock is so hot in this. Truly one of the literary masterpieces of our time.

[aesfocus]

Can’t See the Future

Summary:  Nora switches pods at the last minute, not that anyone was informed. Rosalie isn’t sure what the hell she’s meant to do, but finding Shaun seems like a noble goal. Right up until the weight of the end of the world comes crashing down on her. She’ll need a little more to keep her going than avenging her sister's family and running head first into a half assed goal with no plan. At least Hancock’s got her back.

Rating: Explicit Pairings: Hancock X F!Sole Survivor Warnings (for this chapter): minor character death

1st chapter of 41 on AO3 {here} status: complete

[harrowedknight]

Hi going feral for your sosu x Hancock art. Sorry for reblogging it so much but it Demands to be Seen. /pos

I appreciate it /gen

[bokunodumbass]

PLSSS I SAW YOU WRITE FOR FALLOUT 4

perhaps some hancock headcanons (can be smut or fluff or angst, whatever you’d like) w a f!chubby s/o that’s really insecure 🥺

YESS !! I love chubby s/o requests because I can relate to them and just project into them lmao. thank you, anon, for being my first request <3

Hancock with an insecure chubby s/o

so first off I think it's easy to say this man actually couldn't care less about how one looks

he personally even thinks of it as hypocritical to judge when he himself walks around with no lips and the overall ghoul look

but even if he doesn't judge a body, he sure as hell can love it!!

you're his girl, his woman, his sunshine, and he won't stand for self deprication

but some insecurities are quite normal right? especially when your boyfriend is known for having been with quite some women, and he's still popular among them

you can't help but compare yourself to those who could have been and still could be with him

you start to forget your own beauty when you see the way they look... thin

now, we all know our dear Hancock wouldn't stand for this.. for HIS sunshine to feel any less than beautiful when in his eyes you're perfect and too good for him

but I also feel like it'd take a while for him to realize you're feeling this way, blinded by his own securities and thoughts that you deserve someone better, someone more attractive

i think a wake up call such as walking in on you crying would be when he realizes

It had been quite a peaceful day, considering you had stayed at Goodneighbour instead of running around doing stuff for some settlers and the usual stuff. You and Hancock had decided it was time for a relaxing day where you two just hang around instead of working your assess of. But although Goodneighboor can be a fun place, and The Third Rail wasn't a bad place to spend some time drinking and such, it came with some less fun things as well. Yeah, the whole town smells like alcohol and piss. Yeah, people there are loud, drunk and inappropriate. But that isn't the issue I meant. The issue is the amount of women who still throw themselves at your boyfriends feet, even though the two of you had been official for quite some time. That day you couldn't stop yourself from looking at them and comparing that to yourself. Sadly it ruined your mood for the rest of the evening.

"Look at me, sunshine." You and Hancock had been drinking in silence for a few minutes now, the conversations dying down because your mind had been far too occupied by other matters. Reluctantly you turn your head in his direction with a raised eyebrow, wondering where he was going with this.

For a second or two he seems to be inspecting you, his dark eyes roaming over your face and squinting every now and then. And then after a few minutes he stops and gives you an, although tight lipped, reassuring smile. "Y'know you can talk to me right? Now, tell me what's bothering you."

Hancock is quite persistent when it comes to the wellbeing of his sunshine

So it's safe to say you told him about your worries that evening, tears and breakdown involved for the dramatic effect of course

To say it shocked him is an understatement, he had never dared to look at you as anything less than his perfect lover, the most beautiful woman, inside and out

But he understood your worries, knowing what insecurities are like, and he tried to take them away

He would fill the whole night, after the talk, just complimenting you over and over

Over how beautiful and soft your body is, how much he loves holding you because you're so huggable

But most of all he would keep reminding you that you're his and he's yours, and those women who keep trying will not stand a chance

Now, after that day he would compliment you more often, vowing to himself that he would never make you question yourself like that again

And every time a woman, or man for that matter, tries to make a move he would be very clear that he has someone he loves dearly and is not interested

Though I think he would make the most changes during sexual activities

Smut from here on

He would start praising you a lot more, more than he already did

He would pass a lot of comments like "I love your body", "You're gorgeous" and "I love you" during sex to make sure you felt good and knew how much he loves you and your body

He would actually encourage you to take control and get on top, knowing that it might cause some insecurities with your weight and all

But he would keep telling you that you weren't hurting him and that he loved you like that so much

Also please expect him to ask you to sit on his face

Man always loved that and now he has an excuse to ask you

If you say something like "I will crush you" there's a 50/50 chance he will say "god, please crush me" or "no you won't, I'm strong y'know?"

All by all he would encourage you and make sure to praise and love you more than he already did

[fenharel]

Heh. Moments like this, I know all that karma stuff is bull. Because no one like me should be this lucky. Come on, love. Let’s get this freakshow on the road.

[bishicat]

He said yes!!

[solesurvivorjen]

Give your special ghoul chems this Valentine’s Day Season. ;)

[mahiiimahiiii]

Girl send help girl, he's going to get 3rd degree burns.

[devilry-revelry]

After Nora | Hancock x Female!Sole Survivor

-

(Ancient) Prompt fill for the (ancient) Fallout Kink Meme —

The Prompt: Despite his charisma and laid back nature about his ghouliness, Hancock actually hasn't had too much physical contact with others since he went ghoul. Maybe he's reluctant to get close to someone, maybe he's too busy being mayor, etc. Then the SS comes along, and it isn't long before he's craving their touch and to be near them. He's itching for physical contact but he's worried that the SS might not want to get that close to him for various reasons. How Hancock proceeds and how the SS reacts is up to you! Of course, I'd want it to end with Hancock getting the affection he desires.

-

Hunger. That was the best way to describe it. Hancock felt it as he walked, as he moved, and as he breathed. It was particularly noticeable in the dead of night as he lay back in bed and gazed up at the ceiling. No amount of drugs did anything to mute the persistent yearning, confirming that the hunger would be a perpetual part of his life. The sleepless nights had become nearly painful, but it was a pain he was familiar with. It could not be ignored, but it could be dealt with. The listlessness he felt was chalked up to a mild to severe case of depression, just like the lethargy, and his empty headedness. There were days where he simply existed, and existing was good enough.

Or, at least, it had been.

When the Vault Dweller came to town merely existing was no longer an option. The day Nora rolled into Goodneighbor was the day that the persistent yearning hunger turned into something so much more apparent in his day-to-day life. The hunger felt tangible. There were days where he thought that if someone looked at him long enough they would be able to see a great yawning void within him. Hancock had planned to ignore the Vaultie until the knowledge of her existence was purged from his memory. It didn’t work. When he wasn’t seeing her, he was hearing about her; whether it was from the citizens of Goodneighbor, or on the radio. Then, somehow, the woman had wiggled her way into his life and keeping her at arms length became that much more difficult. She was around Goodneighbor often. When she was in town he wished that she would leave. Her being so close yet out of reach left him feeling needy and bereft. When she was gone he desperately wanted her to return. He worried about her damn near constantly. Her presence, or lack thereof, became another painful constant in his life.

One day, he woke up and decided to face it. He woke up and decided to face her. The nearness to the object of his desire had his body practically buzzing in anticipation. Her company alone pleased him just as much as it upset him. So close, yet still so far away.

“You want to travel together?” Nora asked him, her head tilting to the side. “What about Goodneighbor?”

“I’ve been too comfortable. Getting too used to this lifestyle. I need to get out and sharpen the old warrior instincts.” He met her eyes, saw her smile that perfect smile of hers. “I would like to tag along with you, if you’d have me.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” He felt more excited than he should have been.

“Yeah.” Nora held out her hand. Hancock’s gaze focused on her palm, on her fingers. He wanted to touch her, wanted to hold her hand. He wanted to travel the map of lines on her palm with his fingertips.

He settled for the handshake.

Her palm was warm and soft, while her fingers carried a soothing chill. The handshake ended far too quickly, and Hancock barely managed to hold back a sound of disapproval that grated against the back of his throat. Had he let it, it could have easily been a whine or a desperate whimper. The hunger that he experienced wasn’t sexual, it wasn’t a carnal hunger. It was an overwhelming desire to be touched. And not to be picky, he wanted it to be by someone who cared or someone he cared for. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep with her tucked so securely in his arms that he knew that she would still be beside him when he woke up. He wanted to hold her hand. He wanted to lace his fingers between hers and just… exist. Just existing with Nora would be a beautiful existence, to be sure. Far better than existing alone.

But the handshake was fine, he told himself. The handshake would have to do.

//

At some point in his life, Hancock let himself lose track of time. Half-past leaving Diamond City and turning into a ghoul he simply stopped paying attention. As far as he was concerned the time, the date, was always After. After leaving Diamond City. After ghoulism. Days, weeks, birthdays, and holidays were all blurred together in a haze of Jet and Mentats, Lethargy and sleepless nights. The next time Hancock had the opportunity to touch Nora again was exactly nine days after leaving Goodneighbor. He didn’t recall keeping any sort of mental tally, but some part of him knew that it had been nine days, and he knew it without question. Nine days of walking the Commonwealth, doing nothing in particular but cleaning up riff-raff. Nine days of sleeping on the other side of the campfire, sharing meals and sharing stories. Nine days of being so damn close to her that he could smell her – but never touching. Not once.

They had been ambushed by raiders. After nine days of clearing out their strongholds, the raiders had clearly decided to hunt the duo down. Though they won the fight, they did receive a bit of a beating. Nora, whose armor had been in a state of disrepair during the ambush, had a pool cue broken across her back. Hancock took a bullet to his shoulder. Though painful, the injuries were incredibly minor when compared to what typically happened when unsuspecting persons were ambushed by raiders.

After the raiders were dispatched they found a safe place to hunker down so they could tend to their wounds. They hid out in the back of an old bus, sitting on the dirty floor as Nora unloaded all of her medical equipment from her rucksack. Hancock shrugged his coat from his shoulders and tugged at the plunging neck of John Hancock’s tunic to expose the bullet wound. The bullet didn’t go too deep, but it was deep enough that he couldn’t pry the lead out with his fingers. Another scar to add to his collection. Not that it mattered. Turning into a ghoul fucked up his body so badly he couldn’t really differentiate between scars and what would be considered normal. Slender fingers slipped into view, and before he could brace himself for the contact, Nora was touching his arm. Barely-there pressure was applied to his skin, and he dragged in a ragged breath. He would let her think that it was a sound brought out by pain, but it was caused by her proximity, her willingness to help him.

“It’s not deep,” she said, breaking the contact. His eyes shot to hers. Nora was leaning in close – so close he could smell the floral perfume she had spritzed on her clothes however many days ago. He could see the dusting of freckles that danced across her nose. Though he felt the urge to kiss her, the desire to press his forehead against hers was so much stronger. He wanted to press his forehead to hers, card his fingers into her hair, and close his eyes and just breathe.

Nora held up a set of forceps and asked, “Do you want me to…?”

“Go ‘head.”

The woman reached out and touched him again, though this time it was firm and so much more real than the ghost of a touch she had used earlier. Hancock nearly vocalized his appreciation, but remained silent. The forceps dipped inside of his skin, touching torn and bleeding muscle. Metal audible clinked against the chunk of lead and a sobering amount of pain shot through the length of his arm. The bullet was extracted with no trouble. She plopped the bloodied slug into her palm, holding it out to him.

“Way to go,” she said teasingly. “Wish I had a lollipop to give you.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Hancock jested.

When Nora offered to stitch up the wound Hancock turned her down. Despite the effervescent need he had for her to touch him in any capacity, she needed to save her supplies. There was no sense in her wasting them on him.

“Nah, Doll,” he said. “I’ll find me a puddle of radiation and I will be right as rain. Let’s take a look at you, huh?”

Nora sighed, and she turned her back to him. She removed her measly chest armor and then hoisted the back of her thread-bare shirt up and over her head. The hem of the shirt was hooked around her neck so her front remained perfectly covered with her modesty intact. Hancock was gifted with a nearly unobscured view of her back. It was beautifully smooth skin that would have otherwise been completely unmarred if it wasn’t for the colorful damage the pool cue had left behind. The bruising was raised and swollen, red and splotchy with a laceration that traveled beneath the bloodied strap of her once white brassiere.

“I’m going to unhook your bra,” he warned her.

“What, a girl can’t get a drink first?”

Hancock chuckled at the half-hearted joke, but he felt so damn breathless. He would finally get to touch her. He would get to tend to her injuries and help her heal. Nora was entrusting the task to him, and he’d be damned if he was going to mess it up. A smoothskin like her would need stitches for the mess that had been left behind. Hancock’s radiation mangled fingers brushed the outer edge of the angry bruise. Nora exhaled through clenched teeth. Nora was pained while Hancock tilted his head back, closing his eyes. He so desperately wanted to glue his body to hers. He wanted to hike up his shirt and pull her back against him so he could have the skin-to-skin contact that he had been hungering for.

With his body trembling, he went about cleaning the cut. Though it was only a couple inches in length, the location of the laceration would be uncomfortable; it stretched across the skin where the clasps of her bra rested. Hancock taped some gauze down, but even then, the material would probably chafe against the sutures. He watched as her back arched, as she found her bra straps and went to reconnect them. She released a loud hiss.

Hancock said nothing as she placed her supplies back in her pack. Her chest armor was pulled back into place and secured. The hunger left his body burning. He had been so close to her. Nora had touched him, and she had trusted him to touch her and he realized that was becoming a substantial piece of what he wanted. A mutual trust, a friendship created from the ground up. No ulterior motives, no exchange of chems or caps. The way he craved it was just sad.

The duo left the bus, and they continued to wander. They seemed to be meandering idly, and that was completely fine. There was companionable chatter as they walked. There was no awkwardness, no pregnant silences. Maybe this was what he needed, too. He needed companionship. That wasn’t to say that Fahrenheit had been a bad friend or bodyguard, but the woman could be painfully quiet. Nora talked, she sang with the radio. She was a tangible presence in his life, one that couldn’t be overlooked or ignored, or forgotten.

“You’ve never heard of Tarzan?”

“Is he Grognak’s cousin?”

“Oh, you poor man. How about Beauty and the Beast? That one is a classic.”

“… Is that first one about that chick that tried to fuck a deathclaw?”

“Whoa. Whoa! You’re kidding! You have to be kidding!”

When Nora’s Geiger counter began to click angrily, she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, flashing a pleased smile. The puddle of radiation that she had found was a literal puddle of water in a flooded out neighborhood. Old barrels of waste were overturned, creating the perfect place for someone like him to heal up. Hancock dressed down, then knelt beside the water, cupping handfuls of liquid and palming it over the open wound in his shoulder. Nora retreated far enough that her Geiger counter wasn’t going haywire, waiting patiently.

“Oh, sister, I wish I was kidding.”

Hancock regaled a stunned Nora with his story, and she laughed and made appropriate grossed out noises. At one point, he found himself just watching her, no longer treating his gunshot wound. She was in the throes of laughter, her hand cupping over her mouth to stifle herself, eyes screwed shut. The woman was too damn beautiful, too genuine, too kind…

He stood, and returned to her side, shrugging his coat back onto his shoulders. As he neared, she dropped her hand. She was grinning ear-to-ear. She met his eyes and said, “I’m glad you came along, Hancock. It gets lonely out here. Your company makes all of this a whole lot easier.”

Her words touched his heart. There had to be others who were willing to travel with her, better ones, and she had picked him. He offered a lazy smile, pulling his cigarettes from his coat’s breast pocket. “Well, what can I say? I aim to please.”

“I mean it!”

“So do I.”

//

The next time they touched was five weeks later. Five weeks of sleepless nights, of watching her from the other side of the fire as she sang along with the radio. He was feeling irritable, and he was doing his damnedest to keep himself in check. There were times where he found himself reaching out to her as her back was turned, reaching out to pull her back towards him. He didn’t like it when she turned her back to him, didn’t like it when she wandered off alone – and he had damn near gone completely feral when she left him in Sanctuary for all of an hour one sunny afternoon.

It was another fire fight that had brought them together. It was another interaction created by circumstance, and not by a sudden yearning to reach out and take his hand. They were battling Super Mutants. Though the duo got the drop on them, when push came to shove, those assholes had suicidal crazies on their side and there wasn’t much that could be done about that. A rhythmic beeping had just caught his attention when, not a second later, Nora grabbed his hand in an iron grip and started running.

The contact was unsolicited and surprising. He didn’t expect her to grab his hand, to practically drag him behind her as she ran for cover. He was touched that she thought of him, that his safety mattered to her. His hand clasped hers just as tightly and he never wanted to let go. The brief windsprint ended with both of them diving behind an old vehicle. They tumbled against one another. Hancock ended up on his back, with Nora stretched across his body. No, he wouldn't let her take the brunt of whatever was coming. Hancock rolled, tucking her beneath him, an arm curling around the top of her head while the other wrapped around his own.

There was an explosion of sound, and then an eruption of force that shook the vehicle that they had hidden behind. His ears were ringing. There was a rush of heat as debris rained down around them, clanking into the car, slapping into the ground, peppering against his back. The Suicider exploded frighteningly close, but they were fine. They made it out unscathed. It was only after the chaos that Hancock noticed that Nora’s arms were wrapped around him. She was holding him close, gripping the back of his coat. The realization made him shudder. Hancock pressed his face into her neck. She smelled like sweat and something floral – He wondered if she had that perfume bottle hidden in her pack somewhere. Hancock inhaled deeply, and allowed himself to enjoy Nora’s embrace. He could stay there, in that moment, forever.

“Hancock?”

His body shook, his eyes squeezed closed. No. No, he needed this. Please, just a minute longer. God, please. Hancock grit his teeth, and he slowly sat up. It hurt him. It hurt him so badly. The hunger was suddenly so much worse. He had gotten a taste of what he had wanted, and then it was ripped from him. He felt needy, and weak, and his heart felt heavy – so fucking heavy. There was a tightness in the back of his throat he forced himself to swallow it down. No, he was more than used to the hunger by now. He wouldn’t let it ruin him.

Hancock sat and pretended to survey the damage around them, “Shit. That was real fuckin’ close.”

Nora sat up slowly. “You’re not hurt?”

“Not a scratch, doll,” he started patting his pockets in search of his cigarettes. He craved something stronger; something that would fog his mind and maybe distract that persistent need he felt in his chest. There wasn't a drug strong enough to stifle the hunger. It was always there. A cigarette was pulled from the pack in his breast pocket, followed by the lighter. He didn’t light it up immediately, he let his hands have something to touch and hold for all of a few seconds. He ran the pad of his thumb over the lighter’s chrome casing, rubbed the cigarette between his fingers.

“Are you sure?”

He stalled for a moment, finally lighting the cigarette. He filled his lungs to capacity. “Yeah. Just a little bit of a rush is all. That may have been better than the chems.” He pushed the smoke through his nose, letting it obscure his view as it surrounded him like a cloak he could hide in.

That night, as they sat together by the fire, there was a tense silence between them. The sleeping bags had already been rolled out on opposite sides of the fire, just like every other night. They already ate dinner and they talked, and conversed, just like every other night. But the silence that followed it all was tense, and uncomfortable. Hancock had the added bonus of absolutely dreading the idea of crawling into his sleeping bag and trying to sleep. He wanted her to talk to him about her life, about her favorite colors – she could have screamed at him and it would have been a far cry better than the silence. He hated himself when he realized that she could have punched him square in the face and he would have welcomed the contact, and he would ask her to punch him again. Anything from her, the good or the bad would have been entirely welcome. So long as it came from her. Only her.

“So…” His eyes snapped towards her, eager to hear her speak. “Are we going to talk about today?”

“Whaddaya on about?”

He started to search for his cigarettes. The coat had too many fucking pockets.

“Today? The Super Mutants?”

“That was nothin’,” he said a bit gruffly. “It was a little bit of a rush, had a flashback sort of. Just a combination of bad memories and adrenaline.”

“Hancock,” she said his name so softly he nearly shivered. “Please don’t lie to me. Let me help.”

The ghoul grit his teeth, finally snatching the cigarettes from his right-hand pocket. He lit up, and took a deep drag.

“Don’t lie to you? Let you help? What about you, sister? What the fuck are we doing out here? You said you were looking for someone, and you never said who. And we haven’t been looking for anyone!” Another drag. The smoke filled his lungs, it seeped from the cavity that had been his nose, it leaked from his mouth as he continued his tirade. “We’ve been wandering, doing absolutely fucking nothing. How about you let me help!”

He was sorry. He was already so sorry. He wanted to take it all back, but something in him had finally snapped. He needed to run her off, and then throw himself headfirst into the chems, and alcohol. He wanted her erased from his memory, completely obliterated. But he also desperately wanted her acceptance. This was a mess - he was a God damn fucking mess.

“Don’t change the subject,” she said, her voice still soft and gentle. “If you will tell me what’s wrong, then we can—“

“We can what, Nora? There isn’t anything - !” He shot to his feet. Another drag, and the cigarette was done. He tossed the butt into the fire, while he was already reaching to start up another. “How about you tell me what’s wrong, huh?”

Nora stood as well, so he was no longer standing over her and yelling. She said nothing, but let him yell at her. He hated himself, what was he doing? He was killing what happiness he had, he was destroying it. No. Please, stop. Please just fucking stop.

“You can’t even help yourself. You’re out here stalling. What are you afraid of, huh? This has been a complete waste of time!”

Time. Like he cared about time. Everything was After. After Nora. He didn’t want to know what it would be like After Nora. But it was coming, speeding at him like a bullet. Nora suddenly raised her hand, and he anticipated a slap to the face – he wanted to be slapped in the face. Anything. Give me anything before this is all over. Give me something to hang onto for when After Nora begins.

The hand that palmed his cheek was soft, the contact gentle. Her thumb stroked his ruined cheek, her fingers sliding up the hard slope of his mottled jaw. He didn’t manage to restrain the weak moan that tore through his throat. His legs buckled, unable to hold his weight. Nora followed him, her free hand reaching to give the other side of his face the same attention. She sat on her knees across from him, holding his face in her hands.

Finally.

“Oh, Hancock…” Her voice was a whisper that soothed his frantic mind. His hands fell on top of hers, keeping her palms flush to his face. His throat felt tight and constricted. When he opened his eyes his vision was blurry. Her figure wavered and danced in the flickering fire light, he could barely see her face. When her hands suddenly slipped out from under his, he felt his heart – his entire being – shatter into a million pieces. Of course she would leave. After what he said to her, after how he had been acting, she had every right to leave him. His hands slipped over his cheeks and covered his eyes and he sank. He sank further into himself, slouching and shrinking until he was doubled over, his forehead nearly touching the ground. If this was what was left of his life, then he didn’t want to exist. Not if it hurt so much. Existing without her wasn't an existence at all. The hunger roiled. The void in him grew impossibly wide. It made his stomach twist and his eyes burn.

“’m sorry,” the voice came out as a feeble whisper. He didn’t want After Nora. “’m so sorry.”

“Hancock, hey…” His body jerked, his head lifted. His heart throbbed in his chest so quickly that his breathing came in hard, uneven gasps. She was crouched beside him, her hand extended to him. “Hey, come on. Let’s get you in bed.”

He didn’t want to go to bed, it was too far away, he wouldn’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep. He took her hand anyway, relishing the contact. When Nora shifted to the side there was a spark of hope that warmed his entire body. He looked towards her, then back at the sleeping bags. While he was busy falling apart, Nora had taken the two sleeping bags and zipped them together. The end result was an arrangement that was more than capable of fitting two people. Both of their pillows were there at the head of the sleeping bag. A numbness consumed him, muting the hunger as she went about helping him out of his coat, as she removed the tricorn hat. She even pulled off his boots, the old socks he wore, the sash around his waist. With all of the patience in the world, she helped him into the joined sleeping bags.

Hancock followed her every move. Nora crawled over his body to the other side of the sleeping bag and tugged at her own boots, her socks. She removed her pieces of armor, and then she slipped in beside him. There was a brief moment where Hancock was afraid to move. He didn’t want to scare her off. When he didn’t move, she did. Nora scooted in close to him, her hand finding his under the covers.

“Nora, can… can we…?”

“Whatever you need.”

Hancock turned to his side, facing her. He rasped, “Can I hold you?”

The smile she gave him was small, but sweet. Nora rolled to her side, facing away from him, and then he tugged her flush to his body. Hancock encompassed her body, touching every bit of her that he could. His feet hooked beneath hers, legs and thighs touching, his hips against hers, his stomach and chest at her back, and her head tucked beneath his chin. Nora tugged at his arm, pulling the limb up against her chest. His forearm was between her breasts, his palm cupping her neck. He could feel her pulse. It was rhythmic, steady, and real. Her arm curled around his, her hand at his wrist.

As his body went boneless and relaxed, fragments of lucid thoughts managed to fight to the surface. Outside of his embarrassing state of need he was finally able to think. She had been so gentle with him, even after he yelled at her. He had done nothing to deserve her kindness, but he would willingly accept every bit of it. Hancock pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, letting his eyes close.

“Thank you, Nora.” His voice was still too weak, all ragged and airy.

Her thumb brushed against the inside of his wrist, and she said something that he didn’t quite catch because he was already drifting off to sleep.

For the first time in a long time, Hancock woke up and felt completely refreshed. There had been no point in the middle of the night where he woke up in a fit of restlessness. He didn’t wake up to gaze at her through the dwindling embers of their camp fire. When he woke up, Nora was still secure in his arms. At some point in the middle of the night she had rolled over to face him. Their legs were tangled together, one of his feet pressed up against a naked expanse of leg. The plunging neck of John Hancock’s shirt allowed Nora’s forehead to press into the skin of his chest, her hands curled beneath her chin.

Hancock watched her for a few moments, memorizing the details of her face. He followed the trail of freckles at her nose, the small beauty mark under her eye. His fingers tangled into the ends of her hair and he closed his eyes. He could feel her pulse, could feel her breath. The hunger was silent, the yearning need was blissfully absent and it was all because of the woman he had wrapped so securely in his arms. He wanted to kiss her eyelids, her cheeks, he wanted to kiss her until she woke up. He didn’t want to get out of the sleeping bag, he wanted to stay there for the rest of his life just holding her.

“Nora,” he whispered, dipping his head to whisper into her ear. “Nora?”

Her eyes fluttered slowly. Her body stretched and arched, and then she snuggled in closer, sighing quietly.

“Mm?”

“I would like to tell you something,” he said, his voice still soft. He suddenly felt quite foolish. He could have waited until she actually woke up, but then again he couldn’t. The need to apologize was much too strong for him to sit idly and wait. The moment would pass, or he’d get cowardly and opt to remain silent. This needed to be said at that very moment.

“Mmhmm?”

He swallowed hard, “Did you sleep alright?” Already backing out. Coward.

She hummed a sleepy response, “I forgot how nice it was to be held.” Her words were slurred with sleep, but touched him all the same. He pulled her closer, if that was at all possible, and gathered his courage.

“I wanted to say thank you for last night. You could have left me here, and you didn’t. I will never be able to thank you enough. What you’ve done for me… I won’t forget it. Not ever.” He dragged his fingers through her hair, staring off into nothing as he spoke. “And… I didn’t mean what I said. If you’re not ready to tell me who you’re looking for then that’s fine. I will be here when you are. And it hasn’t been a waste of time, none of it has.”

“It has been, though.”

He looked down. She finally had her eyes open, and she was staring at his chest.

“This entire time, I have been doing nothing but wasting time. I’m sorry, but I’m… I’m just so scared.”

The woman who had exuded so much strength and patience the night before was curled into him, looking weak and fragile. He knew that she wasn’t quite ready to tell him who she was looking for, and that was fine. He would show her the same patience that she had shown him. He would wait until she was ready, and then he would do whatever he could to help her.

“Whatever you need, Nora,” he said. “Whatever you need from me, and I will give it to you – whenever you need it.”

She finally met his eyes, and she smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

The two remained snuggled close to one another for a few hours. Hancock drifted in and out of sleep, and every time he woke up Nora was there. If she wasn’t curled against his body, she was dragging her toes up along his leg as she played with her Pip-Boy. When they broke camp and actually began their day Hancock stayed close to her side, occasionally snatching her hand in his. She never shied away, always giving his fingers a welcoming squeeze. Despite what she said – despite what he said – their time together hadn’t been a waste. Not at all.

//

Time had returned to Hancock’s life. There would always be the After; After Diamond City, and After Ghoulism. There was also After Nora, but it no longer signified an ending. After Nora, he started feeling hole again. He no longer just existed, he really lived. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he could breathe easier. The hunger still existed, but it had mutated into something else entirely. He hungered for her laughter, and her happiness. He yearned to ensure her safety, and he wanted to provide for her. And he did, he did his absolute best to provide for her, he strived to make her happy.

Eventually, right around the three-month mark, Nora told him who they were looking for. She showed him the wedding rings that she had threaded together with an old golden bracelet she’d found. Hancock had been understanding – of course a woman like her would have been married, of course she would have had a baby. Nora would have made a wonderful mother, all patience and understanding and gentleness. She would have been the absolute best. He promised her that he would be with her until the end. They would find her kid, and they would most definitely find the man who had caused his Nora so much pain. She deserved happiness, she deserved all of the happiness in the world.

Month five brought the first of many, many, kisses. It had been a rare night where the stars peaked through the haze of radiation laden clouds. Nora had been downright exuberant as she stretched out on their sleeping bag and pointed out constellations. Half of the time, he didn’t quite see the formations she was identifying but that didn’t stop him from enjoying the warmth that radiated off of her. Throughout the duration of their star gazing she had her head rested against his chest, content and comfortable. His hand was in her hair, idly tugging at little tangles until he could card his hand through it without trouble. When she was finished she rolled to face him, all smiles and without warning she kissed him.

It was timid and it was hopeful, and the very second she tried to pull away Hancock had his hand on the back of her head, pulling her back towards him. He had waited until she was ready. He had waited so patiently. It would have been a great life just being her friend, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want more. Hancock took great care to never initiate anything beyond playful flirting, deciding that if they were to be something more it would be on her terms. But Nora kissed him like he would shatter, and he was having none of that. By the end of the night she was so thoroughly kissed she was in a daze, a lopsided smile on her kiss-bruised lips. He hungered for more, but he would wait. He would wait for her forever.

Hancock’s forever came in their sixth month together. It was the first bed that they had been in for a rather long time – at least one that was surrounded by four actual walls. They were back in Goodneighbor. He had wined and dined Nora at the Third Rail where Magnolia’s crooning voice coaxed them into a slow, lazy dance. After, they went to his room in the State House. It started with snuggling and quiet words, followed by some wrestling. He would pull her flush to his body and he would tickle her mercilessly as she shrieked and wiggled and laughed. She would push and bite at him in a futile effort to stop him.

Their playful wrestling match ended with Nora on top of him, straddling him and completely flushed and breathless. Hancock’s hands slid up her thighs, gripped her waist. She leaned down and kissed him, shifting against him so slowly it was near painful. The playfulness became super-heated and needy. Hancock was on top, kissing Nora senseless when he sank into her. She rose to meet him, holding him close with her legs around his hips. She whined his name as she came undone. Hancock could have died happy. If God struck him down in that very moment, that would have been just fine. Nora was gorgeous, and absolutely breathtaking - and she was all his.

It was month nine when he told her that he loved her. She had been particularly withdrawn after the events at the Memory Den. They were shacked up in one of their favorite haunts. Nora had been a bit short tempered, and Hancock had been irritable. They had been bickering, fighting over something small and meaningless when out of nowhere they were yelling, screaming. They were at each other’s throat, not listening to one another, just desperately trying to be the loudest.

“Well if you’re so sick of it you can leave!” She suddenly shrieked. She shoved her palms into his chest, pushing him towards the door. “Get out of here!”

“Nora—“

“I said leave! Go!”

A roiling growl left him as he turned and stalked out the door. Though he knew better than slamming doors at any of their abodes, Hancock slammed the door for all he was worth. He got a whole yard away from the house before he stopped. A little yelling wasn’t going to end them. Their argument meant absolutely nothing, he was frustrated but he wasn’t going anywhere. He turned back, and simply stood beside the house, right next to the front door. Leaning against the metal wall, he lit up a cigarette. Hancock understood that Nora was dealing with a hunger that was unfamiliar to him, and she would deal with it in her own way. There was a lot on her plate, and even more on her mind, but she had been particularly quick to anger over the past week and something in him just snapped. Damn woman – she was why he would go feral. He had just taken a hard puff of the cigarette when the door shot open – it swung open hard enough that it bounced off his boot.

“Hancock! John!” Nora was yelling, running into the darkness. “John!” Her voice was cracking and desperate. She slowed, and he could see her shoulders shaking with the aid of the Pip-boy that was lit up on her arm. “I’m so sorry… ” It was a broken sound, soft and fragile.

Hancock threw the cigarette to the ground. He made his approach, nearly jogging to her side. “Nora…”

“John, John I am so sorry. I didn’t mean it, I…” she was in his arms, gripping his coat in a flash. Her small body shook as she fought to keep her tears at bay, but it was no use. “I didn’t mean it. Please don’t go.”

John chuckled, slipping his arms tightly around her. Aside from the night that they first slept together, this had been their first real fight. A screaming match in the wee hours in the morning. A screaming match about nothing. Literally nothing. He kissed the top of her head.

“Wh-why are you laughing!?” She managed to sound fierce despite her tears, and he laughed a little harder. “Stop laughing.”

“I love you, you crazy woman,” he tilted her head back so he could kiss her. She tried to push him away, those full lips turned into a hard frown.

“You… You’re telling me that you love me now? Right now? After I—”

Another kiss, “Yeah,” and another. “I guess I am.”

“But—“

He held her tear streaked face in his hands, and kissed her again, nibbling at her lip.

“But, I just—“

“Nora, do you love me or not?”

“Of course I love you. But dammit-”

Hancock scooped Nora up into his arms. She let out a squeak of surprise as he turned and walked her back towards the house. He was careful going through the doorway, and then the hall. After he placed her on their bed, her head resting among the mess of overstuffed pillows, he kissed her again.

“So,” he drawled. “Let’s try this again.” A brief pause. “Nora, I love you.”

The softness that he was so used to seeing returned to Nora’s eyes. Her arms slipped around his neck and she finally smiled. This was After Nora. This was happiness. This was living life. It was the ups and the downs and the beautiful in between. It was ridiculous arguments in the middle of the night, and it was making love immediately after.

“I love you too, John.”

[mnikhowozu]

ive made progress yet again with my basil x hancock fic so im honestly just going to post what i have so far bc im an impatient bastard who can’t keep anything to himself

EDIT: FINISHED IT! Read on Ao3

anyways warning for mentions of drug use and ghoulification 

The shadows of evening had long nestled into place, leaving the small settlement in darkness, save for the punctuated pools of yellowy light cast from the street lamps and the warm glow of the perpetual campfires. Basil had said once that it felt like camping forever— falling asleep with the soft murmur of voices and the smell of woodsmoke permeating the air; Waking up cold every morning with dew in your hair. He said it reminded him of his college days, before the War. Though Hancock couldn’t say he exactly knew what kind of camping he was referring to, he had smiled nonetheless. He had to imagine the adjustment had been hard for his man out of time, and he could hardly blame him for finding pieces of nostalgia to keep him sane in…whatever the hell this was to him. It was all Hancock had ever known.

Everyone had their ways of coping. Hancock had chems for hard days (hell, the easy days, too)— a hit of jet, palmful of mentats. Basil had his dog and his memories, and sometimes his pip-boy.

Tonight, he lay curled in the center of their worn bed. Swathed in a thin knit blanket and a tattered quilt with Dogmeat at his feet, the amber light of his pip-boy cast his face in stark shadow, accentuating his tired eyes and gaunt face. From the sound of it, he was going hard at Red Menace—a bedtime ritual of sorts, probably to fight off the insomnia.

Despite the clear weariness, he looked happy enough.

Hancock almost felt cruel for disrupting the man as he entered—he could only take breaks so long before it was back to the grind again. Seemed sometimes like Basil was putting the whole damn Commonwealth back together with his own bare hands. Everyone and their mother wanted a piece of that old world charm and kindness, that softer stuff that Hancock rarely ever saw. Even he wanted. Basil was all book smarts and soft words—he might have turned his nose up at that once, but, well, he didn’t really have much a nose to turn anymore, so that was that.

Dead leaves crunched beneath Hancock’s worn boots, and Basil startled. At the end of the bed, Dogmeat whined.

“Easy, B. Just me.” An exhale of relief, followed by a pinch of the nose bridge. He was wearing his reading glasses—incidentally, they’d still been in the drawer where he had left them nearly 200 years previously.

“Hancock. Sorry I disappeared on you earlier. I got…tired.” And he sounded it. His voice was rough with exhaustion, bordering on gravelly in a way that it seldom was. The ghoul waved, leaning into the bent doorframe with his brow furrowed in concern. Red Menace blipped in the background, a stream of eight-bit noise counting the seconds that rolled by.

“No big. I figure, all you’re doing, you’ll need twice as much sleep,” He paused, voice dropping, “You need anything?” Blip blip blip. Death. On screen, the weird little octopus thing* cackled, setting the game back to the main screen. (* B had said it was an anthropomorphic Chinese flag, once, but honestly, Hancock couldn’t see it.)

Another sigh from the bed. Not exasperated, just…tired. Lost. A sigh that he’d heard himself make countless times over the decades. Basil was quiet for a long time, long enough that the light on his pip-boy dimmed, and eventually went out. Hancock could see him run a hand through his hair, see the corners of his green eyes crinkle in a pained expression. When he spoke again, his voice sounded broken.

“I think I’m sick.”

That took him off guard— sent a jolt of panic into his chest, where it nested and spread, cold fear through his veins. “Sick like how?” Basil just shook his head, wincing has he did so. 

"I haven't been feeling well since I went to the Glowing Sea. It was...worse at first, and then better, but now..." The fear mounted, clawing its way up his throat like something feral, threatening to burst at any moment, settling noxiously in the back of his throat. “...Hancock, my skin is flaking. I’ve taken so much Rad-X, gone to Doc Sun, but it’s not...doing anything.”

And Hancock could remember that feeling, that first sober moment where he realized just what was happening. He’d been lucky. One and done, the transformation had been quick, and he’d been so high off his ass that the pain didn’t matter. B...he didn’t do that stuff, not usually. Hancock had seen him pop mentats before, occasionally take something when his anxiety was getting bad enough that even Dogmeat couldn’t do anything. This must have been hell for him; The man was already so careful about his health, and now... His stomach was turning, and he took a half-step closer to the bed. Another, and he was sitting down beside his lover, scarred hands gently passing over his cheek, brow furrowed in concern. Basil could have seen it swimming in the inky depths of his eyes, even by the weak light of the pip-boy. The bed protested beneath them, the 200 year old frame giving yet another empty threat of giving out, but Hancock didn’t care.

Fast, miserable huffs of air broke the silence, the precursor to silent sobbing that everyone in the Commonwealth had heard before. The cry of a drifter in the dark, or a friend too strong to admit pain. Familiarity didn’t make it any less painful to hear--especially now that the ghoul could see his love’s face crumpling in despair, see the first streaks of tears shining on his cheeks, the dimpling of his chin, the tremor in his shoulders. This is what the people never saw--the vulnerability behind the veneer. Wordlessly, Hancock snaked his arms around his neck, careful of disturbing skin, and held him close. The man shuddered in his arms, breaking down further--muffling sobs into historic garments, into ruined flesh. He closed his inky eyes, cradling him, gently shushing. It would be okay. They would both be okay.

After some time, the crying subsided, and Basil was left weak and shuddering in his arms. The pain he was clearly in was nearly palpable; Hancock could feel the old ache in his bones, the phantom after-burn of irradiation that had clung to his skin for weeks after that one fateful night. This would be painful. The progression here seemed slow, and that was dangerous. A quick process meant less risk of infection, and higher rate of survival. If it was slow...they risked necrosis, or the slow descent into madness that made ferals. And Hancock...couldn’t have that. Not now, not Basil. Not someone who deserved way more than this wasteland could offer. 

Beneath him, his love ceased his silent gasps for air, subsiding into slow breaths. Sleep. Hancock knew he wouldn’t be able to after this, not with the worry that ate at him--but to at least have him resting in his arms, proving life with every warm exhale...At least he had that. 

[ghoul-foolery]

Dirty Windows | 10 | Female!SoSu x Hancock

A Soulmate AU

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[ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] - [ 11 ]

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Nora Morrison was a woman who firmly believed in law and order; she believed in the justice system. She believed that those who infringed upon the law must be judged by a group of their peers, and given a just sentence. The problem was that there was no room for old world ideals in the Commonwealth. These people were murderers who showed absolutely no hesitation, and they had no fear of any potential consequences, because there were none. These people were wild, and they were crazy, and for some reason they really seemed to want Nora dead. During her stint as a prosecuting attorney, Nora had been on the receiving end of a whole lot of ire – but this was something else entirely.

The, admittedly petty, endeavor to hate her soulmate and drive him away crumbled the very moment he came barging back into her head. It should be strange, how he was consistently there whenever she needed him. Like he would always come and check on her at just the right time. It was typically deeply annoying, and she often wished him away. This time she not only welcomed the man, but she finally reached out to him willfully. Their connection became firmly set, so steadfast that it felt like a tangible thing. The man gasped softly.

Nora’s vision was clouded with the man’s view of whatever room he was in – there was a chair sitting in front of an open window, a couch tucked off to the side of a room – before she pushed the image from her mind and focused on his emotions. There was a feeling of absolute panic, but there was an underlying layer of anger. He would have to work on controlling his own emotions when accessing their bond; he was letting her feelings influence his to a noticeable degree.

She took a slow breath, catching the smell of phantom cigarette smoke, something like burning petrichor, and something else that was tangy-sweet. That was from him. Those were his senses.

Another breath and she was picking up the smell of dust, coppery blood, and rotting wood. Mold. Mildew. That was her environment.

It took her a handful of precious seconds to make the connection to his mind, and then sift through all of the accompanying sensations until she was left with what she wanted. It was his emotions that she needed, and even though she was seeking out some sort of level-headed calm, she could work with his anger – she could feed off of it.

Nora struggled under the dead weight of the man she killed as she tried to prop his corpse up against the old desk she hid behind. Even the slightest bit of anger helped take the shake out of her hands, and brought some strength back to her limbs. She’d definitely need to be nice to her soulmate after this.

“Do you have time to reload?” His graveled voice was rasping low and threatening. “Find some more mags t’pack around after this. Running into a goddamn firefight with just one was real damn stupid.”

Nora scoffed. She slid the magazine free and started shoving in bullet after bullet until the magazine was full. “It’s not like I did it on purpose,” she growled, her tone matching his. More gunfire punctuated the statement, more yelling followed.

“How many you got left?” Her eyes dipped down to her gun. “Not bullets. I saw how many bullets you got. How many assholes are there tryin’ t’kill ya?”

Nora chanced a quick peak, yelping as the edge of her cover was torn away by a bullet. It wasn’t really much cover, it was an old heavy wooden desk but it was doing a mighty fine job at keeping her safe at the moment. “Three?”

“Was that a question or an answer?”

Biting down on her tongue was the only way to prevent herself from swearing at him. Ultimately, she didn’t mind swearing – Nate had a military mouth – but she herself tried to avoid cursing. It wasn’t lady-like, for one thing. A visceral memory of her mother forcing her to bite down on a bar of soap for having a “dirty mouth” was another.

“I counted three,” she ground out.

“Yer gonna hafta kill ‘em,” he replied. “And yer not gonna have the time to be gettin’ sick every time you do it, ya feel me?”

The connection she established faltered when her eyes drifted to the corpse she sat beside. She had killed a man. It wasn’t her first time seeing a dead body; she hadn’t shied away from crime scenes and morgue visits in her career. It was so much more different, though, knowing that she was the one that made the kill. She took someone’s life. Despite the situation, a surge of guilt had her eyes growing misty.

“Hey, sister, get yer head in the game!” Her eyes snapped to the side, away from the body, the connection stabilizing.

The man was irritated, she could feel it right along with his anger. She could use that, too. The only problem with utilizing those emotions was that she found herself snapping right back at him, “I told you to stop yelling at me!”

“Then focus!”

“You focus!”

It had been bound to happen. The stranger was overly receptive to her emotions, incapable of blocking them from affecting his own. During his last visit, he had come barging into her headspace only for his intentions to be broken down under the assault of her own grief. In Nora’s current circumstance, with both of them reaching for the other, and with the man incapable – or unwilling – to block out her emotions, they were creating a feedback loop of sorts. His anger affected her, affected him, affected her…

Even though Nora was aware of it happening, having a building white-hot rage burning in her chest was leagues better than the raw guilt that was roiling in her gut. She leaned into it, embraced it as tightly as she could.

The stranger growled. It was a deep, rumbling sound that carried more gravel than a quarry. It sounded like a feral animal. “Shoot at them. Stay below cover.”

She did. Remaining tucked low behind cover, she fired in her assailant’s direction blindly. There was a surprised yelp from their end of the fight this time, and then resounding laughter. She fired again, and the laughing fell silent.

“Okay. You’re going to push our friend away from you. Out from cover. Use him to draw fire.” His words were clipped, and precise, and they left very little room for argument. Nora took hold of the corpse’s shoulder just before her soulmate continued. “Hey.”

She paused.

“You’re going to get one shot at this. Make it fuckin’ count, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

Nora gave the corpse a firm push, and his body toppled out from behind the overturned desk she crouched behind. The movement caught her assailants’ attention, and the corpse promptly became riddled with bullets. From the other side of the desk, Nora peered out from cover. She caught her first target crouching out in the open, a look of shock on his face. He started to redirect his aim just as she settled hers on him.

“Shoot him.”

Nora pulled the trigger. The gun jumped in her hand, and she ended up shooting too wide.

“Lean into the shot! Pull the trigger and fuckin’ MEAN IT! This is your life or theirs! Kill them!”

She did.

She killed all three.

Tags: @takottai

As a note, dear tag lister: I have 41 (almost 42) chapters of this thing ready to go. Holler if you ever want off the ride.