#john hancock angst

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

6.8k+

Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren.  Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.  

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company. 

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends. 

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment. 

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action. 

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.” 

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you. 

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around. 

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed. 

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high. 

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part. 

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger. 

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth. 

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner. 

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose. 

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose. 

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable. 

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds. 

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth. 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints. 

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.  

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud. 

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown. 

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life. 

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin. 

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance. 

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm. 

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes. 

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center. 

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl. 

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit. 

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it. 

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings. 

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time. 

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption. 

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin. 

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking. 

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again. 

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips. 

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous. 

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection. 

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return. 

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss. 

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

[constablequodo]

I keep seeing the trope of "Hancock met Nick as a teenager" in Valencock fics which....huh???

We don't know when Hancock moved to Diamond City , he wasn't born there and theres a big chance he moved there well into his 20s. If we're going off of the fandoms general idea that hes in his 30s-40s, he could have been any age between 18-40 depending on how long you think he was there for before his brotjer became mayor.

I like Valencock, I really do, but why did yall find a way to make it weird???

[ghoul-foolery]

Dirty Windows | 1

A Fallout 4 Soulmate AU Hancock x Female Sole Survivor (Nora) Summary:

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.

\\

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

\\

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.

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Was It Worth It? ↠ Hancock x Reader

➼ Word Count » 0.8k ➼ Warnings » Possible Spoilers for the Ending, Angst, Vomit ➼ Summary » Hancock comforts Sole after they blow up the Institute.

With your shoulders slumped and arms hanging limp, you mindlessly walked through the excited crowd that had formed in Sanctuary. Everyone had come to celebrate after the destruction of the Institue and it was hard not to see why. Their biggest threat had been taken out in the span of a few hours—this was huge, especially for the people involved with making it happen. Of course, people would celebrate. You just wished they didn't have to do it right outside your house.

People clapped and shouted your name as you passed, some even giving you firm pats on the back and their thanks. You weakly smiled at it all, only wanting to shut your door and leave them all behind. Wanting to go back to the house you've seen so many times before. The house you had lived in before the war. The one that you planned on raising Shaun in. The house that had now since been overgrown by the surrounding shrubs. The house that you were looking at right now.

Hancock watched as you slipped away into your house, too high on Mentats to really put the pieces together and realize you weren't acting like yourself. But when Cait challenged him to a drinking game, he's quick to go find you. He needs a partner and who better than the person of the hour?

He didn't know what he'd walk in on when he stumbled down your ruined hall, but seeing you curled up on the floor wasn't it. For a minute he didn't even think you were real, certain that he must've been hallucinating, but as your tears continued streaming down your face he decided he needed to comfort you. Real or not, he wanted to be there for you.

"Hey, hey," He soothed, sitting beside you on the floor, "What's going on?"

You stared at him with blurry, tear-filled vision before sobbing into what was supposed to be Shaun's first stuffed animal.

You tried. You tried so hard to make everything work out—to not kill your son. But every attempt you made at peace and understanding was swatted away. The last thing you had, ripped away from you in the span of those last couple of hours. As a parent, you prayed you'd never have to see him laying on his death bed but not only did you witness it, you were the one who caused it. You doubted you'd ever be able to bounce back from something like this—you weren't even sure if you deserved to.

You felt Hancock's arms wrap gently around your shoulders, pulling you to lean on him as you wept. "Just let it out."

And you did. You cried until you threw up. Vomiting out the window of the old bedroom as your cries of guilt were drowned out by the party happening around you. You lay limp on the window sill for a moment, Hancock's hand rubbing small circles on your back as your insides ached.

Watching everyone celebrate hurt. It broke you way more than you could've ever imagined. And as you stood away from the window, peering back at Shaun's room, still intact from when you left it, you questioned where you had gone wrong. How did everything go so south?

"What you've been through," He began, wiping the corners of your mouth with a rag he had gone to go grab from the kitchen, "isn't something that's easy to come to terms with." You stared at him silently, eyes still flooded with regret. "But look at how many people you've saved—think of everything that's now possible for not only them but yourself as well. There's nothing setting anyone back anymore, you've made us free from that constant state of paranoia."

"Was it worth it, though? Maybe if I gave myself a bit more time, I'd still be able to have a relationship with him—maybe it could've ended peacefully."

"This was peaceful, sunshine. You're sacrifice made peace."

"It's hard to believe that it's that simple." You started to choke up again as your gaze met the Institute flag you had hung on one of the walls to hopefully convince your son to come to live with you—to really meet with everyone you've encountered, however, he didn't like the thought of being in a place so unclean.

"We'll all be here to help you through this." He spoke, wrapping his arms around you once again and holding you against him.

"Thank you." You whispered, over and over again, till he kissed the top of your head and you started feeling dizzy—dizzy from your lack of water and all the energy you spent mourning. He picked you up when he felt your body start to weaken, carrying you over to your bed and laying you down across the mattress. You passed out quickly as he threw a blanket over you, kissing your forehead once again before stumbling his way back out to call the celebration off and allow you to rest.

[oneacearmy]

Sole Survivor with severe separation anxiety

I imagine a Sole that didn't come out of the Vault as unscathed as they have us believe. At the beginning when they didn't have any relationships aside from Codsworth, they didn't notice much. Even with their first companion they didn't notice.

But after switching companions, they start experimenting nightmares, insomnia, seek of physical contact, chills, shaking, etc. It starts small like waking up in the middle of the night with a heavy heart or a misstep on their traveling while thinking of first companion. Then the chills start and the insomnia. The last symptoms would be night terrors and panic attacks.

Current companion catches on eventually and tries to coax them to talk about it. But even Sole doesn't know what's happening. Current companion offers to put their bedrolls together and sleeping together and it helps. It really helps. The night terrors disappear along with the panic attacks, the insomnia recedes but the waking up with a heavy hearts still occurs.

When they reunite with old companion or when they talk with a Commonwealth doctor, they discovered that these symptoms are from trauma. Their subconscious believe that their loved ones disappear or die if they losses sight or closeness from them. This is because of what happened in the Vault, when Sole woke up from cryo their family was dead, their neighbors gone, their family and friends and acquaintances. Their home and city and country. They are ALL GONE.

Sole has to live with this. He starts coping in different ways like grounding techniques and self taught psychosocial therapy. Mental health is a spectrum, we got good days and bad days, so when Sole is having a bad day, they hold their companion's hand or grabs their arm. Their companion grounds them in different ways like rationalizing their thoughts, delaying their ideas, using physical touch or distracting them. (should I write a companions react with how each companion helps sole through this?)

I imagine a Sole Survivor asking their romanced companion to hold them at night or to sleep face to face because if they wake up facing the wall they freak out. I imagine a severely wounded Sole resting alone in a bed or room and when they wake up alone and in an unfamiliar place, it may trigger a panic attack or a dissociating episode.

[radroachrepellent]

Lighter

John Hancock (FO4), Chercock (Feltcock is better), Cherry Feltman (FO4 OC), emo sad Cherry, 960~ words

I feel like there is not enough crying in Fallout so I made this. Art was fun to make too and only took me like 1.3 hours!! Cherry is emo and wants to be known and remembered for her deathclaw skin grafts for ghouls but she has not had a lot of success.

Cherry sat on a broken bench in Goodneighbor, her fingers fumbling with an old flip lighter. She flipped it open, trying to light the cigarette dangling from her lips, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The lighter clicked shut without catching, and she muttered under her breath, wiping at her eyes quickly when she felt the tears starting to well up. Her glasses were nowhere to be seen—probably tossed aside somewhere earlier when her frustration had peaked.

She flicked the lighter again, this time managing to get a small flame. She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill her lungs. But it did little to calm the storm in her mind. The day had been another long string of disappointments—more attempts to help that ended with people politely pushing her aside, more jokes that fell flat, more conversations where she was barely acknowledged.

She took another drag, blinking back tears. “Stop it, Cherry,” she muttered to herself. “You’re fine. Juuust fine.”

“Is that a pep talk, or are you just talking to your new best friend, Grey Tortoise?”

Cherry nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice. She looked up to see Hancock sauntering over, his usual grin in place. He was trying to make it look casual, like he just happened to be wandering by, but she knew better.

“Hancock,” she greeted, quickly taking another drag and holding it as if it could hide the trembling in her voice. “Just needed some air.”

Hancock raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bench and then back at her. “Well, this is the perfect place if you’re looking to catch some tetanus with that air.” He sat down beside her, the creak of the bench protesting under his weight. “So, what’s got you out here in the middle of the night, puffin’ away like you’re in some old noir film?”

Cherry shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Nothin'. Just couldn’t sleep.”

Hancock didn’t buy it for a second, but he didn’t press her right away. He leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of the bench, his fingers almost brushing her shoulder. “Yeah, insomnia’s a bitch. But, ya know, there’s usually a reason when someone’s up late, cryin’ into a cigarette.” His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of concern.

Cherry took another drag, exhaling slowly, trying to keep her voice steady. “It’s nothing, really. Just… uh...thinking about stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” Hancock nodded. “You've never been good at lying, sister.”

She shifted uncomfortably, the cigarette burning low between her fingers. “It’s stupid. Just feeling off, I guess.”

“Off?” Hancock repeated, his grin fading slightly. “Now that doesn’t sound like the Cherry I know. Come on, spill it. What’s eating at ya?”

Cherry shook her head, stubbornly wiping at her eyes again. “I told you, it’s stupid. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Hancock sighed, tilting his head to catch her gaze. “I’m gonna stop you right there, doll. If it’s got you out here alone, smoking like the world’s about to end, again, it’s not stupid. So, how about you give me the lowdown, and we stop this 'lil battle of who's more stubborn?”

She let out a soft, bitter laugh, but it quickly faded. “I just… I feel like I’m always messing up. Like I’m always in the way, like no one really wants me around.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, her mask finally cracking. “I’m tired of feeling like this, Hancock. Like I don’t matter. Like I ain't gonna be somebody.”

Hancock’s eyes softened, the humor in his expression replaced by something more genuine. “Well, there’s your first mistake—thinking you don’t matter. I mean, who else is gonna save my sorry ass? Make me a new set of pretty skin and execute the deathclaws near by?”

Cherry gave him a weak smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m serious, Hancock. I just… I try to help, and it never seems to work out. People don’t take me seriously. They just… brush me off.”

Hancock sighed, his hand finally resting on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Listen, Cherry, this world’s got a real knack for kicking people when they’re down, making ‘em feel small. But that doesn’t mean you are. You’ve got a good heart, and a mind sharp enough to cut through all this bullshit. People might not see it right away, but that doesn’t mean you don’t shine.”

She looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I just feel like I’m always fighting to be seen, to be heard. It sucks.”

Hancock’s usual quips were replaced by sincerity. “I see you, Cherry. And trust me, anyone with half a brain sees you too. You’ve got a fire in you that’s... hard to ignore... even if some folks are too damn blind to notice. And for what it’s worth, you’re not in the way. You’re in the fight, same as the rest of us still traveling with Bunny. And I’m damn glad to have you by my side.”

Cherry let out a shaky breath, the tears finally spilling over. “Thanks, Hancock. I just… I guess I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Hancock replied, pulling her into a casual side hug. “And hey, you ever need a reminder, you come find me, alright? I’ll be more than happy to talk you down from any more late-night cigarette fests. Maybe even throw in a few more bad jokes or free chems, just for you.”

She smiled through her tears, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” he said, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Now, how about we go find those glasses of yours before you trip over something in the dark and I have to carry you back?”

Cherry laughed softly, wiping her eyes. “Deal.” And for the first time in what felt like too long, she felt a little less alone.

[twosides--samecoin]

chapter 1 - spotify - chapter 13

Just another RJ MacCready story that asks a simple question: What if Med-Tek didn't work out?

Explicit/Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Chapter Themes: Father-daughter relationship, Pre-war backstory, Slice of life, Boxing, Judo, Mixed Martial Arts, Mental health angst, Awkward crush, Miscommunication, RJ boards the bullet train to Whumptown, Adoption in the Wasteland be like "This grown-ass 22-year old woman is my child now"

Jack, RJ and Olivia return to Sanctuary. RJ struggles with the information he learned in Goodneighbor. Olivia needs a distraction; Jack uses the chance to get to know her better. They bond over the past, both distant and recent.

“He doesn’t hate you. He hates the situation.”

“Of course he ‘hates the situation’, I almost ruined his chance to help Duncan,” she sobbed. “Why wouldn’t he hate me?” 

[whatanightmaregrinch]

John Hancock x (Fem)Sole Survivor- "thought I'd lost you"

[[TW: light gore]]

John Hancock didn't find himself afraid often. In fact, he prided himself on his ability to keep his cool, even in shitty scenarios. No matter what came his way, he always knew how to act. Got himself out of some pretty sticky situations with that talent too. He considered himself a ghoul of many tricks, and that's why he felt out of options when he saw Sole limp through the gates of his great city, supported by one of the Goodneighbor guards. He practically lunged forward off of the bench he'd sat down on to huff jet, and stormed towards them. His heart started slamming in his ribcage when he saw blood dribble from her pretty fucking mouth and down her chin, the way they locked eyes but Sole wasn't even there. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed, bringing the guard down with her under the weight of her nearly destroyed power armour. The guard started shouting, gaining the attention of some drifters, who started clamouring toward them to help. He barely had room to feel pride for his citizens banding together to help their fellow man. John dragged Sole off of the guard with some effort, the guard managing to wheeze out a thanks and rolling to the side, and he felt sick as he removed his hands from her and saw her blood sticking to his hands. He didn't hear himself shout for Doctor Amari, didn't even process himself desperately trying to rip her out of her power armour to assess the damage. He glanced at her face, pale and sweaty. She looked dead, and it terrified him.

"Hey Sunshine? I need you to listen to me." He said shakily, finally managing to crack the broken breast plate away from her, and he sucked in a breath.

Her dirty white shirt was stained with her own blood, but he could see where the material had ripped, and the evil glint of metal deep in the wound that had caused it. Someone's hands went to remove her shirt for him to see better, and he smacked their hand away so hard they yelped in surprise.

"Fuck are you doing, idiot? We can't get her wound out here it'll get fuckin' dust in, use your godamn mind!" Some part of him wanted to protect her dignity. Not that he wouldn't want to see her, he just wanted her permission and not to be covered in blood and surrounded by god knows how many pairs of eyes. Unless that was what she wanted, of course.

"I got the Doc!" A male voice slurred, but Hancock couldn't even spare attention for him. He couldn't stop staring at her fucking face. He was glad other people were there to help take the rest of her power armour off because he was being fucking useless right now. A familiar hand pushed him out of the way, and he realised he was in Amari's way. He scrambled back, but stopped when the doctor shot him a glare.

"Where are you going John? Help me carry her." She snapped, but not unkindly. She recognised the fear in his black eyes, but she didn't have the time to soothe him. She wasn't even sure how she was going to help Sole yet, she was a scientist, not a medic and she figured her best bet would be to take her patient to Daisy and see if they could come up with something. She had basic medical training, but when it had nothing to do with human, ghoul or synth brain, she was out of ideas. She moved around to Soles head and arms, and directed John to her legs and feet. He wrapped his arms around her legs ready whilst Amari told two others how best to support Sole on the torso so it wouldn't dip. She told another to send word to Daisy of their arrival with the promise of caps for what they needed and use of her space.

"On three."Doctor Amari commanded, and on three, they all pulled her up into the air as flat as they could. Sole made a horrible groaning noise, and Hancock could see her eyes opening and closing as she struggled with consciousness.

"We're gonna fix you right up, don't you worry. Try and stay awake." John tried her as they all staggered quickly towards Daisy's shop, her only making noises of pain in reply. He didn't understand how she even managed to get back to the gates, let alone inside the city.

Daisy was ready for them. Just like him, Sole had touched her heart in ways she'd prefer not to talk about, and seeing her in this state shocked her. Daisy mentioned once that she reminded her of her days before the war,of picket fences, green grass and blue skies. Not that John could picture what that was like.

Daisy had a table upstairs cleaned off, and they set her down as gently as they could. John pulled his coat off and folded it, shoving it under her head so she had support. He stood against the wall, so the two women could work. He'd only pace around and get in the way if he didn't. Daisy had rifled through and brought up all the supplies she could think of that they might need, and a bucket with boiling water to kill the germs as best they could.

He stayed whilst they cleaned her up with the limited alcohol they had, but John decided to leave the room when they set about pulling out the blade. He wasn't usually squeamish, but his heart couldn't take it this time around. He couldn't let himself feel the sadness in his bones, couldn't let himself think about the large possibility that Sole might die there on that table, and he'd have to bury another person he loved. He wandered downstairs, and out the closed shop front to sit down on the bench outside. He dug around in his pockets for a cigarette, finding one but tutting when he realised he didn't have a light. He looked around to see if he could bum a light from someone, but the street had emptied not ten minutes after. Events like that tended to spook people, and well, a nice gal like that in the kinda state she was in was bound to pull on some heartstrings. He didn't regret giving her his coat, but he regretted not shaking his metal plated lighter and jet from his pocket. He could have ran home to get some, but he didn't want to be too far away from her.

Many times had John Hancock fallen in love. They were short and fleeting circumstances, but he valued them. Well, as much as a ghoul fucked out of his skull could, anyway. He valued the sex less. He had alot of it in his time, and whilst he partook in it often, he didn't tend to talk to them after, or make them breakfast, or any of that shit. Usually by the time he woke up from his drug fuelled bender they were gone, leaving him with a feeling of emptiness and unfufillment. Sole had taken his usual routine and shook it around. He was willing to follow her across the wastelands forever if that was what she wanted. And now she was laid out on a table dying. He might never get to ask her how she felt about him, how she felt about sharing her life with him, or even find her fucking son. He wouldn't admit it, but he cried. He cried for a long time, and as the dusky evening turned to night, he remained frozen on the bench, cigarette abandoned next to him.

He didn't realise Amari's figure come out to him at first, his eyes too adjusted to the gloom to pick the white of her coat. He wanted to throw up when he made out the detail of Sole's blood decorating her sleeves. He didn't want to hear the news he knew to be true. Doctor Amari sat down next to him on the bench, and sighed aloud. She grabbed a cigarette, lit it with her lighter and offered the pack and light to him, which he didn't accept. Just started at her, almost angry she couldn't deliver the news first. Did she mean that little to her?

"Oh you, she's alive. Horribly wounded, but.. alive." Amari said, and wordlessly Hancock took the cigarette and lighter offered to him. Taking a puff of his lit cigarette, he sighed, the weight of the world lifting from his shoulders for the first time in hours.

"How bad was it?" He found the courage to ask, and Amari made this unpleasant sound that he didn't want to hear from her again.

"Whoever did that to her got her good. I'm thinking her power armour must have been really badly damaged already for the knife to get her like that. Daisy and I managed to stop the bleeding, but she'll have a nasty scar, that's to say if infection doesn't take her first." Amari's words stung John back to his reality. They weren't out of the fog yet. He took an extra long drag of the cigarette and exhaled.

"Don't really know what to do." Hancock admitted to her. She looked at him with a thoughtful gaze. "I assumed you'd be rushing inside by now to see her, if I'm honest. Why are you still sat with me?" She probed. His scarred face set into a frown.

"I don't want to see her like that if she's gonna-"

"How selfish, John. What of her? Do you think she deserves to be ignored like this?" She snapped, cutting him off. "Daisy and I were busy saving her life, and the moments she was lucid between shots, all she wanted to know was where you were." She jabbed a finger into his chest. Her words stung, even if she was right. Hurt his pride in a way he didn't want to admit. He just looked down, and Doctor Amari tutted, stabbing her cigarette out angrily on the benches arm rest. "If she lives, all she'll remember is you refusing to see her." She finalised, and stood. Brushing the mess from her thighs, she didn't even bother to collect her lighter and cigarette carton back as she went striding off into the darkness, probably back to her home. He thought about calling out to her, but she'd disappeared into the shadows before he had chance. He took it as good fortune, and pocketed the lighter and packet. He faltered as he wondered what to do next.

He looked up at the top window above Daisy's shop. The faint glow to it seemed inviting, but he was filled with regret. He couldn't be what she needed from him right now, he couldn't be the good man she needed. Compared to Nate, he was nothing. He didn't even have eyebrows. He grunted at the thought, and stood to go back to the Old State House. A quiet voice suddenly spoke up within him, urging him to remember something he'd long forgotten. A memory played out before him, he wasn't sure whether the jet and daytripper he'd taken during the day were reacting with eachother, but it spoke to him, reminding him of something that if he was right about and he'd forgotten he swore he'd cut his own brain out.

Sole was laid on a dirty double mattress next to him. He strained to remember more of the scene, but it started to come together. They'd been travelling back from a settlement not too far from Goodnighbour when the radiation storm had swarmed them so fast they'd barely time to duck into a semi suitable house. They retreated to the basement and found a singular double mattress in there and no open windows that could let the storm in, so they decided to camp for the night. Radiation didn't bother him, but Sole was smooth skinned and she didn't have enough fusion cores left to make the journey back. They were back to back, facing away. He had no qualms about sleeping face to face, but her pre-war sensibilities were apparent in the quieter moments.

"Hancock?" She said in a tired voice. "Hmm?" He mumbled. He remembered taking a puff of jet then, and he crinkled his nose. Why was he always so fuckin high all the time? "..is it hard, being a mayor?" She wondered, and he snorted as he coughed the chem out of his lungs. "Sure as brahmin shit, girl. Makes me do all kinds of uncomfy shit I'm not exactly happy about." He admitted. He tried to fight off the suprise when he felt her shift around in the mattress, to face his back. He moved to copy her, but her hands suddenly pressed against his shoulders, trapping him to facing away from her. "Dont turn over." She said softly, and he chuckled. "Whatever you want, sister." He slurred. He felt her hands tense on his back. "You shouldn't call me that." She said, and he furrowed his brow line in confusion. "Why not? Don't ya like it?" He replied, and she was silent for about a minute. He waited for her to gather her thoughts. "It just, makes me think we're related, that's all. I don't want to be related to you." She said stiffly, and he felt a little hurt. "What's wrong with being related to me?" He huffed out, chest jutting out a little. He was glad she wasn't allowing him to turn round. What she said was so quiet he wasnt sure he'd heard it right. " We can't be romantically involved." She grunted, and withdrew her hands from his back, and returned to her original position, back to back with him. He stared in silence for a long time at the crack in the wall directly opposite of him, listening to the sound of the lightning that stormed on a level above them.

He nearly killed himself right there for taking so much jet he'd basically ignored her unasked question, and had never brought it up to her again. What if she was testing the waters? What if he was supposed to respond then, confirm or deny his feelings for her? He groaned , and spun around on his heel. He needed to see her, needed to talk to her and get it all out, even if it was the only reason that selfishly drove him up those stairs. He couldn't decide for her, it was wrong. But she deserved atleast an explanation. Daisy cast him a glance as he walked past her, cleaning her counter. She wanted to say something to him, but it could wait. He clambered the stairs, and cringed as he saw the table where she lay so lifelessly hours before, now covered in her blood but empty. He spotted her laid out on the sofa in the darker corner of the room, his coat gently draped over her as a blanket, but she'd pushed it down at some point in her sleep. He took note that they'd changed her into a different, less traumatic t-shirt for her to wake up in, rather than her ripped one. He couldn't ignore the bandages poking out from under it, though. A sigh brought him out of his thoughts, and he saw she was sleeping. He came and sat beside her on the floor, and feeling his heart speed up just slightly. She was sleeping, a stab wound victim, and he found her enchanting, even in this state.

"You really scared me." He spoke softly to avoid disturbing her. When he heard no change from her, he continued. "I saw you on the floor and I thought you were dead. It really made me stop, and a ghoul like me doesn't stop for much." He lent back into the sofa, removing the hat from his head. "I figured love was off the plate for you, after you told me what happened with Nate. I couldn't blame you if you did, you know. But I didn't mean to ignore you, that night." He said quietly. " -'was just shocked, is all. You gotta understand a gal like you saying something like that to me rocked me, I mean look at you. You look like all them pretty gals from the movie posters." He mused, looking down at his own scarred hands in a silent comparison. He didn't find himself ugly, but he certainly wasn't normal. Didn't look normal in areas you wanted to look normal, either. "I felt at peace with you. I feel at peace with you." He corrected, and cast her sleeping face a glance, to find her eyes open and staring at him with a curious intensity instead. He was afraid, and she didnt say anything. She winced in immense pain, but made an effort to reach out a trembly hand and cup his cheek. He softened at the realization it wasn't rejection, but exhaustion that caused her silence. It wasnt like she was in any state to talk. Her thumb caressed the ridges on the left side of his face. He sighed into the touch, feeling it spread warmth into his cheeks, into his neck and down into his chest. He didn't expect declarations of love from her, it was too soon for that. But for now, he could allow himself to enjoy this. To enjoy being with her.

"Don't leave me." Her voice came out broken, and hoarse. He covered her hand on his face with her own, and squeezed gently. "Couldn't, not after this." He murmured, and she smiled. He loved that smile, and he hoped that she would smile at him like that forever. He wanted to serve and protect that smile, and he promised himself in that moment that he would find whoever had laid her out like this and make them wish they were having a fucking nightmare.

[budder-tigress]

Wanted to draw a dakimakura design but uh

My brain had other ideas

Fallout angst for my newest manwhore blorbo, Hancock

Heed the tags I beg _(:‹」∠)_

Yes, the lyrics are from a Hazbin Hotel song

No, I am not apologizing for that

For a long time I had a very surface-level understanding of Hancock's backstory, but now I've been cursed with true knowledge of how fucked up this poor man is

[willinglyghoulified]

WIP Wednesday! (because we suck at keeping up with dates here)

Tagged by @sassenashsworld!! Gonna tag: @sillyandquiteawkward, @worthlesssix, @bokatan, @datura-tea (if you guys don't have a WIP that's okay!)

I'm going to share with you guys the next bit I have written for Book 3: Hope Restored in my FO4 fanfic series. This is shortly after the Brotherhood's tirade forced a lot of drifters and non-humans to take refuge in Goodneighbor.

I leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling, forcin' myself to keep a clear head so I could sift through all my thoughts. I was gettin' a goddamn headache again, though.

With the warehouses transformed into places where the influx of drifters can take shelter, I felt a little better that they weren't crowdin' the streets, but that didn't solve the issue of people pissin' and shittin' in the alleys and behind the buildings. It also didn't solve our food shortage, and that was about a hair's breadth away from gettin' out of hand.

It wouldn't be long before some of the more well-known caravans rolled through here, namely Trashcan Carla and Cricket, so I could check with them for supplies, but there was no way they were gonna have enough to supply the whole town.

Somethin's gotta give, and soon.

Fahrenheit sat across from me, drinkin' a beer and readin' a Guns and Bullets magazine that she had read so many times, the pages were startin' to fall out. She hadn't said much to me ever since the incident last night with the man and his son in the alley, where that prick threatened them.

"... I gotta address the town," I said, finally breakin' the deafening silence.

"What about?" she asked without lookin' up.

"About the conditions around here. I know they're stressed out there. They're gonna want answers before they riot."

She closed the magazine and slapped it onto the table. Then she crossed her arms and stared at her knees, but she didn't say a word.

"What? Nothin' to bitch about this time?"

"Like it'll do me any good anyway."

"Fahr..." I leaned forward, laced my fingers together, and propped my elbows on my knees. I gave her the most serious look I could muster. This thing between us — it had been goin' on for too damn long. "Talk to me."

"There's nothing to say. At the end of the day, I'm just here to do my job and earn my paycheck."

My fingers tightened around themselves. That shit hurt. It was meant to be personal. A low blow. I had to choose my next words carefully so this didn't turn into a full-scale argument. I unclenched my jaw and sighed. "... What aren't you happy with? Tell me what I can do to make things better between us. I'm tired of feelin' like everything I do is a fuck-up in your eyes. And I don't talk about this shit lightly. You and me, we've known each other for years. You should be able to be honest with me."

She placed both hands on the couch on either side of her, gripping its fabric with frustration, and leaned forward over the coffee table. Her words came out strained, like she was pissed but trying to hold it in. "I want things to go back to the way they were. The last eight years we've run this town have been carefree, enjoyable, and even fun. You just aren't the same person I knew from back then. Out of all the times you've been gone from Goodneighbor, you were never gone this long. And now, my worst fears have become a reality: you came back changed. You let yourself be influenced, and now you're ..." she motioned toward me with her hands, "... whatever you'd call this. Justified? Uppity? Noble?"

"That's not what this is. Hear me out. There are people out there sleepin' in their own filth, in the rain, under tarps and debris just to stay dry. It's hot as piss out there, and there's a shortage of clean water. They're starvin'. That kid last night coulda got shanked in the alley all because of some debt. Goodneighbor is dangerous. Used to, I liked it dangerous. I liked our reputation. We were badass, didn't take shit from anybody, lived life on our own terms. Now? Now it's not a place I'd wanna take my own kid to —"

"So that's what this is really about."

"Huh?"

"That kid. Gwen's kid. So you are just trying to make Goodneighbor like Diamond City. You want us to start conforming to a 'better way of life,' where there are laws and rules to follow."

"Is having a few laws that bad? I just want what's best for everyone. If it means clearin' out a few lowlifes to make the town safer for the honest folk driftin' in here —"

"Those 'lowlifes' are the people you used to scheme with, and you had no problem with them then. See, this is what I'm talking about, Hancock."

I rubbed my face roughly. She just refused to hear me. Or maybe I just refused to hear her. Either way, we just weren't gonna see eye to eye, and I was gettin' fed up. 

"I have friends that are lowlifes. Yeah, I have more friends than just you, believe it or not. When you're gone, I gotta talk to someone besides the neighborhood watch about work. And I'd rather not be one of the reasons my friends either got kicked out of Goodneighbor or wound up dead, because they have every right to be here as us. Some of them have been here since the beginning, and I'll be damned if I see them thrown to the ruins like your brother did to the Ghouls all those years ago. I don't want us to become like Diamond City. I don't want you to become your brother."

I kicked the table, knockin' everything around on top, my Jet canister fallin' onto the floor and the ashes in the ash tray flying onto the tabletop. "That wasn't him! That was the goddamned Synth that replaced him that kicked the Ghouls outta Diamond City! My brother would never do that!"

My breathing was uneven now. I had to calm down, get a grip. Fahr was really startin' to push my buttons.

"Hmph. Sometimes I wonder if even you have been replaced. If it wasn't for you being a Ghoul, I'd wager you were replaced, too. Because I feel like I barely recognize you anymore."

That's it. That was the straw that broke the goddamn Brahmin's back. "Whatever. You're just stickin' around for a paycheck, right? Then stop complainin' and do your job or I'll dock your pay. Every time you complain, I take ten caps off your tally. How's that sound?"

Her face went blank, eyes wide. "Are you shitting me?"

"Does it look like I'm in a jokin' mood?"

She stood up and walked across the room and to the safe. She took the keys out of her pocket and unlocked it.

"The hell are you doing?" I asked, standing up too.

"I'm taking what you owe me, and I'm leaving your employ."

"You're what!"

"You heard me." She counted out an amount from the safe and then slammed it shut. She tossed me the keys, and I didn't bother catching them, just let them clatter to the floor at my feet. "Have fun with your new Diamond City."

"You really gonna do this?"

She didn't answer me. She shoved her caps into her pockets and took a bag out of the closet. When she started packing shit into it, I realized just how serious she was.

"Fine, go, then. See if I give a shit. All you ever did was nag me anyway."

After her chems, booze, magazines, and spare bullets were packed, she slung her bag over her shoulder, walked out of the office, and slammed the doors behind her.

I was left with the silence. I didn't know what to do with this anger. This was the maddest I'd been in a while, and I hated it. I hated feelin' like this. I was too fucking sober to deal with this shit. God, it hurt so bad, I wanted to claw the pain out of my chest. Instead, I wound up punching a hole into the wall, kicking over the coffee table, throwing glass mugs against the filing cabinets, and pounding my fists in the top of the desk.

Once I had wreaked havoc on the furniture in my office, I was tired and out of breath, and my knuckles were bruised. I collapsed on the couch, not really feelin' much better, and took about six or seven Mentats, just hoping that somethin' would ease my mind.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hard Feelings

Hancock x Fem! Sole Survivor / Reader Insert

(AO3)

Summary: You are the General of the Minutemen. Hancock is your companion when out on missions. It's all fun and games until there are hard feelings at play, the ghoul thinking that one day you just might leave him.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for PiV sex, public sex (sort of), MAKEUP sex, switching, praise kink, heavy petting and kissing, fingering, biting, angst, a small domestic dispute, and negative thoughts and feelings associated with oneself (Hancock). In this fic, Hancock displays golden retriever boyfriend energy, and he is more submissive. He also experiences low self-worth, and feelings of inadequacy, which leads to doubt. At some point, he has a panic attack.

Notes: Another fanfic that is completely self-indulgent. I was inspired when I took Hancock to the Starlight Drive-In for the Minutemen mission. We were briefly separated when I (sole) climbed onto the roof of the movie screen. Hancock ran around down below in a panic, thus this idea blossomed; I mention it in this post. I stole Teeth's nickname for Hancock: Hanni. ;D )

Word count: 4.7k+

A gentle peal of thunder rocked the night, just hours from daybreak, the eerie green glow of your pre-war Pip-boy casting its luminescence across the present object of your interest: a sullied movie poster. It was curling at its edges, the faded face of a starlet frozen in time with her mouth agape having snatched your attention, for better or worse, as this potential settlement had yet to be explored—there was no telling what lurked out there among the shadows.

Rita Jean Scarlett was staring into the eyes of not man, but insect, The Barfly calling out to you from a bygone era. It was an Old World tale of weird science gone wrong, filled with hubris and lessons learned all too late. Not too far off from the reality of things, you mused, though meant as fiction, actor Chip Weathers having adorned the costume of the “ghastly” monster for his starring role. 

The creature had bulbous eyes and sticky clawed feet, yet wore a suit and hat. Once considered the stuff of nightmares, now things like this seemed to you like child’s play. You regularly joined in the company of ghouls; robots; synthetic humans, and even super mutants. You faced adversaries on the daily that would make prey animals of yesteryear look like teddy bears—an unnerving thought, but it caused you to smile regardless. 

“What are you grinnin’ about?” a curious voice asked, the creak of worn red leather signaling his closeness; two thin arms encircled you, pitted hands smoothing over skintight, extruded rubber, shiny as the ghoul’s black eyes.

“Just about how things that used to be science fiction are now science fact,” you offered vaguely, casting a glance downward to the sight of yourself being molested, Hancock groping your tit—like any typical man—before it maneuvered lower, gliding over your belly to dip between your thighs.

“Hancock!” you breathed, your pulse quickening, loins already beginning to throb as blemished fingers stroked the line of your vault suit, teasing you at its seam. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, ignoring the tone in which he had been addressed. He asked another question, even as he continued to fondle you sans mercy.  

“Things like me?” 

Hancock was unhurried, enjoying the sleek texture of the glossy fabric against the underside of his thumb. He was positive he was making you wet, wondering how long you might last before you were begging him to fuck you, just like a few hours previous.

However, his query caught you off guard, your mind preoccupied as your palm came to rest over John’s explorative hand, holding it firm, the ghoul taking liberty with your breasts again, cupping one’s shape to give it a squeeze.

“Things that shouldn’t exist? Like that monster up there who thinks he’s human,” he growled silkily, finely wrinkled digits pinching your pebbled nipple through that damnable suit that left nothing to the imagination, John’s prick hardening against the back of your leg.

“You might say that,” you replied without thinking, thoughts clouded with pleasure that would all too suddenly end, so careless was your answer that the ghoul recoiled.

“Really,” John flatly returned, as if for some reason not at all surprised, his warm, gentle touch leaving you longing, confused as to why he was beginning to walk away.

You turned from the ticket booth, staring after your lover as he kicked a loose rock across asphalt; it bounced, ricocheting off an overturned cigarette machine. Hancock pretended to be engrossed in the diner just up ahead, a part of the Starlight Drive-In theater, you both having been warned about raiders before traveling here.

“Hancock.” You followed closely behind; he did not pay you any mind, as if he had not heard you, acting about as mature as a spoiled child who was giving you the dreaded silent treatment.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you claimed, though it was the truth. To be asked that question to begin with seemed like he was fishing for flattery, but who were you to deny the charismatic Mayor of Goodneighbor a harmless stroke to his ego, especially when he meant so much to you.

“Is that where the “might” part comes in?” he snapped, his tone irritated; it was becoming obvious that he had not expected you to agree with him on such matters, the conversation quickly devolving. 

“Is this our first fight? Are we fighting?” you asked, Hancock’s beady eyes narrowing beneath his hairless brow at the flippant way you were brushing off his feelings, or so he thought. 

“Look, if you don’t want to travel with a ghoul, why didn’t you just say so— got better things I could be doing,” he groused, namely chems with his name on them. 

“Is that so? Well, far be it from me to stop you from doing those better things,” you returned, not understanding why he couldn’t just forgive you for something said in passing.

“Always a smart ass,” he complained, as if Hancock himself wasn’t guilty of using his fair share of sarcasm.

Had you not been so heated, you may have remembered just how self-conscious the sociable, charming mayor actually was. His confidence was partially a façade, though he wasn’t one to normally bring down a mood with his own insecurities. Being the introspective sort meant that Hancock wasn’t afraid to get to the heart of things, even at the cost of his own self-esteem. 

John had even allowed you in, being vulnerable by sharing details of his sorrowful past; it was no secret the ending had been bittersweet, if not unhappy. His own appearance had sickened him; he found it hard to believe a gal like you wanted anything to do with him, much less desire to share a bed together, especially since he wasn’t exactly a looker by human standards.

Perhaps you had failed to give him reassurance when it was needed, though temporarily blinded by your temper. Instead of trying to clear things up, you made it worse. 

“You’d be one to know,” you baited.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hancock shot back, droplets of rain beginning to descend toward the ground.

“You know what? Go over there, check that place out.” You gruffly dismissed him, pointing toward the diner. “I think we both need some time to cool off,” you added, voice sounding less than amicable toward the man whose forehead lurched, as if he had been punched in the gut. 

“Yeah? Fine.” John’s feelings were hurt more by this simple demand than anything you had said thus far, Hancock behaving like a scolded puppy whose owner had treated it unfairly.

You shook your head as you watched him march away, Hancock’s red frock coat glistening thanks to a now steady sprinkle. You sighed, turning toward a slew of rusting, run-down autos, spying a shed somewhere in the distance—you hoped it had a crafting station, as your orders from Preston Garvey were clear.

---

No raiders were present, only mole rats and radroaches. Hancock had kept his distance at your request, though you weren’t so oblivious that you failed to notice the way he routinely hovered only a stone’s throw away. The ghoul was caught basking in your shadow more than once, stealing glimpses, a frown pulling down the edges of his thin-lipped mouth. Yet he would move along the moment you laid your eyes on him, as if embarrassed, not wishing to be the victim of your ire.  

Overall, he seemed to be taking things about as well as you had hoped, though he had technically been the one to start it. You weren’t a mind reader, either, refusing to try and decipher his body language despite the moping, waiting for a time you felt more at ease.

Although, it undeniably tugged at your heartstrings—knowing he was suffering in some capacity—but you kept a clear head, focusing on the task at hand—building a radio relay tower from spare parts in order to reach out to others, reclaiming the theater in the name of the Minutemen with the sole purpose of making the Commonwealth a better place, one settlement at a time.

It was when another accursed mole rat burst forth from its earthy den that you yelped in surprise, drawing your double-action revolver almost a moment too late. With teeth nipping at your toes, you shot the beast, Hancock having dashed to your aid.

You glanced back at him, rattled; he seemed satisfied knowing you weren’t hurt, though his gaze lingered, as if there was something on the tip of his tongue. 

After a moment, he asked, “Can we talk?”

“Not right now.” You shook yourself off, taking a deep breath to assist in the slowing of your pulse. You returned to your workstation, deciding it wasn’t appropriate to address any more personal issues at this juncture—you both had a job to do.

“Sure, got it,” Hancock said grouchily, the ghoul wandering off to continue sifting through various piles of refuse for any usable materials to add to your haul, though inside it felt as if gnarled fingers were cinching tightly around his heart. Anxiety was welling within him, as not being on good terms with you did not sit right; beneath the surface, he was a troubled bundle of nerves, though he did not want to rush you by any means.

If only you knew about the disturbing thoughts that were crawling up John’s brainpan, slithering through the cracks to possess his mental faculties, feeding them fear; unsurety, outwardly expressed by way of a sour attitude. So involved was he with the many voices collecting in his head, that he failed to notice when you had finished installing the relay tower, your instincts guiding you to the Starlight Drive-in’s once magnificent three-story screen.

You took the stairs, moving past a shoddy door to climb to the top. The sun was newly risen, a fine mist hanging over the expansive parking lot, rays of light from your planet’s star casting a beautiful glow along remnants of grass, present in patches, though the area was plagued by the contamination of rads—another item on your to-do list. 

You were enjoying the view when you observed Hancock poking around the last place he’d seen you, determining you were in a better mood and willing to talk. You had planned to call out to him when you saw him run the other way, circling the diner, and then the first place you had gathered—the ticket booth where you had exchanged unpleasantries. 

Confused, you continued your study of his erratic behavior, wondering if there was some unknown enemy skulking about, yet Hancock had no weapon drawn, his gait all at once frantic and without rhyme or reason, the ghoul seeming to have no particular destination in mind. 

“Hancock?” you asked yourself quietly, baffled at how John was going insofar as to peek inside doorless cars, or even under them, kicking into a full-fledge run as he made his way toward your perch. He wasn’t paying heed to anything that wasn’t at ground-level, failing to notice you up high above.

“Han—” you were enthralled, the ghoul almost as fast as a feral, which was a less than comforting thought, watching as John ran a lap around the base of the screen. 

You followed, pushing off the railing to walk the few short steps to the opposite side, catching him turn the corner as he looped back around. It wasn’t until you heard his panicked breathing and the terrified whisper of your name that you completely understood, gut clenching as Hancock came to a disconcerting stop. 

The poor thing looked to be having a meltdown, head darting to the left and right, though the only thing visible to you was the top of his tricorn hat. He began to pace, first one direction, and then another, not keeping to east or west, but zigzagging as if he couldn’t decide where to go, or what to do. 

He called your name again, this time louder, sounding more distressed. You could not tear your eyes away as Hancock fell to his knees, fingers digging into soft dirt as the ghoul appeared to be in the throes of a panic attack.

Was he—

Spurred to action, you turned toward the way you came in, quick to rush down the stairs as swiftly as your legs could carry you. You sprinted around the bend of the building, nearly bumping into an abandoned cooking station off to your right, skirting it in the nick of time; you passed behind the structure, witness to a heartbreaking sight.

“Hey,” you whispered, Hancock having pushed himself back against the wall, knees to chest. The ghoul was tightly hugging his own legs, his marred face buried in the folds of his coat.

You weren’t sure what was happening, or why, only that he seemed deeply upset he could not find you, not expecting your brief absence would have such a negative effect. The ghoul was mumbling words you could not discern as you tiptoed forward, bending down to his level to address his huddled form.

“Hanni?” you asked gently, calling him by a pet name you had given him so long ago, John’s head shooting up, onyx eyes glistening, though you dare not think he had shed tears on your behalf. 

Hancock gazed at you, his expression a mix of sadness, incredulity, and stark relief. You placed a hand on his shoulder, concern marking your features, John not budging from his half-fetal position. 

“I thought—" he began, voice cracking, words quavering with an emotion you could not quite define, “—I thought you’d skipped out on me,” he offered pathetically, the amount of hurt present in his eyes enough to make you feel as if you deserved to die. So devastating was the look plastered across his handsome, ghoulish face that you wanted to cry, moving to cup his ruined cheek in the crux of your palm.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, tone soft but firm, staring at your reflection within gorgeous, dark depths, as if the answer lay hidden somewhere deep inside them.

“Because I don’t deserve you; because you can do better than me,” he answered without hesitation, “because who would want to be stuck with this ugly mug; wouldn’t wish it on my own worst enemy,” he finished flatly, Hancock’s dispirited disposition arising from being rejected—that’s not to say he blamed you.

“Didn’t wanna talk, ignoring me, couldn’t find you—just figured you were through,” he continued, tone solemn, making you feel awful. 

You had deeply sinned to make this man react in such a manner—that was your first thought, Hancock’s gloomy mood permeating your defenses. All the walls you had in place came tumbling down, feeling nearly sick to your stomach as you scooched forward, prompting Hancock to drop his knees, legs finding even ground.

“No,” you berated, “none of that is true.” You shifted, straddling the ghoul, your other hand joining its partner to cradle his jaw opposite. “I won’t leave you,” you pledged, placing a kiss atop his furrowed mouth. “The thought never even crossed my mind.”

Hancock searched your face; he expelled a dejected sigh, breathing out through the hollow cavity that once housed his human nose. “You—you’re the best thing I’ve got. I don’t want to lose you, sunshine. I’d be dead in a ditch somewhere if it weren’t for you, hopped up on chems,” he admitted, hanging his head. “But don’t think I would blame you for hittin’ the road. I’d manage, somehow. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to make do, so just say the word. Don’t feel obligated to stick around.” 

“Is that what you think? That I would abandon you? That I would get sick of you? That I don’t want you here by my side? Hancock—” you emphasized, running your thumb over the curve of his ear, forcing him to look squarely at you with a gentle redirection, “—I mean it when I say I love you,” you lamented, kissing his raised flesh. “Please, don’t doubt me.” 

John lifted his head with your help, the concave divot residing front and center brushing lightly across your cheek. He presented you with a kiss this time, his cock enlivening beneath you, unable to help his arousal at the admission of your heartfelt words. 

“I won’t, not anymore,” he promised, another kiss administered, and then another, returning each touch of his lips with one of your own until they picked up in fervor, Hancock’s sly tongue subtly snaking its way between your teeth. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” you cooed, warm, wet muscles intertwining in an orchestrated dance that rekindled the deep-seated ache of your loins. 

“You listen so well,” you needled playfully; you had the ghoul’s number, knowing just what made him tick.

Hancock moaned a sound of gratitude, your impromptu praise causing his prick to flex, lean, wilted fingers creeping forward to place themselves deliberately along your thighs; they ran up the dips in your hips, and smoothed over the shape of your waist.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hancock grated between avid swirls. His cock was riding up against your slinky blue vault suit—like liquid latex poured to conform to your body, it fit tight as a glove.

John held no complaints, only that you were still wearing it. Fortunately, you had ideas. 

“Being such a good boy for me,” you teased, your own hands roving, exploring the contours of his slender chest and waist, sweeping back and forth; you hooked his partially corroded throat, carefully capturing Hancock between the crook of your palm, thumb trailing his Adam’s apple in a light caress. 

“Not sure you know what that does to me,” he purred, the ghoul at your mercy as you gyrated your hips, your own sex succinctly aligned as you massaged his erection through faded black slacks.  

“Are you so sure?” you asked, grinning into your kiss, one of Hancock’s hands sneaking along synthetic fibers for three fingers to stroke the underside of your jumper. He pushed up only slightly, cupping your mound; you felt it in your core, a subdued moan breathed straight into the ghoul’s mouth—Hancock was so turned on, it was a wonder he didn’t just nut right then and there.

“You teasin’ me, sunshine?” John panted, groping your breast, digits fingering stitchwork; you bit down on your bottom lip as you reached for the clasp at the front of your collar.

“Get this off me,” you instructed, fumbling with the pull of your zipper.

“Is that a request?” Hancock asked cheekily, though he did not expect an answer.

“An order,” you responded, feigning authority, Hancock doing as he was told, though there was a hint of a smile crawling up the side of his face. 

“Yes, ma’am,” the ghoul chortled wryly, watching as you shed your suit like a second skin. You ushered it past the arc of your shoulders, the slopes of your breasts, to the base of your hips, leaving yourself half naked and assailable; John was unable to help his amorous stare.

“You’re so beautiful,” he declared, moving to knead doughy flesh, mouth finding your throat; Hancock sucked the sweat off your flawless skin, his other hand working its way underneath what was left of your vault suit, two fingers dipping into your already soaked cunt. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, slipping in and out, thumb pushing itself between the folds of your labia to rub your throbbing bud. 

“Yes, let’s,” you returned, swirling your hips, riding Hancock’s thick fingers as you clumsily moved to untie the flag wrapped about his narrow waist. 

“Right here?” he asked, perplexed. Though not one to argue, being out in the open without cover was dangerous; he knew better than anyone the risks of the Wastes. 

“I want you,” you answered, as if that in and of itself was all he needed to hear. You knew there might be consequences, but at that moment, your hormones were the ones in charge, a sharp gasp escaping as John’s fingers curled against the anterior wall of your sex.

“I’m all yours, love, forever,” Hancock vowed, following your example. He hastily unbuckled his pants after releasing your tit with reluctance, pushing apart the flaps to withdraw his glaring hard on; precum was already seeping out the slit at its head. 

“Promise me,” you insisted, lifting up off your thighs—and Hancock’s fingers—to shimmy the rest of your suit down toward your knees. It might be a little awkward, but you were too desperate to care, taking up the ghoul’s girth in the breadth of your palm.

“Cross my heart and hope to—” 

“Don’t you dare,” you protested, shoving your tongue back into John’s mouth, guiding his cock inside you. You sank down onto your haunches, inch by delicious inch, his variegated shaft filling you full up.

Then, the ghoul went rigid. “But sunshine, what about—” 

“Shhh, that’s it,” you whispered, though Hancock hadn’t done anything to warrant a reprimand. It was your own descent that had you crooning, dipping forward to feel that delightful pressure snug against your walls. 

“Not sure you wanna end up like—”

“—I took one a few hours ago, remember?” The darling man was more concerned with your well-being than even you; you could physically feel the tension leaving his body, John relieved to know you had things under control.

“You do love me,” you stated breezily, flicking the tip of your tongue inside the helix of the ghoul’s ear; Hancock shuddered, both his hands returning to your hips, touch featherlight, prompting you to press your palms against the partition behind him to prop yourself up on either side of his head.

“Wouldn’t mind you turnin’ Ghoul,” he replied throatily, thinkin’ spending an eternity with you sounded like the best damn thing a guy could ask for. 

Hancock watched with bated breath as you rose up to enshroud him in your shadow, breasts level with his eyes. He groaned his appreciation, seizing your right nipple between puckered lips, John’s bony hips pushing up against the round of your ass. The ghoul sucked diligently, dull nails clawing gingerly into supple, human flesh, incapable of keeping a straight face.

“What was all that about not doubting each other?” John huskily reminded you, the point of his tongue flitting against your sensitive skin. He returned to suckling, as if a babe latched to nurse, the hand left idle finally slipping down your thigh. Hancock spread your lower lips apart with the underside of two fingers, a third taking its place atop your thrumming clit, engorged with blood. 

“Shut up,” you urged, wanting him to belay speaking for fear the moment might spoil, Hancock grunting in indignation before he bit down lightly on your nip. 

You gasped a broken breath, cunt rising to the head of his cock. You dropped back down; Hancock bottomed out, sequestered in the deepest part of you, snug as anything, the ghoul hypnotized by your pretty writhing. 

“Why don’t you make me.” Hancock intensified the patient revolutions of blotched fingers, dragging you down by compressing your cheeks with his thumb and index; you slumped your shoulders just enough, angling to meet his current height, tossing your arms about John’s neck to humor him with another passionate kiss.

“Done.” You rocked forward, feeling Hancock’s sizeable member immured to its base. Indecent sounds kept each other company, the squish of your conjoined loins combining with the wet, obscene spirals of your whorling tongues. It wouldn’t take much longer to climax, your slick cunt tightening its grip on John’s rock-hard cock. 

The ghoul’s chest heaved between ragged breaths, Hancock practicing his self-control. He didn’t want to cum until you did, sliding his palm up to carefully cradle the small protrusion distending your lower abdomen. 

Feeling the outline of himself inside you was nearly too much to handle, a visible tremor preceding what was to be an early warning.

“I-I can’t hold back, angel.”

“Wait,” you countered, guiding the ghoul’s head toward your breasts, driving his noseless face into your cleavage; Hancock’s tricorn shifted backward as he followed your lead. He vested himself in the cocoon of your limbs,  moaning his approval, grabbing onto a fistful of ass as your back arched in pleasure. 

You opened your eyes to gaze at the sky—it was pale blue and cloudless, for once.

You came hard, the flat of John’s palm supporting your spine as you released your ecstasy to the heavens, the ghoul’s tepid seed discharging in spurts to paint your inner walls white; his ejaculate had been offered as payment for your lovely little song.

The ghoul felt overwhelmed and full of deep affection for you; Hancock’s teeth bore down on beautiful, unblemished skin; he broke capillaries, drawing your blood to the surface, leaving his mark in the form of a dark red welt. 

You gasped at the bite, Hancock ensconcing you tightly in his arms, both of you allowing your orgasms to run their course. His grip was a comfortable vise, brittle nails burrowing into lithe flesh with almost paradoxical tenderness; John was always so careful with you.

From an outsider’s perspective, the embrace of a ghoul meant certain death, with the expectancy you would be rent into unrecognizable pieces. Such a pose as you presented now was questionable, one that evoked alarm from bystanders, settlers who had followed the beacon to their new home, expecting to find the general of the Minutemen, but not like this.

“Ghoul!” someone shouted; you heard the shuffling of leather, the clink of metal.

“No!” you yelled, protecting your lover with the entirety of your body, encapsulating his slight frame. You shielded his vitals with your bare back, hunkering down to speak to these newcomers over the peak of your shoulder. 

“He’s not feral!” you growled, hating that you had to defend him, knowing how John must feel at this moment as he gazed up at you with surprised, wide eyes. You cared not that a horde of people had seen you naked; you only cared for Hancock, determined to preserve him and all his parts.

In reality, the ghoul was seconds from tears, knowing—without a doubt—that you had meant what you said. You were guarding his wretched life with your own without question, willing to die to keep him from harm, just as he gladly would have sacrificed himself to see you live another day. 

A day, he thought, that might have been better off without him, but now he was glad to be alive (in some form or another), swallowing hard against the knot in his throat, eyes never once leaving your impassioned face.

“We’re together; we came here together, and we will leave here together, do I make myself clear?”

A person stepped forward, separating themselves from the crowd. “Yes, General,” they said, having fortunately, or rather unfortunately, recognized you.

With a sigh of relief, those gathered departed. John practically smothered you, so forceful was his hug that it nearly choked the air from your lungs. 

Hancock didn’t know what he’d done to get someone like you, and he was afraid to ask. If there were any powers at be—something, or someone—watching over him, he supposed he’d owe them one, but for now he was more than happy to count his blessings. And the sad thing was, everything, all of it, could be a dream—or one long, hallucinatory chem-trip. If this turned out to be nothing but a fucked up Jet flashback, he’d just as soon never wake up. 

“I’ll follow you to the end of the Wastes,” Hancock blurted, voice strained and rasping, fingers; arms; chest tightening as he spoke against soft tufts of hair. “You and me together, the world ain’t got a prayer.”

Despite what had just transpired, you cradled him against the bow of your neck, oblivious to the inner workings of his mind, only wishing to absorb him, for him to live in the space between your ribs that stored your heart. All you wanted was to keep him safe for all time, knowing that he deserved the world, though the ghoul would most certainly outlive you. 

It was a melancholy thought, if ever one existed, but you did not allow your mind to dwell. “Sweet man,” you murmured, “it doesn’t stand a chance in hell.”

—-

Fallout Masterlist

[rags-writes]

My Master List

Ao3 : Rags_Writes

Tik tok : Rags_Writes

Please follow to show you support.

Request status: Open go here for the rules.

Arcane (League Of Legends):

Holidays Special:

2022 -

Arcane's Valentine’s Day - Valentine’s day with you and your Arcane lover.

Series:

The Crime Lord's Secretary

Part One - Let Me Be Yours - Being the secretary to the biggest crime lord in the Undercity had plenty of perks. Like being able to wear and look how ever Alice wanted to. None of that topside shit of having to look a certain way to be professional. The hours where long but the pay makes up for it. Even if she was to run late, she didn’t live far, just one floor above the office. Not to mention a boss with a voice that seem to caress her body every time he spoke, he was even finer to look at.

Of course with the perks came cons. The likelihood of being murdered increases with each step she takes deeper in the crime world. Even by her own boss but that was nothing compared to the situation Alice finds herself in this moment.

Call of Duty:

Requests -

Untitled (Konig x Reader) - Rated M - Requested by @apollodarling-writes - After a mission, you find yourself unable to sleep, so a quick trip to steal Ghost's tea should help you fall asleep unless you run into another masked giant who had been plaguing your mind.

Lean on Me (Ghost & Reader) - Rated T - You're the youngest on the 141 squad, yet you've been with them for two years and they still treat you like a rookie. Hell, they still call you the rookie callsign but you don't let that bring you down. Then you go home and when you come back, you're different. That spark you had disappeared and Ghost is determent to get it back even if it means he actually has to talk.

Headcanons -

When you accidentally bump into them - Ghost and Soap

141 helps you move headcanons - Price, Ghost, Soap and Gaz

Cyberpunk 2077:

Headcanons -

What would they impulse buy at the grocery store?

One-shot -

Voice in my head, Gun in my hand - Life can go all sorts of ways. One minute I'm having the time of my life. Next, my best friend is dead. I get a brain parasite. Said parasite is killing me. I fall in love with him. Then he leaves and I'm still dying. I still see him, taunting me but I can't let go. I can't take it anymore, I'm at the end of my rope.

Play it on Repeat - V's mourning her best friend on a rainy day and Johnny is surprisingly comforting.

FanFic -

When Two Seconds Chances Collide - Johnny wasn't the only victim of Soulkiller. A girl with red eyes haunts his past. When he wakes up in 2077 stuck in the head of a thief who has secrets that she doesn't even know. He can help him think of their similar traits as he think of could have be. Will he be able to change or will he down down in flames again?

V is just a thief, or that what she tells everyone. A nobody but with hidden talent and no memory from a young age she left to wonder if she really is a nobody. when a heist goes wrong she is left with a dead best friend and a terrorist stuck in her head. on a timer she race to find a way to save herself before the engram kills her. Unfortunately for her the engram also stir up an emotion in her that she didn't even know was possible. Not mentioning her recurring nightmares are getting worst of flash of event that she never live through or could ever live through. Will she be able to put together the puzzle before her time runs out?

Dragon Age Inquisition:

Headcanons -

^Nothing here for now^

One-shot -

The Path You Cannot Follow - Rated T - Waking in a place full of shadows, Solas sees only his mistake. On the path of redemption that leads to just one destination: Death. He accepts his fate and goes on his path but when one shadow appears to be too radiant, Solas struggles to turn away from her.

Marauders Era

Remember everyone Fuck JK Rowling, this shit is mine.(Legally it's not but you know what I mean)

Series:

Drowning Fate

Part 1 - Drowning Change - Regulus had accepted his fate, drowning alone in his cave in the hope that others would destroy the dark lord, but someone changed his fate, and he now has hope of living till the end of the war.

Headcanons :

Starchaser -My Collections of headcanons and drabbles of James Fleamont Potter. These will be the backstory for James in any of my fanfic of him unless stated otherwise in any of the fanfic.

Sunseeker - My collections of headcanons and drabbles of Regulus Arcturus Black. These will be the backstory for Regulus in any of my fanfic of him unless stated otherwise in any of the fanfic.

Collaborations With Hale_Grey

Series:

Marauders Era -

Stars Realign

Book One - The Flies in the Spider's Web - After a prank gone wrong, Sirius and Regulus reunite on the Quidditch pitch and an unexpected wish sends the brothers back in time. Now they have a chance of changing the future, ending the war, and saving everyone. But will they be able to heal years of pain and regret to do so, or will they repeat the same mistakes that tore them apart in the first place?

Remember to heart, leave kudos and comments to show you're support.

[ghoul-foolery]

Dirty Windows | 11 | Nora x Hancock

A Fallout 4 Soulmate AU

\\

Fic Summary:

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.

When Nora thought for sure she was going to die too, the pain stopped – and then there was nothing. Nothing but the emptiness. Nothing but the grief. Half of her soul was suddenly gone forever. She was dropped in the middle of the ocean, drifting among the waves with no land in sight. Then just as suddenly she had been cast adrift, she found land. The hole was filled the moment it had been created. As she gripped Nate’s vault suit and begged him to open his eyes, Nora found herself battling with the horrifying realization that she had another soulmate; that some stranger had taken Nate's place.

\\

[ 1 ] <- [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ] - [ 12 ]

\\

“You’re lying. In what world would bottle caps be a viable currency?”

Hancock snorted into his water, grinning like a fool as he watched the woman stare at a handful of blood-spattered bottle caps. This was all he had wanted from the very beginning – conversation. He didn’t need deep and meaningful interaction. He just wanted to get to know his soulmate, so he delighted in their small talk.

“In this world,” he replied. “Why else would every one of these bastards have bottle caps on ‘em?”

“I don’t know – maybe it’s a hobby. Like collecting stamps.”

“Stamps? People collect those things?”

She deposited the bottle caps into her bag without a whole lot of care as she grumbled, “Not anymore, apparently.”

Once the situation had been resolved, Hancock found that he rather enjoyed walking his soulmate through her first firefight. The woman was a good listener; whenever he told her to adjust her grip or her footing, she did it. When he told her to make a run for better cover, she bolted. At the end of the altercation, Hancock had told her to take a moment to breathe. It was then, and only then, when she had finally crumbled. It was as if she had came out of some sort of fugue state, and was coping with everything she had done. The woman had dropped to the ground, coming to rest on her knees. It was there, in a folded heap, where she started to take deliberate, slow breaths. The anger that had been crackling between them finally dissolved.

“Y’did good,” he had said. “Yer a helluva shot.” There hadn't been a response, only more deep breathing. He frowned slowly; so it was back to the cold shoulder. Regardless, he would consider the day a win. His soulmate had finally spoken to him. He reached to her, and she reached to him. He’d never felt the feeling of home like he had in that moment. The feeling of completion. He didn’t want to let that go. Hancock proved he could help. But the day was a win, he insisted to himself. It was a start. 

“Just… give me a second, please,” She had whispered between breaths. 

Hancock had made an attempt to redirect her attention. He would let her take a moment to catch up, but he didn’t want her to dwell in some dark pit of guilt.

“Hey,” he had said in a near whisper. “Let’s check the bodies.”

She did. Remaining calm, and sticking to her slow breaths, the woman methodically searched the bodies of the fallen raiders. Ammo, guns, drugs and caps littered the floor around her within seconds. Hancock told her which ammo was compatible with the gun she was toting, and walked her through the steps of reloading an old sawed off shotgun.

“What’s up with these guys and bottle caps?” she had said, mostly to herself than to him.

Before he knew it, he was explaining the currency of the post-apocalyptic world. He silently marveled over the fact that this wasn’t common knowledge before reminding himself that this woman crawled out of a vault just recently. Maybe they still used that paper currency in there.

As his woman stowed everything into her pack he took a seat at the chair that was still perched near the window. “Ya know,” he drawled. “Yer handling all this a lot better than I expected. Y’haven’t got sick yet, anyway.”

“That’s, uh… That’s all you, actually,” she said as she double-checked the magazine. She had a spare mag now, a shotgun.

Hancock scrunched his brows as he shook out a cigarette from the pack. “It’s comin’ from you, though.”

“It is, but it isn’t. You don’t know how to block out my emotions, and I’m currently channeling yours, so. That’s all you.”

Hancock put his feet up in the sill, taking a deep pull from the cigarette. “So when I started feelin’ super pissy…”

“That was you, too. You were angry, and that was better than being scared out of my mind. I used your anger, and you picked up on it coming from me…”

So the only reason why she was talking with him was because she was leeching off of his emotions. The realization stung a bit. He reminded himself that progress was progress. A win was a win. Hancock decided he would keep being useful. If that was the only way he could get his foot in the door, so be it.

“My inexperience paid off. That’s a first,” he said with a wry smile. She didn’t laugh. So much for jokes. “Hey, so whaddarya doin’ in this place anyway? You obviously ain’t makin’ friends.”

There was a long, heavy exhale and then she started making her way further into the building, up a rickety flight of stairs. “Guy on the balcony said that there were settlers inside.”

Hancock scoffed, “Sounds like a fuckin’ trap t’me, sister.”

The woman didn’t reply. She kept making her way deeper and deeper into the building. She didn't need help taking out her attackers; she knew how to grip the gun, how to stand and aim. Now that she knew her shit, she just needed his help to keep a level head. He stayed with her until Fahrenheit came barging into his office. 

Fahrenheit looked murderous. He quietly slipped away from his soulmate. Despite severing his part of the connection, he could still feel his soulmate’s presence lingering with his; it was as if she was standing beside him. She would probably stick around until she was finished using his emotions. In the meantime, he would endeavor to remain calm and collected. 

“Well, heya stranger,” he said to Fahrenheit. He was eager to tell her of his progress but Fahrenheit didn’t look at all amused. Fahr suffered from resting bitch-face anyway, but after a brief once-over, Hancock was able to tell that she was pissed. More pissed than usual, anyway. Pissed-pissed, one could say. “You kids have fun killin’ muteys?”

“Finn is gonna be a real fuckin’ problem for you.”

Hancock blinked his surprise, then took another drag of his cigarette. Fahrenheit was reaching for her own pack of cigarettes. When Hancock flipped open his lighter she leaned in close and lit up. “Aw, Fahr, ya didn't like yer playdate?”

“I’m serious, Hancock!” A heavy plume of smoke rolled past her lips with each word.

There went his good mood. Hancock dropped his lighter back in his pocket, and gestured for the angry woman to take a seat. She did, and then she launched into the events that took place that day. It didn't take long for Fahrenheit to supply him with all of the juicy details. She wasn’t one to embellish. It would seem that one of his better fighters didn’t really favor how Goodneighbor was being ran – and he wasn’t really keeping those opinions secret. He wanted Fahrenheit’s help taking over, he thought he would be able to win her over – but Hancock and Fahrenheit went way back. He paid her, sure, but he paid all of his employees. Fahrenheit’s loyalty was deeper than her pockets, but Finn didn’t have to know that.

“Asshole was so fucking cocky,” Fahrenheit seethed. “’ You and me can run this place’ – fuckin’ dickhead.”

“Yeah, but what didja say to him?”

“Nothing,” she growled, pinching off the end of her third cigarette with her index finger and thumb.

“Nothing?”

“I don’t talk to idiots.”

He chuckled, rising to his feet. There was a filing cabinet tucked against his work desk. He pulled a bottle of ancient whiskey from one of the drawers and unscrewed the cap. There was some potential for a damn good plan here. He could let Finn keep running his mouth and turn a blind eye. If Finn accumulated any followers, he could get them all taken care of in one fell swoop. After taking a swig from the bottle, he passed it to Fahrenheit, who guzzled down a couple fingers worth of the alcohol. She held the bottle out towards him.

They settled on the couch and shared the bottle, basking in contemplative silence for what seemed like a handful of minutes before Hancock finally came up with an idea worth sharing.

“So what if we—“

“-ELP! HELP! SIR!”

As Hancock’s entire body jolted in surprise, he fumbled the bottle and it clattered to the ground. Alcohol spilled all over the floor. He gasped like he had been stabbed.

“Hancock?” Fahrenheit stood suddenly, her hand dropping to her pistol as she took a step back out of caution. Her reaction pained him (did she think he was going feral?), but he paid it no mind as he reached out towards his soulmate. Images overlapped until he focused on what his soulmate was seeing – and he damn near shit himself.

While sitting in his office, Hancock got a first person point of view of a deathclaw barreling towards his soulmate. He was completely and totally unable to hold back his yell of shock. His body lurched back again, swinging over the arm of the couch. He flopped onto the ground like a sack of tatos. His soulmate’s body was encased in power armor. He could see plating dancing in his periphery, could also feel the padding of the helmet encasing her head. The weapon in his woman’s hands was heavy — fuck, it was a whole-ass minigun. The end of the weapon was spinning, red and angry, but there were no bullets.

“Holy shit,” he heaved. The deathclaw lunged, teeth and claws bared. “HOLY SHIT!” The minigun dropped to the ground with a deafening thud, and a heavily armored fist shot out, ramming into the deathclaw’s open maw. The fist opened, and then clenched down around the bottom half of the creature’s jaw. “Where the fuck is your gun!? Why the fuck are yoU HOLDING ON TO IT LET GO! ” He was yelling at the top of his lungs. He had never felt more horrified in his entire life.

The door to his office slammed open, he could see people dancing in his periphery, and several voices yelled out to him. Fahrenheit yelled back, telling them to lower their weapons and stand down.

With one fist holding the deathclaw hostage, the other raised high and slammed into its head. The first hit slammed into its skull. The second caught on the creature’s giant curved horn. There was an awful pain that blossomed in his wrist, as if his soulmate’s sprained.

“STOP PUNCHING THE THING — WHERE IS YOUR GUN!?” 

Another solid punch to its head, and then his woman tucked tail and ran. Or tried to. The armor was cumbersome. Too heavy, too bulky, to run fast and yet she put her all into creating distance between her and the creature. She tore around the corner of a dilapidated building, the deathclaw hot on her heels.

“How do I kill it?!”

“WITH MORE AMMO!”

There was a mess of bodies strewn about the front of the old building, all freshly killed. She continued to charge forward, only to skid to a complete stop. She dropped to her knees and started sifting through the bodies. There was gun fire, not from her, but from another source. And then there was yelling, someone shouting at her. A shotgun was pulled from the blood and gore – a measly, ancient pump action. She pivoted on her armored knee, the plating grinding into something soft and slick. It helped her pivot with ease. She raised the weapon and took aim.

Hancock, still sprawled on the floor in his office, watched helplessly as the deathclaw leapt towards his soulmate once more.

//

Tag List: @takottai / @a-little-pebbl / @brainrot-extravaganza

[rubin-therubix-loverofblorbos]

OMFG I AM CRYING

I JUST STUMBLED UPON A POST WITH THIS BOOK QUOTE AND..... I HAVE A HEADCANON JOHN PLAYS THE VIOLA AND NICK PLAYS THE PIANO AND THEY STAYED TOGETHER AFTER NICK WENT ROUGE AND JOHN WENT FERAL AND NICK SPEAKS IN MORSE CODE AND JOHN GROWLS AND THEY TRY TO IMITATE EACH OTHER SO THEY CAN COMMUNICATE AND I'M SOBBING.

[this-violence-of-mine]

svavar knutur's emotional anorexic is literally the only song i will always associate with preston/hancock.

you're brave and you're strong i am timid and wrong/you're a diamond and i am but coal/you're the moon and the stars i am ashes and tar/you're a nightingale i am a mole

fucking tell me this isn't what they think whenever they look at each other

[iwritefandomimagines]

NOT MY FIRST RODEO — COOPER HOWARD/THE GHOUL

masterlist

part two | part three [coming soon]

pairing: cooper howard/the ghoul x reader, mentions of john hancock x reader hehe

description: the tension between you and cooper had been palpable for ages, and he was beginning to struggle to deny his attachment to you — despite his reluctance. he’s certain you’d never really be interested in him like that, until he finds out he’s not the first ghoul to enjoy your company.

warnings: swearing, jealous!coop, sexual references/implied smut, angst, making out, mentions of drug taking

author’s note: writers block was POOF! gone the minute i rewatched fallout last week & restarted fallout 4. hancock will always be my bf so i couldn’t help myself from mentioning him. let me know if u want a part two with actual smut! i only left it out because i don’t really usually write smut on this blog haha.

—

Cooper Howard and John Hancock were by no means what you’d call friends.

However, as much as it pained him to admit it, the former knew that the latter was — by the standards of many — a good man who’d do the right thing to help others when needed.

That was why, however begrudgingly, he’d suggested that you spend the last few hours of today’s daylight making the short trip to Goodneighbor to stay ‘for a while’.

It was clear that an intense few days, hunting a difficult son of a bitch of a bounty, had very much tested your limits.

He told himself that, given the amount of caps that said son of a bitch had earned you, you could afford a couple of days laying low in Goodneighbor before picking up another job.

Well there was that and the fact that much to his dismay, in the short time you’d been accompanying him on the road he’d found himself irritatingly attached to you.

When he’d first stumbled upon you while collecting a bounty you’d failed to deliver on yourself, you’d enthusiastically offered your companionship and he’d fervently denied it.

You knew he doubted you’d be any use based on your circumstances when you met, but despite your reassurances that it was just because he was the notorious fucking ghoul that everyone went on about and he had simply beaten you to it, he dismissed you with a “not a chance, sweetheart,” and went on his way.

But when he kept bumping into you in the following days, he’d given in and afforded you the luxury of helping him out on this one job — allowing himself the comfort of the excuse that if he really needed, he could trade you for caps and say goodbye to the pretty girl so oddly desperate to be at his side.

You’d driven him crazy at first — full of questions and curiosity, never refraining from voicing what was on your mind.

The way you watched him so carefully, all doe-eyed and attentive, had initially just pissed him off. But in the weeks that followed this had mellowed, and he’d found himself almost grateful to have someone so comfortable around him.

He’d never admit that though.

You’d just been much more skilled in combat than he had expected. That’s why he told himself he kept you around.

He totally just figured that it couldn’t hurt to have someone close by who can handle themselves and is willing to take just a tiny stake of a bounty (on your part, you figured there was no need to take more — he basically spent his share with you anyway).

You, on the other hand, didn’t want to admit that you had been lonely and desperate and missing the life you’d previously been so comfortable in when Cooper walked — well, stormed, into your life.

He might not ever have intended to (in fact — if he’d known, he’d probably never have let you get so close) but upon gradually letting you into his life he’d nestled his way into the empty little nook left behind in your heart.

“Why did you hesitate when I said Goodneighbor?”

Oh yeah, there was that.

When you’d left Goodneighbor all those months ago, you’d left with a broken heart and a head full of hazy memories of the happiness that the place had once brought you.

“I didn’t hesitate.”

“You sure as shit did, and even you know you’re a damn bad liar,” the Ghoul scoffed, pausing his pacing and turning to look you in the eye, “What does a pretty little thing like you know about Goodneighbor?”

You folded your arms over your chest, shaking your head at him as his steely eyes bore into yours, “Nothing. Just odd you’re suddenly so eager to go hide away somewhere when you’ve called me all sorts’a names any time I’ve asked for even a short rest break.”

“You’re full’a shit,” his hand flew instinctively to the shotgun at his hip before he released a deep sigh and relaxed it, “So I’m gonna ask you one more time. What do you know about Goodneighbor?”

You pondered for a moment whether or not to keep lying to him — he didn’t know much of your full past beyond the fact that you’d been a vault dweller a long time ago and been fighting for a living since.

You’d settled briefly in a number of places, though, and he’d heard too many stories about times you’d left settlements for various reasons to believe that you’d be too scared to return anywhere with him at your side.

Especially not somewhere like Goodneighbor.

“I—was living there for a while,” you shrugged, avoiding his gaze again now, “Didn’t like it.”

The Ghoul laughed humourlessly at that, “C’mon sweetheart, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“I didn’t feel—look there’s just someone I don’t really want to see round there, okay?” your eyes didn’t leave the floor as he took a step closer to you, heavy breaths almost taunting further information from you.

“And who might that be?”

You looked up at him for just a second before eyeing the dust below your feet again, “I was, well, I lived there quite a while. I was—seeing, well, romantically— uh, there was—,”

“Spit it out, sunshine.”

Sunshine.

You’d not been called that since the day you left Goodneighbor the last time, and you cursed yourself for physically recoiling at the sound of it.

“Well I’ll be fuckin’ damned. You got a thing for ghouls, huh?” the wicked grin on his face set your stomach alight with a combination of emotions, “Didn’t peg a pretty little thing like you as the type. That why you spent so long beggin’ me to take you with me? Little vaultie princess desperate for another ghoul to defile her?”

You were crimson red now.

You didn’t know how to react, startled by the fact that he knew who you meant based upon your reaction to the term.

Hancock had always been charismatic and flirtatious though — it was no wonder Cooper had heard him use the phrase before.

You were almost angry, immensely embarrassed and yet, at the same time, a little aroused by even his insinuation that he knew that you wanted him in that way.

You’d found him attractive almost immediately and yeah, maybe he was right and you did seem to have a thing for ghouls.

But you sure as hell weren’t going to let him stand there and make you feel embarrassed right now.

“That’s not it, it’s not some kind of—like—,”

“Hancock got bored of ya and you latched onto the next irradiated motherfucker you came across?” he spat, “Bet you regret it now you know that I sure as shit ain’t nothin’ like your precious old mayor.”

Somewhere in the harshness of his tone you were sure you could detect a hint of jealousy at the root of his mocking.

You sighed defeatedly, “I wasn’t looking for some kind of fucking replacement when I met you, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I just— you just— well— Whatever, it’s hardly like you’ve made any suggestion you’d want me if I made a move on you anyway.”

His eyes seemed impossibly dark now, narrowed on you as his finger reached up to tilt your chin upwards towards him, “Is that right, sweetheart?”

Your legs were like jelly beneath you, a jolt of lightning in your veins at his touch.

“Sure, you flirt with me, but you’re so damn up ‘n’ down sometimes that I don’t know if it means anything,” you shrugged, skin tingling as his fingers lingered beneath your chin, “If I was lookin’ to replace John, it would’ve taken more than you being a ghoul for that.”

If he still had eyebrows, they’d have been raised now, his eyes rolling, “Right, nobody comes close to Mr. Righteous Mayor.”

His breath fanned over your face, his eyes returning to stare into yours as if looking for a reaction he knew you wouldn’t want to give him.

But you were all riled up now — so he was going to get one.

“What, is this a pity party? You want me to tell you he’s not all that? That I’m better off now I’ve found you? Oh Coop… I want you, I need you, you’re better than him. Only ghoul for me,” you mocked, pressing your hand to your forehead in feigned fawning before snapping back to seriousness, as he watched you frustratedly.

“Like I said, you weren’t a replacement. I wanted company and somewhere along the way I’ve been fuckin’ stupid enough to like your company more than I should,” you huffed, “You don’t have to pretend you want more than this flirty-but-I-hate-you-a-little arrangement ‘cos you’re jealous knowing I’ve had much, much more than that with someone else— and another ghoul at that.”

A growl left his throat at your words, his hand meeting your waist and pushing you forward so that your back was pressed against the wall.

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game here, sweetheart,” he warned, “And it’s one you won’t win.”

Your head fell back in frustration and met the wall with a small thud as his other hand pressed firmly against the wall beside it.

“You think I feel inadequate or something?” he snarled, and for a moment you weren’t sure if the question was rhetorical.

“How the fuck should I know? It’s hardly like you let me know how you’re feeling ever,” you sighed, your mind growing increasingly cloudy at your close proximity and his hand still on your waist, “That’s all I meant about John. It’s nice to know someone wants you… Hell, it’s even nice to be told when they don’t no more just as long as you’re being told.”

He was baring his teeth in a snarl still, but his lips began curling back up into a smirk, “You think I don’t want ya? Think I haven’t thought about it when you’re at my side like a fuckin’ dog on a leash looking at me all doe eyed an’ fuckable?”

Your cheeks couldn’t have been more flushed, and you knew he could feel the way your thighs clenched together at his words.

“Then why haven’t you done anything about it?” your response was a breathy whisper, the hairs on your neck pricking up and your heart thumping hard against your ribcage.

“Oh that’s a whole can of worms you don’t want opened, sweetheart,” he licked his lips, “Sweet little thing like you shouldn’t be with someone like me. But looks like I ain’t gotta worry about that, huh? Hancock’s already spoiled ya.”

You broke his intense gaze for a moment, eyes finding the floor as your teeth grazed your lips shyly at the weight of his words.

You couldn’t help the feeling that swelled in your chest at the lingering jealousy, and hearing him talk about wanting you as badly as you’d wanted him all this time gave you the confidence to push it.

“Oh he spoiled me good, you’re right,” you shrugged antagonistically, trying to quell the pain that still sat in your chest — albeit pain that took up much less space now that you’d found Cooper.

He scoffed, “That’s fightin’ talk for someone who don’t wanna see him again, darlin’.”

“Yeah well, he made me the happiest I’d been in the Wasteland since I left the vault and then tossed me aside ‘cause he got it in his head that I didn’t actually wanna be with him, like I must’ve been using him for his power and couldn’t really love him ‘cause he’s a fuckin’ ghoul — as if I didn’t know that when we met,” you grunted, “That’s all the fuckin’ chems for ya.”

Cooper leaned in closer to you now, “Well he’s a fuckin’ bigger idiot than I already thought he was, giving up you when he had ya all to himself like that.”

“Figure he doesn’t care. Might as well be married to Goodneighbor anyway.”

There was silence between you for a moment, nothing but heaved breaths and heavy eye contact as you pieced together what to do next.

You watched Cooper’s eyes flicker down to your lips for a moment, and could almost see the conflict behind them as he battled the urge to kiss you.

“I don’t wanna see him, but I don’t still want him, if that’s what’s stopping you,” you gulped, “In case it’s not loud and clear, I want you. Just didn’t wanna see him without any confirmation you aren’t gonna rock up there and declare me as some kinda fuckin’ pet and humiliate me even more than he did.”

“Enough talk about him,” Cooper growled, one hand pulling your face to his by the jaw, “If he don’t realise what he’s missin’, I definitely fuckin’ do.”

Finally, he kissed you.

Your hands flew around his neck, lips meeting his with equal fiery passion and pure need.

His one hand still remained cupping your jaw, whilst the other explored the waistband of your trousers earnestly, thumbing at your hipbone.

Finally, after all of these weeks of pining and sexual tension, Cooper Howard was giving you exactly what you needed — and all thoughts of John Hancock melted away.

You found yourself pulling him as close as physically possible, allowing him to press you against the wall as he stole your breath with the intensity of the kiss.

“Mightn’t be your first rodeo, sugar,” his lips pressed just behind your ear as he spoke, “But I’m sure as shit gonna make it feel like it is.”

———

eeeee please lmk if you’d like a part two with smut. or just a part two where they eventually go to goodneighbor. please feel free to request more coop or some hancock, and be warned there are more coop x hancock’s gf/ex!reader fics in the drafts because i can’t stop myself!!!!

in the meantime — here’s my masterlist.