#john hancock x you

[hanckocks-dagger]

(In other words)

masterlist

John Hancock x gn!Reader

Description: While high on Hancock's couch, you get ready to tell him you're leaving Goodneighbor tomorrow. Trouble is, the thought of kissing him just keeps distracting you.

Tags: First kiss, getting together, Hancock is a simp. Reader could be viewed as SoSu or not. No pronouns used for reader, no use off y/n

Warnings: Recreational drug use (jet), smoking, canon typical swearing.

Cross posted on my ao3!

You were leaving Goodneighbor tomorrow. Sitting idle made you antsy, and it had already been several days since the urge to wander had struck. You'd only stuck around because... well.

"You want another hit?" Hancock asked from the other end of the couch, head lolling on the back of it, dark eyes turned to yours, canister of jet held out to you.

After a long moment of consideration, your jet-addled brain working overtime to comprehend, you shook your head mutely. Hancock shrugged his shoulder and stuck the canister into his mouth.

"Fhoot-eulf," He said incomprehensibly around the spout, then pressed down on the mechanism. His whole body sagged further into the couch, somehow managing to look even calmer than he had after the last three hits of Jet. Even if ghouls really did have higher chem resistance than lowly humans like yourself, you were sure Hancock topped them all. You'd had one Jet to his four, and he'd also spent the morning working his way through a Brandy bottle, which you'd always found made your heavy-limbed high feel a little more like paralysis than a comforting buzz.

Probably a good ten seconds after Hancock had spoken, you let out a muffled, "hmm?", cheek smushed into the couch so you could keep staring at him.

Those black eyes, momentarily distracted by the Jet in his hands, turned to find yours again, crinkled at the corners. His smile, ever charming, lingered on the verge of turning mean. He did like to tease you about being a lightweight.

Instead, he leant to the edge of the couch and hooked you by your socked feet, tugging them into his lap, dragging you a few inches closer to him.

"Nothing, sweetheart."

He patted one of your knees placatingly, the way one pet a startled a horse. Or (you thought, a few painfully slow seconds later), that was to say, the way one used to pet a startled horse. Seeing as they were extinct now, or possibly mutated into something hideously unrecognizable.

Hancock's hand, warm on your knee, disappeared after a minute. Or after a few seconds, seeing as trying to keep a grasp on time on Jet was a losing game. He dug into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Ever generous, he offered you one. You nodded, but could seem to make your hand rise up to take it from him.

He grinned, placing it between his lips. You wanted to disagree with this, but your vocal chords didn't want to respond either, and no words were coming to mind anyway. Sober, you would realize these were the classic signs of the Jet comedown, that momentary disconnect between body and mind, which unnerved you enough to take a few days off before finally succumbing to Hancock's next offer.

High, though, you were left to watch as Hancock raised the lighter to the cigarette, lighting it with a deep inhale, before plucking it from his mouth and passing it over. He blew the smoke teasingly into your face, laughing when you scrunched your nose in distaste.

"All the drugs a person could need. A warm bed, semi-clean streets." He said, a new cigarette between his teeth, "Honestly, I don't know why outsiders are always badmouthing Goodneighbor. Best fucking place in the Commonwealth."

Slowly, like an overloaded computer rebooting, your body came back online. You picked the cigarette from your lips, flicked ash from the end of it, ignored the thought of how it had been in his mouth before yours.

"You might be a bit biased, Hancock."

He laughed back at you, gravelly, that mix of ghoul and smoker and just pure... him.

He had been dropping these comments increasingly over the last few days, probably picking up at your unease. It was probably why he had suggested the two of you stay up in his office getting high for the night instead of going down to the Third Rail. Crowds made you antsy, the heat from bodies and the din of echoing small talk reminding you all the more of the open, fresh air you were missing.

Hancock was clever, he knew what was coming even without you spelling it out for him. Over the months since you'd discovered Goodneighbor, you'd been crashing in the Statehouse whenever you found your way to this area of Boston, preferring it to the stifling atmosphere of Diamond City. (Or so you told yourself, the truth might be you preferred the company).

He also clearly knew some of the affinity you held for him, the way you'd let him charm you into sticking around almost a week after you'd planned to leave.

"Still," He said, "One of the better places to be, hmm? Well, as long as you stay on the Mayor's good side." He winked at you.

Yet, he was too proud to come right out and beg for you to stay.

You could always ask him what he wanted. But you worried that his answer might be enough to sway you.

"Oh yeah," You deflected instead, ignoring the spark his wink shot down your spine, ordering your traitorous heart not to beat faster. "Heard the guy's a bit of a dick."

"Oh, he's a lot worse than that," His hand snuck back onto your leg, making a slow path up your calf, "But not to pretty things like you."

It was your turn to laugh, ignoring the heating in your cheeks, ignoring the goosebumps his touch left in it's wake. "John," You said, mock scandalized, "I thought you were an intellectual. Is a pretty face really all it takes?"

He had been slowly easing closer to you, or maybe he had been pulling you closer to him. When he leant over to stub his cigarette, his shoulder brushed yours.

"'M not easy. But I'm smart enough to know that when you find something this pretty in an ugly world, you hold on tight." He'd moved in close, hand reaching your upper thigh. With the other, he plucked the cigarette from your lips, down nearly to the filter, and flicked it to the side, not breaking eye contact. You could feel his breath tickling your nose, smelling like cigarettes and the slightly metallic taste jet left in your mouth. It made you lightheaded, entire mind screaming that he was about to kiss you, finally, after months of flirting and opportunities neither one of you had taken.

Instead, though, he squeezed your thigh and pulled back, eyes trained on you, a curious glint in them, like he was watching your reaction.

For just a moment, like you were a magnet following his pull, you followed after him, hand sliding downwards as if to bring his hand back to where it had been, keep it there, keep him there.

Then, the rational part of your brain, offline since before you'd accepted that hit of Jet, kicked in, screaming at you about everything that could go wrong. Taking this from a friendship to... something more would complicate everything. You didn't have the time or the energy to spend on a relationship, you didn't want to be chained to a settlement. If word got out about your... whatever it would be, you might lose out on deals with some of the seedier members of the community, you might lose trust with others. In other places, a relationship with a Ghoul might even be enough to have you barred from entry.

But, a traitorous voice from the back of your mind whispered, none of those really mattered. The truth of it was, after everything that had happened to you, if you were to let this go any further and something were to happen to him, it would break you.

So, you pulled back, shutting your eyes and taking a steadying breath. Your hand, halfway to grabbing his, stopped and balled into a fist, dropping back to your side.

You wracked your brain for something to say, something joking to diffuse the tension and return things to the way they were.

You heard Hancock shift besides you and allowed yourself a little breath of relief, assuming he'd gotten the hint and backed off, tired of waiting for someone who chickened out at every opportunity.

Instead, though, you were surprised to find his warm hand on your cheek, felt the corner of his hat press softly against your forehead. You opened your eyes, found him looking at you, almost desperate.

"Maybe I'm wrong," he started, voice pitched low and quiet, less sure of himself than you were used to, "In which case you just tell me. But I get the feeling it ain't that. I see the way you looked at me. I know you know how I've been looking at you."

You swallowed, traitorous body responding before your mind can butt in. You nodded, hand coming to grasp onto his bicep, wanting more than anything for him to move closer, to remove the patch of air the two of you were both breathing.

"So tell me," His voice had dropped to a whisper, like he was speaking with a startled animal. "Why won't you kiss me?"

You exhaled, a shaky thing. For some reason your eyes stung, and suddenly you were fighting off the urge to cry. Your grip on Hancock's arm tightened, not wanting him to let go.

Words escaped you, but you worried he'd take your silence the wrong way. You used your free hand to move the front of his hat high enough that it wouldn't poke you and leant your forehead to his. You shut your eyes again, partly to hide the tears that you couldn't seem to stop from forming, partly to embrace the moment better.

Hancock's thumb stroked slowly across your cheekbone. He whispered your name. Worried your voice would break, you nodded against him, eyes still squeezed shut, afraid of moving from this moment, of going forward or pulling back.

Quiet, he said, "Please kiss me."

You dug down, finding the person who sleeps under the open sky of the wasteland, who fights off hordes of ferals, sneaks through Gunner camps, takes on Deathclaws and survives.

You pressed your lips to his.

Warm, softer than you had envisioned, just like the man himself. Hancock's other hand rose to your cheek, so he was cupping your face in his hands, pulling you even closer. You let him take the lead, tilting your head gently, licking against your lips. You opened your lips for him easily, your hands wrapping around the back of his neck, leaving the two of you chest to chest, you halfway in his lap as he licked into your mouth, ravenous as if he had been starving for you.

You never wanted it to end, wanted to spend every moment of the rest of your life pressed to him, feeling his hands on you, his lips on yours, his tongue exploring your mouth.

When the tears slipped out, you almost thought it wouldn't matter, thinking you could keep the kiss going, sure you would survive without breathing, so long as he didn't stop kissing you.

But then a hitching sob rose from your chest and you were pulling away despite yourself, tucking your wet face into the crook of his neck. His hands wrapped around your waist, settling you properly against him.

You swallowed any other rogue sounds, blinked rapidly to try to rid yourself of the tears, trying to pull yourself together so you could face Hancock again. One of his hands was rubbing soothingly along your back, the other having worked it's way up to your hair, gentle fingers smoothing out tangles, rubbing along your scalp.

It took longer than you would have liked to pull yourself together, and a bit longer than that to gather the courage to look at Hancock, sniffling lightly.

His smile was tight, self conscious, as if he genuinely believed you could have been crying because of his kiss.

You didn't even let him get through his dejected, "That bad, huh?" before you were spitting it out, desperate for him to understand that it wasn't his fault, "I'm leaving Goodneighbor tomorrow." You got it out fast, as if it left a bad taste on your tongue.

He blinked, insecurity fading from his expression, replaced by genuine confusion.

You continued, desperate to repair your faux-pas, to make him understand your thought process, why it would lead you to tears; "This just... makes it that much harder to go."

You ran your hand down his chest, anxiously fiddling with the stitching on his lapels, "Hanc- John, please believe me, I've been wanting to do that for fucking ages, I just-"

The gentle press of his lips against yours cut you off, a quick press of heat and then gone again. This time you did chase after him, managing to get in a peck against upturned lips before he was pulling away.

It was your turn to be confused, pulling back to look at his smiling face, wondering if all that drug use had finally fried his brain.

"That's what's got you so worried?" He asked, voice soft.

You blinked at him before giving a small nod, expecting him to tell you to just stay with him, pressure already building behind your eyes as you imagined explaining to him that you just weren't made for sitting idle.

"So, then, when do we leave?"

"We?" You whispered, not trusting your voice.

"If you're alright with delaying the departure a bit, I should probably wait for the ne'er do wells to sleep off the hangover to give a little speech, pretty sure it's bad form for the Mayor to up and vanish. Then again, it's me we're talkin' about, they should know better than to–"

You pressed your lips to his, partly from exhilaration, partly for him to shut up long enough for you to process the information he'd presented you with. You'd never considered asking Hancock to leave his town. In your mind, he was Goodneighbor, the very best of it.

You pull away, running a finger across Hancock's cheek, feeling the muscles jump under you as he gives you a soft smile.

"Are you sure?" You ask.

"Love, I'd like to see anyone try to stop me."

Notes:

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[thesightstoshowyou]

Don’t Overthink It

John Hancock (Fallout 4) x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Hancock invites you back to his place for a drink and some fun.

Warnings: Implied that reader is a sex worker, talk of drug use, sexual tension and silly flirting, Hancock is a cunning linguist and a gentleman, some goofy moments, some sweet moments, mild exhibitionism, multiple orgasms.

Rain drips from the torn awning of the Hotel Rexford when you emerge. The streets of Goodneighbor glisten from the recent storm, the neon sign above giving the surrounding space an eerie red glow. Little streams of rainwater flow in the gutters to rinse away the refuse littering the street.

Your heels click on cracked concrete as you sidestep a puddle. The bag slung over your shoulder rattles with newly obtained caps when you adjust your dress. You’re set for the week now with what you made tonight.

A cool breeze rushes over your skin and a shiver skitters up your spine. You hadn’t thought to bring a coat; it had been much warmer earlier in the evening. Shaking out your hair, you sigh and steel yourself for the walk home. Your feet are already killing you.

Across the street, two Triggermen send shy glances in your direction. You wink and waggle your fingers, a coy wave. One quickly turns away while the other offers a tentative greeting. Quietly, you chuckle, amused by how quickly even gangsters can turn into teenage boys.

In the distance, a familiar, gruff voice calls your name. A smile stretches across your face. “Aw, if it isn’t my favorite ghoul,” you greet as Hancock strolls down the lane toward you. “Hi there, Mr. Mayor.”

“Favorite, huh?” he replies, sidling up next to you and slipping an arm around your waist. You’re grateful for his body heat, a respite from the chill, but his clothes are damp, like he’d been waltzing carefree through the storm. The caustic scent of ozone typical of a ghoul hangs heavy around him, made more obvious by the rain. Hancock’s head tips back and lolls to the side a little, telling you he’s sailing on chems.

Your fingers hook into the collar of his jacket and you reach up to adjust his hat before it takes a tumble. “Mmm hmm. You’re at the top of my list,” you purr, a grin pulling at the corners of your mouth.

A drop of chilly water drips from his hat onto your cheek and you flinch and laugh, only to squeal and attempt to wriggle away when Hancock shakes his head to shower you. “You’re all wet!” you chastise, playfully smacking him in the arm.

“Heh, not wet enough,” he murmurs, raising rad-scarred brows.

“Is that an innuendo, Mayor?”

“Could be. You working, babe?” he questions, shamelessly allowing his dark gaze to rove over your body.

“I was. Just finished.” A pleased hum rumbles in his throat at your response.

“Where you headed?” His other hand joins its twin around your waist and he pulls you flush against him. He’s handsy today, always is when he’s flying, but you don’t mind. Hancock has never laid a finger on you that you didn’t want.

“Depends on who’s asking,” you quip. As you speak, your pointer finger smooths down a divot in his neck. You feel his chest lift against your palm, a quick intake of breath at the contact.

“Your favorite ghoul’s asking, sweetheart.”

“I don’t really know what it is he’s asking though.” You bite the inside of your cheek to keep your giggle contained. Hancock narrows his eyes in what would be a menacing gesture if not for the dopey grin plastered on his face.

“He’s asking you to come have a drink with him.” You hum in feigned enlightenment.

“Sure, I’m up for that. The Third Rail?” you ask, half-turning to make your way down the street. Hancock tugs you back against him and shakes his head.

“Nah. My place.”

You quirk an eyebrow. The Old State House? That’s new.

“Just what are you hinting at, Mayor?” you tease, a scandalized look crossing your face.

“Getting real tired of your questions, doll,” Hancock jokes. He clears his throat and leans in closer, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your lips. “I ain’t hinting anything, baby. I’m asking if you wanna come back to my place, get drunk, and fuck.”

“Oh,” you squeak, all playfulness leaving your expression as your cheeks heat up. You weren’t expecting something so straightforward, though you suppose Hancock is never one to beat around the bush. The chems have emboldened him, you guess. Though, does he mean—

“And just to be clear,” he continues like he can read your mind. One of his hands raises to cup your face so a rough thumb can stroke your cheek, “I ain’t talking about a business arrangement. I wanna fuck you cuz I like you.”

The air suddenly feels much warmer than it had a moment ago. You wonder if this is just some impulsive, chem-induced fancy. Perhaps he happened upon you and decided, in the moment, he wanted some company for the evening. Hancock is an instinct driven guy, after all. Or is this something that has been on his mind for some time?

And…does it matter?

You like Hancock. He’s charming, funny, and a hero to the people here in Goodneighbor. Going home with him sounds like a much better way to spend your evening compared what you had planned. It seems like a no-brainer, so why are you hesitating?

“You’re thinking too hard, doll.” You huff a laugh when Hancock brushes a damp strand of your hair out of your face.

“You caught me off guard,” you tell him honestly.

“I could sober up a little and take you on a date first, if you’d rather do it that way,” he comments with a shrug. You can’t suppress the surprised sound his words bring. He’s serious about this.

All at once, that constricted feeling in your chest evaporates and you give his jacket a little tug. “Maybe next time. I’d love to join you for a drink, Mr. Mayor.” The overjoyed expression that takes over his face makes your heart flutter like bird wings.

“Right this way, love.”

**

The two of you don’t even make through the door.

The drag of his gnarled lips against yours raises goosebumps along your skin. He holds your face and backs you up against the doorway to his room. The tricorn hat topples off his head and lands somewhere behind him, forgotten. Your fingers tighten around the ruffles of his shirt and a breathy moan slips from your mouth when he sucks on your bottom lip.

“You smell so fucking good,” he rasps as his lips move to your neck. One hand tangles in your hair while the other slips past your waist and over your hip. Hancock palms a handful of your ass, grunting when you brush your thigh between his legs. Teeth on your pulse make you gasp and arch against him.

Suddenly, he drops to his knees. Already breathless, you watch as he scoops up one of your feet to peel your heel off and toss it over his shoulder. “Bet that feels better, huh?” he rumbles, grinning up at you as he slips off your other shoe. You’re so endeared by the thoughtful gesture you can’t help but laugh as you nod.

Hancock winks and turns his attention to your legs. Rough hands catch on your stockings when he smooths his palms over your calves. Inching higher, he pushes the hem of your skirt up to your hips, but stops short to groan at the sight of your garter belt.

“You’re killing me, babe,” he purrs. He plants a kiss to the welt of your stocking, then trails his lips higher. He only pauses to quickly yank your panties down and off. Hooking one of your legs over his shoulder, he dives right in, the flat of his tongue laving through your folds and over your clit. You suck in air through your teeth and your head falls back against the door with a muted thud.

Hancock moans, open-mouthed against your cunt like a starving man digging into his first meal in days. The vibration of his husky voice combined with enthusiastic way he wiggles his head and nurses on your clit has you all but humping his face in minutes. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you mewl and bow forward, pleasure coiling tight in your belly.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you whine as you tense, toes curling. Hancock responds by sucking harder and grabbing your ass with both hands to pull you closer. A high-pitched, breathy, “Fuck,” escapes you as your eyes roll back, the coil unwinding and sending rolling waves of heat cascading through you.

“Give me another one, baby,” he orders before resuming his ministrations. This time, he slips two fingers into your fluttering cunt and curls them, rubbing circles until you see stars.

“S-s-shit! Han—

You can’t finish, a cry overtaking your vocal cords when you cum again. Your hips twitch as pleasure surges through your belly, up your back, and down your thighs. “Ohhhh my god,” you groan, sighing contentedly when you slump back against the door.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” Hancock praises, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm. You taste yourself when he jumps to his feet and crushes his lips to yours in a heated kiss. Giggling and near drunk on pleasure, you push his jacket off his shoulders before moving to work open his pants.

A strained sound sticks in his throat when your fingers trace the hot flesh of his cock. You hum and nibble on his lip as he hastily shimmies out of his pants. They get caught on his boots, but he doesn’t seem to care as he lifts you clean off the ground. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

“Mind if I ruin that pretty pussy?” Hancock questions against your lips, the corners of his own curling up in a smirk.

“Don’t make me wait anymore,” you whisper, bucking to grind against his length. Hancock wastes no time in angling his hips and easing his girth into your slick channel. The stretch is mind-numbing, the texture of his cock flawlessly stimulating every single trigger within you.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he slurs. His mouth falls open and you both moan in unison when he ruts into you. The door bangs against the wall when he does it again. He pins you there to keep it open before starting up a feverish rhythm, and soon the room fills with repetitive slaps and wanton sighs.

Your lips find the gnarled flesh of his neck and whimper against it, every thrust driving more and more pathetic sounds from your throat. Hancock groans deep in his chest and shakes his head. Fingers grip your hair to pull your face out of the crook of his neck.

“Not loud enough. Nobody down on the street is gonna hear how sweet you sound at this rate.”

You snort and meet his half-lidded gaze. “Isn’t it your job to make me scream though?”

A throaty chuckle greets your words, then, “That a challenge?” Even though it’s phrased like a question, you know he isn’t asking. Clumsily, he kicks off the pants pooled around his ankles and nearly drops you, which sends you both into a fit of laughter.

“Hang tight, we’ll get there,” he jokes as you carries you into his room and collapses onto a sofa. Your tittering is cut off when his lips find yours again. He rolls you into your back, tosses your legs over his shoulders, and gives one harsh thrust that forces a noisy keen up and out of you.

“That’s more like it,” he growls. His hands grip your hips to hold you in place so he can hammer you into the cushions. It’s not difficult to give him the screaming he wants.

A third climax blindsides you. You writhe and shake, seized by euphoria and Hancock’s embrace. He utters a pinched, “Fuck, fuck, fuck-“ before leaning back to rip his cock from your cunt. Through your daze, you barely register the wet clicking of his hand as he pumps his orgasm, warm and sticky, all over your belly.

Heavily, Hancock sighs and drops his forehead to your sternum to catch his breath. The heaving of his chest mirrors your own. You smooth your hands down his nape and gently rake your nails back up again, content to just bask in the afterglow.

Gradually, Hancock works his way over to your side so you can rest your head on his shoulder. He’s quiet for a long while and you open your mouth to tease him about it until he suddenly says, “I’ve been thinking for a long time about doing exactly what we just did.”

Curious and surprised, you lift your head to look into his black eyes. A little grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Really?” you ask. He nods, his fingers tracing up and down your arm. “How long?”

“Remember when you kissed me at the New Year’s party?” You blink in shock and chuff out an incredulous laugh.

“I almost forgot about that. That was, like—

“Eight months ago,” he finishes for you. Baffled, you stare at him and wonder why your heart is beating so fast.

“Why did you wait so long?” you question finally, a bewildered smile on your face.

“Dunno. Overthinking it, maybe. You seemed happy doing your own thing. I didn’t wanna fuck that up.” His chest rises and falls with a deep breath before he continues, “But then I saw you standing there tonight and I just…. You looked so beautiful with the rain and the light and…you know, the chems.” You giggle which makes him grin wider. “Just felt like it was the right moment, you know?”

You smile softly while Hancock groans and drags a hand down his face. “Sorry, doll, I guess that last hit turned me into a fuckin’ sap.”

“It’s sweet,” you murmur.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper with a nod. Gently, he strokes your cheek and pulls you in for another kiss. Your lips part to allow his tongue to swirl against yours while your palm smooths across his chest.

Suddenly, he breaks the kiss with a, “Fuck, I’m hard again.” You bark out a laugh and Hancock moves to sit up. “I should probably get that drink I promised.” You grab his arm to stop him.

“I don’t need it.” Your teeth tease your bottom lip. A wolfish smirk greets your words.

“Then I’m all yours, love.”

[eupheme]

— made for me

john hancock x curvy!f!sole survivor/reader

rated e - 1.5k

tags: head-over-heels!hancock, showering, body worship, praise kink, PiV, Oral, some descriptors of reader being curvy

prompts: from this ask, “you're so good for me, so fucking good around me, fucking made for me.”

You need him. Not just tonight, but always - and Hancock is all too happy to oblige.

Fuck, he’s missed you.

Been too goddamn long, the days stretching into weeks since his girl had last stepped foot into Goodneighbor.

Always off on a mission for the Minutemen. Trying to save a world that has long grown rotten, because you still see it the way it was before.

Maybe that’s something he loves about you… though he’s not ready to say that out loud.

You had stopped by to see him the second you got in. Leaning against the doorway to his office in the Old State House - only the weariness in your smile had prevented him from taking you right then and there. Already aching to peel you out of the worn vault suit that always hugs your curves so fucking perfectly.

Had even been plannin’ something nice - hell, he had had the time. A night at the Third Rail. A real dinner this time - instead of something warmed up from a can, around the fire.

Something romantic-like.

All of it drop-kicked out the window when you had leaned into his embrace. Chin pressing into his collarbone, as his arm tightened around you. A hand slipping across his chest, to brace right over his racing heart.

A hushed mumur in his ear.

“I need you.”

He’s yours.

Your cry is muffled into the pillow, fingers fisting in the worn sheet.

This is what you’ve been craving.

The grime has been scrubbed from your skin - hair still damp from the first truly hot shower you’ve had in weeks. Wandering hands when Hancock grew impatient, his clothes and tricorn hat still draped messily across a chair from when he joined you.

Unable to wait any longer.

Bruises sucked across your skin, clever fingers slipping between your thighs. Teasing at your breasts, unable to stop touching.

His already cock hard and aching when it pressed against your belly. A slick smear left behind, a mark against your skin that was not from the shower.

He couldn’t do everything he wanted to do to you there. It had been an easy decision to move to the bed. Firmly guiding you, a hand pressing against your back as you dipped.

“Hands and knees, doll.”

It had been easy to follow - easing into position before the words had left his lips. Eager to do as he asks.

If there’s anything you’d learned about the wasteland, it’s that Hancock was more than capable of taking care of you. That yes, you might call the shots out there, but here listening came second nature.

You need him everywhere. Need to forget all those long hours away - your knees inching wider, back arching, as he growls.

The snap of his hips plunges him deep each time. Pairing with the creak of the floorboards beneath his feet, where he stands at the end of the bed.

He likes it this way. The fit of his hands against your waist. The plush curve of your ass, bouncing with each powerful thrust.

It has you melting into the mattress. Sinking lower, flat palms and locked arms slipping, your body stretching out. All that responsibility you carry on your shoulders, easing for a moment under his touch.

Hancock follows the slope of your back, skin pressing against skin. His mouth at your ear - the harsh pant of his breath making your skin prickle with desire, as teeth nip at your neck.

A hand slipping to cup the soft weight of your breast again, unable to resist. His thrusts slowing as he moans - long and rough and low - starting a lazy roll of his hips.

It’s bliss, the wet slide of his cock. How full he makes you feel, the warm and comforting weight of his chest where it presses into your back.

“Been too long, sunshine,” It comes out ragged, more than just need layered in his words. His fingers tugging at a pebbled nipple, just to feel how you clench around him.

You hum turns into a moan, as his hand dips - curving past your stomach.

“Missed you,” You sigh, “I need this. Need you-”

He has unsettled you at first.

How he peeled away from the darkness, on that late evening in Good Neighbor. Shadows cast across his face - skull-like. The rough rasp of his voice.

“Whoa, whoa. Time out.”

The glint of a knife when he flipped it in the air. Catching the hilt easily before burying it deep into the gut of that thug. Done with his attempt at diffusing.

How quickly your opinion had changed. His charms softening that razor-sharp edge, though he was no less dangerous.

Your thumb had ran along it, expecting to get cut. Waiting for the sharp prick and red bloom of blood, the iron taste in the air.

But somehow - along the way - these drab hotel walls and the warmth of his touch has begun to feel an awful lot like home.

“Know you fuckin’ do, gorgeous.” He coos, a rough sound in his throat when his fingers press against your clit, “Look at you, taking me so well. So goddamn wet, were you thinking about this?”

Hancock hilts himself, unmoving, as his fingertips circle. Your moan is loud, thighs tensing - rocking back, fucking yourself on him.

He laughs, a hand grasping at your hip. Loving how soft you feel beneath the raw pinch of his touch. How easy it is to lose himself in your pleasure, a new kind of drug.

An even better kind of high.

“Yes,” You squirm, “Always thinking about you.”

It’s not quite what he meant, but damn if it doesn’t affect him. Not just needing the way he makes you feel - and he knows he’s good at that - but him, as well.

“Fuck.” Hancock rasps, unable to help the buck of his hips. Starting to fuck you again, leaning back to see the mess you’ve already made around his cock. Slick smeared across his base, his balls sticky where they kiss against your cunt.

“Been thinkin’ about you too,” His fingers still circle - he can hear the change in your breath. Held from when he sunk into you. Short and needy as he picks up.

Ragged now, as you meet his thrusts. Pushing back against his cock, and then against his fingers when you shift forward. A never-ending loop of pleasure.

“Not gonna let you sleep, you know that?” He coos, “Gotta make up for lost time.”

Exhaustion nips at you, but you think it’d be worth it.

Maybe you need the rest, but you need him more - eager to spend the night wrapped up in Hancock until his touch is the only thing you can remember.

The pleasure swirls to a breaking point, his sharp tongue toying at the pulled-tight string in your belly.

“Please,” You moan, instead, “Anything you want. I’m so close, please-”

He laughs, a short, harsh thing that turns into a groan.

“Yeah?” Hancock husks, fingers dipping down to gather more wetness. Harder when they press against your clit, now. Tight circles that have you clenching tightly around him, “Gonna come already, sweetheart?”

His name a garbled whine, your face buried in the mattress. Heat licking at you, unable to do more than just hold on. Hips moving on their own, chasing the high that is just within your grasp.

“Then come on,” He growls, fingers pinching into your hip, “Lemme make you feel good, baby. I’ve got you.”

You break, under his touch. A much-needed shattering, his name moaned into the sheets as you come hard around him.

He can feel the way you stiffen under his touch. How you bear down around him, how your pussy becomes even more slick with your orgasm. Warm and tight, pulsing around him as he keeps up the pace.

Words spilling from his lips, as a strung-tight thread is plucked inside his belly.

“You’re so good for me,” Hancock husks. Voice rough and low and more ghoul than he’s sounded in a long time.

“So fuckin’ good around me.”

Practiced fingers drawing out your pleasure. Eyes half-shut as you whine, back arching. His praise shooting straight through you, down to thrum with the pleasure radiating from your core.

His teeth grit - a part of his heart slipping free with his words.

“Fuckin’ made for me.”

You almost don’t catch it. Everything hazy and muted. A hand slipping between your thighs, fingers twining with his. Squeezing, so he knows. A silent ‘for you.’

He eases from you, soon after - a gentle touch against your back, guiding you to the bed. Shooting him a little frown as you flip over, seeing the way his fist moves to wrap around the base of his swollen cock, squeezing.

Edging himself, holding back the orgasm swiftly building in his own belly.

Fitting between your thighs instead, his expression dark - hungry. Hands curving around your knees when they start to press close, a sharp grin sent your way when you sigh his name.

“Think I was kidding?” He husks - eyes dragging over you. Down, to where he split you open, made you come. All that soft, slick skin - begging to be devoured.

Because if you want him to make you forget - then he’s sure as hell going to see it through.

His tongue peeking out between his lips, just before he closes the gap. A warning and a promise gritted out, just before his head dips to taste you.

“Sunshine, you’re in for a long fuckin’ night.”

hi anon thank you again for requesting this! And thank you all so much for reading 💖💖

[draped1ncerecloth]

Hancock x a Trans masc reader with a praise kink???? (I saw ur rq's were open, and I really like your ghost fanfic stuffs) /nf

“Good boy.”

Summary: After meeting John in Goodneighbor, heading out on the road with him proves to be a challenge over the next few month. Little do you know, rads weren’t the only thing growing on him.

Warnings: drug usage, swearing, mentions of gore, oral sex and everyone’s favorite- sex.

The weather was cloudy and dull, your clothes smelt of death, your hair greasy, dirt littered your body, and the crust of whatever bodily fluids that belonged to who or what ever you killed, clung to you. You had to admit it but the only thing keeping you going was the ghoulish figured that lurked behind you.

It had been about two months since you first meet john and about a week after that, you managed to somehow find yourself traveling with the man. His charm definitely was something that out of a movie, but then when you paid a little more attention to him, his drug addiction is what stood out. It wasn’t anything unusual in the commonwealth, chems being almost as common and the caps that replaced old traditional money. But what were you complaining for? It never bothered you.

“Hey, can we slow down, Sunshine? Need a little chem break.” The husky voice called out from behind. You stopped and looked over your shoulder seeing John heaving raspy breaths and that was when you realized, he hadn’t offered you a bit of anything in the last three days. “Oh shit! I’m sorry you should’ve said you needed a break!” You panicked thinking he was in pain, but scanning over his face, you were only met with a scrappy smile.

“Look at you, worried about little ol’ me. I’m fine just need a little pick me up, doll.” As he stood in front of you, John shuffled through his pockets looking for anything he could ingest, but only to be meet with the fact he did use his last supply of chems. “Fuck.” He mumbles to himself. “What’s wrong?” And you were only met with a laugh and a signal to keep going forward to which you reluctantly agreed.

The travel seemed to last longer, only slowing down when a coughing fit would escape his lungs and after the 5th coughing fit you decided to speak up. “Hancock, we need to find a place to stop and rest. You need something and I can’t keep listening to you hack your lungs out. Please, let’s find somewhere for the night.” Black eyes meet yours and he nodded, realizing that the sickness of his absence of substances where starting to catch up to him. “Alright doll face, let’s get going I believe there’s an old shack nearby.”

After about 20 minutes of huddled walking, you managed to find this so called shack and you quickly got to work in setting up for the night, Hancock tried to help but you motioned for him to sit and wait until you were done. You scavenged through your luggage and we’re met with nothing but your scavenged supplies, but then you or luck right there in the room next to you, there was a workbench you would whip something up for him. “What’s up sunshine, where you heading off too? Not just gonna dip out on me right?” He looked at you as you were walking towards the new found chem station and smiled. “No I’m just gonna whip something up for you. I’ll be back just try to relax for now.”

It took a few attempts to get the recipe down, but you finally managed. Some grape flavored mentats and most importantly about 4 days worth of jet supplies for Hancock. You never really where into taking chems, worried as to becoming hooked on them, but over the months and all the offers from Hancocks wonderful gifts. You found yourself kinda excited to try your own creations. Walking back to John, he already stripped himself of his infamous hat and boots. “Hancock.” You announced his name as you walked over to him, getting on your knees in front of him and holding the jet up toward him.

“Fuck you’re so fucking amazing sunshine. Make this for me?” You nodded in response and helped him take a puff of the wonderful drug. His head tipped back as he rode out the high. It hitting harder since it’s been awhile since his last hit and boy did it worry you. “Are you okay?” You asked, his head lulling to the side and he smiles in pure ecstasy. “Better than okay, you done made this ghoul feel better that the time he’s first done chems.” He chuckles lowly as you sat up straight with a big smile.

“Oh you like that? Getting me to complement you?” Heat began to pool at your cheeks and he smiled yet another grimace smile. You then handed him another jet and placed the rest of his newly acquired supplies on the floor next to him. “Grape?” He quickly picked up the mentats and you stood up. “Do you not like grape flavors?” You asked, worry coating your voice. “Sunshine, I love grape. But right now, not as much as I like you.”

And with that you got up and started to whip something together for the two of you to eat.

As night fell, light became absent and the lantern john asked about earlier in the week was well lit and the cram and iguana sticks you traded for began to taste even better now that there was a roof over your heads. “You got a pretty good thing goin (y/n), got a ghoul to finally feel comfortable and taken care of. I’m glad we met. For the first time, in a long time, I’m starting to look forward to tomorrow.” You blushed but it was hidden by the light and the cram you scarfed down. “You and I? I could get used to this.” You looked at him as you swallowed the last bit of food. Whipped your face with your sleeve. “Have you ever thought that. We could be more than just, this?” You asked.

John whipped his head towards you and with confusion. “Like more than friends?”

You nodded.

“That’s where your minds, huh?”

And you quickly tried to take your words back. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong, I just thought that with everything, you would’ve-.”

“Darlin, you and I have a good thing, I ain’t mad. I think that you wouldn’t want to look me in the eye and as a matter of fact, I don’t thing you wanna wake up to this mug every mornin. Beside, pretty little thing like you, I don’t think it’d be fair.”

“Who are you to say I wouldn’t want that John?” Your eyes met his, his face getting closer to you. Setting your food down. “You don’t get to decide what I want or don’t want, and I want you John, please.”

John cupped your cheeks with scarred hands and pulled you closer to him, planting a chapped kiss on your plush lips. Melting into his affections, you found yourself in awe. Everything that once worried you, melted.

As the two continued to kiss, the cold dark fell into the chilly point. The warmth of Hancock’s breath, made your skin prickle and as his tongue swipes long yours, the once passionate kiss, comes even more heated. Hancock grabs you, grabbing at anything that he can grab. Feeling his hands grip your now fired skin, you let out a small groan. John leads you on top of him and you oblige, top of his lap you feel his now hard cock, poking at your now heated core. Rolling your hips to relive some pressure for him, let lets out a jagged breath. Heavy breathing fills the room and as the two continue to explore each overs bodies, clothes begin to drop one by one until you both and down to your underwear. The pool of wetness between your legs makes you quiver as the cold air makes contact with the now drenched underwear.

“You are so handsome, sunshine.” And you moan at the compliments he showers you in. The staining of his precum makes you squirm in anticipation. Hancock takes note of how you’re staring and slowly starts to pull down his underwear, revealing his throbbing cock. The veins that decorate the sides and surprisingly it’s bigger than you imagined, almost intimidating. “Would you like to put that beautiful mouth to work?” He prompts you, and you immediately agree. Hancock stands above you, his shaft bigger than your face and dripping in excitement. You open your mouth and he slowly slides into your mouth, shuttering at the new found pleasure. “Fuck. So fucking hot.” He groans and you make work of your tongue, dragging along the tip and base and you slowly make work down toward the rest of it. Bobbing your head slowly so draw out more sounds from him. He rewards you with pleased sighs. “Just like that, such a good boy.” The new title makes you touch yourself in hopes to relieve some of your own pleasure. The wetness of yourself coating your fingers makes you sigh in content, feeling how he fills your throat. Drool falling from your mouth and falling to your legs, only helping you rub yourself out and your eyes roll back as you gag around him, struggling for air.

“Such a fucking good boy, you like how my cock feeling in that beautiful mouth? Bet I would feel so much better deep inside of you.” He huffs, as he thrusts deeper down your throat, feeling you close around him hard, smirking as you try your best to swallow around him, gagging at the length until it hits a point to where you realize you have to breath. Pulling away with a loud cough, snot running down your eyes as tears weld in your now blurred vision. You heave and gasp for air as he grabs your jaw and forces you back down on his cock. Feeling it throb inside your throat and try your best to keep going. Looking up at him and his blackened eyes stare back in pleasure. “Such a fucking good cock sleeve for me.” He grabs your hair and begins to fuck into your mouth harder, causing you to gag while choking him down. The salty taste of his precum now long gone and replaced with the saliva and smell of his body, your nose pressing against his groin. Causing him to buck his hips harder.

In an instant your hands grab at his hips and pull your face from him, gagging and shaking from the near black out feeling. He moans loudly at the sight of you breathing heavily, his cock drenched in your saliva. Twitching and crying from the feeling of needing to throw up, he looks at you and starts rubbing your head, whipping the now fallen tears. “Such a beautiful sight. You and my fucking cock deep in that soft mouth. How about you pull them britches off and let me repay you for how well you just took that shit?” You only reply with a smile and nod, still recovering from such a wild experience.

As you stand you feel your knees ache and the soreness of your throbbing core, the neglect makes you whine and as you take off your underwear you finally realize just how soaked they are. Your excitement and spit making you realize that they are gonna be so uncomfortable tomorrow. “Well shit, didn’t realize how wet you were. Don’t worry sunshine, I’ll fuck you so good you don’t gotta worry about a thing.” Once Hancock removes his underwear, his hands are on you once more, pulling you to him kissing your neck, littering you in marks and bites, you grab for his hard on and angle it towards yourself, feeling him thrust in and ripping a gasp from your lungs. Somehow he managed to lift you and push you up against the wall of the shack, gravity doing most of the work in shoving you deeper onto his cock, letting out a loud moan. “F-fuck!!” Is all you manage to get out as he begins to thrusts into you, the angle hit all the right areas, and spreading you further out.

Painting and moan leave the two of you and the sound of wet skin hitting wet skin fills the room. The smell of arousal makes you forget the room your currently in, intoxicating and luring you into more of him. “Fuck your drenched, nice and warm for me to fuck.” His voice rings in your head as you try your best to watch him fuck you, looking up at him, you’re met with his lips, dominating your mouth and fucking into you.

“Hancock, I think-!” Your moans interrupt you as you try your best to squeeze around his cock, taking in as much as you can of his cock, milking him of all he’s worth. “Hancock!” He watches your face contorting into pleasure and he smirks, knowing how close you are. Feeling you squeeze, and clench around him. “Cum for me sunshine, cum over my cock, I know you can take it.” Your head hangs as you focus on the pleasure washing over you, moaning into his neck, your nails digging into his back as your legs tighten around his side. Your walls fluttering over him in an attempt to keep him deep inside of you and you let out a loud groan followed by weak screams of his name. “John! Fuck! John!” Your weak and trapped in his grasp, feeling his hips pounding into your now weak core. The feeling of his balls biting you and how deep he is inside makes you whine and scream. Raw and weak, drained and drenched in sweat. Hancock scans over your face as your eyes are rolled back into your skull. It drives him nuts, wanting this feeling to last forever. Your walls trying to clench but your body unable to move from cumming. “Fuck! So fucking good baby, just last a little longer for me, you got this sunshine.” He holds you close and continues to fuck into your limp body as your gasping. With a few more thrusts, John is cumming deep inside of you, filling you up with his warm seed. He’s groaning into your skin, continuing to fuck through his high. Feeling your walls drip with his cum and your own slickness.

He pulls out of you, painting and lowering you down, your legs give out beneath you and once more he has you hold you up until he can lay you down on the sleeping bag that was pulled out previously. Your mind completely blank as your tired fucked out body relaxes into the soft blanket. Johns panting and shaking, jittery and weak from fucking you. Only then he realizes you passed out and he is left you clean you up. “I love you so fucking much.” He mumbles to himself and while he’s watching you’re sweaty body breath, you smile and he smiles back, grabbing what he can to clean you up and tuck you in for the night.

Once Hancock has you cleaned up, he’s relaxed for the night and after about an hour or so, you begin to wake from your sleep and you look around, seeing your laying on his now clothed lap with him passed out while sitting up. You gently wake him and motion for him to join you in the sleeping bag and he agrees, your tired weak bodies laying as the night begins to fade into dawn and yet for some reason, there was no longer a rush to get to wherever you thought you needed to go too earlier that day.

Authors notes: anyways I hope y’all enjoyed this I really appreciate the love for this man. He genuinely is my favorite character to write ab even though this is my first time writing about him (I just wanna marry him already, I love my old scrappy men)

I did not proofread this and I never will proof read I think♥️ anyways here’s some jet, looks like y’all could use a pick me up after this one

[sinisterexaggerator]

John Hancock - NSFW Alphabet

Only out to have a little fun! Enjoy (or not)! This is just my take on his character.

3.8k words (oops).

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A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex):

No matter how you decide to do the deed, Hancock has your best interest at heart, as long as you stay in his good graces. He wouldn’t necessarily baby you after sex, but he’ll make sure you’re all right, as you may wind up participating in several experimental or unusual scenarios. But in the end, John wants to make sure his little ray of sunshine is well-rested for round two.

He'd offer you chems for a bit of a pick-me-up, a cigarette precariously hanging from the corner of his mouth—he needs a smoke after. It just “feels right.”

He would pat his shoulder as a place for you to rest your head, then pull you in nice and tight before sharing a drag with you, going insofar as to place the filter against your lips, held loosely between two fingers. No uncomfortable post-coital silence—unless you’re into that.

Hancock might even get all philosophical on you now that his head’s clear. I can see him being into pillow talk regardless—we know he loves to run his mouth—nothing a romp in the sack with you won’t cure.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

I have a feeling Hancock isn’t picky, as long as your heart is in the right place. There is more to him than being a “drug addict.” I’d say he’s well-read, even though he acts on instinct—he may be pretty well fond of your brain.

Hancock puts a lot of stock into how people think or speak versus their actions. He’s not a pushover, doesn’t take any bullshit, and if your belief system matches up with his—if he, “likes the way you operate”— you don’t have much to worry about.

Still, I see him favoring something warm and supple to grab onto, something soft to kiss. And he’ll take his time when he’s in the mood, dishing out compliments as he explores every inch of your body.

Maybe with being a Ghoul, it’s a real treat when you get to knock boots with a human. I can see him missing out on what that feels like from time to time.

As far as his own body, I see this man as a bit self-conscious, though he doesn’t let onto that fact quite often. Comments about his “ugly mug” are made in jest, but there is some truth to that within his own thought process and how he perceives himself, most likely, despite the whole “King of the Zombies” vibe he says the ladies love.

Personally, I think his confidence is partially a façade.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person:

Hancock always makes sure you get yours. Multiple orgasms are in the cards, as he knows exactly how to make your toes curl, and he’s not above using that information to his advantage.

You’re the wettest thing in the Wasteland when Hancock’s around, and you can bet your ass he’s going to comment on it every chance he gets. Otherwise, he loves to play in it; to spread the sheen between his fingers; to lick it clean off while you watch, or to smear it over his withered skin, lubricating his cock with it.

All in all, it’s a stroke to his ego to know he’s the one responsible for making you cum that hard that often. You can be damn sure he’s out to fuck you every chance he gets. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

I mentioned this in another post, but Hancock likes it when you’re addicted to chems because he’s the one providing. As long as he’s supplying the drugs for you to get your fix, you’re not going to leave him high and dry.

Maybe he fears being, “skipped out on,” thinkin’ it’s just another reason for you to stick around. It ties into him being insecure—call it insurance. He’s not proud of it, but you don’t seem to mind, and there’s no one around to call him on it.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?):

Based on comments we hear throughout the game, Hancock was known to be a looker before being a Ghoul. He’s still a looker even after his transformation, and he is well-aware his physical appearance garners the attention of the ladies, or so he says. From this we can infer Hancock has no trouble in finding someone to fuck. I’m sure he has been around the block more than a few times, but it would be the appearance of someone special in his life that might make him rethink his whorish lifestyle.

Despite being a bit of a promiscuous rascal who most likely participates in a lot of meaningless sex, when he finds the right person, I am sure he is more than happy to be monogamous. But overall, I would say he definitely knows what the hell he’s doing—why else would Bobbi make that comment about everyone being in love with him?

Hancock’s a catch, contrary to whether or not he believes it himself, and for more than one reason, me thinks. And it is common for even those people who are “good-looking” to be self-conscious and worried about how others perceive them, so that doesn’t change the idea of him still being insecure despite his charm and charisma, though him saying he’s charming could be him playing at being facetious.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual):

The Couch Surfer*

Hancock loves to bend you over the arm of the couch in the Old State House with you face down in the cushions as he plows into you from behind. It allows for deeper penetration and more thrusting power, with your feet either on the floor, or with your knees pulled in toward your own body as your legs hover off the ground.

This also makes it so neither of you have to get entirely undressed if you don’t want to, or if there is simply no time for anything but a quickie. With both of you pulling down your trousers, or with you hiking up your dress, it makes for easy access, and the angle is just right for hitting that sweet spot.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc):

Hancock is a switch in more ways than one. This can go either way, as he’s not afraid to get weird or try anything once. At the same time, if you’re his special person, he may be inclined to take things a bit more serious. Think body worship in this case, or copious amounts of praise, romantic notions in your ear—that sort of thing.

This doesn’t account for if you’ve pissed him off, as all bets are off, and I’m sure he can think of more than one way to set you straight, even if that involves being more condescending than usual, or withholding sex all together because he’s just “not feeling it after the way you’ve been actin’.”  

In fact, he may be able to home in on if he’s frightening you—that in and of itself can be a turn on. Oh, you’ve been misbehaving lately? Get ready to meet No More Mister Nice Ghoul. Although, you’d have to fuck up royally for him to take any of that so serious.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.):

No hair, don’t care (obviously)! But Hancock may enjoy running his fingers through yours, and he does so gently, not afraid to brush that stray strand out of your eyes.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…):

This can also go either way, depending on Hancock’s mood. One minute he’s treating you like the filthy whore you are, and the next minute he’s spewing off the most romantic things you’ve ever heard. He’s not afraid to speak his mind, no matter the topic of conversation. He’ll tell you to suck his cock like a good little slut, but then don’t put it past him to confess how much you mean to him in the same breath.

In other words, you can simultaneously be the best thing that’s ever happened to him, while also receiving an earful of the dirtiest, raunchiest trash talk to have ever been uttered by man. He knows you’re going to come undone regardless—he just has that effect on you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon):

Hancock loves to force you to watch him masturbate when it’s impossible for you to touch him. That American flag at his waist serves well in a pinch, able to tie your hands up so he can sit back and pleasure himself without you interfering.

Long, languid strokes drive you mad, Hancock not skimping on the heady eye contact, enjoying it when you come unraveled at the seams. You’re begging to join in, to please him yourself, but this is where the fun begins—cry for him all you want to, those handcuffs aren’t coming off, not until he says so.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks):

Oh, man. OK, here we go!

Praise kink – Hancock gives Golden Retriever boyfriend energy. Maybe it’s the fact he follows you around in-game, but he would take so well to you praising him. “Mn, yeah? You like that? Let me show you what else I can do…”

Role-play – I can see this man being into role-play scenarios. He already basically cosplays as a historical figure— it gives him the freedom to mess around with you knowing he doesn’t mean any of it in the end. You can be sure he’d have a safe word if that’s something you’re wanting. He’d take on new roles himself, or play along with yours. “Big bad Mayor” comes to mind for those of you who want a little more bossing around.

Sensation play - Hancock is big on touch. He loves to trace your skin with his fingers, or for you to touch him. I can also see him being into sensory deprivation, blindfolding himself so his sole focus remains on the feel of your hands smoothing over his callous flesh. I’m sure besides a lot of one-night stands, he barely gets anything in the way of attention. It’s always quick and easy— to really be close to someone? That takes guts.

Brat taming – This is a given. Maybe it’s not a game, you’re just really a brat. He doesn’t mess around when it’s time to get serious, so if you’re in his way, or if you’re rubbing him wrong, expect to hear about it. Think daddy/little girl vibes in most cases, but this can spill over into the role-play arena as well. But it’s not all negative—if you’ve been a good girl or boy, he’s willing to praise you for a job well done.

Degradation – Shit-talking him to the point of degradation is a thing he’s into. Not that he believes everything you’re saying, but he’s able to take a few verbal punches without psychic damage. The more sarcastic and ruthless you are, the more he respects you, and the more it may turn him on. He enjoys someone who isn’t afraid to stand up to him, but he also enjoys being put in his place, if you have the balls to try.

Bondage – Tie him up and have your way with him, or he’s liable to do the same to you. He loves a strong, take-charge woman, and a go get ‘em kinda man. He has the most fun when you’re the one who’s “powerless.” He’ll drive you wild before he finally gives in—the best part is watching you squirm and beg for him.

Exhibitionism – He will fuck you anywhere and everywhere; he doesn’t care who watches, but watching’s all their going to do. Hancock’s always down for a quickie, or something a little more intimate, but it doesn’t matter if it’s in the privacy of his suite at the Old State House, or the backroom of the Third Rail. Sex is sex, and there is no one he rather have it more with than you—anytime, anyplace.

Knife play/ Gun play – This Ghoul will use any and all means with which to get his rocks off, and he has a special place in his heart for knives. He’ll draw blood, or not, running the blade across your skin, not afraid to use the hilt to fuck you. The same goes for guns of all sorts, shells or bullets removed. Expect them to be put into places – like your mouth, or cunt. He’s not shy about it.

*I should add he is a total switch. He can play at top or bottom. IMO he plays bottom more frequently for male partners, and tops for female partners, but again, he loves a woman who knows how to take charge – he wouldn’t mind if you stepped on him.

Overall, he has a lot of sadistic qualities, but he’s also a bit of a masochist— he knows when and where to draw the line. He would never hurt you or do anything without your consent, UNLESS you’ve done something to get on his bad side, then there is no telling what might happen.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do):

As I mentioned earlier, this man is an exhibitionist, so he would settle for fucking you anywhere he could. However, the riskier, the better, as he’s not afraid of getting caught—it’s part of the thrill. But if he’s feeling romantic, maybe he takes you to the roof of the Old State House, out under the stars.

Afterward, he lays with you there, pointing out the various constellations he’s read about in books. Maybe he even dragged an old mattress up there—no one will miss it—as it’s a place you frequently rendezvous.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going):

Violence and compassion, LOL. Allow me to explain:

Put simply, you putting down assholes for all the right reasons gets him hard. Hancock’s all about dispensing justice, about helping out the little guy, so if he gets to watch you kill evil fucking people while doing just that? Talk about a bonus— a really attractive one.

“Mn, the way you cut that guy’s head clean off—I wanted to fuck you right then and there. You should have seen his eyes bug out—bastard knew what was coming.”

Also, you doing a lot of chems and lowering your inhibitions for him? You willing to get freaky with him? That just makes you soulmates.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs:

Cannibalism, which is self-explanatory considering his comments in the game in regard to Sole if you have/use that perk. Hey, at least he’s not too judgmental.

I also do not assume he’s into torture, or blood and gore. A quick, merciless death is more his style, but considering his thoughts on Pickman and his “artistic flair,” plus not wanting to go anywhere near the gallery to see for himself, makes me think he’s adverse to that kind of thing. He doesn’t necessarily like hurting people or causing pain, only when the situation truly calls for it.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc):

I see him as preferring to give, though he won’t turn down a blowjob. It is a high all its own to get you off so easy with his mouth.

All those delicious little sounds; the way you writhe beneath him; the way you hold the back of his head; the way you say his name… It’s addicting, almost more so than chems. And I should say he’s not above eating ass.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.):

Again, both—depending on what his mood dictates. He’s not afraid to fuck you hard and fast, but he can also slow down and make love to you when he’s feeling soft. He’s a moody Ghoul, but it is a part of his charm. Time spent with him is never boring.

Sometimes, pure, unbridled lust wins out, or maybe he’s feeling sadistic for whatever reason—in this case, you may find yourself unable to walk the next morning.

But he can also be sensual, taking his time to please you proper while sending you to heaven on a cloud of fluffy, romantic words. He’s multifaceted, and so is your love for each other.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc):

I don’t think I am alone when I say that Hancock commenting offhand about, “you just say the word if you wanna take a little, uh, chem break” is most likely a euphemism for sex and very suggestive.

He sure as hell has nothing bad to say about quickies. Getting down and dirty at a moment’s notice is in his wheelhouse, so don’t be afraid to tell him when you’re in the mood, no matter where you might be or what you might be doing.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.):

Bears repeating, I guess. He’s up for almost anything and everything, minus the eating human flesh part. He’s not afraid to take risks in any aspect of his life, always out to do the right thing, even if there are consequences.

In relation to sex, he’s not shy, and doesn’t expect for you to be either. Feel free to open up to him about your deepest, darkest desires—he would be thrilled to help you out in that department.

Expect him to offer chems beforehand, or to check in with you if it’s something a little more high-risk. Safety first and all that nonsense—he truly cares about your well-being, but it’s also nice to know he’s met his match. That’s not to say he wouldn’t have fun corrupting you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…):

I’m going to say that the regenerative effect that Ghouls possess also allows them to recuperate quickly after sex. Hancock has a stamina stockpile; he could go for hours, or for multiple rounds.

Of course, he also doesn’t mind just holding you, slowing down to bask for a little while in your amiable company.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?):

Back to the knife-play, gun-play kink, I suspect he not only uses various, dangerous tools to pleasure you, but also rope, or handcuffs. Everyday items that can he repurposed into something new and fucked up—alligator clamps for your nipples, or an Institute shock baton as a cattle prod—if you’re into that sort of thing. In other words, he’s not afraid to experiment.

As it’s the “end of the world,” I am not sure he has access to expensive, exotic toys, but if he did, he would be sure to use them. Maybe there’s an old sex shop with a few top of the line products still on the shelves. He’d nab anything for shits and giggles, trying various things out on you and on himself. Not like he has anything better to do.

But even so, he probably prefers it just being you and him, nothing fancy. He doesn’t need it— you’re all he needs to have a good time.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

Hancock often plays unfair. He loves to tease you to the point of edging. He’ll take you as far as the cusp of an orgasm, then let the feeling dissipate, driving you toward insanity a little more each time.

And he’s so good at what he does; you’ll cum when he allows it. Lucky for you, this time he’s feeling generous—but if you pout? He’s done for.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make):

Hancock may make you scream his name, but he’s more of a subdued moan, heavy breaths in your ear kind of Ghoul. He’ll whisper sweet sentiments or speak all the filthy, filthy things he’s going to do you, but may be a bit of a pillow biter when roles are reversed.

He’d still take it like a champ, though, chomping down to keep from “embarrassing” himself. I also bet he’s a bit of a whimperer, or a whiner, fingers digging into the sheets as he buckles down under you like a common whore.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice):

I’ve got two:

1) Hancock is an over-protective boyfriend who is always out to “watch your back,” whether that be keeping his eye out for creeps, or intervening in a conversation on your behalf. I can also see him as the slightly jealous type, though he would bring it up only due to his own insecurities. Otherwise, he quietly stews until it eats away at him enough he feels the need to say what’s on his mind.

“Hey, if you’re getting bored of me, just say the word—I’ll go.” I don’t think he wants to stick around where he’s not wanted.

2) Hancock is into PDA maybe more than he should be. He’d let you sit in his lap in public while his hands travel your body. He’d caress your waist and thighs, and whisper jokes in your ear that are only meant for you to hear— Hancock loves making you giggle. He’s also up for dragging you into dark corners for steamy make-out sessions, or just wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. Let ‘em stare, he gives no fucks who sees you together.

Of course, he’s also OK with just gazing at you lovingly when no one’s looking— not even you.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words):

Hancock’s cock is just as scarred and damaged as the rest of his body, but he can still get it up, and the striations and respective bits of raised tissue are basically just another way of saying “ribbed for your pleasure.”

It’s variegated in color, or various shades—pale, deathly white, intermingled with dark, almost cadaverous-like patches. If you’re into necrosis, this is the man for you, though nothing is falling off or anything like that—he’s 100% intact, willing and able.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?):

I imagine he has a pretty high sex-drive, but sex isn’t everything to him by any means. He’s always down for a quick romp in the hay, but he’s also not opposed to cuddles.

Yes, he’s a cuddler. With the sappy, over the top romantic lines he says in game, how can this man NOT want to bury himself in your arms every chance he gets? And don’t put it past him to be clingy, either. That’s not always what he’s about, but it can happen with the right combination of brain chemicals and fluffy feelings.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

I see Hancock as waiting for you to fall asleep first, or at least being cognizant enough to know what is going on in the event he has to keep you safe from whatever’s lurking in the dark, whether you’re hiding in the ruins, or walled up somewhere in Goodneighbor—can never be too careful.

In addition, I peg him as someone who may be a bit of an insomniac. He’s a bit hyper in game, and with the fact he pumps himself full of chems just to try to get high, I imagine even as a Ghoul it could fuck up your sleep cycle.

Still, when he falls asleep he sleeps hard—but don’t mind waking him. He’s ready to go when you are, just give him a minute.

--

If you enjoyed this, be on the lookout for my John Hancock x Fem! Reader fic in the next day or so! 6.8k+ words of porn with plot. :D

P.S.: if you have a specific request, or just want to talk about Hancock in my inbox, feel free!!

****

Edit: Here’s the fic!

[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.

[gobald]

And that's how Beanie Danse was born

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

You mentioned ghoul scent markings-- can you elaborate on that? Explain it and dump any other thoughts you have about it?

So, I feel like ghoulification would heighten all of the senses (*within the confines of what tissues can remain intact over long spans of time, like centuries; we see older ghouls, especially, with things like cataracts, etc. that would would obviously impact your perception), but the sense of smell especially. Smell is widely considered to be the "weakest" of the human senses, but if you were constantly regenerating the smell receptors that are physically closest to your brain, along with having basically one massive nostril, I'd think you'd at least smell SOMEWHAT more effectively.

I've seen people assume that, as ghouls eventually lose their noses to decay, they have no sense of smell, and (absolutely no disrespect or anything) I find that sort of funny. The olfactory sense ultimately originates in the brain, like any other sense, and the smell receptors that pick up on odors are not only found in the cartilaginous parts of the nose AKA the part that would rot off.

Scent memory is also one of the strongest kinds of memory, as the olfactory bulb that processes smells is located very close to the amygdala and the hippocampus, the memory centers of your brain. For this reason, I think that many ghouls, but particularly ferals, would be incredibly sensitive to smells, even if their particular "nose" is weak from decay. I'd imagine that ferals, as they slip further and further into the sort of aggressive, rotting dementia state we see them in, would still be able to connect with some human memories through smells. I think this may be one of the things that draws them to people so easily, even when you're trying to sneak past them.

Imagine moldering away for years and years, rational and conscious thought basically lost to you, and then, for just a breath, you smell a long-lost loved one's perfume, a favorite food you haven't tasted in decades, a fresh rain after a long, long dry spell. Just for a moment...you can remember.

All that to say that I think smell would be a very big deal for ghouls. Especially the smell of people they care about. One day, the memory of that smell may be quite literally all they have left.

I'm not sure most of them would be conscious of the fact that it's scent marking, but it wouldn't be uncommon to find ghoul lovers (ghouls who are lovers AND those who love ghouls) swapping clothing, reveling in their partner's smell enveloping them and vice versa. Taking their lover around other ghouls and knowing that the fact that the others can smell them all over you means they know you're theirs. Ghouls smelling another ghoul on you and knowing all your business without you even having to say anything.

(Plus...it's just a fun excuse to not have to pull out, you know?)

[yawnderu]

>Commission for the lovely @slava-the-stalker! Thank you so much for supporting me with comms for my surgery. TTwTT 💗💗

John stared deep into the mirror, his visage scrunched up in a mix of discomfort and insecurity upon seeing his own reflection. What used to be a normal human face is nothing like the... thing staring back at him, his own hands coming up to caress the rough, scarred skin. While he's glad the bastard who failed all those ghouls is no longer recognizable, part of him feels a growing pit of anxiety boiling up in his stomach, threatening to explode at any moment now, the sound of your gentle humming coming from the bedroom calming him down even if only for a second. 

With one last look of disdain at his own face, he makes his way out of the bathroom, his chest lightly puffed out in fake confidence, not wanting you to sense the inner turmoil in his head. The pure devotion in your eyes makes him hesitate, yet he pushes himself to be closer, lying down next to your body, one of his cold hands running up and down the crevice of your waist. 

“Took you long enough.” The pure mirth in your eyes makes the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile despite himself, fighting the urge to recoil back the moment your hand meets his cheek, the warmth spreading all over his cold skin, bringing a sense of comfort amidst the chaos in his head. 

“Looking this good ain't easy.” That fake confidence will be his demise one day, he knows it, yet the sweet laugh leaving your lips is enough to push the thought to the back of his mind, his eyes closing at the sensation of your thumb caressing his skin with nothing short of worship. He can feel you inching closer, not doing a damn thing to stop you as your lips crash against his, moving at an almost agonizingly slow pace, your breath hot against his face. 

His hand drifts lower and lower as your kiss becomes more heated, cold fingers curling around your supple ass, squeezing it harshly as he pulls you closer to him, all the blood rushing down to his cock the moment your tongue enters his parted lips, wrapping around him without any trace of disgust. Your free hand comes down to his groin, teasingly tracing the outline of his hardening cock with your index before fully cupping it, feeling the vibrations of a groan leaving his lips against your own. 

You can feel him harden beneath your palm, your fingers curling around the outline of his cock as your warm tongue meets his, battling for a dominance that he instantly surrenders, the feeling of his hands groping your ass harder dragging a moan out of your lips, only breaking away from the kiss to lean your forehead against his. 

“I have been having slightly more impure thoughts than usual.” He confesses, his voice barely a whisper as a hint of hesitation dances in his dark eyes. 

“Maybe it's time we... act on those.” His nervous chuckle doesn't go ignored, only making the tenderness in your eyes grow at the slight display of nervousness written all over his face. You've heard his thoughts about your relationship— about how he thinks you don't want to wake up to his mug every morning, and how he would never wish that on anyone he cared for; yet for you, John Hancock is a work of art. Every single intricate pattern on his skin, the way he carries himself, the strong sense of responsibility and morality towards his cause, and the sheer kindness seeping through his entire soul, clear in his very own actions. 

The only response he gets is a soft peck on the lips, your gentle eyes meeting his, serving as a soothing balm for the insecurities that run deep within. He allows his body to relax despite the way his muscles are threatening to tense at the sensation of your fingers unbuttoning his pants, his hand instinctively reaching out to hold yours the moment your fingers touch his zipper. 

“You don't... have to.” He reassures, not wanting you to feel forced to look at his disfigured, ghoul body. 

“I want to.” Your tone is even and firm, your intentions clear as day, yet he only moves his hand away after seeing the way your pupils dilate when looking up at him. John has been alone for what feels like an eternity, the idea of being intimate with someone he loves being such a foreign and mildly scary concept even for the bravest of men. 

He forces his body to relax, laying down on his back as you undo his zipper, a sharp hiss leaving his thin lips the moment your warm hands pull his hard cock out, blown pupils fully admiring every single detail; the thick, darker veins running over his length, to the dark pink bulbous tip, glistening with precum that seems to leak like a broken faucet. A deep groan leaves his lips as your fingers curl around his thick length, moving up and down at such an agonizingly slow pace that he's close to throwing his pride away and begging. 

His lips part, half-lidded eyes staring up at the ceiling as his jaw clenches, feeling the mattress sink with the weight of your knees, parting his legs just enough for your body to fit between them. Your tongue darts out, licking a tantalizing stripe over his sensitive tip, running over his thin slit, the taste of salty precum overwhelming your senses, mixing in with your slimy saliva. His hand goes to the back of your head, cold fingers caressing your scalp rather than pushing you closer, his grip tightening momentarily the moment your warm tongue runs up and down the thickest vein on his shaft. 

“Please, love...” He's not even sure why he's pleading, yet surrendering all control to the person he loves the most brings out an exhilarating feeling he never knew was possible without drugs. You obey, slowly pushing his throbbing cock deeper into your mouth, relaxing your throat just to take him deeper without triggering your gag reflex. The tears dotting your eyelashes only make you look even more charming to him, lightly bucking his hips so you can finish taking all of him, your nose against his trimmed pubic hair, the feeling of his soft, heavy balls against your chin only makes it more enticing, sucking in your cheeks as you start to bob your head up and down, taking in the feeling of his cock sliding down your throat. 

His grip tightens on your hair, inhibitions thrown out the window as he stars to guide your movements, his eyes darkening at the way every single inch of his cock disappears into your needy, willing throat, squelching sounds mixing in with his deep groans, his head thrown back, the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down fully on display for your curious eyes. Your hands squeeze his thighs once you're unable to get air anymore and he immediately helps you pull away, gently wiping the trail of saliva going down the corners of your lips, using the chance to cup your cheek and stare down at you with nothing but pure, undying love. 

“I'd like to try something new tonight.” His face tilts to the side slightly, curiosity clear in his expression, resting his heavy body on his elbows as his dark eyes focus on the way you seductively strip of your clothes, layer after layer coming off to reveal the soft, untainted flesh, so unlike his own— so pure and clean. 

His gaze follows your movements, instinctively fitting his body on top of yours the moment you lay down on your back, one hand supporting his weight, and the other one drifting down your plush thigh, roaming up and down as if it's the first time he feels something so tender, forever enamored with the way your body feels against his no matter how many times you make love. 

His fingers drift down to your sopping cunt, swiftly running over your erect clit for a second before he's back to gathering your slick on his fingers, teasing your entrance before going up, rubbing circles over your clit, the way your back arches and your tits jiggle slightly simply makes his cock throb, lowering his hand to grip it, rubbing himself up and down a few times before guiding his thick tip to your entrance, starting to push in. Your hand on his bicep forces him to halt his movements, shooting you a curious, worried look. 

“Not... not that hole.” It only takes a second for your words to register, amusement clear in his face, yet a speck of doubt manages to always crawl its way into his brain. Do you truly want a bastard like him to defile you? Your legs parting to give him more space, not a single hint of hesitation in the way you move, presenting yourself to him.

Perhaps it's about time John allows himself to be selfish— to take what's being offered to him. His grip tightens on his cock, rubbing the tip up and down your sopping pussy, gathering as much slick as he can around the tip, knowing you're going to be a tight fit. 

“Say the word if y'want me to stop.” Your little nod is all he needs, relaxing your lower body as he applies pressure against your tight, puckered hole, feeling it give in and wrap tightly around the tip of his cock, a small groan leaving his lips at the sensation. He sinks into you slowly and carefully, a loud sigh escaping him the moment he managed to bottom out, yet his eyes never once leave your face, his hand coming up to cup your cheek and caress the tender skin with his thumb, giving you as much time as you need to get used to the foreign sensation. 

“You can move now.” The sweetness of your words makes his lips curl up into a sincere smile, his hips rocking into you slowly, feeling your tight hole grip him like a vice, the warmth surrounding him is almost enough to make him cum, yet he focuses solely on your pleasure, his thin lips coming down to kiss your neck, licking a tantalizing stripe over the sensitive skin just to feel your body shudder at the sensation, your hands coming up to caress his back, pulling his body so close that your heat is spreading all over, touching his very own soul. 

“I love this...” His tongue applies more pressure to your neck as you drag out your words, taking full advantage of the sensitive nerves just to feel your throat vibrating against hips lips with each sweet moan that comes out of your lips, daring to fuck into you deeper and harder now that you're used to his size. 

“I love you.” His hips falter for a second, unable to hide the surprise dancing in his slightly widened eyes at your confession, yet the look of love and trust written all over your face drags away any disbelief he felt, his soul freed even if only for a moment as your face finds shelter on the crook of his neck the moment his thrusts speed up, fucking into your tight ass at an almost unlawful pace, wanting you to feel every single inch of his hard cock, of his love. 

A loud groan escapes his lips the moment he feels your teeth bite into his shoulder, likely trying to muffle your crescendo moans, the stinging sensation making his cock throb, slamming himself as deep as he can into your puckered hole, his body weight keeping you pressed down as ropes of thick, hot cum shoot deep into you, painting your tight walls white. His heavy body rests on top of yours, too exhausted to move out of the way yet, the sensation of being lightly crushed oddly pleasant. 

“I love you too. More than anything, more than anyone...” He whispers into your ear, slowly pulling out of you, his dark eyes taking a few seconds to admire his work of art— your gaping hole leaking with his hot, white cum, a thin layer of sweat covering your exhausted, fucked-out body. He lays down next to you, his arms wrapping around your waist just to bring you closer, planting a gentle kiss on top of your forehead. 

His eyes drift down to the red teeth marks on his shoulder, letting out a small chuckle at the idea of having a future bruise as a reminder of your night together.

[mlmxreader]

Fallout + pet names/terms of endearment

these are ALL m!reader - please don't be weird abt it if you aren't mlm/nblm

jncludes: MacCready, Preston, Hancock, Nick, Cooper Howard/The Ghoul & Maximus

MacCready

handsome, trouble, sugar, bad boy (playfully)

MacCready rolled over from his place on the left side of the bed, a soft groan coming from the back of his throat as he noticed the sunshine starting to trickle in through the cracks in the wall; he couldn't believe it was morning already, but when he set his eyes on you, still fast asleep next to him, he couldn't help but to smile as he gently nudged you.

"Morning, handsome," his voice was quiet and low, still thick with sleep. "C'mon, it's time to get going."

Preston

sweet, General (playfully), husband, Prince charming

It was getting late when you and Preston finally got back home after helping out a settlement in need; the stars were shining brightly, almost as if the world hadn't turned to utter shit around you. Preston couldn't help it, stealing a fond glance your way as he smiled and allowed his shoulders to drop all their tension for the first time that day.

"We're almost home," he said softly. "Not long now, sweet."

Hancock

love, beloved, sweetheart, casanova, sunshine

Hancock had been locked in his office all day, dealing with the various goings on in Goodneighbor and hardly speaking to anyone at all except to ask for the odd bit of Jet here and there to keep him going; he was completely oblivious when you sat yourself down opposite his desk, tilting your head to the side and raising your brows expectantly. You had to clear your throat to get his attention, and when you did, he looked up at you with the upmost fondness.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he almost laughed. "I'll be right there."

Nick

honey, old man, beau, darling

The music was playing loudly as you and Nick sat down at what you could only guess was a pub, although there was hardly anyone around except for a few regulars. It was nice to get away from the hustle and bustle of Diamond City, as well as the nastiness from its residents that weren't exactly kind about your relationship with Nick. A quick look around, and you hummed under your breath at the realisation that nobody actually cared or even noticed.

"Alright, beau," Nick said as he lit up a cigarette. "You sit here, and I'll go get your drinks."

Cooper

cowboy, daddy-o, hot stuff, romeo

At best, Cooper was difficult; selfish and violent, he didn't exactly care what anyone else said or thought about him. He was always the shoot first, ask questions never type - whatever brought him whatever it was he wanted at the time. But even still, as he worked on getting a fire started for the night, he did find it difficult to take his eyes from you; you were the most fucking handsome guy he had ever seen in all his years, and at night, it seemed like the stars became trapped in your eyes.

"C'mon, cowboy," he said suddenly. "Sit down an' eat somethin'."

Maximus

sweetheart, angel, pumpkin, tiger, teddy bear

Maximus grinned as he sat down beside you, thankful to have some spare time just for the two of you; a little bit giddy, he handed you the glass bottle of Nuka Cherry. Outside, the weather was hot and almost sweltering, but amongst the wooden walls of the abandoned shack, it wasn’t so bad.

"I managed to find the last one," he told you, nearly laughing. "What'd you think, angel?"

[hanckocks-dagger]

Shake, rattle, and roll

masterlist

John Hancock x f!reader

Description: After three weeks on the road, you come home to Goodneighbor to find a sweet surprise from Hancock. Naturally, you fuck him about it. 

Tags: Such sappy smut guys, holy shit theyre in love, Hancock is a simp. Reader could be viewed as SoSu or not, no y/n, female anatomy

Warnings: smut! Pretty vanilla though, honestly, so nothing else to mention

Word count: 6K

Cross posted on my ao3

The last day of travel was always the worst; with the end goal in sight

The morning sun beat down on you, the trek from Lexington having seemed almost endless. There was only one thing on your mind as you marched over the Harvard bridge; Hancock's bed. You had the full intention of crawling right into it and staying there, comatose, for several days.

Of course, it wasn't quite that simple. You needed to unload the spare weapons you'd picked up, throw those to KL-E-0. You also had some things to drop at Daisy's, some things to pass on to Ham for the Third Rail...

You pulled your pack higher onto your shoulders, ignoring the ache of your back from the weight of it, all the junk you'd decided to ferry back with you. The straps of the bag were sure to leave deep, painful indents in your skin, almost permanently rubbed raw after weeks of travel.

Downtown, you skirted between Diamond City outposts, making your usual wide berth around the city itself. Despite being human and technically welcome inside the city, you'd taken to avoiding it, as if their prejudice was infectious. You hadn't entered the gates in months by now, and even though you missed Power Noodles and stopping by the agency to bother Nick, you felt no real urge to step inside.

The inhabitants' paranoia, towards the institute and towards outsiders, made the air in the city oppressive. Compared to the freedom of Goodneighbor, even with all of its own problems, Diamond City felt tyrannical in comparison.

You made a wide berth around the old scrap yard, overrun by feral dogs, climbing a fire escape to reach the elevated turnpike.

The closer you got to Goodneighbor, the hard it was to push forward. With the end in sight, close enough that you could practically count the steps you had left, aware of every finite amount of energy you had to eke from your body. Still, you reused to break, pushing forward, hands wrapped tight around the straps of your pack, like a schoolchild with their brightly colored schoolbag

Just a little further. Just a little more. The turnpike turned North, and you had to duck and pause as some gunner scouts passed, the highway connected to some high-rises, precarious wooden planks forming bridges.

Crouched down low, your calves burned, your fingers ached as you gripped your revolver, checking the bullet count on autopilot and lining up a shot, just in case you were spotted.

You weren't, the mercenaries passing from one end of the bridge to the other, wood creaking under their weight, loud, unconcerned conversation passing between them.

You sneaked past them in a crouch, knees and back protesting, familiar flood of adrenaline humming through your blood, heartbeat in your ears. The thrill stayed even once you were out of eyesight, until you'd shaken out your joints and rolled your shoulders, back to your brisk pace.

One of these days, you promised yourself, zeroing in on the broken jaw of the freeway that you used to find your bearings, you'd find a way to make a portable Ham-radio. Staying away so long was making you half-insane. You hadn't heard his voice in over two weeks, and at this point you would have sold all the loot you were lugging around to see his face a few minutes sooner. You'd pay insane sums to be able to hear him on the regular while you were away. Joking, complaining, hell, even just reading off his fucking caravan logs.

The body of the freeway dropped to the ground, crumbling concrete surrounding a Gunner camp, probably the one those two idiots earlier were supposed to be protecting. Well, you thought, pulling a trip-mine from your pack, it wasn't your fault if they were fucking morons.

Behind the rusted body of a truck, you waited for the perfect moment to strike, listening with patience to the Gunners as they yelled and laughed, carefree in the way only over-confident assholes ever could be. On a different day, you would have attacked with something more complicated, something that could blast the entire camp in one go, but today, you were tired and homesick.

At the right moment, you activated the mine and tossed it, scurrying from behind your car to drop off the side of the freeway, landing in a crouch in an alley a street over from Goodneighbor, booking it as the mine went off and the yells changed from happy to panicked.

You'd often thought, as you and Hancock laid spread eagle on the bed, or sprawled over the couch, that between the two of you, you were by far the one more likely to turn feral. He was too clever, his mind too sharp, even dulled by drugs. You were the one running around the wasteland, scampering like some little creature, hoarding old-world junk, killing nearly indiscriminately. You survived on the high of your own adrenaline, surviving scrapes by the skin of your teeth, by clawing, biting, crushing, choking.

You held your breath until you could see the glow of the welcome-sign, neon arrow pointing at the door, like to the entrance of a dingy nightclub. It shone like a beacon even in the daylight, beckoning you home.

When your fingers touched the door, you swore you gained a second wind, the eerie stillness of downtown Boston turning into the hum of bustling Goodneighbor residents. You greeted the Neighborhood watch as you entered the town, and they variously tipped caps or winked at you, hands always on their guns.

Daisy's was full, the sure sign of a newly passed caravan. You spotted that Railroad guy, sipping from a bottle on the bench in front of the store, doing his usual job of completely failing to fit in by being almost unnaturally nondescript. That might work in Diamond city, but not in Goodneighbor.

Your steps were slow as you maneuvered through the crowd, aware of the pack on your back and the guns slung over your shoulders. You headed for Kill or Be killed, planning to unload some ammo and spare rifle you'd picked up. You kept your eyes peeled for that flash of red in your periphery, the heat that filled your chest whenever you were near him.

KL-E-0's store was empty, meaning she was probably on the second floor, conducting some less than savory business. You'd hustle out of there if you heard the sound of her laser powering up, but you decided to spare a few minutes.

You leaned your forearms onto the counter, taking some of the weight off your sore feet and back, eyes running over the visible apparel, wondering what things you should offload.

Sure enough, barely a minute passed before you could hear the wood creaking above you, footsteps descending the staircase and an achingly familiar voice:

"-Talk when my girl brings something new, call it a uh- personal favor."

You raised your head from where it had been lolling, that familiar voice sending a sweet ache through your chest and a giddy smile onto your face. His girl.

Hancock was turned away from you, speaking to KL-E-0, trusty shotgun in his hands.

If your pack had been lighter, you would have bounded into his arms and dragged him right back to the old State House. You would have indulged the exhibitionist in him, wrapped your legs around his waist and let him stick his tongue down your throat right there in the street.

Instead, though, you settled for walking over, supporting the bottom of your pack to keep it from rattling. KL-E-0's red eye flickered over to you for a moment, inscrutable as always, but she stayed quiet, allowing you to surprise Hancock as he chattered about the recoil of his gun.

You wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, smushing your face between his shoulder blades. You breathed him in, the familiar smell of tanned hide, cigarettes and that ever present old-museum-smell that he'd tried many times in vain to get rid of. You inhaled with a shudder, pressing a kiss to his back, feeling his momentary frozen shock melt away as he seemed to register who was touching him.

He spun in your arms, leaving you face to face with soft eyes and a softer smile, a hand coming up to cup your cheek.

Warm lips pressed to yours and you melted arms sliding up to hook around his shoulders, pulling him flush to you. A corner of your mind– or your heart– which had spent the past two weeks growling about being apart from him, finally quieted down.

"Is that your gun digging into my hip, or are you just happy to see me, love?" He asked you when you separated, leaving you to snort and hide your face in his shoulder, so giddy you thought you might burst with it.

You swallowed past your joy, composing yourself so that you could lean back and flick the tip of Hancock's tricorn-hat upwards, giving you a better view of those lovely dark eyes, always so emotive, crinkled at the corners.

"Good to see you too, Mister Mayor," You breathed, hands sliding from his shoulders down to his waist, backing out of KL-E-0's store, dragging Hancock along with you. He came willingly, not allowing even an extra inch between the two of you.

All thoughts of bartering, even your own body's complaints were forgotten, your heart singing. You blinked against the sunlight, convinced suddenly that the weather was reflecting your mood.

"What's your plan for the day?" You asked, when it became clear Hancock was too busy staring at you to say anything. The two of you seemed to be wandering in a leisurely pace towards the old State House, but you didn't care where you were going. You'd follow him around all day if you had to. You could be going right back into the Wastes for all you cared. You'd trail behind him as he did whatever he needed to do, collapse from exhaustion and let him carry you back to bed.

"Oh, you know," He said, pulling you up the steps to the Old State House, opening the door for you, ushering you inside, "Was gonna get high and mope around all day, waiting for you." He had no sooner shut the door than he grabbed you by your belt, pinning you to the wall, your heavy pack hitting the wall. "Probably drive Fahrenheit crazy with my pining–"

You hum, smoothing out the lapels of his coat as his hands wander.

"Now, I'm thinking we go up and let the whole town we're reunited."

"Sounds perfect," You agreed, pressing a kiss to his jaw before pushing him gently in the direction of the staircase. He led the charge, half toppling over every step in his desperation not to let go of you.

The second you hit the landing he whisked you back into his arms again, hands restless as he squeezed your sides, traveled up your arms, touched your face, all before coming right back down again to squeeze your ass. Another breathy laugh escaped you, so happy you couldn't put your smile away even as you kissed him.

His hand slid up to your lower back, guiding you towards the bedroom, your lips still locked together.

you pulled away at the door as Hancock filled with the stubborn doorknob, always jammed right when you needed it to open. You keep your arms hooked around him, but you give a salute to the neighborhood watchman stationed in front of your door. His face stayed stoic, either used to yours and Hancock's antics, or from copious threats from Hancock. Both seem equally likely.

He did give you a nod, though, as Hancock crooned in victory, having managed to fling the doors open. You gave him a smile, right as Hancock grabbed your arms and pulled you in. You kicked the doors shut behind you, already laughing as Hancock showered your face with kisses, dipping you like a dancer.

You separated from him enough to finally drop your pack, which thumps to the floor. Your guns come off, placed down with more care, followed by your bandolier and scavenging jacket.

Hancock cracked the doors open as you busied yourself, calling out, "Make sure to keep all the riff-raff out today, yeah brother?" And then the doors were shut and locked. A peaceful quiet descending over you.

He takes your hands, pulling you to the center of the bedroom, leaving you bathed in afternoon sunlight peeking in from the open balcony door. The room was as clean as it ever was, five hundred years of grime that you'd long given up on trying to get rid of.

With the door open and the spring air flooding in, everything felt fresher, not weighed down by centuries of history, but just a normal bedroom. Your books had been stacked in neat piles on the dresser, where you could see one of your shirt sleeves peeking out from the drawer. The bed was newly made, and....

"Is that..?" You stared, taking in the sharp white color of the fresh sheets, looking brand fucking new. Not Commonwealth new either, no, this looked like the bleached and pressed sheets of a fucking prewar hotel.

Your eyes sought out Hancock's, expecting to find him grinning, boastful, the usual exaggerated ego coupled with his general cool-demeanor, but instead you found him looking... uncertain. One hand rubbing the back of his neck like he was... bashful.

"Where did you get this?" You asked, stepping over to the bed. You ran a hand almost irreverently over the fresh sheets, feeling the starched, crisp texture of it, not rotting and mildewed like almost everything was.

"Oh, a uh– new trade caravan passed through last week. From somewhere out west, they've been growing cotton and weaving shit.

As if in a trance, you started shucking off your clothes, not wanting to sully the fresh sheets with your blood and dirt stained layers. You only get as far as your outer shirt when Hancock's hands sneak back onto your waist, almost timid in their touch. You half wanted to slap them off in your urge to get naked, get under the sheets and let him touch you there all he wanted.

Instead, you spin around to face him, guide his hands under your shirt to the warm skin of your stomach. "You're an angel, you know that?" You said.

He laughed, "Only for you, sister. Devil to everyone else."

You laughed back at him, finally shedding your shirt. As you try to wrestle off your boots with the force of your heel, all the examples to the contrary fly into your head: Every kind action he'd done, every willingly shared drug, every situation where he'd chosen less violence than he needed to. The nights you'd spent watching him agonize over whether he was good enough for his community, whether he was making the right decisions.

Instead of bringing those up, you pecked his lips in thanks. With his 'help' (groping), you got your undershirt and bra off, leaving your torso bare.

You leant down to unlace your boots, your earlier attempts having been futile, but before you could Hancock had you off your feet, tossing you head first into soft, fresh sheets. He took over, hands trailing teasingly over the waistband of your pants before he turned to your boots, sliding them off and taking your socks with them.

You groaned, cheek smushed into the mattress, as nimble hands pull your pants down and off. Trailing fingers, tickling the backs of your naked calves, up into the hollow of your knees. You had to stifle a giggle as a feather light touch against your inner thigh made you jump.

The bed shifted as he climbed onto it, his legs bracketing yours, knees pressing into the flesh of your thighs.

Fingers on the waistband of your underwear.

"How about we get these off?" His voice, low and gravelly, suddenly hot in your ear. A gentle bite to the cartilage of your earlobe, the drag of fabric as your underwear was pulled down your legs and then tossed somewhere.

"You know," You breathed, raising yourself onto your elbows so you could crane your neck and tried to catch him in a kiss. You missed, but settled for kissing his shoulder, hovering just by your head. "I'm feeling a bit exposed here. You've stripped me bare and you're still clothed."

You turned underneath him, determined to get him to kiss you again, were met with his grinning face just above yours. "Well, let no one call me an unfair man," He said, sinking onto his haunches, just out of reach of your desperate mouth. He plucked his tricorn from his head, settled it onto your.

You raised yourself to him, stole a quick peck, languishing in every brush of his lips against yours. It was dangerous, how much you'd missed him on the road, pining to the point of distraction. The times you'd ducked into buildings to ease an ache brought on by reminiscing, imagining him besides you, or on you, or in you. Imagining him being beside you as you stumbled into firefights, imagined his hands patching you up, rather than your own.

"You didn't happen to remember to take any Rad-X this morning, didya?"

His words pulled you from your stewing. You groaned. In your excitement to get home, you'd completely forgotten.

"Can't we just... skip it? This once?" You asked, pulling on his collar, dragging him down to lie on top of you, his mouth in reach again. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, hooking one leg around his waist to ground him to you, keep him from getting distracted.

"You and I both know you'd regret that in the morning, sister."

He was right, the bastard. Spending your morning throwing up, hooked to a Rad-Away was not your ideal first day back. So, lamentably, you release your grip on him, hands and leg flopping to the side as he leant over to grab a bottle from the nightstand.

"I'm sure we can find something to... entertain you, while we wait for it to kick in."

You pouted, making a show of how frustrating his interruption had been, how desperate you were to get him back. Here you were, naked, spread-eagle and waiting, with patience you didn't have.

You watched, silently, as he dug into the bottle, drawing out two pills. As he stepped back over, you pulled yourself back onto your elbows, waiting for him to hand them over, or maybe deposit them into your mouth himself.

Instead, as he kneeled onto the bed, he put them into his own mouth, leaning over you to meld his lips to yours. You grabbed at him, feeling his arms wrap around your waist to support your weight as you melted in his arms. Slowly, in long, deep, searing kisses, the pills moved from his mouth to yours. Once they were on your tongue, he pulled his mouth off yours, scarred lips shining with spit, and moved to your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin as you gather enough saliva to swallow the pills.

Rad-X was quick to kick in, but the effects weren't instantaneous, leaving the pair of you with at least ten minutes to kill. On a normal day, you would have been happy to spend those minutes making out, taking your time in stripping Hancock off his clothes, egging each other on with dirty words and dangerous fantasies. But you'd spent over three weeks away from Goodneighbor, over three weeks of precarious mental foreplay, dreaming of his touch at night, fantasizing of him in the day. Suddenly, even the prospect of radiation sickness was not enough of a reason to stay away.

You tore at his coat, rucking his frilly shirt out from under his sash, exposing his slim stomach. You watched the muscle there tense under your touch, as you ran cold hands over his hips, tugging him closer to you. With practiced hands, you made quick work of untying the sash at his hips, satiny fabric sliding from your fingers and onto the floor like a waterfall.

Hancock bit into the flesh of your shoulder, making you hiss and dig your nails into the skin by his hip bones in retaliation.

You pull his chin upwards, leading his mouth to yours again, keeping those teeth from doing any more damage just yet.

Your generous hands wandered, up and under his shirt, roaming over the breadth of his chest, feeling it expand as he inhaled. You nipped at his bottom lip, drawing out a rumbling groan, felt both in your mouth against his, and in the vibrations against your fingertips.

You scooted to the edge of the bed, bracketing his hips with your thighs, freeing his hands so you could tug his coat off. Your hands slipped up under his collar, pushing his narrow shoulders backwards, giving you enough leverage to push the heavy coat backwards, the heavy fabric thumping to the ground.

Sometimes, when Hancock looked particularly vulnerable, usually collapsed on one of his couches, bleary with the haze of jet, his outfit reminded you of a child playing dress-up. In ancient coat tailored for a man with broader shoulders, a hat fit for a pirate and a disdain for the sort power he wielded.

You pulled your lips off of his, formulating a plea that would get you what you wanted, what words would make him understand just how badly you  ached for him, just how unbearable the emptiness in you was. You pressed a chaste kiss to his sternum, bare but hiding in the ruffles of his shirt, and made a blind grab for the waistband of his pants, words suddenly elusive.

His hands stopped yours, stilling them just by the button on his pants, so close to their goal.

You whined, the sound almost entirely involuntary, tilting your head up to meet Hancock's gaze with your own, sure now that he was teasing you.

"John," You managed, "This is cruel."

His eyes crinkled, as if you were the one making the joke, as if you weren't the one burning from the inside out.

"Well, now, I can't have you destroying my reputation. I worked hard to be known as a generous lover."

"Then stop teasing and fuck me."

But he only snickered like a bawdy teenager, gentle hands guiding yours to grasp at the fresh sheets. You watched helplessly, heartbeat in your throat, as he stepped back, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows before sinking to the floor in front of you, guiding your legs over his shoulders.

"This'll coast you over, sister."

He grabbed you by your thighs, tugging you closer until you could feel his breath on your [core]. Your thighs trembled, heels digging into his back, desperate to push him closer, to get his mouth where it needed to be.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, hands balled into fists, half convinced you would burst into tears if he didn't do something. You swore you could feel him laugh, right up against your pussy, unable to hear it over the rush of blood in your ears, a split second before his tongue was finally, mercifully, on you. The slick drag of it landing quickly on your clit, lapping at it teasingly, every strike on your nerves making you seize, already so worked up from being near him.

You cursed on an exhale, lungs burning, every nerve in your body sparking, your blood heating. There was an obscene slurping as he sucked hard against your clit, pressure just on the right side of pain, his fingers digging into your thighs.

Your head pushed hard into the mattress, Hancock's hat falling into your eyes, rendering the outside world suddenly dark.

Suddenly, all pressure vanished, making you let out a long, pitiful whine, releasing your death grip on the sheets to raise the hat and see what the ghoul would be torturing you with this time. You raised your head, found Hancock on his knees by the bed, looking at you with pure reverence, fingers running up and down over the plush, soft skin of your inner thighs.

You could feel the way his ministrations had spread your juices, the way the skin at the meet of your thigh and pelvis were glued together, sticky, pulling at your pubic hair just enough to be uncomfortable.

"What are you starin' at?" You panted, trying to get his wandering mind back to the matter at hand.

He grinned up at you from his perch, "What do you think?"

Fingers, crawling slowly, teasingly, up your thigh, into the divot where leg meets hip, tickling. Then, slow, gentle strokes through your pussy lips, scooping up all your wetness. A teasing, fleeting touch across your clit, making you seize, arching off the bed with a whine.

Then, the slick, slow glide of those fingers inside you.

"F-Fuck," You huffed, meaning to say something more like 'fucking finally, you torturer'.

"Such a pretty girl for me," Hancock says, that sly purr sending its own spark up your spine, mixed with his fingers, a slow, tantalizing in and out, "Been thinking about you for  days,  love. All alone out there, with no one to help you out. Running back home, to me, to let me help."

His fingers stilled. You clenched around him, every muscle in your legs seizing, your chest heaving.

"Is that what you were doing?" His voice was delicious, closer now. There's a bite into the flesh of your stomach, just above your belly button and you tensed against it, squirming into his fingers.

"Yes," You breathed, grinding hard onto his fingers, willing something, anything, to put pressure on your clit. You try squeezing your legs together, but Hancock's arm is in the way. A pathetic whimper escapes you.

"Wanna tell me about it, sister?"

You get out a "Please," legs moving restlessly, trying to get him to do anything, go in our out, anything at all. Blindly, you reach out and get him by the back of the neck, trying to push him downwards. You can feel his smile against the skin of your hip.

"Nngh- mmm, yes, I thought of you. Every day I was away." His head sunk lower, chin resting on your pelvis. "Thought about this, or sharing a hit of jet, or letting you pour wine into my mouth."

His mouth found your clit again, and you were sure you could cry, feeling his tongue flicking at the little nub, fingers starting to move again, a slow, languid in and out.

You arched off the bed, hands gripping the back of Hancock's head, legs going over his shoulders, pressing into his back.

"Shit," You breathed, one hand shifting to grab his forearm. The pressure on your clit increased suddenly, sending a spark through you that left you limp. Your hands slid from their grips, spilling onto the bed.

You looked down, finding Hancock's eyes on you. Then, he twisted his fingers in a way you didn’t recognize increasing the suction on your clit until you felt like he was trying to give you a hickey. You gasped, fingers digging hard into the bed, fabric rustling in your palms, hips snapping upwards, further into his mouth.

"Wait, that felt– do it again," You panted, to which he happily obliged, tongue and fingers twisting in a way that lit a spark in your body, like the strike of a lighter. A few more repeated movements and you moaned, probably loud enough to wake the drifters in the attic. Hancock's free hand wandered up the bed, catching one of yours in his own with a gentle squeeze. A moment so sappily romantic it managed to push you over the edge, your orgasm cresting over you like a warm wave.

Slowly, with a few extra nips to your inner thigh, Hancock sat back. Face wet with you, mouth curved up into a smile. You squeezed your legs together, shading your clit from the open air, chest heaving as you recovered from over stimulation.

"Get up here, please," You called, voice languid, hands reaching out to embrace him, crush him to you, hold him there forever. He obliged, crawling up against you, the texture of his pants against your naked thighs sending goosebumps across your skin. He slotted perfectly into your arms, pressing his mouth to yours.

You ached for him, wanting to get him closer, to tangle with him until you were impossible to separate. You kissed him like you were starving, all teeth and desperation, hands moving to shove off his vest, to unbutton his shirt, to get him naked, get him closer. He helped you, tossing the vest and then the shirt to the floor, warm chest pressing to yours, your tits trapped between the two of you, his rough skin grazing against your nipples, heat building behind your sternum.

Between your bodies, you felt his hand work at his pants. You were pressed so close together that every fumble grazed against your core, sending shocks of heat through you. You were so overwhelmed with need you couldn't decide where to put your hands, sure you'd be more of a hindrance than a help if you tried to get involved.

He made quick work of it, tugging down his pants, followed by his underwear.

He lined himself up, your excitement mounting until you were sure you would come again the second he entered. He captured your lips in another searing kiss, and finally your hands moved without you having to think about it, settling low on his hips in an effort to drive him closer.

"Ready?" He asked, and you felt your mind flash back to your first time with him, a rushed affair after a night drinking with him at the Third Rail. Even then, as it was a desperate fumble to get naked as fast as possible, spread over the couch in his office, clawing and biting with ferality, both of you desperate to get closer, even then, he had paused, hands on your panties, and asked, in that same soft tone, if you were ready, as if he expected you to have changed your mind.

"Yeah, I'm ready," You breathed, eyes squeezing shut in anticipation.

It's a slow, slick, delicious glide that has both of you groaning. Something in you slots into place, all your frenetic energy calm, as you grip at Hancock's back, burying your face in his neck as he starts to move.

"God, that's so–" you gasped, unable to finish, unsure of the words. You hitched a leg up onto John's waist, dragged him in for another kiss.

His pace was achingly slow, his touches sickeningly sweet. You focused on the fullness of it, the way the glide and drag of it seemed to fill your lungs even as he stole your breath with his tongue.

You wanted to live in this moment forever, here with him, inseparable in every way, as close as you could be. Hancock's hips drove deep, making you arch your back with a gasp for air, his lips vanishing off yours. The pace stayed sweet, sentimental, and you relished every sound that came from his mouth, every trembling breath.

"Wait," you breathed, tapping his shoulder like a time out, "Lemme, ugh–" With a few moves, you've twisted the two of you around, him on his back, you supporting yourself over him. He looked up at you, eyes twinkling with pure adoration, as you settled yourself with your legs under you, hands moving to his chest so you can keep your balance.

You settled yourself down onto his cock, your hips flush with his, and his hands found your waist, squeezing with that same softness. You set a pace, still calm, but decidedly faster, enough that your tits jiggle as you move.

"If this is some fucked up hallucination," Hancock rasped, voice choked, "I swear I'll lay off the drugs."

You laughed, breathless, grinding down to find that perfect spot inside you, hitting it over and over again, until the pleasure of it turns the inside of your eyelids white and your hands buckle, give out.

Arms caught you, of course, Hancock flipping you back over, managing to land that sweet spot again, enough that the tension spreads across your body, every muscle tensing up as you moaned, inches away from your second orgasm. His fingers on your clit do the trick, a few tight circles and the tension suddenly seeps out of you, a long, silent exhale. He fucked you through it, pace slowing down as you catch your breath.

You lean up to capture his lips again, grinding your hips to meet his thrusts, encouraging him to speed it up, to chase his own pleasure, relishing in the way his pace grows frantic, sloppier.

He gripped your wrists, bringing them over your head, held tight in his hands. Your torso lengthened, chin tilting upwards, exposing the length of your neck to him. He pulled away from your mouth so you take the chance, craning your neck upwards to nip at his skin, finding the soft tendons and sucking hard.

Through gasping breaths, he asked, "Where– nngh– where do you want me?" Your legs tightened around him, hands clawing at his back, using all the strength you had to keep him where he was.

Already, you can feel the way your own pressure is building back up, the way the repeated slide of it drives you right back to the edge.

"In– in me," You gasped, muscles shaking as he managed to hit that perfect spot in you over and over, back arching clean off the bed. You still weren't ready to let him go, even as you neared your third orgasm, still desperate to keep him where he was.

"Are you–"

"John," You cried, his hips slowing as he stopped again to check, your welfare always at the front of his mind. Sure, it would leave you raw and burning, making the next round a bit more pain than pleasure, but all you could think about was keeping the sensation of him imprinted on you as long as possible. "I'm sure, please."

He rutted against you, hips grinding against yours. His head dropped to your shoulder, gasping against your sweat slicked skin, two fingers sliding down against your throbbing clit.

You whimpered against him as pleasure flooded your body again, your grip on him weakening as your muscles shook, legs slipping from around his waist.

You mumbled words of praise as he came, hands roaming around his back, onto his cheek, your whispers of, "So good, so perfect, you're perfect, baby," audible only to him as he moaned. You felt the heat of him inside you, the slow building of fullness even as he softened.

You felt the slow, familiar tingling that preceded the lightly burning pain that would start. You felt Hancock shifting out of you, his mouth twisted into a guilty frown in the skin of your shoulder.

You clenched, feeling the slow dribble of heat spilling onto your skin.

Hancock's lips traced a path across your shoulder, down your arm, the occasional wet smack or nip at your skin pausing his journey. He detached himself from you slowly, regretfully, as if taking his skin off yours was some great sin. And it was, but in the service of a greater good, grabbing a clean strip of cloth from the bedside drawer, cleaning you up in gentle caresses, stickiness removed from your inner thighs, even softer touches over your pussy lips.

You let him busy himself, even as your fingers itched to get him back, wanting to tell him that you'd had worse pain, that you'd hurt for him every second if you had to. Instead, you only smiled at him when he glanced up at you, reaching up to pull him back to you. He came willingly as you pulled him back into your arms.

Tension faded out of your muscles and you melted into the bed, hands wrapped around Hancock's middle. "Did you miss me while I was gone?" You asked, smiling, voice soft. You just wanted to hear him say it, your own little version of 'I love you'.

Hancock raised his head, pecking your lips gently, leaving them tingling.

"More than you could ever know," He said, painfully earnest.

"Mmm, I think I have some idea."

Notes:

The smut chapter took me ages to write for some reason, so if it sucks... uh. No it doesn't (if u see any spelling errors pls let me know tho)

Thanks for reading! Please leave me a comment, or request something, or just come chat with me!

[radioactive-synth]

You and me together… this is my kinda freakshow.

______

I commissioned @redreart for my long-time dream of having a beautiful art of my Sole Survivor, Vaughn Aleksandros Zander, having a sweet tender moment with one of his partners, Hancock. thank you again!

i recommend you check out her commission post!

[mahiiimahiiii]

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

[fallout-fucker]

Random Sole x Hancock Headcanon - Emails.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hancock replied 'Me fucking too, brother'.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or for help on a crossword puzzle.

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

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

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

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

[fandomfics]

Fanfic Masterlist

🔥 = Smut 🫦 = Eventual Smut

Fallout

The Trouble with Love 🔥

Description:

After a mishap in the wasteland you are left to wonder if the ghouls you care for and have traveled with for years feel anything for you. The answers you find are not what you expected and leave you with more questions than answers.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Star Wars

Any Time, Anywhere 🔥

One shot

Pairing: Obi Wan Kenobi x Fem Reader Description: smut. That's it. Porn absolutely no hint of plot whatsoever.

Supernatural

Too Many Beds

One shot

Sam Winchester x Reader

Description: You and Sam are forced to stay the night locked in the dormitory of a recently abandoned boarding school to draw out a spirit. Who knew there could be too many beds in one room?

Anything for You 🔥

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Reader

Description: undercover jobs are always risky, but when you're caught going against the gang you and Dean have fallen in with, Dean is forced to do something drastic.

Dc

Animal 🔥

One shot

Superman/Clark Kent x Reader

Description: When you try to hide from your creepy coworker you find yourself in a tight space with a handsome journalist you've had your eye on for a while.

Marvel

We're Strangers 🫦

Mini series

Loki x Fem Reader

Description: When Loki ends up stuck on Sakaar, he runs into you, an indentured servant to the Grandmaster.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

So Soft, So Beautiful 🔥

One shot

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Plus size mutant fem reader, Scott Summers x Plus size mutant fem reader Description: you don't give a single shit about the man that's obsessed with you, in fact, you have eyes for someone else, but he doesn't feel the same. Maybe you can get under someone else to get over him.

Memories Are All We Have

One shot

Pairing: Carol Danvers x fem reader Description: you've lost your memory, but you run into someone you have an undeniable pull to, you just know that you can trust them. Can they help you get your memory back?

Deserted Island Pairing: Valkyrie x reader Description: You are stranded on an island with Valkyrie. Things get spicy.

Deadpool: Tumblr Made Me Do It

Random drables and one shots based on Wade Wilson's obsession with fanfics and posting on our favorite site.

Sex pollen

Enemies to Lovers

The Honda Odyssey

Different Tropes for Different Folks

We found the intimacy coordinator

[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.”