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#sole x hancock
vaultscavver · 4 months
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nora: hancock, are we dating?
hancock, choking: what?! no!
nora: but you call me sunshine all the time. and we’re sleeping together.
hancock: i… i do that with all my friends.
maccready, in tears: YOU NEVER CALLED ME SUNSHINE
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I LOVE the way you write Hancock's persona and i love you ♥️
Id love to read something about Hancock's insecurities about his phisique and everything about being a ghoul while trying to involve romanticaly with F!Sole NSFW
Aww I love you too! I did this as headcanons but if you want a little fic please do not hesitate! I’m invested
• Hancock plays the optimist but in all actuality he is the firmest realist anyone will meet. With that being taken into consideration, it isn’t uncommon for him to dismiss potential negative feelings towards his ghoul-ish appearance. In fact, he quite literally outwardly embraces it and makes jokes. Sometimes in the moment he feels like it’s real, like yeah- he’s the “king of zombies” and stuff but deep down it still digs at him. He did it entirely to himself and a huge piece of him despises himself for that.
• When it comes down to physical appearance, Hancock isn’t too critical..that is until things start falling off. With every bit of hair he lost, every toe and so on..he felt like he was losing pieces of the man he once was. Maybe that was a good thing? Honestly though, the idea of never regaining that bit of him weighs heavy on his heart….not that he’d admit it.
• Once sole comes around and starts showing him genuine love, things get especially complicated. Before things were much easier, casual sex was just that- casual. Of course, he’s one hell of a lover to any partner he happens to get to bed. He’s affectionate and a true giver- but with casual trysts, he doesn’t necessarily feel an emotional vulnerability. It’s just..fun. Fast forward to falling in love with his precious sunshine..shit gets real.
• Every degraded mark on his body, every strange marring, loss of color or lack thereof hair..it all becomes hyper apparent to him. He still gives it his all when it comes down to finally doing the deed with sole for the first time, however he’ll act a little off afterwards. Maybe a bit more reserved, introspective even. A piece of him can’t believe you’d love something so hideous, let alone let it make love to you.
• It’ll take some time and some genuine effort reassuring him, but eventually he’ll come around. Indulge in some worship, tell him that you love him for who he is inside and out and he’ll melt. Maybe even give him some extra special loving when he least expects it ( *ahem* surprise blowjob in the morning) and he’ll buckle sooner than later.
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late-nite-scholar · 2 years
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Falloutober Day 1: World on Fire
And onto the second prompt list I’ve decided to tackle this month! I’m here with Falloutober, courtesy of @falloutober​! I really liked this particular prompt, and I ran with it. Ended up with a bit of a fluffy piece featuring my Sole Survivor, Hawke (originally named Hannah, pre-cryostasis) and her very favorite ghoul, Hancock. 
Warnings- mentions of drug/chem use
Length- around 900-ish words
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(I don’t remember when exactly I took this screenshot, but it’s a pretty good one of the two of them)
The song floated over from the radio behind them. A small chuckle gave way to a sigh as Hawke snuggled herself deeper into the ratty couch. 
***
I don't want to set the world on fiiiire….
"What's funny, darlin'?" Hancock pulled her closer, idly running his fingers up and down her arm.  
"This song… it just makes me think. I did see the world on fire. Briefly. It's still so fresh for me, but I'm the only one. It's damn near ancient history for everyone else. I'm the only one who remembers what it was like before…" 
"I dunno how you do it. Lookin' out there and knowin' what it all is supposed to look like. I'd be so deep in chems you'd never see me again." 
"It's tempting. Trust me. If it wasn't for Shaun…" She took a deep breath. She was no closer to finding her son now than she had been when she'd woken up from cryosleep six months ago. 
As if intuiting her thoughts, he rubbed her arm gently. "We'll find him. Even if we gotta storm the Institute ourselves." 
"Just you and me?" 
"Yeah. Get us both some power armor and we'll be good to go." He joked. A long moment stretched out between them before he asked. "What was it like?" 
"What was what like?" 
"The world. What was it like before it got blown up?" 
The question surprised her a little. He'd never asked something like that before. Others had, but Hancock had always steered clear of anything that would bring up old pain. Ever since he'd gone back to the Vault with her that one time. He'd seen the cryochamber she'd been trapped in all those years, and the one across from it that Nate was still in. It had turned him quiet, and when they’d gotten back to her house in Sanctuary Hills he’d taken a Calmex himself before offering her some. After that, he never asked about her life before the war. Until now. 
She leaned a little closer to him, considering her words. "It was different in a way, the same in a way. People are people, no matter what the world looks like. So much is gone, of course; the law office where I used to work is part of the Glowing Sea now. I was just about to head back to work when the bombs fell. Shaun was going to go to a daycare a couple of days a week and stay the rest with Codsworth. I was looking forward to it, going for coffee first thing, seeing my coworkers. I'd even gotten my hair done to be ready." She laughed. "I'd look like a stranger to myself if that me saw me now. I used to wear suits and dresses, skirts with heels. Makeup always done, hair done." 
"Mmmm, skirts and heels?" Hancock teased gently. 
“Every day.” She teased back. But her smile turned sad. “It almost feels like someone else’s life. I guess it was, in a way. It was before I was me, and I was still her, that woman I was before. It was Hannah’s life, Hannah’s world. And it’s gone now, obliterated in a flash brighter than the sun. That’s what it looked like, you know.”
“You actually saw the bomb fall? I thought you were in the Vault when it happened?”
“We were on the elevator, and it was starting to go down. I didn’t see the bomb itself come down, just this blinding flash. Then the mushroom cloud, this column of fire going up. The elevator had gone down just enough that the shockwave passed right over us. It was loud. Louder than anything. So yeah, seeing the world on fire was the last time I saw it for two hundred years.” 
“Oh, darlin’...” he said softly. 
“It’s easier to talk about now. Like I said, it feels like another life. And this world… it’s a hard one. But it’s not all bad.” She shifted back to rest her head on his shoulder. 
“That’s just the chems talkin’.” 
“I haven’t taken anything today. I mean it. I mean, yeah, there’s so many dangerous things now, I never had to worry about Super Mutants and radscorpions and deathclaws before. But this is… freer.” 
“You sure you’re sober, baby? You just said you liked this shitty world.”
She laced her fingers into his. “Maybe I’m just more suited to this than I was to that world. I wonder if I really did belong there, or if I was just pretending. Maybe it’s just being so far removed from it… I… I don’t think I’d go back, even if I could.” 
“Really? You’re not bein’ serious, are you?”
“I am. I feel like I belong here now. And besides,” She turned to give him a grin. “I’ve met this handsome fella in the Commonwealth. He’s a mayor and everything.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad you’re here, too, darlin’.” 
The song had long ended, and another had taken over. They sat for a long moment, listening to a melody that had been old even in Hannah’s time. The world outside was indeed harsh; but right now, in this patched and rebuilt pre-war house in Sanctuary Hills, it was perfect.    
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garagrebe · 7 days
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If you got style / and you know how to please / and a smile / that makes me weak in the knees / if you 're a guy who is gentle and tough / you might be the man / who's man enough
i might be playing fallout 4 again, for some totally random reason. hi
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eupheme · 3 months
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— Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On
Hancock (FO4) x Sole Survivor!F!Reader
Rated E - 5.8k
Tags - 3rd person very loose pov, sole survivor!f!reader (no descriptors), canon-typical raider violence & death, mutual pining, teasing, partners to lovers, two idiots in love, waiting out a storm, mention of food/eating, SS!reader gets dicked down wearing Hancock’s coat, the hat stays on, fingering, oral (f receiving), spitting, manual restraints, multiple orgasms, PiV, creampie, mention of a cigarette/smoking, references to chems 
started this while doing research for wasteland, baby - and was consumed with thoughts of a slightly softer “oh fuck, I’m in love” Hancock
It’s a dangerous thing - to have feelings for the person you’re traveling with. Too many things can go wrong in an instant and yet…  here they are. Steadfastly ignoring the something that has been building, thick enough to taste. 
Luckily, an incoming rad storm might just be the push they need. 
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He’s fucked.
Figuratively, not literally. Unfortunately.
That’s part of the problem, if he could call it that. And he probably shouldn’t - because it’s not her fault. Just his. 
It was a rookie move, falling for his traveling companion. Should have kept it just professional - strictly business. No ‘get to know you’s, no inside jokes. 
But he had never been the professional type. Not his style. 
And somewhere along the way - between getting the shit kicked out of them, the close calls, the long miles of barren road - something had started to grow. Curling around his ribs and filling his guts up like ripe tarberries. 
Letting it grow and flourish. 
Unable to shake it. 
It hadn’t been long before he had known something was up.
That it was something besides that urge to get away from it all, to wander, that kept him sticking with her.
That along the way, the idea of this stranger having his back became comforting. That he knew he had hers - even if he half-thinks she have a death wish, with the way she rushs into things half-cocked.
He can’t understand, but he tries. The bits he’s gleaned from late nights - passing the bottle of whisky back and forth even though it makes her grimace. The pieces of her past that have slowly been revealed, forming a half-completed picture.
It’s enough to make his blood boil, that scorching feeling of vengeance curling in his chest, eating up his insides. It’s been a long time since he felt that way - making him think back to the night where he had stained his hands with all that red. 
He’d do it again, for her. 
It’s that realization made him think that just maybe - he cares.
And not just in a friendly kind of way. 
He thinks it began in the middle of a firefight.
Bullet whizzing past their heads. A nest of raiders flowing out from a jutting wreck of scaffolding they had missed.
Several downed already, lost among the ruins. A souped-up pistol in her hand, as the other shielded shrapnel from a hand-made grenade.
Missing the two that snuck up, flanking them. 
He had taken one down. A nasty shot to the gut, the Raider gurlging as his legs gave out. Her shot going wide - he can still remember the look on her face as she reached for the gun on her back.
The other Raider taking the moment to bowl him over, a padded shoulder to the chest. Knocking them both against a piece of metal fencing that creaked under their weight - his shotgun clattering to the pavement. 
An arm pressed against his throat, choking him - as the other fumbled for a knife. Ironic, he thought, that he’d be gutted, after all he’s done. 
But she had swooped down. Fingers twisted around the barrel and forestock of her rifle. Bringing it down on the raiders head like it was a louisville slugger, snarling like she herself had gone feral.
Her hand, warm in his as she hauled him up, the other splaying across his chest. Face streaked with grease and splattered with blood but in that moment, she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.
“Thanks, sunshine.” He had murmured.
Her smile had been small, as she pressed the gun back into his hand, “Can’t have you getting stabbed. I’d miss that mouth of yours.”
Such a small thing - her own joke. The way he filled the space with chatter on the road. But he’d been smitten. 
He had been good looking, before. He wasn’t half-bad now. Charisma could get you a long way, and his silver tongue hadn’t rotted like the rest of him. 
Charming words - flirty and sometimes filthy - slid easily from him in the heat of battle, the wind-down after. When he was feeling good about things, the words coming without thought.
Choking on them, when she turned to give him a look - embarrassed, sometimes. So goddamn cute and flustered, it made him want to do it more. 
Other times - a look, that was soft and lingering. 
“Yeah?” 
Almost a challenge in the way she said it.
He could never follow it up. 
Follow through. 
Because back home, it wasn’t an issue. A rejection meant nothing other than a soft blow to his ego. Brushed off with a hit of a favorite indulgence, finding company in another.
But here - it had a weight. It could ruin something he truly has enjoyed. Throwing in with her had been one of the best decisions he had made. He couldn’t fuck that up. Not this time. 
So he swallowed his words - before she was racing off, and he was following at her heels. Off to trouble that could be their last, and here he was - that clever tongue tied in a knot. 
That’s when he knew that he had it bad. 
Bad enough that out of the two of them, he had been the one peering up at the sky overhead. Where the muted hazy grey was rolling into a sickly green, rain starting to drop down. A rumble of thunder.
The first to suggest stopping at the next place they could, as the spaces between the raindrops started to dwindle.
“We can make it.” She had shrugged, as his jog slowed to a walk.
Catching her arm at the elbow, gesturing with the muzzle of his shotgun to the side.
“Not if you don’t want to end up like me, sister.”
Ignoring - but not missing - the chastising look she shot him. His head tilting towards the roof that looms just over the ridge.
An old diner - rusting chrome and shattered windows, but it would do. Well past soaked by the time they scrambled over the hill and down. Grateful to find that it was abandoned. 
Picked over, for sure - but as long as there was a roof over their heads, he hadn’t cared. Combing through junk was her thing, anyways. He was just the pack mule.
Now - he’s multi-tasking. Trying not to think about what he’s thinking about.
About her changing in the room behind him. Peeling the patchwork raider gear off her curves. All that soft, smooth skin underneath.
Distracting himself by eyeing the radroach that is skittering across the pavement outside the front door - just out of range of his shotgun.
Because of course, out of everything in the wasteland, that was the thing she was scared of. Not super mutants, not even the pack of mirelucks that had them cornered, just the week before. 
A goddamn bug. 
He laughs, a soft hushed thing. Catching himself with a grimace. 
Because, like he said.
He’s fucked. 
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The rain that patters overhead would be calming - if it had been 200 years ago, and not dripping with radiation.
She shivers, draping the tattered pants and worn shirt over the back of two rotting, wooden chairs - a makeshift drying rack. Missing that insulated warmth of her Vault Suit, trading it back at Sanctuary for worn clothes - old and salvaged Raider gear.
It had become hard to blend in, in all that blue.
It had made sense at the time, but in the dark and chilly backroom, she finds herself regretting it. Thinking that next time - she’ll pack it with her.
Trying to find the dampest parts of the packed gear to lay out, next. Lining up the bedroll next to the glow of the lantern. 
Don’t need any more must or mold than there already was. 
Pawing through her bag afterwards, coming up with something to pass for dinner. A can of cram, their only good fork wedged between two knuckles. A sweet roll split in two - the sticky crumbs clinging to her fingers as she nudged the door open.
Feeling vulnerable in the faded undergarments she wore underneath. Dreading facing him, not because of what he’ll say - that part, she is actually curious to hear. 
She’d given up on the idea of modesty long ago. Traveling on the road and through the dirt and blood and grime will do that. 
It was almost freeing.
No. It’s because - it makes her hope. Makes her think that dressing down might actually get him to notice her, in a way that’s more than the surface-level, flirty conversation she’s seen him have with dozens of people. 
In the old world, maybe she’d wear a dress for him. Something red and cut low in the front - bare arms and legs.
Now, it’s faded cotton and vulnerability.
A “I can trust you like this” and a “Maybe if you like it, it will make me brave enough to ask.”
Rejection dressed like this would sting, surely. Even if it’s her fault, for having a crush on someone who doesn’t see her that way. 
Her eyes linger on his back, where he stands watch. Where he hadn’t heard her open the door just yet, drifting to the other side of the counter to watch the rumbling, green storm roll in.
The tin clatters on the counter, drawing his attention. A flicker of lightning illuminating his profile as he turns, eyes widening. 
Hancock’s eyes drop automatically. Quickly and then a slow drag - it’s like watching him after she’s taken a hit of Psycho. 
Dark and glittering under her own careful watch, before they’re snapping back up, and he’s blinking. 
Pulling himself back. 
“Is that dinner?” He asks, clearing his throat when the words come out rough and low. 
Her face falls, just for an instant. A small smile replacing it, as she scoops up the tin of cram before tossing it his way. He catches it neatly - popping the lid open, plucking the fork from her fingers. 
She should have known better. 
Hancock was just a flirt, never taking her bait. It was a good thing, she thought. Honorable, despite the grey that’s soaked into both of their moral codes. 
He digs the fork in, breaking off a piece of the preserved meat. Handing the first bite to her, unable to help another quick look as he lowers himself to one of the stools that curves around the diner countertop. 
Not that he hasn’t seen her before. Never quite this bare - but close enough, from the quick times they’ve had to change clothes.
It didn’t mean anything. 
“So uh, what’s with the getup?” Hancock can’t resist asking, his tone deceptively light, “Or should I say, lack thereof?
“Clothes are soaked,” She snorts around the mouthful, trying to sound disinterested, “Besides, you’re always telling me it’s not good to let the rads soak in.”
He’s curious now, catching that slight edge. Not usually so defensive - that expression she makes when she’s flustered. It makes him want to nudge at it, poke at that little crack. 
“Hey, you don’t hear me complain’, sister.” Hancock grins, taking the fork back, “That’s a real good look for you.”
Always a joke. 
Her eyes roll as she sits down on the stool to his left, her knee knocking against his. The halves of sweet roll balanced on the curling, discarded tin, for after. 
They share the makeshift dinner. Passing the fork back and forth, trying not to think about how easy it feels to be like this. 
Companionable silence, beneath the rumbling, dark green sky. Tucked away and sheltered from the storm.
She stares out across the wasteland, lost in thought. Moving on to other things, already planning for the morning. If there’s any stops they need to make on the way back to Sanctuary. 
While his eyes wander - a sideways glance that drifts down her form greedily, only to shift away when her own lift. 
A breeze cuts through the building where windows once lived, making her shiver. Arms moving from the countertop to wrap around a bare middle, curling in on herself.
“You cold, sunshine?” He asks with concern, bringing her back.
She hadn’t noticed, but now she does. The chill starting to sink in, now that she’s not moving, not covered in the layers and padded armor. 
Goosebumps raise on her skin. Arms crossing tighter across her chest, as her lips part to answer.
But Hancock is already shrugging off his maroon frock, swiveling in his seat to swing it around her shoulders. 
She rarely seen him without it. Fuck, he even sleeps in the damn thing - a prized possession, if he ever had one.
“Thanks.” The word is layered with sincerity, as she pulls it close around her, the high collar brushing her cheek. 
Warmer already. The inside is soft against her skin, the fabric worn and stained and smelling like him.
Silence lingers for a moment, as they stare at the darkening sky. The heavy blanket of rain that still patters on the rooftop, a slow drip down to the tile floor on the other side of the room.
"Hope this lets up by morning," She says as she leans, warmer now - elbows pressing into the stained laminate counter.
Eyes out of focus, thoughts already running off without her. "Stop by Sanctuary, pick up some things for Tenpines. Haven't been there in a bit, been wondering how they've been holding up."
He mirrors her - feeling bare without his coat. A heavy lean on his left elbow, the swivel of the chair bumping his knee against hers, "’m sure they're fine. Gotta be better off than they were before."
A smirk crosses his features, a glance from the corner of his eye, "'Sides, not every day you get saved by the fearless leader of the Minutemen. That oughta keep 'em going for a while."
There's a groan as she slumps, the heels of her hands pressing into her eyes. Garvey's enthusiasm and her recent promotion to General a source of embarrassment, even if she bore the weight of it well.
"Yes, the fearless leader," She mocks, her head turning his way. Pushing herself up, her arms spreading wide, "If only they could see me now."
And they might not be able to, but he can.
Not just the soft expanse of her skin, peeking out from beneath his coat. The hollow of her throat, the curve of her breast and the strain of her tits against worn fabric that will be forever seared into his mind.
Not only just that, though. That something that he can see inside her - that was there when he had decided to leave Goodneighbor. That lingers with him, tethering them together as he follows at her side. And yes, he does stretch the truth - who doesn’t? He wouldn’t make half as many deals, otherwise. 
But he’s isn’t, now. 
She is unaware of the thoughts that tumble through his mind, quick as old snapshots. A curling amber film strip, tucked into a canister. 
Instead, there’s a roll of her eyes as her comment of "really, only you could pull this coat off" lands on ears that had been muted, in the way his mind drifts. How the low pooling of warmth in his belly turns sharp and cramps, at the thought of Preston Garvey spending time in such company. Like this - without him.
"I wouldn’t say that." He hears himself saying. Voice a little lower, raspier, than usual.
Maybe it's bravery. Maybe it's him finally seeing her intent - maybe it's the moment where he's realizing that after tonight, she's no longer just his again.
His eyes drag over her again, slower this time. And he lets her catch them.
"From here, things are looking pretty good."
She stills, eyes rounding. A swivel of her chair until knee-to-knee becomes thigh-to-thigh- something akin to hope slipping into her tone.
“Yeah?”
He reaches - fingers tracing the collar of his coat, thumb rubbing against the hollow of her throat.
“I’d say so.” Hancock tells her, “Look like a goddamn dream, if I’m being honest.”
She’s tired of waiting. She’s done enough of it. Eyes on his as her chin tilts up, just hovering.
He’s tired, too.
With a lean, he takes the offering. Ruined lips press against soft ones. Ones that part for him, a soft sound at the greedy dart and swipe of his tongue, until she’s meeting him.
She’s sweet - he can taste the sugar on her tongue, melding with the taste of her. Fingers press against his chest, where his heart hammers. Sliding over lithe shoulders until they’re wrapping around, pulling him closer.
He’s stronger than he looks. The seat squeaks when he leans, his palms tracing her waist, her hips. Tucking beneath her thighs - right against the curve of her ass as Hancock lifts his hips, taking her with him.
She moves, his name a soft sound in her throat. Letting him lead, letting him ease her onto the edge of the counter. A sense of relief and hope floods through her, dripping down to settle warm and wanting between the thighs that spread open so he can step between them. 
His cock swells, where it’s trapped inside his pants. Easing the ache with a roll of his hips, pressing himself against the thin fabric covering her core. The breath she inhales in response is shaky. Another soft sound, so different than the assured tone he’s used to. 
He wants to hear it again.
It’s easy to set the pace - the pointed press of his hips. Her hand finding his, drawing it up to her breast. Letting him cup her, the soft weight. Letting him press his thumb against that tight peak, catch it between his fingers until she’s gasping against his grinning mouth. 
Her mouth drops, catching his chin. The tip of a tongue between parted lips press against his cheek, warmth breath against his jaw making him growl. 
“Please-” She’s murmuring, against his skin. Against muscle and sinew, as his own lips follow.
Fingers biting into his skin, as his teeth graze her jaw. Her head tilting back, baring her throat to him, as her hips rock to meet his. Eyes fluttering shut as her chest heaves, as his other hand curls against the curve of her hip, keeping her close. 
His tongue peeks out, dragging against sweat and rain-dewed skin. A groan rattles in his throat, his own voice distant and rasping.
“Fuck, I need to taste you.” He can feel her moan, against his lips at his words, “Lean back for me, doll.”
She’s soft, pliable. Unwinding herself from him as she obeys, only for those hazy eyes to open - meeting his beetle-black ones. 
“Wait,” She’s protesting, hands slipping to press flat against on his chest. A sudden realization - shoulder curling back so his coat slides off it, “Let me take this off.”
“Leave it.” Hancock’s head lifts to kiss her again, his hand curling around the back of her neck. 
She huffs against his mouth, before it turns into a sigh. His tongue brushing against her lower lip, before she pulls back again.
Not wanting to forget her train of thought.
“What if I make a mess on your coat?”
He groans at that, the hand on her hip drifting lower. Cupping her over the thin piece of fabric, fingers pressing down. 
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He husks, “I’d fuckin’ love that. Never gonna take it off.”
It makes her scoff, cheeks burning, “You never do, anyways. You-”
He shuts her up with his fingers - tugging at the elastic waistband, pulling them down until she’s bare. Letting her kick them off, before he’s pushing her back against the counter.
Arching over her soft form as his mouth wanders, his hips grinding against hers. Teeth nipping at her throat, lips brushing where her heartbeat flutters. Clever fingers tracing the seam of her sex, brushing over soft lips - teasing. 
She’s so fucking wet, he can feel how his fingers glide over her skin. How it smears on her thighs, as they spread wider for him. 
“What do you want?” 
It makes her sigh - that voice, so low and rasping - and she’s clenching around nothing already.
“You,” She’s unable to help but whine, “Please, you-”
His laugh is rough, a rattling chuckle in his throat, “You have me, sunshine.”
Middle finger parting her, teasing at her entrance, the calloused pad of his thumb circling around the bud of her clit. Sinking into the wet heat as she groans, starting a slow pump of his textured finger.
Pressing deep with a slow thrust. Another, and then another, until she’s taking a second. Stretching her wide, as her fingers twist in his stained shirt. Grasping for his shoulders as her hips buck into his touch. 
“Should say how do you want it?” The kiss he presses against her throat is almost reverent, “Because I don’t think I have it in me to go slow right now.”
“Slow, later.,” She moans, as his fingers press deep, “Need you.”
He grins, “Love how you think, sweetheart.” 
Hancock’s head ducks, moving down to her collarbone, then lower. She’s already reaching to tug the cups of her bra down, baring the curves of her breasts to him.
“Fuckin’ beautiful.” He hums, fingers brushing over the soft weight again, cupping one in his hand. Still fucking her open with the other, curling and stroking until she’s panting. 
Tongue peeking out to flatten, and then drag across the tight peak of her nipple. Her hands grasping for him again, as there’s the briefest pinch of teeth.
“Hancock.” She grits out, a swivel of her hips against his, grinding into his fingers. 
His own rocking against the back of his hand, where he’s hard and aching. Never thinking he’d know what it’s like to have his partner begging like this. 
He wants to hear more. Every little sound she makes, as his mouth moves lower. Licking wet stripes against her stomach and abdomen.
Until he’s plunking down on the padded chrome stool he’s been straddling. Gazing at where she’s wrapped around his glossy fingers. 
Watching how she twitches and bucks and gasps when his thumb swipes across her clit, his name on parted lips again.
“Love hearin’ you say my name like that.” He purrs, “Can’t wait to hear how it sounds when you come.”
Leaning forward, inhaling her scent before his tongue swipes above his fingers. Her hips leave the countertop, the moan loud as he laughs - his other hand pressing flat against her stomach. 
Holding her down, as he teases her again. Short, pointed licks against her throbbing clit. Her cunt is as sweet as her mouth, his own groan caught in his throat as his tongue dips inside her. 
Mourning all the nights he could have spent like this. Spending the time as evening turns to night, then again as night turns to dawn. Drowning in the taste of her instead of clenching his teeth until his jaw aches, as he tries to keep quiet. Dreaming of this. 
He leans back, just enough to press a wet kiss against her clit. The soft suck a sharp contrast with the texture of his rough fingers as he fucks her open. 
She was right - it’s messy. Dripping down the curve of her thighs, the damp stain mixing with others on his weathered coat. 
Everything is so dry, in the wasteland. Dirt roads and dead trees. He relishes in the wet suck of her cunt, how it’s this way right now because of him.
His cheeks hollow, a swirl of his tongue before he’s adding to it. Leaning back to let his spit drip down, his thumb dragging it across the tight bud.
She’s whimpering. It’s been ages since she’s had anyone - the low throb in her belly swiftly building. 
In the before - she thinks she’d be embarrassed to be splayed out like this. Stripped near-bare on the counter of a diner, thighs spread wide as his fingers pump into her aching cunt.
But he eats her like a meal, left hand moving from her belly. Wrapping around a thigh to tug her closer, hiking it over a shoulder.
Groaning into her pussy as his tongue flicks against her clit, smearing slick across his chin. Pressing closer, unhindered by the usual curve of cartilage and flesh as he molds himself against her. 
“Hancock.” His name is a sharp gasp, as she clenches around him. Breath held in her throat as she watched with half-lidded eyes.
Focused on the tight string that winds with each careful curl of his fingers. He slips in a third and she all but sobs, chasing her pleasure with a needy rock of her hips.
Chanting him name as it curls low in her belly.
“Hancock. Hancock-”
And then, the prettiest of all.
“John. Fuck, John, I’m going to come-”
It’s goddamn music to his metaphorical ears. Better than that - better than the sing of gunfire in his favor, of the sweet rush and hum of that first hit of Jet.
He watches through those dark eyes as she falls apart. Her cry loud in the empty diner, as she’s struck - the livewire crackle of her orgasm ripping through her.
Better than she can ever remember. Thighs squeeze around his neck but it only makes him moan - breath hot against her cunt as his fingers continue to pump. And his tongue dips to taste her, slipping between knuckles. 
The pleasure throbs - the stained ceiling spinning, looking like the clouded stars high above them to her hazy mind. 
A disbelieving and dazed laugh caught in her throat as his mouth moves. Pressing against her mound, the sensitive curve where thigh meets hip. 
It’s only then that she’s unhooking her thighs - a heat blazing in her cheeks at the brazenness. Too caught up in the moment to see herself - splayed out across the countertop, heels digging into his spine. 
But she does see him - the need etched across his face under the tip of his hat, the wet shine against his lips and chin. Deadly in a new kind of way, mixing with the prowess he shows on the battlefield.
There’s another low throb, deep inside her. The lithe way he moves, rising - a hand planting next to her hip, the other working the heavy buckle open.
She meets him - pushing herself up. A hand coming to cup him, feeling the hard length that strains against his trousers. Tasting herself on his tongue when her head ducks to kiss him, swallowing his groan as her fingers palm and squeeze. 
“Drivin’ me crazy, sunshine.” His voice is like gravel, as he works at the zipper - her fingers slipping past to wrap around hot skin, “Enough to make a ghoul go feral, you know that?”
Her smile is pretty - pleasure-drunk, and he hasn’t even fucked her yet. Her hand soft and warm where she eases him out, the brush of her thumb over the head making his cock throb. 
“Me too. I need you.” She begs, and he knows it’s more than that just that.
That it’s not just fucking, right now. That a line has been crossed, that they’ll never be able to not want this again. More than ready to tumble over into the unknown, together.
“My mouth wasn’t enough?” Hancock grins. Fully intending to have her every way she’ll let him. Unable to resist making her squirm.
The look she gives him makes him chuckle - the gentle pull of her fist, the little frown. The way her thighs spread again, aiming the flushed tip of his cock over slick skin. Against the tight nub of her clit as she shivers, lips parting with a gasp.
“Hancock, don’t tease-” Some of that bite is back, desperate. Not begging but it’s close, as her hips lift against him again. 
“I’ll give you anything you want.” He promises, “Just like hearing you say it. Come on, sweetheart.” 
It’s hard to hold himself back, when she’s notching him against her opening. His hands sliding to her hips, liking the way his fingers sink into her skin.
How it dents around his calloused ones, soft as the rest of her.
“Fuck me.” Her eyes are on his, watching where they drag from his fingers to her pussy. Watching how his chest heaves beneath his vest, where his chest peeks from loosened buttons. 
“I need you in me. I need you to fuck me, I want to come on your cock-”
“Fuck.” He groans, and then his hips are snapping forward. Feeling the tight, warm squeeze as he buries himself in her, as she cries out at the intrusion. 
“Goddamn, sunshine.” He has to hold himself there for a moment, hilted inside her. Feeling the way she clenches down around him, fingers mirroring it where they wrap in his shirt. 
Almost sharing a breath as he inches out, only to press deep again. Again, and then again - until there’s the slick slap, the creak of the floorboards beneath his heavy boots as his feet spread wider. 
It’s better than his fingers. He’s deeper, filling her completely, stealing her breath. Those hands tugging at her hips, urging her to meet each thrust, as he picks up speed.
Hearing the changes in her pretty sounds - the gasps and the scrape of fingernails against his skin. Spearing her on his cock, where she can feel the worn and rough ridges gliding against a spot that has been sighing. 
But, he wants more. Wants her like before - splayed out. At his mercy, in a way that he knows she’d only do for him. Knowing that she trusts him - wondering if he would be worried that the thought makes his cock jerk inside her. 
“Give me your hands.” He rasps - and slowly, her finger uncurl from the edge of the counter, the vice-like grip on his shirt.
Hancock grasps at her wrists, joining them together with one of his own. Pushing her back, dragging them above her head and pressing them down hard against the countertop.
Arching over her as his eyes sweep over soft curves and bare skin. His coat spread out beneath her, the worn red so pretty next to her skin. Better than his best fantasy, and he’s already thinking about a next time. 
The choked out “oh!” she makes with the next rock of his hips shoots straight to his cock - knowing full-well she could break free if she wanted.
Instead, she lets him take. 
Giving up the control as he ruts into her, spearing his cock deep again and again. Trying to meet the messy swipe of his fingertips that drifted down to press against the bundle of nerves - her pleasure in his hands.
“Look good like this, sunshine.” His eyes drag over her breasts, still shining from his tongue.
“Real fuckin’ good.”
Down to where her thighs tighten around his hips, arching into him, “Should keep you like this all the time. Just in my coat. Wear it better than I do.”
A sharp edge to his voice, one that fuels the aching pressure that builds and builds. Her head thunks back against the laminate counter, eyes falling shut. 
The words starting slow, growing louder, then running together. 
“Feels so good-”
“Hancock don’t stop. Oh my god-”
There’s an electricity in the air that has nothing to do with the storm. His hand biting into her wrists so hard that it hurts, but the pain only loops into her mounting pleasure.
It’s different than his dalliances before. 
Before, it had filled his time. Finding someone to spend the night with a couple times a week, enjoying the shared company with another.
That frequency dwindling after they joined up, though he hadn’t been the type to stop. He just no longer had the time, that same desire. 
Finding that he no longer focused on chasing his own pleasure. His interest shifting - until there was only one face that drifts through his mind, in the stolen moments at night when his hand slipped beneath his trousers. 
Embracing the crave of a new kind of addiction, the urge hooking its claws into his brain. 
“Say my name again.” He tells her, feeling his own release winding and tightening. Trying to stave it off, as he tries to think about anything else, “Fuckin’ scream it for me.” 
Her eyes are on his when she says it.
“John.”
First soft, and then pitching up - louder.
And in the moment, he’s just John. The John before and the John now, man and ghoul and so focused on the circle of his fingers, on her cries.
It’s too much - all she can do is lean into it. Never realizing how much she’d like letting go for him, knowing that just like in the Wasteland, he had her. 
Always liking his quips and rasping tone but never experiencing it like this - honey-sweet and hungry. 
Learning so quickly what she likes - how quick he was to adjust the angle, the slick swirl of his fingers.
His name is on her lips again as he brings her over the brink. More like a prayer this time, her body stringing taut beneath him, eyes wide. Mouth rounding on a high gasp as the pleasure shudders through her, radiating up her spine and down her limbs.
Seeming to reach across from where they’re joined, that steady rhythm stuttering as she flutters tight and warm around him. 
“Fuck. Fuck, sunshine. You feel so fucking good, gonna make me come-” His teeth grit, a silent question.
Her answer coming in the way her thighs tighten around him. Keeping him pressed deep inside her, until his thrusts turn short and sloppy. 
“Oh, fuck yes.” His grin is closer to a snarl, “Thank you-” 
His fingers bite into her hip. Her name hissed through clenched teeth as the pressure builds, before spilling over.
As his hips rut until he’s pressed as deep as he can, a choked groan as he comes. His cock twitching with each throb of his orgasm, as he fills her. Emptying himself into her heat - until she’s milked him dry. Until he slows, leaving himself buried, deep and warm.
His eyes drop, as he comes back down. Where she’s watching, just as hungry as he was.
Leaving them staring at each other. His back arched over where his hand has slipped. Loosening on her wrist, until her fingers has twined with his. 
There’s no going back.
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His cock hangs heavy between his thighs. It’s night - dark now, but the flickering of lightning following the peals of thunder cast green shadows over her body. Eyes drifting up to where the rain patters on the metal roof.
A languid exhale, breathing out the smoke from the cigarette he fished out of the coat pocket. Dangling between two fingers, the cherry gleaming in the dim light. 
Then back down, to where she still rests - beautifully drowsy and limp-limbed. Thighs still parted, where she gleams with him.
He’s certain he’ll be dripping into those clothes of hers for days. 
It does something to him, an interested twitch from his cock. Stepping closer to fit himself back between those thighs, where they close to bracket his hips again. 
“Didn’t you say somethin’ ‘bout slow, later?” Hancock asks, his hand petting down a hip, thumb brushing against her skin. 
Stubbing the rest of his smoke out on the counter, letting it fall to the tile below. 
Her smile is sweet as she pushes herself up. No use leaving while the storm raged on - and she’s pretty sure the bedroll was well on its way to dry by now. 
Fingers catch on the collar of his ruffled shirt, starting to push it from his shoulders. His own hands tugging at her, until he pressed snug against her again. 
“Mm. Is it later, now?” She asks - as more of him is a bared - her hands running across rough skin. 
Hancock grins. 
“I sure as hell hope so.”
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I know this dropped out of nowhere for a 9 year old game but I can’t get the mayor out of my mind 💕 thanks for reading!!!
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harrowedknight · 2 months
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Replaying fallout 4 rn and i have many gay thoughts about the raspy voiced drug addict
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ohhyperbola · 2 months
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Recent Hancocks.
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stoat-party · 5 months
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You are dating Paladin Danse.
Despite spending half of most nights pacing, he always wakes you up at exactly 5 AM to work out. It does not occur to him that you might not want this.
He tends to stroke your hair or rub your back. You realize this is because Emmett the cat is the only thing he’s given affection for at least five years.
He informs you unprompted that he would still love you if you were a worm. You ask if he would still love you if you were a ghoul. He has to think about it.
There’s usually a settlement on fire somewhere, but occasionally you have to come up with problems for him to solve. If he doesn’t feel useful he gets sad.
He tries very hard to be nice to your friends. Hancock tries very hard to make him fail.
You tell him he doesn’t have to feel responsible for Shaun. He agrees, for the time being. He will listen to Shaun talk about anything. For hours.
You catch him white-knuckling the bathroom sink and staring into the mirror. That sink hasn’t worked in 200 years. Why is he doing that.
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laserandom · 5 months
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Geez, I finally finished this art. In my head, he looked a little different… But I think it's still not bad xd (a silly smile always pulls on my face when I see Hancock🥴🥴)
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Hancock [staring at Sole]: They could fix me.
Nick Valentine: Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?
Hancock: No. They’re perfect. I, on the other hand am a mess and they could fix me
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vaultscavver · 4 months
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maccready: who knew getting into danger like this would be so difficult?
hancock: yeah i gotta hand it to you sunshine you make it look easy
nora: years of practice
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dez78 · 18 days
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A night of passion
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As requested by @ghoulspirits
Hope I captured the moment! Enjoy!
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Fandom: Fallout 4
Pairings: Hancock x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Smut (18+)
Additional Tags: Smut with plot, romantic Hancock, Public sex, massage leads to sexy time.
Summary: You and Hancock finally find time to have a break and things get heated quick.
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(Not my Gif)
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You and Hancock headed into the Third Rail. The last few days have been hell, you have been retrieving caches and dead drops for the Railroad. You needed a break from the constant fighting, you yearned to just sit and have a beer.
"Hey Chuck, two beers." Hancock said as he leaned on the bar,
"Coming right up, mayor!" Charlie replied as he went over to the old, rusted out fridge.
You went to sit on the stool, but Hancock caught your wrist. You looked up at him with a perplexed expression on your weathered features.
"No, no, sweetheart. You and me got a reserved section in the VIP." Hancock said to you in a sensual tone. You quirked your eyebrow and smirked at him.
"Is that so?" You asked with a snarky tone and a mischievous glint in your eye.
"Hm mhm." Hancock hummed in response, he grabbed the two beers and whisked you away to the shadows of the VIP lounge, tucked away from the prying eyes.
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Upon entering, Hancock handed you one of the beers. You took it and popped it open with your pipboy. You plopped down on the old, worn couch. The springs protested under yours and Hancock's weight.
The ghoul flipped his feet up, resting them on the ottoman, taking a swig of his beer. You sipped your own, relaxing finally. Your muscles were tense.
You felt all the pressure in your joints as you rolled your shoulders with a low groan and a furrowed brow.
"You alright, sweetheart?" Hancock questioned, looking over at you.
"Just sore from all that damn fighting and walking." You whined, rolling your neck.
"Well, I ain't no expert, but I can try to help." Hancock offered, you didn't respond verbally, only nodding your head.
Hancock sat up, he put his beer on the floor. You unzipped your vault suit, revealing your skin to your partner. Hancock bit back the moan as he saw your skin for the thousandth time. It didn't matter how many times he saw you; you still stole his breath.
His rough hand trailed down your smooth back, unclasping your bra with only two fingers. You sighed a long breath as you felt the freedom. Hancock watched his fingers mapping your skin and the details of it.
Then he gripped your shoulders, you groaned low, throwing your head back.
His palms and thumbs massaged in the right places. You felt the popping of your joints and the release of your muscle tensity. You were lost in the sensation that Hancock's voice sounded yards away.
When you came to, Hancock was laughing.
"Now come on, sunshine. You keep making those noises, I'll have to cut this short." He said as he growled low, his breath on your neck. You bit your lip; your cheeks were flushed a bright pink.
"Would that be such a horrible thing?" You questioned innocently.
"I would certainly take you up on that offer." Hancock replied, still massaging your neck and shoulders. You turned then, catching Hancock's breath. He bit his lip as his coal eyes were fixed on yours.
"Fuck, you're gorgeous." He said stunned, admiring every detail of your face in the dim light. You were surprised, the first thing he didn't look at were your breasts, instead he fawned over your face, your eyes, your lips.
You smiled to yourself; he had his charm, but sometimes he was about more than sex. Only for you. You weren't an object or a one-night stand that meant nothing. You were his equal, his partner, you were his and he was yours.
Hancock cupped your jaw, you leaned into his touch, kissing his palm. He hummed with contentment. He pulled you in and captured your lips in a tender kiss. He ran his other hand up your body, feeling every inch of your stomach before finally cupping one of your breasts in his large hand.
He gave you a gentle squeeze, you moaned into his mouth and that was his invitation. He dipped his tongue into your mouth. You let him in with no hesitation, your lips danced with each other in a smooth rhythm.
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It wasn't long before things got hot and heavy, Hancock had torn off your vault suit and his own clothes. He held you up by your waist as he laid on top of you, leaving a trail of love bites across your neck and breasts. His fingers were graceful as he smoothed up your back.
He drove powerful thrusts into you, you were glistening with beads of sweat and were a mess of sound. It was music to Hancock's ears.
"That's right, baby girl. Let them know who you belong to." He rasped through thrusts. You cried out, arching your back. Hancock kept you steadied as your body convulsed for the fourth time that night.
Hancock leaned down, kissing your jawline as he slowed to an even pace. Giving you time to recover. He kissed your neck tenderly as he pushed into you slowly.
"You like that, sweetheart?" Hancock purred into your ear; you nodded slowly enjoying the feeling of him filling you up with his immensity.
"You're such a good girl for taking it all." Hancock praised you, you shuddered with delight as his voice rumbled against your sensitive skin. He kissed your lips with a tenderness he only had for you.
You usually liked it the way he gave it, but sometimes you wanted slow, and he provided and proved to be an excellent lover in both times. It all depended on you. He respected your feelings. He never did anything you were against. He always made sure you were okay and if you liked what he was doing. If not, then he'd stop.
He was never rough unless you wanted it. You loved that about him, he gave you options and freedom with your love life.
"You ready, love? Or do you want this some more?" Hancock asked you, kissing your neck gently.
"I want it rough." You growled, Hancock got that mischievous glint in his eye and gave you a devilish grin.
He sat up.
"Spread your legs for me, baby." He commanded, you opened your legs for him, and he devoured you. You threw your head back, screaming in bliss. Your thighs quivered. He was hitting your sweet spot. Your hair was falling over your face, wet from sweat.
Beads trickled down the curve of your breast, your lips were swollen, your body glistened, and your eyes sparkled. You were beautiful. It sent Hancock over the edge. You arched your back, contracting around your lover. Your whole body shook.
"Fuck." Hancock breathed with a hoarse laugh. You laid there for a moment, catching your breath. Hancock smiled, drawing circles on your stomach.
"Enjoy, sweetheart?" He smirked; your eyes were half lidded as you looked at him.
"What do you think?" You quipped with a tired smile. Hancock didn't say anything, just gave you his own genuine smile. You loved how he wore it. It suited him. You were the only one to ever see his true smile. He faked it for others, but he put all his trust in you.
You felt lucky to know him, the true him. Not the show ghoul that he put on for everyone else. The facade. You grabbed his face and pulled him on top of you. He rolled his tongue at you,
"Round two already?" He teased; you shook your head.
"No, just kiss me." You told him, he looked a bit surprised, but didn't protest to the request. He leaned down. He wrapped his arms around your waist, his lips against yours.
The kiss was sweet, not heavy and hot like it was moments ago. This one was tender, gentle, and full of love. Hancock poured his all his feelings into his kisses. This time was no different.
The two of you pulled away for only, but a moment. In that time, your eyes met. You saw the sincerity in Hancock's expression.
"I love you, sunshine." He said, brushing strands of hair from your sticky forehead, you smiled up at him.
"I love you too, John." You replied lovingly. Hancock's smile was bright, he loved his name on your lips, it was a beautiful sound, even more beautiful than your moans, he admitted.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours again, savoring the kiss. Savoring the moment. It was perfect, you were perfect.
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late-nite-scholar · 2 years
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Falloutober Day 5- Old Fashioned
Day 5! Started writing this one and Hawke and Hancock started getting horny on main. Found a place to end before it got too spicy. Maybe for another prompt I’ll go full out, but for now this is just some fun romance that leaves off before it goes that far. Prompts by @falloutober​.
Warnings- leadup to smut. It’s like a T rating, I guess?
Length- about 600 words
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(I do love this red dress. It’s even better with the Mark V ballistic weave)
"Hey Hancock?" She peeked around the corner and grinned. 
He looked up from his spot stretched out on the couch and raised an eyebrow. Well, he would have if he actually still had eyebrows. Her hair was pulled back and he could see she was wearing an uncharacteristic amount of makeup.  "What're you doing, darlin'?" 
"I found something when I was out and about. Thought I'd show you." 
"Oh? Do show." 
"You want to see how I looked back before the war? How I looked when I went to work? All dolled up?" 
He grinned. "Don't keep me in suspense, darlin'." 
She strode out, exuding absolute confidence. In addition to the fierce, cat's eye makeup, her hair was pulled into a slick updo. Her heels clicked on the floor, walking expertly not only in them, but also the tight skirt of her suit. Hancock had no idea how she was pulling it off. 
She came and sat beside him, spine straight as an arrow. Her shirt was unbuttoned quite far down, and he could see both cleavage and something lacy hiding in the severe jacket. She laughed as he stared. 
"I would've worn the shirt buttoned up higher at work. But I thought you'd like this better." 
"Oh, baby, you know me so well. If this is what the old fashioned style was, then I think we're missing out in the here and now." 
"Old fashioned?" She teased. "Well I am, what…two hundred and twenty-nine years old? I'd say that qualifies." 
"Aw, shit. That wasn't supposed to come out like that. Sorry. You got my brain all mushy sitting there like that." 
She stood, taking two quick steps and sliding onto his lap. Placing a hand on his chest, she kissed his cheek. "Maybe we can think of some way you can make it up to me." 
"Yes, ma'am!" He agreed with enthusiasm, sliding his fingers down her side and squeezing her hip. "Though I kinda hate the idea of you taking all this off so quickly after you did all this work gettin' ready." 
"I could leave it on, if you want." 
"You keep talkin' like that and you're gonna make me feral," he growled, his hand slipping up the inside of her thigh. As it reached under her skirt, his fingers brushed against lace. He chuckled. "What’ve you got goin’ under here?”
Her eyes went big and faux-innocent. "Do you like it?" 
"Oh, darlin', you know I do. But how bout you show me so I can be sure?" 
With a giggle, she stood, her hands sliding over his shoulders as he sat forward. He eased the skirt up over her hips. No easy thing when it clung so tightly. But it was well worth it for the sight of lace panties and garter belt beneath. 
He took in a sharp breath. "Fuck, darlin'... That's about the best thing I've ever seen. You're too good to me." 
"Hmmm, only the best for you, even if you did call me old.” She pouted in mock offense, plucking the hat off his head and putting it on her own. 
“You're just feeling all kinds of naughty, aren't ya?" As she leaned down to kiss him, he took hold of her ass with both hands, relishing the feel of her soft skin. She responded by sinking back down, straddling his lap. 
“Maybe a little. Why? Did you have plans this afternoon?”
 “Well, I do now.” He pulled her closer, kissing her neck and down toward her cleavage. “Gotta take care of my girl. By the time I’m done, everybody in Sanctuary Hills is gonna know I do you right.”
“That a promise?”
“Sure is, darlin’.”    
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apraxvalith · 15 days
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Hi I'm Valith and I think normal thoughts about Fallout ghouls
[Full images on Patreon, 18+ only]
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mintsalsa · 17 days
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relationship hcs — hancock
a/n: the girls that get it, get it
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(nsfw below cut!)
★ ! sfw
hancock is a tough nut to crack
under all the swagger, the sarcastic remarks and the self-deprecating jokes, hancock is actually pretty sad
sad and a little lonely - despite the sense of community tying the people of goodneighbor together
so when he first starts following you around, it's precisely for the reason he claims: to clear his head and find purpose again
the fact that he finds you cute doesn't have a terrible lot to do with it
because while he doesn't always sell himself short, he likes to think of himself as a realist - he's him, and you're, well, you're you
it doesn't help that half his security personnel in goodneighbor can't seem to take their eyes off of you anytime you visit
and while the thought of it kind of pisses him off, he knows that he's the one sharing stories, bottles and cigarettes when you're sitting around a fire at night, out in the wastes, just him and just you
it takes a long time for him to admit his feelings to himself
which doesn't deter him from flirting with you, obviously
and despite you laughing and blushing before hurling an ironic retort in his direction, he never believes the bickering between you to mean anything
but somehow, you make him less afraid
less afraid of everything, and especially of himself
he'll start dropping hints about his feelings, but given the dynamic between you two, it only manages to leave you more confused
so you'd end up having to take matters into your own hands and ask him about his behavior to make him fess up
less big on pda, but trust me when i say emotional intimacy is such a huge thing
like this man is your soulmate, end of story
he loves showing you off (bc ur sexy)
and when you inch closer to him at night, your soft skin reaching out to touch his rough hands and face ...
let's just say the entire wasteland had never seen a ghoul smile brighter ever before
★ ! nsfw
i'm convinced hancock fucks, first of all
but with you?
he's insecure as hell, and it'd take him a short while to work up the courage to initiate any physical intimacy
freak in the streets and the sheets!
he'd never do anything you're not comfortable with, though - if you're more on the vanilla side of things, he'll adapt
you're his top priority after all
and even when he's going sweet and slow, it's always so, so hot
he uses his words and voice a lot and praises you like there's no tomorrow
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everydayyoulovemeless · 5 months
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if you’re currently taking requests, may i please request some nsfw headcanons for hancock 👀👀
NSFW Hancock HCs
➼ Word Count » 0.4k ➼ Warnings » Knife Play, Bondage, MDNI ➼ Genre » NSFW, Romantic
Hancock is 100% a switch and is down to do whatever with whoever. My man ain't picky.
He likes to take things a bit slower at the very start of the relationship so that he can get a feel for what the boundaries and feelings are, but he'll quickly begin to speed it up once he's found 'em.
He loves running his knife across your bare skin. There’s something so mesmerizing about watching the sharp tip glide gently over your cheek. It gives him such a power trip and he loves the look of submission glaze over your eyes.
On the flip side, however, he loves it when you wrap your fingers around his throat and throw him onto the nearest surface. He adores it when you grab him and pin him down roughly.
He immediately gets horny whenever you get a good shot at someone. Something about the confidence and the violent nature of it all never fails to get him to grab your hands and pull you tightly against him.
He loves seeing you in his clothes. Something about seeing his coat draped over your shoulders makes him want to leave kisses over your entire body.
Hancock has a thing for blindfolding you and gently tracing his calloused fingers over every scar and blemish you could possibly have. He loves being able to focus all of his attention on these areas, and he especially likes seeing you squirm at the sensation.
His eyes are always filled with an almost obsessively adoring way whenever you're even slightly in control.
Sometimes when your fucking he'll lick your cheek.
Hickies are a must with him. He'll cover you in them, he doesn't care. If you were to ever give some to him, though, he'd be the happiest ghoul in Goodneighbor.
He loves cradling your face in his hands and making out with you, especially after the more dangerous quests.
His favorite position has got to be doggy style. There's something about tying your hands behind your back and pounding into you mercilessly that makes him feel so animalistic.
The one thing he'll never do is include any drugs with sex. He's heard way too many stories of people getting hurt because of mishaps like that and always makes sure you're both sober before initiating anything.
Aftercare with him doesn't entail very much. He prefers just laying there with you in his arms as you two share a blunt and talk. He always looks forward to the vulnerability of this moment and couldn't ever ask for anything more.
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