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Gen Z I see you.

(Lovingly- a GenX)

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I love this!!! He looks like he would (not) host the weekend bbq

Whenever I feel sad I dress MacCready as a suburban white dad

ate I fear

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AHHHH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH THANK YOU SOSOSOOSOS MUCH FOR WRITING THIS

Tradere

AU i just made up today, where nic grows up as a brotherhood soldier instead of gunner. im sorry!!

PS. title is latin for “to hand over.” thought that was cute

word count: 530

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Just yesterday was life paradise. Deacon was in Nic’s arms, on the verge of falling asleep, with a pleasant tingle he felt only with his lover. Today that tingle was gone. In its place was a tremble, one that knew it would soon never shake again.

Everywhere around Deacon were corpses of his closest comrades, their blood, their documents not to be seen by anyone. Especially not a Brotherhood soldier, like Nic. There was a reason he had never told anyone about the affair: both of them would lose their jobs, friends, likely everything. Nevertheless, Deacon lost everything.

Nic stood over his kneeling body, parts of his power armor torn and covered in blood. His helmet was in Deacon’s lap, it was the only thing the spy could bear to do as harm to him.

“Is this how we end?” The spy mumbled, “I didn’t think you would fall this easily, honey,” he hissed like a snake.

It wasn’t like Nic wanted it to end like this, he didn’t even want it to end. The past few months with Deacon were the best of his life. Somehow he had seen them getting married one day, abandoning all duties, maybe living in a cabin across the mountains. But dreams are just dreams, lessons reverberated in his head, dreams were just dreams.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” his fists held tight to his hammer, with a grip about to slip from the blood that coated it.

“Then don’t. Why is that so hard for you?”

“You cannot understand-.” A cough interrupted him.

“I did and I do, I trusted you, goddammit. Was I just a part of a mission? You spied on the spy? So fucking funny.”

“What we have is real. I cannot forget it,” for the first time since he was an infant, a tear dropped from his eye. “You mean so much to me.”

“You mean jack shit now, Roach,” Deacon turned his head up. His glasses were gone, left over his thigh, cracked. He only had them off in moments of vulnerability, such as now. “Kill me. You love the Brotherhood so fucking much, more than me, then kill me!”

“My love-“

Deacon laughed at a name that used to bring him peace, “forget that. God… god I hate you.”

“No, you do not. Neither do I hate you,” Nic grit his teeth, lowering his hammer to his waist.

“Stop lying to me!” He spewed a yell that raptured his lungs, “if you loved me, you wouldn’t do something like this.” His eyes watered more, with tears that hurt to produce. They shined with a thousand pleads for life.

Only Nic could decipher those begs. They cracked his heart into halves.

“Do not beg any longer, for it is pointless. As long as I live, you will live.”

Walls collapsed, releasing Deacon’s true feelings, “...I-I love you. But I’m not going to ever date you again.”

Nic cupped his cheek to give him one final kiss. He poured every last bit of love he had for the man into it. Physically and mentally he felt him reciprocate, filled with the same devotion. Pulling away, Nic sighed, “if that is how it ends.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

how come i only write deanic in AUs where everything ends badly for them… whatever! once again, thank u to @wassertoffatom for this idea. but now i rlly need to get back to imagining them happy before i cry

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I feel like modern maccready would make his living as a twitch streamer or something. Like you can not tell me that he wouldn’t be a beast as first person shooter games.

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Kinda wanna post a modern AU (coffee shop bc I love that shit) where OC?? sole is a Nepo baby but is successful on her own and she goes to a coffee shop where she meets MacCready, a down on his luck dad who is working two jobs tying to provide winter clothing/Christmas stuff for Duncan and OC?? Either makes it her “project” to help him out and falls in love in progress or just genuinely takes an interest in the grumpy, snarky barista.

Anywho, I plan on fleshing it out in biochem bc I fr don’t do crap in that class but hypothetically would anyone be interested? Idk if I’ll post on here but I will def post on AO3

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Saw this article on my fyp and was like… this kid looks like someone… so I did what any totally (in)sane person would do :

Yep… why does this kid look like IRL mayor maccready

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Signal Boost

A little artwork I did. Mac just seems like he (and Duncan) would love Wall-E and so I had to draw him as Wall-E and SoSu as Eve

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A little artwork I did. Mac just seems like he (and Duncan) would love Wall-E and so I had to draw him as Wall-E and SoSu as Eve

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Fluff/WhumpTOBER Day 21: Deacon x F!SoSu x RJ MacCready

Day 21: Bonfire/Body Horror Masterlist Warnings: 16+, implications of role-play/intercourse Word Count: 351

The wind wisps away into the night, sending a breeze across the Commonwealth. It would be cold if there wasn’t a campfire two feet in front of your body, burning strong as a result of tender attention. The warmth and security allows you to sleep soundly, without a care in the world.

“Pfft. No way, man. You’re totally lying.” A voice, loud, causes your eyes to open. 

“Shh, keep your voice down. You’ll wake her up.” Silence falls over the camp and you feel two pairs of eyes on you, checking to make sure that you’re still asleep before returning to their conversation. “Anyways. No I am not lying. She is totally into role play. She even asked me to sign her Cooper Howard doll. The wig definitely did her in,” a second, quieter voice comments, and you can hear the grin on his face. Deciding to keep still, you continue to listen to your companions’ conversation.

“I didn’t think boss would be into the Cooper Howard roleplay.”

“You best believe it, she goes crazy for that southern drawl,” Deacon comments in a hushed, mock Southern tone as you roll your eyes. Of course he’s spinning what really happened. Yes, you happened to have a crush on Cooper Howard, but no, you did not have Deacon cosplay him, let alone sign your doll.

“So, are you guys,” MacCready hesitates and you can imagine that he’s looking down at his bandolier, fingers running over the bullets from a habit he picked up years ago. “Are you guys together?” Freezing in your sleeping back, the tension at the campfire is thick and you’re surprised that Deacon doesn’t automatically jump at the shot to expose your physical relationship with him. 

“I’m honestly not sure. We haven’t labeled anything, but I know she has feelings for me.”

“Oh. Cool. That’s totally cool,” MacCready comments with a dejected tone.

“Chin up Creedster, she has feelings for you too.” Oh the nerve of Deacon…

“I love the both of you, now shut up so I can go back to sleep.” Not another word was spoken that night.

-fin-

@unrepentantweirdo

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Fluff/WhumpTOBER Day 19: Nick Valentine x F!Reader

Day 19: Yarn/Blood Trail Masterlist Warnings: 16+, Vampirism, Blood Drinking, gaslighting Word Count: 1.6k

It started a few months ago. You would disappear from Sanctuary in the middle of the night, no one really knowing where you went. It’s better that way. It’s better that they don’t know the truth. Your disappearances never lasted for long, maybe 6 hours at the max before your return, sauntering around the budding town as if you had been there the entire time. 

Nick doesn’t really think anything of it, that you’ve noticed. He always plays it off as you just needing some alone time. The wasteland is a harsh environment, especially if you’re not initially from it, so he doesn’t blame you if you need a few hours to yourself.

But then people started disappearing. Valentine Detective Agency was back in business. Complaints of family members never returning home from nights out flooded Ellie and Nick, only for them to go cold. And Valentine is sick of telling only bad news.

Slamming the papers down, smoke drifts through his open face as your head pops up from its place on the couch in the office, confusion across your features. “What is it, Nick?”

Nick shakes his head, snuffing out the butt of his cigarette and leaning back in the seat, wishing the nicotine had an effect on him. “Another person has disappeared, and like usual, there’s nothing. No hint of where they disappeared to, no note, no tracks, nothing. It’s like they’ve simply vanished,” he huffs before slouching back over the desk as you leave your seat, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

The truth is, you know where all of those people are. They’re in a cave, sleeping peacefully. It typically takes them a few days of recovery before they’re back at home, safe and sound, with no recollection of what had hit them. “If the Institute wasn’t destroyed, I would just write it off as that, but it doesn’t make sense. These disappearances started after you returned from the Institute and then continued.” Your blood runs cold and you pray that he doesn’t pick up on it, because he’s right. Your time in the Institute, although short lived, was enough time for the scientists to run an experiment on you and now you’re this, a blood sucking demon. 

“I don’t know Nick, don’t these people normally come back? Maybe they just wanted some time away,” you hope that he buys it, but you got to give credit where credit is due, he’s a damn good detective.

“No, that would be plausible if these people had random times of disappearance, but they always disappear at night and then show up exactly three days later, no recollection of where they were.” Shit. You need to change it up. Looking down at your pip boy, you fiddle with the controls before grabbing your jacket from the chair. 

“You’ll figure this out. I gotta go, Nick. I’ll see you later,” pressing a chaste kiss on his cheek, you skirt out the door as Nick takes note of the time.

“12:30, 15 minutes before the disappearances. Could she have something to do with this?” Nick doesn’t waste any time before he’s throwing on his coat and rushing out of the door.

Following 10 paces behind you, Nick’s yellow eyes peer out into the darkness, eyes catching onto your frame, and someone else. Tuning his auditory sensors to maximum, he crouches down behind a bush as you and the person walk next to each other.

“Will it hurt?” Hmm, that voice sounds familiar.

“You ask this every time. No. It feels like a stimpak, just a few pricks at the same time,” he makes out your hand rubbing the other person’s arm, guiding them into the woods. 

“The things I do for you.”

“You know how much I appreciate this.” Nick watches as you and the other person disappear into a cave.

“Where are they going?” Following them, Nick sneaks into the cave, gun in hand as he hides behind a wall. 

“Are you ready?”

“Yep.” A sharp gasp breaks out followed by gurgling, the distinct smell of blood being picked up by Nick’s senses. What the? Coming out from the wall, the sight that Nick stumbles on makes his non-existent stomach sick to his stomach. On a bed lies MacCready, limp and passed out. On top of the young merc is you, your face hidden from his view, buried in between Mac’s neck and shoulder. 

“What the hell is going on in here?” His arrival causes you to jump in shock, head ripping from Mac’s neck, blood trickling down his skin and your chin.

“Nick? What are you doing here?” He doesn’t answer you, instead, Nick takes a look around. Surrounding the room are various beds, the missing people laying there, sleeping peacefully.

“All this time I have been looking for these people, and you knew where they were,” he raises his gun, pointing it at your head. He doesn’t want to shoot, but he will if he needs to. Just what else has she been hiding from me? He watches as you sigh, turning back to the merc but the cocking of his gun stops your movements. 

“I need to get Mac a stimpak before he bleeds out, can I do that before I explain everything?” Nick doesn’t respond and you take that as a sign to quickly jab your friend with a stimpak before licking the blood off of your chin. “Why don’t we have a seat,” you take a seat on a nearby couch as he sits across from you, gun still pointed at your head. “Nick, bullets won’t work on me anymore.”

“Explain.”

— pov switch—

This is exactly what you did not want. You did not want him to know that you’re a monster. You did not want him to walk in on you feeding. And yet, now that he did, you feel free. An imaginary weight being lifted off your shoulders. “I’m a vampire.” “How long have you been keeping that one up your sleeve?”

Taking in a deep sigh, you plan out your next words carefully, knowing damn well that it could ruin the relationship you have with him, if it’s not ruined already. “When I got to the Institute, Shaun wanted me to get a health check up, see how much radiation has damaged my body. They had some injections that they promised were just vaccines, but when they gave me the last one, I passed out, only to wake up craving one thing, blood. I didn’t know what I was craving until a human came over to me and I… snapped,” you take a deep breath in, looking down at your hands to avoid his piercing gaze. “I jumped on the person and drank all of their blood. Only once the urge was satisfied had I realized what I had done. I was so mad when I found out, I went on a rampage, and… there was so much blood.”

“And then what?” 

“I was brought to Shaun, he had explained what he did, who I now was. A monster.” Tears prickle at your eyes as you try to blink them away, afraid of what Nick will think of you. “It was fine when I had access to the Institute because I could just drink from some blood bags, but once it was destroyed, I had to figure out a way to get blood.”

“And so kidnapping people and killing them is the best you could do?” You can tell that he’s fuming, judging by the steam that comes out from his ears.

“No, they don’t die. The first few, unfortunately did die, but I now have a system, I know how to minimize death.” 

Nick looks to MacCready, your friend. “And what about him? Why are you doing that to him? He has a child who depends on him.”

“Nick. None of these people are dying anymore. I take the most that I can without them dying and then I keep them here while they recover the lost blood. When they wake up, they have no recollection. And as for RJ, he likes doing this. He doesn’t remember once he wakes up, but when I need to feed, he’s always more than willing.” By more than willing, he downright begs. Frankly, he gets off on it, not that Nick needs to know that. 

Hanging his head between his hands, you can hear his motors turning in his head. “You let me try to solve all of these cases, knowing where they were this whole time. Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“This isn’t something that I’m proud of. I don’t want people knowing what I am.”

“But MacCready can know? Why don’t you trust me?” Moving next to him, you place a tender hand on his arm, rubbing the material of his clothes gently.

“He only knows because he saw me feed on someone, or else he would not have known,” you pause, chewing the inside of your mouth. “Look, Nick, I wanted to tell you, I just didn’t know how, nor did I know what you would say.”

Nick stands up abruptly, taking a cigarette from his pack and lighting it, pacing around the lit cave as he looks everyone over. None of them are dead, but they’re not exactly full of life either. He’s seen a lot of sick things and this is one of them. “I need some time.”

“I understand. I’ll be here.” Nick doesn’t bother to reply before he’s walking away, disbelief clouding his mind. 

[wassertoffatom]

Writing an alternative ending 😈

Fluff/WhumpTOBER Day 17: RJ MacCready x F!Sole

Day 17: Only One Bed/No Where Else To Go Masterlist Warnings: 18+, Major Character Death, PTSD, Graphic Depictions of Gore, Forced to Relive Trauma, poor Mac can't get a break, language, blood, guts Word Count: 1.9k Author's Note: I really hope this one does well because I loved writing it and I hope you guys enjoy! This was a result of a poll I took back in September.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been running for. His heart pounds loudly in his ears as his feet slam on the pavement, lungs straining for a breath of air. But he can’t stop. He can’t stop running. Not when there are two deathclaws on his tail and a looming radstorm above. He needs to get somewhere safe, and fast.

“Mac! Over here!” He manages to hear your voice shout out against the echoing thunder. Spotting your frame going into a building, he takes a hard right onto the grass, begging his legs to just push him a little further until he can get somewhere where deathclaws can’t go. Though, he supposes that they can go into a building, or rather, crash into a building, but now is really not the time to be thinking of that when one swings out to him, tearing the tail end of his duster more than it already is.

Bursting through the doors, he slams them shut, shoving a nearby couch against the door just in time for the door to shake from the strength of a deathclaw slamming into it. “(Y/N)?” He calls out to you, pulling some bullets from his pockets and reloading the camber of his rifle, keeping it pointed toward the door. “(Y/N)?” She did go in here, right? MacCready takes another step back before the floor gives out underneath him, causing him to fall through the trapdoor and down a dark, cold slide. Shit, shit, shit, shit. 

The slide spits him out onto damp concrete, his butt sore from landing on it as he tries to get his bearings. “Well, about time you joined me.”

“What?”

“Mac, get up,” he feels your hands wrap around his bicep, hoisting him up as his awareness starts coming to him, the groaning of ghouls echoing around them. Oh no. Shaking his head, he takes a quick look at you and hates the look of fear that he instantly spots in your eyes. “Mac, we’re fucked.” Tilting his head, he takes a few steps forward, the grasp on his arm tightening. At the end of the platform is a steep drop off, and below them, hundreds of ghouls. His heart stops.

Visions of a metro station flooding his field of view as the noise of the ghouls amplify. This can’t be happening again. “Mac, come back to me.” Your voice snaps him out of his trance as his heart thumps against his ribcage, his vision tunneling. 

“Lucy?”

“No, it’s (Y/N). We need to get out of here.” He watches as you look around, trying to find an escape, only for a sob to wreck through your body when you find one, in a sea of ghouls. 

“There’s gotta be another way out,” it’s a foolish sense of hope, but he can’t, won’t, let this happen again. Climbing into the slide, he tries to wiggle his way up the dark tube only to slip back down. “It’s too steep to climb.”

“I know, I already tried it. What are we going to do?” This is the second time in his life where his smart mouth has nothing to say. Not answering you, MacCready peers back over the edge, trying to count how many ghouls there are, only to not like the number. 

“We don’t have enough bullets to take them.” The ghouls below them stretch their arms out, trying to reach for the two of them, but with no success. Turning to you, he strides over, taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips against yours, pouring all of his love out to you. He’s never kissed you like that before. “I’m sorry I got us into this mess again, Lucy.” He feels you pull away from him, tears of betrayal in your eyes.

“Robert, it’s me. (Y/N).” His blue eyes blink slowly and you can tell that he’s not here with you. He’s back in DC with Lucy and Duncan. A sharp slap lands across his face, cheek stinging as his head shakes, eyes blinking in confusion.

“(Y/N)? What happened?” He looks around, confusion and fear written on his face. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know. I just know that there’s at least a hundred ghouls beneath us and you can’t focus. I’m not saying that I’m blaming you, but Mac, I need you to concentrate. I need you here, with me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Do you have any more grenades? Maybe we can try to clear some of them out and hightail it toward that exit.”

“I have one, the rest were used trying to get those deathclaws off our tails.” Mac thinks for a moment before taking the grenade in his hands, vomit threatening to rise in his throat. He knows what he has to do, what he should’ve done all those years ago. He should’ve sacrificed himself for Lucy and Duncan. Lucy should be alive and well, watching over their son. And he’d be damned if he’s not going to take the fall this time. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out whatever ammo he has left and hands it to you, tears welling in his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What I should’ve done years ago. I’m not going to let another person I care about take the fall while I get out. I’ll throw the grenade toward the exit, hopefully it’ll clear out the ghouls blocking the door and while you escape I’ll keep their attention.”

“What the fuck? No, MacCready. I throw the grenade and cause a distraction and you get out of here,” he watches as you pull the katana from its holster on your back. “I’ll try to cut down as many as I can while you get out of here.”

“No way in hell.”

“Shut up, Mac. You have Duncan you need to take care of. Duncan needs his dad. He doesn’t need me.” You take the grenade from his hand but his grip on it tightens, lips turning down into a frown. 

“No. I can’t let you take the fall for me. I need to be the one to do this. I should’ve been the one who died, not Lucy. Just like now, I should be the one who dies, not you. I’ve only done bad in this world, you’re trying to change it for the better. I trust that you’ll take care of Duncan for me.” He takes a step toward the ledge but you pull him back, wrapping your arms around his body and pressing your lips against his, the salt from your tears mixing in with your combined saliva. “I love you, (Y/N). I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” with your weight, you manage to drop your body down and sweep his leg out from underneath him, causing him to fall on his back as you replace the grenade in his hands with his bullets.

“I love you, Robert MacCready, don’t forget me.” He watches in horror, scrambling to his feet to try and hold you back but again, he’s too slow.

Your body disappears from view as an explosion on the opposite end of the room goes off, but the thump of your body is all that he hears as he crawls to the edge. Somehow, you had managed to slide down the cliff and only cut your leg open, drawing the attention of the ghouls. The sound of their gargling and your sword slicing through the bodies rings in his ears. “FUCKING RUN ROBERT!”

The path toward the door starts thinning out as you draw the ghouls toward you. For a minute he sees his Lucy, eyes wide with fear, trying her hardest to put on a brave face for MacCready and Duncan, but he sees through it. Run, Bobby! Take Duncan and run! Lucy wouldn’t want him dying like she did. Lucy wouldn’t want Duncan to grow up without either of his parents. Gripping onto the stock of his rifle, he pushes himself onto his feet, before jumping over the edge and sliding down the platform, hitting the solid floor beneath him with a resounding crack against the back of his head. Reaching up to rub his head, his fingers come in contact with warm fluid, but it’s too dark to see what it is. He knows what it is. Fuck. 

In a daze, he manages to get up before a ghoul could land on him. Running toward the exit, the gun in his hands feels like the weight of Duncan when he was a baby. How did this happen again? A loud scream halts him in run, fear racing down to his very core.

“RUN ROBERT! RU-” the words fall short as a sickening crunch reverberates in his ears, the sound of your body spurting blood causes his stomach to do somersaults as he’s brought back to the metro station. Your screams of terror and fear meld into Lucy’s screams before ending with sounds of body parts splattering against the cold tile. Tears fall down his face as he wills his legs to push him forward. 

I’ve failed them. Both of them. He uses his gun to shoot the brains out of the nearest ghoul, jumping over the fallen body as he breaks for the exit. Almost there, almost there. 

Run, Bobby, take care of our son.

Don’t look back, Mac, get out of here.

The voices in his brain repeat as his lungs struggle for air. We love you, Robert.

==========

MacCready shoots out of the bed with a scream, chest heaving as he gulps in air. His body drips with sweat as his heart threatens to lurch out of his chest.  It’s been months since the event, and he hasn’t been able to sleep since. Not even with Duncan in his arms.

“Bobby?” A gravelly voice accompanies him, soft arms wrapping around his torso as a face presses into his back. “Another?”

“Yeah,” MacCready chokes, not daring to look down at your arm where multiple bite mark scars litter your supple flesh. “It’s like everytime I try to sleep, I just see us, back there. I just see you and Lucy dying each time.” He can feel your frown against his bare back before lips press softly against the skin. 

The truth of the matter is that you didn’t die. You’re a lot more handy with a katana than either of you had thought and you had made it through the horde of ghouls with only several tears at your skin. He counts it off as sheer luck, silently thanking whatever might be out there while you had played it off as watching one too many episodes of a tv show back in your day. “Bobby, we should really see Curie about this, I know PTSD has different forms and such, but maybe she has something to help you.” He knows that you’re probably right, given that you’ve had to go through this with your late spouse, but still, you had almost died, just like Lucy, and he was powerless to prevent it.

“Let’s try to go back to sleep, baby.” You manage to coax him to lay down, his body adjusting so that his head rests against your chest, your heart beating strong and steady in comparison with his own. MacCready doesn't do much but the moment you fall back into a slumber, he’s holding onto you just a little bit tighter.

-fin-

@unrepentantweirdo

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I ABSOLUTELY LOVED THIS. SO STUPID GOOD! I wish there was more 😩

Fic/Fluff/Kinktober, day 14

Fandom: Fallout 4 Relationship: Deacon/Sole Survivor Rated: T Words: ~1900 Prompt: attic/cellar/hidden room (@flufftober)

She was whispering now. Not in an attempt to be quiet, now that the danger had passed, but because something seemed to be lodged in her throat to block her voice. Her heart, perhaps, as it seemed to be beating hard enough that she felt it through her entire body. (Hiding from angry Gunners, Ruby has a whole lot of ideas all click into place at the same time, revealing a picture she hadn't realized she was painting.)

[neocities][AO3]

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Yes I need more companion content

You know what I want from Bethesda? A book strictly dedicated to the Fallout companions. I want to know canon, never before seen details about them that the games don't even acknowledge. I want them to have several pages dedicated to each companion that go into the most obscure factoids about them. What else have they been through besides the depressing stuff? How tall are they? What's their favourite food? Literally anything.

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<___< How...How about Prompt 18 "I dont want a baby" With the Rat man <___<?

Disrupted Legacy (RJ MacCready x F!Sole)

Main Master List || Prompt Master List

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the request! Sorry this took so long to get out but I hope you enjoy!!!

Warnings: 18+, TALKS OF INFERTILITY (ENDOMETRIOSIS), talk about fertility treatments, language, Mac gets a little upset, a hint at sexual content

Word Count: 1k

==========

You knew it was inevitable. You knew that one day MacCready would want to try for kids to give Duncan a sibling. And you thought that by beating around the bush that he would give up. In hindsight, you should’ve known that the most stubborn man in the wasteland wouldn’t give up.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Piper asks from beside you, legs stretching out by the fire. In an attempt to escape MacCready’s persistent hints and nudges, you’ve taken up bouncing between settlement help and delivering care packages to displaced synths while Mac stays at home, tending to the crops and watching Duncan.

Sighing, you pull your jacket in tighter. “He wants a baby.” 

Only a handful of people know. Nick knows because he’s highly perceptive. Deacon knows because he’s nosey and “totally wasn’t eavesdropping.” And now Piper, who seems stunned at the revelation.

“And? How do you feel about that?” Despite Piper making her whole living off of exposing stories, you know she wouldn’t tell a soul if you told her something in confidence. Still, do you want to admit what you’ve been neglecting to say? Seeming to notice your resistance to answer the question, Piper backs off. “Well, whatever you feel, MacCready should know if he doesn’t already. I know he’s a pain in most people’s ass, but everyone can tell that he loves you. He’ll understand.”

Would he though? Would he accept your reasoning or would it blow up in your face? Lying down in your sleeping bag, you turn away from her, tears welling in your eyes. “Night, Piper.”

“Night Blue.”

As Sanctuary comes into view, the more the knot in your stomach grows. You know that you’ll see MacCready almost instantly. You know that he’ll drag you off for some “personal time” and ask about trying for a kid, but you also know that it’ll just end in tension.

Swallowing down bile in your throat, you walk over the bridge, old wood creaking with each step. “(Y/N)!” Before you have the chance to set down your weapons, Duncan is launching himself into your arms.

Holding him close, you swing him around as giggles erupt from his small body, gaining the attention of a certain sniper. “Hello Duncan.”

“Where have you been? Me and daddy missed you,” the child pouts as you set him down, aware of MacCready making his way toward you. Looking down at Duncan, you smile at the way he frowns, very much like his dad.

“There you are. I was worried you forgot about me,” Mac pulls you into his arms as you wrap your own around his body, inhaling in his scent feeling safe and loved. Tell him.

“I would never forget you,” pulling away, you reach up and comb his wild hair with your hand. “We need to talk.”

A brief look of panic crosses his features but he nods regardless, taking your hand in his before looking down at his son. “Can you go play for a little, buddy? (Y/N) and I need to talk in private.” “Okie dokie!” Duncan runs off toward the other children while you and Mac move toward your house.

As the door clicks shut you’re dumping your supplies onto the floor before crashing onto the couch, MacCready joining you and patiently waiting for you to talk. Here goes nothing. “I don’t want a baby.”

The bomb creates a palpable tension and you don’t look at him, afraid of what you’ll see. “Why?” It’s a simple question and oddly leveled, causing you to look up. To your shock, he doesn’t seem mad. He doesn’t seem… anything.

“Mac?”

“Why don’t you want a baby? Do you not want a baby at all or just don’t want a baby with me?” His voice raises and stands abruptly, fists balling at his side while his jaw clenches. Ah, there’s the anger. “I’ve been asking for months. Why not just tell me then? Why would you let me continue to ask if you already made up your mind?”

Your eyes follow him as he paces in front of you, not sparing you a glance. “It’s complicated.” He pauses in his movement, blue eyes dilated with hurt and anger.

“Complicated? I thought we were a team. I thought we could trust each other?”

Guiding him to sit down, your hands squeeze his. “We can trust each other.”

Tears of frustration swell in his eyes as he bats them away. “Then what is so complicated?”

Might as well just tell him. “I can’t have children.”

Confusion crosses his eyes as his eyebrows scrunch together. “But you had Shaun.”

“I did, but I had to use a lot of drugs for the slightest chance of conceiving. Nate and I initially thought that maybe it was his sperm that wasn’t functional but after we did some tests we found out that I have something called endometriosis. The treatments helped with a chance of conceiving but it was never guaranteed. Shaun was a miracle,” tears well in your eyes as your thoughts linger on your dead son. The son that you tried so hard for. Your thoughts are interrupted by Mac pulling you onto his lap, pressing a tender kiss to your head as the floodgates open. Tears flow out as you clutch onto Mac while he rubs your back in comfort. “I’m sorry, RJ. I can’t give you what I want.”

Mac isn’t sure what to think of everything but he knows that you need him to just be there for you. Rocking you in his grasp, he continues to pepper kisses on your head, occasionally shushing you as he rubs your back. “It’s okay, (Y/n), it’s okay.”

As you calm down, you pull away, looking into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bobby. If I had known that you would want children inevitably, I wouldn’t have pursued this,” you motion between the two of you as he chuckles, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“(Y/N), if I wanted you just for babies I would’ve been asking from the get go. I mean I’m bummed out, but I still love you regardless.”

Your eyes blink away tears that his thumb catches. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do. Now how about we go and catch up?” He wiggles his eyebrows as you giggle.

“Nothing sounds better.”

-fin-

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I loved this so much. This is literally such a beautiful piece of work paying tribute to Lucy.

Fic/Fluff/Kinktober, day 7

Fandom: Fallout 4 Rated: G Words: ~400 Prompt: grave (@flufftober "make it fluffy")

MacCready fills Lucy in on what she's missed.

[neocities][ao3]

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AHHHH THIS WAS SOOOO GOOD. I KNOW I ALREADY COMMENTED ON IT ON MY MAIN BUT IT ALSO DESERVES A REBLOG

Hiiiii! I would like to request some deacon angst (or fluff) depending on how you would like to end it. Basically the premise would follow deacon being emotionally unavailable but female sole wants him and she gets a little loose lipped and confesses her love for deacon. How deacon responds is up to you!

Thanks!

A/n: Thank you so much for the request !! I'll be honest I had multiple different routes with how I wanted this to go but tried to stick with combining only a couple. I'm so sorry this turned out so long like??? I was expecting to keep the word count around 1k but obviously went a bit off track with that goal. Anyways I hope you like it! Feedback is always greatly appreciated :)

Not me, Charms

Deacon x reader (fo4) wc: 2.3k

Warnings: no use of y/n but Deacon calls reader "charms", angst, little bit of fluff, talks of death/death of spouse, vague talks of conceiving a child(nothing descriptive)

The bright blue lights from the relay and the heavy tears that sat on your water lines blurred your vision too much for your liking. The devastation of what you had just discovered laboriously weighed on your chest. It was all too much.

You hadn't stayed around for a moment longer than necessary after the discussion with Father, a now elderly scientist who was once just your baby boy, Shaun. In the blink of an eye the entire trajectory of your life's sudden goal came crashing down in an unbeknownst catastrophe to anyone but you.

You were always left with a face of shock and amusement anytime you used the relay to teleport, this time though, you were left stoic and with a protective hunch to your shoulders, as though your body was trying to hug itself to comfort the acute emotional distress you were currently battling.

“Ma’am,” was all Sturges said with a nod of his head in acknowledgement of your current condition.

Sturges was smart, not just with technology but within the fact that he understood the obscenity of human emotion in the cruel instances of the Commonwealth. In short, he knew how to give space to those who needed it.

You kept your eyes glued to the ground despite knowing you weren't going to be seen by anyone.

It was late, your pip-boy read 11:36pm. Half an hour from midnight, which means everyone was asleep in their newfound designated homes; even Mama Murphy was asleep, head nodded to the side in her chair, a pillow between her shoulder and neck that was placed caringly for comfort by Preston.

Sanctuary Hill had once again become a place you could call home; your old house becoming a deep comfort that you had avowed to take back months ago when you were finally thawed from the icebox. A place that the remainder of your family, you and Shaun, could call home.

It became a home for many others too, a place in which you referenced to anyone who needed a place to stay and a community to be a part of.

But right now, it felt like an ugly rotting time capsule. A despoiled wimmelbilderbuch of everything that once was, and everything that will never get to be.

You dreaded walking into the place you called home, despite the only emotional security you felt you had was residing in its confines currently.

There was nothing between you and Deacon despite companionship. A healthy one, nonetheless, but nothing more than a friendly hug and a few decaying mattresses for desperately needed sleep was shared physically between you two.

Emotionally, though, there was a little more.

He knew about the loss of your husband long before you learned about the demise of his wife.

It left you with a deep seated guilt for multiple reasons when you found out.

You had developed the ever so slightest attraction to the man you traveled with, and it left a sour churn inside. You knew your husband would never come back and had yet to really grieve your loss, alongside at the time you had yet to find your son, so you were glad he more than blatantly ignored the way you looked at him some of those nights.

You were just lonely and missed your family. You missed the comfort of human connection that was so incredibly scarce in the modern world you had woken up to.

You stood at the side door of your home, your hand ever so hesitant to turn the doorknob. You could see a dim yellow light coming from the back of the house, coming from the bedroom you once shared the deepest of memories with the father of your son. Memories that suddenly felt as though they were all a part of some bigger plan that you were unbeknownst to you back then.

With muscle memory that your body had yet to forget, you entered your home and took off your boots with methodical ease. Forgotten nights of coming home after work to your family before the bombs dropped followed by the same motion.

You trekked your way to your old bedroom where the light emitted from, finding Deacon asleep on his side atop the covers, shoes still on with his back to you. He snored ever so lightly, a quiet airy sound emitting through his nose produced from the back of his throat.

His iconic sunglasses sat haphazardly on the newly-built headboard of the bed.

He was in his cuffed blue jeans and white tee, only this time not suiting the greaser wig he religiously wore with the outfit. He looked comfortable. At peace.

The opposite of everything you felt at the moment.

You sat down on your side of the bed, your legs still over the edge as you turned your torso to face the sleeping man next to you.

With a gentle touch and a heavy sigh you placed your hand delicately on his shoulder, “‘M home now, Dee.”

With a jerk of his shoulder he let out a groan of tiredness and rolled to his back.

“Hey lucky charms, how'd it go?” His voice was perky as though he'd been awake the whole time. ‘Morning voice’ didn't exist for Deacon. The roughness you would often expect only present in times of sickness or injury.

Your mind raced and your stomach turned with anxiety at his more than expected question. You didn't know how to respond. Part of you just wanted to scream and sob at him about how confused you were and how you felt utterly betrayed by someone who didn't even have the intention to do so.

The other half wanted to give a dejected sarcastic remark.

“Fantastic.”

The latter won.

Deacon's brows creased in concern at the impassiveness in your voice and sat upright. You had yet to even make eye contact with him.

“What's goin’ on?” His hand was splayed against your upper back rubbing small circles in hopes of offering some comfort.

“I-,” you began but were cut off by a sudden thick lump in your throat. The heavy tears were back once again and were even closer this time to cascading their way haphazardly down your face.

You buried your face in your hands, your fingers raking aggressively against your scalp down to the top of your forehead in frustration on how to explain it all.

“He’s…he’s older than me now, by a lot,” you began while pulling your hands away from your face, resting them atop your thighs.

Your eyes were wide and deep lines creased in your forehead as though you were reliving the shock all over again.

Deacon's hand stopped in it's tracks; the only thing he could manage to convey was a pitiful, “I'm…so sorry.”

He couldn't imagine what you were feeling. He had tried so hard to conceive with his wife that if it had actually happened, he couldn't envisage not getting to see his child grow up. The brutality of that concept itself left his heart torn in ways he hadn't felt in a long time.

“Oh don't worry, that's only the start of it all,” you let out a dry, angry laugh.

You looked at him, his blue eyes still glossy with sleep, “He's the fucking leading scientist of the institute!”

Deacon's face dropped, devoid of emotion yet calculative.

“Yeah, I know right?” You gestured your hand in agreement to him.

You were hysterically amused at this point in your storytelling, “y’know all those synths you helped the Railroad save? They're nothing more than little trinkets to Shaun.”

You got up from the bed and began pacing.

“The synths developing free will?” you questioned rhetorically to Deacon.

“An accident they'd rather not admit happened, a ‘mistake’ they're trying to correct, so much so that they developed a recall code for an automatic reset.”

Deacon was rubbing his hand back and forth atop his bald head, a long sigh expelled from his lips.

He was angry. Angry for you and angry with you.

And maybe even a bit scared. Scared of what choice you were gonna make at the end of it all. Above all, that fear led to his next remark.

“What're you gonna do, Charms?”

His question left you dumbfounded. As if you had the emotional integrity to make any decision right now.

“The fuck do you mean, Deacon?” Your anger was now very apparent and he had suddenly become the target of it.

“Hey I'm not trying to fight you on this…. it's just that, oh I don't know,” he rolled his eyes, his palms slapping aggressively down on his lap, “taking your son's side would kind of fuck up everything you've fought for, shit, everything I've been fighting for.”

You let out a singular laugh, “wow Deacon, way to make this about yourself.”

“Not trying to-”

“You don't think that I already know that?” You seethed. Your neck felt hot from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

“That my son is suddenly the enemy I've been fighting against this whole fucking time? You think that I want to fight against my own fucking kid for a choice they barely had the option to make on their own? That he himself barely had any free will in the beginning of it all and from what I can see is doing this out of obligation?”

Deacon was now out of bed himself, the newfound argument leaving him feeling uneasy with sitting still.

He was stumped. It was hypocritical of him to not think about your son's lack of freedom in it all, considering freedom was an aspect of what he was fighting for. That despite who Shaun may be now, he was heavily influenced by one thing and one thing only during his primary development. Who was he to judge? He'd fallen under influence in his youth with multiple things.

“I didn't mean it that way, Charms,” Deacon let out a defeated sigh, his hands finding a place to rest in his pockets. He shouldn't have asked you that, it was wrong but he was worried.

You sat back on the bed again, staring at the damaged wall in front of you. The tears you had fought to keep up suddenly fell.

You felt the bed sink as Deacon sat himself next to you, his arm around your shoulder.

“I miss my family, man, I just want my old fucking life back,” you heaved through sobs.

It left Deacon's chest sore with a sorrowful empathy to see you like this, just as he had been after his wife died.

He pushed back his own integral morality when he spoke to you again, placing his hand gently on the side of your head to get you to turn to look at him, “I know whatever decision you make will be the right one, Charms, and I'm so sorry about your family.”

There was so much you still wanted to tell him but the grief of it all didn't allow that to produce itself. Your back heaved with each sob at his words and you threw the upper half of your body into his arms.

You needed something, anything that wasn't yourself to hold you.

To your surprise, after everything, he held you tightly, with security and assurance, the same way Nate would hug you.

The physical remembrance of your slain husband pushed you over the edge. It sent your mind into a spiral of fear that you will never receive this kind of comfort ever again.

Without coherent thought, in a sporadic attempt to chase what you had lost, you quickly lifted your head and leaned to kiss the man in front of you.

You were stopped short with your movements physically, your eyes now wide open again as his hands placed themselves firmly on your shoulders, the warm embrace you were once in was now a cold, empty space.

His brows had creased once again in such a deep sadness, it kept your tears going.

“Not me Charms, I know you miss him and when you finally grieve…if you decide to move on…I'm not that person, you know that,” his eyes scanned your face quicker than you could keep track of. He wasn't trying to hurt you.

You knew the affection he still held so deeply for his departed wife, you became nauseous with regret as you had so easily discarded that thought.

“I'm so sorry,” a muffled response from your hands over your face once again snuck its way out into the uncomfortable silence.

He let his arms fall from where they held you, letting out what felt like the hundredth deep sigh of the night.

“Don't be,” is his way of saying I understand.

The argument that had shifted into a much deeper understanding had settled long ago and Deacon was back asleep in bed. You had yet to find rest when you closed your eyes.

Your boots were back on and you quietly walked to the bridge of Sanctuary, where you now stared into the radiated stream below.

You knew that you were never going to achieve what you once had. And you knew it was wrong to try and force Deacon to become a part of that disoriented mindset you had.

Despite being accepted by many through the long months of finding your son, you never felt as though you had been included as family to any of them.

You were their soldier, their protector, the person almost anyone could go to in times of desperation. That's all you would be to them.

Maybe being just an experiment wasn't so bad. After all, Shaun accepted it with a gracefulness that you had yet to really practice. Was he really the enemy? Maybe the bitter taste of his truth was just a dumbfounded, uneducated harshness. Maybe you weren't meant to be a part of a family or meant to be loved, but rather a leader of something so much greater, that you could change the methods of the institute itself.

Maybe it was all wrong, but were you to blame for wanting to be with what little you had left in this fucked up world?

With newfound optimism, the bright flashing blue lights and heavy tears blinded you once again.

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I think in a modern AU, sole would probably wake up two hours earlier than needed to get dressed/shower/makeup/hair for an event and Mac would just roll out of bed two minutes before they have to leave.