wastebabey

[wastebabey]

˗ˏˋ Torque x (Fem) Reader ˎˊ˗

Tw: Prejudice, implied abuse (?), sex, collar/leash use

AN: Why doesn't a fandom for this manga exist?? I can't find posts about it anywhere, I love it so much its such a shame. I will drag more people into this fandom.

Quick vocab if you havent read/watched Radiant.

Fantasia: In verse magic.

Inquisition: In verse police/government system.

Nemeses: In verse aliens, one touch from them either kills you instantly, or has a small chance of infecting you.

Domitor: People who control nemeses.

Infection: A usually physical or otherwise trait you gain after surviving being touched by a nemeses, makes you immune to their touch.

It had been five months after general Torque put into motion his plans to enslave the infected. Bōme has a registry of every infected person, with added information on home addresses, physical appearance, infection type, and related persons– in case they had reason to believe someone in your family had been wizard born. Infected people had been segregated from normal citizens to the run down parts of Bōme's cities, they'd been given a curfew and were constantly under watch by inquisition soldiers. Any wrong move that seemed suspicious could get you arrested, and any infected that was suspected to be a wizard, whether a false report or not, was taken into questioning and usually jailed after.

Which is why you found it so horrible that you were kept at the very top of inquisitor headquarters. Your fellow infected were kept in the slums, kicked around by soldiers, and barred from living a fairly decent life for no reason but surviving the touch of a nemeses. Meanwhile, you had to watch from your window and witness the abuse, hear the soldiers gloating about it as they walked past your room, feel the fantasia from a dying mage fade away.

If only the nemeses had killed you instead of infecting you. It would've been so much better that way.

Instead, here you are. A personal laborer under general Torque. He'd been revising the registry after every person was logged and the documents were submitted. He scanned over the list of the manifestations of infected persons. Usually taking shape in some sort of physical trait, like scaly skin, wings, abnormally sharp teeth, long fingers, etc, then he found yours. It was simple, yet so promising.

Your infection made your body vibrate constantly. In Torque's sick mind, you had a use. You were brought in and put to work in the medical bay, and your daily tasks usually ranged from physical therapy to massage therapy.

Torque insisted it was the least you could do, to shed some light on the 'scum' that your kind were, by helping normal people.

When you weren't working in the medical bay, Torque kept you to himself. You'd spend hours a day massaging and working his muscles, your magical hands drinking every bit of pain and tension from his body. Sometimes he even had you massage him after a hot soak in the bath, which you didn't see the point of, but if you denied his orders the consequences would be harsh.

You were familiar with his body by now, it was possible you could draw every scar and imperfection by memory alone. You knew which group of muscles he worked the most, and what order he favored you to massage them in. You knew where he was most sensitive, where, if you touched him here, he'd twitch and tense in response.

He insisted he hated you, hated your kind, yet he always came calling for your services after a long day of putting down people just like you. You hardly understood, but hatred based on prejudice never made sense to begin with so there was no use trying to figure it out.

You sat in your quarters, a small room granted to you to spend your time in when you weren't needed by anyone. It was lonely. You had a bed, a desk, and a closet. Your bed was neatly made up. There was nothing on your desk, and you only had a couple medical bay uniforms and loosely fitting night clothes in the closet.

There was a knock on your door, and you knew it time that Torque had returned from his daily duties as general. You stood up and opened the door, greeted by an inquisition soldier. "Torque has requested I escort you to his quarters." The soldier glares down his nose at you, the disgust in his eyes thick enough to choke on– if you weren't so used to it.

You nod and follow along.

Once you arrive to Torque's quarters, the soldier opens the door and rushes you inside.

Leaving you alone with the general once again. Torque is sitting at his large desk facing the wall. His head rests on his wrist as he reads the paper in his other hand. You're quiet, your vibrating fingers anxiously clasped together. You notice you're holding your breath as you await Torque's demands for tonight. You stare at his fiery mane of long, red hair. It drapes over the back of his chair and his single braid almost graces the floor.

He doesn't speak for what seems like forever, letting you marinate in your anxiety and anticipation. "You'll be of use for something different today." He starts after a long while, his deep voice always startled you. He never felt the need to address you by name, instead he gave orders and expected you to know who he was ordering around so informally.

"Yes, sir. Let me know." You say softly. He stands, nudging his chair backward. He motions you to come closer with a wiggle of two gloved fingers. You approach his towering figure, you raise your chin to attention but don't make eye contact.

His large hand cups your face, his thumb gently swipes from your bottom lip down to your chin where he stroked you gently. You wondered if he was finally done using you and was ready to put an end to your scummy life— he never touched you like this. He never touched you in general, it had always been the other way around. Your jaw stuttered in his grip, your teeth chattering gently thanks to your infection. He cranes your neck to force you to look at him.

His gaze devours you, yet the expression on his face was so stern, almost blank. This is probably the first time you'd gotten a good look at Torque. His light blue eyes that collided with his blood red hair. The deep scar that stretched from the peak of his right cheekbone up to just below his hairline. The slight scruff across his sharp jaw. If he hadn't been so cruel, he'd be quite the looker.

You're nearly frozen, this was by all means different than usual. Quickly, Torque's free hand slipped a thick leather collar around your throat, his other hand dropping to fasten the buckle. He tightens the leather piece and attaches a thin leather leash. Torque's eyes narrow, and a slight grin pulls at the corner of his lips.

You look so delicious like this, collared and quivering. Deep down, Torque had been interested in something more from the start. He was addicted to how your magical— no, cursed, rather, hands could bring him so much pleasure with simple massages. How your touch seemed to be the fix to his body which ached from constant training and exertion. He may be a rather hateful general, but despite his distaste for infected people, he was still a man. Nothing he could do would mute his natural desires.

He found himself wondering how delicious you would feel. It kept him up some nights, imaging how you're quivering hole would taste wrapped around him. He thought about how well he'd fill you up, and how your cursed body would return the pleasure he gifted to you by gripping his cock with your vibrating, plush sheath. He hated that he wanted to touch an infected creature like you, he hated that his body betrayed his brain. That his desires would soon undermine his ideals.

Torque fucking hated that he found himself yearning for scum like you.

He leads you to his large bed, where he takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. He tugs your lead, forcing you into his lap. Your heart is racing as Torque's free hand moves to sit on your hip. He gropes your waist, playing with how fleshy and soft you feel. You look up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time in a long time.

He stared back, the buzzing of your body against his made his skin tingle. His hand slips up your stomach to your breast, groping your soft mounds with a harshness through your thin top. A soft whimper leaves your lips. Torque's expression remains unchanged as he observes you closely. Taking mental notes on the spots you seemed to shudder when he touched, how your skin prickled when his fingers graced over it. He wonders if you'd ever had relations with a man before— but the thought is quickly pushed out of his mind with the possibility of it having been with an infected.

Your mind is fuzzy, your breathing labored from the grip your collar had on your airways. Torque is silent as he repositions you. He turns you away from him, cupping your tummy as he presses you against himself. Torque seats you on his lap before he lays backward. His feet are planted on the ground, and his head rests on a pillow, his mane of hair splayed out around him.

He's miserable, just the feeling of your bottom buzzing against his clothed cock has his mind stuttering. He knew if he continued he'd likely lose himself in the act– but he couldn't resist any longer. Nobody had to know of the relations between an infected girl and the general inquisitor— second in command of the whole operation trying to get rid of such people. She would keep quiet, he knows she would.

It'd be impossible to ignore the feeling of his bulge springing to life. The more he thought about your body encasing his pulsing cock, the harder he became. He planted a palm on your lower back and used the other to tug your leash, manually grinding you against himself.

You're silent, your mind becoming occupied when you realize you'd never felt something like this before– something so deliciously electrical dancing through your nerves. Being pressed against someone like this seemingly unlocking a new sensation, two bodies sharing the brunt of your buzz, how the humming of your body seemed to reverberate through him and bounce back into you and somewhere along the line being translated into a slow, deep and steady frequency. Straddling Torque's hips, with his clothed cock pressed against your own clothed pussy— you wanted to move against him, to use his body to grant yourself more pleasure with the help of your curse, and he felt the same way about you.

Both of you could grapple with internal conflicts until the sun came up, but one thing was for certain: your bodies didn't care for the mental games or the morality of the situation. The sexual tension quickly becoming a tense cord, ready to snap with enough strength to kill.

Torque is first to act— of course he was, he was the one in charge here and now. He hungrily tears your bottoms out of his way, unable to deny himself his desires any longer. He's quick to free his cock from his zipper and position your body at the perfect angle to take him. He presses his tip past your slickened folds, your pussy already dripping in anticipation for him. He bites his tongue as his brow furrows— he hardly thought you would enjoy his silent proposition.. much less anticipate his actions with excitement, and something about that drove him wild. How dare you think of your superior with such lust in your soul when you know he hates you. Such a slut. Torque is slow to pull you along his cock, more for his sake than of yours. He wants to savor the feeling as long as he can. His grip on your leash is tight as he guides you further onto him with his other hand, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip.

You shudder violently, your buzzing walls aching and expanding to accomodate the general. He's a big man, and his reputation doesn't fold just beneathe his belt. Torque muses over the sensation, knowing he was likely a struggle for you to handle yet— you were being so good, your pussy molding around his girth, flexing like jelly to fit every inch he urged you to take.

Your quivering hands planted on the general's knees could barely keep you upright when he finally bottomed out— his pubic bone flush now against your bottom. You ached, and burned, but all the same you felt so good. So satiated. You savor every vivid sensation of him twitching inside, you could feel his breath hitch in his chest when you make the slightest moment.

To Torque, this was personal purgatory. If he hated your cursed kind so bad, then why was he so overwhelmed with pleasure? He pulls your leash taught, yanking you closer as he forced a deeper arch in your back. "Move."

Your legs shift automatically, wobbly knees planted on either side of Torque's waist carry your hips into a slow rhythm. He has you reared back enough by collar that you can't use your hands to help perpetuate motion as they could no longer reach his body. You draw him nearly all the way out, before slowly descending all the way back down. He shifts beneathe you, silently relishing the pleasure he was feeling.

Torque stares at your back, becoming annoyed by lack of bare skin for him to devour with his eyes. With one hand he tears your thin pajama shirt off your body, noticing you wore no bra underneath. He's drawn to stare lower, his eyes glued to where the two of your starving bodies met. Your skin is bare, glowing in the soft light of the general's room and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

He's obsessed with how wet you'd become. The zipper and crotch of his pants became soiled with your essence, while a milky ring of your juices wrapped thinly around his cock labelled just how much of him you swallowed in each bounce. On the inside, your pussy felt so silky, and hot. A personal haven for Torque's cock.

You feel so close to your end, between the high of being choked and the way Torque stretched every free centimeter your hole had to offer you'd be lucky to last another minute. Your quiet demeanor quickly falls to pieces when you pressed a buzzing finger to your clit. A moan spills from your lips— breaking the silence that still hung in the air since Torque's last demand.

Torque's lashes flutter and his jaw tenses, he can feel everything. Suddenly you're taking him a little faster, your weak knees picking up a deeper rhythm as your fingers swirl around your humming clit. Pussy fluttering, clenching, vibrating, and flexing, nearly an overwhelming plethora of senstations for the man. But, he wouldn't cum. Not yet. He needed you longer, harder, needed to use you more.

You're teetering on the edge, one uneven thrust could be your end. Torque frees his hand of your leash, instead tucking it between his teeth and biting hard into the leather. He can taste it on his tongue, but he pays no mind. His now freed hands grip your handles with every intention to continue using your body. Torque tosses his head back, thrusting up into you just as he pulls you into his beat.

You yelp, lids screwing shut as he actually starts fucking you. His teeth do a great job of keeping hold of your collar, arching you perfectly to recieve him, his strong body bucks into you with no effort, you swore you were seeing stars. The previously quiet room now filled with the crude sound of skin on skin— Torque's massive thighs colliding with your bubbly ass— his balls crashing against your clit. He admires how your skin ripples with the force of his thrusts, how your body did so well recieving him like this. It wasn't many seconds longer before you chimed in on the noise, your buzzing fingers and his punishingly delicious rhythm ripping your orgasm right out of you— and oh, how he absolutely does not stop for you.

A cry leaves your lips as you cum, hard. Muscles tensing and relaxing unevenly as you try to ground your mind, to come down from your pleasurable high, but you never do. Torque continues pounding into you, a groan from the depths of his chest falling upon your ears.

"Fuck." Is all he can manage, your overstimulated body clings to him ever more desperate, your panting and whining becoming shrill as you find yourself forgetting how to draw breath. Torque's body suddenly tenses, his head rolling back in his blanket of hair as he nears his end. His fingers are digging into your pelvis, gripping you down to the bone, but you could hardly feel it in your state of ecstasy.

Balls drawing tight, Torque moans through his teeth as he slams into you sloppily, his hips stuttering and erratic as he cums undone. His grip on your leash slipping away as he pins you to his cock— your gift milking his sensitive, throbbing shaft. You gasp, your fingers fumbling to slip between the leather piece on your neck to give yourself room to inhale lung-fulls of air.

Neither of you move. Satisfied, panting, sweaty. The scent of sex heavy in the air.

Having you felt even better than he could've imagined.

He'd have to keep you here more often.

[wastebabey]

hancock doodle!

[wastebabey]

Just a girl and her 2½ pieces of merch for her favorite side character that nobody else likes.

[wastebabey]

[wastebabey]

˗ˏˋJohn Hancock x (Fem) Readerˎˊ˗

Content: Drug use, angst, sex, alcohol use.

The sun has set across the wasteland, the warm orangey yellow hues slowly replaced by ghost-like whispy green fog. Thunder rumbled in the distance, or maybe it hadn't been thunder. Explosions often cracked in the distance too. Even so, in her state she wouldn't be able to tell the difference– not that she particularly cared to.

It was only a few days ago now that she'd stumbled out of the vault, the realization of her reality crashing into her like a bullet train. Her husband had been killed, and her son had been kidnapped. She hadn't a clue what year it was– if her son would even still be alive if she somehow managed to find him. She remembers emerging from the vault, horrified and saddened by the irreversible damage done when the bombs dropped. Everyone she once knew was gone. Everyone she loved, everything she had enjoyed.

She'd only been holding on by a thread until now, one that was pulled thinner and thinner by every passing day. Slowly, she was losing hope, going mad, giving up.

Now, she walked through what was previously known as Boston's financial district. She recalled visitting back then, it had always been a busy little corner of town. Now it lay silent, burnt cars and piles of debris littering the once crowded streets. The skybridge nearby had collapsed upon hundreds of feet of itself. Her pipboy glowed a soft green, illuminating more garbage the farther she walked.

She clutched her ten millimeter pistol tightly. Her will to live had sunk, but she wouldn't let herself die. Not here, anyway. Not yet. She pauses as she hears something– an unfamiliar sound.

She looks around, her head becoming clear enough of her thoughts to focus. It had sounded like a cheer? She shook her head, unsure if she'd actually even heard it. She continued a little farther, until she had noticed something else.

Tucked between two tall buildings, the dim light of a neon sign. The letters read 'Goodneighbor'. Maybe she had heard a cheer earlier.

She creeps up to the entrance thrown together by scrap metal. It didn't appear to be guarded, nor a raider outpost.

The old door creaks as she opens it and steps inside. When she isn't immediately met with the whirring of bullets past her head, she exhales and holters her pistol. She hadn't noticed the man leaning againt the threshold of the entrance, so when he spoke it had startled her.

He'd scoffed as he stood straight. He frowns at her as she turns to meet his face. He's bald with a thin beard and mustache. "I haven't seen you around here before, this your first time stopping by?" He says, his expression hard and his voice low.

"Uh, yeah. It is, actually. Something wrong with that?" She replies, maintaining eye contact. Her right hand creeps toward the pistol on her hip.

"Oh, no, 'course not," He starts, stepping in front of her as if blocking her from continuing on. "Not as long as you have enough to cover your fee.. yknow, in case somethin' happens. Or someone gets hurt."

"Hey, hey. Why don't we all just calm down," A new voice starts from behind the man, causing him to spin on his heels.

"You can't just keep letting these people walk all over you, Hancock." The bald man spits, his voice raising with anger. "You're a sad excuse for a mayor, you've gone soft."

"Hey, Finn, i've got it handled. Why don't you let me do my thing, hm?" The other says as he walks up beside Finn, he reaches out and pats Finn on the shoulder. The other man– Hancock, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife with a quickness that would've been hard to catch. He drives the blade into Finn's stomach, Hancock's hand is still on his shoulder as if he were still trying to calm him. "I've told you, cut the extortion crap out," Hancock says, his voice rough and low. "You know that's not how we treat newcomers in Goodneighbor." Finn coughs up blood as Hancock withdrawls his blade and lets his body crumple to the floor. Hancock dries his knife on his sleeve and puts it away, his attention now drawn to you.

You lock eyes with the man, he's a ghoul– you'd only met one or two thus far. He wore a red coat and a dark brown trifold hat, it reminded you of those old oil pantings of historical figures you used to see in museums and art galleries. He regards you kindly, a smirk playing on his worn lips. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, ole' Finn needed to be taken care of." His dark eyes engulf the sight of you.

"I'm sorry if my company caused any trouble." You say, stepping over Finn's lifeless body. Hancock shakes his head.

"You don't need to worry 'bout it, sometimes a mayor just needs to make a point. He had it comin', wasn't the first time he'd tried to scam guests." Hancock assures you. He reaches his hand out, "Im John Hancock, the mayor of this cozy little establishment." You take his hand and shake it, a gesture you weren't used to anymore. You notice his hand is rough, but warm.

He notices your hand is smooth, your skin with a softness he was unfamiliar with in this post-war, ragged world. "I'm [name]." you say, your voice soft as you turn to look around. You hadn't taken in your surroundings since you walked in, having been distracted by the Finn situation.

"Now, what brings a sweet little thing like you around a place like this?" Hancock says, his voice gravelly and low. It was a question she actually didn't have an answer to.

"I guess i'm lost." She admits, her gaze dropping to the floor. He watches her expression shift, from neutral to sad, to longing. He nods, understanding she wasn't literally lost, but lost in her mind.

"I see, I know the feeling." He says, his voice serious. "Im more familiar with it than i'd like to admit, yknow." He pauses. "Hey, let me show you around, hm? We can get you some food and a cold drink, if you'd like." His expression is soft, his muted black eyes offering sympathy.

She wants to decline, her mind telling her if she relaxed, even for one moment, that she'd come to regret it. That somehow those wasted moments would come back to bite her later. But her tongue betrayed her thoughts, saying yes before she could think any further. She was on the verge of breaking, probably sooner than she knew it, if she continued pushing like this then she'd surely rip herself apart.

Hancock smiles and gestures toward the center of town with a tilt of his head. "It'd be my pleasure, sweetheart. Let's get your mind off things for awhile." He gently takes you by your wrist and helps you along, pointing out the various buildings along the way.

He points out the shops, the memory den, where he says folks stop by to forget for awhile. That could be handy. With Hotel Rexford right beside it if you ever needed a place to crash.

Lastly, the Third Rail. A bar thrown together in an old subway station. He guides you down the steps, the smell of stagnant cigarette smoke and alcohol floods your senses. Its dimly lit, aside from the small stage to the left of the bar. Hancock guides you to a booth in the corner, away from the small crowd of various drifters and scavengers who currently inhabited the bar. He sits you down. "What're you feelin'? Bourbon? Vodka? Charlie's got cola if you'd like that instead?"

"Whiskey?" You ask simply, looking up at the man. He'd been so generous and the two of you had only just met.

"Mm, 'course we got whiskey." You reach into your pocket, fumbling for the couple caps you had left. Hancock nudges your shoulder. "Hey, don't worry 'bout it. Tonight's on me sweetheart." He walks over to the bar and talks it up with the mister handy robot who seemed to own the place.

A minute or two passes before Hancock returns, he slides a plate in front of you and sets a bottle of whiskey beside it. "Some hot squirrel bites and ice cold whiskey for the the lady." He hums, sliding into the booth across from you.

Hancock sets his elbows on the table, knitting his fingers together and resting his chin on them. His dark eyes are wide with curiosity. The smell of the squirrel bites makes your mouth water as you lift them to study. You'd never had them before and kind of looked forward to trying them. Gently your teeth sinks into the tender white meat, the seasoning poor– nothing like the food pre war, but it was still quite tasty. It was juicy and cooked almost perfectly.

"Good ain't it?" He says, silently admiring the cute, curious look on the woman's face. She nods, her cheek full of squirrel. "Now, [name], let's talk. I've been callin' this place my home for a long time. Seen folks come and go, yet i've never met someone so.." He trails off, trying to find a word to describe his interest was hard. "Fascinating, alluring. So, tell me about yourself. If you don't mind." He takes a deep swig of bourbon from his bottle, some of the bitter liquid dribbling down his chin.

You chase the squirrel meat with a swig of your own drink, it's bitter and hot as it slides down with a shudder. "Okay, yeah," you say softly, considering where to start. "I'm actually, well, i'm from the vault–" She stammers, as if it weren't obvious by the infamous blue and yellow jumpsuit and the pipboy on her forearm. "Vault one hundred-eleven, the one up north east from here," Hancock shifts in his seat, becoming more interested by the second. "I, ah, well I told you I was lost. Im just looking for someone and don't know where to start, or if there's even a point." She's quiet as she speaks, her voice threatening to break.

He nods. He understands all too well. She glances up at him from the table, his expression is soft. He seizes the moment of silence to offer some comfort. "I've met a lot of folks just like you, actually," He starts, his voice low and sad. "Missing loved ones is all too common in this damn place, all you can do is be patient. Take it day by day. They won't be found if the only person searching for them ends up dead." She nods, hating to agree but he's right. If she croaked from the stress, who would find her son?

Hancock lets his advice sink in a moment before clearing his throat. "You're not lost, sweetheart. You're on the right path, you just need to take a break. I'm sure you've been on their trail since you crawled out of that vault. How long has it been? Since you let yourself rest?" He asks seriously. He knows the answer.

"I don't know." You finally reply. Hancock leans back in his booth and stares up at the ceiling, getting lost in thought. The previously empty stage now occupied by a woman in a glittery red dress. Her angelic voice gently starting her first song since she'd finished her break.

She sniffles, a soft sound that makes Hancock jolt back to attention. "Hey, it's alright." He says, quickly sliding out of his booth and into hers. He hugs her against his chest, a kind gesture that shocks her for only a moment before the floodgates break and she buries her face into his coat to muffle her sobs. Hancock's fingers gently stroke her hair. "Cry all you need sweetheart. You've been so tough." He mutters, holding you close.

You cry, and he comforts you. It's been so long since you'd let yourself feel vulnerable. It's a bitter sweet feeling, crying until you're dehydrated, crying until it hurts, but knowing that getting it out of your system is a good first step to getting yourself out of your stoop. You relish the feeling of having someone close, for the first time in forever. Hancock is so warm, he smells faintly of smoke, his breath of bourbon. The way his fingers glide through your hair is careful and affectionate.

Hancock starts humming to the melody of the music, a deep rumble in his chest that causes you to stirr against him. He's heard this song more times than he'd care to admit, it was the singer's favorite. Magnolia wrote the song herself after all. He feels your body shift. "How ya feeling now?" He says softly, allowing you to break away from his touch if that's what you wished.

"Better, I suppose," You hiccup, wiping the leftover tears away with the back of your hand. "I'm tired." You say, resting your head against Hancock's chest again. He's so warm, so soothing. His compassion was something that seemed long gone in the wasteland.

"Let's get you some rest." Hancock helps you from your booth, hardly caring for your nearly untouched drink. Charlie would nag him for wasting it later but he didn't care. He guides you back up the subway stairs and out into the night air. "You can stay with me tonight, i'll keep an eye on you," He says, opening the door to the Old State House and helping you inside. "You can rest without keepin' one eye open tonight." He helps you up one more flight of stairs to his office and personal quarters.

He sets you down on his couch and crashes down beside you. A sigh leaves his lips. You lazily glance at the various chems on the coffee table in front of you. The silence lasts forever, but neither of you mind.

Hancock tilts his head, his eyelids fluttering with his slight buzz as he feels the old sofa shift. He's surprised to see you at his side, cuddled up against him. "Oh, sweet girl." He says, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you closer. "Can I get ya anything?" He drawls, his rough voice falling on buzzing ears.

"I'm alright," you say, basking in the company. "Thank you." Hancock nods.

Hancock is deep in his own thoughts. Like her, he's been alone for many years. Since he'd stopped sleeping around back in his days of being a scavver. He remembered how he looked before the wicked high he chased too far, he wasn't sure about her. It wasn't his own feelings he was unsure about. [Name] was a diamond in the rough. A beautiful steel needle in a stack of dead, rotted hay. She wasn't the kind to pretend interested for the free chems just so she could dip out the next morning, or the kind to get close in hopes of getting their hands on his money. No, he was unsure a girl like her would accept a man like him. She had her own past and her own future. Even if he wanted to join her side, to help her turn on her demons and chase them away, it was her call. He could play confidence man all day, but ultimately it was her decision. And what kind of beautiful, smooth skinned pre war gal would want to be seen with a rugged, chem addicted man like himself. The thought depresses him, so he pushes it aside.

"Anything for you, pretty girl." His charming words make her feel something, something she hadn't felt in so many years. Almost like rekindling a flame who's embers had long since died out. She's silent, considering her thoughts. She remembered her husband, how he'd called her sweet names like that. He was long one now, and she had moved on, but she realized it was something she'd hardly thought about. How could someone who was spoiled on modern love and sex find it appealing in the dirty reality it was now. She wondered if love even existed anymore– the real kind, at least.

"[Name], can I ask you something?" He says slowly, his fingers finding the tattered container of mentats on his side table. He pops one in his mouth before continuing. "What would you say if I asked to join ya? I could use some fresh air outside of this place."

She blinks and considers it silently. "Won't goodneighbor need you? You're their mayor." She replies, her question instead of rejection gave him a glimmer of hope.

"Goodneighbor mostly runs itself, i'm just here to keep the peace when I need to. Folks around here usually sort out their problems without makin' it everyone else's issue." He says, his arm still around her. His hand gently strokes her shoulder.

"I don't want you to have to deal with my problems. They're mine for a reason."

Hancock shakes his head. "I don't mind." He recalls his scavver days once more, how he was free back then. He wasn't responsible for anyone but himself, and even then it was optional. Everyday was something new, something exciting. It wasn't like that as mayor. "My life has been too peaceful for too long, I think you're just the person i've been waiting for. Someone to come along and shake things up, to cause trouble with. Make your problems mine, and vice versa. What do you say?" His voice is hopeful and genuine.

She smiles to herself and nods. "Yeah, that sounds great." She says softly. Hancock cant hide the big smile on his lips.

"Hell yeah, I promise you we'll find whatever you're looking for princess." He pulls her closer in his half hug, and she leans into it. Hancock's eyes widen slightly. She doesn't say anything, the warm feeling of hope washes over her and for once she feels like she can relax. "Have I mentioned how sweet you smell? It's real nice." He lets himself praddle on a little bit, now that she's relaxed. "And your skin, so smooth. Being held up in that vault kept you from gettin' all roughed up like me."

She smiles, rolling her head to look up at him. Her pretty irises almost choking Hancock. "You're roughed up but it gives you a nice rugged, handsome look." She says, Hancock's gaze trail off, his free hand coming up to gently stratch his warming cheek.

"Handsome, huh? I don't get that often, 'specially not from a pretty little thing like you." Her own cheeks warm over the back and forth flirtatious talk, her frusteration becoming apparent when his hand drops from her shoulder to the dip of her waist.

"Well, maybe you'll start getting it more often, since you'll be travelling with me from now on." You say sweetly, your palm moving to hold the hand on your hip. Your heart is hammering in your ribcage, and you feel bold. It's definitely a jump, one you may come to regret, but you felt the chances of it working out were better than the vice versa. Your hand gently takes his in and moves it, slowly up your side and to your breast.

You fear him moving away, shaming you for thinking like this, but he doesnt. His rough palm instead cups the soft flesh through your vault suit. You sigh, affectionately rubbing your forehead against his chest. Hancock's breath catches in his throat. She actually wanted him to touch her, he could hardly fathom it but he wasn't gonna give her even a second to reconsider.

They're both writhing with sexual frusteration. Their combined desire heavy in the air, choking them. Hancock kneads your breast in his palm. "Jus' say the word sweetheart. I can make you forget." He purrs.

Your usual level-headed, independant mindset is thrown into the wind and you realize you want him. You want him bad. He wants you too, even more than you do. He's wanted you since he first laid eyes on you. Since the way your vault suit gripped and complimented your curves was introduced to his greedy gaze. He wanted to see more– feel more, oh, your smooth skin. He had to act normal about it before, but the way he'd become infatuated was anything but normal. He's going mad with anticipation, waiting for you to allow him even closer.

"Please." Is all that had to roll off your tongue, Hancock was immediately on top of you. His expert hands peeling your pipboy and suit off your body faster than you ever could on your own. He shifts your body, setting your back against the arm of the couch and nestling himself between your legs. His breath is hot against your now bare skin as he kisses your thighs, his rough lips breaking you into goosebumps.

He's focused, his craving for you suffocating every other thought out of his head. He wants to taste you on his tongue, and he does. His strong hands prop your hips up and allow his tongue a free range to explore. "Ain't that a sight," he says, his gravelly voice muses over the sight before him. You're dripping for him, you hadn't noticed– forgetting how arousal felt. The tip of his tongue darts out to smear it upward across your clit before his lips latch to it, suckling the bud softly. "Mmm." He purrs, your ecstasy like sweet syrup for his tastebuds.

You sigh, legs jerking with every tiny gesture of his tongue. You're deathly sensitive after so long. Your hand finds its way to the top of his trifold hat, your uncoordinated moves almost knocking it off. He can't contain himself, can't stifle the hunger in his soul.

His rough fingers pry your thighs apart wider as his tongue dips past your lips, hungrily lapping at your pussy like a dehydrated mutt. He slurps and groans against you, barely audible over your own blissful moans– music sweeter than Magnolia's ever could be. Your fingers weakly feel for something, anything to grip.

Hancock's hands pin your quivering thighs down as he devours you. His tongue, hot and wet, teases your entrance constantly. It slips in and out, in and out, before swirling around your clit and dropping to repeat the process. You want to move your legs, want to clamp them around his handsome face and trap him there, forever blessed with the pleasures of his angelic tongue. Frusterated broken moans spill from your lips as you squirm weakly in his grip.

One thigh is suddenly freed, immediately framing half of his face as his hand busies itself elsewhere. Two fingers swipe at your entrance, gathering slick before pressing inside. Between his lips puckered against your clit and his fingers now curled deep inside you, the tips tickling that sweet spot he flawlessly located, it's all too much. He hums as your muscles tense and your jaw goes slack with pleasure. He gets to watch from such a delicious angle, your plush thigh against one side of his face as he swoons. He watches how your back arches and your breasts rise and fall with your shallow breaths. His cock aches in his pants seeing you like this. But that was a problem for later.

You're close to cumming, he knows it so he doesn't change his pace. Slowly but steadily building your climax he knew you needed so badly. "Ya taste so good, sweetheart." Hancock purrs, his words vibrating your clit as he spoke. The praise is enough to set you over the edge you'd been unknowingly teetering on, with a sharp cry you shudder in his hands violently when his tongue doesn't stop its delicious assault.

Hancock finally stops and your legs go limp, as you're catching your breath you lift your head and meet the mayor's eyes. He licks his lips, his dark irises devouring your naked body. His hands grab your hips and pull you closer to him, and he leans over you. His lips hungrily attack your skin, biting, licking, sucking his way up to your nipples. He suckles one while his free hand raises to tweak the other. "You ready for more, [name]?" He mutters, his breath hot against your chest.

Your mind is still reeling as you nod, propping yourself up on your elbows. You see how his tattered jeans strain against his hard cock. "I'm ready," you breathe. Your eyebrows knit together with concern, which Hancock notices and quickly dismisses.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, I can't even knock you up. Just pop a radaway tonight," He teases with a chuckle, a deep raspy noise that comes from the depths of his chest. The worry melts from your expression as Hancock unbuckles his belt and drops his pants. He's so painfully hard, he groans out loud when free from his pants.

"I need it– need you, so bad." You whine, your core aching at the sight. Hancock nods, his hands grabbing you buy your knees and pulling your hips into his lap.

"I need you too, I need this," His hand drops to guide his tip along your folds, teasing the entrance. It'd been so long since he'd felt something like this, so full of bliss and pleasure and desire and his mind only further began to spiral as he began sliding inside. His thickness stretched you deliciously and you moan.

Your velvet heat grips him tighter than he ever could've imagined. "Fuck," he mutters as he draws his hips backward, obsessed over how your pussy seems to clench around him tighter to keep his cock from being able to escape– not that he'd ever want to. Your pussy would be on his mind daily after this was all said in done, that much was a guarantee.

He's mesmerized, but he doesn't let that sway him from giving her what she deserves. Hancock buries his cock inside, pulling you close as he leans over you. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he actually starts fucking you.

You gasp, his slow descent quickly turning into quick, deep thrusts. It knocks your breath from your lungs. Hancock is close, his breath hot against your throat. "I'm a little rusty, ah, sorry 'bout that sweetheart." He says sweetly, leaning in to kiss down your jawline to your neck as he pumps his thick cock inside.

"I'm lo– loving it," you sigh, your voice shrill with ecstasy. "God, Hancock, you're so good."

"Keep complimentin' me like that and I might fall in love sweetheart." Hancock warns dryly— perhaps it were too late for such a warning.

A string of broken noises leave your lips, your pussy suddenly seeming to mock your soft whines with it's own lewd squelches. Hancock moans against your neck, his balls gently tapping against your bottom and stimulating him further.

"Maybe that's okay with me,, ah." She manages to whisper. Her fingers drop between their mingling bodies and locate her clit. Hancock's eyes widen at the suggestion. The thought of having her forever, all to himself was something he could hardly imagine. Something inside of him snaps, a new fervor pouring into his actions. He drives your legs up further, the new position allowing his tip to kiss your g-spot. His pace quickens, stars begin prickling your vision as he hammers away at your weak spot.

"Oh, shit!" You cry aloud, your fingers only working your clit for a mere few seconds before you unraveled a second time. This time around his cock, he feels your walls flutter and constrict with the convulsions wreaking havoc across your body as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. His own end creeps close, his balls drawing tight and his pace beginning to get sloppy.

"You,, mean that?" Hancock groans, his body hot and sticky with sweat. Every muscle in his body is tense, the rollercoaster of his climax was nearing the top. His eyes light up when you nod. You didn't need to speak, he knew you weren't lying— you couldn't lie. Not like this.

Hancock's pace suddenly breaks uneven and he moans out loud, his hips stuttering as he finally reaches the top of the rollercoaster— a moment so blissful and enjoyable, more so than any high he'd ever chased. Your pussy is his new addiction.

Both of you are panting, sweaty messed. You can feel the faint pulse of his satisfied cock as it spurts ropes of white inside you. Hancock doesn't want to move, and neither do you. You'd forgotten about everything in the moment. You'd forgotten about the vault, the bombs, the wasteland, all of it.

It had been just what you needed and he knew. Hancock hums, his lips gracing your slick skin. Theres a thin smile on his lips. "I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything in the world," he says softly, planting a gentle kiss on your temple. You lean into his kiss.

"You're so good to me, why?" You ask softly, reaching up to cup the ghoul's cheeks. Your pretty colored eyes swirling around his mind– he gets lost in them. "You've only just met me."

Hancock nods, turning his head to kiss her palm. "I've met a lot of different folks in my lifetime, eventually you get good at weeding out the ones with bad intentions. You're a sweet girl. You deserve to have someone watching your back, keeping you sane." Hancock gently pulls out, cleaning you up with a rag before cleaning himself and fixing his pants back.

He pops another mentat to cool his head, to remind his tongue of his old addictions so he didn't hungrily bury himself between your legs again. "I see. Well, thank you. I look forward to exploring with you.." She trails off, her voice soft and seeping with exhaustion. She hadn't had a good night's sleep since she clawed her way out of that steel hell.

"I'm lookin' forward to it sweetheart, now why don't you get some sleep. We'll get an early start on conquering the wasteland in the morning." Hancock pulls you into the crook of his side, his fingers playing with your hair.