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soulofapatrick · 6 months

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Jealousy, Jealousy - Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Summary: A party held by Boa Hancock makes Zoro admit his feelings for you

Words 2.4k

Warnings: heated make-out session only

Y/N’s POV

As the ornate gates of Boa Hancock’s mansions swung open, a hushed awe falls upon us as we step into the opulent halls. It’s a sight to behold, adorned with intricate designs and lavish decorations that whisper tales of luxury. To my right stands Sanji, a protective presence, a testament to our mutual wariness towards Hancock’s extravagant invitation.

The air hums with an aura of elegance, the mingling scents of perfumes and exotic flowers infusing the atmosphere. Amidst the revelry, I catch Zoro’s intense gaze, his eyes fixed on me, Robin at his side as Hancock has paired us off. It’s an unspoken acknowledgement, a silent understanding amidst the glittering masks and elaborate attire.

Boa Hancock, draped in regal elegance, moves through he crowd effortlessly. Her presence demands attention, yet your caution remains. We tried carefully, observing, while the festivities cascade around us.

Sanji, never one to miss a chance to charm of course, offers compliments and flirtatious banter, yet his gaze shifts to ensure my safety as the ‘baby’ of the group. I appreciate his protective stance, even amidst the allure of this enchanting gathering.

With Sanji distracted I make a swift move towards the bar, the need for a momentary respite calling me while everyone dances in vibrant colours and are having loud and bubbly conversations and elegant attire. At the bar, the ambiance shifts to a quieter melody. The bartender, a silent witness to many such gatherings, nods with a knowing smile as I order a drink, seeking a temporary sanctuary from the whirlwind of the night. The crystal glass in my hand holds the promise of respite, a momentary escape from the enchanting, yet overwhelming, allure of the mansion.

Nami appears by my side, her presence a familiar comfort in the middle of the grandeur. We exchange a glance laden with unspoken understanding, the shared sentiment of finding solace in each other’s company in these unfamiliar territories. The elegant chime of her laughter adds a touch of familiarity to the sophisticated air of the gathering. I should be appreciating the place with awe and wonder but none of the Straw Hats know that I came from something like this before they found me.

The drink in my hand carries a subtle complexity—a blend of flavours that dance upon my tongue, a crafted elixir meant to soothe amidst the whirlwind of the evening. Its hue, a deep amber, catches the soft glint of the ambient lights, casting delicate reflections that mirrors the opulence surrounding us.

As Nami points out how extravagant and probably arrogant all these people are here, I steal a moment to glance around, taking in the splendour of Boa Hancock’s extravagant affair. The grandeur is not lost on me; the mansion, adorned with elegance, holds a familiarity that echoes with distant memories that taste something sour in my throat.

The soirée, a realm of sophistication and polished façades, is a stark contrast to the life I led before the Straw Hats found me. None of them are aware of my past, of the world I once navigated with practiced grace—a world akin to this one, where elegance with both a shield and a cage. I should be socialising and mingling, finding out what I can from these upper-class, self-entitled people probably being one of the best to do so, other than Sanji.

Observing the gathering, my eyes catch a sight that speaks volumes—a moment frozen in time between Sanji and Boa Hancock. His trademark charm is in full display, evident in the way he gazes at her, a delicate hand placed strategically on her lower back. Boa's subtle blush betrays a hint of vulnerability beneath her regal composure, an unspoken exchange that resonates with unspoken truths. Their interaction, a dance of subtle gestures and lingering gazes, unravels before me. It’s glimpse into the intricate web of dynamics within this enigmatic world, a world where even the most confident souls reveal vulnerabilities in fleeting moments.

As my gaze shifts, I find Luffy, his infectious enthusiasm palpable even from a distance. Usopp stands by his side, engaging in animated conversation, their laughter resonating through the room. Their camaraderie, a testament to the unbreakable bond forged though shared adventures, offers a grounding familiarity.

However, it’s Zoro who captures my attention next—a figure of strengths and stoicism engaged in a conversation with Robin. His usual air of aloofness sees softened in her presence, their discussion veiled in layers of quiet intensity. The subtle gestures, the shared glances—they paint a picture of understanding and mutual respect between two individuals whose depths run deeper than what meets the eye.

As I watch Zoro and Robin, a pang of unfamiliar jealousy stirs within me—a feeling foreign yet potent. Their connection, veiled in unspoken understanding, tugs at the edges of my composure, awakening a part of me I thought I'd left behind—the echoes of a past self yearning to resurface.

Excusing myself from Nami’s side with a feigned smile, I set out to mingle, seeking a distraction in the vibrant tapestry of guests. Amidst the opulence and sophistication, I spot a striking figure—a man exuding an air of confidence and allure that beckons with temptation. I slip back into the persona I wore before I joined the Straw Hats—a façade of charm and sophistication, a mask that once defined me in a world I thought I'd left behind. Engaging effortlessly in playful banter and coy smiles, I mirror the flirtatious exchanges that used to be second nature.

The handsome stranger, a willing participant in this dance of fleeting connections, becomes my temporary refuge—an embodiment of the person I once was, a remnant of the world I once navigated with practiced ease. In his company I rediscover facets of myself that lay dormant, submerged beneath the adventures and camaraderie that define life aboard the Thousand Sunny. The pulse of the night quickens, the energy of the gathering fuelling the sparks of a persona that feels strangely familiar yet distant.

The charismatic exchange with the stranger is abruptly interrupted by a sudden weight on my waist, a sturdy hand claiming possession. Startled, I turn my head to find Zoro standing besides me, his presence commanding, a stark contrast to the templar refuge I sought in the strangers company.

“Piss off.” Zoro’s voice is tinged with an edge that brooks no argument, cuts through the chatter of the gathering as he tensely dismisses the man. The interloper retreats with a flustered no, leaving a trial of confusion in his wake. Zoro’s firm grip on my waist remains, a silent assertion of his claim in the midst of the chaotic evening. Without a world, he guides me away from the commotion, leading us towards a secluded hallway—a sanctuary away from prying eyes and murmurs of the party.

Leaning against the wall, I find myself entranced by Zoro’s commanding presence as he paces with deliberate steps. His usual attire, synonymous wit a rugged warrior’s spirit, is replaced by a tailored black suit that moulds to the contours of his frame. The fabric, sleek and refined, whispers softly as he moves, exuding an aura of understated power.

Underneath the dark suit jacket, a forest green silk shirt peeks out, a subtle flash of color against the monochrome palette. The fabric, delicately woven and contrasting against the dark backdrop, accentuates the strength in his broad shoulders and the defined lines of his physique. His movements are controlled, each step measured yet purposeful, creating a rhythm that reverberates through the otherwise still corridor. The dim lighting casts a play of shadows and highlights across his features, emphasising the sharpness of his jawline and the intensity in his gaze.

As I stand there, an array of emotions stir with me. My heartbeat quickens at the sight of him—Zoro, the swordsman whose strength I've always admired, now clad in this unexpected guise of refined elegance. The sight of him in this attire, so far removed from his usual rugged persona, tugs at the strings of my heart, evoking a sense of awe and longing.

“Are you gonna stop pacing and say something?” The words escape my lips, breaking the charged silence that had enveloped us. Zoro's restless pacing, a testament to the simmering tension between us, continues as he grumbles under his breath, his agitation palpable.

Finally, he does halt, in front of me, his intense gaze locking with mine. His eyes, dark pools of determination and depth, sweep over me, and I feel his scrutiny like a tangible caress. There’s an unspoken question lingering in the air, a tension thick enough to be sliced with a blade. The dress I wear, chosen for the occasion, drapes around me in delicate layers of midnight blue. Its fabric, a dance of silk and lace, moulds to my form with a grace that contrasts sharply with the tumultuous emotions swirling within. The dress, simple yet elegant, accentuates curves and hints at vulnerability, a stark contrast against the backdrop of the secluded hallway.

As Zoro crowds me against the wall, a myriad of emotions surge within me—a mix of apprehension and anticipation. His hands, placed firmly on either side of my head, are a testament to his strength, yet they evoke a sense of protection rather than fear. There's an undeniable intensity to his proximity, a closeness that crackles with unspoken desires and unresolved tension.

As my gaze flickers down to Zoro’s lips, a rush of nerves tingles through me. His growled question pierces the charged silence, the intensity in his voice sending a jolt through the air, “Why were you flirting with that guy?” His worlds, rough and direct, catch me off guard, the weight of his inquiry echoing in the tense space between us.

Meeting his eyes again, I sense the vulnerability underlying his intensity, “Why were you flirting with Robin?” I shoot back, my voice carrying a mix of defiance and uncertainty. The tension in the air tightens, the unspoken emotions swirling between us like a tempest.

Zoro’s eyes roll in exasperation, his response sharp and abrupt, “I wasn’t flirting with Robin you dumbass.” His words, laced with frustration, hang int he air, echoing in the hollow silence of the hallway, the muffled chatter and music fading to silence as all I can focus on is Zoro.

Before I can protest or rationalise further, his proximity intensifies. The world dissolves into a whirlwind of sensations as Zoro’s hand finds the curve of my neck, tilting my head upwards with a gentle yet firm touch. His lips crash against mine in a fervent collision, igniting a fiery storm of pent-up emotions and desire.

The kiss is everything I expected from Zoro—hot, heavy and charged with an intensity that sends electric pulses coursing through my body. His mouth moves against mine with a raw hunger, a passionate urgency that leaves no room for doubts or hesitation. There’s a fervour in the way he tastes, a heady blend of passion and restraint mingling in the heat of our entwined mouths. His lips move against mine, teasing and exploring, each movement setting my senses ablaze with a fire that refuses to be contained.

The heat of the moment amplifies the sensations—a mingling of fervent desire and unspoken yearning, an uncharted territory where emotions collide in a tempestuous dance. It’s a kiss that speaks volumes, conveying a depth of emotions that words could never capture.

As the fervour of the kiss begins to ebb, Zoro breaks away, his lips trailing a searing path along the sensitive skin of my neck. The sensation is electric, sending shivers down my spine as he leaves behind a trial of intense marks, sucking gentle hickeys into the soft flesh. His touch, both possessive and tender, electrifies my sense, awakening a torrent of desire that courses through me. The intensity of his actions speaks volumes, conveying a depth of passion that words could never encapsulate.

Simultaneously, his hand, previously at the curve of my neck, journeys down my side, navigating the bend of my knee, coaxing it upwards. His touch is insistent, yet surprisingly gentle, guiding my leg to bend and part slightly, inviting and intimate. With a deliberate move, his hand slips beneath the silky fabric of the dress the contact sending a jolt of anticipation through me. His touch on my bare skin ignites a whirlwind of sensations—a mix of heat and tenderness, each caress leaving a scorching trail in its wake.

The silkiness of the dress offers no barriers to the warm h of his touch as his hand trails along the length of my thigh, massaging the skin and setting my nerves ablaze. The sensation is almost overwhelming, a tantalising blend of desire and anticipation, as his touch explores the uncharted territory of my skin.

Finally, he pulls his lips from my neck, and his eyes roam over my face and chest, capturing the rise and fall of my breath, a testament to the charged atmosphere between us. In that moment of heightened tension, I find myself mumbling almost incoherently, "Don't be in love with someone else.”

A guttural groan escapes Zoro, accompanied by a frustrated facepalm, as if my words cause him a mix of annoyance and exasperation. His demeanour shifts abruptly, and with a firm grip, he grabs my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. With deliberate slowness, he enunciates each word, his voice carrying a weight that leaves no room for doubt. "I am in love with no one else except you." His declaration, spoken with unwavering conviction, hangs in the charged air between us, resonating with a depth of emotion that pierces through the tumultuous emotions and uncertainties.

His eyes, searching mine for any trace of doubt or disbelief, hold an intensity that reflects the sincerity of his words. In that fleeting moment, enveloped by the gravity of his confession, the world around us seems to fade, leaving only the raw honesty and vulnerability in his declaration of love.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He nods once, “Let’s go back to the party.”

One Piece Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

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dazed-and-confused23 · 29 days

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May I ask for another small fic thing? Specifically with Dusty the Deathclaw thinking of himself as Reader’s baby, mentally and physically. As in, he’ll want to cuddle up to them even when they can no longer sprawl across their lap like they used to cause he’s freaking MASSIVE. So either Cooper or Hancock find the Reader squished under Dusty, who’s just lying there content😂 Meanwhile the reader is asking them for help as they have to use the bathroom and lost feeling in their legs🤣

brought to you by these images

Dear Hearts and Gentle People 15

Art is by @endivinity

Masterlist

The older Dusty got, the bigger he grew, but that didn't mean that his mentally grew with him. He still considered you to be his human, his mother in all accounts but species. As a baby, you would cuddle him close in your lap, petting his growing horns and scratching his itchy chin. You were everything to the deathclaw. So it only made sense to him that he could continue to cuddle his mother still, even if he stood at a whopping ten foot tall, eleven if you counted his curved horns.

You sit on the pavement outside of Boston, enjoying the meager sunlight that shines through the thick, overcast sky. Dusty has his head in your lap, a rumbling purr echoing in the air from the beast as he shifts forward. The blunt curve of his horns presses into your chest, and you fall back with a grunt. Dusty takes his opportunity to shift even more of his weight on top of his mother, his purr so loud that it makes your ears ring.

"D-Dusty, please," you croak under the deathclaw. You had already needed to pee, and his weight made the situation a thousand times worse.

Cooper, who had wondered off to explore the nearby buildings, ambled back up the road, a whistle on his lips as he kicked a rock up the hill. When he gets to the top, he glances around, expecting to see you where he'd left you last. The ghoul frowned and glared down at Dusty, who looked far too innocent for his own good.

"Where'd she go?" Cooper demands, and Dusty just rumbles deep in his throat. He takes in the situation, and a slow smirk works its way onto his lips when he spots your shoes sticking out just under the beast.

Dusty watches Cooper waltz around him and then stares down at his mother from where she lays under him. A low whuffing sound escapes him, and his nose flairs. He wasn't about to move for him.

"Looks like you've got yourself in a pickle there, chief," Cooper drawls, and you glare up at the Ghoul. You grunt as you shove at Dusty, but the creature just whines and shifts so that he covers you even more, upset that you were trying to leave him.

"Nah, I'm fine," you sneer and collapse with a defeated huff, "I love having seven hundred pounds of muscle crush me."

"Guess you don't need my help then, huh?" Cooper quips and goes to walk away, his spurs jingling, only to stop when you call his name, tone pitiful and he turns around to see you giving him puppy dog eyes.

"Coop, please get him off of me?" You plead, "I've gotta pee, and my feet are asleep."

The ghoul gives you a once over and then looks at Dusty and just how comfortable the beast looks. The deathclaw coos down at you, and you grimace when a long tongue licks up the side of your face. You catch Cooper's grin and glare even harder, "Don't you dare."

"I think ol' Dusty is too comfortable for me to try and move him, Sweetheart," Coop snickers and turns on his heel again. You'd be just fine without him. Not a soul would touch you with Dusty there.

"I'll come back later to get ya, baby."

Cooper lopes away with the sound of a happy deathclaw and an outraged smoothskin echoing in his ears. Today'd been a good day.

*sorry it's a little short @odditycircus-2002, but I hope you liked it! ❤️

#cooper howard #fallout #fallout prime #fallout tv series #cooper howard x reader #x reader #the ghoul x reader #dear hears and gentle people #deathclaws #dusty the deathclaw

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sinisterexaggerator · 2 days

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Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

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

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

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

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

6.8k+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get back here, scavver!”

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

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

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

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

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

Hancock almost shivered.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

116 notes · View notes

luffyvace · 1 month

Text

Boa Hancock & Neferatari Vivi x female reader for women’s day!!

ik I’m late to women’s day guys!! But I’m still gonna participate! (Totally not an excuse to write for some of my fav op girls that I haven’t written much for yet)

Hancock x a fem reader would be like the ultimate alternative timeline to her not falling in love with luffy lol

let’s say your in the kuja pirates specifically,

that would make more sense as to how you got closer since your on the same crew and obviously get to interact with her more versus just fan girling in the crowd lolol 😂

just the same as luffy, she’d realized her love for you after getting worried for your safety and feeling ill (love sick 😀) mid expedition at the fact that you might be hurt

when everyone gets back to the boat she tried to unsuspectingly scope you out (tried because she was actually frantically searching for someone and wouldn’t say who as everyone panicked-) and as soon as she saw you she sighed in relief! But soon after, she started blushing and she felt a warm fuzzy feeling!

what was this? Is this what they call..? Love?!

it was such a joyous feeling..! She couldn’t believe she was feeling such intense emotions at your presence alone!

”Lady hebihime!! Are you all right?!”

”all right..!”

”right..!”

”right..”

Your words echoed over and over again in Hancock’s spinning head. You..we’re worrying for her?! Your so…kind!- So!- so!- your such a selfless woman!!

and yeah that’s pretty much how it went HAHAH

you can pretty much guess you’ll get special treatment from then on, she’s in love with you after all!! Naturally it’s her duty to protect her lover! 😊 (you haven’t even asked her out yet Hancock! - Glorisa)

she invites you into the palace and gives you the best food and treatment straight away!! Put your feet up dear! Are you hot? tired? Do you need water?? “Hurry up and bring the giant fans! My lover is hot!”

no pun intended even though you are 😉

“lover..? Lady hebihime..! May I ask what your talking about..😅”

”o-oh! W-well..I was just thinking…maybe…we could go on a date..?! ☺️😅”

“ME?? Hebihime!! I- I’m honored but what brought this about?! This is….strangely sudden, you know? Not trying to be rude!-”

”Hancock!”

”eh??- I mean!- hebihim-”

”Hancock!! Y-you..can call me Hancock..if you’d like!- I mean if you’d prefer to call me something else like a pet name, honey or dear m-maybe-…!”

”But!- hebihime-”

“-And to answer your question! What brought this about……I’m not sure myself…I have no idea actually, I found myself worrying about you and when I saw you again….When I saw you..! When I…..Kyaaa! 😍”

”Hancock!! Are you all right?! What happened!?

“ !!….You…! You!- You said my name!! This must be..! This must be!! What they call!- Engagement!~ 😍😍”

”huh?? 😀 hebihime?-“

“No! Go back! Don’t call me hebihime anymore!! We’re getting married next month so!- So call me by my name from now on! Okay honey?! 😍💗”

*mutters while being carried bridal style by Hancock* “I’m getting married…to the hebihime..😵‍💫💫”

and yes you actually did get married the next month :)

being the wife of the pirate empress is the liiiife 😎👍 you get whatever you want, whenever you want and however much you want of it!! Without a question! Your words are as absolute as sold gold on the island of women! Hancock will likely even ignore elder nyon/Glorisa for you <3

and yeah you can pretty much just imagine your dream life for the rest! Expect that to become your reality when married to Hancock bc even thanos snap can’t compare 🗿😭

Vivi is such an awesome girl - honorable mention okay? 😤👏

let’s say your not a straw hat tho :) just for funzies :3 imagine you’ve lived on alabasta just as long as she has and even infiltrated Baroque works with her. And also helped save alabasta!

best friends to lovers anyone?? Lesbian edition >:> 👩‍❤️‍👩 🧡🤍💖🏳️‍🌈

after it’s all said and done, and crocodile is defeated, you two say cya to the straw hats and you help Vivi rebuild her kingdom

somewhere during the time things start looking up as for alabasta’s cleanup, she confesses! Oops spoiler :}

“hey!!..I’ve been looking all over for you 😅”

“Oh hey Vivi! What is it?”

”oh nothing I just, well it’s not nothing…can we talk? Uh- you know..in private?”

”oh yeah sure! Come inside I was just cleaning up heheh, excuse the mess..”

“It’s nothing! Really, it’s fine no need to be so formal…we’re close, right?”

“Yeah :) what is it you wanted to talk about though? Is it something bad I’m nervous 😃”

”Oh! Nononono! Nothing bad nothing bad!-“

*sigh of relief* “hah, that’s good 😅”

*awkward yet adorable giggles come from both you and Vivi*

“well..what I wanted to talk about was…us, as in…who we are”

“Oh no Vivi don’t come out and tell me we’re aliens now we’ve barely finished cleaning up alabasta! 😭😂😂”

”what?? Hey! No! I-I’m trying to be serious here! 🤦‍♀️“

”OH! Oops 😄 go ahead go ahead!”

“I meant who we are as in, as a….relationship! Like- um..we’re friends right? Soo..if we could be……”

“Vivi..you mean..?”

”YEAH! 😭😅 I mean if- if we could be..more, if- if you want if not we can just stay friends-“

”No! I- hahah, I honestly never thought you’d ask, like- literally! I’ve kinda been waiting but you never did so is assumed-“

lots of awkward laughing and explaining of feelings ensue from there 💗(🏳️‍🌈😜)

actually being in a relationship with her includes training, yes training, because you never know what could happen. Just as crocodile happened and no one knew he would. So from now on she wants to be prepared, she refuses to be blindsided again—for the sake of her people!

she’s a cute mix of awkward, kind and a tad bit shy 💗 it’s like, she almost wouldn’t know how to act around you if you weren’t so close, but you are! So that makes things easier :)

she’s highly knowledgeable and I feel she’d have quiet a bit of hobbies. if you like to do similar things she’d love to partake in those activities with you! But if you have different interests, exploring each one as you teach her about them would be fun too! <3

Vivi is a literally princess, which means as her lover you get princess treatment! 😘 (all puns intended) She can afford it after all! Pell and Vivi’s father would adore you! You make Vivi so happy, how can they not?!

she talks about you more often than you know 🤫 “Dad!! Don’t tell her that!- it’s kind of embarrassing you know?!” oops Vivi heard him

well anyway 😊

Vivi is a very caring and protective lover as seen with Nami (when she stayed by her side the whole time she was ill). So of course that’s not any different when it comes to you, it’s highly likely Vivi knows first aid so if you get a minor injury? Be more careful!! 🩹❤️‍🩹💋 A major injury?! Hurry! Rush her to the royal hospital! Quickly! Giver her the best treatment! It’s okay, relax, she’s here 💖

Vivi will be with you through thick and thin and her loyalty is unwavering. She may not be the strongest banana in the bunch but she’ll certainly defend you with all she has if it comes down to it! 😤💪

Also!!! Can’t believe I haven’t mentioned this yet!!- Karoo!!!! Karoo loves you <33 Vivi thinks your bond is adorable, especially how Karoo always lets you ride on him :} you bring him snacks and drinks and he runs to you each time. If your tired of walking he’ll carry you without complaints as well so that’s a perk!

I feel the other spot billed ducks would love you as well! Karoo probably tells them how great you are 🤗 You might even like one of them enough to make them your duck! (I would, they seem cooler than a freezer 😎👍)

Okayyy~ lovely readers, followers and anyone new here..!

I hope you enjoyed these headcanons!!~

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atombombkaytee · 19 days

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My Echo, My Shadow and Me

Summary: Hancock and I retire to The Third Rail after a long day to find that it’s particularly busy. Still, we manage to find a quiet spot to indulge in heavy flirting, booze and chems. However, I notice a shadowy figure across the room - somehow, neither Hancock or I recognise the stranger (another ghoul). Hancock is keen to introduce himself but the sheer amount of intoxicants we’ve consumed could have the potential to lead to a very interesting evening.

Pairings: Hancock x Female OC/Reader, Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Female OC/Reader

Warnings: (This first part is largely PG but we will see - in future parts - all of the following) Heavy alcohol/drug use, public groping, smut, MMF threesome, anal.

Part 1.

Occasionally, The Third Rail became so lively that you could easily delude yourself into believing that the bombs had never plummeted from the skies all those years ago. It is only when you're completely sober that you can discern that virtually every person in the vicinity disfigured by the enduring effects of radiation.

Nevertheless, the bustling crowds of sweaty bodies (dancing, laughing, and clinking their glasses without a care in the world) were surely reminiscent of what it was like pre-war. I couldn’t be sure. I was born into this shithole of a world. What would I know about living pre-bombs?

I grunt a sarcastic chuckle into my pint glass, fogging the edges with my breath. I'm sure it was warmer in pre-war bars than it is here. Being underground in an old railway tunnel helps retain some heat, but there's a subtle yet constant breeze coming from somewhere.

Still, the alcohol helps. As do the masses of bodies. Alcohol helps with a lot of things. Even now, many still use it as a respite from the horrors of daily life. A beautiful dissociative escape, where the only thing that matters is the moment.

Unfortunately, I'm the only sober one tonight. Well, almost. I’ve managed to get one mixer deep, tucked in tight against the bar, waiting for Hancock to join me for a celebration. Today ended much later than we anticipated when a large group of Supermutants seeking revolution entered Boston Common. We dealt with them, of course, but it significantly cut into our relaxation time - something both Hancock and I equally hated.

The dancing crowd swells behind me, swaying in time to Magnolia’s silky voice. Occasionally, someone brushes against my back. I'm desperate to feel more drunk. I tend to get irritable far more quickly when I'm sober, much like Hancock... maybe that's one of the reasons we've always gotten along. Feeling overstimulated, I swill back the ends of my glass and signal Charlie for another.

Lucky for me, no human could possibly serve booze as fast as that robot. It’s mere seconds before another full pint glass is in my hand and I greedily neck it back. I smile to myself, sensing the warmth in my belly spread into a pleasant haziness behind my eyes. These quadruple shots are certainly doing the trick.

An immense wave of gratitude washes over me as I perceive a hand between my shoulder blades. It unmistakably belongs to someone familiar, amidst the numerous inebriated strangers who have been using me as a prop for the last thirty minutes.

“Hey, dollface… how you holding up?”

He angles his head downwards, drawing himself nearer to me, enabling me to still take in his words amongst the competing sounds of music. In response, I offer a smile, albeit tinged with irony, and he promptly detects the subtle distress reflected in my eyes.

“Oh… well, why the hell are you sitting up here then?”

With a light-hearted chuckle, he shifts his focus from me to locate Charlie. His hand instinctively wraps around the nape of my neck and delivers a playful squeeze, firm enough to hurt, yet, ultimately, conveying a sense of comfort and protection.

“Charlie - do this ol’ ghoul a favor and hand me that great, big bottle of whiskey - oh - and two glasses, if you’d be so kind?”

I can't help but watch him adoringly as he swoops in to solve all of my problems, like always. I've only spent a little over four months working alongside him, but I'm pretty sure that I'm falling for him. He's courageous yet gentle, sweet yet just, violent yet empathetic. I've come to realize that he's a very intricate person... well, ghoul. And, boy, does he know how to make me feel good.

Ignoring our rather large age gap - human/ghoul relationships aren’t uncommon in the wasteland, although they are generally disapproved of in most settlements. Except here. Here, in Goodneighbor, things are different. Here, Hancock and I can openly celebrate our relationship and relax in public without any judgment. As the Mayor, Hancock receives special privileges that he graciously extends to me. Moreover, the majority of the residents in Goodneighbor are ghouls themselves, and those who are human are generally open-minded outcasts who have found a welcoming home here. It's an ideal situation.

“Follow me…” He murmurs intimately next to my ear. With his palm placed reassuringly on the small of my back, he guides me smoothly through the mass of people - most of whom acknowledge their mayor with a rowdy toast of their glasses.

Once we’re out of the thickest part of the crowd, he grabs hold of my hand and leads me to a dimly lit table for two at the very back of the room. Both the noise level and the number of people are much more bearable here. I plonk myself down on the torn couch - enjoying the coolness of the leather seat against the back of my tired thighs.

“Jesus… thanks for rescuing me, yet again…” I snigger, holding my glass in place while Hancock pours a generous serving of whiskey. The liquid fills the vessel with a rich, golden hue.

“Why the hell is it so busy in here tonight!?”

Hancock puts the whiskey bottle back on the metal table between us with a thud, causing several small white flecks of paint to flutter to the ground. He leans back comfortably against the sofa, draping his spare arm around my shoulder while he surveys the room.

“You tell me, sunshine! Could be since we cleared up those raider gangs last week? Could just be a few more people traveling through.”

His black eyes glisten and gleam like polished onyx under the sporadic beams of the spotlights that intermittently flash across his face. The aura of pride he exudes is palpable, adding even more charm to his demeanor. Seeking refuge in his presence, I nuzzle closer to the comforting warmth emanating from his body, finding solace as I press my cheek against his faded scarlet duster coat. Meanwhile, I continue to take measured sips from my glass of whiskey, relishing its smooth taste.

The mist brought on by alcohol is steadily encroaching upon my senses. I have firm intentions of becoming extremely drunk, and with Hancock already pouring himself another drink, it seems obvious that he shares that inclination.

(Part 2)

(Part 3)

(Part 4)

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mlmxreader · 2 days

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NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI

m!reader - mlm/nblm ONLY (mutuals this doesn't apply to you)

MacCready:

Hancock:

He likes to "accidentally" walk in while you're masturbating, always pretending to be shocked for a moment before clearing his throat and asking when you were gonna invite him. You know exactly what he's doing, but you always find yourself playing along bc it's just too much fun to pretend it isn't.

"Well hey there, handsome, you need any help with that?"

Preston:

He loves to pin you down during sex; his hands over yours and keeping them against the mattress while he uses his weight to keep you there, listening to all your little grunts and growls that are mostly incoherent. the odd "harder, please! fuck!" catches him from time to time, but he does stop every now and then to check in.

"That's it, good boy. You like that?"

Nick Valentine:

He fucking adores it when you ride him, your hands on his chest as he looks up into your eyes, his grip on your ass just and just strong enough to leave faint marks that disappear within seconds. there's nothing he likes more than taking it slow, gentle, reminding both you & him that you're alright in the end - everything is gonna be alright.

"General, if I could, I would marry you."

He usually takes things slow and gentle and easy, but there is the odd moment when he can switch things up; edging you and teasing you until you're on the verge of tears and fucking desperate for him to please, please fuck you or at least let you fucking cum. he can be so unfair, but never pushes past your limits.

"Not bad for being made out of gears and sprockets, eh?"

Maximus:

Once he's comfortable with sex around you, Maximus can be quite experimental; he's always willing to try new things if you suggest it and he trusts you enough that you'll honour his safe word if things ever go too far. He likes to make you laugh during sex, though, mostly so he can see your big smile and hear it echo through the fog of panting and moaning.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! That was amazing!"

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul:

Cooper can be unfair and even torturous during sex; edging you and overstimulating you until you're on the verge of tears, begging and pleading. he's a fucking mean dom, and he makes it known - doesn't care that you're his boyfriend, he's an asshole and he'll act like it. but... he does also have some soft moments, too.

"Atta boy! Now get on your fuckin' knees."

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scftdevil · 7 months

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new muse alert (because i have no self control of course) allison stuart (dianna agron, nature tour guide, bisexual) echo hancock (ellie bamber, nanny, queer) lev federov (tom hardy, son of koschei, bisexual) mina afshar (sarah shahi, housewife, bisexual) claire leigh (natalia dyer, history major, pansexual) boone leigh (drew starkey, weed dealer, homosexual) (as per usual, like this post for a starter from one of these new muses. note: claire and boone are returning siblings.)

#allison stuart #echo hancock #lev federov #mina afshar #claire leigh #boone leigh #new muse alert

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honeykeats · 2 years

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HONEYKEAT’s WINTER MUSES

cloudy day mitchell (28) has entered the chat! cloudy day is now available to write with as a winter muse!

echo hancock (26) has entered the chat! echo is now available to write with as a winter muse!

gavin bond (27) has entered the chat! gavin is now available to write with as a winter muse!

nathan prince (24) has entered the chat! nathan is now available to write with as a winter muse!

rolf jana (21) has entered the chat! rolf is now available to write with as a winter muse!

ursa sullivan (24) has entered the chat! ursa is now available to write with as a winter muse!

#winter muse #test muse #ursa sullivan #rolf jana #nathan prince #gavin bond #echo hancock #cloudy day mitchell

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iamnot-crazy · 4 months

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Stowaway Chapter 6

Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Info: This is my first time posting a story on Tumblr and my first time writing a x reader.

Summary:

The reader is a slave to a nobleman due to her devil's fruit ability which allows her to control the emotions of the people around her. She flees to bump into Trafalgar Law and boards his ship.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

The day you get to meet the Straw Hat captain came much sooner than you expected as Law returned to the ship after watching the battle unfold at Marine Fort and demanded they set sail. Law's jaw was clenched as the sub sped its way to the battlefield. Everyone was on high alert while cannons were fired at the sub as soon as it emerged. Law ordered half the crew to prepare for surgery while he ran to the deck to collect the Straw Hat captain. You stayed on the bridge with Jean Bart watching the sub's status and preparing for a quick escape. With Straw Hat and the former warlord Jimbi on the sub and rushed to the surgical room you start the ship moving as fast as it could to get away from the war.

Bepo came running into the Bridge complaining that Law wouldn't close the door to the deck. You ran over to the door with Bepo to see Law sitting with the door open looking at the new ship that arrived. One of the four emperors of the sea red hair shanks ship had arrived.

Bepo begged for Law to close the door but he didn't move. You walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder and he sighed, "Something just doesn't feel right. Like we are forgetting something." he admitted. As he does so a scream can be heard from the shore and the pirate clown throws a hat toward the sub. As soon as the hat landed in Law's grips he nodded as if he understood what felt missing.

Bepo immediately freaked out begging for the two of you to close the door which you did. You began running down the hallway and Law passed you the hat, "Take care of this while I begin surgery." you nodded as he ran in the direction of the surgical room while you ran to the bridge. Bart had already begun the descent and was pushing the sub to the max as it sped away from the scene. You look out the back window to see ice coming for the sub and shout at Bart to go faster.

Bepo's screams from the surgical room echoed to the bridge. You and Bart do everything you can in the bridge to get the ship to go faster underwater and deeper. Finally, you were free and were in calm waters you announced this to the captain who just responded good work before continuing with the surgery.

While Law and the crew who understand medical practice worked on the injured Bepo whined just outside the bridge begging to resurface. Shachi and Penguin grew tired of his complaints and went to beg Law to resurface. See how they have been fleeing the war at full speed for a while Law agreed.

Once you resurfaced Bepo ran to the deck only to be met with a snake. Soon one of the Warlords jumped aboard the ship from the marine ship that sailed beside your sub. Quickly you ran into the surgical room and alerted your captain and the two of you approached the deck while Law washed his hands.

On the deck, the warlord Boa Hancock stood demanding to see Luffy. Law informs her that Luffy is stable and that he has done everything he could but he is more concerned about his mental state. That is when you pipped up, "Which we have our ways of dealing with." you stood proudly as Law yanked his head toward you in concern.

"I won't ask you to do that." he hissed and you shook your head grabbing his hands.

"I want to." was all you said looking into his eyes as yours glowed purple. He just nodded knowing your determination.

Boa Hancock didn't notice you until now and became defensive. "I will not have another woman lay her hands on my beloved!" she shouted angrily and pointed a disapproving finger at you which caused Law to glare at the woman and step in front of you to shield you.

"If you want Straw Hat to survive I suggest you let my crew do whatever they can to do so." he snarled which took her aback slightly as her priority was to see Straw Hat alive.

She put her finger down but her eyes never left you. "You have a very powerful Haki," she states now approaching you. "You're a devil fruit user?" she questioned as she circled you. "But your observation Haki is extremely powerful."

You pull away from her, "I don't know what you are referring to." you admit but she just hums and walks away.

You all make a plan to follow the empress to her island Amazon Lily where only women are allowed to step foot. There Law and Jimbi agreed to dock at the bay just outside the island so Hancock could keep Luffy safe while still trusting him in your ship's care. The boys on your ship were jealous wishing they could speak to the Amazon ladies and enter their land.

After a few days, Boa Hancock requested your presence at the castle. You mocked the boys as you left with the Amazon ladies entering their land while they cried wishing they would be summoned to the castle too.

Boa Hancock first wanted information on Luffy which you informed her he was still in his coma. After you answered that she began to pry into your devil fruit ability.

You remove your gloves and tell her how your powers work and how you will use them to keep Luffy calm when he awakes.

"But your powers are more than transferring emotion?" she asked knowingly and you nodded informing her that you can also feel people's emotions.

"that isn't your powers dear that is your observation haki which is quite strong and is amplified by that devil fruit." an old lady spoke appearing from behind a pillar. "it's rare for people to be born with your level of Haki but in comparison to people who have trained their Haki it is still quite weak." she pointed out circling you. "I presume that you can constantly feel the emotions of the people around you?" she asked poking your ungloved hand.

You pulled your hand away, "yes. I wear these gloves lined with sea prism to avoid it."

The old lady nodded. "Sea prism can only do so much against Haki especially as yours grows stronger. If you train your haki you can use it for more than just feeling other emotions and be able to control when it is active."

"And how do I do that?" you asked now curious.

"you can train here with us until Luffy recovers." The empress offers. "But you will need to be rid of that hideous outfit." she pointed to your jumpsuit with your ship's Jolly Roger.

The empress provides you with the very revealing outfit of the Amazons which you get made fun of wearing by your crew when you return.

Over the next week, you trained with the Amazons to hone your Haki which left Law alone with his crew missing you. He spent his time reading up on Haki to better support you and to start growing his own.

One day the empress was training you when she noticed a slight shimmer of scaring on your hip. It is really hard for someone to notice your scarring where your tattoo was and even harder to make out the shape but if you knew what the marking was like Hancock did it would send shivers down your spine.

When the empress realized what was on your hip she demanded that everyone stop training and that she was going to take a bath resulting in the place shutting down. The empress pulled you into the bathing room with her and her sister and sat you down. Your thoughts were swimming wondering what you did wrong and what she was going to do to you.

"How did you hide your mark?!" The empress demanded now approaching your hip and touching the scarring. You quickly pulled back and covered the spot where your mark was.

"How.... How do you know?" you stammer. The sister of the empress now saw the mark and understood why their sister had dragged you into the bath.

"You can hide a mark but the scarring will always remain and the scarring on your past will remain as well." she started now using her observation Haki to see the full outline of the tattoo.

You looked into her eyes and used your ability to read her emotions to feel a sense of familiarity and horror. "You were once a slave?" you spoke out loud.

The empress immediately shouted at you to never say that word out loud. After calming down she nodded, "Both my sister and I escaped 19 years ago. This is the biggest secret of this island and can never be spoken about. The only other person who knows is Luffy who bravely kept this secret." she turned her back and revealed her mark.

You took a deep breath, "The only people who know my secret are Law and Bart. Law rescued me around a year ago now when I was running away from my master a celestial dragon. When Law saw my mark he offered to use his powers to remove the ink from my skin but I guess I still have some scarring." tears formed in your eyes, "I fear that my master now knows I am with the heart pirates and will be coming after me soon." you admit.

The empress now with her shirt back on placed a hand on your shoulder, "You can stay here on this island. Here no man will ever hurt you again."

You shook your head, "As great as that offer sounds I would like to stay with Law. I.. I love him." your eyes shifted to pink and the empress nodded in understanding feeling the same way toward her Luffy. If she wasn't running this island and had that responsibility she would never leave his side.

"very well. If at any point you need a safe place to hide you are always welcome here," she spoke and gestured for her permission to leave. You bowed your head before running off.

When you returned to the bay the Heart Pirates you ignored the snickering the crew gave at your outfit as you pushed past heading straight to the office. There Law sat at his desk with the paper keeping track of what the news said about Luffy. "You're back early." He commented as you collapsed on your bean bag.

"The empress saw my mark." you groaned solving your face into the fabric of the bean bag.

Law's eyes widen, "How?" He questioned in concern turning toward you. You shifted showing your side the tattoo laid and the scars shimmered ever so slightly only someone who knows what they are looking for would know what was there. "Are you okay?" He asked leaving his seat to join you on the floor and rubbing where the mark was.

You nodded your head watching his hand rub your side. "Can you do me a favor?" You asked.

The next day you walked off the ship with a new mark on your hip a black heart that matched the one on Law's chest it covered the entirety of your right side and strategically covered the scars.

***

Over the next week, you continued to train with the empress but the day Luffy awoke you could feel his strong emotions from all the way across the island. You paused your training feeling the Straw Hat anguish so powerfully through your bones. The Amazon lady you were training with watched in confusion as you sprinted towards the bay. As you ran toward the bay you felt a pull deeper into the forest where you changed direction.

When you finally reached the young captain he was shouting for his brother and destroying everything he passed. Jinbe was running quickly behind him. You get hit with an overwhelming amount of emotions the pirate is releasing and fall to your knees tears filling your eyes. But you took a deep breath and pulled yourself up.

You know you can't get close to the pirate or you might be injured by accident so you close your eyes and focus on making an emotional mist to reach him. He wasn't too far in front of you but he would need the full effect of your powers to pass his willpower. A cloud of grey started to form out of your hands and float towards him. The cloud surrounded him as he tried to fan it away screaming. You pushed more mist out of your hands using all your might to subdue the rampaging pirate.

The pirate fan away more of the mist before laying his cold dead eyes on you. Fear engulfed you as you cut off the stream of mist and the pirate charged at you.

"LOOK OUT!"

You got shoved out of the way of the pirate's path by the Fishman Jinbe. Where you stood Luffy now stood his fist on the ground where you were huffing. You took this chance to reach your arm out to grab his ankle and push a calm emotion through the pirate.

His anguish was so strong and overpowering that you screamed as you pushed more of your energy into him. He screamed as well but it slowly decreased as your powers began to sink in. Finally, life came back into the boy's eyes and he fell onto the ground with tears streaming down his face. He was still sad but at least he was no longer a raging monster.

You sigh in relief before lying on the ground breathing heavily. Jinbe lifts the two of you into his arms easily and carries you to a tree where you both can rest. "thank you y/n" he said and you nodded in response.

He then bent down and started to speak to Luffy to encourage him to continue without his brother.

It didn't take much longer until you felt Law's blue room cover the area. You smirked before just you were shambled back to the bay. You landed right in Law's arms who stood just outside the cloth fence that surrounded the island.

Law just laughed, "How'd I know you would find yourself there." he turned back to the ship carrying you away. You smiled happy to have helped in some way. "I'm glad you did though he could have easily reopened his wounds if he didn't calm down." Law looked over at the forest where Jinbe and Luffy remained.

"I did the most I can but grief still must play its course." You say as the forest shakes with Luffy screaming his brother's name.

After the last scream, Luffy seemed to calm down as the ruckus he was making died down. You never got a chance to meet the famous Straw Hat pirate before an old man arrived who everyone claimed was the right hand to the past pirate king. Law and the old man spoke before Law ordered everyone to set sail. But before you boarded the ship you ran up to the old man, "Please can you tell the empress and the amazons the y/n appreciates everything they did for me?" You asked

His eyes lingered searching your figure.. no your aura his eyes landed on your hip before he raced back to your eyes and gave you the softest smile, "I will be sure to." You smile before running off where Law waited for you holding the door open.

"Do you think I'll ever get to meet Luffy again in a much better state?" You asked smiling and the two of you walked down the hall.

Law smiled, "I am sure you will. He is another D after all."

***

Your confidence had reached an all-time high now being able to control your observation Haki you rarely wore your gloves. The other crew members quickly learned what your real devil fruit power was as you began to use it more confidently in battle and just around the ship.

Your crew landed on an interesting and beautiful deserted island with flowers that towered above everything at least 20 feet up but some reach 60 feet. The crew and yourself were memorized and you deboarded. Law walked out of the sub last and stood on the deck to give orders to the crew while everyone stood on the beach, "We need to stalk up on provisions as it will be a while before we reach the next island with civilization. Split off into teams and see what you can find."

Ikkuka ran up to you and grabbed your arm, "y/n, can we please team up together It has been so long since we did anything together." She whined.

You looked up at Law who nodded in approval before turning back to Ikkuka with a smile. "Of course!" The two of you ran off into the forest of flowers to search for anything useful.

After not that long of a hike you found a beautiful fresh water waterfall into a small pond. Ikkuka smirked at you before removing her uniform revealing a swimsuit she wore underneath. She ran to jump in splashing you in the process. Seeing how the water is fresh it doesn't seem to affect you in any way. You smiled peeling off your uniform as well glad you chose to wear a sports bra today and you jumped in.

Being a devil fruit user means you don't get the pleasure of swimming very often as the sea always tends to find you and pull you down but the pond is shallow enough for you to stand if anything does occur. The two of you laugh playing in the pond until Penguin and Shachi find you too and insist that you get back to work. The two of you laugh splashing them and encouraging them to join your fun and they quickly give in to the two beautiful girls who flutter their eyes begging them to join and not tell the captain.

You started to feel fatigued the longer you stayed in the water and were the first to hop out. As you pulled on your suit you felt a sharp sting at the back of your neck. You slapped it away but instantly began to lose vision.

"y/n," Ikkaku laughed stepping out of the pond, "We should bounce now that the boys crashed the party." She approached where your stuff was to find just your uniform no longer folded neatly on the rock but fallen on the ground. "y/n?" She began to look around but you were nowhere in sight. "y/n?"

"Ikkaku what's wrong?!" Shachi shouted from the pond swimming closer to the edge.

Ikkaku turned around, "I can't find y/n!" She was holding your uniform beginning to panic.

Shachi gestured for Penguin to follow him out before turning back to Ikkaku, "Calm down she probably just wandered off."

"Or wandered back to the captain." Penguin snickered now jumping out of the pond. Ikkaku nodded but couldn't help her worry. The three decided to split up in search of you calling your name as they went.

Shachi was the first to find his way back to the ship to find Law who stood on the deck looking curiously at Shachi who just come out of the forest calling your name. "Shachi, what is wrong?" Law demanded jumping off the deck and onto the beach.

Shachi looked nervously at the captain, "We can't seem to find y/n." he informed taking a step back from the captain, "We were goofing off in the pond and y/n was the first to leave but then she just disappeared." Shachi pointed towards the pond and the two of them started running meeting back up with Penguin who found no traces of you.

Ikkaku came running to the pond out of breath, "There is another ship that way!" She shouts pointing in the direction she just came from.

Law gestures for Shachi and Penguin to follow him as he dashes across the forest. He quickly reaches the beach Ikkaku was referring to only to see a ship sailing away and is at least a mile off by now too far for Law's powers to reach. "Damn it!" He yelled looking closer at the flag on the ship to see none other than a world government flag and his blood began to boil. "Get everyone back to the ship NOW!!" Law shouted angrily as he began his sprint to the ship. He can still catch you he knew it.

Shachi and Penguin quickly began running through the forest yelling for everyone to get on board before meeting Law back on the ship. Half the crew was able to make it back on the ship before Law decided he couldn't wait any longer and ordered a submerge. The other half of the crew remained on the island confused.

The sub was much faster than the world government sailboat once underneath the ship Law shambled his way to the deck slicing anything that crossed his path. The entire boat was covered in his room as debri hovered over the ship leaving a path of destruction. Most of the navy who was aboard the ship was thrown overboard and the stern was now detached from the boat threateningly looming over the ship.

"WHERE IS SHE!" Law shouts angrily at the captain of the ship who fell to the floor terrified.

"I I... I don't... Kk..know who you mean.." The man studdered hiding from the surgeon of death.

Law sliced the man in half before looking up deeper into the sea where he spotted a much smaller ship with a bounty hunter flag. Narrowing his eyes Law could see the deck was a man holding you down on your knees and holding your chin to watch the terror Law inflected on the ship he believed you to be on. "DAMN IT!!" Law shouted again before jumping up and slicing the ship in half beneath him where the Polar Tang raised through catching Law before he hit the water. Law pulled out his transponder snail to communicate to the bridge while he stood on top of the sub.

"GO AFTER THAT SHIP!" He ordered into the snail and the sub began to move at full speed after the small ship.

You were held down by a bounty hunter hired by your master to retrieve you. He mocked you as you watched Law destroy the world government ship, "Awe it looks like he got the wrong ship. I wonder if he'll be able to catch us now." He laughed holding your face to force you to watch. "Oh look. I think he spotted us!" The man laughed again as you made eye contact with Law before you watched him split the ship in half and ride the sub toward you.

The sub picks up speed but the man holds his arm outwards and the ship begins to slow much to Law's anger as he begins beating the sub yelling for the crew to move. The man holding you down laughed using some sort of ability to push the sub back.

Law angrily threw the transponder snail as far as he could before shambling himself in its place in the air. "Oh wow, he must be desperate." The bounty hunter laughed watching Law grab something out of his pocket throw it closer to the ship and transport himself. Law teleported right above you holding his sword out in the air as he fell towards the ship. Law had the scariest look you have ever seen as he drove his sword straight through the bounty hunter not even bothering to use his powers to lessen the blow.

Before you knew it you were sitting on the cold medical table in the polar tang. You watched as Law buzzed around the room over-analyzing every mark on your body. You just sat there feeling guilty.

Law used a cotton swab to clean out the smallest mark the hunter made when injecting the solution that made you pass out. You let out a big sigh, "He knows." you say causing the captain to pause. "He knows I am a part of your crew and he is just going to keep sending more hunters."

Law paused to think before returning to cleaning your cut, "So what. He is just a noble, all he can do is send cheap ass hunters and when they continue to fail he'll give up. I won't let another one lay a hand on you again." he finished cleaning to his standards before placing a bandage on it and gripping your shoulder with his promise.

You shake your head, "It's not him I am worried about. It's who he works with." your eyes dart to the corner of the room. Law quickly took note and slowly moved in front of you and grabbed your hand causing you to look into his eyes.

"It doesn't matter who he sends or who he knows I will protect you I promise," he spoke sternly. You nodded your has full of tears before digging into his shoulder to release your tears. Law just rubbed your back blinking away his tears as your hands made contact with his back.

You sniffled, "But he is some kind of warlord." you explained wiping your tears away, "Do... Dofl."

"Doflamingo" he spoke coldly finishing your words, you just nodded. Law froze his blood ran cold a the mention of that monster.

You look at the captain's curiosity as he refuses to meet your eyes while his head spins. "Law are you.." you begin but are cut off by his yanking his head up and flashing you the biggest smile.

"you have nothing to worry about." he jumped up and kissed you on the forehead. "I'll protect you." he smiled gently before heading to the door a swiftly leaving.

You sat alone in the medical room but as much as Law could try and mask his emotions he could never hide his true emotions from you. His fear overwhelmed you and left you frozen.

Over the next few weeks, you felt Law's slight anxiety every time he looked at you before he quickly masked his emotions the best he could. You tried your best to ignore it but you couldn't help but feel guilty for his emotions.

Whenever you docked at a new island Law would keep you locked in the office until he staked out the island and deemed it safe for you. Once he had done so he would allow you to come out as long as he stood by your side the entire time much to Ikkuka's guilt.

The few times a hunter was on an island they backed off after seeing you next to your captain and were followed by Bart, Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin. But it wasn't just the hunters who fled but everyone else as well. Store owners quickly closed their stores feeling the intimidating aura of the 5 pirates released with every glare.

You began feeling like a burden and trapped. You stopped joining the crew on island visits and resided in the office staring out the window and watching the rest of the crew run free.

One day your mind continued to wander when you sat on the bridge alone and laid your eyes on the transponder snail.

***

Law returned to his office holding a stack of new books in his arms, "Y/N. I bought some new books I thought you would enjoy." he spoke as soon as he entered the office while you sat by the window in response. Law sighed seeing you still in your gloomy mood. "why don't you go out tomorrow and stretch your legs?" he suggested but you still didn't respond. "I can tell Bart and them to stay back and it can just be the two of us." You look toward your captain but still don't respond.

He sighed placing the books down before heading over to you and sitting down next to you. "I'm sorry I've been a little overprotective lately." You laid your head onto his shoulder for comfort and he reached his hand up to pet your head.

"I called Hancock," you admit which causes Law to pause. "I am going to Amazon Lily until my master gives up." This time Law was the one not responding. "They sent a ship that will meet me at the next island in 3 days. I already talked to Bepo about how I can get there in time for the randevu." You refuse to look at law while you explain.

Law pulled away from you causing you to fall slightly no longer having his body holding your weight. You waited for him to say something but he just stood up and stayed there his thoughts swimming. You waited as you feel his emotions shift around unable to settle on one. You reached your hand out grabbing his arm. "This will be for the best. Next the marines are going to join the hunt"

"SO WHAT!" He finally snapped, "I am already being hunted by the marines they can't do anything." He turned to face you with sadness in his eyes.

"And when Doflamingo joins." You said causing Law to freeze and look at you painfully, "I know he scares you which is why I need to leave until we ar both strong enough to face him."

Laws jaw grinded as you spoke and he thought about the man who has taken the one good thing is his life away once doing it again.

"I don't know what he has done to you but I can feel the effects even mentioning his name has done to you. Law I love you." You spoke standing up to look him in his eyes. This was the first time you said that word to him. Law looked down at you the tears in his eyes began to fall silently down his face which you carefully brushed away and smiling softly "I will be safe on Amazon Lily and we will be together again one day." He finally nodded and rested his face in your hand.

"I Love you too."

***

Next Chapter

#one piece #one piece x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #fem!reader #trafalgar d water law #writing

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imagine-silk · 2 years

Note

Could I request Hancock Nick and Mac’s reaction to cute aggression like them and sole are cuddling together and sole just gives them a little nom? Like not hard enough to break skin/leave a mark or anything I do it to my partner all the time idk why it’s just a weird urge i get

What a innovative way of showing affection. Inspired!

Art from Pinterest

[Hancock] He has the same urge so gets it. Although when he does it, it is a bit more aggressive, sometimes leaving marks. Nothing concerning, I promise. It often escalates into play wrestling, a lot of rolling around and weak pushing. The laughing is infectious and loud, your smile tells him to continue, forever would not long enough if he could stretch the time. These moments drive him in his darkest hours and echo him in times of prosperity.

[Nick] He finds it strangely desirable. Allowing you to crawl in his lap and spring kisses on his face with the full knowledge you will nip at him at some point. Lets the novel affection wash on him and when you bite the apple of his cheek it makes him laugh. But it's more than that. It was the love you held unapologetic with no leash or conditions, a reminder that this is your want.

[MacCready] A part in him is still childish and wants to respond as such, petty and ignorant, but a bigger more experienced part of him knows to take this love selfishly. The world is ugly, it takes if you blink and never returns a favor. But the teeth on his ear is the price of your kisses, the saliva on his nose is the cost of your juvenile laugh, the pinch on his finger is the fee tracing your face in the mornings. Discomfort is negligible in the wake of your brazen show of love.

#thanks for the ask!#ask and you shall receive #fallout 4 #fallout x reader #fallout imagines #fallout 4 companions #fallout hancock #john hancock #nick valentine #maccready #robert maccready

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shroudkeeper · 8 months

Text

My darling bellflower. Do not give yourself to such grief and despair, for all is not yet lost.

Autumn's cool caress brushed the back of her hand, the leaves of bamboo rustled with the occasional pop and creak as they surrendered to the gentle, south wind. Her father could only watch, for all the gifts she had to see beyond the physical world, she was not allowed to see him. Any comforting words he offered were drowned out by the echoes of doubt, and mounting regrets, resonating in her mind.

Fusanosuke would allow her to grieve, already conceding that Hancock would not return to her, but it would not change her engagement. She too began to believe these words after searching and finding no sign of him, she feared soon his smile would fade to memory, that the comforting touch of his fingertips would learn to haunt her.

This could not be the end to their tale, Kikyo refused to let her heart become consumed with pain, to let it wither with the assumption of his death. She, who knew all variants of loss, knew that she needed to be where he was, or bid farewell to his soul.

#ffxiv #ffxiv screenshot #ff14 screenshot #kikyo takahashi #ffxiv writing

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dazed-and-confused23 · 30 days

Note

I love your latest entries with Dusty the Deathclaw😄 So you think you could do something with Cooper where he and the reader are visiting GoodNeighbor again with a juvenile Deathclaw with them? And when John goes to welcome them back, he jumps back a bit and asking why the HELL does the reader have a Deathclaw.😂 Only for said reader to give their pet Deathclaw some affectionate horn scratches and reply

“My wasteland baby! Isn’t he adorable?”

Bonus if said Wasteland baby still has some flesh hanging from their mouth having eaten a raider not too long ago.

@odditycircus-2002 this was a fantastic Lil prompt to see after the angst I've been typing up. Thank you so much! ❤️ I hope I did this justice!

Dear Hearts and Gentle People 14

Masterlist

Warnings: blood and violence drug use too

It's been a couple of years since you and Cooper had mosied up to the Commonwealth, and with Dusty now apart of the family, you thought it was high time that you introduce the juvenile to the stationary member of your group. The deathclaw stood taller than you now but was definitely still considered young by deathclaw standards. Plus, you'd been missing John lately, and it would be good to see him again.

The beast trotted behind you, his nose close to the ground as he cattalogged the new scents around him. Cooper followed just past Dusty, his rifle out, and ready for anything that might want to lose a fight. However, it turned out that very few people wanted to tangle with a ghoul of his reputation who had a deathclaw as a pet, young or not.

"I doubt Goodneighbor will be too happy with me if we come waltzing in with Dusty. Can you stay out here with him while I go get John?" You ask your ghoulish companion once the gate to Goodneighbor appeared around the corner. Someone must have recently cleared out the usual super mutants that hung around, for it was relatively safe in the city this evening.

Cooper sighs dramatically and rolled his eyes, though you could see a smirk pulling at his lips, "Don't make me wait too long, Sugar. Might go wonderin' off without you."

You scoff, "You wouldn't."

Cooper smirks right back and leans in, "Try me, smoothskin."

You search his golden gaze, and then your lips curl up in an amused, smug grin, "Dusty wouldn't let you."

The ghoul opens his mouth to protest, only to fall silent, lips tugging down into a small frown. Shit. He knows you're right about that one. Dusty would follow you to the ends of hell if you let the juvenile. He scoffs and breaks the staring contest, "Whatever, you win."

You smile in victory and then step in front of Dusty. The deathclaw coos and grunts at you, hunching down to rub the bottom of his jaw along your shoulder and cheek, "Awe. Yeah, I'll be right back, sweetie. Be good for Coop, okay?"

Dusty is smart enough to know what you're saying but whines all the same when you press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose and then disappear behind the red door. He swings his massive head around and eyes Cooper, who rolls his eyes at the baby's behavior.

"Don't look at me like that. You heard her."

The beast grunts and flops on the road, a displeased growl rumbling up and out of him. Dusty didn't like it when he couldn't scent you or feel you. His eyesight was terrible, so it left him to rely on his other, hightened scenses to track his human. A deeper, more vicious growl echos in the air when he sniffs deeply and catches the foul smell of the big lumbering mutants. They were close.

You darted through Goodneighbor, waving to Daisy and K-L-E-0, who waved back at you. As much as you wanted to stop and chat, you needed to hurry. You jank open the door to the old state house and lope up the stairs, stopping at the top floor and grinning when you catch sight of Hancock lounging on his couch, feet kicked up on the table and an inhaler of jet in his hand.

"Well, well. I come all this way, and this is the kinda welcome I get."

John jerks up on the couch, black eyes going wide as he turns and looks at you. He shoves himself off the couch and closes the distance, grabbing you by the jaw to swing you in for a kiss full of longing. You kiss the mayor back, holding tight to his red overcoat.

Your face is flushed by the time John breaks the kiss, resting his brow against your own as he takes in your lovely features. There are a couple more lines on your face and a new scar across your nose, but you're just as beautiful as the day he last saw you.

"If I'd known you were coming around, I would have had the whole town throw a party," Hancock quips with a dry laugh and then kisses you again, just cause he could, "Fuck. I missed you, Sunshine."

You hum and hold John tight, burring your face in his chest with a happy little grin, "Mhmm. I missed you too, Hancock."

The ghoul pulls away from you to take you in again. John needed to make sure that you weren't some kind of jet induced fever dream, but no. You were here in his house, with him. His hands trailed from your sides to cup your ass, and Hancock leaned down to press kisses to the collom of your throat.

"How about you show me how much you missed me then, Sunshine."

You selfishly enjoyed the attention for a moment before pulling away from him with a guilty smirk. John narrows his eyes down at you, curious.

"I need to show you something, and you've got to promise me you won't freak out," you say, and you're already tugging at his arm, leading him to the spiral staircase and out of the state house. You don't give Hancock time to process, you wanted this to he a surprise.

Outside the gate, Cooper sneers in disgust as he wipes the sole of his boot on the asphalt not stained in super mutant blood. A trio of them had attacked not a minute after you disappeared inside of Goodneighbor, leaving the ghoul and the half grown dealthclaw to defend themselves.

Not that it was a very hard fight, mind you. Cooper was well versed in violence, and Dusty wasn't a pushover either. He is shouldering his rifle when the door to the settlement opens up, and you and Hancock come waltzing out, all smiles.

"'Bout fuckin' time you showed up, smoothskin. Left me and Dusty here to clean up the big greenies," Cooper snarks at you and gives Hancock a mean grin, all teeth and hunger, "Nice to see you again, Mayor."

John hits the brake, stopping in his tracks and you with him. You grunt at the suddenness of it and turn around to look at him with a cocked brow. The ghoul stares at Dusty with a look of fear, his black eyes wide as he reaches for the shotgun he stupidity left behind in his room.

"Sunshine, that's a deathclaw," He spits, and back peddles, but you let go, allowing him to keep his distance from the golden scaled 6 foot tall deathclaw that feasts on the body of a downed super mutant. His face and entire front are soaked in gore, and the sounds he makes are enough to turn anyone's stomach as he enjoys his meal.

"Can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?" You quip, and Dusty perks up at the sound of your voice. He raises his head, his horns are about halfway down his face now, around eye level. The deathclaw swings around and makes a soft cooing sound when he picks up your scent and sees the blurry outline of your figure. He lopes forward, dropping to his front claws, and you grab his jaws when he gets close enough, grinning down at him.

"You're such a good boy, Dusty. I'm glad you got a snack," you say and scratch the soft scales of his throat, "I've got someone I want you to meet."

He recognizes that phase. You have used it a couple of times before with other humans that we weren't allowed to eat. Dusty's focused on the red blob behind you. His human points to the figure, and he breathes it deeply, taking in the scent of acidic chems and warm radiation that the other ghoul carries. The deathclaw memorizes it and stores it into the cattalog of "do not eat."

Hancock is frozen the entire time, and Cooper laughs at the other ghoul, breaking the mayor out of his spell, "What's wrong, John? Scared?"

The mayor just tosses his arms at the frigging beast of death, all snuggled up to the smoothskin and snarked right back, "How about you tell me just what the hell's going on, Cowboy?"

Cooper does just that, explaining how you found him and John really begins think this is really a fever dream like he'd thought before, when there is a loud snuffle in front of him, and he is faced with the gruesome visage of the juvenile deathclaw.

You smile at him, "Trust me, John. It's fine, I promise," you murmur, and John must be crazy because he does. Hancock takes a trembling breath and faces the beast.

"Dusty, this is John Hancock. John, this is Dusty."

#cooper howard #fallout #fallout prime #fallout tv series #cooper howard x reader #x reader #the ghoul x reader #dear hears and gentle people #deathclaws #john hancock x reader #john hancock

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oldworldgal · 20 days

Text

{ gen, 8k words, rated T+ }

Nick wasn't expecting any rescue party to show—but nothing surprises him more than who exactly comes knocking. Some mysteries walk and talk and follow you to hell and back.

characters: Female Sole Survivor, Nick Valentine, Piper Wright, Hawthorne, John Hancock, Skinny Malone

warnings: references to child death, canon-typical violence, brief senses of unreality

tags: Chance Meetings, Nick and Sole have a slight history (but not like that), Canon Rewrite, One Shot

link to ao3

full fic under the cut

It’s on the twelfth day of his captivity that he hears the gunfire. Long, empty hours interrupted by the sudden and muffled but unmistakable reports from some distant place behind lead and steel and dirt.

He pauses in his pacing, listening intently, gaze shot toward the lone porthole of a window in this, his cushy prison cell. Only, there’s no disturbance on the other side of that glass. A few seconds more and the great thumping slows then ceases, like the death throes of some immense beast.

His personal watchdog and unfortunate company for the evening didn’t hear it.

He gives a short hum in thought because the noises were… peculiar. More echo than anything, with a deep metallic timbre when they thundered into the room, emanating from a particular place. Opposite from the door and window.

He drifts toward that area now, and doesn’t have to wait long for another burst of far-off violence. The steel of his skeletal hand meets a set of standing shelves with a tap, and on hidden wheels they move easily away from the wall.

Behind those shelves, a certain panel of the fake wood vinyl has a larger gap around the edges compared to its neighbors.

And here he thought he’d already found everything there was to find in here. The terminal alone he went through five times from a sheer lack of anything else to do.

With a brief glance cast back over his shoulder, he tests the gap with his metal digits—his most resourceful set of tools, he would have to admit. Not the first false panel they’ve pried up, and he still has a bit of hope that it won’t be the last.

Once a thin fingertip is jabbed behind it, the vinyl comes away as easily as a page in a book. A solid section little more than two feet wide, three feet tall. Only when he sets it aside it doesn’t reveal any door or hidden passageway and for the first time in his operational existence he’s glad for that fact, even if it would have made his predicament a hell of a lot simpler. Going two weeks in this godforsaken box-in-a-box without spotting it simply would have been too much. He’d have hung up his hat on principle.

But what does lie behind that panel might be even more curious.

Five circular vents, each about the size of a plate of Port-a-Diner pie. The radial slats are all shut tight and each vent has a little handle that could be levered out and pulled clockwise a short distance, presumably to open them.

“Huh,” Nick Valentine says.

Someday he’d have to answer once and for all the question that nags at him the most: why exactly mysteries are so prone to finding their way onto his lap even when he’s not looking for them.

But for now, at least he has something to do.

The preceding minute and a half of silence is cut short by two dull but decisive bangs, each chased by a faint metallic rattle. It ceases just as the synthetic polymer that serves as Nick’s skin touches the first vent. Still, he thinks he can feel the last traces of reverberation, picked up by the filaments winding through his endoskeleton all the way down to the fingertips of his left hand.

He waits. Whatever it was, it’s probably now over before it even really began. There’d been no less than five shmucks at the front office alone when he himself had strolled into the Park Street station a week ago, and many more besides from there to the vault entrance itself, from which he suspects the sound first originated. And they all are armed to the teeth. (How confident he’d been then, that he and Malone could have worked this out like decent men. Like old acquaintances if not old friends.)

But then—there it is again. No more than ten minutes go by before another ruckus kicks off. And this next volley of gunfire is a prolonged spat, more unsettling the longer it goes on, accompanied by indistinct shouting. Whoever’s here, it is one hell of a party.

It’s the second vent that shudders ever so slightly this time. Flicking that particular handle out and easing it down rotates an interior plate just enough for a yawning void to peek through the slats. Just enough for the gunshots to become not exactly clear but a hell of a lot sharper: the tell-tale rattle of a whole fleet of weaponry that he doesn’t have to guess at the make and model of, having been prodded and jeered at with them enough times these past two weeks to last him a couple more generations. That many automatics working together forms the rhythmic and systematic sound of manufacture, a diligent and savage machine, but behind it are a few stabs of sound that are certainly a pistol or two, punctuated by the booms of some maniac with a shotgun. Boom. Boom-boom. Two maniacs with shotguns?

So perhaps four people total, if none of the SMGs making up the industrial clatter are on the away team. Too few to be a rival gang, not enough explosions or general chaos to be raiders. But the notion of a rescue party seems unlikeliest of all; all of three people outside this vault are aware of Nick’s last known whereabouts and none of those people are crazy enough to pull off this stunt, which is sounding mostly like an interesting way to die by suicide.

Nick closes the vent again and sticks on his thinking cap. (That is, he resumes his pacing and taps out his last prized cigarette, jabbing it between unfeeling, crumbling lips. He doesn’t light it just yet—if all else fails it could still come in handy, if not as a tool then a bargaining chip with some particularly dull and desperate tough.) The gunfire continues, muted once again. Just firecrackers down the street, lit by the neighborhood kids.

There’s no telling what Skinny Malone plans to do with him. If it were only Skinny he were dealing with, the gangster might let him walk. But not with that new moll by his side. She knows just what buttons to push and where they are.

The only thing Nick detests more than being locked in a room with absolutely nothing of interest for two weeks is leaving a case unresolved—or letting it end unhappily. Tragedy is already too common in their current era for him to not fight for something better, come hell or high water—but right now, his priority needs to be getting out. There’ll be more happy ever afters.

Second-best case scenario, he can use the ongoing chaos to his advantage and slip out between the cracks one way or another. He’s made crazier escapes. But if the assailants are actually here for him—wishful thinking—there’s not much he can contribute from inside this private little retreat of his, much as he’d like to.

Just as he turns to complete his ambulatory circuit he pauses, thinking back to the first day he’d been thrown into this office. Going through the various drawers and cabinets had produced the construction plans for the vault. And wasn’t the map divided into sections, delineated by pen, by hand? Numbers One through Five?

Nick wheels around and grabs for where he stashed it, wedged beside a drawer in the desk, sure it would be useful. When it’s laid out on the ground out of sight of the window, with one rusty phalange he traces the section labeled ‘2’—Maintenance, right at the edge of the unfinished excavation site. There’s a tumbleweed of scribbled ink; a rough dot in the middle of the hallway that he would bet his hat marks the location of a suspect and oddly conical air duct. Rather effective at funneling sound right up to the Overseer’s office through a network of metal tubes that perhaps would have been replaced with a more sophisticated system had the vault ever actually been completed. A simple method reminiscent of the old Old World, but there’s some artistry to it. He could at least hand them that, the nosy, voyeuristic bastards.

If he can’t physically help his unknown hypothetical saviors, he could at least keep track of their progress and maybe suss out their destination. Won’t do him much good if they drop dead at the front door.

For an hour he listens to the intermittent bouts and tracks their movements from one section to the next, his optics flicking from the map to the little porthole window that serves as his only view of the world outside every time he has to inch open a vent to get a better bead on their location. It seems more and more unbelievable that the man on the other side of that window hasn’t heard the gunfire, even as the party draws closer. But then, the large gaps between volleys seem to suggest that many of his gracious hosts are being caught unaware. Turns out that vaults aren’t just marvels of architectural engineering and capitalist greed and moral deficiency, but of soundproofing as well.

Or maybe Dino just fell asleep outside. Surely Nick couldn’t be that lucky.

Regardless, the longer the racket drags on and the closer the newcomers get to the atrium, the more Nick can’t help but get his hopes up, to the point where the long stretches of silence in-between become somehow even more worrisome than the gunplay itself. It’s a veritable war out there, the whole of the Malone Crew bearing down on this small, over-ambitious force.

And still they push forward. And still their guns number four. The sheer force of will or providence or skill or even luck is nothing short of inspiring. Nick finds that he’d like to get to meet them after all, whoever they are.

Perhaps it is this thought that finally ends his own internal war that he’d been conducting, judging what horse to bet on, what his best move might be. To play it safe and hide and wait for his mysterious benefactors to scour every last inch of the vault when their bloody work is done (because no scavenger worth their salt would pass up a locked door in a vault) and jump out when the time is right? Or to hope for friendlies and maybe distract his guard dog from their arrival? Maybe even send him packing, if Nick could play his cards right.

The gunfire draws ever closer to Vent 4. Passes right beneath it, and away again. The inky dot is just a few halls away from the Atrium.

What’ll it be, Nicky? Hope or hide?

“Ah, hell,” he finally mutters, making it to his feet with the creak of a joint or three, a ting in the left knee in particular, which hasn’t sounded quite right since his date with a certain young lady and her baseball bat. There was only so much repair work he could attempt with what he had on him and what he could find in this glorified box.

He needs eyes on the door to the Atrium, and he’s gotten pretty damn tired of sitting still and shutting up for days on end, anyway.

Nick straightens out his shirtsleeves, fastens the cuffs, snatches his coat from the back of the mostly dismantled office chair. Everything is put where it ought to be: coat slipped on, collar straightened, wall panel placed over the vents, shelves in front of the panel, and finally the map tucked into an inside pocket of the coat. He suspects no one here is going to need it anymore after today.

His last cig he holds casually aloft between two skeletal digits as he approaches the window, casting a glance up and down the walkway outside, across the atrium to the door on the second tier walkway below, and over the tables and their assorted relics and detritus on the open bottom floor. No sign of Dino, but no sign of any of his fellows, either.

“What’s a guy gotta do for some decent conversation around here?” he calls out in the crankiest voice he could muster.

There’s a pause, the scrape of chair legs across the floor, a leisurely tap. tap. tap. of footsteps before Dino’s form appears, smug as ever, hands tucked in his pockets.

Nick was right. The man hasn’t a single damn clue. And there’s no movement in the rest of the room that he can see.

Nick composes his expression into something he hopes is monumentally unimpressed. Not that this particularly pugnacious foe is difficult to goad. “You’re still here? Ah, and here I was hoping for something civil.”

“What’s the matter, Valentine?” Dino jeers. “Ya gettin’ bored? Want a snack?”

He rolls his cigarette between three fingertips, considers it briefly while he speaks. “Dino, you and I both know the only appetizer with which you’re familiar is a knuckle sandwich. And not a particularly good one, I’d wager.”

No dice. The man doesn’t spare a glance toward the object of temptation. Not a smoker. But at least he loves to hear himself talk.

“Naw, don’t be sore about Darla givin’ you what-for. The leg still in three pieces? Ya lookin’ to own a matchin’ set, that it?”

Nick doesn’t have to look directly at a certain door across the room to see it open as the goon chatters on, oblivious. Now or never. He can use the threats and the topic of Darla to pull the ace from his sleeve: an important morsel of information he’s kept in mind from years past, about a certain little black book belonging to a certain ironically named mob boss, and the nature of the names written within back then. It’s sure to keep his attention, at the very least.

Nick opens his mouth and Dino’s blood and brains explode across the window with a crack. His body flops to the ground.

“Christ,” he sighs quietly to himself. Well, that’s one way to solve a problem. He looks to the proffered smoke in his hand, what could have been a peace offering, and at that turn of events finally lights it up with a few flicks of his lighter. He raises it in a silent salute. So long, Dino, you sorry jackass.

His imprisonment, it seems, is finally coming to an end one way or another. Whether what’s next is better or worse remains to be seen.

It’s quiet outside, and difficult to see through the red painting most of the glass. Only the faintest shuffling; steps on the stairs. Detectable only through the echo it sends through the room.

Though weaponless, Nick Valentine readies himself. Come what may.

And still he could not have prepared for the face that pops into the window, peering around the gore.

“Nicky,” Piper chides with a relieved grin, “we gotta stop meeting like this.”

“Piper?” He manages to keep his composure though the revelation could have bowled him over. Piper lead the charge into a vault through what must have been dozens of mobsters, and survived? She’s a decent shot, but running and gunning isn’t typically her style. And last he knew, she was on an extended investigation in Southie. He gives an astounded chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m always happy to see your face, Ms. Wright, but never more than in this moment.” There’s a flash of movement behind her, a single person rushing past.

“And you look like hell,” Piper replies with a brief glance spared toward the terminal barring his exit. “Geez, Nick, what’d they do to you?” At this she looks genuinely disturbed, eyes lingering on oil stains and fresh damage to his jaw. Not even the worst of it, since she can’t see the torn pant leg. One of his best pairs, of course.

He waves away the concern with a tap of his cigarette, dispensing flakes of ash to tumble through the air before returning it to its perch between his lips. “I’ll be fine, as long as you get me the hell out of here. Boredom is the mind-killer, Piper, and the amenities here are somewhat lacking.”

Before she can reply there’s a faint beep from the terminal, cracked in record time, and a muffled, indistinct voice. Piper’s visage disappears from the window, and he follows suit.

Nick stands a few feet back as the door hisses open, but his reporter friend isn’t the one it unveils.

The woman standing in the doorway, light pouring around her into the dim office, seems more a vision than something of this grim reality. An ancient kind of beauty, something that peers out of a magazine, something from so long ago that it might as well have been from a different world altogether.

Strangely familiar. The kind of beauty that has gone long extinct.

It’s not even the measure of her looks, necessarily. It’s the particular quality, from the neatness of her brows to her unblemished skin all the way down to the way she’s tied off her button down above the waist of her jeans, making a hundredfold hand-me-down look like the height of fashion. A faded red is even detectable staining her lips.

The only things anchoring her in this world are the grime on her clothes, the threadbare patches, the submachine gun cradled in the crook of a lightly bandaged arm that also bears a near-pristine Pip-Boy. The way a few runaway brown curls have escaped her ponytail to cling to the sheen on her neck. And then the blood flecking her shirt. Some of these don’t seem to suit her, but actually a few kind of add to her charm.

And when she in turn first sees him, those blue eyes narrow inquisitively, as if discerning something.

That specific look sparks something buried deep, a fish nibbling at the surface of a murky, neglected pond. Nick starts to shuffle through the filing cabinet that is his memory, searching.

Whatever she was looking for, she finds it fast. Disbelief relaxes her eyes and she gives a half-laugh, mouth slanted in awe. Shouldn’t those lips of hers be painted a dusty rose?

“Detective Valentine,” she greets, like she knows him. Her voice, low but soft and suited for late-night radio, is definitely colored with recognition.

Recognition…something about that voice…

A hand curls to prop itself on a protruding hip, and those nails should be jewel-toned, and longer, and not chipped.

A sense of unreality instantly descends over him. Or it would if not, he suspects, for the fact that his synapses are synthetic. It hasn’t escaped his notice these past decades that he owes his sustained sanity to his mechanical body.

“Holy Hell,” Nick says eloquently, and the cigarette drops right back out of his mouth to scatter sparks on the floor, forgotten because he has remembered. The sleek skirt and heels, a courteous smile but decisive questions. The daily impeccable cascade of side-parted waves. The bands of brown around her pupils, islands nestled in the blue.

All of a sudden, he’s not the only specter of the 21st century.

“Montgomery,” is the name that finds its way to his mouth, a lightbulb beginning to flicker on behind his optics, the years flipping all the way back to the earliest files in the cabinet. What was her na—? “Natalia,” he says in revelation, sure this time. “The hit-and-run in front of Castello’s.” A shake of his head. “How the hell are you alive?” And—he doesn’t voice this thought—still in the condition you’re in?

“Whoa,” Piper answers in her stead, looking between them in bafflement, “whoa, whoa, hold on. You know each other? You didn’t say you knew each other.”

The woman opens her mouth, hesitates. “What you had said, I—I just didn’t think it could possibly…”

“Well, well,” chimes in another familiar voice from down the walkway, albeit this one with the tonal quality of sandpaper in a box of rocks. “200 years and the gals still chase after ya. And I thought I had game.”

It effectively broke the spell over the impromptu reunion and Nick follows that voice outside to meet the rest of the crazy crew they’d gathered. And in terms of mugs he wasn’t expecting to see today, on a scale of Piper Wright to Natalia Montgomery the glazed eyes and beef-jerky complexion of one John Hancock ranks somewhere right under halfway. The ghoul stands at the railing, frock coat, tricorn, and all, a double-barrel resting against his shoulder in a deceptively casual manner. The pale lenses of his eyes occasionally rove the floors below, keeping a sharp look out despite all appearances.

“Ah, Mr. Mayor,” Nick says at the sight. Not often you see him outside of his domain, but this perilous endeavor made a hell of a lot more sense now. He knew Hancock to be more than slightly insane on his best days. “Well, I guess now there’s no use asking who popped our friend Dino, here.” His optics stray to the body between them, the pooling blood just now slowing to a crawl. Shame about the suit.

“What can I say,” Hancock replies with a vicious nonchalance, suddenly producing a 10mm from his coat and spinning it once around his trigger finger. “I don’t take kindly to people threatening friends of mine.” He smiles. “I’m considering us even now.”

Nick eyes him with some skepticism as he steps to the body of Dino to see if he couldn’t secure a weapon of his own. His revolver is surely a lost cause by now, stashed somewhere in the depths of the vault. “You would.”

The ghoul flips the pistol once more, offering the grip towards the old-but-newcomer, and Montgomery takes it with a degree of uncertainty. “Thanks for the loan, doll.”

There’s a handgun in the waistband at Dino’s back and Nick slips it free. An aging Mauser in remarkable condition, with its slim protruding barrel and boxy magazine. A similar enough profile that it should fit the shoulder holster beneath his coat. He pulls back the hammer and checks the magazine. 9mm is rather rare in the Commonwealth, but with the firepower surrounding him, it’ll do for now. Gun like this shouldn’t go to waste, in any case. It must have cost a fortune. Or a life.

Nick looks to the grisly corpse below him. Well. Two lives, now.

Lastly, he checks the man’s pockets for extra ammunition and comes up with three clips in one and in the other, a familiar rectangular silhouette. “Ah,” he says as he pulls out the cigarettes and gives the pack a shake. More than just a few. Dino was holding out on him, the rascal. “No wonder. Cheers, pal,” he adds in farewell before finally standing to rejoin his rescue party.

With most of their greetings over with an uneasy quiet had settled over the group, each holding their weapon ready with varying degrees of confidence. The only expression visibly flagging was that of his former acquaintance, the ex-lawyer. This is new to her; the shooting, the blood, the death. He’s seen a similar look on more than one Vault Dweller, not to mention a certain wearable computer. Really, it was as if their last acquaintance couldn’t have been all that long ago.

Mysteries abound.

Nick looks to the other two in turn. That accounts for two pistols and a shotgun. “So, where’s the fourth member of this little get-together?”

Montgomery looks to him in momentary surprise and begins to motion over the railing with a tilt of her head, her lips parting before:

Tap-tap. A metallic knocking. From below.

“Heads up,” Hancock mutters, and everyone drops to a crouch in concert.

In the ensuing silence voices could be heard below and behind them, further away than the alerting sound, in a hall that leads to the living quarters and, naturally, the way out.

There’s a duet of clicking safety switches alongside him and they all aim towards the bottom floor and wait. With a setup like this Nick can begin to see how at least some of the mobsters didn’t stand a chance. His optics rove for any hint of the mysterious fourth individual, hoping they’re nowhere in the line of fire.

A door hisses open.

“Dino! Quit razzing that detective and go grab Simon, you’re late for the game.”

A pause.

Again, louder. “Hey! Wake up sunshine; move your ass! You two ain’t clearin’ us out this time!”

A longer pause, a shuffle. In the corner of Nick’s vision, Hancock adjusts his grip, eager but calm.

“The hell…?”

A second voice. “Well, where the fuck is he?”

And then several pairs of shoes against concrete, unhurried. At least three people.

Nick’s finger brushes the trigger. One trilby appears out from under the walkway below them, then another, tilting up—he begins to squeeze—

A boom, and blood blooms out in a fan-shaped array below them. Cries of impact and surprise.

Thump. One body.

Boom.

Two bodies.

One staggers backwards, further into room and into view, bumping into a table. “Oh sh—”

Nick pulls the trigger.

Thump. Three bodies.

They wait. The sound of a shotgun cracking open, shells slipped inside, and snapped back shut. “We’re clear. Better get moving.”

And golly, he knows that one too.

A handsome face of dark brown skin and close cropped hair pokes out from under the walkway and peers up at them as Hawthorne emerges from the corner where he’d hid. “Hey there, Nick. Glad you’re in one piece.”

“Hawthorne,” he greets with a slight tip of his hat as he stands again, “Good to see you.” With each new face, he understands more and more how they could have made it this far. Hawthorne is a talented gun-for-hire, has a steady head on his shoulders, and is always willing to help friends. A good man.

His expertise, Piper’s instincts, and Hancock’s brutal will to do whatever’s necessary make for quite a cocktail. Time will tell what Montgomery brings to the table, he supposes.

“All this for little old me?” Nick muses once they’d reconvened on the bottom floor. “Hope I’m not the one footing the bill.”

“Couldn’t abide by our favorite detective being in need,” Hawthorne grins at him. “My gran would be real upset, after what you’d done for Freckles.”

Nick pats him on the shoulder in greeting and gratitude while Hancock and Piper search the fallen, dispensing (or pocketing) ammo and caps. “We certainly can’t have that. How is Eustace?”

“Still waiting on that afternoon tea.”

“Ah,” Nick says regretfully. “I keep meaning to stop by. The work piles up.”

The man nods sagely. “Cheating husband, priceless missing artifact, getting kidnapped and held prisoner for weeks. I know how it is.”

Nick chuckles. “Oh, I’m afraid I walked right into this one. They didn’t used to be so bad,” he says with a glance back to the bodies before he pokes his head into the hall ahead, pistol at the ready. Quiet and still as the grave. “But what changes a man more than time? And misguided affection, I guess,” he continues, mostly to himself. And grief. He looks back to his friends. “Speaking of, any sign of the man himself?”

Hawthorne gives a grim shake of the head. “Not yet.”

“Still can’t believe the great Nick Valentine got taken out by Skinny Malone of all people,” Hancock approaches with jangling pockets. “This guy is smalltime. Couldn’t find his own ass with both hands.”

“Turns out trust may be the most dangerous possession of all,” Nick surmises. He glances between the others. “We all set?”

Weapons are once again readied and they advance. Nick witnesses the group’s careful gameplan in real-time, how they compensate for Montgomery’s inexperience with Piper shifting in front and her retreating behind, and Hancock and Hawthorne taking point for both of them with the scatterguns.

They find themselves in the lavatory, two groups of showers and toilets on either side of the long hall, and each room is quickly declared clear.

Nick positions himself by the door at the end and nods to the others. Hawthorne takes the other side, raises three fingers, then two, and then one. Nick hits the button and braces.

The door doesn’t move. Doesn’t even make a sound.

“Hell,” he mutters, inspecting the panel. One obstacle after another. “They can’t even maintain such an exceptional hideout? …This’ll take me a minute.” At least it’s not a tumbler lock. With the current company present, he could do without the comments from Piper about his phalange being hinge-deep in a keyhole.

“So,” she starts anyway, looking between Nick and over her shoulder at their new friend. He nearly gives her a warning look, but a different topic has her attention, for once. “About you two knowing each other.”

Halfway back down the hall, Montgomery is testing a water fountain and looking in surprise at her Pip-Boy when it fails to give any cautionary tck-tck-tcks.

“A passing acquaintance in the courtroom,” is Nick’s answer as he inspects two wires, prepares to strip them. It was so long ago. A different life entirely.

“Oh?”

“I… was a defense attorney,” the other woman says at length as she swiftly shrugs off the pack on her back, a military-issue brown canvas rucksack in shockingly good condition. There’s a name embroidered on the flap, one N. ANDREWS.

“And you were both on the same case…?” Piper asks, needling for details. She does love to hear about how justice used to function. When it actually did.

“Well, this one wasn’t typically my beat,” he says simply, and Montgomery smiles as she digs out a canteen and two stocky brown liquor bottles.

“He was the witness, actually,” she elaborates. She dumps out one bottle of not-quite-clear liquid and starts refilling them with the most precious commodity of all in their new age.

“Guy ran his Corvega into a man in front of a sandwich shop and took off,” Nick explains. “Broke a leg and fractured two of the unfortunate victim’s ribs, if I recall. Only reason Nick was involved was good timing and a weakness for mortadella on focaccia.”

The professional façade on Hawthorne’s face cracks as the man looks at him perplexed and asks, “I’m sorry, whattadilla on fuck-a-what?” and Piper gives a snort in laughter.

Montgomery’s eyes linger on Nick in silent question, probably at the usage of the third person. But it will be awhile before he digs into that particular bag of cats.

“So, what happened?” Piper looks back at the former attorney. “You defended the guy?”

She sighs, and Nick has to give a chuckle at the memory of the trial. He speaks up again when she doesn’t, apparently reticent about that particular client. Or maybe speaking of that other life at all is simply too painful. Perhaps the wound, too fresh?

“Well, the one they dragged in was practically a kid, barely twenty-one. Matching description, but all Nick had seen was a white guy, brown hair, skinny physique. Red Corvega, polished to a shine, no license plates. Fresh off a lot. And this kid—Johnny was the name?”

“It was.” She leans against the wall watching him, slight smile and far-off gaze warring for dominion on her features.

“So Johnny had a decent alibi, a less-than-decent father, and a shiny red Corvega with nary a dent or even a scratch.” He pauses in his work, lost in his own thoughts. “Even I wondered if it was the right guy. Then three days into the trial—after a couple delays—young Johnny finally takes the stand. Only, Ms. Montgomery here requests that the court allow him to testify in the narrative. The judge grants her request, she sits right back down, and Johnny is told to continue his testimony without questioning. And the kid was none the wiser that his attorney just signaled to the court that he was lying through his teeth.” He can’t help but laugh again, shaking his head. “I hadn’t seen someone crucify themselves through perjury so thoroughly. Well—he hadn’t. Nick hadn’t.”

“Huh,” Piper says in amazement, and Montgomery picks up the thread.

“He turned out to be a real ass,” she muses. “Sought out a pro bono defense to try and prevent dear old dad from finding out.” The ponytail swings side to side as she shakes her head, mystified. “Sure did pay to have his car fixed up real quick, though.”

Hancock gives a faint derisive scoff, “Sounds too complicated. Guy like that? Thinking he’s better than everyone else? Can’t imagine having to stick up for scum like him.”

“He wasn’t exactly the type I was in it for,” she admits, giving a light shrug.

“Ah, you did good,” Nick tells her, and snaps the panel shut to bring himself back to the present, so he can stop being two different people in two different timelines. Most folks involved then are dead. That particular brand of justice doesn’t matter to very many people now. And fewer every day. Damn, he finds himself thinking again, optics flicking to the earnest face of the brunette down the hall, recognizing someone drowning in grief almost as if he were looking in a mirror. Who dragged you into this mess? And: is it any better than dying to nuclear fire? “Think I got it working again. Get ready.”

“He-ey,” Hancock says appreciatively when the door actually opens and nothing jumps out to kill them. “Nothing better than a multitalented dick.”

Even Piper rolls her eyes at the double entendre, although she’d laugh at it coming from anyone else. In fact, Nick is pretty positive he’s heard her say something very similar. It’s almost a miracle they’re not friends.

They form up and move forward.

What follows is a nightmare maze of thin hallways and branching living quarters everywhere Nick looks, a guy with a gun in any shadow; many, many stairs, over which his left knee has severe complaint—and one aforementioned poker game they do interrupt, which John proceeds to pick clean, whistling.

But they do well for themselves, faring even better with the addition of Nick and his new 9mm. Montgomery tucks herself behind crates and corners and pillars and lays covering fire with her borrowed SMG while the others pick their targets off, one by one. There’s certainly plenty of .45 to spare.

But still no sign of the head honcho. When they get upstairs to the depot, there’s no one at all until they open the door to the vault entrance.

And who else could be standing there at the very end of it all but Malone, blocking the way through the vault door. His expression alone could kill, not to mention the armed entourage of three men and his new flame.

Nick holds his hand up, specifically to stay Hancock and his twitchy trigger finger. There’s still a chance, whether Skinny really deserves one or not. Darla does. Her parents do.

The tactical calculus is apparent on the mob boss’ face. They could all certainly be wasted in seconds, easily—but then there’s the old history between them, and the fact of a certain mayor of Goodneighbor. A rival of Malone’s, to be sure, but one with far more influence and power than he, especially with a vault of dead henchmen.

Not to mention the fact that Malone isn’t exactly fond of shooting women. History has proven that to be a fact.

“How could you do this to me, Nicky?” Skinny is imploring him, equal parts anger and betrayal. “Busting in to my digs? Shooting up all my guys?”

“Me? I just spent two weeks in a damn lockbox, Skinny,” Nick says, affronted. “You did that. I came here looking for your two-timing dame, and when things got violent you stood by and watched. None of this would have even happened if she wrote home more often.” He eyes the dame in question, equipped with a metal bat he’d rather not get reacquainted with. Even as the one with the least blood on her hands, she might be the genuine problem here. A real agitator, that one.

Darla just hisses at her paramour, electing to ignore him. “I told you we should have just killed him. All that sentimental crap you gave me about the old times, look what happened!”

“Darla,” Malone says in warning, “I’m handling this. Skinny’s always got things under control.”

At this moment that couldn’t be further from the truth. Nick has to make him see that. “Skinny, you’d better take a good long look at who all just came knocking. And that was just for my sorry hide. Who do you think is gonna come looking for them?”

The gangster’s eyes waver from him to his companions. To Hancock.

“My people would burn this place to the fucking ground,” the ghoul at Nick’s side says matter-of-factly. Then he opens his mouth again, and the vicious smile is audible. “Not that any of you are gonna keep me from walking out of here.”

Nick grits his semblance of teeth. The mayor’s input will be not exactly helpful, if Darla’s tightened grip is anything to go by.

On his other side, Montgomery lowers her gun in a show of faith, splays her empty hand in more an entreaty than a surrender. She speaks not to Skinny, but to the woman beside him. “Darla,” she beseeches, “your parents just want you back home.”

“That’s a load of bull,” the gun moll spits back, focus narrowing to a single point at the words. “My dad doesn’t give a damn. He was waitin’ for me to go.”

Nick has plenty to say on the subject, but he and Darla already got off on the wrong foot, to say the least. And he figures Piper and company must have done their homework and gotten their information from dear Ellie—so he keeps his mouth shut and Montgomery continues.

“If that were really true, do you think they would hire a detective to find you? They’re worried sick. They don’t want you to throw your life away. For this.” She brandishes her empty hand at the group’s earlier handiwork; a man with buckshot filling his chest. “It’s never too late to go home.”

That strikes a chord. Darla stops short, her shoulders dropping just a fraction. “I…”

“Hey!” Skinny Malone barks at Montgomery. “I’m in charge here. You got something to say, you say it to me. Unlike all of you, she’s right where she belongs.”

Nick sighs, digging in deeper. It was over. The boss just hadn’t realized it yet. “This is the road you walked, Skinny,” he says. “And it only has one destination. You really think this is how Lilly June would want things to be?”

Burning eyes turn to him. “Don’t you give me that. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You got no idea. None.”

But the name had gotten Darla’s attention, as it was meant to. In fact, it had drawn a couple of glances. “Lilly? Who the hell is Lilly?”

“No, it’s not—it wasn’t like that,” he says in a near-panic. And maybe it’s cruel, to twist the knife like this. But that didn’t make it any less true.

“Oh yeah? Then what was it like, Skinny?”

“Darla,” he pleads, “we can talk about this later.” Behind them, even his henchmen had relaxed their postures, tossing looks to one another.

And Darla just shakes her head. “God. My ma was right. You gangster types are all talk. Puffed-up windbags.”

“Wha—?”

But her grip on the bat was already loosening, and it drops to the floor with a sharp ring. “I’m outta here. We’re done, Skinny. It’s over.”

“Wait! Darla, where are you…” His own gun hangs limp at his side, and his protestations fade when his supposed sweetheart doesn’t even look back as she walks away. Finally, he turns back to Nick. “I can’t believe you would do this,” he says again. “First my crew, then you cost me my girl.”

“It’s for the best, Sal,” Nick says calmly, using a name not spoken in years. “You’re no good for each other. I thought you’d recognize the signs, after all this time.”

“Out,” he replies, thoroughly demoralized. “Get out. I never want to see your face again.”

Nick starts to walk. Past his old rival-turned-familiar face, and past the henchmen who look none too impressed after that display. They might not be sticking around, either. “So long, Skinny.”

The others follow quietly, and no one stops them from leaving.

Hawthorne lets out his breath when they’re across the dig site, part relief and part awe. “Nicely done. I’d always heard about you talking folks down off the ledge. Glad I got to see it for myself.”

Nick nods, optics straying to Montgomery, quiet and thoughtful. She didn’t do bad, herself. He always was impressed by her way with words.

“Who is Lilly June, Nick?” Piper asks quietly as he leads the group toward a service entrance, nervous glances cast over her shoulder.

“Lillian June Malone,” he reflects, hand automatically straying to the pack of cigarettes in his pocket at the memory, for his second smoke of the night. For once, Hancock doesn’t complain about him wasting it. “Salvatore ‘Skinny’ Malone’s little girl. She would have been fourteen, now.”

“His daughter?” parrot both Hawthorne and Piper, aghast.

He flicks his lighter, each strike the memory of little shoes on quarry blocks, jumping from one to the next to the next, until…

“Aw, geez,” Piper mutters under her breath, adjusting her cap and pulling it down tight. “Don’t go making me feel bad for the guy.”

“He’s made nothing but bad decisions ever since,” he says, looking up at the ladder leading topside before he starts to climb. “One after the other.”

There’s a pause, and then Montgomery’s low voice joins the conversation for the first time in several minutes. “There’s a lot of things someone might be driven to do, after a loss like that.”

From his perch at the top of the ladder, finagling with the exit hatch, he can only barely hear Piper’s low exhalation, and he looks to see Montgomery with an arm wrapped around herself. She looks lost. The sight sets his clockwork ticking with the implications.

It’s a dark, cloudy sky above when they’re finally standing in the street, but Nick is thrilled to see it all the same. If he closes his eyes, the fresh breeze feels almost like it used to.

Dawn is just a handful of hours away. Home, even closer.

“I, ah, wanted to say,” he finally starts, turning to the others, “thank you all for coming. Truly. I was sure I’d be stuck in that office until the world ended all over again.”

“Ah, quit it,” Piper chides with a gentle knock against his shoulder. “No need to thank us. I wasn’t about to leave a friend down there. You know I don’t have many of those to spare.”

“Diamond City folk should take care of their own,” Hawthorne says. “It’d be a better place for it. And you’re the one who showed them that, Nick.”

“Aaaand that’s my cue,” Hancock says, stepping away in the direction of Goodneighbor. He lifts the front of his hat with a finger, revealing more of the American flag tied like a bandana around the remaining strips of his scraggly and stained blond hair. “See you around, Nick. Welcome back.”

“Hancock,” Montgomery is the one to call before he can turn away. “Thank you for the help.”

He nods at her. “Remember our deal and we’ll be square, sister.”

And that’s certainly interesting. Nick isn’t sure it necessarily bodes well.

As the ghoul walks away, a distinct feeling strikes the aging synth. A feeling that John may have looked at how things turned out for Malone, and seen opportunity for himself and his people.

And next time, Malone won’t be so lucky.

Nick tips his hat down and turns away. Someone should make better use of the vault anyway.

Montgomery catches his attention then, as she detaches the drum magazine on her scavenged SMG and he watches her unceremoniously dump the gun in the mud, stashing the ammo. Whether the look of distaste he caught in her eyes was more at the firearm or what she had to do with it… perhaps time would tell.

One final look is aimed at the retreating form of Goodneighbor’s macabre mayor before they start their own way back to Diamond City, and Nick falls into step beside his good friend. “Piper, if I’d known I was the one getting in the way of you two working together, I would have gone to ground ages ago.”

As predicted, she gives an exaggerated groan. “Don’t start. Every other word out of his mouth just bumps him further up my list. If it was just the two of us we would have killed each other before we even got in the door.”

“Every other word, huh?” Nick ponders. “Well, it’s an improvement.” He can spy the edge of a smile on Montgomery’s face, behind the evident exhaustion now that the adrenaline of fight-or-flight was ebbing. John’s charms had clearly worked on her at least a little bit.

“I may not agree with all the guy’s methods, but he didn’t seem that bad, really,” Hawthorne was saying. “At least, not nearly as bad as I expected. Not as bad as the stories.”

“No, not you too,” Piper mourns.

The gunhand gives a shrug. “Sometimes, you need a guy like that on side. Like when dealing with an army of gangsters out for blood,” he offers, and she grumbles in turn.

They continue on in this manner for a time, and Nick hangs back a few steps to walk alongside Natalia Montgomery, mystery woman of the hour. She offers a slight smile, looking more haggard by the minute.

“I, ah, got the impression there was a particular reason you came to find me,” he says quietly, “And I’m betting the story is a long one.”

Her gaze suddenly averts to look up into the midnight sky and she blinks hard. Even in the subdued moonlight, he can see how her eyes start to shine in mere seconds.

He bets she’s been barely hanging on by a thread for a while now. Ahead of them, he spies Piper glance back for a few moments, a knit of worry to her brow. Gal got attached quick.

Finally, Natalia takes in a long, slow breath, lets it out. “Yeah. It is.”

“Bit of a walk back to Fenway,” he reasons. “How about you tell me about it on the way, if you’re up to it. That way when we get back, you can get some sleep and I’ll get to work. And then we can tackle it fresh-faced in the morning.”

A twitch at the edge of her mouth. “No vacation for Detective Valentine, huh?”

“Not when I’m needed. And I don’t sleep. One of the rare perks of this rig,” he says, motioning to himself with a skeletal hand. Besides, he’s certainly had enough idle time lately.

Another deep, steadying sigh as her arms wrap around herself, a look cast up and down the street. After a few moments she speaks, and her voice wavers like the water of the Charles. “Yeah. Okay.”

And she begins.

Nick crushes his cigarette underfoot, dispersing the last wisps of smoke into night air. He tucks his hands into his pockets, looks up at the roiling clouds threatening an early September rain.

And he listens closely to the whole, sad story.

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout 4 fic #nick valentine #sole survivor #john hancock #piper wright #mine: fic #mine: writing #fic: Natalia Montgomery #i struggled with the tags on this one sorry 😭😭#dividers by saradika! i love them so much!

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