Nickkkkkkkkkkk Nickkkkkk Nick.nickkkk

:p

can we talk about how it looks like he's drinking mckesson's rubbing alcohol????

Out of context "we should do heroin" hancock friday

HES NOT STUPID HE WILL FIND HIS TANK!!!!! I I LOVE YOU TANK COMMANDER I BELIEVE IN U

tank commander!

he has lost his tank 11 times already

I know it’s not hard to point out reactionaries hypocrisy when it comes to like safe spaces or hug boxes or whatever but genuinely how much of an echo chamber do you have to exist in for you to think this is a reasonable thing to say

look at this dude

peak animal evolutionary progress

yellow slug moth caterpillar (olona sp. limacodidae) | source

Ask me to walk on fucking water Malborn

Well fed

masterlist

John Hancock x trans masc!Reader

Description: After a scuffle on the road involving his knife, Hancock takes care of you.

Word count: 3.4K

Tags: smut!, oral (m recieving), knife play, praise kink, no pronouns used for reader but masculine nicknames (brother, good boy), no y/n, service top Hancock (or at least adjacent to it). He's whipped, bros

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of blood

Words used for reader's genitals: core, cunt, entrance

Requested by: @kin-of-kin

Crossposted on my ao3

Notes: I went for a bit more of a service top Hancock in this one. I do think he’s down for whatever, living life the way he does, but I also think he’a s big softie who just wants to take care of u and shower you with all the love he has. Smut starts right after the cut!

Also just because we’re all ghoul girlies (gn) here, I do want to let y’all know this was partly inspired by a pretty good blowbjob I gave, which was going fantastically until I suddenly got the worst bloody nose of my life, right in the middle. Ruined the mood a bit, but a funny story in hindsight. 

"So perfect for me, hmm?" Hancock's words came out half strangled, one hand trailing over to tangle in the hair at the back of your neck, still matted with blood and sweat.

You breathed through your nose, sinking further down his cock. Slick with saliva, the back and forth bob of your head was easy, the sure glide of him in your mouth. You felt him hit the back of your throat, hollowed your cheeks in an attempt to take it down better, desperate to pull as many sighs and moans as you can from him.

Down on your knees, on a leaf covered forest floor, the edges of your armor digging into your skin. It was easy to ignore, over the hum of your blood, the electricity that seemed to flow through you, the shocks of pleasure you felt every time Hancock uttered some breathless words.

Your hands itched to get a good grip on him, but you settled for holding onto his bare thighs, pants and underwear pulled down to his knees, letting you grab onto scarred skin every time he pushed your down just a bit further, digging your nails in as you choked,

You went down just a bit too far, having to pull back to gasp and retch, panting as your oxygen deprived brain tried to take what it needed. Hancock's hand grasped your hair hard, pulling you until your chin rose, so you were staring up at him, dark eyes meeting your own. Your chest heaved, you could feel the slick texture of spit on your lips and cheeks as you nuzzled his cock, shining in the low light, covered in your saliva.

Your hand moved to grasp him, but Hancock swatted your hand away gently, instead taking the opportunity to grab you by the chin, "Such a good boy for me, aren't you?"

You nodded at him through heavy lidded eyes, desperate to regain your composure and get him back inside you, whether it be your mouth or further south. His hand moved to cup your cheek, a moment so sickeningly sweet you had to swallow a lump in your throat. You tucked your wet face into his palm, pressing a soft kiss there.

"You look so handsome down there, hmm?”

It seemed ridiculous to blush at such innocuous phrasing, but blush you did, face heating up to the tips of your ears. The eye contact made you shy, so you dropped your head back down to get him back in your mouth, his hands moving to grasp at your hair again.

You groaned against him when his fingers tugged, gentle pressure against your scalp shooting pleasure down your spine. His hands eased you forward, taking him gently further into your mouth, inch by inch.

You hollowed your cheeks, finding the right amount of pressure. It didn't take long to have him groaning against you again, whispering your name between swears and grunts, fingers occasionally slipping from your hair to caress your cheek.

"Shit- baby I'm gonna–"

You felt his hands back in your hair, tugging gently in an attempt to get you off, but you did the opposite, pressing down just that little bit deeper, fingernails pinching down into the meat of his thigh.

He came with a groan, shooting into your mouth. His cock alone had made you feel full, but as your mouth filled even more you found yourself gagging again. You pulled off with a slick pop, tilting your head to the side to spit into the grass, feeling it dribble over your lips as you did.

You took a moment, hands clutching at dead leaves and dirt, breathing through the slight wave of nausea that accompanied the metallic taste that settled in the back of your mouth, the uncomfortable electric tingling of your tongue.

Behind you, you could hear the shifting of clothes, the clinking of metal. Hancock's hands on your back, that ever present worry, never able to put your welfare away.

"You alright, brother?" He asked, voice soft, his hand sliding across your lower back, skin smooth against the fabric of the shirt you wore.

"I'm good," You breathed, wiping off your mouth with the back of your hand, "Just– You know how it is. Always forget just how bad it tastes."

He snorted, hand slipping momentarily down to your ass for a gentle squeeze, "Well, you did a fantastic job, as always."

The praise, lightly tossed out there, settled in your core, spreading heat out like a struck match. Suddenly, his touch was electrifying. "Could we–" You started, but were interrupted by the rustle of trees in the distance, the hoof beats of a radstag rushing past you. In a moment, the two of you went from loose limbed and giggly to standing and alert. You dove for your gun, reloading and cocking it, lining up your sights with the noises.

Hancock was beside you, one hand held up in front of your chest, like he was protecting you, his knife in his other hand, held in a tight grasp.

You went still, deadly silent, tracking the distant shape, tucked between curtains of trees. You struggled to make out what it was, whether human or a sluggish Yao Guai, maybe even just a startled Radstag.

According to your mapping, this was unclaimed territory, avoided even by the enclave, hours from the next checkpoint. You held your breath, chasing the shape with your scope as it traveled behind trees, stumbling unnaturally, unrecognizable movements.

"Can you tell what it is?" Hancock murmured, posed to strike but waiting for your signal.

"No," You whispered back, trying to tell if the movements looked like a feral ghoul, a straggler fallen out of his group, woken by the movements in the forests. "I think we should get a closer look. You ready?"

"Always," he replied, falling into step besides you. You set a slow, creeping pace, rifle still firm in your grip, hand itching on the trigger, prepared for a sudden attack.

You weaved through trees, distancing yourself from the little camp you'd made. Its movements were still erratic, but it didn't seem to have noticed you, bouncing from tree to tree. Sure enough, as you closed in, you recognized those familiar snarls, saw the flash of red, angry, exposed flesh. A lone ghoul, clad in a dark black cloak, stumbling around, looking for who knows what.

Finally, about ten paces away from it, it reared its head, snarling. You raised your rifle, finger on the trigger, but before you could even line up the gun Hancock was in action, knife striking the ghoul's heart, torso, then with a powerful thrust, the blade pierced its skull. Dead.

You backed yourself up against a tree, scanning the ground for any other threats.

"Poor guy," Hancock mused, examining the corpse as it bled out, dampening the ground. "Do you have any winter clothes?" He asked, tugging at the cloak the ghoul was wearing, flapping the spare fabric.

Sure enough, it looked like thick, well insulated fabric.

"Mmm, maybe," You said, raising your pip-boy to check your inventory. The pair of you were on a smaller run, only two nights on the road. You had yet to make it to where you were heading, you had a parcel to deliver, some buildings to clear on the way for the Minutemen.

"Let's store it somewhere. If we spot it on the way back, I'll take it."

You watched as Hancock examined his knife, scarred fingers following the blade, cleaning the blood off it as he went. The adrenaline in your blood slowly faded, replaced by the gentle thrumming of electricity in your veins.

He yanked the cloak off the dead ghoul in a smooth move, bundling it up in his arms as he fell back in step with you, heading back towards the camp you'd made.

The campfire crackled, sending bright sparks up into the darkened sky. It was overcast, only a few of the brightest stars peaking through, the waxing moon disappearing behind gray clouds. You dropped down onto your bedroll, going through the motions of unloading your rifle, tucking the bullets back into your bandolier.

Hancock settled next to you, his shoulder bumping into yours, setting his hat onto his knee. 

He pulled the knife back out, running his nimble fingers over the sharp edge, testing the blade for dullness. You watched him through half lidded eyes, mouth salivating despite yourself. Something about seeing him throw himself in front of you without thought, even knowing how well you could defend yourself. Putting your well being ahead of his own.

He flipped the knife in his hand, the blade glinting silver in the firelight. You could almost pinpoint the moment your blood flow changed course, sending a thrum to your core, the momentary distraction quickly forgotten. You leaned your head on your palm, eyes following the blades motion as Hancock fidgeted, nails picking at a dried speck of blood. You pictured the tip of it pressed to your skin, mapping out a scratched path. Catching on your chest, your neck, maybe even delving further downwards.

"Someone in there?" Hancock asked, cutting through your reverie, having clearly been trying to speak to you.

"Hmm?" You asked, struggling to move your gaze from the knife, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

He gave a snort, a grin stretching over his face, "Never mind. What's got you so distracted?"

You puffed your cheeks out. You'd never hinted at an interest in bringing weapons into your sex life, seeing as it was plenty exciting as is, but something about the image of that knife in his hands...

"How would you feel about using that knife... on me?"

His eyes flickered downwards to where he was still fiddling with the knife, then back up at you, "Why? You thinking about going feral on me?"

You could, if he wanted you to, but, "Not exactly," You raised yourself, crawling over on your knees to climb into his lap. You nipped at that spot behind his ear, the one that always made him shudder. "Maybe you could..." You brought your hands under the hem of his shirt, fingers running over his warm stomach, "Cut off my clothes," You kissed at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, "or run the blade over my skin," you rutted against his hips, feeling the hardening bulge in his pants, "I'm sure you could find something to do with the handle."

He cleared his throat, pliant under your touch. His free hand came up to squeeze your ass, push your hips even closer together.

"You sure about this?" His voice was calm, not nervous, just a casual check in.

"Of course. I know how good you are with that blade. I know what those hands can do. Seems a shame I've never gotten a demonstration, is all." You trusted him implicitly, not only with your heart, but with your life. He could tie you up and leave you blindfolded right here in these woods and you'd trust him to keep you safe.

You bit down on his earlobe, just enough to elicit a hiss, before he turned his head and captured your mouth in a kiss. You reveled in it, the warmth of him against you, the taste of cigarettes and grape mentats.

He pulled away with a grin, said: "Well, that I can provide," the rumble of his words passing through your sternum. Then, with a quick movement, he had you on the ground, back to your bedroll, his arms bracketing your head. From the corner of your eye, you could see the glint of the blade, inches away from your skin.

Then the dull edge of it was pressed into your cheek, cold metal making you give a little shiver. Your eyes stayed on Hancock, watching his focused gaze as the knife traveled lower, pausing over the arteries in your neck, the sharp point of it digging into the underside of your jaw. When you swallowed you felt it dig just a bit deeper, not enough to break the skin but enough to feel the threat of it.

"So good for me, hmm?" Hancock's whisper was a ghost across your skin, so close you could almost reach up and kiss him. "Trusting me like this."

You were sure the wetness in your underwear had spread to your pants, could feel your heartbeat in your clit. Your fingers twitched, desperate to relieve the pressure, to rut against something while Hancock had his fun. He was on his knees, his hips just out of reach, but you thought... maybe if you shifted, you could trap one of his thighs between your legs.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I've been neglecting you," In a flash, the knife was gone from your throat, the hilt of it pressed right against where you needed it most.

You let out a little whine, hands coming up to grasp at Hancock's arms to try to give yourself some leverage, pressing your clothed cunt against the knife for some added pressure.

His smile was wicked, knowing exactly what he was doing to you, reducing you to a pliant mess in his hands, content to let him do as he pleased.

He sat up onto his knees, knife gone for a moment as he shrugged out of his coat, then made quick work of the buttons on his vest before that followed too.

The knife's hilt returned to where it had been pressing, leaving you to grind down against it, trying to find that perfect angle through your clothes. Hancock brought his free hand to your mouth, hooking two fingers into your bottom lip, "Open up for me, that's a good boy."

You did as you were asked, went about sucking them without needing instruction, tongue running along and between the digits. Once he was satisfied, Hancock pulled them out, a strand of saliva following.

The knife was laid flat to rest on your stomach as he undid the button on your jeans. It wobbled with every inhale, cool steel sending goosebumps up past your navel. Gentle hands pulled your pants down, pausing in a moment to shuck off your boots as well, the whole of it adding to the pile of his clothes.

He pulled your underwear to the side, pausing just a moment to stare, that truly reverential expression on his face that you'd never seen with any other partners.

"John," You whined, deciding he was getting a touch too distracted, rolling your hips up towards his face in an attempt to get him back on track. Sure enough, those wet fingers were quick to dip beneath your folds, teasingly dipping into that wet, tight, heat before retracting, moving up to rub at your clit.

You gasped at the contact, back arching right up off the ground, breath turning to a soft moan as he found his pace. He leant right over you, pushing back a strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes, before capturing your lips again. Some added pressure from his fingers had you groaning into his mouth, one hand reaching up to grab him by the back of the neck, pulling him closer as his tongue flitted into your mouth.

He licked into you, greedily swallowing any noises that escaped, his free hand slowly crawling under your shirt, sliding over your stomach and your chest, coming to a pause to pinch a nipple between his fingers.

"Always so wet for me," He breathed against your mouth, fingers vanishing off your clit again to dip inside you, "Hard to believe you're mine sometimes, sunshine."

"I am," You panted against him, "All yours."

You whined again as he crooked his fingers inside you, his other hand moving to play with your neglected nipple for just a moment before he removed his hand from under your shirt.

The knife, momentarily forgotten, had tilted off your stomach and fallen beside you in the dirt. Hancock picked it up, wiping it quickly off on the sleeve of his shirt before placing the tip of it right onto your sternum, held with gentle pressure.

It caught on the fabric of your shirt, your gentle rocking against his fingers, your heaving chest. The first tear made you gasp, the steel suddenly against bare skin. You watched Hancock's eyes follow the blade, could see the glint of it reflected in his black eyes. It traced down your chest, tearing through more fabric on the way down, until the entire thing came apart, exposing the entirety of your torso.

It traveled over your hip bone, catching on the seam of your panties. A quick slash, blade singing, and you're exposed to the world.

Hancock bent over you again to take a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing ever so gently against the nub on it, tugged on it with just enough pressure to meld pleasure and pain, until you're pushing your chest out to follow his mouth.

He pulls off with a pop, running his tongue along your sternum, up your neck, your jaw, right up to meet your lips again.

His fingers stilled inside you and you bucked against them, desperate to keep him going.

He pulled away from your lips to whisper against them, "Let me take care of you, sunshine?" You nodded against him, as if there were any other answer, mewling when you felt his fingers pull out. You hear the familiar sound of his belt buckle, the shifting of fabrics, and then he was pushing against your entrance, head bowed low as you gave way, the first inch of him sliding in.

You moaned against the intrusion, bringing one leg up to hook around the back of his thigh, encouraging him to keep going. Slowly, he did, sinking in with his usual care, eyes taking in every micro-expression on your face, always looking for signs of discomfort.

You had to tap him on the shoulder to encourage him to move, slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed, encouraged by your moans. It wasn't long until you had both legs hooked around his waist, crying out as he found that perfect spot inside you, hands fisting the back of his shirt as he whispered words of praise.

"Taking me so well, baby, feelin' so perfect around my cock–" He gasped as you squeezed down around him, hiding his face in your shoulder.

"God, fuck, John–" You moaned as his fingers find their way back to your clit, rubbing in time to the snap of his hips, each thrust somehow feeling deeper, the slick drag of him heavenly as your orgasm approached fast, ramming into you with the force of a pre-war train car, leaving you clawing at his back, seconds away from ripping through his shirt as well.

Hancock is hot on your heels, hips stuttering, thrusts going sloppy. You barely have the sense of mind to release your legs, letting them fall to the side just in time for him to pull out and come all over your bare stomach with a deep groan.

He collapsed on top of you, heedless of the sticky come now smeared over your skin and his shirt. You brought him up for a kiss, rolling the two of you over so that you could pull the tatters of your shirt off and use it to mop off the mess on your skin.

After more lazy kisses, Hancock leant down and pulled his heavy coat over the two of you, too spent to bother with the rest of your clothes. Your chests are still heaving as you settle into the crook of his neck, buzzing pleasantly, warm with the fire on one side and Hancock pressed against you.

Through heavy breaths, Hancock managed to pause long enough to ask, "Hey, you do have a spare shirt, right?"

You snickered, hiding your face in the collar of his coat, "Yeah, I've got one in my bag."

"Hate to have seen what you'd've done to me tomorrow if you'd let me ruin your only one."

"Mm, nothing too bad," You poked your head out to press a kiss to his cheek, "Too soft on you for that."

Notes:

My first request!!! So much fun to do, thank u for requesting and feel free to shoot me any ideas you have.

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

Goodneighbor headcanons. Because I think canon Goodneighbor is kinda...idk underwhelming?

- the Third Rail has an entire band down there, with a rotating set of acts. Magnolia is the most famous and most prominent, but there are others, the aforementioned jazz band (who also serve as Mag's backing band), a comedy duo, and the WRVR acting trio (before Rex gets kidnapped rip)

- the city's residents live in the apartments that are being taken over by the Triggermen. The reason Hancock asks you to clean em out is because they caused a housing crisis in the city, and there isn't enough room in the Rexford and Old Statehouse to accommodate them

- the food and water Daisy sells are supplied on caravans from the Slog. In exchange, Hancock sends some Neighborhood Watch members down that way to keep an eye on things, especially with the Forged moving into the iron works and quarry nearby

- Kent Connolly was an EMT prewar and serves as the very anxious and reserved doctor of Goodneighbor. Fred Allen is his "pharmacist" (more like harmacist heyo). PTSD from the bomb and following 200 years of radiation make him less than optimal at his duties

- while there are some kids in Goodneighbor, Hancock doesn't like it, and tries to steer them towards DC if they're human, and towards the Slog if they're ghouls or god forbid supermutants

- related to the above, Daisy was a school teacher before the bombs dropped and houses kids in the apartment above her store. Whenever she can, she takes orphaned human children to DC, specifically to Edna and Zwicky, and ghoul children on caravans back to the Slog

- synths and supermutants are allowed in Goodneighbor, but there is animosity. Mostly anti institute animosity. Even a synth like Nick or Glory, people who are very clearly not spies, are treated with hostility. Spies, or suspected spies are shot on sight. And Supermutants are basically treated like the synths' bastard siblings, being a biproduct of the institute's kidnapping experiments. Even if a kidnapped person survives and comes back as a supermutant, they aren't treated like a brother coming home, but as a shadow of their former selves

- Goodneighbor is a safe haven for railroad members, as in the Neighborhood Watch won't kill them, but the "stealth and secrets" style of Deacon and some of the others puts Hancock on edge. He wants them to get their business done quickly and leave

- there are tunnels leading from the Third Rail and the Memory Den to Bunker Hill, the Old North Church, and the Switchboard, but the Switchboard tunnel was destroyed when the Institute attacked. After the Institute is destroyed, the railroad tries to put that tunnel back into use and use it as essentially a refugee highway

- Whitechappel Charlie was originally the waiter at the Colonial Taphouse but left when the ghouls were kicked out. He had his voice physically changed from the standard Mr Handy British accent to a Cockney accent as protest

John Hancock would listen to the band cake.