fallout x reader one shots

•hancock x male reader #1: pt.2•

!i will be referencing events from the first part, so go back and read it if you haven't already!
tw: references to past homophobia and homophobic slurs

My stubble was scraggly and disgusting as I looked at it distastefully in my mirror. It had only been about three days since my run-in with the Behemoth in the Glowing Sea. We had stopped in Goodneighbor long enough for my wounds to be treated to a survivable extend, but I had insisted we go home so I could check on Sanctuary. Preston had made calls and arrangements with Nick to help repair me, and today was the day I would be making the trek to Diamond City to get myself a synthetic arm. And, to make matters even better, I would have a ghoul escort.

A ghoul who was still a brash, overconfident, bumbling fool, but one who I was fond of nonetheless... even though things were tense. Hancock and I had a rather intimate moment when we were stuck in the Glowing Sea. It was just a stupid kiss -- that's what I was telling myself anyways.

Anything to rationalize the 'mayor's' behavior was good enough for me. He must have been high (he promised me to lay off the drugs at the beginning of our trip). He was trying to make me feel better (who kisses someone to make them feel better). He felt bad for me making a delirious confession in an abandoned gas station and figured I wouldn't remember (why would he go through the effort for someone who was going to forget). 

I was delirious. Hancock is just using me for a quick fuck and nothing more. Those were the only things that helped me feel better. Bile itched at the back of my throat as I remembered my pre-war days of being beat senseless for being 'some fucking homo.' 

I grasped at my wounded side, counting the beatings it had endured in my own home, high school, the army. Anyone who found my clothes 'too gay' or my walk 'a fag's walk' would inform me of their distaste for my being through a shove or a shout, anything to distance themselves from the gay kid. 

Plus, Hancock and I just acted like the whole situation never happened and we were back to being a couple of frenemies. The silence would occasionally get too loud, and our eyes would fail to meet. Or Hancock would quietly slip away from me. Or I would pretend to receive a message on my Pipboy. Anything to fill the deafening silence. 

"Hey."

A raspy, concerned voice yanked me out of my self-loathing as my head snapped around to meet a dark gaze. Hancock was leaning against the doorframe, his eyes fixed on my missing arm. I could feel my skin ignite as I realized I was still in my half-zipped vaultsuit. 

"Jesus!"

"Who is--?"

"Hancock! Get out! I still haven't finished--"

"How the fuck are you going to zip that getup with one hand?" he interrupted, halfheartedly gesturing to my disheveled self. He was one to talk about getups, but I let it slide. I hadn't actually thought about it, since I had spent the last three days in an old white undershirt and sweats from the Goodneighbor infirmary. 

I went back to fumbling with the wiry stubble on my face while admitting, "I hadn't thought of that." I paused, letting my left hand fall to my side. "I-I'll just have to figure it out."

I turned away from him, running tired fingers through my dirtied hair. Lots of sweat and grime had infiltrated its way into my scalp due to my inability to shower. Warm, textured hands pressed against me as Hancock slid in front of me. I had a few inches on him, so I was able to breathlessly look down at him as he took up the small space between the sink and my body. 

He was muttering obscenities under his breath as he slowly took the zipper up from my lower stomach. I noticed that his fingers fluttered gently around any wounds or bruises that littered my skin, as if it would kill me if he so much as grazed them. His handiwork was also marked all over my body in the form of desperate stitches, some of which had once had dried tears scattered around them. Not mine, of course.