#fnv reactions | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

danses-with-dogmeat · 1 year

Text

Crushing Companions Headcannons Part 6

Alrighty, so it's time now for Part 6 of our lovely crushing companions! (Even though not all of them are technically ‘companions’, per say. Oh well.) And I’ve already got a full line-up for part 7, but as always, feel free to request more if there’s someone you haven’t yet seen! (As of now, #7 consists of Gob, Lieutenant Gorobets, Colonel Hsu, Mason, and Vulpes)

Included Below: Boone, Charon, The King, & Nick

(So, I got a request for The King to be with M!Six, and then Charon and Boone both got M! and F! Lone/Six requests, so I made Lone/Six GN 😅, and Nick just gets GN, cuz there was no specification)

Anyways, I hope you enjoy! <3

And thanks for everybody’s patience as well lately, I haven’t been as active as I hoped to be lately, but I’ve got some good prompts on the way here and a special little celebratory event that’ll be coming up pretty soon, so look out for that!

Links to the other crushing companions posts are at the bottom as well!

Boone:

They had come at just the right time. In more ways than one, Six had come into his life just when he needed them. It was just a fortunate happenstance, that some stranger rolled into town just as he was conducting his search for the bastard that ruined what was left of his life, that destroyed everything that mattered to him.

But they’d helped him. Without a second thought, without a shred of selfishness, without pleads for payment he didn’t have, without propositioning him, Six had agreed to help him get some semblance of closure for what had happened. When it was done, he was almost… he didn’t know... It felt nice. To have a sort of explanation, to have someone to blame besides himself, and to have... a partner in something again, even if it was in finding out who was responsible for the death of everything he loved.

For the first time since Carla… Boone hadn’t been alone.

But he knew it was selfish. He was a timebomb, the explosive payment for his past crimes and sins just waiting to engulf another person he could maybe one day have the potential to care about. And yet… when they asked him to accompany them, he just… he couldn’t refuse. Maybe it was his body’s last-ditch effort to survive whatever neglectful end he was planning for it, or maybe he really did want to protect the person who’d helped him find just some shred of peace in what had happened to him. To her. To them.

It didn’t matter why, he supposed. Whatever got him out of that town was saving him. But Six did more than that. With them, he felt like… he hadn’t been saved for nothing. For more suffering. For more payment for what he’s done. They didn’t just keep him alive, they made him feel like it was worth it to still be alive. It was a strange feeling.

Their sweet laugh, coming as effortlessly to them as breathing does for most, even when it felt to him as impossible as swallowing nails whole. Their goofy, playful antics that made him feel his age for the first time in as long as he could remember. The way they danced by the campfire as he sat gloomily cleaning his rifle, the way they kicked up dust just to see the shape of the clouds that formed from it, how, despite being in the goddamned Mojave, they found strange plants and small flowers that they never failed to point out to him, that they would always try to pick to “brighten their journey.” They were frightening, with the amount of trust they had in the world, they were blissfully ignorant, but smart in the way that they knew how life was meant to be lived. Boone had never figured out that trick.

Or… he had, he supposed. He had known how to be happy once. He knew what it was like to look forward to what life had to offer, had known what it was to see the beauty in the small things, how to appreciate what he had. Boone supposed that’s why it hurt so much now, why he feels so hollow…

Feels? Or… Felt?

The smiles began to come easier when he was with Six. As meager as they are, they’re there, in his light eyes, hidden behind his dark shades, a small glint of amusement, of wonder, of… affection for the person beside him.

It took time, but it wore at him. Like a river grinding the land down to form a canyon, creating new grooves, revealing the earth underneath; Six’s optimistic nature, their infectious good mood, their genuine care for him… It wore down his stone defenses, and brought out a side in him that he’d buried deep underneath.

Boone never thought it would be possible, and even if, somehow, it was, he knew he’d never be able to entertain the thought of allowing someone in again, of caring for someone that way again. It would be selfish, it would be akin to a death sentence. A death sentence… or worse. But with Six, he could at least allow himself to be… happy, for a time.

That too was a strange feeling. But for the first time since he lost all he had, it was there. Without his permission, without his knowledge, even, but that odd sort of happiness was there. Six had noticed it too. He could see in the way the regarded him when the smallest of grins touched his lips, a bit of fondness for him, mixed with relief at his expression being something other than stern or somber. When he looked them in the eye, instead of down at the floor, or a thousand yards past them, he could see that subtle spark glinting within their irises.

To see him happy was their goal. It brought them a sort of joy that he could only understand because it’s how he felt with Carla. To see her smile because of something he’d done, it was like the first rays of sunshine after a night spent smothered in ice. It was blissful, it was like solace from every bad memory and every cold word spoken within his consciousness, it warmed him from the inside out, and he could see that same sort of warmth emanating from Six now, when he shared with them that miniscule grin he didn’t think it would be possible to muster after everything he’d been through.

...Was it possible, then… Could they feel for him what he felt for Carla? Was he… beginning to feel it in return?

If they did feel that way for him, Six was patient. It was years, it was so much time spent with only the other for company. Years of being at Six’s side, of them being at his, before they made their feelings more clear, before their affections were more than a glint in their eye and fond smile in his direction. It was clear. They respected him enough not to push or pry. They waited until he was ready to move on, to move forward and away from his horribly tragic and painful past. And that too, was what made him realize the depths of his feelings.

They waited for him. Even when they didn’t need to, when they could’ve told him the truth, when they could have pursued someone else entirely, but they didn’t want to pressure him, to leave him, to hurt him, to make him hurt himself, with all of the guilt that would surface at him moving on like that, moving on too early.

In the end, Six was… they were too much for him to bear to force himself away from. He couldn’t be without them, and they needed him as well. He didn’t want to be without them, and even knowing what he knew about his fate, what he believed would haunt him for the rest of his remaining days, it couldn’t keep him from them. Because it couldn’t keep Six from him either. He told them the risks, he made it clear that it frightened him more than anything, for them to be by his side like this… for him to have the possibility of losing them too. Of being responsible for losing them. Yet, they stayed. He couldn’t even force them away, not if he tried, but how could he try? He wanted them here. Needed them.

Boone was going around in circles in his head. More silent even than usual as he paced around the desert in search of ‘firewood’. There was never any to be found, and yet, now he was looking. He was searching a long time, desperate to find the answer to his innermost questions within the shifting dunes of sand and nothingness.

Eventually, Six called him back. With what few twigs they’d managed to find, they’d built a meager fire, and now invited him to sit within the line of it’s warm, orange glow. The still sands danced under the writhing illumination, but even with the added light, the answer to his musings remained in shadow in Boone’s mind.

“Something’s been bothering you.” Six told him as they sat by his side. Boone only nodded to them.

'Something’s always bothering him.' Boone could imagine their thoughts so vividly, it was almost like they’d said them aloud.

“Anything I can do to help?” They asked him slowly, already knowing the answer, but, as always, asking anyway.

“Maybe.” Boone uttered, much to their surprise. His eyes fell to their face as they smiled at him. They merely looked on as Boone failed to elaborate.

How can I tell them the truth, when I’m not even certain of it myself? I know I… I feel strongly about them, and it’s undoubtable that they feel the same for me somehow, they’ve made that clear enough, but… Can I really breathe the truth of it? Sentence them to a life with me, a life I know they’d be more than happy to give for me, but one they could lose all the more easily by the simple fact of me being the one to care about them… But that’s their decision. And yet... this would be me enabling something that I know will lead only to more pain for them. How could it lead to anything else? How could I knowingly force that fate on them?

A hand on his shoulder tore Boone from the swirling thoughts raging in his mind. His eyes caught Six’s. Their eyebrows were drawn together in concern, their expression was nothing short of pleading, and the light caught in their brilliant irises, emphasizing the distinct glisten along their waterline. Six was so close to him.

“Maybe…?” They whispered, gently prodding his consciousness to connect to his tongue and form words of explanation. Boone relented to it. To his urge to spill the truth, to their pleading eyes, to the insistent grip of their hand upon his shoulder.

It’s their decision. But after everything, they deserve to know the whole truth.

“Maybe… you could help me forget.” He murmured, his warm breath fanning over their lips, so close to his before he felt himself so subtly leaning forward. Forward, and into them.

Six’s grasp on him tightened, even as he heard their surprised squeak as his lips pressed to theirs, but despite their shock, they never pulled away. Not when he pressed into them, not when his hands wrapped around them to pull them closer, not when he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. They only mirrored him. Their hands found their way around him to pull him tighter to them, their lips kneaded his and they pressed forward forcefully until he felt like they were one.

Boone was never one for too many words. He even had trouble writing his feelings, had difficulty discerning them in his mind and heart, how was he supposed to just spout them out into the air? No, he said all he could with this action, with the words he did choose to speak aloud. And Six knew how to read him, how to listen and know what he was saying, without more than a glance. This certainly would be loud enough for them to decipher.

That, and they’d been waiting to hear this. Since the day he agreed to follow them, to protect them, he was making moves towards being able to move on. It was painful, and frightening and beyond difficult for a man to do such a thing after losing so much. But it was all proof that one day he could get to this point. They weren’t sure how long it would take, or even if it would ever happen to this extent, but Six wasn’t going to give up on him. Whether or not he ever felt for them what they’d felt for him so early on, they would be there for him. More than happy to help him move on, and honored to be the one to help him forget that overwhelming pain he’d been in before they met him. They didn’t always think it was possible, and of course, Boone didn’t either, but now… Now he supposed they’ll have to find out the same way they’d done everything since they met that night in the dinosaur’s mouth. Together.

Charon:

In the end, all employers are the same. They all have unique methods, but no matter what they use him for, they're inevitably still using him. Even those that have convinced themselves that Charon would stay beside them, should the contract miraculously vanish. Even those who've said they think of him as a partner, as a friend, as family; inevitably, they all wind up using him.

The ones who convince themselves that he cares for them in return are the worst though. Those under this disillusionment that he's happy being their slave. Charon isn't happy. He never is. A man like him doesn’t have that luxury.

The first taste of illusive joy that he's experienced in… what, a few decades? Came when Lone took a hold of his contract. He wasn't sure why they'd been so adamant about claiming his "devotion" as their own, but it didn't matter. The best part of that transaction came from the freedom it granted him. The freedom to destroy the monster who had held his leash for so long, who'd made him do unspeakable things, who’d always managed to find some sick joy in the way he abused his power over his slave. He had always treated Charon like he wasn't a person at all, like he never had been. Killing Ahzrukhal, without an ounce of hesitation… that almost made Charon happy. It was the closest he’d come to it that he could remember.

Charon didn't think any more would come from Lone holding his contract. As a person they seemed… normal, for the most part. A little more helpless and fragile than most wastelanders, a bit emotional, and more sensitive than most he's met. And yet, he's had employers that thought they would be different, that assured him they would never take advantage of him, they would tell him of their intentions to free him, even, if they had the chance. It never worked out that way though. In the end, they're all the same.

And Lone would be no different. He told himself that constantly. Even as they asked his opinion, even as they took his advice, when they requested he take a break, or they gifted him ammunition or food; and even when he had expressly told them it wouldn't be necessary, when they asked him to rest and insisted they would take the night watch in his place, he still managed to convince himself that, in the end, Lone would be like everyone else.

Until the day that it changed. That something in his mind, and deep in his chest seemed to shift. The day was one he'll never forget.

Charon was used to close calls, the Capital Wasteland was a dangerous place, he knew that better than most, but when those raiders had fired at the pair of them when his back was turned, when they caught them by surprise and Charon had discovered that the mad bastards had rigged a car bomb, he thought that that would have been the end to his overly long, and tumultuous life. But Lone had not allowed it.

Seeing his partner, his employer, his owner by all rights and accounts, leap into him, thrusting themself into danger and almost certain death in order to preserve his own life… it was something he didn't expect. Not from anyone. Not ever.

His ‘life’ could hardly be deemed as such. It felt, on most days, that he was more machine than man, he consisted only of what he could do for someone else, and nothing more. On his own, Charon’s life was meaningless, the ones who’d destroyed his past self in that vault made certain of that. Without an owner, without a contract, he would be nothing. But Lone apparently disagreed. And they deemed his existence important enough to snuff out their own in favor of it… He didn’t understand.

After the account, after Charon had downed the remaining raiders and pulled Lone from the car wreckage they’d shoved him away from, he felt bound to their side throughout their recovery in Rivet City. Not because of his contract, that would have forced him to remain by their side regardless, but even of his own free will, he would have stayed… That was a first.

Even as they recovered and slowly took to roaming the wastes together once more, Charon would remain relatively unchanged... On the outside, that is. Inside there would be quite the conflict raging between his temples, and within his chest he would be struggling with these… no, he couldn’t call them feelings. That’s not what they were. Surely it had to be guilt, for the way they threw themself into danger in order to protect him. That was meant to be his job. Maybe it was just his own feelings of inadequacy that drove him to make it up to his charge, but he felt that he wanted to be at their side, almost all the time now. He’d despised each and every one of his past “employers,” no matter how benevolent they seemed, how good they thought they were. To him, they were just still owners. But with Lone… How could things be so different?

Their friendly attitude and comfortability with physical touch didn’t make it any damn easier. Who was he to call them on it when their hands bumped together as they walked side-by-side, or to refuse their head on his shoulder after a long day of wandering? How could he turn them away from grasping onto him when they were afraid? Or pressing against him when they were cold? It wasn’t his place to deny Lone that. Still though, it was the first time Charon could remember allowing such contact without so much as a flinch. There was no order for him to tolerate their physical contact, no request to reciprocate, and though he hadn’t gone so far as to reach out for them of his own accord, despite this lack of their command, he didn’t want to pull away.

Though later, he’d even find himself starting to unconsciously respond to these sorts of tendencies of his own accord. Pushing himself closer to Lone when he felt them shiver, slightly extending his arm so they could better hold onto it when strange noises sounded in the darkness, leaving his hand to linger within grasping distance, rather than pulling it away when their fingers brushed his own. Even as they joked with the stoic ghoul, if one looked closely, they could see the way his ruined lips would twitch upwards, the subtle way his brow would unfurrow, just for a moment. Even he hardly seemed to notice these new tendencies of his. After a while though, they became increasingly more difficult to ignore.

One night, as the pair sat beside one another by the fire, Lone preparing their bedroll and Charon cleaning his gun, he decided to address his original question. The instance that had avalanched into these touches, these musings of something more than the relationship between employee and charge, these strange, indescribable and damn near indecipherable feelings he felt blooming uncharacteristically within himself. He needed to know why things had changed. He told them he wanted to ask them a question, he was clear and concise, no wordier than he needed to be as he briefly reminded them of that day they’d thrown themself onto the threshold of the afterlife in place of him. He could still see the constant reminders of that day, etched in their flame-ravaged skin, ironically aglow with the orange haze of the campfire.

“That day… the car. Why did you push me aside?” He finally fixed his icy eyes to theirs as they looked away in thought. There was a brief silence as they considered his inquiry, and Charon only just realized he’d been holding his breath as they turned back to him with a sheepish smile. “I thought you knew…” They said, rather cryptically. Charon frowned, releasing the breath he’d been holding through his meager nostrils, the sound suggesting a snort.

“Sorry, I just… I thought it was obvious.” They continued with a shrug, “But I did it because I was afraid of losing you.”

“... Because there would be no one to protect you.” He suggested, something deep within his subconscious screaming that he knew that shit wasn’t true. That it couldn’t just be that.

Lone considered his vocal thought anyways, shaking their head at him firmly. “It wasn’t that. I just… I care about you, Charon. I didn’t want to lose you, because I’d miss you if you were gone, I… I wouldn’t know what to do.” Lone was fiddling with their own fingers by the end of it, looking down at their lap as Charon’s brows became progressively more furrowed.

There had been some past owners of his who claimed this very thing as well. That they cared about him. Like he was their friend, or like family to them… But it was always bullshit. There was nothing to keep him from thinking this time would be any different, except… Lone had proven that they cared. Enough to bet their own damn life on it. A life they both knew was worth a hell of a lot more than his own. That was one thing no one, not in his past life, not in this current existence, no owners, no friends, no family, no one had ever done for him.

No one except Lone.

Hell, he could hardly recall a time someone had merely inconvenienced themselves in order to help him, but this? There was a reason the action had elicited such a lasting response from him. He often replayed the memory in his mind, not only unnerved by the feel of the blistering heat, the crash of his body against the hard concrete, the deafening sound of the explosion, but by the horrifying realization that he was about to lose his companion. Even more unsettling, was the realization that that was something he cared about.

How long? He didn’t know. Perhaps it had all hit him at once, alongside Lone when they barreled into him, the affection being forced into him with the same such aggression of their body crashing into his.

Or perhaps it had been festering since that first day. The one where they freed him from Ahzrukhal and told him he’d never be treated so harshly and unfairly again, building with every day they spent catering to his wants, the ones he wasn’t aware he even still had.

With every conversation where they asked his opinion, with every time they suggested he rest, or they offered him a bite of their food even when he’d assured them he didn’t want any. With the silly half hand holds and the nights spent with their head resting against some part of him that felt so oddly warm, but not uncomfortable, not like he expected. With every look they cast him and every protective wave he felt wash over him when they were in danger, not because the contract made it so, but because he was genuinely afraid for the first time in decades.

Afraid to lose Lone, like he thought that he did that day the explosion seemed to devour them and every good thing that they brought into his poor excuse for a life. He did everything in his power to salvage every part of them that he could that day, to hold together the small fragments of hope and life and goodness that they brought to him in such meager quantities by their own standards, but by his own, were worth more than all the riches and comforts he’d seen in his many years upon the earth.

He could have let them die.

He could have been free.

But without Lone, what the hell was freedom worth?

The realization was like a blow to the stomach, making him ache inside like a firebrand had been pressed to his heart.

He must’ve been quiet a long while, he realized, as Lone slowly drew their hand over his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze as their concerned expression blurred into focus. Charon blinked once as his mouth caught up with his mind, the words forming on his lips before his conscience could reel them back in.

“Me too.” he murmured.

“You… what?” Lone’s brows scrunched together as Charon’s gaze fell to their hand resting on his arm. Why would I withhold the truth from them? What could that possibly cause me to gain? His mind worked over the idea, the burning in his chest persisting to maddening degrees that ascended to heat the apples of his strong cheekbones and sear the tips of what’s left of his ears. Before he could consider what he could stand to lose, should his confession be taken poorly, Charon parted his lips.

“I was afraid.” he told them quietly, “That day. I couldn’t lose you, could not let you die… not in my place. Not at all. I wouldn't know what to do if I wasn’t protecting you.”

Their hand released his arm at the sound of his words, and Charon found himself sucking in an involuntary breath. He refused to meet his companion’s gaze, opting to gaze downward, as he was once taught to do in the presence of his employer.

“Charon…” Lone’s hand ghosted over his heated cheek, fingers splaying gently under his chin to pull his eyes to meet theirs. “What are you saying?”

Despite the usual knee-jerk reaction that another’s touch would elicit, Charon allowed their hand to guide his gaze to them. Their pleading expression pulled it from him, that, and his own overwhelming desire to tell them the truth, to say to them what he’d never felt the urge to say before, not with anyone.

“Lone, I… I don’t want to belong to anyone else.” He said lowly, the soft light of the campfire making his eyes glisten with this uttered truth. “I don’t know who I am when I’m not by your side, and… I like who you allow me to be.”

Something fluttered in Charon’s stomach as Lone smiled up at him. “I like who you are too.” They looked away, almost shyly, and Charon found himself smirking. Has anyone ever reacted to me like that? He couldn’t recall, but that didn’t matter. Just this one time, and he was hooked. Lone would look like that again if he had anything to say about it, to do about it, even. “I like that you can be yourself with me…” They whispered, and though Charon’s smirk persisted, their smile withered and faded.

“But you don’t belong to me, Charon. You don’t belong to anyone anymore.” Lone paused before continuing, and as much as Charon felt like he should refute that statement of theirs, he couldn’t interrupt.

“If I were gone, if I’d died,” They said slowly, “would that mean… would you have been free?”

“No.” He told them firmly, not entirely sure how truthful that statement was. “And I wouldn’t want to be... You can deny it all you want, but I do belong to you.”

Lone’s nostrils flared, and they opened their mouth, but Charon spoke first.

“And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Lone’s mouth closed slowly, almost reluctantly, but they seemed satisfied enough by his words. He hoped they were happy with them, because they really were the truth. The ex-vault dweller just sighed, a small smile creeping across their face tentatively as they shifted in their seat, scooching close enough that they could place a hand over his and lean their head against his arm.

“If you’re happy,” They spoke up, “then I’m happy too. And… If you say you belong to me, then I guess I can’t really argue that.” They paused after that, holding their breath, their hand tense over his and Charon waited patiently for them to continue, as they clearly wished to.

“But I do have one condition, if that’s the case.” They picked their head up and turned to face him as he looked down at their nervous expression. “I want to belong to you too.”

Charon’s brows lifted high on his head and he felt something leap unnaturally in his chest and sear something deep within him. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but those words did something to him. Charon didn’t know how to respond properly, wasn’t entirely sure if they meant what it seemed like they were saying, but if they wanted to be his… He knew he wanted that too. More than he remembers wanting anything. More than he wanted revenge, more than he wanted to be truly human again, more than he wanted to be free, he wanted Lone to be his.

Not in the way he was Ahzrukhal’s, or anyone else's, not in the way some animal belongs to their owner, but in the way gunpowder belongs in the barrel of his rifle, the way the sea belongs on the surface of this world, the way shadows belong where the sun can’t reach. It completed him, it complimented him, it just belonged. Like nature, like utility, like necessity, Lone and him belonged.

With that much decided, Charon nodded to them, and Lone smiled. It was a relieved, toothy, beautiful thing, and Charon found his hand accepting theirs as they grasped at him, and his head leaning into their own as they rested against him once more, shifting slightly to ease their body closer to his, and staying there all through the night. His eyes were locked on the persisting flames before him as the air grew cooler, and his mind replayed those words Lone had spoken so quietly over and over again, renewing that jump in his chest each time, and cementing them in his mind as firmly as the words of his binding contract.

The King x M!Six:

He just didn’t have the look. Bless the boy, but he didn’t have the look of a king. He was a right good sorta bloke, heart o’ gold an’ a good head on his shoulders. Banged up a lil bit, but who in the Mojave wasn’t? But darn it, he was no king. An’ maybe that wasn’t somethin’ so bad. All the good Six done in Freeside, he was worth more than ten of his own boys. Maybe he didn’t have the look, the black hair, the light eyes, the cleft in his chin, but he had more than enough heart.

When that stranger started doin’ all his good in King’s side of town, completely unprompted, he knew he had to have a chat with the lad. The whole conversation was pleasant. Six was… He was just good. Something The King wasn’t well accustomed to. There was always something people like Six wanted. Do-gooders don’t do no good unless they get something out of it. Caps, company, accolades, freedom to do as they pleased, no matter the law of the area. He’s seen it so many damn times. Was a real shame.

So he kept asking the man, “What is it you want outta this place?” And Six would only ever shrug. He wanted to ‘make a difference,’ he’d say.

The King’s eyebrows drew together in thought, and stayed there until the end of their conversation, but rose high on his forehead at what Six offered to help him with. The King had been worried sick about Rex for weeks now, thinking the poor hound dog was just gonna meet his end, but what SIx offered… he didn’t even know if it was possible, but he’d be darned if he didn’t let the man try.

All the time Six was away, doing his level best to find a brain replacement for King’s companion, The King couldn’t keep his mind from straying to all that the courier had said. Everything he offered was selfless; he was honorable, truly a good man in a world of sleazy, self-absorbed knuckleheads.

Six didn’t ask for nothing, even when he returned his Rex to him, when his pup was all better, like the old dog hadn’t been in ages. King would’ve done damn near anything, would've given the man time in his rooms, with all the perks that come with it, would’ve provided caps, chips to any casino, a passport to get onto the strip, would’ve given the man his own kidney for what he done for his dear old dog, but, as he was gettin’ used to, Six didn’t want a sweet nothin’ of it.

“Still just doing what I can to help out.” The boy said, with an easy smile and a small shrug. King had to wonder if there was something wrong with him.

“It may be you don’t want nothin’, friend, but I’m gonna do somethin’ nice for ya anyway.” King would tell him, even as he scratched Rex under the chin and gave him a pat as he stood up. “C’mon now. We’re gonna do somethin’ fun.”

He’d take him out on the town. The King’s way. The finest food, the coolest spots, getting waited on, having a ball of a time. Dancing, drinking, meeting and greeting, getting treated like… well, like kings. Yet still… Six was just his old self.

King watched him closely all night, looking for what made his watch tick, what made his heart a-pound, what he really wanted, and still, there was only that kindness, that obliviousness to all that was wrong and greedy about the world. It was damn refreshing to be around someone like that.

After that night… things changed. King knew it, soon as the next morning came and Six was back on his merry way, out there ‘makin’ a difference’ in the Mojave. King couldn’t keep his mind off the boy. Not like when he was out with Rex, not curious and detached, these thoughts were more… intimate. He wanted to have another night like that. He wanted to spend more time with him, to be around that refreshing attitude, to see that explosive smile light up the room like a beam from a spotlight, wanted to hear that laugh that roused him from all his own pessimism about the world, about Freeside and Mr. House, and everything goin’ wrong around him. It made him feel new. Six made him feel like a brand new man, like a kid with a ball instead of a switchblade, a dog with a rubber toy and not some discarded limb. There was a… blissful denseness to that courier, a willing ignorance of the true nature of the bloodthirsty and unforgiving Mojave, and to be around it was to be transported to the kind, sweet world that Six lived in. King wanted to spend more time in that world. Heck, he could spend all of his time in that world, and not find a damn thing to complain about.

So, every time the courier was back in town, King would be the first to know. He’d take him out on the town again, treat him to a nice dinner, or just sit and chat with him about what’s been going on. The King called ‘em ‘meetings,’ but really, he just needed to see him.

“Well… uh, nothing’s actually really happened since yesterday.” Six would say with a smile, politely wondering why, in fact, he was back in The King’s office for the third time in three days, per the gang leader’s request.

“N-nothing? Oh, right, yeah…”

He had to tell him. Sometime, The King had to mention that the reason he wanted so badly to speak to him, the reason he always finds himself back here in this office, with the black-haired man by his side, is that… Well, he just couldn’t get enough of the boy.

“See… Thing is, Six, I just… I needed to see ya. Not for a business reason, nothing like that, I just…” He sighed as Six’s expression grew more confused. “Is it too strange for me to tell ya I like spending time with you?”

It sounded so damn clunky. Nothing like how he was supposed to be. Suave, carefree, confident… But it was honest as all heck.

“I…” Six looked down at his feet, then back to King’s deep blue eyes. There was a little somethin’ extra in ‘em now, The King noticed. “I like spending time with you too, King. I don’t think it’s strange at all, actually.” He chuckled, almost nervously. It made King’s chest flutter in a strange sorta way. Not even his girls made him flutter like that…

“Well, that’s mighty fine to hear, Six.” A chuckle of his own escaped him, “Mighty fine…” He couldn’t tear his eyes from the courier, and without his express direction, his body scooted closer to the man in front of him, the knuckles of his hands brushed against Six’s where they were folded upon the table. Now normally, when brushin’ hands with one of his men, one of the kings, it was a mistake. He would pull away from ‘em, none too subtly, none too quickly. But this time… Well, Six wasn’t one of the kings…

He didn’t pull away. And neither did Six.

“Mighty fine?” Six chuckled, almost nervously, and his hands scooted further forward on the table, allowing King’s to engulf them.

“Yeah…” King’s brain was filled with fog and fizz and a million other things. He couldn’t see a dang thing in there, couldn’t see common sense, nor self-awareness, nor inhibition. He was too focused on Six.

The man who was good. Who was kind, selfless, good-hearted, who didn’t have the look of a king, but only because he looked like nothing the old gang leader had ever seen. A smile that made him ache like a hot-blooded teenager, eyes so bright and full that he could get lost in them, a touch that made him shiver with electricity, like all the neon in New Vegas. The courier captured his attentions just as easy as the bright, wild town, but it kept ahold of them like nothin’ he’d ever seen nor felt. Maybe this path wasn’t right for them, for him. He’s just an old gang leader, after all. Six wasn’t… wasn’t what was expected of him, and he sure as heck wasn’t the obvious choice for someone like Six, but… Even if it meant a surefire trip on a one-way road that lead straight to Heartbreak hotel, The King couldn’t take his eyes off the man in front of him. He couldn’t draw his hands away, and when he found himself leaning forward across the table, tilting his head, closing his eyes only to better feel the touch he was about to initiate, he couldn’t stop himself.

And Six couldn’t pull away neither.

If the courier’s hand in his was like lightning, his kiss was an atom bomb. It was explosive, it was warm, and it turned all else to ash. Every thought against this, every inner prejudice, every uncertainty, any fear of anything, of rejection, or commitment, of his own feelings overwhelming him, as they often seem to. It was all cast away, and just the feeling of him was etched into the walls of his mind, like the shadow of the man himself. The King reveled in it, like he was tasting a sweet song, and Six gave his thunderous applause in return, the delectable praise of reciprocation that left The King wanting.

“Golly geeze, Mary and Joseph, Six.” King whispered as he pulled away, just far enough that their noses were still brushing. “I hadn’t meant for it to go so far… But I honestly say I can’t regret it.”

Six smiled at him. His face was flushed, his eyes still that startling bright. “You know, King... I can’t say I do either. That was...”

King smiled at that, a beaming, broad thing that showed all his pearly whites and crinkled those blue eyes.

“Mighty fine?” He suggested with a chuckle.

“Yeah...Mighty fine...” Six laughed, a sound like soft bells or a finely-tuned piano. The King sure could get used to a sound like that, to a feeling like this one that Six inspires in him. Like music to his ears and a song in his heart. For the first time since he’d met the boy, he felt at peace. There were no distracting thoughts and frustrations, no confounding questions, no terrifying uncertainties. There was only Six, and that little serene world he took with him everywhere he went. Finally, The King felt like he was truly a part of it. And it was just as blissful as he’d ever imagined.

Nick:

The old synth was content for it to be this way. It’d been ages since he’d had a good partner like this, and it’d been… well, never since he’d had someone in his life like Sole. He wasn’t about to put that at risk for something he wasn’t even sure he was capable of having.

Sure, the old Nick, well... he and Jenny had been a gleaming item, a gem of a pair, but this Nick had never so much as had someone to unwind with like that, to come home to, to call his sweetheart, and he’d been alright with it. All this time, and he couldn’t really complain. He had good friends, a good setup, a job he loved, now he had Sole. Nick is many things, but he’d like to hope he’s not a greedy man, and this would be no different than anything else. He wouldn’t take any more than was due, and Sole and him… well, the two had a good thing going. Why would he ever want to jeopardize that by demanding more?

But damn did they make it hard.

The way that ex-vault dweller looked at him… Like he was a person, like he meant something to them. A whole lot of something. He couldn’t quite be sure what it was. He’s been told he comes off as quite the father figure, and he sure feels old enough to be deemed that to ‘em, but it could also be friendship, pure and simple.

But could it be more?

Nick thought he could shake away the thoughts, but no matter how he tried to distract himself from their wily and persistent charms, he never quite could seem to escape it. All the late nights spent at the Agency with them by his side, all those long days, the close calls, the hotel rooms and shallow dives, the cozy campfires, Sole wearing his coat, knocking the brim of his hat playfully, their comforting embrace after he told them about Jenny, their sympathy and their help when it came to Eddie Winter… How the hell was he supposed to ignore all that?

He didn’t want it to be too obvious, but by the time the pair of them had finally downed his oldest enemy and put that case to sleep with the mirelurks, he could hardly stand to hold it in. Their friendship, partnership was so strong, that it felt like the next natural progression. Sole was so comfortable with him, with the way he looks, talks, and operates as a detective and as a person, and as for him? Well, he knew them and their habits like the back of his own skeletal hand. Call it an occupational perk, but his attention to detail is immaculate, and Sole was no exception there. Every word sliding off their tongue, every joke and observation, every story, and he retained it like it was gonna be on a damn quiz. The way they look, disgruntled and sleepy in the early mornings, spritely and bright-eyed on the rare days they’ve had proper sleep, the way they clean up nicer than any wastelander he’s ever seen on their days in the city… Nick didn’t miss a damn thing. Some days, he’d wish he did. Then maybe he would be able to keep his big mouth shut.

The compliments he’d been so guarded with started to flow more easily, his conversation became much less measured, not that he’s ever been particularly stingy with his words, but he’s always wanted people to feel like they’ve earned his praise and his more personal information, and Sole, well, they’ve more than become truly entitled to it all. This though, the confession… Yeah, that might well be taking it too far.

He hoped it was vague enough not to hint to his true feelings, what sorta entitlement did an old bot like him have to their affections anyhow? They were already the best damn partner he’s ever had, shouldn’t that be enough? Even if Ellie says no, if Piper keeps asking when he’s gonna tell Sole the truth of it all, he should be able to make his own decisions, right? And all signs pointed to a confession like that not turning out too well for him, if Sole had any sense, that is.

Apparently though, and Nick means it in the kindest way possible, but apparently, Sole didn’t have any damn sense. They were able to decipher his meaning though. Figures. Suppose spending that much time with him’ll do that.

As with most things, Nick tried to be classy about the whole thing, as unintentional as it all really was. Synths,– well, synths like him anyway– they can’t get drunk, least far as he knows, but there was something about that night. That night at the Third Rail, the lights dim, the VIP room quiet as a bar could ever be, the air warm enough for his body to sense it, and yet Sole still pressed their leg against his where they sat together in the little sofa. He’d chuckled, a deep pleasant sound, as they mentioned Irma’s name with a cocked brow and a smile in their eyes.

“What’s your story with the sexy lady at the Memory Den? She seemed to know you pretty well, seemed to hint at something between the two of you.”

“Caught that, eh?” Nick had looked away, almost bashfully, but he’d never admit that. “Well, yeah, we know each other, sure. Worked on quite a few cases, had a couple of late nights at the office, you know.” His good hand fidgeted with the loose screw on his other wrist.

“Oh?” Sole’s eyebrows rose high on their forehead, their body leaned into his, trying to squeeze out the whole truth his words. Nick smiled at that, knowing the whole of it himself, it wasn’t near as interesting as Irma made it out to be, but… Sole didn’t necessarily have to know that.

He wasn’t sure why he was hinting like this, playing with them. Maybe he just wanted them to think he was desirable; that a human, one as striking as Irma, could have some fond… ah, intimate memories with him, with a body like his. Maybe then they’d see more than just the old hunk of metal and plastic he was sure most folks chalked him up to. Still though, it didn’t feel great to be dishonest with ‘em like this…

“Well, how well did you two know each other? Was she enough to pierce that Valentine heart of yours?” One of Sole’s fingers came up to poke playfully at his chest, and he reveled at the feeling of their touch over the fabric of his stiff button-up shirt as they laughed at their own little jest. Nick swallowed hard, feigning a smile through his nervousness.

There was leading ‘em on, an’ then there was flat out lying, and he wouldn’t do that to Sole. Odds are, no matter what he said, it wasn’t gonna change how they felt about him, how they viewed him, so he may as well just tell ‘em the truth of it. Nick took a breath, his chest feeling oddly tight as he turned his bright, yellow eyes to them and spoke.

“Oh, she was nice an’ all, still is, but no, I didn’t know her that well. We just flirted a bit, that was all.” Sole opened their mouth to speak, but Nick continued swiftly. If he was gonna do this, he best just get it done. Else he’d lose his nerve.

“And there’s only one special person who's been able to pierce this old synth’s steely heart.”

Their brows furrowed, wheels turning in their head as they considered his veiled confession. He could see every thought in their eyes, hear it like they were speaking aloud.

Jenny? No, he said synthetic heart, and that was the old Nick. Maybe Ellie? No, surely that would’ve come up by now. If it’s not Irma… Who else has he talked about? Who else has he met? Are they even still alive?

“And that, partner, is you.”

He hardly even registered the words. They left his mouth without his guidance, and made it to Sole’s ears before he had a chance to bat an eyelid, to take a breath, to consider any alternatives to just releasing the unbridled truth right out into the world for them to make swift judgment on it. He just hoped they were merciful.

“M-me?” They sputtered, pulling away from him until their bodies were no longer in contact. Nick tried not to flinch at the loss. “Why? No, how? I-I mean, how long, Nick?”

Suppose it already could’ve gone much worse…

“Oh, awhile. I, uh, sort of began to notice when we were hunting down the Eddie Winter tapes, but I didn’t–”

“It’s been that long?! The Eddie Winter– Nick, that was months ago!” The whole sofa shook from Sole’s surprise, their voice loud enough to drown out Magnolia’s song for a moment as Nick tried to predict the outcome of this conversation. At the moment, he had no idea whether it was going well or not.

“Why am I just hearing about this now?” Their voice was calmer, more gentle, earnest, and Nick’s chest warmed as they placed a hand on his arm, gripping it just enough to keep him grounded in this moment.

“I’ll be honest with you, I’m not sure. Just… never knew how you were gonna take it. Not every day you find out some metal man has got feelings for ya.” He chuckled dryly as he looked down at the floor. Sole’s lack of any sort of laughter of their own, or any other verbal response made the whirring in his head seem deafeningly loud.

“Nick.” They said it softly, their other hand reaching up to pull his chin in their direction, to lock his downturned gaze with their concerned one. “You’re so much more than that. I know you know that. And you know that I believe that. I have from the beginning, since I met you. And, if you would have told me, when you realized…”

“Sole.” Nick could see the struggle in their expression, the way, he was sure, they were trying to let him down easy, trying to hold back so they wouldn’t hurt him, and he was reminded of just how kind and selfless they were. It was one of the things he loved most about ‘em. “You don’t have to make excuses for me. I know pretty well where we stand, and I’m damn happy to have you as a pa–”

Sole’s fingers locked their grip on his chin, keeping him in place as they thrust their face forward and crashed their soft lips to his. Nick’s brow rose high on his head, but he never even considered pulling away.

He didn’t have the same type of feeling humans did, didn’t feel as easily as the old Nick did, but damn, he felt this in every square inch of his synthetic body. Not just the physical feeling of their warm softness pressing against him, the faint taste of their mouth against his, but the fireworks as they're often referred to, the jump in his chest, the whirring in his head, the electricity in his limbs, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so… alive.

They didn’t hold themselves there for an eternity, though Nick wouldn’t have minded that, but pulled away after they’d made their point firmly enough. Still though, their words after the fact were more than welcome.

“If you’d have told me right when you realized, I wouldn’t have waited so long to do that. Think of all the time we wasted…” Sole shook their head, and Nick’s expression softened.

“Well then… In that case, if you’re sure,” He paused, looking to Sole for one last moment, testing for the hesitancy he couldn’t believe was absent thus far, and they nodded to him. Vigorously. Nick smiled at them broadly.

“Then I guess we’ve gotta make up for all that lost time.” Sole returned his gleeful look, and when he pressed forward, his good hand extending out to caress their cheek and pull them closer, they easily relented, and their lips met his halfway.

Thanks for reading! Here are the links to the previous parts as well!

Part 1 (Benny Joshua, & Hancock)

Part 2 (Arcade, Butch, Piper, Preston, & Veronica)

Part 3 (Benny, Butch, & Danse with M!Sole/Lone/Six)

Part 4 (Danse x F!Sole, Deacon, & X6-88)

Part 5 (Gage, MacCready, & Maxson)

268 notes · View notes

skeleslime-phantom · 1 month

Note

Heyo, was just wondering if there was any 'if i said you have a beautiful chassis...' facts you wanted to share? been rereading the fic and am eagerly awaiting the next chapter. if you don't wanna spoil anything though, then that's totally fair!

I got a few tidbits sure!

Since the fic takes place after the victory of Hoover Dam, I hope it still comes across that my courier, Colton, and Yes Man, already have a year's worth of friendship between them.

Once Colton stepped outta that Tops Casino, he asked Yes Man to come right along. (sometimes 2 other companions tagged along, but just for a bit) For the campaign of the game (excluding DLCs) I'd say Yes Man was present for a good 85% of it! So that's a lot of time spent experiencing A LOT together.

Colton was already a robotics nerd to begin with, and getting to talk with and watch Yes Man's AI evolve overtime really endeared the ghoul. Yes Man in turn got to see Colton's empathy, negotiation, and weaponry skills in action.

There's been close calls too, Yes Man absolutely HAS saved Colton's ass before during firefights. When you're 1 guy vs 25 guys, your Securitron buddy helps even the odds.

Which is a blessing, because Colton can never tell if Lady Luck wants him dead or not.

#fallout new vegas #fnv #my fic #my writing #im sure readers already knew/figured Colton and Yes Man had some history #but i just wanted to solidify it #it's fun to roll around the Mojave with the Yes Man mod and imagine his reaction to events as they unfold!

18 notes · View notes

tinfairies · 1 year

Note

How would Fallout New Vegas companions react if Courier was dating Rotface?

Fallout New Vegas companions react to Courier dating Rotface

GN!Courier

Craig Boone

He truly does not care, the couriers business is their own.

Doesn't pry into their personal life, if they'd like to talk about it Boone will listen, it's what he's good at.

Boone doesn't understand why the courier would be attracted to a ghoul, though once again that's their business. Plus it's not like he's the one kissing that face.

Will be a bit protective, although he'd never admit it, the courier is his friend and he doesn't like seeing friends get hurt.

Arcade Gannon

He finds it odd, but he's seen so much in the wasteland it doesn't exactly phase him much.

He will ask if the courier is dating Rotface just for information and intel. He knows a lot about the ghouls reputation.

Warns them of the dangers no matter the answer and in general is a bit of a mother hen.

Arcade will never say it out loud but he likes the gossip he hears from Rotface.

Raul Tejada

Okay, boss.

He's the last person that would judge the courier for dating a ghoul, considering his own condition.

Raul acts like a protective grandpa, telling the courier to be careful. Especially knowing how Rotface likes to talk.

Doesn't want the courier getting hurt by being in the middle of something caused by their lover.

He's also kind of glad that someone would be attracted to a ghoul for more than just sex. Gives him hope that if he wanted a relationship one day, he'd be able to find someone.

Veronica Santangelo

She doesn't judge, or at least tries not to.

Being raised in the Brotherhood has its downsides, and one of those is being sheltered.

Veronica tells the courier that of Rotface hurts them, she punch him for them. She's only half joking.

She loves the gossip and "girl talk" though. Asking the courier how dates went, helping them dress up for dates, and even planning dates for them.

She says it's like a fairytale, tells the courier about prewar stories like Beauty and the Beast and the Frog Prince.

Sharon of Rose "Cass" Cassidy

Really? Okay, whatever floats your boat.

She'd never date a ghoul, but that's just her, and the courier is not her.

Cass doesn't think it's her business, and doesn't pry. Though she gives unsolicited dating advice when she's drunk.

She's just happy that the courier is happy, and if Rotface hurts the courier in any way, she'll pop a cap in his ass.

Lily Bowen

Oh that's lovely sweetheart, I hope you're happy!

Very supportive grandma, always tells the courier to have fun on dates and to be safe.

However, if the courier gets hurt in any way, Rotface will have Leo to deal with.

Rex

*sniff sniff*

Thinks Rotface smells funny, has probably seen him before.

He doesn't mind as long as he gets pets and treats from him.

ED-E

*happy beeping*

Is just happy to be here.

#Fallout #fallout new vegas #Fnv #New Vegas #fnv x reader #Fallout x reader #Headcanons #Reactions #craig boone #arcade gannon #Cass new Vegas #veronica santangelo #Lily bowen #fallout companions #tin writes #Fluff

86 notes · View notes

radioactive-reactions · 2 years

Note

FNV companions meet their Fo4 counterparts. What happens? (More specifically, What happens when Arcade finds out he’s replaced by a Ms. Nanny/Synth)

Hmm... I like it! I'm certainly no stranger to cross-game interactions, but 'F4 counterparts' is kind of subjective, given that 4 has vastly more companions. I hope my picks match up with yours!

Raul distrusts Hancock from the moment he's brazenly offered some Jet. From the get-go, Hancock is subjected to the most intense passive-aggressive abuelo act Raul is capable of- "Oh, sure, shoot up right in front of me. Not like you can mess up your brain any worse than the radiation did, hey, boss?" Hancock's anarchistic outlook, regardless of how well the self-appointed mayor-for-life actually adheres to it, makes Raul more than a little uncomfortable- but under all the sarcasm lies a wealth of genuine advice, if Hancock actually cares to look for it.

Boone is, of course, endlessly annoyed by MacCready at first. Snipers though they both may be, Boone is First Recon, NCR's finest- and MacCready is a penniless mercenary from a cave. MacCready sticks a little too close for comfort, always looking over Boone's shoulder, trying to pick up tricks of the trade... and always being stonewalled by Boone's well-practiced stoicism. It's only when MacCready lets the story of his wife and son slip that Boone begins to soften, grumbling less often at his presence and even giving him a few pointers... not that he ever says a word about the sudden change.

Veronica is leery, seeing Paladin Danse as a walking, talking, power-armored icon of precisely the kind of Brotherhood authoritarianism she's been chafing under her entire life. His hardline attitude towards synths, ghouls and mutants certainly doesn't help matters either, and if anything only fuels her distrust in the system. Still, it's not all bad- she manages to wring endless hours of fun out of the fact that he refuses to ever take his power armor off, much to his chagrin. Were she actually a member of his chapter, he'd go straight to Elder Maxson for disciplinary action... but as it is, he's forced to grin and bear it.

Cass and Cait manage to tear through the Dugout Inn's hard liquor supply between the two of them before even learning each others' names. It takes a drunken brawl, a hazy night spent ducking the city guards, and a bleary awakening in the same bed, but they're soon inseparable drinking buddies. Of course, Cait being utterly enthralled by Cass' many (slightly exaggerated) stories of hardscrabble caravan life in the Wastes doesn't hurt at all. Cass, on the other hand, gets to occasionally squeeze Cait's biceps, which is really all one can ask for.

Arcade and Curie are, unsurprisingly, fast friends. He doesn't feel 'replaced', per se, but her centuries of research experience compared to his thirty-something at times makes him feel like he's back in elementary school. Even so, he recognizes the immense value her wealth of knowledge represents, and the two find themselves chatting into the small hours time and time again. For her part, Curie is quick to realize that Arcade needs a friend who actually listens to him- not to mention a bit of optimism to break up all that self-deprecation. She's not really programmed for cheering up wayward Enclave doctors, but maybe she can give it a try all the same.

Lily finds Strong to be an "AGREEABLE YOUNG MAN" who perhaps reminds her a bit too much of Leo when he really gets going. Strong is thrown by her demeanor at first, reasoning that super mutants don't really have families... but who could turn down an offer of free cookies? It doesn't take long for him to warm up considerably, finding her a welcome change from the brutality of his Commonwealth 'brothers'. At the end of the day, Lily's just happy to have yet another grandkid- "AND SO TALL, TOO! THE LADIES WILL JUST EAT YOU UP, PUMPKIN."

Rex and Dogmeat spend much of the initial meeting sniffing at each other, each entirely unsure what to make of the other. Dogs are dogs, however, and before long they're wrestling over a stray teddy bear- Rex has the advantage, not that anyone from the Commonwealth would ever admit it.

ED-E and Codsworth have an instant, mutual animosity- Codsworth because ED-E is a creation of the wretched band of mustachioed charlatans at RobCo, and ED-E because Codsworth is a great deal too prim and proper for its liking. The two spend the bulk of their initial meeting exchanging rude stares from their respective photoreceptors, followed by ED-E wooshing away to go hang out with ADA instead. Some robot friendships just aren't meant to be...

461 notes · View notes

fertbutt · 4 months

Text

instagram comment interaction that has me reeling holy shit man

#blue cat is me obvs but its my personal insta so dont go looking for it pls #why are all joshua graham fanboys such complete losers #i know im just being contrarian and cheeky but i did not expect this reaction #fnv #joshua graham

16 notes · View notes

simplysable · 1 year

Text

My thoughts while playing New Vegas for the first time

#fallout #fallout games #reactions #fallout new vegas #new vegas #fnv meme #vulpes inculta #caesar’s legion #new california republic #ncr #daily search trends

105 notes · View notes

caracello · 9 months

Text

walking into vader's chambers and sitting down and immediately starting to explain fnv lore from start to finish with a 2 hour detour to deepdive into the moral implications of each faction and the major players of them. and then he says, "tbh caesar kind of has a point," and i kill him instantly.

#i woke up and one of the first things i saw on my dash was a meme that was (clearly jokingly) reducing the characters to a base Bad Person-#and i hhad a physical reaction like i started twitching.#shirt that says I CARE WAY TOO MUCH ABOUT FNV MORALITY.!!!#crushposting #i'm not fucking joking i could tell you what ending most of my f/os would choose with detailed reasonings i could.#making them all play fnv with me.#ftr vader would choose caesar because he's used to committing atrocities in the name of the empire and thinks caesar has a solid plan to-#ensure peace and a strong government for the mojave.

11 notes · View notes

nightingaelic · 2 years

Note

How would the companions of fnv react to the courier taking a bullet in the head and just walking it off like it never happened

You mean like in the game, Fallout New Vegas (2010), where the courier gets shot in the head 😛

TW: Blood, needles

The courier and their companion didn't spot the sniper until it was too late. The wind that had been at the pair's backs all morning turned suddenly, and with it came the distant crack of a rifle. The first bullet whizzed by and buried itself in the dirt, but there was no cover to seek, no rock to put between themselves and danger. The courier turned, sprinted over the sand, flung themselves out in an effort to shield their friend from danger - and the force of the second shot as it went through their skull sent them flying, cutting their trajectory short. They tumbled to the floor of the Mojave in a tangle of limbs, motionless.

Arcade Gannon: "Six!" Arcade was on top of them in an instant, scanning for the clean cut of the bullet's entrance and the jagged edges of its exit wound. He ripped open their collar and tore off his coat, searching the pockets for stimpaks, Med-X, anything that might be of use in this-

The courier's hand seized his arm, stilling his motions. "Arcade," they gasped, wincing as they worked out the syllables. "Leave it. I'm- I'm-"

"Don't talk." Arcade shook their hand off and extracted a syringe from one of his inside pockets. He'd jabbed it into their shoulder before the courier could resist, depressing the plunger fully before tossing it aside. "Look at me," he insisted, holding their face in his hands.

The courier's eyes were fluttering, but they stilled and came to focus on him after a moment or two. Blood was leaking down the side of their head, dripping over their ear into the desert sand. Arcade was in no way ready when they slapped his hands away, sat up, and fired a single shot toward their distant aggressor.

When no further fire was returned, they slumped forward, cross-legged. "I'm okay," they claimed, holding a hand to their forehead. Already, the flow of blood was slowing. "I mean it, just... give me a minute. You really didn't need to waste a stimpak on me."

"You-" Arcade ran his fingers through his wavy hair instinctively, forgetting that his hand was covered in blood and dirt. "You can't- that's not- how are you-?"

They shrugged and climbed to their feet, only slightly unsteady. "Not the first time I've been kicked in the head."

"That's..." Arcade shook his head, without taking his eyes off of them. Their wound was receding, fading before his very eyes. Stimpaks didn't regrow bone, not like that. "You're... that's impossible."

The courier gave him an exhausted smile. "Oh, man. You don't know the half of it."

Craig Boone: It took only a split second for Boone to drop to the ground, weigh the variables, and fire off a responding shot. He knew even before he felt the kick from his rifle that he hadn't missed, and the enemy sniper collapsed beneath their blind.

The NCR's finest shot left his rifle behind as he scrambled toward the courier, keeping low in case the attacker had a spotter that was about to take over. None did, but Boone kept glancing that way anyway, hesitant to even pop his head up. As such, he was completely unprepared when the courier's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

"Six." Boone ducked even lower and grasped their hand. "Stay with me."

"Not... going anywhere," they reassured him, before spitting some blood into the sand. "Did... can..."

"They went down. You'll be fine. We'll be fine."

The courier squeezed his hand harder. "Thanks. Can... can you help me up?"

They were already pulling themselves off the ground before Boone could stop them, and he let them claw their way up his arm to his shoulder. He shifted a bit to help them get their feet under them, but he couldn't take his eyes off the gaping wound in their head. Its red-and-white edges were familiar, seared into his memory. There was no way they would be standing for long.

The courier sighed, and they turned their face into the breeze, up to the hot sun. Boone remained silent as they opened their mouth, shivering slightly with each deep breath.

After a minute or two of this, they opened their eyes. Gingerly, they let go of Boone and felt the hole in their head. It already looked smaller. "Okay. I can manage. Let's move."

Something inside Boone's chest broke a little more. He turned back to where his gun had fallen before the courier could see his face.

Lily Bowen: Lily bellowed in rage, and the seething power of Leo overwhelmed her. No sniper could hide from a grandmother's protective wrath, and the nightkin thundered off into the sandy basin, moving at roughly the pace of a charging deathclaw.

When Lily returned some time later - calmer, dustier, and just a bit bloodier - the courier was sitting up. They had uncorked their canteen and were sipping at it thoughtfully, grimacing a bit with each swallow. They had more blood on their face and clothes than Lily, but their head wound was already fading into a scar.

"Pumpkin." Lily swept them up before they could say anything, lifting them off the ground and into a tight embrace. They hugged her back, half-squashed as they were, and only began to protest when Lily lifted their feet clear off the sand in her relief.

"I'm okay, Lily," they reassured her, straightening the nightkin's sunhat as she gently set them down. "Honestly."

Lily looked them over skeptically, raising each of their arms and tilting their head from side to side. She ran her large fingers over the crown of their skull, careful not to touch where the bullet had caught them. "You shouldn't be on your feet, dearie," she scolded.

The courier felt the scar's edges, then waved her off. "I mean it. I can walk."

Lily put a reddened hand up in the air. "Don't argue with your grandma. Pack up your things."

The courier grumbled a bit, but they began to stow away the various items they had spread out while waiting for the nightkin's return. When they were finished, they looked up at Lily and raised an eyebrow. "You know, this is just going to make me easier for snipers to see, Lily."

Lily knelt down on one knee. "And Leo will take care of them, too. Up you get."

Grumbling, the courier swung themselves onto her shoulders, settling in for the mandatory piggyback ride.

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul's attention went first to the hired gun on the horizon, and the aim of his pistols was true. When he was certain his enemy wasn't getting up again, he turned to where the courier had fallen and sighed. It wasn't the first time they had thrown themselves into the line of fire to protect him. He knew the story for practically every scar they had gained, since they'd woken up in the Mojave - but this one looked as if it might be their last.

As if to prove him wrong, the courier opened their eyes and gasped, taking in a breath of hot, desert air. Raul swore profusely and dropped his guns, sliding to the ground next to them. "Six, mírame. Sí, keep your eyes open."

"Are they..." the courier coughed, red on the sand. "Did you...?"

"Sí." Raul nodded and wiped some blood from their face. "Ay, Six, deberías-"

"I am fine." The courier spat out more blood and grimaced.

"You are not fine, you are spilling all over el desierto-"

"I am. Just slap a bandage on my head and give me some time to bounce back. Please."

Raul squinted up at the sun overhead, dismayed, and crossed himself. "Dios," he muttered, before reaching into the courier's pack for the pair's medical supplies.

As the old ghoul wound a length of gauze around his companion's head, the courier struggled into a sitting position and began to flex their joints, one by one. They were cycling through their fingers by the time he was finished, touching the tip of their thumbs to each one as if testing their fine motor skills. "Not bad," they said, clearly pleased. "Not bad at all. Took me un mes y medio to get back to normal after the bullet in Goodsprings. I'm improving."

Raul groaned and stood up again. "Órale, si tú lo dices," he said, holding out a hand to help the courier to their feet. "Maybe you should work on improving your standing with the locals instead, Six."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Oh, fuck." Cass went pale, and her shotgun suddenly felt entirely useless. She chucked it to the side and went for the courier's fallen gun, firing wildly in the direction of the sniper.

One of her shots must have snagged them, as no further response followed. Cass waited three seconds before throwing the courier's gun on top of her own, then sinking to the ground to look at her companion's devastated head. It looked bleak, red and white and pink in the worst way.

"Six?" Cass asked gently, entwining their stiff fingers in her own. "God, Six, don't check out on me now."

The courier's hand twitched, then curled around hers. They squeezed her - once, twice. A low groan fell from their lips, and they rolled onto their side with considerable effort. "Fucking hell. Ugh."

Cass grinned. "Two for two?"

"Nope. Kill me now, please. Everything hurts."

Cass chuckled. "You were wishing you were dead an hour into this trip, Six. Guess the Mojave was listening."

"Guess the Mojave couldn't finish the fucking job." The courier swore a bit, eyeing the horizon where the sniper's bullets had come from. "Did you get them?"

"Maybe. Probably." Cass began rooting around in her pack. "You need some chems?"

"No."

"Good, because all I've got is liquor." To illustrate her point, Cass pulled out a bottle of bourbon and uncorked it. "Your brain's looking a little less exposed than it was a moment ago. Want a drink?"

The courier sighed. "Unfortunately, I'll pass. I don't think I have enough blood left to help my liver out."

"Suit yourself." Cass took a swig and surveyed the surrounding desert. "Aw, look. We've disappointed the buzzards."

Veronica Santangelo: With a strangled cry, Veronica dove for the courier's fallen body. She didn't have a gun, and even if she did, she wasn't a great shot, but there was a shallow dip in the sand that could maybe hide them from view if she just-

She hit the courier's chest with a thump, and the two rolled together into the tiny ditch. Veronica's power fist came off in the process, stuck in the sand, and the courier's canteen, weapons, and a few cans of food from their pack joined it. The Scribe's hood fell down, allowing sand to fall into her hair, but Veronica ignored it and lay still, listening for more shots and groping at the courier's wrists to find a pulse.

"Ouch," the courier mumbled, to her utter surprise.

"Six!" Veronica hissed. When they raised their head in an attempt to look around, she tried to push it down again, but hesitated to touch them in case of prodding their wound. "Six, how in the world are you conscious right now?!?"

"Maybe I'm not," the courier replied diplomatically. "Maybe this is a dream, and you and I are- aw, fuck, this hurts too much to be a dream, never mind."

Despite their dire straits, Veronica rolled her eyes, amused. "Don't talk. If that bullet's still in your head, you might jostle it or something."

"Is that your professional medical opinion?"

"Do I look like a doctor?"

"Have you met many wasteland doctors, Veronica? You're basically just one step down from Arcade's usual getup."

"Sssh." Veronica fumbled around for a stimpak to jab in them, and she awkwardly withdrew one from inside her robe. She plunged it into their hip, eliciting a yelp of renewed pain from the courier. "I don't know how you're even alive, but seeing as you are, you get to help me figure out how to deal with that sniper."

"Oh, wonderful."

ED-E: In an instant, ED-E was at the courier's side, nudging their face, their hands, their chest with its front speakers. It cooed and beeped, tilting its dome around with unmistakable concern in its manufactured tones.

"Ohhhh, ED-E," the courier murmured, giving the eyebot's chassis an affectionate pat. "We have got to stop doing this."

ED-E blatted its agreement. In the bot's experience, taking even one shot to the circuitry was undesirable. Two was absolutely asking for a lifetime of functional issues.

The courier's hand dropped again, and the sniper eventually moved on. The sun began to sink overhead, throwing up a parade of warm hues that colored ED-E's shinier parts. As each color grew cooler, ED-E monitored the courier's vitals and scanned their wound intermittently. It was closing, knitting new tissue and bone in a way that the robot had never witnessed before. The courier slept, breathing evenly with the odd ragged exhale as the pain waned.

When the sun finally dipped below the desert's end, ED-E switched on Radio New Vegas. Nat King Cole was singing, and the long-dead performer's voice worked its way into the courier's dreams. "Take me out of this world tonight..."

The courier's eyes opened, and they smiled up at ED-E. "Not yet. We've still got some roads to walk, buddy."

They struggled to their feet and retrieved their fallen belongings. Together, the pair resumed following their trail. ED-E switched its light on, illuminating each cactus that they passed with curious suspicion.

Rex: Rex began to bark wildly, snarling and snapping as he turned in circles around the courier's body. When further threats failed to appear, he dropped his nose to the courier's head to sniff the wound. Blood, bone, the metallic intrusion of the bullet, but shot through with the heady scent of adrenaline.

Rex whined and nudged the courier's hand - once, twice. Slowly, their fingers curled, and they raised it to pat the wet snout that was begging them to wake.

"Good... dog," they managed, before they dropped their arm again.

Rex whuffed and nudged them again. "Sssssh," the courier urged him. "Gotta... play dead."

Rex's head went up. The unfamiliar smell that the wind had carried to him was still there. He sat down, threw his head to the Mojave sky, and let out a mournful howl.

After a few more howls, the sniper's scent began to fade. Rex watched the spot it had come from thoughtfully before rising again to lick the Courier's face.

"Ugh." The courier sat up and shooed him away. "Good job as usual, but between you and me, I'm getting really sick of doing this."

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #fnv companions #reaction request

134 notes · View notes

allekat1988 · 2 years

Text

Official half-assed petition to make Boone’s image song Citizen Soldier’s ‘Monster Made of Memories’.

#craig boone #actually they have a SHITTON of songs that would work for him #but holy shit THIS ONE #especially with the fandom’s perspective of him (as I’ve seen in fanfics and hcs and reactions)#it’s perfect #fallout new vegas #fnv #fnv boone

6 notes · View notes

alren-ki · 1 year

Note

for some fluff, 4, 7, and 13 for your choice of barb, oleander, sanja, or morrie

We're going with Ole, because I wanna talk about Ole

4: Best places to kiss on their body

The forehead/face in general, if you aim for the bullet scar you just might make them cry because its kind of the symbol of their problems connecting and communicating with people.

7: Their tickle spots

Ole's, actually not ticklish pretty much at all, the only spot that can really make them squirm at all is along their spine, everywhere else they won't even react.

13:What gets them flustered

Mean People. Their so embarrassed about it but someone who is unappologetically themselves, even (Or especially) when it makes them unpopular makes Ole blush, they don't like cruelty, no use hitting someone who's already down, but someone starts shit and you hit back twice as hard to let them know not to fuck with you? Ole is looking respectfully. (Their also a fan of physical closeness, casually grab their face and smile like you like what they see and they will be so red their hair looks brown.)

Questions from [x]

#Awled Ren Responses #Prompt Response #OC: Oleander Tress #FNV OC #Ole is such a fun character to think about because they don't have much physical reaction but their ALWAYS thinking #Their also fun because their Soooo embarrassed about their type and refuse to admit it under most circumstances #Their also contradictory as shit #This is a holdover from when they were meant to be plural lol #Now their just weird and autistic #The Autism isn't responsible for the weirdness the autism just is #The weirdness is lack of socialization and trauma brainworms

1 note · View note

everydayyoulovemeless · 4 months

Note

I just saw the arcade post and pleaaasee can we get more? Something like arcade reacting to couriers that can speak Latin/or all of the companions reacting to someone that can speak Latin. Ty!

FNV Companions Reacting to a Courier That Speaks Latin

➼ Word Count » 0.7k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Platonic/Romantic

Boone will actually pull a gun on you when you say something within his earshot. Even if it was some off-comment thing that some scholar said years ago. He associates the language with the Legion, so you'll have to very quickly explain yourself before he pulls the trigger on you. He'll hesitantly put the gun back down when you do, muttering an apology as he does so. He does feel bad about jumping the gun on you so fast, but you have to understand that it's a knee-jerk reaction from all his years working with the NCR and fighting Legionaries. He doesn't think he'll ever see the language the same way again. It only brings back bad memories, and he'll probably ask if you didn't speak it as much around him. If nothing else, then for his own sanity.

Arcade is... caught off guard? You're either from some sort of Legion territory or, you're a Follower he's never heard about, and he's terrified of it being the latter. He'll be very interested in talking to you further despite his lingering concerns. If you've learned Latin, you probably know many other things, and he'd love to find out how far your knowledge truly goes. He wants to pick your brain apart and see what's hiding underneath and would be glad, ecstatic even, to follow along with you, just to see where it'd take him. It's not every day he meets someone else who has similar interests to his own.

Raul doesn't really care, he just thinks it's neat. Not many wastelanders he meets are educated enough to be able to speak another language, and he's impressed that you managed to accomplish such a feat. Although, he does wish it could've been Spanish instead of a dead language only the slavers speak. He'll give you shit for it, but he's impressed nonetheless.

Lily doesn't understand a word you're saying and just assumes her schizophrenia is acting up again. That being said, she mostly just shrugs her shoulders and nods. She might not know what's happening, but she's sure that she'd probably agree with whatever you're saying.

Cass just rolls her eyes when she first hears you talking. Of course, she's traveling with a nerd. Don't take it the wrong way, she's not trying to be mean, but what is knowing Latin going to do you in the Mojave? Anyone who still speaks it also speaks English, so it's pretty much useless. All that time you spent studying the language could've been spent doing... well, anything else, and she thinks you're a little stupid for not considering that beforehand. It's not a deal breaker for her, she'll still travel with you, but she's definitely not as impressed as some of the others would be.

Veronica's more confused than anything. They don't speak that back at Hidden Valley, and she hasn't exactly heard the best things about the people familiar with the language. That's not to say she isn't interested in learning more about you or where you even learned to speak it. She's out here specifically to learn more about others, and you seem to be a good start. She'd even be willing to learn a few phrases from you. She's caught off guard but not entirely turned off by the idea.

ED-E will just beep back. You can't fully understand him, and he can't fully understand you. He sees this as a perfectly balanced relationship. Although a few others in the Divide also speak that language, and lucky for you, he remembers where they are. So, he has no issues guiding you straight toward them. Maybe you could be friends!

Rex is more attentive to your orders. His memories from before being The King's dog are a bit foggy but, when he hears you speak Latin, there's a part of him that remembers those words. Or, at least, the tone. Ceasar spoke a lot of Latin to him when he was under his care, and he may inadvertently associate you with the image he formerly had of him: powerful and demanding. He'll be sure to follow your orders thoroughly.

71 notes · View notes

danses-with-dogmeat · 1 year

Note

wait omg can i request joshua for the praise thing?? it's so cute i think i'm gonna pass out /pos (gn!six please)

Joshua Graham Reacts to g/n! Six Giving him Praise

Ahh yes! I'm so glad you enjoyed it, that piece was just too darn sweet to write, honestly.

Sorry it took so long to come out, but here it is! I hope you like it! 😁

Also, here's the original ask as well:

"I just have to ask you for a few characters 👉👈 Porter Gage, Hancock, Raul, Charon and Gob ack don't call me out for my ghoul loving ass just getting showered in praise. I just feel the ghouls don't GET enough lovin', they are all wonderful, handsome and great men."

And here is the link to the full post!

I'm gonna add Joshua to the full post as well, btw :3

“Joshua?” Your voice carried smoothly over the sand, through the hot, dry air. But Joshua didn’t stir, he didn’t even seem to register his name.

“You okay?” You pressed forward, craning your neck as you took a couple steps in his direction, trying to see what it was in the creek that had caught his attention so fully.

“Did you… find something?” You bent down as you reached Joshua’s side, noting the way his unblinking eyes seemed glued to… nothing. Nothing, but his own reflection, staring back with the same intensity.

The sand shifted beneath you as you settled by Joshua’s side. He noticed you, out of the corner of his eye, but remained silent.

What could he say?

How could he speak all that he was thinking, as he peered down at his scarred and bandaged face? Could he voice the way that he feels? So unworthy of your devotion to him, so confused as to why you stay by his side, so appreciative that you care for him the way you do, but so wholly afraid that if he speaks his fears, that they will come true. That, as soon as you come to your senses, as soon as the novelty of being with him fades, you will leave…

Who could love a face like mine? And more… Who could love the man that this face belongs to? A man who has done so much wrong, that his sins could only be absolved through the most violent forms of suffering? And even still… Am I truly free of them?

He did not feel it.

“I... am not worthy…” The missionary began quietly, and saw your head snap towards him as the words met your ears. “I am not worthy of even the least of all the deeds of steadfast love and all the faithfulness you have shown me.”

“What?” You asked, your brows furrowing as you shifted your body to face him, rather than the stream of water below.

“It’s a line from Genesis." He attempted to clarify, "Jacob is speaking to God, speaking to him of his own humility in response to the devotion that the Lord has shown him.”

Your brows didn’t unfurrow.

“And that… That has to do with…?”

“I’m not…” Joshua’s jaw clenched as his eyes finally left his own watery visage in favor of hiding behind his downed lids.

“I’m not sure why I said it. The quote just… came over me.” He lied, knowing full-well that the words had everything to do with you.

If I tell you that I feel unworthy of you, will that start something? Will that plant the idea in your mind that I don’t deserve you? Will you then act on that idea?

“Hey.”

He felt your touch upon his shoulder as your voice met his ears, it was light, but unyielding as your fingers clenched at the bandages insistently.

“You can talk to me.” You smiled as Joshua’s eyes opened and his gaze landed upon your face, and he wasn’t immune to it. Nor your words, and all that they promised.

Love rejoices with the truth.

“I’m humbled by you, Six. Humbled by the love you show me every day, and I feel… As Jacob did with the love of God. I feel unworthy of you.”

He felt your grip tighten upon his shoulder as sadness flooded your expression. It pained him to know he was the source of the strife he saw in your eyes.

“Sometimes it’s easy to forget who I am, what I’ve done… What I look like, when I’m beside you, but then, my reflection finds me. Then as I look upon your face, as I remember your deeds and your devotion to me, your kindness to others... I cannot help but feel confused.”

“Joshua, I–”

He continued insistently, his scarred brow hardening over the intense blue of his eyes as you saw them spark with fire from within.

“I have erred more times than I could possibly count, and yet, each is written upon me, like a shouted word, etched into my very skin for all the world to see. For all who gaze upon me to pity me and my failures, to hate my deeds and to agree that I am unworthy of compassion and repentance. That I am unworthy of happiness, and certainly, of love. They see you beside me, and they know, simply by seeing me, that I am unworthy of you.”

Joshua’s hand traveled slowly up to grasp at yours. Your eyes were wide and glistening as he gently took hold of you, and removed your touch from him.

The air was utterly caught in your throat as your partner released your hand from his grip and stood beside you, his gaze resting back on the reflection in the running water that marred his covered features even further with each ripple over the small, jagged river stones that weren’t yet smoothed over by the current.

“But it seems that you’ve failed to note this. Whether by choice, or simply because you are too righteous to see such things, you’ve still stood by me, even despite all that I’ve done, and that I am... I had to be sure you know the truth, Six. So that you can make your own decision about me, about our relationship… And you can find the words and inspiration you need to leave me behind, and to move on to better things. To be with someone who deserves you.”

And truth will set you free.

The thought sprung unbidden into Joshua's mind.

I don't feel free.

But perhaps... Perhaps, now, Six can.

Still, you sat in the sand, in shock at everything that had just left your partner, the man you love, and have loved happily for the months you’ve been together.

Where had it all come from?

One moment you’re making camp, waiting for Joshua to collect water, dusting off the fabric of your tent, laying out the bedrolls close enough to later rest in his embrace all through the night, and now he… what? Wants you to leave him?

What changed?

Joshua made a move to step away from you, to leave you kneeling there, alone, beside the river that had apparently inspired these harsh words that encouraged even harsher actions, but you would not stand for it.

You could not.

“I won’t leave you, Joshua.” You got to your feet as he paused his steps, and he tilted his head towards you, to better hear your words. To hear the justification that he was sure would be well-meant, but ultimately, unfounded.

“Why?” He whispered, and you got the sense that he was going to speak more, that he would continue monologuing until he convinced himself further that you do not belong with him, even when you know that, beyond all reason, you do.

“Because Joshua, because..." You took a breath as righteous words filled your mind, "'You are precious in my eyes, and honored, and… I love you.' That quote comes from the book of Isaiah. And it’s God speaking to Jacob, telling him that this is why men are worthy of him, and why, even if they’re not, they’re still deserving of unconditional love, even by one as divine and perfect as God.”

Joshua’s eyes were the ones widening now, and his body turned so that he could face you fully once again.

“Now, I’m not saying that I’m perfect, but… If God can stand to love you, if he can keep you here, after all you’ve been through, if he can promise you life, even after going through what should’ve meant your death tenfold, then can’t I do the same? Can’t I promise you a life with me, can’t I love and accept you for who you are, no matter what anyone else thinks?”

Joshua’s light eyes were glistening as they fixed on the sand below him, and you couldn’t help but step forward to try and draw his attention back to you.

I had to sit through your monologue of self-hatred. Now it’s your turn to listen to all the reasons your words were wrong.

I won’t have you tuning me out.

“After living a life so devoid of it, there’s no one I can think of who’s more worthy of love and compassion than you.”

You placed both hands on either side of his face, gently urging his eyes to meet yours.

“Everything you’ve done, Joshua… You’ve been made to pay for. Just as you said, it’s all written upon your body, but it’s here too.” You dragged one palm down to rest over his chest. It was warm to the touch, even through the layers of his bandages and clothes.

“And here.” The fingers of your other hand brushed over his temple, then his forehead.

“You’ve paid for it enough. With these horrible thoughts, these feelings of unworthiness plaguing you, every mark upon your skin, all the pain you feel every day. Trust me, my love, you've paid for it. Now… I think God and I both just want you to know peace.”

Joshua’s hands rose to delicately collect yours, to pull them down in between your bodies. But he didn’t release them from his grasp this time, only held them there, embracing you as much as he could allow himself as his mind still swirled with turmoil.

“But why?" He asked, "You don’t have to be with me. No one is requiring it of you; and with another, everything would be so much easier. You could be happy… Happier than I can make you.”

“Why you?” You almost laughed at him, it seemed so obvious within the confines of your own mind, the mind that was almost always occupied with thoughts of him only. “I love you, Joshua. I love how you speak to me, how you respect me and want me in your life. I love that I’m able to help you, but you… You’ve helped me more than I think you know.”

“How?” His voice was so desperate for an answer, it was almost demanding.

“Ever since I woke up from that grave… I didn’t really have a purpose. I didn’t know who I was, didn’t have anyone in my life to turn to, I didn’t have a path... but you gave me one. With you, I could help people in ways I never imagined. You were always so sure of your own path, that it inspired me to be sure of it too. To become a part of your path.”

You could feel your hands shaking where he held them between you. Your whole body was trembling with insistence, begging him to take your words to heart.

Everything about this night that the two of you were sharing once pointed to normalcy. Making camp, divvying out duties, feeling the warmth of the fire against the cool desert air, hearing the wind sweep over the dunes of sand; it was like so many other nights spent with one another. You hadn’t expected to have this conversation, hadn’t thought you’d be fighting tooth and nail to get your partner to understand how deeply you cared for him, how much you couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him, let alone ever consider it without his knowledge. But it was happening, and now this night was so much more important than all those others, because if you fail… It could be the end of all of this. This bliss that you’ve taken for granted.

You’d survived without him for months before you ever met him, you could find happiness without Joshua, you knew that, but… With him, you didn’t have to look for happiness. With him, it surrounded you.

“You have made my heart beat faster with a single glance of your eyes,” You said quietly, and even with the linen wraps covering Joshua's visage, you could see the way he softened at your words. “You made me love you more with every word you spoke. I can’t imagine who I’d be now without you, and I don’t want to.”

Your hands tightened within his grasp, and you pulled his body closer to yours as your eyes stayed locked to his mesmerizing gaze.

“Darling… in all my life, I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you. Believe me.”

You insisted, and then you leaned forward even further, and kissed him.

The thin linen obstructed you a bit, but it didn’t matter. You could feel the heat of him through it, sense the shape of his lips as they moved against yours, as they relented to your touch, and to your words. As he let you love him.

Joshua’s hands released yours, allowing you to press yourself closer to him as you felt his touch upon your hip, and around the nape of your neck. In the same movement, your arms smoothed over his chest to grasp at his shoulders. He took a deep breath in through his nose, as though he’d been devoid of oxygen until you pressed yourself to him, and you felt the warm puff of air pass through his bandages and caress your face as he exhaled. Subtly, you could taste him through the barrier, the sweetness of cactus fruit, and the tartness of the healing powder he mixed into the water he drank. You sighed into him at the familiarity of it all. His touch, his taste, his burning warmth that sometimes felt unnaturally hot. Enough so, even, that it could scar you in return.

And though it never had, Joshua hadn’t ever left any physical blemishes upon your skin from his touch, from his love of you, you were certain that you hadn’t gone completely unmarked by him. Like the words he spoke, like the thoughts and actions he inspired, like the emotions that surrounded him in your mind, his mark was within you. And all of that, all of his influence, his own love for you in return, that you felt was as permanent as any scar left upon his own skin.

“Thank you,” You felt Joshua whisper against you as you parted, but remained pressed to one another. “Thank you, Six, for all that you have given me. I… I still do not feel worthy of it, but, I will do what I can to change that. No matter how long it takes.”

“Mm.” You hummed, a grin touching your lips as you pressed your forehead to his and closed your eyes, soaking in the simple feel of him. “And I’ll be right here. Right beside you, all the way.”

You felt the outline of his own smile as Joshua leaned forward, and captured your lips with his once again.

91 notes · View notes