falloutkinkmeme_backup | Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

*obligatory "Say that three times fast" comment here*

The LW/Courier dons a stealthsuit or stealthboy and gets their inner perv on either by being a voyeur or groping people for giggles.

...Or, for less creepiness, they surprise their lover with (mostly) invisible sex. Your call.

Yup, this is awesome. I second the hell out of this prompt.

Ooo, I can just see a perv f!Courier feeling up a unsuspecting Arcade. Or better yet a Boone...

Come here anon, come here and let me love you for leaving such a sweet comment...

You know what OP? I think Ima take a whack at this. Given my schedule expect something in about a week-ish.

I have it.

Vulpes hates sex. Maybe even is afraid? In any way shape and form. Anal, missionary, blowjobs/ handjobs? He hates it all, anons. Why did he purge Nipton? It was a town of whores. He's not gay, he's not straight, he straight up finds it criminal and disgusting. He's evolved, after all.

The courier finds this funny as hell. Decides to involves the whole gang in on picking on him.

Can be crack, can be serious, can have a pairing, can have him run screaming, anything you want, guys. But Vulpes is definitely unchanging when it comes to this: He hates sex.

I'm going to jump in on this action, as well. Give me a few days and (hopefully) I'll have something for you.

This is killing me because it's so fuckin' good~

I'm so glad you responded! I was in shambles without you OP! And then my computer screen broke and I was all sorts of despairing. But now, you're here. And one of the two stories I started it like this! So even more yay! YAY!

Hey all, it's not a big question that F!LW/Charon is popular, but how about a change of pace? Why don't we give another side of a relationship coin a look and try Charon and the female Lone Wanderer having something more of a big brother/little sister relationship?
Bonus points if they're not that way right away because no relationship really starts off that strong. (And this is CHARON we're talking about.)
Mucho bonus points if Charon and her pick on one another here and there like most siblings do, and whenever Charon does it at first, people promptly what-the-fuck because "holy shit that giant ghoul that hardly ever talks just made a funny".

And of course, I'd just like to see someone have fun with it. Make big brother!Charon do whatever: Play the overprotective bodyguard looming over her whenever someone flirts with her that he doesn't approve of, giving her advice for whatever is confusing her, shooting lessons, etc... I don't know, just some ideas, but you don't need to use those of course.
I will cut this off now before it becomes even more of a text wall.

I don't even know what Host Club is and I'm laughing at this. Amazing stuff anon!

Really enjoying this, A!A, and looking forward to more.

The F!LW is a goody-goody who's been fucking around with Ahzrukhal's business, shutting down chem dealers, trying to get people off drugs, etc. He's had it up to here, and needs a way to scare her off.

And he just happens to have a very tall, very strong bouncer who will do whatever to whoever.

So! tl;dr version: Ahzrukhal orders Charon to rape F!LW. Charon is appropriately horrified but still carries it out while feeling guilty as possible.

Uh, bonus points if Ahzrukhal "watches" to make sure Charon does the job right. And maybe orders him around while... doing so... like to hit her or something...

*flees, never returns to society to spare the world from their terrible kinks*

Kinks: Awesome bad-assery?
Characters: F!C, M!LW, Fallout 3 companions, New Vegas companions.
Summary: Good karma F!Courier meets her match in bad karma M!LW.
Spoilers: ALL DLC, (just be safe) and of course, all endings of New Vegas and Fallout 3.

It was right about the time she'd returned from dealing with Ulysses that she learned about Primm, crawling half-dead back from the Lonesome Road. Things had been tense around New Vegas when she had left, but she couldn't keep putting off the other courier. He had a certain way about him. Benny may have been the dick-head who shot her, but Ulysses was the man who pulled the trigger. And when she realized where he was hiding? She knew he had to be dealt with. He had more power at his command than Caesar and the NCR combined, and even less sense about what to do with it.

She figured things were looking good for both NCR and New Vegas, they could stand on their own for a few weeks while she made sure they had lives and land to bicker about. And as her lone excursions often did for her, her outlook was changed, once more. Lessons learned, roads had been walked, problems solved, the usual. Only this time, when she came back to the familiar, ancient pavement of the Long 15, something was wrong.

The smoke rising from Primm obscured her view as she returned from the canyon wreckage. She ran in to the settlement, coughing, wind-whipped and sore. Legion? This far in? No. That was insane . . . It was . . . Less clean, if that made sense. There were no neat little piles of dead bodies, there were no nicely posed heads on pikes, the buildings were not strategically looted, the raging fires she had come across looked like someone's idea of a good time, not a message to the profligates. Jackals, Vipers, even the Powder Gangers couldn't have done it. It was too bold, would require too many people and too much ammo to accomplish, especially with the town under NCR protection.

But the NCR encampment across the way? Same state. Bodies littered about, limbs separated from hosts, ammo completely gone, buildings alight. She was used to destruction. But this? This was something else. Vulpes Inculta would have had an orgasm looking at the carnage before her, if he hadn't been disgusted at the waste of useful resources.

Two people were sitting, one man staring out into space, the other staring at the first, fingering a pistol, dry-firing over and over underneath her chin, whimpering and crying. NCR. Hardened vets.

“What the Hell happened here?” She said to them, looking at the blank slate of a man who she only realized was alive after watching his chest rise and fall steadily. The woman didn't respond, just weeping and pulling the trigger over and over. Her left arm was completely missing, severed at the shoulder, still bleeding. How in Hell had she survived so long, the Courier had no idea. So she tried her luck on the quiet man.

“Sir, please, look at me. I need to know who did this. Powder Gangers? Fiends? Is it the Legion? Is the Legion here? Is the Mojave Outpost still standing? Which way did they go?” Her voice was gentle, but firm. He didn't even glance at her. He was alive, but he was gone. There was no one home.

She turned to the woman, opened her mouth to try and calm her down, and was just in time to see the woman fall over, dead, a laser burn in the back of her head. A tall woman in power armor, her skin dark, her hair gray, was lowering a laser rifle with a somber expression marring already severe features. Beside her, an even taller ghoul with what might have been patches of red hair stood combat ready with a shotgun.

The Courier had lived her whole life from one combat situation to the next, and she knew they weren't flexing. She didn't even bat an eye as she bounded back, pulling Dinner Bell from under her elbow in a fluid motion, but didn't level it toward them. The woman had been the Brotherhood's idea of mercy killing. The pair seemed to sense that she wanted to talk more than attack them. She sensed they wanted to talk more than attack her, something about that older woman's eyes said enough for her to guess they weren't responsible for the massacre at Primm.

Still, looks can be deceiving, and the Courier didn't take chances. She didn't lower her shotgun completely. Her eyes were wary. She had an old tribal stance about her, and her other hand was ready to go for the bowie knife in her boot if they so much as moved too quickly. They looked like they had the same ideas.

“I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and say you didn't do this. But I know the Brotherhood, and that isn't this chapter's armor. Who are you?” The Courier's voice was nice and even. She knew how to talk. She liked talking. If you didn't wear heavy armor all the time, you got good at it. Used it like a weapon.

The woman had a mirthless quirk to her lips that never made it into a smile.

“Star Paladin Cross. My chapter is--,” She cut herself off, looked angry, then her features smoothed out as she continued. “Was located in the Capital Wasteland. And you, are very lucky. Had you arrived moments earlier, you would not be speaking with us now.”

“Maybe. A good chance I would be, Cross.” Arrogance. She'd just come from the fight of her life with Ulysses, she was feeling cocky. A sin that might have been her undoing, but she felt like she'd earned the right to swagger a bit.

Cross shook her head, just as the tall ghoul let out an arid bark for a laugh. “I doubt it, lady. You don't know this kid like we do.”

The Courier shook herself slightly, her gaze turning hard on the ghoul. “Kid? You mean, one person wiped Primm completely off the I-15? All while just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the Mojave Outpost? Bullshit.”

Cross looked implacable and somber again. The ghoul nodded slowly, looking at Cross.

“Who are you, woman? Where did you come from?” Cross demanded.

“People call me the Courier. As to where I came from, some things are best left buried.” She didn't dare tell them where she had come from. She couldn't afford people going to try and rummage through the Divide. God, no.

Cross was not impressed with the vague answer. Neither was the ghoul.

“I'm assuming you're the Courier who was shot in Goodsprings, then. You've been mentioned on the radio. I'd rather not have to call you 'Courier' every time I have to ask you a question.” Cross stated plainly.

The ghoul kicked at a dismembered limb on the ground, and the Courier shuddered. Even desensitized, outside of combat she hated gore. The people of Primm were not nameless or faceless. Johnson and Ruby Nash were good people, honest, fair. Hardworking. The world was a lesser place without them. And to die at the hands of one kid...

“Felicity.” She said with a head tilt. “I honestly don't think I've had one person ask my name since I was shot.” She mused aloud to herself. Oh maybe a person here or there. None came to mind.

“Now maybe you can tell me who did this so I can kill them.” Her head cleared of cobwebs, she looked back and forth between the odd pair.

“You said people call you the Courier? They call him the Lone Wanderer. In the Captial Wasteland, he was known as 'the kid from Vault 101'. To anyone still alive from the vault itself? He's the Devil, pure and simple.” There was no trace of irony or sarcasm in her voice, just determination.

Something about it coming from Cross was disconcerting. She didn't seem like a terrible person. Maybe the opposite? Too soon to tell.

“Sounds personal. Both of you came all the way from the Capital Wasteland just to find this kid? I wasn't aware the Brotherhood went after criminals.” Her head tilted back curiously, eye-balling them both.

The ghoul responded with a growl. “They don't. Look, lady, we don't have time to chat. We have to get to him before he hits another settlement.”

“He does this often? Just wipes out settlements for no reason?” The Courier asked, bewildered.

Cross closed her eyes in an incredibly tired gesture. Not the physical kind of tired, either. “Sometimes. But this was not just for fun. This time, he saw us. I don't think it was that he was trying to take us down so much as make us regret following him. This was the first time in three years that we've been able to catch up to him.”

“You've been following this guy for three years? How old is he, exactly, that you've been following him so long? Why haven't I heard of this?”

“He's probably about twenty-two or twenty-three. We've only just entered the Mojave Wasteland. Everyone else who's outlived their usefulness to him are dead. Yes, entire towns included. Yes, some of them for fun. I thought we'd be ready by now, but he could have killed us without so much as a scraped knee.” Cross sighed softly, almost inaudibly. “We're going to need help, Charon.” Her eyes lifted to the ghoul.

But the Courier was thoughtful. She'd think he'd be older. It wasn't possible for a boy of twenty and two, or for anyone, to be from where they claimed to be from. Maybe an experienced, well-armed caravan. Maybe an elite strike team of the fabled Enclave, in one of those Vertibirds. No one, especially not some kid who was hardly out of his teens could make what was at least a year long trek into the Mojave from the mythical Capital Wasteland.

The Capital Wasteland was beyond the reach of even the most hardened couriers, herself included. No one here had ventured so far, save the exceptional few. The Courier herself had only been as far as Gravestone, and that had been as far as she had gotten before she found herself back in the Mojave. She wouldn't lie, though. She wanted to meet this guy, maybe see what maps he'd charted after they killed him, and see the Capital Wasteland for herself. Hell, her feet already were aching to do just that.

But he was the very reason she wouldn't be going anywhere.

“Let me help you, then.” The Courier raised her hand to stop the 'no' forming on their lips. “I just so happen to know where the Mojave chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel is. I also happen to have connections; places for you to stay, people who will fight with you, and arms like you wouldn't believe. I'm the best possible person for you to run into for help with this guy.”

Cross looked like she was desperate to say yes. But she shook her head.

“You don't understand. He isn't like other men. He took out the last real force of the Enclave and my Brotherhood chapter in one fell swoop. These were people who had aerial and satellite defenses trained on him, the most powerful weapons, armor and training. Armies. He didn't just show up here one day and started killing again, he carved his way here. He's smart, vicious and ruthless. Sometimes he'll decide you're worth letting live for whatever reason, sometimes he'll decimate entire platoons for fun.”

The Courier shook her head. “How? How could he possibly take out the Brotherhood and the Enclave? The Enclave doesn't even exist around here.” She didn't mention a certain ragtag team waiting for her call to arms...

Cross looked cold. “He has infiltrated our ranks and used our own tactics for the Enclave against us and them. He's not... he's...” She trailed off. “It won't matter. Take us to the Mojave chapter. This time, we'll be ready for him.”

“I'm not sure they allow ghouls, Cross. I don't know what you chapter was like, but these guys are pretty by-the-book. I'll have my friend Veronica come with us, but I'm not sure it'll be enough to persuade them.”

She seemed sharp at that. “He isn't Brotherhood.”

Charon looked pretty neutral at that statement. Didn't faze him in the slightest.

“Why is a Brotherhood Paladin--” Cross cut off the Courier.

“Star-Paladin. Charon has his own reasons for being here. His... former employer dealt him a hard hand. The Lone Wanderer made the single mistake of firing him.” Cross said with a sort of pride.

The Courier replaced Dinner Bell on her back. Her feet itched to get moving. She didn't need a one man army to tip the balance of an already delicate situation. “I can see that the 'Lone Wanderer' is a little bit of a shit. Anything else I need to know?”

This time, Charon spoke, all matter of fact. “He has two companions with him. An ex-raider named Jericho, and a slave named Clover. They're both as chaotic as he is, and loyal. Or maybe just scared shitless of him.”

“They sound like a happy family. The raider, I get that. But why would a slave be willing to...?” The look on their faces was grave. The Courier couldn't imagine a guy like they described as needing company. “What?”

“Clover is insane. She loves him as if he was her husband and her father all rolled into one. Jericho lusts after the carnage they make. He would never betray the Lone Wanderer and give up the power that being at his right hand gives him. They are all but untouchable.” Cross answered truthfully.

The Courier sighed. “So not only is he a murdering bastard, he's a slaving bastard as well? Is there nothing good about this guy?”

“She already told you that they call him the Devil back home.” Charon grunted.

The Courier nodded. “It's hard to believe one guy can do all of this.” She gestured around. “Is there anywhere else he's hit? Do you know which way he's headed?”

“He only struck here because he found us. These people died because he wanted to make a statement. He could have killed us but he likes the game we play.” Cross looked pained, sound as though she were repeating something.

“He'll pay, Cross.” The Courier spoke forcefully.

“Many have died saying that.” Cross fired a shot into the catatonic man behind the Courier.

“And many more will.”

---------------------------------------------------------

After ditching Cross and Charon in the remains of some little shit hole of a town, (with no working bar, the bastards,) he'd made a leisurely time of exploring the Mojave, headed toward what everyone that he'd come across wanted more than anything; Vegas. It was supposed to be this kick ass gated community. Sounded like fun, right? He thought so. He just loved forts. Really.

When he found Nipton, he knew there were some people he'd like to meet. He took one of the flags left up by a pile of bodies and made his merry way on to Vegas. He made a quiet pit-stop in Novac, and a not so quiet one at the 188 Trading Post. Jericho was enjoying his new head gear. Clover was enjoying her new dress. They just loved pit-stops with him. They always got new toys.

Sometime around the crumbling remains of Boulder, he decided he just didn't like the NCR. The land did better, in his opinion, without some nosy half-assed government stealing what little resources there were. And the farther he got into Vegas, the more he disliked the robot army of one mysterious Mr. House, who's love of order and perfection were driving the Lone Wanderer up the wall.

101 liked himself a little chaos. He believed strongly in survival of the fittest. He'd spent enough time in a sterile, utilitarian vault that he hated any sort of resembling features. He hated lifeless, blinking computers, despite having a natural talent with them. He hated councils of elected people who were held above like untouchable gods, or really, any time, place, or thing where people could squawk about their worthless, meaningless problems.

That was no way to get things done.

People needed to earn their rights, or they didn't respect them. He knew also that people who were afraid needed to be killed. They begged for help, but never worked for themselves. Like fat Brahmin, waiting to be feed. No natural defenses, always demanding something in exchange for nothing. The moment he had stepped from the Vault, they wanted something. But they never stayed useful. And no one ever just wanted to help, or wanted nothing at all. They could never just help. It was always something for something. A lesson he learned all too well.

Megaton had been his first real something for something that he had paid them back exactly what they had deserved. Because he was young, they always assumed they could make him to do whatever they needed, like he would be grateful for the guidance, as though he had nothing better to do, or his own goals to pursue.

The bomb had been the most wonderful opportunity he'd ever been presented. He allowed himself to be used for that purpose, because the people of Megaton had outlasted theirs. The Tower had remained useful for so much longer, and the neighbors were better. Especially after the ghouls moved in.

Oh he supposed there were times like that he didn't mind being used. But he always, always used them up right back. The ghouls stopped being amusing too, eventually. There was so little to be gained in the Capital Wasteland, after he picked it over. Without the Enclave or the Brotherhood, there wasn't exactly any challenge in staying, either. So he went west.

When they were a little closer to New Vegas, he began hearing more about Caesar's Legion, from scared folks, from the radio, and from annoyingly desperate NCR. He'd liked what the Legion had done at Nipton. He knew they wanted Vegas, just like the NCR. He knew he hated the NCR, and Mr. House's bloodless robots. He thought that maybe he might like the Legion by default.

They did not disappoint.

Cottonwood Cove was already right up his ally. There was order, but only in a primal, barbaric sense. The way a community should be run. They were all about survival of the fittest. The Aurelius of Phoenix liked the Lone Wanderer instantly, and they had many little chats about the Legion's firm beliefs, about where 101 came from. He had heard about Primm and the 188 Trading Post. So he gave him a little side project.

Take Nelson.

It was so easy it was laughable, but he enjoyed it nevertheless. Sometime after that, he met Vulpes Inculta, the man responsible for Nipton. He learned about a little place called Camp Searchlight and was delighted. The man was just a devious little bastard and 101 liked him instantly. A little weak, but obviously serving a high purpose... and doing it well, it seemed. Vulpes took him to the Strip, where 101 amused himself by helping the Legion out here and there. Some spies here, a bribe or two there. An awesome display of fireworks from the Monorail more than made up for the boring shit. Turns out rearming something that's been disarmed is easy as Hell.

But he was not stupid. Caesar wouldn't last. Something would have to take over that beast.

It could be fun to try.

Vulpes and he were very different, but very much the same. Whether it was brute force, or subtle deception, they seemed to like the way the other thought. Naturally they were still wary wouldn't trust the other at their backs, but it came with the territory. 101 took care of a few things for Inculta to ease his mind, after all. Vulpes, in turn, gave 101 interesting information.

“She's been a thorn in Caesar's side at every opportunity.” Vulpes confided to the Lone Wanderer in his disguise on the Strip. They gambled loosely at the Tops, 101 drinking a club soda, the act of which which pleased Vulpes to no end. 101 had too many enemies to let his guard be dropped for the vain pleasure of alcohol.

“A woman in the NCR? Don't exactly sound like someone who's a threat to you guys.” Jericho snorted at his Boss's side. Clover, making eyes at Vulpes covertly, whilst jealously guarding 101's free arm, just listened. She wouldn't shut the Hell up on the road, but in public, she knew her place, and kept her trap shut.

“A woman who supports everything but us. She intrigued Caesar enough that he had me give her his Mark. Unworthy, of course. Had we but heard of you first, things might turned out differently.” The was something to Inculta's tone that was intriguing, but not entirely discernible. Jericho didn't notice it. Clover didn't catch it. But the Lone Wanderer was a league all his own.

He was just that damn special.

“So, what... you want to fuck this chick or something?” 101 asked tiredly. He was going to kill him right then and there if he wanted 101 to play match maker. Clover giggled madly be his side. It was lucky she was good with a pistol and at least moderately attractive. She could get annoying as fuck.

“No.” Vulpes said with a perfect poker face. Well, maybe he'd never know the truth. Good, because he didn't care. “She is a profligate... but unlike anyone I've ever come across. She is...” Vulpes, a master of the silver tongue, had no words to describe her. But he managed something. “She is like you.”

“I doubt that.” 101 snorted, unimpressed. Jericho coughed wetly at that. Clover went rigid in offense.

“She doesn't take pleasure in the same things as you or I, no. But she has the same determination you do. She can accomplish anything, which is why Caesar wanted to meet her.”

“Interesting.” 101 cocked a brow at him. “And she's made Hell for you guys?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Vulpes concurred.

“Well, if were so much alike... isn't it time I meet Caesar?”

Vulpes smiled slowly. “Yes, I think it is.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I love the way you think, OP.

Oh wow, this is a great start. Your LW is just so coldly insane, and I love the idea of him being the opposite side of the same coin as Inculta. can't wait for the next part!

I forgot to review this. Read it like three or four times. I LOVE THIS!!

OMG I LOVE It!!!!

I would luuuurrrrvvvve to see this prompt filled!

"If Charon was an orbiting moon, she was his planet."

OMG I love it, this is sooo good!

Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

Sexy Stealthsuit Shenanigans

Re: Sexy Stealthsuit Shenanigans

A!A here...

Re: Sexy Stealthsuit Shenanigans

The most devious thing...

Re: Sexy Stealthsuit Shenanigans

Re: Shut Up -- F!LW/Charon -- 1/?

Re: OP here

My biggest kink is character development

Re: New Vegas Host Club (2d/?)

OP here!

Charon/F!LW noncon

Bad Moon Rising Pt. 1/?

Bad Moon Rising Pt. 2/?

Bad Moon Rising Pt. 3/?

Bad Moon Rising Pt. 4/?

Bad Moon Rising Pt. 5/?

Bad Moon Rising Pt. 6/?

Bad Moon Rising Pt. 7/?

Re: Charon/F!LW noncon

Re: Bad Moon Rising Pt. 7/?

Re: Daughter of Omega 2/2

Re: You smell delicious.

Re: Anyone/Long Dick Johnson

Re: Bumps (12a/20)