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

Great start! I can't wait to see where it goes.

Awesome! I love the descriptions and you really do have Desmond's voice ("should've stayed in the mansion in the fucking swamp and call it a decade" sounds like something he would say).

This story is really interesting. Great start!

"I want you to know," said the Courier, "that this is incredibly stupid."

None of the three men assembled before her made any response. She'd made the casino a safe space for the meeting, complete with gun-wielding robots on hand in case of aggression. She'd been tempted to have them just kill Inculta right then and there, but sufficient nagging from House about leaving the Legion alone until Hoover Dam had convinced her. She wouldn't start anything unless he did.

"Seriously," the Courier continued. "This is your last chance to back out and preserve your dignity."

Boone said nothing, only glaring at the other men. Vulpes suppressed a sigh, and the Courier imagined he'd already had this talk with Caesar (or at least a similar speech that contained the phrase "Why the fuck are you wasting time with this bullshit, Inculta?") Deloria chuckled, and she honestly couldn't blame him; the middle-aged Capital Wastelander was concerned about preserving many things, such as his hair, his weight, and his lack of wrinkles, but dignity was not one of them.

"Right. Well. Since you don't respect each others' authority and there's no council that approves who gets the title, you'l have to be satisfied with my judgement. If you disagree with what I decide, fine. Call yourself whatever you want, but don't bother me about it again after this. Got it?"

From the way Boone was staring at Inculta, she was pretty sure he was in the process of growing laser vision. In which case, she might as well hurry up.

"Your first target is me. Not here, because I have securitrons with machine guns. But some point tonight. I'll be in my room, with the windows open, defenseless. Do your best to seduce me, whether by word or by force of arm. I'll judge your performance tomorrow morning."

The slight smile on Inculta's face gave the Courier hope. He'd take the bait, and when he attacked her, that gave the perfect excuse to fight back and kill him! House wouldn't even be able to scold her! Boone was pretty much a non-issue, given how attached to Cass' good graces he'd become, and Deloria...well, she'd figure that out when she came to it.

With any luck, she'd never have to hear the phrase "Mojave Rapelord" again!

Why thank you anon! I'm glad it's to your liking ^.^

Pretty much sure that you and I are one and the same OP. If I wasn't already working on a beast of a fill I'd totally give this a shot. Hope someone else gives it a go!

OH I love you anon. This is now a fantasy of mine thanks to you. That poor courier. I would have been hitting Arcade over the head, certainly screaming over his accusations of Stockholm Syndrome. I LOVE THIS!!

first off AHAHAH i just noticed i kinda accidently double-posted this prompt, im kinda dumb.

secondly! theres nothing that doesnt squick me bad other than the stuff ive listed.

third! if you could id kinda like the attraction to be something a bit long-term and onesided on james' part? just having james suddenly decided "MAN my kid's HOT" is kinda gross? thats pretty much it! i am very versatile for most kinks.

and finally! thank you very much for asking if there were any more off-limits things! (◡‿◡✿) its very considerate. i do hope you pick this prompt up and raise it into a strong, independent young fill!

Dear Anon,

OP here. Wait for me by the window at 8PM. I will whisk you away to a life of luxury.

Title: Gaslight
Characters/Pairings: James/F!LW
Kinks: Incest, abuse, noncon, drugs, angst
Summary: The Lone Wanderer remembers being raped by her father the night before he left the Vault. Trouble is, she's not sure she can trust her memories.
Author's Note: Fuck, this came out depressing. You've been warned.

She was her father's daughter. Whatever the G.O.A.T. said about her future as a tattoo artist, Hannah was a scientist from the time she could crawl. Insatiably curious, she always had to pick things apart or open up hidden spaces, her appetite for discovery matched only by her love of books. She continued after leaving the vault, hoarding every pre-war novel or textbook she could find and staying up through the night reading them.

One book told her about something called the Seduction Theory. At first, Sigmund Freud believed women who said they had been raped by their fathers, but as the sheer number of them grew, he wondered if something else was going on. Perhaps they had created false memories, memories which both satisfied their shameful crushes on their fathers and wracked them with trauma of its own.

The alternative- the idea that so much of society was founded upon abuse and incest- was too horrifying for the poor doctor to believe.

She also read a story set in pre-war America, in a town called Salem. Young Goodman Brown sees his family worshiping the devil, and is tormented the rest of his life by the question of whether or not what he saw was a dream.

Hannah could relate to both the doctor and the puritan. People thought she was a sucker when she took every shit job they offered; she couldn't tell them she was putting off the search for her dad as long as possible. Because when she found him, she'd have to decide what to say.

Dad, I think I'm going crazy.

Don't call yourself a father. Fathers don't do that to their daughters.

What did you do the night before you left?

Or maybe it would be better not to ask him. If she was wrong, she wouldn't break his heart by slandering him. If she was right, she would never have to know. She could go on like she was now- it wasn't so unbearable, was it?

Most days were fine. She worked for Moira, and gave short answers when anyone asked about her family. Faces in Megaton had been friendly since she disarmed the bomb, but not overbearingly so. Attractive men were few and far between, so she didn't have to make any decisions in that regard; the only man she could have fallen for was married, and a wannabe vampire to boot. Her dog was company enough, and the radio kept her upbeat during the day.

Most nights were fine, too. It was only sometimes, when she couldn't get to sleep, that she remembered what might have been a dream.

WAAANT<3

KEHEHEHEH yessss im so excited for this! thank you so much a!a

James/F!LW AND Sigmund Freud? You, dear anon, are a writer after my own heart. <3 <3 <3

MOAAAAAAAR

I've been so sick this week that the words just weren't coming to me, but I think I've got it now.
___________________

The flimsy mattress sagged under his weight, making her slide downward until her hip brushed against his leg. She squirmed a little, trying to scoot away, but gravity held her.

Charon ignored her movement, and instead seized her foot in one hand, his thumbs firmly rubbing her instep. She sighed and went limp as she felt the tension dissipate from her foot. She'd walked the breadth of the Capital Wasteland on those aching feet, and now the pain was vanishing.

He moved to the other side, and repeated the process.

"It's hard to keep you alive when you're limping like a three-legged dog," he murmured as he began rubbing her calves.

She wanted to protest, but couldn't muster the energy to fight it. This was worth being slung over his shoulder and forced to undress. It was amazing, the way she felt the stress and tension of everything she'd gone through in the past weeks slip away.

His hands were on her thighs, his touch firm yet gentle, caressing her, stroking her, and yet it was not sexual at all. He was as professional as her father might have been. It was strange to think of her father and not be immediately filled with panic. They still hadn't found James, but she had a new lead. And right now, she felt too good to worry.

Charon's hands moved to her lower back, his rough flesh rubbing against her sensitive skin carefully. She sighed once more and squirmed into a more comfortable position as she felt more tension seep out of her. She hadn't realized how tense she had been until now, when the tension slipped away.

"I told you, smoothskin, you just had to let me work my magic. But you had to be difficult." He grumbled as his hands worked their way up her spine. She sighed once more, in a comfortable half-doze as she became more and more relaxed with each movement of his hands.

"You like it when I'm difficult. Gives you something to be grumpy over," her response was a sleepy murmur as she drifted in relaxation and comfort. She hadn't felt this good in a long time.

She heard his snort in response, and couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped. His hands had reached her shoulders, his fingers digging into the muscle just right to ease the ache. She'd taken to carrying a lot of supplies, and for all that Charon grouched, she carried the bulk of it herself. Her pack dug into her shoulders, sometimes leaving bruises over the course of long-hauls.

But the pain was gone, and all she could feel was blissful relaxation. She was nearly asleep when he finally stopped, and stood.

"Sleep tight, kid. We've got a lot to do tomorrow." He pulled the blanket up over her, and left.

Tomorrow, she might wonder if she had actually felt the brush of a kiss upon her forehead, but for tonight, she would dream of other things his hands might do for her.

How has no one filled this amazing prompt!? I want to see this so badly.

I'm actually taking an ASL class for my language credit right now. I am intrigued by the idea of Charon using (gasp!) facial expression in combination with sign language.

Seconded.

Dean's back on the Strip, or making his way soon to his supposed triumphant return. I'm feeling death by snark, murderous self-preservation, and probably more than a little banter about undiagnosed narcissistic personality disorders, distributed as Anon sees fit.

Oh my god more please I'm begging you I need this it is life.

They lapsed into silence, emptying bottles and filling ashtrays as they pretended to ignore one another.

Moore was starting to look and feel drunk, but Cass was as collected as she had been an hour and a half earlier. The colonel’s hair was coming out of its twist and her eyeliner had smudged, but Cass’s hands and voice were steady when she ordered the next round.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and a subtle shift in posture turned the sidelong look into a challenge. Moore squared her shoulders and ordered another drink, snapping at the bartender when her glass wasn’t refilled fast enough. Cass dropped her gaze, laughing behind her hand.

Moore was a drink past decorum and two past caring. She turned on her stool to face Cass.

“You looking for a fight?” she demanded.

“Not with you,” Cass said. She wasn’t slurring, but her cheeks were almost as read as her hair.

Her tone set Moore’s teeth on edge. “I was in the Rangers,” she spat. “I hit you, you hit the ground.”

The redhead snorted. “Maybe five years ago. You’re past your prime, sister.”

Moore’s hands clenched at her sides, fisting in the pretty fabric of the useless dress. “I’m giving you one chance,” she said, her voice low and clipped, “you shut your mouth.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” Cass said. “If you were gonna hit me, you already would have.”

Moore didn’t hesitate. Her fist connected with the other woman’s face, and the entire bar heard something crack as Cass slipped backwards off her barstool. The look of utter shock on her face was so sweet that Moore smiled, despite herself.

“Bitch,” she said, and then she was surrounded by casino security.

She was very calm as they hauled her out of the bar and into the dimly lit offices. She was led through a dull, concrete maze and ushered into a nondescript office with stained wallpaper and discolored, water-damaged chairs. As soon as the door closed behind her, Moore realized that she’d left her purse sitting on the bar.

The Omertas kept her there for nearly an hour. She paced restlessly, and the movement cooled enough of her agitation to keep her hands at her sides when the floor manager finally found the time to deal with her.

He was a pompous, condescending asshole, and his oily voice aroused the anger that had cooled since the fight. He tried to talk her into making an apology, and she bluntly refused. She was Colonel Cassandra Moore; did he have any idea who he was dealing with?

Her raving made him nervous enough to call for security. Two enormous, identical guards arrived as soon as he pressed the panic button. The floor manager followed at their heels as they escorted Moore to the exit. He told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was no longer welcome at the Gomorrah.

She stumbled when they shoved her through the doors, blinded by the brilliance of the Strip’s innumerable colored lights. The sun had set when she was indoors, and the casinos had turned on their floodlights and neon, and she couldn’t help but be dazzled at the display.

The lights had seemed tacky and ostentatious under the unforgiving light of day, but at night, they were almost beautiful. She stared up, almost in wonder, and let the burgeoning night crowd carry her away from the Gomorrah.

She ended up at the Strip’s North with no clear idea of how she got there. The NCR embassy was a shabby, nondescript building at the other end of the packed Strip, and Moore decided she didn’t want to force her way through the crowd. She was starting to feel feverish and faintly ashamed of her drunkenness. But the night was beautiful: clear and cool, and the walk back to McCarran seemed like what she needed to clear her head.

Not much of the Strip’s light made it over the wall and into Freeside. The streets were darker and dirtier, the buildings smaller and shabbier with missing windows like black eyes. Moore felt less sure of herself with every step away from the North Gate. She thought she had known the way, but she was realizing that the slum was a maze of dead-end streets and indistinguishable buildings.

The air smelled like urine, vomit, and human misery, and the stench caught in her throat and made her gag. She leaned up against one of the sooty buildings tried to regain her bearings. She’d made too many turns to remember which way she’d come. The Strip’s neons had reduced the constellations to smears of distant light, and Moore couldn’t remember how to use the stars for navigation, anyway.

Her stomach was churning, her head was spinning, and panic was finding the cracks in her unflappable exterior. She pressed her flushed cheek to the cool brick exterior of the ruined building behind her, desperate to clear her mind.

A craggy male voice broke her concentration. “You lost, beautiful?”

wasn't sure if anyone would catch that <3 glad you did!

In which Vulpes has a secret love for cuddling. Can be fluffy or smutty, either is fine. :)

This is totally beautiful A!A :)
Thanks for some wonderful images for my fantasies... and for some clueless-companions-induced smiles.

Want to fill this, but I'm not sure what the deal is when posting a fill. I'm new to this site, so yeah. If someone could tell me, I'd be grateful. Do I just post it as a reply? Sorry for being so dumb. Going to hide under my desk now...

He bit back another scream when it was all the way in. His leg struggled to kick her away, away from his hurting body, but she only batted it away. She thrust. The thrust made her skin shine gold while it made his go white. His stomach rolled as her hips continued to press against his. He felt bile in his throat. Had he thrown up? He turned his head to the side, biting his lip. He could feel something sticky clinging to his thighs. Was it the Courier, wet from the excitement of fucking him or was it him opening up wounds?

The camp was spinning.

“Not enjoying this?”

She was eyeing his limp cock with a look akin to disgust. His laugh caught his throat. “How can I be? You’re so unappealing.”

The tip nudged that gland. He inhaled sharply.

“Ooh, was that pleasure I heard?”

She lazily moved again. The intense pleasure made him groan. Her coos fell soft on his ears. Again and again, she moved, hitting that thing inside him that made him dizzy with something that could be called desire. And he felt shame, but he felt pleasure and it felt good.

It shouldn’t.

He can’t enjoy this. He can’t let this woman win. He bit savagely into his lip, bringing forth blood and the familiar scent of blood. He knew blood. He knew war. He didn’t know surrender. He heard the Courier’s pissed off grunt. And he didn’t say anything when he was set back on his stomach, but his resolve was instantly broken when it pushed into him again. He grunted. The new angle reached deeper, harder against that spot, mixing equal parts pain and pleasure.

His cheek was rubbing against the wood, making it sting painfully, making it wet with something he didn’t care to know, as she fucked him. Her nails dug into his hips. His cock was pressing against his stomach, the precome cool on his skin. He tried to rein in his rampant emotions, tried to think about how the Legion would look upon him, about Caesar’s death, about revenge, but every thought melted away with every thrust.

Vulpes groaned. She moaned.

“You liked getting fucked,” she hissed, accusation in her voice. “Vulpes Inculta likes getting fucked like a whore,”

He snarled, mouth scraping against splinters. He bucked backwards. He can take the fucking, but he cannot take her accusations. She was the corrupt one, not him.

The Courier’s grasp on him weakened as she was startled by his sudden fight. It popped out. His chest tightened. It was painful, but he might just get somewhere, so he struggled more. Her hands found his hips moments later, digging painfully, almost clawing at them as she fought for control. Vulpes heard her bark out orders.

He fell forward, world spinning, gradually fading to nothing.

She shook him. He stirred. He opened his eyes. A flash of rusted metal winked in the sun. A power fist, some bastard had hit him with a power fist. His head ached so much that he didn’t flinch when it went inside him again. He only reacted when he figured out that he was naked. No more armor to keep him semi-hidden.

“Don’t be shy. Look. Everybody here loves it.”

She sighed contently. The Courier was being laughably gentle, giving bits of pleasure, moving without purpose, keeping her voice sweet. The grip on his hips was light. She even caressed the bruised skin, like a lover would.

He barked out a laugh. “You’re more unstable than I thought, Courier. I should have known by the way you clung to a robotic dog and a rotting corpse.”

The woman actually growled. Her thrust was cruel and he couldn’t help but moan. It carried over to the others. The mercenaries hooted, some of the whistled, some of them asked if he was free later. His face was burning. He didn’t dare think about what the others were thinking, but insults and slurs sneaked through his thoughts.

The Courier was moaning, voice cracking, like she was the one getting fucked. What skin touched his was hot, slick with sweat and rough from grime; he could feel the pressure of her breasts against his back, soft and yielding, unlike her. His cock twitched at the sensations. He felt ashamed, ears burning with humiliation, burning with the sound of her shameful moans.

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

Re: Checkmate [1/??]

Re: Checkmate [1/??]

The Only Way to Win 3/?

A!A here...

Re: My biggest kink is character development

Re: An Inconvenient Fetish, 1/1

Re: James/Very Good Karma F!LW noncon pot a!a

Re: Too Late 2/2 (Butch/F!LW dubcon)

Gaslighting 1/?

Re: Charon/F!LW noncon

Re: Gaslighting 1/?

Re: Gaslighting 1/?

Re: Bumps (18b/20)

Shut Up -- F!LW/Charon -- 2/2

Re: Any!Courier & Joshua Graham - Reunion

Re: F!LW/Charon - Sign Language

Dean Domino/Arcade Gannon

Re: The Only Way to Win 3/?

Scorpion Honey, 2a/?

Re: Scorpion Honey, 2b/?

Re: What Has Science Done 2/2

Vulpes/F!Courier - Cuddling

Re: An Inconvenient Fetish, 1/1

Re: Violet/Her Dog(s) bestiality

The Mighty Become Slaves 5/?