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

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

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A!A here, I'm so gladddd I got so into this and I had plans for today but whatever I wrote ghoul smut instead.

I, for one, think you did brilliantly with Raul. I'm glad you followed your boyfriend's advice. It came out great this way.

Though if you ever do decide to write a dominant Raul, I'm sure I'd enjoy that, too.

Loved it, and could hardly wait between posts there. I'm glad the whole story was finished before you began or it might have killed me.

You rock, Authornon.

OP says by all means! Go crazy! :D

This is outstanding! Tender and hot all at the same time, and setting the scene first at The Tops is great. I love anything with Cass and Arcade fighting like brother and sister.

This kink meme is giving me a crush on Raul. Take me to Gomorrah, Raul.

not op, but this prompt is solid gold, and I'll read what ever comes out of it! :)

I'll start off with the short version: Someone gets pregnant in Vault 101, hilarity ensues as the Overseer hasn't allowed the kids any real sex ed.

I'm reading a pretty great book about teen pregnancy before the legalization of abortion (The Girls Who Went Away, for the curious), and I am constantly blown away by the general ignorance of the mechanics of pregnancy expressed in the book. A few anecdotes are about girls who didn't know how they got pregnant or how the baby was going to be born.

The timeline dovetails with the Fallout world, and because there doesn't seem to have been much social progression past the 1950's, I think it's reasonable-ish to assume that some of the same bewilderment is going on in the vaults.

My first time prompting, not sure if this has been requested before, but...I would like for Vulpes to make a man out of a crossdressing F! Courier or female oc who is a Legion recruit. To teach her how to be:

SWIFT AS THE COURSING RIVER
WITH THE GREAT FORCE OF A TYPHOON
WITH THE STRENGTH OF A RAGING FIRE
MYSTERIOUS AS THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooonnnnn...

Soyesplzmakeithappen.

oh my god oh my god oh my GOOOOODDDDDDDDD

MAYBE THE COURIER WAS JUST DRESSED SUPER CONSERVATIVELY WITH LIKE A GAS MASK ON AT NIPTON/ON THE STRIP SO VULPES JUST ASSUMED THAT SHE WAS A DUDE WHEN SHE ARRIVED AT THE FORT?? AND AS SOON AS CAESAR/THE LEGIONARIES START TALKING ABOUT HOW USELESS AND WEAK WOMEN ARE SHE'S JUST LIKE "WELL DANG NOW I'M GONNA HAVE TO KICK SOME SERIOUS ASS JUST TO SHOW THEM" AND CAESAR THROWS HER IN WITH THE REST OF THE RECRUITS FOR TRAINING AND OH MY GOD I AM ALREADY WRITING IT NO

I want a F!Courier. And you know what? I want her to be the most fabulous, bangin', in control mother fucker this Mojave's ever seen.

She ain't gotta be no mary sue, she ain't even gotta be that pretty. But you know what? When she walks into a room, heads be turnin', men be sittin' up straight without even fuckin' realizing it, cause she is so GOD DAMN BOSS that you shit yo-self in her presence.

F!Courier ain't havin' no shit from you kid, she walks up in the room like Beyonce, hair flyin' and boobies bouncin' and glaring like nobodies damn business. She got high heals, she's fiercely real, and she means to make everyone her bitch.

That's right. I mean Caesar, The Omertas, Benny, Mr. House, The King EVERYBODY UP IN THE FUCKIN' MOJAVE BE BOWIN' DOWN TO COURIER SIX.

Caesar's all stutterin' and shit when her fine ass come struttin' into his tent. Shit, that dog-head boy is scared she might Nipton HIS ass. That sexy beard bitch... well he's all, "shit she fine"

Benny, he piss his diaper when Sexy Six roll up in his joint. He be beggin' her not to knock him out with her mammoth tits. And she be all, "Boy get in line"

(My friend just drunk-dialed me, asking for me to write this up for her. I tried to reenact the severity of her drunkenness in this prompt, and I hope this meme doesn't mind getting drunk-sexted. If you don't mind, I'd like to see this filled too, lolololol.)

Yeeessss! I love anything Vault-101-ish, so please... someone do this.

I'm not the OP either (obviously), but there's a bunch of us who'd love to see this filled~

"I'm going away for a few days," mumbled Arcade, all hot breath and lips and teeth. "I have some personal business to attend to."

"More personal than this?" A lazy rock of hips, broad hands anchoring on to living muscle that flexed and resisted the sting of nails bitten ragged and sharp. An answering scrape of teeth, a half-formed huff of laughter in his ear.

"Much-- ungh --much more personal. It's important. Trust me." He tossed his glasses onto the bedside table, all his weight on one elbow as he took in the sight of so much skin and muscle laid out for his attention. "But..." He ghosted a hand along the planes of a body sculpted by miles spent on foot, knuckles brushing over a stubbled jaw still speckled with burnt powder.

"But?"

"But," he continued, the pad of his thumb firmly on the swell of Courier's lower lip. "But when I get back, I'm going to fill this."

Courier grinned smugly, pleased as a pup faced with a bowl of Brahmin cream. "Good start. You come back and we'll work on your dirty talkin' some more. Fill this? You talk like my maiden aunt, no foolin'. Tell a man you're gonna make him choke on your cock."

Arcade snorted in laughter and rolled away, throwing a pillow as Courier caught at his wrist and tried to drag him back. "Ok, ok. I swear I will fill this, ok. This is my promise to you, you ox."

"Promises." Courier grinned, a teak-hard arm looped around Arcade's waist and hauling him back across the bed like he was a sack of spuds. "F'you gonna run off and leave me for a few days, then best you can do is come back with some dirty lines so blue you'll make Miss Rose o' Sharon blush redder than a Centurion's underpants."

Loving it so far!

is it too early to select an unofficial MOD'S CHOICE prompt for April? I don't care if it's not, 'cause this prompt made me laugh way too hard when I was archiving it.

Pairing: Flak/Shrapnel
Kinks: Slash, Slavery, Torture, (drugs/withdrawal)
Summary: Of how Flak and Shrapnel met, and how they came to put the lives they were living behind them to become respectable dealers in Rivet City.
=========================

It was close to midnight and Flak was on his last round before he could hit the sack for the night. This kind of guard duty was largely considered bullshit and a fucking waste of time by everybody except Jones; no one and nothing had ever dared to attack Falls, be it day or night, but Jones insisted, and no one fucked with Jones.

Stopping at the back of one of the buildings, out of the wind for a moment, Flak lit another smoke and leaned against the wall to have a few drags in peace before he continued. It was then that he heard the noise. He spat out the cigarette, pulled his gun and cautiously rounded the corner only to spot one of the raiders, of that small gang who had come in to sell a few girls that day. The fuck a gang of raiders needed that much cash for Flak neither knew nor cared to know. As far as he knew, the gang, seven of them, were staying the night, heavily utilizing the bar and the whores, but there was one of the guys, sitting on the engine bonnet of one of the old cars that littered the perimeter around Paradise Falls. With his dick in his hand.

Flak felt his eyebrows rise to his hairline, and silently withdrew himself back around the corner again to hunt for his smoke. It was still there and still burning, so he popped it back between his lips, but his curiosity, and maybe something else, too, made him peek around the corner again.

Sure enough, the raider was beating himself off, in a slow, leisurely pace, his head hanging back. Flak leaned against the wall and watched him, feeling a tingling in his lower belly. If that wasn’t a sight to beat himself off to, too, in lonely nights to come, then what was?
The raider – Flak hadn’t learned their names because he hadn’t cared to do so – was not a complete greenhorn like the rest of his gang, but it was hard to tell how old these raiders really were as their style of living usually aged them very fast. Flak had never heard of a raider who had lived past forty. He might have been Flak’s age, in his early thirties, but he simply couldn’t tell. He certainly didn’t have the body of an old and worn out veteran yet.

His shirt was pushed up to his armpits and exposed lean muscles and well-formed pectorals, and his legs, visible in his pants that were hacked off well above the knee, were well-shaped too. Flak took a deep breath and slowly exhaled a cloud. The raider, lost in bliss, hadn’t given the slightest sign of being aware of his audience. His hair fell back over his partly shorn head, and Flak had noticed earlier that he was the only one who hadn’t dyed and starched his mohawk into that horrible look the raiders seemed to favour so much. Flak was just about to bring his smoke to his lips again when the raider, without lifting his head or opening his eyes, purred in a low and husky voice: “I know you’re there. Come out and admit it, at least.”

Flak hesitated for a second, then shrugged and, smoke clamped firmly between his lips and SMG loosely in his hands, stepped free of the shadows of the wall. At the sound of his footsteps crunching on the gravel, the raider finally lifted his head.
“Oh.” A small, feisty grin spread on his face. “Honestly? I’d expected a chick.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint.” Flak puffed his cheeks and blew a small cloud.
The raider threw his head back and laughed. A pleasant, low chuckle, not a maddened cackle like Flak had expected. You never knew with those raiders, most had irreparably damaged their brain with drugs and rather a lot were actually more than a few bottles short of a six pack.
“Disappoint?” He chuckled again. “Think I had hoped for you to be a chick?”
Flak just shrugged. The raider, still sitting there with one leg dangling down the engine bonnet and one leg drawn up, his dick still hard in his right hand while he propped himself up with the other, was giving Flak a lot of indecent thoughts.

“Man, if I was short of a cunt I could just have rented one, right? Like the others did.” He righted himself up a little more and tilted his head, a glitter in his eyes that was clearly visible in the murky darkness. “I don’t do cunts, rental or otherwise.” He spat out beside him and gave Flak a terribly nefarious smirk. “No way. I was just sitting here dreaming of a nice, big, fat and juicy dick when you happened by.”
Flak still didn’t reply, but deep down, he suddenly felt the urge to try if tonight, maybe, he wouldn’t have to beat himself off in his bunk, alone with only his fantasies to stimulate him. Holstering his gun, he took a step towards the raider who lowered his eyelids and grinned.
“Are you gonna spank me now?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
The raider chuckled again and eyed Flak’s crotch. His eyes went wide after a second when he realised that the bulge was real. He looked up at Flak's face again and for a long moment, neither of them moved or said a word.

When Flak reached for his belt to undo the buckle the raider shifted his weight but still didn’t change his rather exposed position. He watched, rather intently, as Flak slowly undid the zipper and seemed mesmerized when he dug into his pants and brought his dick out, unable to suppress a tiny shiver when the cool night air touched it. He was hard as a rock, fucking hell, it really had been a while.
“Jesus.” The raider finally let go of his own dick. “That’s some piece of equipment you’ve got there.”
Flak looked down at himself and with a shrug, up at the raider again. “Take it or leave it.”
“Don’t get me wrong.” Licking his lips, the raider now dropped both legs and slid down from the car. “With the last guy who fucked me I could’ve fucking sworn he’d stuck his little finger into my ass instead. This is... this is gonna be better.”
His shirt dropped down again and Flak took another step towards the raider to push it up again. Trailing his fingers along the muscles on the raider’s chest, he looked up at his face when he closed his fingers around a stiff and hard nipple. “What’s yer name?”
“They call me Shrapnel.” He closed his eyes. “Care to tell me yours?”
“Flak.”
The raider chuckled again, deeply in his throat. “I see that this was meant to be then, huh?”
Flak didn’t reply, instead he leaned forward and gently dug his teeth into the base of the raider’s throat. He smelled cleaner than he had expected; a musky, male smell of sweat, coarse cotton, leather and gunpowder, underlain by something sweetish that Flak knew to be jet. But fuck, he didn’t care anymore when their naked dicks touched. Both men inhaled sharply.

“Turn around.”
The raider lifted his head and chuckled. “In a hurry? Want me to give him a good soaking before...”
“Turn around.” Flak dug his fingers into the raider’s waistband and tore. The pants toppled down.
Their eyes met, and with a slow grin and hazily lowered eyelids, Shrapnel shrugged. “Better a dry and painful fuck than none, huh?”
Flak took his shoulders and forced him around. The raider obeyed and dropped forward, leaning onto his hands propped up on the engine bonnet. Then Flak slid his dick between his legs so it rubbed Shrapnel’s balls but left it there. “You want it to hurt?”
“Not... necessarily...”, was the reply through gritted teeth.
“Good.” Flak reached around him and ran both his hands under Shrapnel’s shirt again. “I interrupted you, buddy, and that’s not healthy. A man oughta finish what he started. ‘S not healthy at all.” With these words his moved his hands down and closed one around the raider’s still hard dick. Shrapnel inhaled with a sharp hiss.
“How d’ya like it? Slow and easy, or hard’n’fast?”
“What with yer dick rubbing my balls and yer pubes tickling my asshole, I’ll settle for hard’n’fast, thank you.”
Flak chuckled and moved his hand back. Shrapnel replied with a deep grunt, and with a steady hand, Flak increased both speed and the pressure of his fingers until the raider’s arms began to tremble.
“Shit, oh shit...”

Flak leaned forward, now breathing hard himself, and after spitting out his butt end dug his teeth into the base of Shrapnel’s neck. At that moment he felt the raider’s balls clench and his other hand shot out so that the white, hot squirt coming out of Shrapnel’s twitching dick landed right in his palm.

Giving the gasping man no respite, Flak quickly moved his drenched hand to his own dick and the crack of the arse it was resting against. With one generous sweep he spread the spunk in his hand where he wanted the lubrication and without further ado, grabbed Shrapnel’s ass and went for his own goal. With a deep, hoarse groan the raider dropped his body onto his forearms and spread his legs to give him better access, and with slow, careful movement, because he was aware of the disadvantage of his size and girth, Flak eased himself inside, aided by the rather generous amount of lubrication provided. Then he closed his eyes and began to move, his fingers digging into the firm and round buttocks before him.

It really had been too long, and a part of him almost regretted when he realised he was reaching the point of no return far too quickly. But then, the heavy moans of the man under him, his every move meeting Flak’s own thrust in a perfect rhythm, were pulling him under like lead weights. With one last grunt, he let go and spent himself with a few last, deep thrusts.

Both men stood still, their gasping, heavy breaths the only sounds in the silence around them, before Flak slowly withdrew himself again, as cautiously as he had entered. When he looked down, he found the raider slumped over the car, his head falling onto his arms.
“You all right, buddy?”
The reply was muffled, his face buried in his forearms. “Never been better.”
Flak chuckled and used a corner of his shirt to wipe himself off before he pulled his pants up and buckled his belt. With a deeply satisfied sigh, he then settled down on the ground, his back against the door of the car, and watched as Shrapnel slowly straightened up and brought himself into some sort of order again. With a small grin, he went down beside him, but Flak caught him before he reached the ground and pulled him onto his lap. Shrapnel didn’t resist, but he gave him a funny look under raised brows.

“What?”
“Didn’t think you were a cuddler.”
“I ain’t.”
“Oh.” A shrug. “Well.”
“Won’t hold you down if you wanna get off me.”
“I’m cool.” A pause. “Say...”
“Hm?”
“You got any more smokes, buddy?”
Flak draped one arm around Shrapnel’s shoulders while he dug into his pocket with the other to produce a pack. Shrapnel took one, popped it between his lips and Flak took one as well, then took his lighter.
The cigarettes lit, he closed his eyes, leaned his head back again and felt the man on his lap relax a little and finally, settle his head against his shoulder. They remained like that for a while, smoking in companionable silence.

“Flak?”
“What.”
Shrapnel stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “Think this’ll happen again?”
Flak thought this through for a while. “Wouldn’t mind. If you came to Falls again, that is.”
“That’s the thing.” Shrapnel tapped off the ash of his smoke. “Don’t think it likely.”
“Hm.” With his eyes closed, Flak trailed his hand up the raider’s back and ran it through the stripe of hair on his crown. It was quite long and due to it not being starched, it hung down one side of his head like a horse’s mane. “Shrap?”
“What?”
“Why don’t you have such a spiky style like the rest of yer gang?”
Shrapnel chuckled. “You know... I tried it, but I just can’t be arsed with it anymore.”
“Looks better that way anyway.”
“What?” Another deep chuckle. “First you cuddle me, and then you give me compliments? What’s next? Flowers?”
Flak settled his head back comfortably and took a drag of his smoke. “Don’t make me break yer nose.”
Shrapnel chuckled again but didn’t reply, and they stayed like that, smoking in silence, until their cigarettes were finished. In the east, the first grey line of dawn began to show on the horizon.

“We leave at sunrise”, Shrapnel said as he smoothed down his shirt. “If the other assholes get their asses out of the cots, that is.”
“I know.”
The raider looked up into Flak’s unmoving face and shrugged. “Quite enjoyed tonight.”
A twitch tugged at the corner of Flak’s lips. “Yeah. Quite so.”
“I think I’m gonna miss that dick of yours.”
“Now who’s getting soppy?” Flak lit another smoke.
“Fuck you”, Shrapnel said, but his heart wasn’t really in it.
“I’d rather fuck you”, Flak said, his eyes glittering.

Shrapnel broke out into a laugh. “I’m looking forward to the next time, buddy. Whenever that may be, though.”
They exchanged a long, silent glance before Flak held out his hand. Shrapnel took it, and they closed their hands around each other thumbs before letting go. Then Flak slapped the raider between the shoulder blades and turned around without looking back. “Be seeing you. Maybe.”
“Hopefully”, Shrapnel said to Flak’s retreating back. Then the gate closed behind him, and the raider sat down on the engine bonnet again and stared into the paling sky above him.

x-x-x-x-x-x

After all that time, Flak hadn’t believed that he would ever see him again, and in all those months that had turned into almost two years, he hadn’t allowed himself a single moment of hope that maybe it would happen. And now that it had, Flak wished he had never seen him again, after all.

The gang of raiders, six in all, stumbled through the gates, and not one of them was unscathed by a fight that had to have taken place less than an hour ago. Two of the raiders were carried by two others of their comrades each, but it was clear to Flak at first glance that one of the two men was dead already. And the other…

The other had a mohawk like the rest of them, but it was neither starched nor dyed. And he was bleeding from a wound in his left leg like a butchered molerat.

“Your doc around?”, asked a woman, one that Flak dimly could remember as having been a member of the gang the first time they had come here. She was ordering the others around, where to put the two heavily wounded and to get out of each other’s way. It looked like she had, at least temporarily, taken over command of the gang.
“The fuck happened to you guys?”, Forty asked as he came over to eye the carnage.
“Regulators”, the girl replied. Her hairdo was a bright, sickly pink, but like the rest of her appearance, presently rather ragged. “The fuck is that to you anyway? Your doc around or not?”
“He’s coming already”, Forty replied sourly and took a step back to light up a smoke.

Flak had watched the raiders’ arrival with mixed feelings. Sure thing, that one without colour in his hair was him, but he looked like he would kick the bucket any moment now. The doc, in turn cast a single glance at the other man and shrugged before settling down beside Shrapnel’s bloodied form. He jabbed a few stimpacks into him and leaned back to wait for their effect.

Jones himself chose that moment to enter the scene, and when he noticed what was going on, he sauntered over and surveyed the raiders. “What’s going on here? What happened to you?”
“Regulators”, the girl said again. “A dozen of them. Fuck them.”
“Did you kill them?”
“What? We were only eight, for fuck’s sake and they took us by surprise!”
“The fuck they did, Chippy.” Shrapnel, at least partly restored by the stimpacks, propped himself up on his elbows. “I told you bloody green bitch that those guys didn’t look like caravaneers but you wouldn’t listen!”
“Shut the fuck up!”, the little bitch shrieked and crossed her arms. “If you hadn’t moaned and muttered about them being superior like a frightened old man we’d have gotten them in time!”
“Fuck we had”, Shrapnel spat back at her. “The only thing we’d have gotten at would’ve been our own deaths.”
“Fuck you.”
“Hold it”, Jones fell in. “You lost a fight against the fucking regulators and had nothing better to do than draw them right here?”
Chippy heard, even in her rage, the dangerous strain in Jones’ voice and turned to face him. “Why… I mean, they sure as fuck know where Fall is anyway?”
“They sure as fuck do, you stupid bitch, but usually, we have a day’s warning about them from our lookouts! And if we lose one man now should those fuckers attack, I’ll take it out of your own hide.”

All the raiders fell silent and stared at Jones, fully aware now that they were severely outnumbered and hadn‘t just made themselves very popular among their hosts.
“Now look, Jones”, Chippy said in a low voice. “I’m sure as can be they didn’t follow us and if they did, we’re gonna help you fight them off.”
“Jet-crazed little whore.” Jones shook his head, then he yelled at the man who was standing on the little watchtower: “Anything in sight?”
“No”, the man yelled back down. “Not a soul moving out there.”
“Seems it’s your lucky day”, Jones said to Chippy again and crossed his arms. “So if you’re quite finished with messing up my city, pay for that medical treatment and get the fuck out.”

The pink-haired bitch stared at Jones for a moment with her mouth open, then she snapped it shut. “Pay… uhm. Yeah. How much…”
“We haven’t got a cap between the lot of us, Chippy”, Shrapnel fell in, his voice dripping with acid. “What did you expect? These guys are slavers, not a charity.”
“Fuck you!”
“Payment?” Jones fell in again and eyed Chippy with unmasked displeasure. She, in turn, straightened up and thrust out her breasts. “Well, I could offer payment in kind”, she purred.
Jones took a step forward and tore her shirt apart. After eyeing her tits for a moment he copped as much of a feel as he could, then nodded. “It’s a start. On your knees then and show me your arse, chick, so I can fuck you like the bitch you are.”
Chippy was about to throw another insult at him, but thought better of it. Ignoring Shrapnel’s feisty snicker, she did as she was told and let Jones fuck her in front of her gang and all slavers who happened to be present. She even seemed to enjoy it. Flak was more disgusted than ever.

“It’s a start”, Jones said again as he was standing up and buttoning up his pants. “What else?”
Still breathing hard and with her cheeks flushed, the pink-haired bitch stood up as well, pulled up her pants and jerked her chin at Shrapnel. “You can keep him.”
“WHAT?” Shrapnel jumped to his feet and instantly winced as the movement tore at his just about healed wound in his leg. “I’ll skin you alive you fucking…”
“Deal”, Jones said coldly. “And now get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and have the fucking lot of you collared.”
“The fuck you will…” Shrapnel began, but Forty, always ready to inflict a little pain, elbowed him squarely in the kidneys. The raider doubled over with a strained wheeze that made Flak flinch. He was just about to open his mouth to say something to Jones, even if he had no clear idea what, when another one, Jenkins, came over and snapped a collar around Shrapnel’s neck.
The raider jerked upright again with a roar of fury, but now it was too late. Jenkins hit a button on the controller he had in his hands, and with a yelp, Shrapnel fell onto his knees, gasping heavily as the pain from the jolt the collar had given him subsided. “I’ll get your fucking hide for this, you bitch, I swear…”

None of the other raiders made a move or said a word to aid their former comrade. They followed the snickering bitch out through the gates in silence, passing Shrapnel with shrugs or apologetic grins. There was no loyalty among these people, and no kind of honour. Not that slavers had much loyalty or honour, but Flak felt sickened at their indifference to their former comrade’s fate. Maybe they were just afraid they’d join him if they said anything, and with good reason.

And he himself… he simply didn’t dare open his mouth any more. Nothing he said would change Jones’ mind, and the only thing he would do was drag Shrapnel further into the shit he already was in. If he wanted to help him, he needed a plan, and remain inconspicuous to do so. It felt like a knife in his belly to watch Forty and Jenkins delighting in beating seven kinds of shit out of the former raider, but he couldn’t do a fucking thing.

They stopped when Shrapnel started spitting blood, and through a haze of excruciating pain Shrapnel dimly realised that they began cutting his clothes off his body, then forced him up onto his knees. The doc, used to that kind of procedure, had hovered nearby and now crouched down beside him and unceremoniously jabbed a few stimpacks into him. As soon as he was able to keep himself upright when the two slavers let go of his shoulders, Forty dragged his arms behind his back, holding him down while Jenkins equipped himself with a piece of equipment that he first recognised as a clipper when it touched his scalp.

It wasn’t so much that he minded losing his hair, it was the fucking indignity of being undressed and shorn, treated like a piece of worthless shit, that made him fight back. Only until Jenkins pressed that fucking button again, though. The jolt that tore through his body made him retch.
“You keep doing that, and I’ll keep on turning up the power of that thing until I fry your brain, understand?”
Shrapnel couldn’t reply, but managed a nod. He thought for a second or two about fighting on to make them kill him, but he somehow knew they wouldn’t.
“Good boy. Give us any more trouble, and I’ll tell Forty to get his shears.”
In his near-delirium of pain and blood-loss, Shrapnel didn’t make much sense of Jones’ last words, but he realised even had he wanted it, he had nothing with which to fight back anyway.

They forced him onto his feet and dragged him across the plaza towards the slave pens, throwing him through the gate and slamming and locking the door behind him. Shrapnel remained where he had fallen, flat on his belly, burning with pain and humiliation. When he tried to lift his head, however, he felt his vision swim and blacken. His head hit the ground again.

With a deep burning fury churning in his belly Flak had helplessly watched the whole ugly scene, and it cost him all he had to keep his face under control and remain inconspicuous.
“That’s it, then”, Jones said. “We’ve got the ten men we need, so we can get them underway tomorrow. Tenpenny will be pleased.”
Forty rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure we can sell that snobbish fucker a raider?”
“Raider?” Jones feigned surprised innocence. “What raider? We only have slaves in our pens.”
“Yeah… but…”
“But what?”
“He ain’t broken yet, I tell you.”
“Then fucking make sure he is before you reach Tenpenny Tower.”
“Yes, boss.” Forty rubbed his hands, and Flak wanted to kill him.

The slavers went on with their business as usual, night was falling and the fires were lit, and a little later, most of Paradise Falls had gathered in the bar. Flak was there, too, but he was sitting in a corner, smoking silently and thinking furiously. His only chance was to create some kind of distraction on the tour tomorrow. For that, he had to make sure he would be among the men making that tour in the first place. Not getting hammered tonight and being one of the first to be up tomorrow was his best bet, and easily enough achieved as he didn’t feel like drinking anyway.

His eyes kept darting towards the male slave pen and the pale, silent figure that was still lying where it had fallen.

x-x-x-x-x-x

How much time had passed Shrapnel couldn’t say, but when he awoke, the pain in his body reduced to a numb throbbing thanks to the stimpacks, he managed to force himself up into a halfway crouching position to realise it was dark around him. He could hear the slavers from a distance, laughing, drinking, sitting at their fucking fires while he was lying in the bitingly cold air without a thread to cover himself. He couldn’t remember ever having been that cold.

He heard a few shuffles and a cough nearby and when he slowly turned his head, he saw a few other men, huddled together in the far corner of the pen. More slaves, but they at least were clothed. He didn’t expect anything from them, but after a few moments, one of the slaves stood up slowly and cautiously walked over to him. He dropped what in the darkness seemed to be a blanket.

“Here.” His voice was low and hoarse. “We thought we had nothing, but you’ve got even less.”
Shrapnel picked up the blanket, it wasn’t big, and it was so threadbare it was hardly more than a rag, but it was better than nothing and could at least provide him with a little shred of dignity again, so he slung it around his hips. “Thanks.” He licked his cracked lips. “Do you have any water?”
“No.” In the darkness, the shake of his head was hardly perceptible. “They feed and water us once a day, and that’s in the morning. Sorry.”
“Thanks anyway”, Shrapnel muttered. The other slave then withdrew himself again into the safety and comparative warmth of his companions. It was clear to him that he wasn’t welcome there, but at least he wasn’t completely naked anymore. He more crawled than walked over to the nearest wall and rolled himself as tightly together as he could, but it did little to ease his discomfort. On top of it all, his skin began to itch and his fingers started to tremble. He needed another hit of jet before he would go cold, but that was as likely as a rain of sausages right now. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the itch when he heard footsteps slowly coming up to the fence.

“Hey.”
It was a low whisper, aimed to remain unheard by anyone but him, obviously. Shrapnel ignored that, too.
“Shrap.”
Who of those fucking slavers knew his name? He slowly sat up and made out a silhouette in the darkness, illuminated from behind by the slaver’s fires. Tall, broad shouldered, very short hair, and the tell-tale pinpoint glow of a cigarette in his mouth.
“Fuck off.”
“Listen.”
“Fuck off. Wasn’t the show enough? Just fuck off.”
“Listen. Do you think I enjoyed that?”
Shrapnel sat up at this, and the burning fury in his gut lit up again. “You sure as fuck didn’t see any need to stop them.”
“And what could I have done?” The voice was still low, but Shrapnel could hear the trembling of anger. “Nothing I could’ve said would have changed Jones’ mind. If I had so much as moved a finger for you, Jones would’ve had me turned into mince or put a collar on me too, and a fucking load of good that would’ve done you.”

Even in his fury, Shrapnel had to admit he was probably right. He had only been a single man, after all, against a load of the others. “Yeah...” The fury dimmed into anger again. “And now?”
“Keep your head down.” Flak bent down and seemed to have found something in his boot, but it might have been he just needed an excuse to still linger at the fence. “They will try and break you, and believe me, they can. Jenkins and Forty have reduced stronger men than you to a miserable heap. Don’t let them.”
“And how...” The itch as getting worse, as was the thirst. “You got any water, man?”
“No.” Flak pulled at his boot. “Don’t meet their eyes. Pretend you’re broken already. Swallow what they say to you. Do what they say. They only wait for you to show a trace of defiance, and then they’ll hurt you.”
“Can’t be worse than how they hurt me already.”

Flak spat out his butt end. “Trust me, they haven’t hurt you yet at all. They caused you pain, but they haven’t hurt you yet.”
These words, spoken in a voice that was so low and dark it almost sounded like a growl, made the hairs on his arms stand on edge. “But...”
“You still got all your teeth, buddy?”
Shrapnel ran his tongue involuntarily along his teeth. “Yeah.”
“Then do what they say if you wanna keep it that way. They can do a lot of harm to your body without rendering you useless for work. There’s a lot of smaller body parts you don’t need to do slave’s work.”
These last words caused Shrapnel’s belly clench in fear for a second. “I got you, buddy.” He swallowed hard. “I totally got you.”
“Good. Remember. Keep your head down and swallow everything. I got a plan. But to keep it secret, I’ve got to play that game, too. Whatever happens, I can’t help you. Once we’re on the way, I’ll get you out, but not before. Understand?”
“Yeah.” A shudder crept down Shrapnel’s spine, as much cold as foreboding, and the itch got a little worse. He watched Flak walk away again and settled back down on the hard, gravelly ground to wait for dawn.

x-x-x-x-x-x

When dawn came and the slavers unlocked the pen, Shrapnel had to use all the strength he had left to force himself up onto his feet again. He was stiff and sore from the beating and the night spent freezing rolled up into a ball on the ground, but despite the withdrawals getting worse he remembered Flak’s words clearly.

There’s a lot of smaller body parts you don’t need to do slave’s work.

And because he intended to keep them all, he stumbled after the other slaves, trying to stop his teeth from clattering.
“You! Raider!”
He stopped. Forty walked up to him and dropped something at his feet. “Put that on.”
Nothing he’d rather have done. A pair of coarse, grey and worn cotton pants and a likewise coarse and worn shirt, but at least they were clothes. No shoes, but he hadn’t expected any luxuries.
“Now listen.” Forty hooked his thumbs into his belt. “And look at me when I talk to you.”
Shrapnel forced himself to look at him. And because he wanted to get through this as fast as possible, he made no attempt at hiding the trace of fear he felt when looking at his tormentor. Forty seemed at least partly satisfied. “We’re selling you to Tenpenny. He’s a snobbish bastard, and if he’s dissatisfied with the goods, we get to hear it. And believe me, we don’t want to hear any such things.”
Shrapnel simply nodded.

“He’s your master. Once we deliver you, he owns you body and soul. You’ll call him master, and anyone else living in that snobbish bog of his. Or mistress, of course. You’ll do as they say. Otherwise...” A small, evil grin spread on his face and he reached for the device hanging at his belt. Shrapnel couldn’t help but flinch, but Forty never pressed the button. Upon seeing Shrapnel’s reaction, he emitted a coarse, grating laugh. “You’re a fast learner at least, despite being a fucked up raider. But there’s one lesson you gotta learn yet.” He straightened up and eyed Shrapnel, the grin growing a little broader. “And that is obeying orders. Kneel and suck me off.”
Revulsion hit Shrapnel like a wave. “What?!”
“Wrong answer.”

The jolt came fast and hard, making Shrapnel topple to his knees with a yelp of pain. Before he could even draw another breath, Forty pressed another button and the pain worsened, not so much in intensity but in quality. It paralysed him. He could hardly breathe anymore.
“The answer is always: Yes, master. Understand?”
Shrapnel managed a nod, but only just.
“Good. But to be on the safe side... Jenkins! The shears!”
The world spun, and Shrapnel had no strength to resist being thrown flat onto his belly again. The collar still held him almost paralysed, and while Forty now brutally sat down on his ribcage the other man behind him tore his pants down to his ankles. Cold sweat broke out all over his body when he felt something cold and metallic touch the tender skin of his nutsack. But he couldn’t even beg for mercy, he had no breath to spare. He tried to fight, but he was still paralysed, and one man was sitting on his torso while the other sat on his legs.

“Feel that?”, Forty asked in a low voice. “That’s what we do to slaves to take the fight out of them.”
Shrapnel felt as if he was about to throw up. Or faint. He wanted to faint. His whole body was awash with pain and his belly filled with ice-cold horror. A whimper escaped his mangled throat that even to his own ears didn’t sound like something a human should be able to make when the shears suddenly snapped shut with a deadly, horrible, metallic click. The scream stuck in his throat and escaped as a suffocated whine, a hot liquid spread under his lower belly, but first after a few seconds did Shrapnel realise that he couldn’t feel any pain. The slavers sitting on him began to laugh, and only then did he realise that the shears had snapped shut in the empty air, that they hadn’t done anything to him and he had succeeded to piss himself in his terror.

The two slavers, still chuckling in evil glee, now got off him and told him to get up. Forty switched the collar off for now and Shrapnel, his limbs weak and trembling, somehow managed to get up onto his feet and dress himself again. After a few moments, when he was slowly getting his breath back, he dimly wondered what Flak might have thought of him making such an ass of himself, but he didn’t want to look at his face right now.
“Remember how that felt”, Forty said to him. “Because that’ll be the first thing Tenpenny’ll do to you when you fail to obey. Then he’ll return the goods to us because they were faulty, and we deal with what is left of you by then. Understood?”
“Yes.” His throat hurt worse than ever, and he still hadn’t had a single drop of water.
“What was that?”
“Yes, master.”
“Good. And now get in line.”

Without looking up Shrapnel walked over to where the other slaves were standing with unmoving faces and silently watching the proceedings. He wondered for a second if any of them had been subjected to the same treatment, if, in fact, some of them really had been castrated for their attempts at resistance, but he knew he’d never have the balls to ask even had they been allowed to talk. They left Falls a little later, after the slaves had been fed a bowl of thin and bitter gruel each, and headed south, for Tenpenny Tower.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Keep your head down.
It was all Shrapnel kept telling himself during that long, painful march. Keep your head down. His feet hurt, he had never walked so much and on so rough terrain while being barefoot, his whole body seemed to be one big bruise, most likely a result of the paralysing effect of the collar, and he was still going mad with thirst and the itching and shivering from withdrawal symptoms that got worse with each passing hour.

They made a break around noontime, but while the slavers ate, they didn’t bother to feed or even water their slaves. They continued southward after an hour or so, always south, always towards their final destination that would be the last thing they would ever see.

They halted when night fell, and while the slavers ate, the slaves huddled miserably around a tiny, pathetic fire they had been allowed and waited for their turn. Eventually they were fed too, but even though Shrapnel was trembling with exhaustion, the itch and the dizziness of the withdrawal were now so bad he couldn’t have slept had his live depended on it.

One slaver always watched the slaves, but they were taking turns. Shrapnel wished he had something by which to measure time, to keep track of the hours, though what that would have achieved he couldn’t even say. At one point, though, he realised that the guards had changed again and even in the darkness, he recognized the slaver that was now clipping the controlling device to his belt before lighting up another smoke. Anticipation began to rise in him, but he wondered how he could make his escape even if Flak managed to somehow rid him of the collar. He harboured no illusions he would get far in his current state, weakened by hunger, thirst, torture and withdrawal.

Flak slowly walked around the sleeping slaves, and when he passed him, he dropped a small bag into Shrapnel’s lap. He closed his fingers around it and could make out the shape of a small pistol, most likely a ten mil, and items that could have been packs of ammo or provisions, canned food and water. It was at that moment that Shrapnel realised that Flak was risking his own skin with what he was trying to do, and that realisation seriously weakened his resolve to attempt an escape at all. But then, his collar, and all the others’ collars as well, began to beep hysterically.

All hell broke loose. The slaves, awoken by their beeping collars, thought that the malfunction was about to kill them and panicked, the slavers, awoken by the slaves’ panic, groped for their weapons and tried to get their senses back together, and into the chaos, Flak yelled at the top of his lungs: “Malfunction!”
Then the beeping stopped, and the collars fell silent. Their lights went out, too.

“Get them!”
One of the slaves was the first to react, he jumped to his feet and ran into the night as fast as he could. And behind him, Shrapnel could hear Flak hiss: “Run. You gotta be out of reach before they activate them again. Run!”
Shrapnel staggered to his feet and turned around. He could see the anxiety in Flak’s face. “Get moving, you ass!”
“And you?”
“I’ll do. I’ll talk my way out of this. Now get moving, you stupid shit, before it all was in vain!”
“Are you kidding me? Jones will nail your balls to his wall without bothering to cut them off first!”
“Run!”
“Not without you, buddy.”
Flak muttered a few very choice curses under his breath before unholstering his gun. “Run, you idiot. I’ll be right behind you.”

And Shrapnel gathered all his strength, or what was left of it, and ran. Behind him, he could hear the steps of the slaver, as if he meant to catch him. Several times his bare feet hit rocks or and smaller stones dug in painfully, but he gritted his teeth and stumbled onwards, on trembling legs that threatened to give way under him any second.
Then the collar suddenly came to life again.

Beeeeep.

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

Re: No School Like Old School 3/7

Re: No School Like Old School 7/7

Re: Gommorrah Rescue

Re: No School Like Old School 7/7

Re: Flak/Shrapnel, Slaver/Raider, Pre-Rivet City

Any pairing, teen pregnancy in the Vault

I'LL MAKE A MAN OUT OF YOU

Re: I'LL MAKE A MAN OUT OF YOU

Boy, don't kid yo-self...

Re: Any pairing, teen pregnancy in the Vault

Re: Flak/Shrapnel, Slaver/Raider, Pre-Rivet City

no subject

Re: Had A Bad Day (2a)

Re: Boy, don't kid yo-self...

Flak/Shrapnel Friends will be Friends 1a/8

Friends will be Friends 1b/8

Friends will be Friends 1c/8

Friends will be Friends 1d/8

Friends will be Friends 2a/8

Friends will be Friends 2b/8

Friends will be Friends 2c/8

Friends will be Friends 3a/8

Friends will be Friends 3b/8

Friends will be Friends 3c/8

Friends will be Friends 4a/8