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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The pair lock eyes for a moment before Charon obeys, but obey he does. He brings the arm around her down to stroke her clit, and she shudders. Ahzrukhal holds his cock in her for a moment and then picks up his pace again, digging his fingers into her ass and dragging her against him, forcing himself against her. Charon is clumsy on her clit but seems to be doing the job, as Ahzrukhal feels her get slicker around him. He’s starting to grunt a little himself now, focusing his energy on pumping in and out of her young cunt, determined to leave his mark. He can feel his instincts overcoming him, and before he knows it he is pushing Charon’s hand away from her cunt, dragging her out of his grasp, pushing her up against a wall.

Her arms instinctively wind around his back and she looks up at him, a haze of pain and pleasure and uncertainty and groans as he sinks into her again. He makes her keep her eyes locked on him as he fucks her, pressing her against the wall, feeling her tighten and convulse around him. To his very great surprise he feels her gasping pick up in volume, and he feels her walls grip his cock as she starts to cum. He hadn’t expected that, but he relishes it, crowing as he thrusts against her, one hand winding over her throat, his eyes boring into his.

“Yes,” he hisses, “cum for me, you smoothskin bitch. Me, and me alone. Cum round my thick, ghoul cock and know that whoever else you have, I will always have had you know, this first fuck, forever.”

She whimpers and sinks against him, and perhaps it’s this final weakness in her that pushes him over the edge, because as she tumbles down from her peak he explodes into her. She jerks against him as he pumps a load of cum into her cunt, grunting as his balls empty into her. He lets out a low, wheezing laugh as he finishes, and drops her to the floor. She lands with a thump, too dazed to react.

Ahzrukhal turns around. Charon is standing alone in the centre of the bar, looking lost and embarrassed and uncertain and painfully aroused. One hand is trying, and failing, to hide the obvious bulge in his pants, and he won’t look either of them in the eye.

“She’s a good fuck,” he gloats, reaching down to squeeze the last few drops of cum from his shrinking cock. “Might have left some marks on that lily white ass of hers, though, so when you’re fucking her weeks from now, you can look at them and think of dear old –“

“Charon,” comes the girl’s voice from out of sight. They both look over.
She is holding the contract. The real one. His jacket is on the floor at her feet.

Charon unholsters his shotgun. Ahzrukhal has a single moment to realise there ought to have been some rule in the contract to avoid this, and to feel his dick contract even more, before the world goes black.

Yesssss, this right here is my guilty pleasure! Loved your characterization and your LW's 'tude. Loved the ending. Great job, authoranon!

UNFFFFFFFFF

This is what I read kink memes for! This was so hot and in character and LWs attitude was perf. MOAR!

Ah I keep not noticing the updates because the Delicious updates so slow now ;_;
but i'm really looking forward to reading the updates of this story! you've got me hooked so far.

Vulpes Inculta, F!Courier
(may have to multifill - love this prompt, and it could go so many ways!)

“I sure hadn't expected to see you again, Mr. Fox.” Six gave a haughty wink as she spoke and brushed by the frumentarius toward the exit of the casino.

“I came here to speak with you,” he said, low and gruff, her ambivalent tone rubbing him the wrong way straight from the start.

She turned. “About?”

“Privacy?”

Six let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, it's that kind of conversation, huh?”

Vulpes frowned and led her to the elevator she'd just stepped out of, gesturing for her to board. She did as he asked, but never dropped that smug grin. When the doors shut, he pressed the mark of Caesar into her hand. “This is your one and only chance, and I hope you know it's an opportunity Caesar affords to almost no one.” A moment later the doors to the second floor opened. Vulpes hit the ground floor button.

She considered the token, and pulled it over her head, tucking the charm away into the plunge of her dress. “You don't seem too pleased about it.”

He frowned, and kept his eyes trained attentively on the closing door. “Don't I?” Two can play the sarcasm game.

Six stepped closer with that smug little grin on her painted profligate lips. “I'll bet I could make you pleased.” The faint hum of her voice purred in her throat. “Ever since we met at Nipton, I've sure thought about pleasing you.” She leaned in toward him and brought her lips close to his neck.

When Vulpes felt her hand move to cup his manhood, he jabbed his thumb into the 'emergency stop' button, and slammed Six into the wall by her throat.

“Don't put your hands on me, you filthy whore.”

Six struggled to breathe and gasped under his grasp, her smug smile finally gone, and he was glad to see it replaced with a look of pure fear. After a moment, he let her go and hit the ground floor button once more.

When the doors opened, he exited, leaving her inside, only to be stalled by her calling for him.

“Mr. Fox,” she said.

He looked over his shoulder. She wasn't smug at all, and her face was decidedly flushed.

“I'll do anything you-know-who wants if you'll let me have you.”

Vulpes frowned and left the casino, eager to return to Legion territory.

Sorry for the long wait guys, but I was trying to do a bulk of several chapters at once. I'm not really, fully satisfied with this one but the two really need to get their asses to the Casino already.
Hope you enjoy the read!

:*.*.*.*.*:

In the subsequent hour on their way to the second terminal, Dean had noticed that the Courier had taken to lovingly perusing all the articles each of the vending machines they had encountered had to offer.

At least there was one thing about women that not even the bomb could change. He liked that. It gave him some solid ground to stand on in the world gone mad with change.

That wasn’t to say he wasn’t well aware that the world and people had changed. Madre sure has. And its inhabitants… don’t even get him started with that. The problematic thing was, knowing that people have devolved into wild tribal savages was far, far different from having to work with one. Having his life be tied to one of them. Dean hadn’t liked it when his life had depended on his chauffeur’s inane driving skills – how he managed to be on time, and in one piece, on half of his concerts will forever remain a mystery now.

And now, he was in position to rely on different type of chauffeur to get him from one end of the decaying deathtrap of a resort to the other. As her shadow slinked forwards, guiding him with that god-awful certainty he very much felt like he was a pet freshly brought from the store trailing at the heels of a much hardier survivalist.

Always at the front she was. The leading lady. The front line. The first one in. A good place to croak, in Dean’s opinion, so he wasn’t complaining – not at all!

…Much.

The same feeling he felt in the café coiled around in his belly like an iron chain. And iron chain with a ball and leashed to his neck.

:*.*.*.*.*:

Any encounter with the Ghost People was bound to be grisly already. Right now, and much to his chagrin, it had also grown in abundance. He warned her that too much noise would get them all stirred up, but did she listen? Of course not! In addition to having ridiculous fascination with vending machines, women never listened. He could easily believe that he was back at one of those cocktail parties with frilly feathers and enough opium permeating the air to stifle a mammoth.

Dean resented that analogy. And the one before that. In fact, he resented plenty of analogies he had been coming up with recently. She was giving him good material to resent too. Like now, how by all accounts – her accounts – the building with the second terminal wasn’t too far off, about one third of the district away, to the right and a floor up. She knew that because her Pip-boy had caught on an energy signal in that specific location. So she had explained to him with a jumble of words he’d likely need a dictionary but would still have to smile and nod in a polite society. He wasn’t tech savvy as he wished – bits and pieces that kept him alive – and he suspected that the postman had caught on to that.

“Finally,” the Courier exclaimed making a full stop so Dean bumped into her, a moment before digging forward ahead of him. Not hard when he was determent to walk behind, with his hands in his pockets, sulking silently but never admitting to doing so. “That took a while.”

But it wasn’t that they’ve run into enough locals to fill his yearly quota of bumping into scary bastards and was steadily ruining his prospects for a prolonged life, that had Dean huff and puff.

“What took a while?” Was Dean’s befuddled response to a black armored shape diving off into the Cloud. He was still shaking off the green puss left behind by his latest encounter with death. He decided that he was wrong and that it wasn’t yearly but a decade worth of near death encounters that he had experienced since teaming up with her. Granted, it was forced on the part of the old boss man, but her presence didn’t help the situation any.

She attracted those things like manure did flies. Warmongering. That’s what it was.

There was a familiar click and rustling of old, weathered down leather accompanied by her voice, “Finding trinkets that should keep us on our feet for a while longer.”

Only then did Dean notice that her hands were elbow-deep in one of his old suitcases, lying around at key points he had precisely calculated in a case of an emergency, like an overeager child who couldn’t resist getting her fingers sticky. He felt a fume, a snap of something – might have been his nerves, a feeling of entitlement being stomped on, and not the first time now, and with the cigarette tossed in the air he growled out a frustrated hiss, moving quickly. One had to point out that here ‘quickly’ could be used to describe that ungodly speed ghouls tended to exhibit at the worst possible times – and slammed the suitcase lid on her fingers.

“Do you feel any particular need to put your mitts on all of my things?” He rasped forcefully, leaning over her. Dean wasn’t particularly tall, nor was the Courier short, but the tension made it feel as if he were towering over her.

He really shouldn’t have been surprised when a tip of a gun appeared right under his skinless chin – cold, round metal shape pushing intrusively between the hardened and exposed muscles; and a hand, and again his mind insufferably took the wheel and immediately noticed of the smaller size and surprisingly greater strength of her grip than he had previously anticipated, curled into his dusty jacket, but none of those strange comparisons had any place in his head now! – so close, possibly loaded and thus very threatening. Where she pulled it from, he didn’t even dare imagine; largely because the way things were going his imagination would come up with something rotten and not suitable for this situation.

“Do you have a problem with me putting my mitts on your things?” She asked after a pause in that even, and if his ears weren’t playing tricks on him, perhaps softer tone.

As a matter of fact, he didn’t-…

“I most certainly do! Do you think I enjoy having my personal space constantly trampled on?!” He snarled. No, it was a trick of the ear. It couldn’t be anything else. And if it wasn’t, then she was up to something.

Her hands, warm even under the glove, immediately came off of the torn revers of his suit, and that mysterious gun disappeared once more.

“Have it your way,” she said holding up a stimpack in one hand with a light twirl of her wrist and rolled up the torn side of her suit up, revealing the stitched gash. Guilty made a mental note to patch it up once she got the chance to do it. Or, if not, replace it fully. Because of the implant she had the prudence enough to install before heading to this ‘special kind of hell’ it was healing, but slowly and no thanks to the toxins in the Cloud. Guilty could positively feel the mist leech her life. “I’ll just barrow one thing then… if you agree?”

Dean turned away, eyes glancing briefly over the exposed skin still in several shades from formed bruises, muttering something about women being impossible, about her being impossible. Behind him he heard the familiar sound of pressure released when stimpack was used and had a miniscule, barely worth of mentioning, twitch. She did still sport a large wound, all stitched up by his not so expertly hand, and had used up all of her medical supplies to keep it from tearing open while on the move.

“Never should have left those stupid handprints,” he growled finally, in a dejected kind of way. He was being robbed one way or another. At least this way she stayed alive, and he ensured his own survival. “Dead giveaway!”

“You certainly went out of your way to avoid the other sections, didn’t you,” she said approaching him. Her voice had no trace of pain she was likely enduring. Miracle of drugs, or something such.

“Residential area always had the least amount of buggers. Which is not saying much considering they could still pack a theater,” he sighed, his tone deflated. Mood was bouncing all over the place and he felt like he was less and less in control of the situation. They went where she dictated – well, where the boss man dictated… she had proceeded to rob him of his precious few valuables. All of that contributed only to worsening his temper.

When he turned back he saw one Sierra Madre chip dancing across her knuckles. His eyes followed it, as the coin twirled and disappeared into her pocket. Not the first one. Not the last one, in fact. She probably had a full purse of those under her belt by now.

She started doing that after the light and gun show, collecting chips but not using too many of them; returning some surviving pre-war bits and pieces for more… Like they were made of gold, and she was at the height of a gold fever. A wheel clicked and turned in his head. Do they even have gold fevers nowadays? Does gold have any value now?

For some incomprehensible reason, these things bothered him. The way she held onto them. It made him paranoid. What will she do once they reached the vault? Perhaps she won’t reach the vault. Perhaps she’ll just open the vault and then…

“You sure came a long way to rob this place. I guess greed is in the blood.” She heard him say, interrupting wherever her thoughts may have gone. Acidic slime oozing from the chomped up limbs of ghosts couldn’t compare to his words.

Guilty was silent at first, mulling over the best suited answer – one that wouldn’t set him off like a powder charge.

“If this is about the Casino, I’ll say right now that I have zero interest in it. Feel free to keep anything you find in it.”

Building falling, behind them preferably, would have had less of an effect.

“Really?” He called with utter disbelief in his voice. She stopped and turned. As the night had fallen and the Cloud had turn from red to sickly purple, she was barely visible in her dark suit, and her helmet tilted down. It made it impossible for Dean to have any grasp of her possible reactions with it obscuring her face. In light that she refused to remove it even in the face of injury he had come to conclusion that she must do it to either keep him on his toes or because she had a face to make him appreciate his own appearance. “Why are you here then? I can’t imagine you stumbling your way into Madre.”

Other reasons… Although Guilty didn’t think Dean would show anything more than a passing, superficial interest in ‘when’ and ‘how’ and ‘that’s bloody why’ of her coming here, she choose not to elaborate.

“I knew Sierra Madre had a vault. I just assumed that it was a shelter from bombs, not a… depository. Guess I didn’t expect things to be this bad when I headed out.”

“Yeah, right,” he snorted but as she kept quiet he turned thoughtful. “Partner,” he started, “people don’t come to Sierra Madre because of nice weather, beautiful atmosphere, generous locals or,” he pointedly looked at her, “to satisfy their curiosity.”

Courier’s eyes narrowed. He was sharp – for the most part. She was yet to decide what to make of that.

“You not believing me is not my problem, unless you decide to make it so,” she spoke softly and moved away, measuring steppes carefully. They had ways to go still.

Dean snorted, because he didn’t believe a word she had said. The Courier had displayed interest in the Madre, Dean didn’t miss things like that, and he was not about to let her get the better of him.

flawless. FLAWLESS>

yes good 10/10

Tentatively claiming this. loooooooool like eight years later

(That alone should give away this A!A - of course, I don't actually have an identity, so what use is that?)

i actually said "ooh!" in the most girly voice ever as i got to bottom of this section. this is wonderful, great job!

OMFG Brilliant T_T
I hope this get's filled soon! <3

this prompt is an angel
if it isn't filled in a few weeks, i'll fill it for you a!a (i have exams now.. alas, vulpes personality disorder fills do nothing to gain qualifications as tragic as that may be)

Author!Anon: This is going to sound strange and sad and stupid, but please don't forget this. Don't leave Arcade in there. :(
(Aaand I'm walking away.)

Holy shit, too fucking perfect.

And so it continues. Again, apologies for taking a bit longer.

***

Whenever she looked up through the red fog at night, she could see faint glow of the stars. It was the easiest way to know the difference between day and night, pip-boy notwithstanding, because the shade, the tone, the light… everything remained the same. The same dull rust red that threatened to drive you insane.

So it was with eyes firmly set on weakly twinkling stars that the Courier wondered, where was the thunder coming from? On occasion, often when she least expected it, a thunderous clap would crack over her head making her muscles tense for a brief moment. Before Zion she had never experienced rain and storm. Thunder and lightning and storms not made purely of sand were a new experience to her but to her own surprise even, she had adapted to them quickly. Thunder-like sounds in the Madre had nothing in common with the sky cracking open in the canyon.

The moans were a whole different thing altogether. The screeching and something she could only describe as desperate cries of pain filled the air accompanying every twist and turn. She wanted to ask Dean, the oldest living resident of the Sierra Madre, where the hell was it all coming from but one look on the broken down speakers mounted on the walls, flickering and sparking in all directions was the answer enough. It was easy to be thankful that no living thing was letting out those screams. At this point she needed to believe that no living throat was capable of letting out those noises.

Her eyes swept over the street, the narrow terraces and musty, cracked windows. No traps, no Ghost People so far… they had an appropriate name as they seemed to appear just as fast as they have vanished into the fog. It clicked in her brain than that it had to have been Dean who had named them – who else lived in this resort long enough to see them grow from normal people to something only Big MT’s purely scientific imagination could produce. Two centuries in this place and flair for dramatics still hadn’t left him.

They headed forward, faster now as they approached the final terminal. And approaching the final terminal in many a roundabout way meant being one step closer to the Madre. This time around the activation didn’t need the overly complicated procedure the last one endured; only growing mistrust and doubt mingled with the anticipation in the air. There was no sofa for the ex-star to lounge on, and no awkward subjects were being spouted out. It was quick, it was efficient and before long a blue light of security hologram illuminated that corner of the street that led to the already near inaccessible roof with cut wires.

She paused, zooming in the map on her pip-boy and the markers Elijah had sent her. “I still have to escort Christine and God to their place, so you just sit tight and wait for the signal. With the holograms powered up you should be safe enough.” This was one third of the road done and one more thing to cross off of her list of assignments. Guilty rubbed her chin under the smooth surface of her helmet, already in her mind going through the possible routes she’d likely have to employ, abandon or just improvise. It was fortunate that the resort was relatively small, and that she had highly advanced map with trackers built in.

“Christine? Is that her name?” Dean asked – because he had to say something after a lengthy silence between them, or else she might think he was somehow acquiescent to her, and he couldn’t have that! – expertly ignoring any further mentioning of the mutant. “Of course, you can’t see it in posters but…” The helmet gave him the look. He tried to ignore the unsettling feeling that a black helmet succeeding in doing so. “…never mind. But uh… how do I know the power won’t suddenly go out? And… I don’t know, this still sounds risky to me. For me.”

Guilty let out a small puff of air, with the helmet on it sounded horribly like the wheezing of a gas-mask the Ghosts used and Dean felt an uncontrollable urge to scrub himself clean - it being impossible in current circumstances wasn’t something his brain gave a fiddle-stick about. She had stopped counting hoops she had to jump through to get him to stay in one place as far back as the previous district. The Strip didn’t demand this much micro-management and it had, among many other attractions, cannibals running a deluxe restaurant.

“Far be it for me to tell you but…” the tone of voice she had adopted immediately put the ghoul on edge. It reminded him too much of a woman using a pretense hug as her hand slid down his back reaching for his wallet-… “Dean, a man with cold feet isn’t someone any woman would share her bed with.”

Had crickets survived nuclear blast, and if in some spectacular case they had survived Sierra Madre, they’d surely be supplementing the atmosphere right now.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked tersely, cigar out of his mouth and quickly forgotten under his heel. It happened a lot since they became ‘partners’ in this little heist.

“Christine. You wall-flowered away when she gave you the silent treatment, didn’t you?”

Muscles around the remains of his nose flared, and she knew that his eyes had narrowed as well. If there was one thing Dean Domino did not take light of, it was mocking. Now, an angry Dean was not a manageable Dean, but the Courier refused to try and placate him.

“There’s no need to spit fire and radiation. You got away scot-free and in one piece. Not many could say that after propositioning to an assassin from Brotherhood of Steel.” Who also wasn’t interested in men in any way, shape or form, but the Guilty decided that she shouldn’t crumb-stomp Domino’s ego too much. It might backfire.

“Brotherhood of what now-…?” He had no idea what she was talking about and it certainly had no bearing to-…“Assassin?!”

The black helmet and her shoulders shivered a bit in what he assumed was suppressed laughter – and so much worse for her if it was! – but she wasn’t about to elaborate further as the helmet sagged to the side. Regardless, he looked incredibly glad that nothing came of it his ill-timed proposition in the end. So much so that he didn’t even bother to hide that he had tried something to begin with. His focus was once more squarely set on the postman and the ridiculous insinuations she had been concocting.

“Let’s clear something up here. I am not scared. I never said I was. And you’re being ridiculous if you think so. I’ve played to worse crowds than this. I can hold the fort here.” Especially if it meant he’d finally get into the casino, and into that vault. “But listen… try and get in the Sierra Madre without me. You’ll wish you haven’t,” he leaned over her, all imposing-like, with a look, and a lowered voice, and promises of unpleasant things left hanging in the air. Things he could provide in the centuries past, when situation called for it.

Guilty paused, and she was not amused. He threatened her. He – a spoiled lounge singer who was lucky enough not to be killed outright by radiation and managed to survive in this little old world pocket of hell, was threatening her – someone who was born and bred into the survival-of-the-strongest reality of the post-war world.

Had his intentions of eventually killing her not so plain, she might have found him charming in his refusal to take her seriously as anything more than a small time thief who was going to make off with his cut. But it told her one thing she needed to know: Dean held on to things he considered to be his for dear life, be they material or emotional. What out of the two the Madre, the casino, was to him she didn’t know yet, but his focus was becoming a problem.

Silently, she turned around to walk away and brought her arm up, switching between tabs on her pip-boy. It looked like she had come to some vital conclusion. Dean had noticed this too and when she quickly, not to say furiously, started typing across the keys he gripped her arm and brought the pip-boy’s screen to his face.

“‘Note to self: take off that poster of ‘King of Swing’ from the wall,’” he read in a little menu labeled as ‘NOTES’. These words piqued his interest immediately, and brought a sensation to his dissolute heart the kind he hadn’t felt in a while. He laughed, the previous tension shattered. “So they did survive, as well! And how’s that for a pleasant surprise? I didn’t picture you as a fan,” he managed between chuckles. She wasn’t. Patiently, and with great effort, she stayed silent but this news had brought amusement and heightened his spirit, so he pressed on in a most devious manner he could imagine. “Is it signed?”

Yes. As a matter of fact it was. And framed. And behind bulletproof glass. And Mr. New Vegas took liking to playing some of Domino’s songs more often than it was humane. But she wasn’t going to tell him any of that, oh no, because that would turn him from merely pompous to nigh insufferable. One was harder to deal with than the other.

“The previous owner of the flat had a thing for you, so don’t flatter yourself on my account.”

It didn’t help, because he did flatter himself. The world outside hadn’t forgotten about Dean Domino, not like they did Vera Keys. His fame might have faded, got trashed and buried under sand, and under general impression that he was dead, might simply be overlooked as the Old World curiosity. But he had not disappeared; the memory of him had not turned to dust and ashes. All right, so Danny Parker was among the bunch of surviving wall-stickers, but that bastard wasn’t alive now and he could do nothing to prevent Dean from tearing every single one of them on his track across the world – provided he chose to take some time off his busy schedule and waste it by doing so.

He grinned widely, not bothering to hide the satisfaction this news had brought to him. He looked at the postman, a woman wrapped left and right in armour thick enough to stop bullets, if not knives. The Courier had delivered him some great news indeed.

Scoffing but satisfied that the ghoul was pacified and would finally stay in one place, presumingly smoking like a chimney, Guilty stepped away from him and not looking back disappeared down the street and into the Cloud. When she got back to Lucky 38, and she was getting home, over Elijah’s and everyone else’s cold bodies if needed be, that poster was coming off of her wall. If Sierra Madre thought her anything, it was that the last thing she wanted was a grinning Dean Domino watching her sleep.

Oh my god I just had a horrid year like plenty of suicide attempts and oh boy I just could not get this done. I'm better now I'm stable and in a good place. So without any further ado I give to you a Sketch.
Summery an artistic F!lonewanderers goes stir-crazy after she breaks her leg saving Charon’s life and convinces him to pose for her naked. She finds him more attracted than she thought she would be and ends up drawing him in another picture with a certain smoothskin on top of him, Charon finds it sex ensues. I suck at tags.. Tags: het, F!Lonewanderer, Charon, kink: ghoul.

The first time Charon saw the Robin, he would have bet a hundred caps she would not make it more than a month. She had a light brown skin color almost untouched by the harsh Wastes, long black wavy hair that kept out of her face with a faded violet bandana folded to keep her hair from her face, glasses, and a vaultsuit, armed only with rusted Chinese pistol. ‘Dumb bitch might as well just paint a target on her forehead and jump into a raider camp screaming I’m a vault dweller.’ She walked to him and smiled sweetly. “Hello, my name is Robin Hierra. What’s your name?” “Talk to Ahzrukhal” Charon said plainly. “But I just want t-” Charon cut her off. “Talk to Ahzrukhal.” He said with more annoyance in his tone of voice. Ahzrukhal called her over and began talking to her in a hushed tone. Charon guessed she was asking for caps in exchange for sex like so many other smoothskin whores had before her and. Charon stopped his scrutinization of Robin turning inward to seethe in his own personal hell.

Five weeks later the radio was back running and Three Dog kept on talking about a “Lone Wanderer who was looking for a her Dad and had repaired his radio tower.” Later that week Robin entered the bar again. ‘She looks slightly better equipped to handle the wastes.’ Charon thought after he glanced at her as she entered. She still wore vaultsuit, the violet bandana, glasses, but she had changed. Robin’s hair put up into a messy bun kept into place with two pencils and a pen. The front of her vaultsuit was undone revealing leather top to raider’s outfit that covered her only to her waist. The rusted Chinese pistol had been replaced, with a Silenced 10mm pistol. A sheathed combat knife she tied to her left arm, a pencil tucked behind her ear, she looked more experienced than she had the first time she stumbled into the bar no longer the green vaultie she he’d expected to last maybe another three days.

Five weeks later the radio was back running and Three Dog kept on talking about a “Lone Wanderer who was looking for a her Dad and had repaired his radio tower.” Later that week Robin entered the bar again. ‘She looks slightly better equipped to handle the wastes.’ Charon thought after he glanced at her as she entered. She still wore vaultsuit, the violet bandana, glasses, but she had changed. Robin’s hair put up into a messy bun kept into place with two pencils and a pen. The front of her vaultsuit was undone revealing leather top to raider’s outfit that covered her only to her waist. The rusted Chinese pistol had been replaced, with a Silenced 10mm pistol. A sheathed combat knife she tied to her left arm, a pencil tucked behind her ear, she looked more experienced than she had the first time she stumbled into the bar no longer the green vaultie she he’d expected to last maybe another three days.

She sat down at the bar her back turned to Charon and said. “Ahzrukhal, how much will three boxes of mentats and a bottle of scotch?” Ahzrukhal responded “That will be ninety five caps.” Robin pushed up her glasses and she replied. “I’ll give you fifty five caps.” Ahzrukhal scowled thinking to himself. ‘Little smoothskin might have a nice rack but she’s insane if she thinks I’m going to be persuaded by a set of tits to accept that deal.’ He replied. “I’ll give them to you for seventy caps, that’s my final offer.” Robin sighed and nodded then paid Ahzrukhal placed the boxes of mentats and the bottle of scotch on the counter next to her, licked his lips then smiled, as he thought. ‘Maybe she’ll be shit faced enough for me to fuck her that’ll make up for losing the rest of those caps.’ Robin tried to not shudder at sudden disquieted sensation caused by Ahzrukhals almost lecherous smile.

Robin opened one of the boxes of took out a mentat and placed it in her mouth, she held there as the mentat dissolved and left her lips tinted red, the taste of the slightly bitter cherry flavored metat’s taste lingered in her mouth. Robin picked up the bottle of rum unscrewed the bottle and took a swig. She grimaced as warm irradiated rum mixed with the taste of the mentat’s imitation cherry flavor in her mouth. Robin took a tattered tan book out; she started to draw with the pencil that was tucked behind her ear. The mentats allowed her to focus on her attempt to draw the latest thing that had haunted her memory, a supermutant that was had a very full gore bag. Robin thought to herself. ‘No the arms are too small; they have longer arms than that, maybe if I foreshorten the legs. Crap, now it looks like a supermidget! Damn all!’ She turned the pencil around erasing rapidly shaking her shoulder and very slightly breasts. Ahzrukhal knocked on the table twice and pointed left with his thumb looking at Charon a silent way of telling him to kick someone out. Ahzrukhals eyes returned to Robin’s chest, as Charon moved to the left and saw who he was supposed to kick out instantly, he was a new ghoul one that had just began to transform still had half of his nose, his pants undone and his hand stroked his dick as he leered at Robin. ‘Fucking disgusting, pigs should be put down.’ Charon thought to himself, then he Charon growled in disgust. He grabbed masturbating ghoul by the back of the neck Charon slammed his head on the table the ghoul was seated at with enough force to smash in the remainder of his nose. Robin looked up from her drawing as she watched Charon Robin though to herself, unaware that the ghoul Charon man handled had been jacking off. ‘God he must be unhappy here maybe I can buy his freedom and he won’t just bash random people’s heads in, hopefully.’

CHARACTER LIMMITS DAMN YOU!

“So, how much for his contract Ahzrukhal?” Robin asked as Charon literally threw the ghoul out of the bar. Ahzrukhal said “I couldn’t part with Charon he’s like family he said then paused. Two thousand caps however and I will be willing to part with his contract.” Robin shook her head and said. “Oh please, no one is going to pay that much, not even if you give them a life time supply of jet. I’ll tell you what trade you five inhalers of Ultrajet and one thousand two hundred caps.” Ahzrukhal quickly agreed knowing that he could easily get an easy five times what she would thought he could get for the per unit of Ultrajet. Ahzrukhal handed her the contract. “I let you have the pleasure of informing him.”

Robin stood up and turned around then walked Charon. “Hey, so I-” “Talk to Ahzrukhal” Charon interrupted her as he thought to himself. ‘How thick is this dumb bitch?’ Robin tucked a strand of her bangs behind her ear and said. “But I bought you contract see an-” Charon looked at his contract, for a second a smallest bit of surprise flickered in his face before it disappeared so fast that had she not taken a mentats she would have missed it. “You bought my contract from Ahzrukhal? So I am no longer in his service. That good to know. Please wait here. I must take care of something.”

Robin nodded her head. Charon walked over as said to him “Ahzrukhal I am told that I am no longer in your service.” “That’s right Charon has you come to say goodbye? Ahzrukhal asked in a mildly amused voice. Charon replied with concise single word anger in his voice. “Yes” Charon then shot Ahzrukhals head, pieces of the skull and brain matter scattered all over the bar including onto Robins open sketch book. Robin ran over to the bar and shouted. “What the in the name of flying fuck just happened?!” Charon turned to his new employer as said “Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard. So as long he held my contact I was honor bound to do as he commanded. But know you are my employer, which freed me to rid the world of that disgusting rat. And now, for good or ill I serve you.” Robin pushed up her glasses, the mentats still in her system allowed her mind quickly adapt to sudden murder. “I just wanted you to be free you from Ahzrukhal so you would be happy and free, here take you contract.” She attempted to hand Charon his contract. Charon replied curtly. “That is not how it works smoothskin, I cannot take my contract If you did not want my services you should not have bought my contract.” Robin placed her hand over her mouth and took a deep breath. ‘Okay, I am okay. I just bought a murderous ghoul who’s owned by a piece of paper. The question is can I give him to someone he will be happy with? Will he shoot me if I give them the contract because he thinks I’m racist towards ghouls? Assuming I can give his contract up without him shooting me, who would be comfortable to take his contract from me and still be a good person and not misuse him?’ Charon broke her chain of thought and said. “Are you going to just stand there?” Robin snapped back “Shut up I’m thinking!” She instantly regretted it and wanted to take it back. “I’m sorry I mean, I am not used to people’s heads being blown off. How we are going to explain this to the others, all the people running and screaming outside are… Oh my god my drawing!”

They’d been traveling for a while now Charon figured out that Robin drew as a coping mechanism and as a hobby out in the wastes he couldn’t complain though at least she wasn’t shitfaced or on jet. But she did have an unhealthy issue of using mentats.

They were traveling though the metro tunnels when the Talon Merc’s ambushed them. Charon and Robin started firing at them; one threw a grenade towards Charon who didn’t see it because he was busy shooting down his fourth Talon Merc. Charon had had many employers in the past not a single one of them were willing to risk their life for him, but Robin just tackled down and took the brunt of the explosion without a second though. Charon pushed Robin off of him after the blast and shot the other two Talon Merc’s one between the eyes the other right dead center in throat tearing out though the voice box and he made a hideous gurgling noise as he died. He looked back at Robin who he realized was still laying on the floor with blood gushing from her leg and head.

“Smoothskin! Come on kid, stay with me. ” He said jabbing stimpack after stimpack into her, the bleeding slowed but didn’t stop. ‘Have to make a tourniquet.’ He put the tourniquet on the femoral artery, picked her up at ran back to Megaton as fast as he possibility can. ‘I’ve never had an employer risk their life for me, and I’ll be dammed if I let them die.’ He thought as he ran.

Doc Church was less than happy to have Charon literally kick down his door at three a.m. , but when he saw Robin, his tired glare changed to surprise he remarked. “Shit kid when I said you’d better be seriously injured to bother me, but I didn’t fucking bad off.”

The surgery took hours, when it was all said and done Doc Church told Charon. “She had shrapnel imbedded deep in her leg severed quite a few muscles an’ tendons. Kid broke femur in two places and her fibula and tibia are pretty much shattered, lost half her blood; she’s also got hairline fractures in her pelvis too and top that off with the concussion. What the fuck she do tap-dance on a land mine?”Charon opened his mouth to speak but Doc cut him off. “I don’t even care she’s stable now and I’m going to bed. Don’t wake me up in less she starts bleeding again.”
She woke up and was rather confused and in pain, “My everything hurts, am I dead?” She asked groggily. Charon laughed and smiled. ‘She's okay.’ “You’re not dead smoothskin. Doc say’s you’ll have a hell of a recovery time though.” Called not bothering getting out of bed good your both awake now I’ve wrote you a list of how to take care of yourself. Now if you be so kind to go home so I can get some damn sleep.”

Two stimpaks shot into the places marked point A and B, a stimpack in the calf as well and you’ll need to use the long needle attachments I gave your ghoul. No I don’t care if you find them scary, Shouldn’t have done something stupid enough to got you leg damn near blown off the first place. Med-X every two to three hours as needed for the first two months your leg should take three months to heal. Yes I wrote three month, even with stimpaks Femurs take a long time to heal and even after that you have three more weeks before you can go off trying to kill yourself again. All the damn work I did! You'll take care of yourself if you know what’s good for you. –Doc

I for got to ad virgin in the kink tags.. I am not on top of things.

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

Hard Bargain 6/6

Re: Hard Bargain 6/6

Re: Hard Bargain 6/6

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6d

MiniFill - 'Whore' (1/1)

Vulpes Inculta, F!Courier
(may have to multifill - love this prompt, and it could go so many ways!)

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 7a

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 7b

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 7c

Re: Hard Bargain 6/6

Re: Hard Bargain 6/6

Re: Fallout 3: Meeting of the Chiefs!

Re: Torch Songs 5/?

Re: Kid Crushing on F!LW

Re: Vulpes/F!Courier - Multiple Personalities

Re: Gomorrah Morning - 4a/?

Re: Hard Bargain 6/6

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 8a

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 8b

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 8c

Sketch part 1 of

Sketch part 2 of ?

Sketch part 2 .5 of ?

Re: Sketch part 3 of ?

Sketch part 4 of ?

Oops Forgot a tag!

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

Hard Bargain 6/6

Re: Hard Bargain 6/6

Re: Hard Bargain 6/6

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6d

MiniFill - 'Whore' (1/1)

Vulpes Inculta, F!Courier(may have to multifill - love this prompt, and it could go so many ways!)

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 7a

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 7b

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 7c

Re: Hard Bargain 6/6

Re: Hard Bargain 6/6

Re: Fallout 3: Meeting of the Chiefs!

Re: Torch Songs 5/?

Re: Kid Crushing on F!LW

Re: Vulpes/F!Courier - Multiple Personalities

Re: Gomorrah Morning - 4a/?

Re: Hard Bargain 6/6

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 8a

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 8b

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 8c

Sketch part 1 of

Sketch part 2 of ?

Sketch part 2 .5 of ?

Re: Sketch part 3 of ?

Sketch part 4 of ?

Oops Forgot a tag!

Vulpes Inculta, F!Courier
(may have to multifill - love this prompt, and it could go so many ways!)