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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You are incredible, dear author. This is so excellent! Definitely still with you!

YES PLEASE! Perfection. That's what this is.

>>>Kingman, November 2, 2282<<<

It was after nightfall when Tara could hear steps outside, and although Tiberius had told her the council could well last until the small hours of the night she felt her body clench in fear it would be him. Then the flap opened and a man stepped hurriedly in, almost too quickly, as if he didn’t want to be seen, and it surely wasn’t Tiberius. Tara watched him, her heart racing and her throat dry.
Then stranger took a few steps into the tent, and silently looked around. Spotting her he took another step, and looked down on her in a stillness that was unnerving as it was menacing. Tara looked up, the fear curdling into a hard, cold knot in her stomach, but another part of her was almost wishing for him to be an assassin. Death was the only way left for her to put an end to her suffering and shame.

The Legionary now cast a look over his shoulder, as if trying to make sure no one had noticed his entrance into the tent. His silent, stony demeanour was even more unnerving due to the closed decanus helmet he was wearing and Tara couldn’t stand the sight anymore. She lowered her head again, staring at her hands. He could stare and mock her all he wanted, nothing could be worse than what had already happened to her.
“Kill me, I won’t stop you.”
When he suddenly uncrossed his arms Tara flinched as if he had lashed out to hit her, and he froze for a moment before he slowly lifted his hands and even more slowly, as if he didn’t mean to spook her, removed his helmet.

Tara watched this, only from the corner of her eyes and shortly wondered how he was going to kill her before she closed her eyes again. But then the Legionnaire spoke, and despite the low whisper, the voice was utterly familiar.
“I have not come to kill you.”
Her hands began to shake, and despite herself she slowly and hesitatingly looked up at him again.
With the small oil lamp hanging behind him she could hardly make out his face in the dim light of the tent, but what she could see was a large scar on the left side of his face. Painful memories mingled with absurdly wild hopes before Tara shook her head and closed her eyes again. She had to be dreaming...

“Tara.”
The voice made her shudder and she looked up, to see the Legionnaire slowly crouching down before her. In the darkness she saw only his outline, but then he tilted his head the slightest bit, just enough that some of the dim light of the oil lamp fell onto his face. Just enough to make her realise that the scar ran right through the eye socket. Her heart skipped a beat and began to race so hard she had to gasp for air.
“Vincent”, she whispered, so softly that hardly a sound emerged.

They silently stared at each other until Tara swallowed hard and looked away. “I’m sorry, Vincent”, she whispered, her voice cracked and raw. “Go home again. There is nothing left here that’s worth saving.”
She heard Vincent take a deep breath. “I will not leave without you.”
Tara looked up again. “You’ll all be better off without me. I’ve made a mess of everything. I’ve destroyed everything. The Platinum...”
“The chip is safe”, Vincent interrupted her. “I found it. We’ll deal with everything else when you are safe again.”
“Go, and help Julie and Arcade put things right.” Tara looked at the ground before her. “No one...”
“New Vegas is waiting for its queen to return”, Vincent interrupted her again. “A queen who has made a mistake, but a queen who is, after all, only human. What happened to you was painful and cruel, but you will find a way to deal with it with the strength that I know you have.”
Tara’s head flew around and she stared at Vincent with tears streaming down her face. “You don’t know a shit about what happened to me”, she snarled.

Vincent took a deep breath, his face unreadable. “No one talks about anything else in the camp”, he gave back tonelessly. “But giving up is not an option. And you know it.”
Then he rose in one smooth, swift motion, put his helmet back on and was out of the tent so quickly that Tara wasn’t really sure that she indeed hadn’t just dreamt the whole occurrence.

But somehow, somewhere, with Vincent’s sudden appearance, the tiny spark of hope she hadn’t allowed herself to feel was there again, feebly glowing in the darkness of her despair. She looked up at the tent flap, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Maybe Vincent really could get her out of here. And if she reached New Vegas alive or not didn’t matter, dying on the way or eating a gun once she was there didn’t make a difference. The only thing that mattered was that she would get away from the monster that was Tiberius so he couldn’t touch her any more.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Tara was clinging to a tiny straw of hope, of being able to make it away from here, and didn’t even waste time upon wondering if or how or if she would survive the journey back in her state and with her whole body one painful sore. But with the presence of that tiny straw , her survival instincts had kicked in again too, and when she heard a scratching sound from behind her she spun around to see the bottom of the back tent wall being lifted a bit. She crawled over to the back of the tent as silently as she could and peeked through the gap.
“Quick”, Vincent whispered to her and shoved a large bundle into the tent. “Put this on, and be silent. Hurry.”

Tara recognised the bundle as a set of Legion armour, recruit armour, to be precise, and with trembling hands she took it and undressed, staying close to the back wall, the darkest corner of the tent. The hard and rough leather chafed on the bruises where her skin was still tender, the boots were a little too large, and with her unsteady fingers and her shoulders still stiff with lingering pain she couldn’t properly fasten all the buckles. But with her head spinning and a strange feeling of detachment she crawled out under the gap as Vincent lifted the tent wall for her.

As she got up Vincent looked her over and adjusted the buckles and the belt.
“Where did you get that?”, Tara asked in a whisper.
“Discipline in this camp is a mess.” Vincent picked up a bag and slung it on, then strapped a gun onto his back. “And now be silent. Not one word, no matter what I say to you, both our lives depend on it.”
Tara took the spear Vincent held out to her and, after a deep, heaving breath, forced herself to walk in a forceful stride, Vincent walking at her back. Her legs and shoulders hurt, the inside of her thighs were chafed and burned with every step and her heart was beating so hard as if it was trying to jump out of her throat. She was walking right through the Legion camp, right under everyone’s nose, and Vincent, of all people, was walking right behind her.

“Keep yourself upright, recruit”, he suddenly snapped in a voice cracking with authority, and added something in Latin, his voice harsh and cruel. Tara had never heard him talk like that and sprang to attention, her belly clenching in fear as they passed a few legionaries who sat dicing around a fire. “You have ignored your duties long enough.”
The young recruits around the fire snickered, but instantly looked away and wiped the grins off their faces when Vincent snapped his head around to stare them down. It seemed to work despite the closed helmet. “Careful”, he said. “Or you will be next.”
None of them said another word, and Tara stumbled a step forward as Vincent roughly gave her a push between the shoulder blades.
“We haven’t got all night”, he snapped.

They reached the gates, and the two guards leaning against the wall gave them an inquisitive, but more or less bored look. Remembering Caesar’s fort on Fortification Hill, Tara began to understand what Vincent had said about discipline in the camp.

“Out for a lesson?”, one of the guards asked, an unmistakable trace of schadenfreude in his voice.
“Everyone has to learn to stay alert when on duty”, Vincent replied in the same voice he had used on the recruits and the two guards suddenly stood to attention.

“What’s the passphrase then?”, the other guard asked, obviously coming to think of this only now.
“Cogi qui potest nescit mori.”
“Very well. You can pass.”
“We won’t be back before daybreak”, Vincent said, and to Tara, he went on: “And now get moving. If you stop running before I tell you to you will carry your bowels around your neck on the way back.”

Tara nodded and set off in a jog, the pain jolting through her body with every step. But somehow, with focussing on what she was leaving behind and not on where she was about to go, she managed to summon the strength to continue jogging down the rise towards the I 93 that would lead them back to Hoover Dam. She could hear Vincent behind her but didn’t turn around, just jogged down the path, past some old houses and farms, keeping to the road. Here, Vincent caught up with her.
“Vincent”, Tara wheezed.
“Keep running.” He seemed no more out of breath as if he had walked the whole distance from the fort at a leisurely pace. “Save your breath.”

Tara gritted her teeth and continued, but eventually she had to succumb to exhaustion. Lack of food, water and sleep caught up with her, together with the pain from being raped, beaten and tortured. She stumbled with every other step, and suddenly would have lost her balance completely if Vincent hadn’t caught her elbow.
“Forgive me”, he said, his voice gentler now. “But do not stop. Walk, and keep breathing slowly.” He didn’t let go of her arm and Tara followed his advice, even though her vision began to swim. Her breathing began to calm down, and despite her trembling legs, walking became easier as the stitch from running began to subside.

“I guess I don’t have to tell you that we need to be well away with daybreak when they will discover you gone”, Vincent said after a while.
Tara mutely shook her head.
“Keep walking. But at one point, we’ll have to run again. We need to reach Golden Valley before daybreak, the sand will cover our tracks.”
“Golden Valley?”
Vincent pointed west. “We can cross the Colorado at Laughlin and follow the river up north to Boulder City.”
“Aren’t we going up Highway 93?”
Vincent shook his head, still staring west. “I gather that is too obvious, as it is the fastest route to Vegas. Going west through Golden Valley is more dangerous, but they could catch up with us too easily on the highway.”

Tara nodded and followed his gaze. “I heard Golden Valley was a deathclaw breeding ground.”
“I know.” Vincent shrugged his pack into place. “I made it through on the way down here, however. Once we reach the Valley floor we’ll find a spot to hide and continue travelling at night.”
With a sigh, Tara hefted the spear, but Vincent, upon seeing this, took it from her hand and shoved it into a holster on her back.
“Can you walk again?”
“I will have to, won’t I?”
“Yes”, was the simple reply, and with another sigh, Tara followed Vincent who set a brisk pace.

As Tara looked back at one point and realised that behind her, on the eastern horizon, the first grey line of dawn was showing, she shuddered, imagining a flood of crimson pour down the hills. She hastily turned around again.

“Vince?”
“Yes?”
“How... how on earth did you find me?”
Vincent shrugged his pack into place again without breaking his pace. “We found Cobra.”
Something in his voice told Tara that her flimsy hopes for him had been in vain. “He’s dead.”
“Yes. I am sorry.”
Tara fruitlessly fought her tears and sighed. “I had somehow hoped someone would find him in time.”
“He died way too fast for that. The spear pierced his breastbone and went right into lung and heart. He died within moments. No one could have saved him.”
Since she didn’t know what to reply, Tara kept focussing on setting one foot in front of the other. She could only hope he would remain the only one to die for her foolishness. Tears forced their way out of her eyes again and even though she tried to stop them she couldn’t quite suppress a sob.

Vincent stopped and looked at her. “Tara. Tears will have to wait until you are safe. You need to conserve your strength, the journey home is not going to be easy.”
“I know.” Tara was kind of glad for the helmet that hid her eyes and face. “Home... I had already given up hopes of...”She shook her head, suppressing another sob.
She felt his hand rest on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Hold on”, he said simply. “I know from what you have gone through before that you can do it.”
Tara swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “It hurts so much.”
“I know.”

Then he gave her a gentle pat between the shoulder blades and set off, and Tara limped on after him for a few steps before her muscles would obey her. They made their way onward in a trot, past empty skeletons of houses and rusting corpses of cars, and when their shadows appeared before them as long, dark streaks in the sand they had reached the valley floor. The wind carried endless amounts of fine, grainy sand that it kept showering them with. Going got harder in the soft, ever-shifting sands.

But after another hour they had reached an outcrop of rocks, and between them, Tara realised, a small cave of sorts, just big enough for the two of them squeeze in. She let her head drop back against the rock and was overcome by exhaustion before Vincent even had had a chance to offer her water.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Her little body racked against his and he let out a low groan, not knowing what to do with this damp snivelling version of the badass girl he was used to. The one he was in love with. Her breath came in ragged heaves and he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around him and he shifted her to rest on his hip. Like a parent with their toddler. He tried to ignore the parallel as he cradled her with one arm and hurried towards the least damaged looking house. It took some effort to carry both her and their gear but he managed it with a silent determination as she let out soft noises, still crying.

He kicked open the door and threw their packs onto the stained couch before closing the door and sliding down it until he was on the floor. She looked up at him with wide eyes shining and it was like his tongue turned to ash in his mouth. He was not a man of words. She needed something, and he knew that, but he had no idea what. What could he do with this woman, who looked like the lost kid she had when they’d first begun to travel together? Words swam in his head but he couldn’t quite grasp onto any and form them into anything fitting. What do you say to someone who just watched their dad die? Comforting the bereaved was never anything he’d had to do.

She felt drained. Bereft. It was like nothing she’d felt before. Like a rusty knife twisting in her gut, slowly pulling out her innards. Charon looked lost and she knew he didn’t know what to do with her, but neither did she. His hands soothed her, rubbing along her spine, but he needed to do something else. Fighting for the words to say, he opened his mouth and closed it several times as she cried softly, looking up at him occasionally.

With nothing else to do, he pressed his lips to her temple, which soon turned into him peppering her whole face with soft, chaste kisses. She held his face in her hands and pulled him into a desperate kiss. As always, the rough texture of his lips and tongue gave her goosebumps and she kissed him like her life depended on it. Teeth nipped at lips, and his hand knotted in her hair, tugging it and earning a sigh from her. If the blood hadn’t been rushing south from his head, he might have questioned if it was right to do this today. But as it was, he was getting more and more aroused by the second and all he wanted to do was bury himself in her and hopefully make her forget for just a few moments.

Isadora refused to think about it. It wasn’t the right time for these whispers of love and ravenous kisses but she needed it. He gave a low growl as she climbed into his lap, straddling him against the door. His fingers fumbled with the zip of her armour, eventually managing to work it low enough to be able to free her breasts. She was pressing kisses along his jawline, tasting his salty skin and exposed muscle.

“Is…” he groaned into her hair, tweaking one of her hard nipples.

She ground her hips down on him and felt the familiar swell of his erection pressing against her insistently. Her throat still burned from the tears, but it was forgotten when he pulled her hair to snap her head back so that he could attach his lips and teeth to her neck. It sent shivers down her spine right down into her groin and she let out a hiss when he nipped her collarbone. She shrugged out of her armour and pressed herself tight to him, adoring the way his rough flesh rubbed her raw.

“Charon,” she whined and tugged his armour until he removed it for her, giving her the view of his body that she loved. Sculpted muscle was quite literally on show, and she kissed and licked a trail down to his navel.

His hips bucked in anticipation, knowing what she was promising with those little sucky kisses down his stomach. Her callused fingers fought his pants until they came loose and she could reach into his boxers. The tip of her little finger brushed his hard cock and he grunted, hand fisting in her hair again. She released him from the aged cloth and gave him that little smirk, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Her tongue flickered across the sensitive head of his cock and he let out a shuddering breath, tugging her hair gently. She wished they’d had chance for some kind of wash, if she was honest, he tasted of sweat and leather. The familiar heat of her wet mouth surrounded him, drawing a groan of pleasure from his lips. She swallowed more of him into her throat until she reached the point of gagging, before pulling back. He grunted at the sudden cold and looked down at her.

“You want more, Daddy?” she asked in that sexy fucking breathy voice, still gazing up at him with those big brown eyes.

It might have made him question it again, hearing her call him that name, but honestly he wouldn’t have cared if she called him fucking Azrukhal at this point. He just really needed her lips around his throbbing cock.

“Fuck yes,” Charon replied and she grinned at him wickedly before taking him in her mouth again.

She tightened her hand around him, pumping him at the base as she licked and sucked him to earn those deep growls from him. Her slip of the tongue hadn’t crossed her mind, and she wasn’t prepared to think about it right now even if it had. He tugged her hair again and she released him from her mouth, moving instead to lap at his balls as she smoothed her hand along his shaft. The textures of his cock were enticing all on their own, and she was getting wetter just thinking about how they felt.

“Shit, Is,” he hissed and gripped her shoulders, pulling her away from him.
She smirked, “Come on Daddy, give it to me.”

He threw her onto the rotting carpet and dragged off her pants. Charon had to admit, it may be fucked up but this whole Daddy thing was pretty hot. His hand slid into her panties and went straight for her swollen clit.

“What do you want babygirl?” he asked, kissing up the side of her neck and onto her jawline.

The words sent shivers down her spine and she arched against him, “You”

He shoved her underwear down her legs and kicked her legs apart with his knee. Her silky lips brushed against the head of his cock and he growled, biting down on her neck where it met her jaw. She bucked her hips, rubbing her sensitive bud against the ridges of remaining flesh on his shaft. Moans of pleasure dripped from her lips as she pressed herself as close as she could to him. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand and tweaked the hard nipples as she worked herself against him. He could feel the gentle quivering that signalled her getting close to a release and ground his hips down on her.

“Please Daddy,” she groaned into his shoulder.

Squee thank you :) I'm glad you like it! It's really fun to write.

This is so good. Loving it!

I seriously can't get enough of this! It's wonderful, dear author! <3

but he says things to him, good things, love-words. Good boy. Yes, he is a good boy, they will go get the bad guys.

Aaaand joining the chorus of people who teared up; I still miss my damn dog.

STOP MAKING ME FEEL THINGS, A!A.

Tara awoke again in total disorientation, there was no tent wall around her, just rocks, and it took her a few seconds to remember what had happened last night.
She was free.
Vincent had found her, and she was free.
She had been beaten, tortured, abused, raped and humiliated, but Vincent had saved her, and Tiberius would never lay his hands on her again. Relieve and the sudden absence of the strain she had been under felt like a knife through her soul and she had no means to stop the tears forcing their way out.

Dimly she could hear Vincent beside her move, and when he put an arm around her, she fell against his chest and wept. She couldn’t remember ever having cried so much, and she could hear herself mutter apologies and self-accusations between her sobs until at one point, Vincent told her to stop.
“There is no use in shaming yourself”, he told her in a low voice. “And there is no benefit for you in digging the pit you are sitting in even deeper.” He paused, and then took one of her hands in his. “I am not saying you should get on with your life as if nothing happened. But right now, you need to focus on survival. We have a difficult journey ahead of us. But once we have reached safety, then will be the time to put things right, and to learn how to deal with the consequences of those things that can’t be made right anymore.”

Tara took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. “Sorry”, she mumbled. “I... I just wanted to die”, she then added in a hoarse whisper.
“Doubtlessly”, Vincent gave back in a surprisingly gentle voice and ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “In trying times, death often seems the easiest way out. But when that is denied to us, we have to find a way to go on.”
Tara fell silent and listened to his heartbeat. Vincent was no stranger to pain, humiliation and torture, but the strength with which he bore his scars, both on body and soul, still impressed her.

“Vincent”, she whispered after a moment’s thought.
“Yes?”
“How do you do it? I mean... I know what you have been through.... how did you manage to...to go on?”
Vincent was silent for a while before answering. He remembered the training as he grew up, the flogging, Hoover Dam and what came after, and the way back home from Shady Sands. “I am not sure myself”, he then said. “But I guess there is a part of me that simply wants to survive, no matter what. And that will to survive has carried me through.”

“I am not as strong as you are”, Tara whispered hoarsely after a long silence.
“Maybe not.” Vincent’s voice was low. “But you are strong enough. And maybe it is not about strength but the will to survive.”
“I am not sure I want to, remembering the last days”, Tara rasped, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. “Will it even be worth it?”
“That is not for me to say. Only you can decide that. And for that, you need to focus on what lies ahead, on what there is yet left to do, rather than on what lies behind.”
Tara fell silent again and closed her eyes. Vincent was still holding her hand and his hand felt like an anchor to which she could hold on.

Sleep claimed her again shortly after, but she was too exhausted to dream.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Vincent woke her up again at dusk, and after they had shared a small portion of their meagre provisions, some jerky and some water, they set off again westwards, towards Laughlin and the Colorado River.
They walked silently, following the cracked tarmac band west that was covered in the ever shifting sands for large parts, but whenever they could, they used it to make more speed.
But Tara’s strength didn’t last long; it was not even midnight when the pains in her abdomen had worn her out. Vincent looked at her and with a deep frown on his face noticed the blood running down her thighs.
He dug into a pocket.

“I hate to do this”, he said softly, after injecting a double dose of Med-X into Tara’s arm. “But you need this, in order to survive.” He handed her a Jet inhaler.
Tara looked at the drug for a moment, then she took a deep breath, exhaled, and took the shot of Jet as fast as she could.
“There’s going to be one hell of a price to pay”, she said as they set off again, at a much greater speed thanks to the drugs. Vincent knew that as well, but the drugs enabled her to keep going so they reached the chain of mountains with the first grey streaks of dawn at their backs without encountering any creatures. If Vincent had had a deity to believe in he would have thanked them a hundred times for the fact that deathclaws were only active during daytime.

They found themselves a small cave, the entrance so narrow they could hardly squeeze through, but it would keep them safe enough for some much needed rest, and by now, Tara could feel both drugs begin to wear off. But her exhaustion was even greater than her pain by now, and she fell asleep the moment her head touched the ground.

Vincent remained awake for some time, however, and watched her sleep.
He knew perfectly well what had happened to her, and it almost physically hurt him to even think about it, but no amount of regret or self-reprobation could undo what had happened. He also had seen the defeat and emptiness in her eyes upon having found her, and he was sure she hadn’t come with him out of a desire to go home, but to get away from Tiberius. It would be hard to motivate her to keep going, and this was made even harder by the fact that she quite obviously had suffered internal damage from what Tiberius had done to her.

Tiberius.
The name alone now, thinking of the man who he had only known as a spoiled, misbehaved boy and what he had done to his queen, made Vincent’s blood boil with rage. He took a deep breath and looked down at Tara curled up beside him.
“He shall die”, he whispered softly, as not to wake her. “I swear he shall die. No one does these things to you and live. I shall kill him, and if I have to crawl all the way to Flagstaff to get him once I’ve brought you to safety.”

Then he closed his eyes and listened to the wind outside, grateful for its presence as it would be covering the last trace of their tracks.

x-x-x-x-x-x

When Vincent opened his eyes again he found Tara already awake, sitting at the mouth of the cave and staring down into Golden Valley. The sun was already low in the sky and the entrance of their tiny hideout was already hidden in the shadows.
When she heard Vincent move she spoke, but without turning her head to look at him.
“I know I shouldn’t be looking back”, she said slowly. “But I am kind of afraid to look ahead. I simply don’t know how to cope with all this, and looking back at least means I’m looking at things that lie behind me.”

Vincent wasn’t sure what to reply; wasn’t sure, even, if he was meant to reply at all, so he remained silent and continued to listen. After a small pause, Tara went on.
“Does it ever go away? This... this... abysmal tear though your soul? Will it ever fade?”
“Go away, it won’t”, Vincent replied in a low voice. “But fade, it will. You learn to live with it.”
Tara slung her arms around her legs. After another long pause she continued, her voice only a whisper. “I didn’t know it was possible to hate that much.”

Vincent thought back to the day his memories had returned; often he had asked himself what had had more weight in making his decision to head for Shady Sands back then: his concern for Tara’s safety or his burning desire for revenge. “I understand”, he said hesitatingly. “But hate... as justified as it may be, will cloud your mind and in the end, consume you.”
“You killed them”, Tara whispered, and Vincent didn’t need to ask about whom she was talking.
“I did”, he replied. “But it didn’t give me the satisfaction I had hoped for. And in hindsight I have to say I took much greater risks than it was worth in the end. That is what I meant about hate clouding your mind. If I hadn’t been so consumed with my desire for revenge, maybe I had chosen differently and not risked everything I had.”

“So you’re telling me not to hate?” Tara’s voice was hoarse.
“No. I am telling you not to let your hate consume and blind you.”
Tara took a deep breath. “I got the feeling that my hate is the only thing keeping me going right now, just to be able to kill him some day.”
“Then let it”, Vincent said simply. “Right here and now, if it is all that keeps you going, let it. But once we are safe, you need to focus on other things.” His voice trailed off, he wasn’t sure if what he said was really helpful, and even less how this could be achieved for her. But he had founded hopes that the Followers would be able to help her deal with her trauma, and he also knew she had the strength to pick herself up again and go on. Not at once, maybe, but at some point in the near future.

After another long silence he suggested they should set out again, and following the last rays of the setting sun they continued their way over the ridge of rocky hills that separated them from the Colorado River.

They crossed the river at Laughlin, a ghost town of windswept, empty ruins of houses that no one ever had attempted to rebuild since the Great War. The Bridge was as ancient and rotting as the houses, held together only by cobwebs and wishes, but they made it across the waters despite it. They needed to, as following the Colorado on the eastern shore would mean travelling too close to the deathclaw breeding grounds.

After their crossing they turned northwards, following the river now, and when they made camp again Vincent felt his spirits rise the tiniest bit. They were already almost halfway home and the worst they would have to deal with now were lakelurks; and as long as they kept down to the river’s edge they would not run into any patrolling securitrons.

Vincent knew he would have to cross the Colorado one more time swimming, somewhat south of Hoover Dam, to get to the little stash where he had hidden his other gun, more provisions and his armour. It had been a necessity; he couldn’t have crossed the Dam in Legion attire, and he had needed to make all haste he could, meaning he had to go down the I 93. Yet he hoped that shouldn’t impede them longer than one or two hours.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Wow...umm, I did not know I was into this sort of thing. Like really into this right now. Please, sir or madam, may I have some more? :)

I am hopelessly caught up in this and absolutely delighted to be caught. It is great and you are great for writing it.

-Fish!Anon

uhhhh so yeah, I never knew I wanted this, so more pls!! :o

oh my god, this is so good. I feel like I owe you a great debt for giving me this, thank you.

Title: Take Your Time
Characters: M!LW, Butch, Charon
Tags: Handjobs, ghoul, character death, angst
Series Tag: Unbelievers

OP, I can only hope that you’re gone so you don’t have to watch me butcher your prompt like I just did.

Tate knew he must have been driving his two companions up the wall. While he had never said they had to stick with him on the boat while he worked through whatever thing he was going through, they had just hung around for weeks and weeks while he tried to, he didn’t even know. Mourn? Maybe that was what it was. Security had found him on the floor of the labs with half a bottle of vodka in his stomach and the other half soaked into his clothes. And that was only the beginning of it.

It wasn’t like Charon actually had any real choice in the matter. He went where his contract took him. But if Butch had wanted to leave the ship, Tate would have handed over Charon’s contract in order to make sure his friend stayed safe. The worst thing Tate was likely to encounter on the ship was Droid and they had him pretty well under their fingers at this point. Yeah, well, the Droid had thrown him against a wall out of anger right before they left. Smashed Tate up until his nose bled and his head hurt. It wasn’t a big deal though.

Now he had cabin fever, boat fever, something fever. He had to kill something, maybe a lot of things. And while he and Butch had proven that they could get away with a fuck of a lot on the boat, killing residents wasn’t going to be one of them.

And the thing was he didn’t actually want to kill anyone, he just wanted to feel capable again. And he was good at hitting things until they died. Wanted to feel like he wasn’t a fuck up that everyone hated and at the same time still loved. Because he knew that they loved him because his father was gone. When Star Paladin Cross had spoken so fondly of his father, Tate had wanted to punch her in the face. Make her see that he was different. If Tate had done it, she probably would have torn him apart. Butch and Charon would be carting him out of the Citadel in pieces.

It wasn’t just her. Everyone at the Citadel looked at him and spoke of his father. They wanted Pop but just got Tate. The physical similarities confused the two in their minds. Needed to remind them that his Pop was a lauded scientist, smart, even tempered, if a bit clueless regarding the world around him. Tate was a punkass menace who had fucked up so bad that he got his Pop killed in the process.

Tate wanted to feel capable again so he bought Butch a new gun and plenty of ammunition for Charon too. They both looked fucking terrifying in their armor and assault rifles slung over their shoulders. Tate thought himself a lucky guy and carried most of the provisions himself since his 10mm was smaller and lighter. He only carried it at all because of Charon’s insistence.

They entered the tunnels at Anacostia and planned to take them all the way through to Meresti. Old Lady Agatha had wanted some favor from him before. Before his Pop died. And while Tate wasn’t so keen on it at the time, he figured it was as good a place as any to start. He’d seen the pistol too, that he could get in exchange. Tate wanted it. Wanted to give it to Butch because because he thought he might like it.

Besides, the trip would take them away from the Citadel. It did take them in the neighborhood of Big Town, oh. Tate considered stopping in to see what was left of the kids. They’d probably run him out of town, though. It had been the first time in ages he and Butch had been around a bunch of people about their age, and he had to go and fuck that up too.

Tate liked the tunnels. Reminded him of home, a little bit.

They ended up having to spend the night below ground, huddled together in an information vestibule with a single mattress. Charon said he would stay on watch the whole night. Had been sleeping an awful lot as it was.

Butch didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around Tate as they lay down together. Pushed his leg between Tate’s too and snuck a hand down the front of his loosened leather armor. His breath was heavy against Tate’s ear as he spoke in hushed tones.

“Spread your legs, a little.”

It was no use. Charon could hear everything in the enclosed space. Pulled Butch off of him so fast that it hurt as his hand scraped against the sensitive flesh of Tate’s groin. Felt fucking good but he was painfully alone on the mattress and Butch was relegated to sleep sitting up against the opposite wall.

“You fucking kids are going to get us killed.”

“We were keeping quiet.” Butch was pouting in the corner where Charon dumped him.

“That one never keeps quiet and you know it.”

Tate knew Charon was talking about him. He rolled over to face the opposite wall, showing his back to both of them. Now he was just alone, cold, and aroused. At least before he had Butch to keep him warm. Fucking Charon.

“Shut the fuck up.” Butch could never leave Charon well enough alone.

“Don’t make me shut you the fuck up, kid.” The click of Charon’s lighter and smoke started filling the enclosed space. Tate didn’t mind, always liked the smell. Butch lit up next. None of them were going to get to sleep. Too on edge. Tate’s fault for keeping them cooped up so long.

“I’d like to see you try. You can’t do shit to me, old man.” Butch exhaled heavily.

“I can do whatever I’d like to you. Contract doesn’t keep me from hurting you.”

Tate finally had to intercede. “No, but I can stop you, Charon.”

Charon’s only response was a noncommittal grunt.

Could practically hear the smile in Butch’s voice. “So, tell me Tate, should I get back into bed?”

“Fuck yes you should.”

Charon didn’t reply. Burned down his smoke while Butch pressed his chest against Tate’s back. His hands went wandering again. Pushed the waistband of Tate’s armor a little over his hips and wrapped around Tate’s half-hard cock. Tate bit the inside of his cheek in order to prove Charon wrong. Bit down on his cheek and grabbed hold of Butch’s forearms, letting his nails dig into the leather of his armor. Tate let his hips buck first forward, then back, brushing against Butch’s crotch in the process. Hard to tell through the layers of armor, but he was sure Butch wanted him. Wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t. Butch groaned into the back of Tate’s neck when he rolled his hips again.

Fucking Charon.

At least this time Tate’s waistband had been rolled down far enough and Butch let go of his dick fast enough that it didn’t get ripped off or something. But fucking fuck Charon the asshole. This was awful. Just awful.

“The fuck, asshole!” Butch fought it this time. Brought his fists to Charon’s face and punched him hard as he could. The crack split through the darkness.

No, no.

Tate was up in an instant, grabbing at both of Charon’s arms trying to pull him back and away from Butch. The booth was so small though. Tate held on and widened his stance to give him as much leverage as he could get. Charon still outweighed him though, all that extra height and equivalent muscle. Being lower to the ground would only do so much for Tate.

He had told Butch about this, fucking told him never to hit Charon. That no matter how much the two bickered and fought at cursed at each other, he was never, ever to strike him.

“Go, Butch, run!” Tate’s grip held firm, maybe he was stronger than he thought, or Charon’s self-preservation drive was not quite as strong as he anticipated.

“No! Fuck this. You own him, Tate. Not the other way around. Fuck you both!”

So much for not attracting attention. There was bound to be a pack of incoming ferals.

“Butch, stop. Just apologize okay before we become zombie food.”

“No. No Tate. What, do you want him more than you want me? Is that it?” Butch looked defeated, but only for a moment. “Nah, fuck that.” He smashed his fist into Charon’s face again and the bodyguard broke loose.

Butch tried to grapple with Charon, but there was no room to maneuver and they smashed into the metal wall. A dull clang filled the space and the whole vestibule shook. Tate could hear them now, the heavy footfall of the approaching ferals. Some quicker than others. Groans that he had never quite been able to place punctuated by hissing. Many of them. How many, he wasn’t sure. They’d ignore Charon and tear him and Butch to shreds. That was if Charon didn’t beat Butch to a pulp first. Charon had Butch on his back and if Tate didn’t do something soon…

The ferals.

The contract was overridden when Charon was physically threatened. He’d always defend himself. But if Tate was in more immediate danger than Charon, he wasn’t sure which order would take priority.

No time to think it through. Tate scrambled out of the vestibule and headed towards the noise.

“Tate!” Charon’s voice followed him out.

Just run. The faster he ran, the faster Charon would forget about Butch’s dumb ass and follow him towards the ghouls. This would work, they wouldn’t hurt Charon but his anger would be redirected. They would make it out of this and all laugh about it afterwards. Hah hah so funny that time the two of you tried to murder each other. Good times.

Charon was long-legged. He was bound to catch up to Tate before too long. But Tate knew he was quick, slid down the escalator rail and darted into the tunnel. Had to gain as much distance as he could. There they were, the feral pack, coming out from between two cars. They must have been sleeping or just hiding behind them. Their leathery arms surged forward, grasping and clawing at Tate though they were still a step or two out of range. Tate closed his eyes and waited for Charon to reach him. He’d make it in time. Always did.

Right on cue huge hands grabbed Tate’s shoulders and threw him back, away from the wall of ferals. Tate had expected to land on the ground but ended up against Butch. His face was all swollen on one side and his armor was torn loose at the shoulder. Charon hadn’t gotten him so bad.

“Fuckface, you were supposed to run away from him, not chase him.”

“Nosebleed, I was chasing you.”

Tate didn’t tell Butch to let go. Maybe he should have. Charon was unloading his shotgun into the mass of tangled feral bodies, one bolt after another. They rang through the tunnel walls. They were attracting even more attention, but at least Butch was safe.

“I told you not to hit him.”

“And I told you not to fuck him.” Butch was still angry, that was for certain.

They heard it before they saw it. The low rumble and quiet shake. The earth settling around them. It wasn’t cause for concern. Not at first. One heard it a lot in these tunnels. Probably could hear it in the vault too if not for the low hum that was a constant reminder of the safety that surrounded them when they were home. So, no, Butch and Tate didn’t think much of the creaking and groaning that signaled the tunnel collapsing. Not until the debris started falling. Plaster bits coming down like rain. Something they had read about, but never seen.

Charon had seen rain. Many lifetimes ago.

Concrete came next. Heavy flakes rushing to the floor. Powder clouded the air around them. Someone yelled to run. Tate wasn't sure who. Might have been himself. Every step was echoed in the collapse. Underground was supposed to be safe, well, safer. That was what they were taught, both below ground and in the Wastes. How lucky they were, to be vault kids. So lucky, the underground-children.

Charon wasn't so lucky. His boots weren't behind them anymore. But Tate didn't stop. If he stopped, Butch would stop. Then they'd all be dead.

The world finished settling. Tate screamed. Alive. He was alive. Butch was alive.

"CHARON!"

Even Butch knew better than to say anything. Tate clawed at the wreckage of the collapse, pulling away the chunks he could and working around the bits that were too heavy. They didn't have a clear idea of where they had lost Charon. Butch crawled on top of the fallen debris, looking for any sign. There was none. Pulled at scraps until their hands were raw and bleeding. Tate found Charon's arm. Thought it was Charon’s arm, the hand looked big enough.

Tore at the fractured concrete until his hands were shredded and only dimly registered Butch digging besides him. Not once did the arm move. Too late. It would always be too late. Tate was too panicked to worry about the hot tears running down his cheeks. Not for Charon. Fuck Charon. For his own failures.

Face was smashed in, pulpy. Clouded blue eyes just...gone. At least he hadn’t suffocated. Probably died before he was even buried.
Tate sank back and only then thought to wipe his face, just sort of smeared the dust around. Butch stopped digging a while later. It was useless, and there was no reason to get the body out now.

“Tate, fuck. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll always pick you. Remember that. Please. He’s dead, but all I can think about is how it could have been you.” Tate’s mouth moved and words came out, but they felt very far away.

Tried to push Butch onto his back, tried to climb on top. Tried to feel anything but the feeling of failure that sat in his gut and he couldn’t vomit back out. Butch was pliant, but didn’t reach for him. Didn’t touch him. Just looked up and all that was there was a sort of resignation. A sort of guilt. Butch was good, kinder than Tate. Of course he would blame himself. Tate would blame himself too, but not for the same reasons.

Tate fell asleep there, Butch’s fingers threaded through his hair. Just when he thought things were getting better.

A/N: Oh wow, I'm so glad you guys like it! I was a bit nervous about writing it but this series just won't stop giving me ideas. Hope you continue to enjoy it!
_________________________________________
Charons cock was achingly hard and he knew what she wanted, positioning himself at her core before edging himself into her. She cried out his name and gripped his shoulders with her nails.

“You are mine,” he growled, looking down at her intensely as he rolled his hips, feeling every tense of her muscles.

She reached up to kiss him, “Yours.”

He began to thrust into her, slowly and deeply, earning gasps from her mouth into his. Isadora moved her hips up against him, matching his rhythm and trying to speed him up. His hands gripped her hipbones hard, pinning them down so that he could keep up his slower more deliberate stroke.

“No, babygirl, I want it slow today,” he chastised her, finding himself getting into this new little thing they were doing. If he hadn’t been buried to the hilt in her, he may have wanted to laugh at himself for calling her babygirl, but right now it felt too god damn hot.

The almost painful pressure of his hands on her, mixed with the dirty talk was making her head spin. She knotted a hand in a patch of his hair and pressed the other flat on his spine, pulling him as close as possible to her. His patchwork cock drove her crazy, rubbing and catching inside her where the flesh was gone. The smell of sweat and blood rolled off of him but it only served to get her wetter tonight.

Her hips bucked against his hands and he lifted her legs onto his hips, rocking back onto his knees and pulling her with him. She pushed herself up so she could watch as his huge erection slid into her again and moaned loudly.

“Tell Daddy what you want,” he pressed his thumb to her clit and felt her spasm around him.

She screwed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself to straddle him. He held still, waiting for her answer, and she desperately ground her hips down against his.

“I want you to make me scream,” she moaned into his ear.

That was enough for him, and he thrust up into her with force, all desire for slow and steady gone from his mind. Now he wanted to fuck her into oblivion. He gripped her shoulders from behind, supporting her back and he viciously drew in and out of her. She cried out when he bucked so deep it hurt, stretching her with his massive girth.

“Don’t stop,” she purred into his silky red locks, one hand supporting herself on his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t tugging his remaining hair.
Jesus, she was so tight in this position it made him grit his teeth. Everything about her surrounded him and he struggled to focus on anything but bouncing this fucking smoothskin on his cock. She smelled like those dank tunnels they’d used to get from the Memorial but he didn’t care. He growled and bit down on her neck, determined to mark her as much as he could. His girl.

Their lips met in a rough and hungry kiss, tongues swirling against each other and moans of pleasure mingling between them. She felt the familiar ache in her stomach and knew it was getting close.

“Ah, fuck,” she hissed.

“Give it to me babygirl,” he nipped her bottom lip, pounding into her violently.

She moaned long and low as she gripped him tight in her muscles and came hard.

“Good girl,” he growled, “Now I want you to ride me.”

HOT HOT HOT. Isadora x Charon is my OTP <3 I'm always checking for updates, so keep it coming!

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

Re: Turn Wounds into Wisdom 10e/?

Re: F!LW/Charon "Grief" 1b/?

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 11a/?

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 11b/?

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 11c/?

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 11d/?

F!LW/Charon "Grief" 1c/?

F!LW/Charon "Grief" 1d/?

Re: F!LW/Charon "Grief" 1b/? A!A here

Re: F!LW/Charon "Grief" 1d/?

Re: Turn Wounds into Wisdom 11d/?

Re: Protect and Serve (4/4)

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 12a/?

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 12b/?

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 12c/?

Re: F!LW/Charon "Grief" 1d/?

Re: Turn Wounds into Wisdom 12c/?

Re: F!LW/Charon "Grief" 1d/?

Re: F!LW/Charon "Grief" 1d/?

Take Your Time (Butch/M!LW, implied Charon/M!LW) 1/4

Take Your Time (Butch/M!LW, implied Charon/M!LW) 2/4

Take Your Time (Butch/M!LW, implied Charon/M!LW) 3/4

Take Your Time (Butch/M!LW, implied Charon/M!LW) 4/4

F!LW/Charon "Grief" 1e/?

Re: F!LW/Charon "Grief" 1e/?