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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"If I were you," Boone said, "I wouldn't get too close to me. I end up hurting everyone I touch. I've done it to you already, and if you care about me, it just means it'll hurt worse when it happens again."

The Courier raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe I should be the judge of that. I forgave you for what happened in Novac. Your freak-out this evening was scary, but it didn't hurt me. With the right precautions, we might be able to avoid anything else."

"Precautions? With a murderer and a fucking rapist?"

"Other people I've worked with have included a schizophrenic monster mutant and a member of a fascist secret society. We have problems, Boone, but my being scared of you isn't one."

She took him by the arm, holding tight when he tried to shake her off.

"You've told me what you are. Okay. I'm a manipulative cocktease gambling with the fate of the entire Mojave. My motives are good, sure- I want to wipe out the Legion and get some kind of stability for the rest of us- but I'll be the first to admit I'm a real bitch about the way I'm doing it. I can forgive you for what you did because I'm not one for moral absolutes, and even if I think you had no right to make that choice for Carla, no right at all, all it means is that you're a fucked up person and so am I and together we are going to save the Mojave!"

The Courier had to take a long breath after her tirade. Boone wasn't even looking at her anymore, but was turned back to Bitter Springs, raising his scope to see more clearly. Before she could ask him if he'd listened to a word she said, he indicated for her to be quiet.

"That's Legion red," he whispered. "I can see it. We picked a hell of a night to come here- I think they're about to start a raid!"

The immediate sounds of shouting and gunshots confirmed his statement.

"I'm going in," he said. "I'm no match for them, and I'm probably going to die. I won't ask you to come with me- you can go home and play your games with Legionaries. I hope it works out great."

He loaded his gun.

"If I don't see you again, thanks for coming out here tonight."

Boone started moving down the canyon, and the Courier only had a split second to make her decision. A direct assault against a raiding party would ruin everything, even if it wasn't suicidal. All her plans had relied on Legion trust, on working from behind the scenes. It would take some serious improvisation to work an open battle into those plans.

"I really hate moral absolutes," she growled as she followed Boone into the fray.

The tune wasn't very original- there was a little bit of Twa Corbies in the sound of it and a structure inspired by Henry Lee. Then again, folk songs were never entirely original. It was almost more authentic if it it was patched together from bits and pieces of other songs, held together by pretty words and sordid crimes.

"It's true that I wander the wasteland alone
But I've heard it said that my father stayed here
I cannot wish death on a town such as this
Please spare it, if you'd call this maiden your dear!"

"It's pretty!" said the blonde girl, giddy on drink and music. The Lonesome Drifter put a finger to his lips, though, and she quieted back down.

"Oh wandering maiden, I am a cruel man
I've met many people, and I've done them ill
I've known many lovers and done what I pleased
But you are the first one that I cannot kill.

Wait for me, my maiden, I'll send for you soon
And there in my mansion you'll live by my side
If you'll have a devil to be your own man
Then I'll take you home and I'll make you my bride."

The Lonesome Drifter was no actor, but he did his best when singing about characters. His voice for the wandering maiden was soft and gentle, while his voice for the cruel man was deep and smooth. It was a voice that the blonde seemed to find enchanting, and he couldn't blame her. The cruel man had to be seductive, or there would be no reason for the maiden to love him.

"She heard what he said and she left the saloon
The wandering maiden knew what she must do
Her heart full of love and her mind full of fear
She went to the Sheriff and told what she knew."

He slowed his voice down, drawing out the words of the final verses.

"The cruel man was shot down at twelve o'clock noon
Laid low in the streets of the town he would burn
He died with a tear and a whisper of love
The maiden, she saw this, and she cried in turn.

"I'll wander the wasteland and call no place home
I'll live by myself and I'll be no man's wife
For though he was wicked, I've sent to his death
The man that I'll love for the rest of my life!"

The Lonesome Drifter was quiet at the end of his song, waiting for the blonde's response.

"It doesn't make much sense," she said. "Why would she love a man who she hardly knew? A man who was clearly insane?"

"That's just the way the story goes," he replied. "Love doesn't have to make much sense."

Neither did music. People feared death, but they loved to hear it sung about. Maybe when the war against the Legion was over and done with, he'd find things to sing about amid all the death any battle would cause. Or perhaps not- tawdry murders are more fun than battle scenes.

Though he bid the blonde goodnight, the ballad stayed in his head. When he went to sleep, he dreamed of towns on fire, men dead on the road, and a woman who walked by with the saddest eyes he could have imagined.

Thanks for the story, A!A. I really enjoyed reading it!

I'm incredibly impressed by this fill. I can't write lyrics or poetry to save myself, so when other people do so, and do so well, it looks like magic to me. You're a magician, A!A.

Never try to cross a cunt or send a tribal tripping

That line was so brilliant, I think I'll try to work it into everyday conversation.

Oh if only I had the writing prowess to tackle this beautiful prompt. I hope someone takes this on soon!

Oh god a!a, I love this to bits and pieces. Forever and ever.

Tags: Vulpes Inculta, f!courier, het, complete,
Summary: F!courier decides to court Vulpes Inculta and creeps him out in the process.
Warning: Not sure if I should warn for severed heads, but just in case. There are severed heads.

When Vulpes Inculta woke, he knew he'd made a terrible mistake. Thirteen severed heads had been lined up around his bedroll. The coppery scent of blood was overpowering.

He'd always considered himself to be a light sleeper, but someone with enough skill had been in and out of his tent and left him either a horrifying message or a very twisted gift. He could only think of two others stealthy enough to pull something like this off, and one of them was long dead. That left one person and one person alone---Courier Six.

He suppressed a shudder of fear. He'd never met a more cunning and bloodthirsty abomination---tales of her exploits were the stuff nightmares were made of. The Massacre of Camp Forlorn Hope, the Novac Incident, the Catastrophe at Camp McCarran, the list went on for pages. (And that didn't even begin to cover the what she did to people who intentionally pissed her off. The Chairmen were still finding pieces of who they thought was Benny in odd nooks and crannies from Freeside to Gomorrah.)

Vulpes had seen her in battle. He knew the stories were mostly true. That was why the thought of her turning her murderous intentions on him made his blood run cold.

Before he could give in to the maelstrom gathering inside him, the tent flap pulled back. He half expected to see the woman herself but was relieved when it was one of his subordinates instead. Pale, young, barely out of training---Vulpes couldn't remember the man's name, only how disgustingly timid he looked.

“Sorry to bother you sir,” he said, eyes widening as he took in the collection of severed heads, the dark pools of blood, and the gloppy bits of brain matter, “But um---”

“Dignity, man, dignity. Are you a soldier or a slave?”

“A soldier, sir.”

“Well, what is it then? And don't mumble,” Vulpes said---he didn't even try to keep the irritation from his voice.

“The Courier is um---demandingtospeakwithyou, Sir.”

“Is she now?”

The poor excuse for a soldier nodded.

Demanding to speak with him? Even if she was Caesar's newest favorite, he didn't have to humor her. She'd ruined his tent, embarrassed him by slipping in and out without his knowledge, and made him look like a blood thirsty degenerate. Even the nameless meek disgrace of a soldier standing before him would be unable to keep his mouth shut about the state of Vulpes' tent. It would get back to Caesar, Antony or Lucius would be sent to speak with him---everyone would know.

The thirteen heads stared at him. One of them almost looked like it was smirking. Damn that woman.

“Very well,” he said through gritted teeth, “I wouldn't speak of what you see here to anyone. Unless you want to spend the rest of your short life on my---what do the profligates call it? Oh yes, my shit list. Understood?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

He practically fell over his own two feet as he retreated. Vulpes tried not to think about the quality of their troops lately or the incredible amount of stupid they seemed to posses. Instead, he focused his attention on standing, on not tripping over the mess, and on making himself at least semi-imposing before the source of his frustration walked into his tent and either laughed at him or tried to kill him.

Be brave, Inculta, she's still just a woman. And what does Caesar say about women? For a half second, the fear subsided and he was ready to unleash his fury on her. He turned when he heard her footsteps, the whoosh of the tent flap as she let it fall back in place behind her. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't the vision that appeared before him.

Tags: Vulpes Inculta, f!courier, het, complete,
Summary: F!courier decides to court Vulpes Inculta and creeps him out in the process.

Her face was red, painted with what he presumed to be the blood of her enemies. No wonder the new recruit had practically been pissing in his uniform. The whites of her eyes and the whites of her teeth against the red created a stark contrast he could only call horrifying. Not only that, she'd filed four of her teeth, her canines, into sharp points. When she smiled she looked like a feral beast.

She'd also shaved her head, leaving only two tufts of hair that looked suspiciously like horns. Instead of her usual ratty wasteland attire, she'd cobbled together some kind of bizarre leather armor that left too much skin exposed for it to be effective protection. The effect was curiously demonic---it would have been arousing if she wasn't covered in blood and clearly insane.

“I'm going to assume you're responsible for all of...this,” he said.

She grinned, eyes wide with madness as trails of blood streamed down her face, her neck, her arms and pooled at her feet. He kept one hand at his side, just in case he needed to go for his machete---he still couldn't tell if she was here to kill him. He hoped she wasn't. Though he didn't doubt Caesar could be swayed from anger, even Vulpes would have a difficult time keeping himself from being crucified if he had to kill the woman. He wasn't even sure he was physically capable of killing her.

“I've brought the rest of the dowry,” she said, “Thirteen young Bighorners, fattened and ready for slaughter. We can begin the ceremony.”

“Dowry? Ceremony? What are you talking about?”

He felt a pain behind his eye, a curious throbbing and an emotion he can only describe as tendrils of fear tightening about him. The smile slipped off her face to be replaced by a scowl.

“To begin our courtship,” she said, “Your Man-God accepted and gave me his blessing.”

Vulpes didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or stab her in the throat. At least he knew what Antony was snickering about yesterday. It made Vulpes' failure to uncover this madness all the worse---as leader of the Frumentarii, he should have put it all together. How were his men supposed to trust and respect him if he couldn't even stop one foolish tribal from blindsiding him?

“There's been a misunderstanding,” Vulpes said, gesturing to the severed heads, “There will be no courtship. There will be no more of this...disturbing display. You've made me look like a fool.”

He tried to look threatening. Any other time he would have succeeded, but the sympathetic look on her red stained face coupled with the sharpened teeth behind a knowing smile---it was unsettling. He looked at her and he could imagine a thousand deaths at her hands.

“There's no shame. No man in the history of time has ever caught a daughter of Omega during a coup,” she said, “Be glad. You'd be dead if you had.”

“I'd be dead?”

“The old gods don't protect the unworthy,” she said.

Her grin stretched wider and wider until he felt certain her face was going to crack open. He tried not to flinch when she planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. Outside he could hear the Bighorners calling out to each other as they were lead through the camp. Likewise Courier Six took his hand and steered him through the tent.

Like a lamb to the slaughter. It was an old phrase---he didn't know what a lamb was but he imagined he knew how it felt.

I can't wait for the next part. <3 I don't know exactly what it is about your courier but I absolutely love her.

Oh my...

Anon, that was marvelous. Just amazing. Is there a continuation of this on ff.net? :D

Char(s): F!Courier, (Benny)
Tags: Gen, Pre-game

x-x-x-x-x

She had stopped praying long since. Ever since she had left the hunting grounds behind and discovered that the world was so much more complicated and yet so much richer than what the elders had taught her.
Her life passed before her inner eyes and she tried to pinpoint the exact moment where everything had gone wrong. Becoming a courier? Discovering the new and exciting world outside her tribe’s boundaries, the Mojave? Leaving her tribe?

“You’re just a second daughter; you have to do as you’re told.”
“I don’t want to mate with that brute of a man.”
“What you want is irrelevant, child. It’s the elders and your parents who chose your mate, and they have chosen to give you to a strong and capable hunter.”

She could still feel the hate, the burning hate, for everything and everyone, that she had been treated like some unwanted addition to the family to get rid of as fast as possible, a second daughter with no dowry, no rights and no one to step up for her. Her older sister had been glad it hadn’t been her lot to be given away to this man, and hadn’t spoken up for her sibling.

She had tried to refuse. In the end, nothing but fleeing in the middle of the night had been able to save her from her tribe’s wrath. She had killed him. Had killed that drinking, grunting bastard inside his tent in his drunken sleep at night, a day before the ceremony, and fled. And discovered that the world was full of dangers. No one had ever taught her how to handle a weapon.

She had survived, though, by luck or by skill or both. Had grown strong. The stolen weapons had yielded to her furiously stubborn attempts to master them. She had killed molerats, coyotes and geckos. Two solitary nightstalkers, even. And shortly after that, she had topped a rise, clambering over a few rocks to find a shelter for the night, and seen the lights. Had learned what a city was. Had learned how to deal with people outside of her tribe, wary as a shy creature of dusk.

The months after leaving her tribe’s tents behind had build up her strength and her self-assuredness, had sharpened her senses and instincts. These instincts now served her well. But as fascinating the city was, she needed to eat, and there was nothing to hunt. She found work, work as a courier.

This work now had brought her here, although she couldn’t quite remember how she got here and where exactly the here was. What she knew, however, was that the hole in the ground beside her was meant for her. That the men standing around her were her death spirits, coming to carry her to the darkness beyond.

That the man talking to her was her nemesis.

And for the first time since she had fled her tribe in the middle of the night, she prayed. She didn’t pray to the moon mother, however. She didn’t pray to the cloud father. She didn’t pray to the spirits of water, earth, fire and wind. She prayed to her. The dark one. She who lived above the darkness beyond, whose name was a dark curse in itself. She who drank the blood of the dead, she who listened only to prayers made in hate and fury and despair. Gurara Tara, she of the bloodied cloak, she who feasts on revenge. Haunts are the remnants of those who pledged themselves to her, those who sacrificed their souls for revenge.

Gurara Tara, let me survive. Let me survive. And if I don’t survive, then I pray accept my vow, I shall kiss your feet, I shall wear your bloodied cloak, and I will be your slave and servant for eternity. Let me kill this man...

“The truth is, the game was rigged from the start.”

She heard the shot, and the world vanished into a painful red haze. Her last thought was her plea for revenge, calling out her name until the last remnants of her consciousness faded.

Gurara Tara.... Gurara Tara.... Gurara... Tara.......
.......
......
.....
....
...
..
.
.

“Easy now. Let’s see what the damage is. What about your name? Can you tell me your name?”

There was only one word in her mind.

“...Tara...”

YES! Start to finish this is perfection. Love it, a!a. And I would love to read more about this character.

...If the captcha had a face, I'd punch it.

Oh god this is hilarious.

Thanks for the love Anon!

if you really want to read more about this courier, you can look here:

http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4237.html?thread=7239565#t7239565

This is where she "came from", in my mind that is. I read this prompt and it tickled me to fill it with her. :)

This is awesome, anon! :D I wish I was more eloquent, but you leave me at a loss for words. <3

Characters: Daniel, Joshua Graham, F!Courier
Pairings: Daniel/F!Courier, Joshua Graham/F!Courier
Kinks: non-con, angst

It was raining again. It had been for nearly three weeks. The rain wasn’t constant. It came, scattered and inconsistent. It ran down the cave walls and pooled on the floors, and then it went. It seeped into the bedrolls and the fire pits and into the food.

The mushrooms liked the rain. Zion’s innumerable fungi were thriving in the damp weather, growing thick and fast on nearly every surface and filling the air with a smell like rot and decay.

At least they wouldn’t starve.

Daniel didn’t gamble, but he thought the odds were good that they would drown before they starved. The rivers fed on the rainwater, rising up over their banks and sending murky runoff into the camps. Daniel wondered how long it would take for the river to wash the camps away entirely.

Joshua had insisted they remain in Zion. And Daniel wasn’t prepared to give in, not until that woman had staggered into a Dead Horse camp, reeking of alcohol and corruption. A week in Zion, and she had Joshua twisted around her little finger. A week later, and they were spending nights together. Daniel had seen them once.

Her body shone like a moon in the darkness, pale and lovely over the grey, scarred earth that was Joshua Graham.

Exodus, 20:17. Thou shall not covet.

He had tried to put the image out of his mind. But he had seen, and he wanted.

Outside, the rain stopped. The skies were not blue, but a few brave souls ventured out, into the mud to stare at the sky with hopeful expressions. Daniel pulled his hat low over his eyes and retreated into the gloom and darkness of Half-Mouse cave.

She knew. And she had come looking for him one night. There were bruises on her face and on her breastbone, gifts from Joshua. He looked at her, lovely in her vulnerability, and he had wanted, and she had asked to stay. She was frightened, Joshua frightened her.

And he was a weak man. He let her into his home, and she had begun to cry. She wanted a baby, but Joshua said no. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t know how. He was not a man who had an easy time with women, but she was so sad and pale and beautiful. He reached out to touch her, and that was when things had gone wrong.

She undid the buttons of her blouse, and Daniel realized that she was standing between him and the mouth of the cave. He tried to leave, but she caught him and threw him to the ground. He had forgotten how strong she was, but he would not forget again.

She caught his wrists and pinned him to the ground, and she asked him if he thought she was beautiful.

He refused to answer. He closed his eyes and turned his head away from her, but her warmth and weight was pressing down on him. Her shirt was open, and she laughed and kissed his throat and told him that he didn’t need to talk; his body was answering for him.

Proverbs, 11:22. Like a gold ring in a pig’s snout is a beautiful woman who shows no discretion.

She left him there on the cave floor when she was finished. His skin burned where she had touched him, and it was a long time before his mind let him move. He dressed and left the cave, a smaller, shamed man.

The rain began to fall, and he welcomed it.

Genesis, 6:11. Now the earth was corrupt in God’s sight and was full of violence.

He bathed in the river, but the cold water couldn’t take away the burn of what had been done. Her scent clung to him, and he could not rid himself of the image of her open blouse and her bruised skin.

Genesis, 7:4. ‘Seven days from now I will send rain on the earth for forty days and forty nights, and I will wipe from the face of the earth every living creature I have made.’

He returned to camp, and she was sitting by the fire at Joshua’s side. His arm was around her. She smiled, serenely, her hand on her belly. Her eyes found Daniel, and she nodded at him, a queen on her throne. As Daniel watched, she kissed Joshua on the cheek.

Outside the cave, the rain started to fall again, hard and fast.

Genesis, 7:16. …Then the Lord shut him in.

Verses taken from my 15-year-old children’s Bible, so they might not be the most accurate.

Characters: F!Courier, Arcade, Julie Farkas
Pairings: None
Kinks: None

If people talked about you in Freeside, it generally meant you’d killed a lot of people or fucked a lot of people. Officially, Valerie was a courier and a gun-for-hire, but everyone knew her name because they said she’d screw anything with a dick, once she got enough alcohol in her system.

Which was an exaggeration, but only slightly.

She kept one hand on her gun and the other on her purse as she walked through the dark streets of Freeside. Once or twice, someone called her name, but she didn’t stop walking and she kept her head down. She had a pounding withdrawal headache and a hundred caps burning a hole in her pocket, and she was on her way to the Atomic Wrangler to kill two birds with one stone.

James Garret set a dirty glass and a mostly-empty bottle the counter as soon as she walked through the door. She took her usual seat at the end of the bar, and she settled comfortably into the shadows to watch Hadrian’s show.

He was telling the same caustic, unfunny jokes he told every night, but she found that it bothered her less than it usually did. A while back, she’d given him thirty caps to keep her name out of his routine, and he had held up his end of the bargain admirably. In the last few weeks, a lot fewer strangers had come up to her, laughing behind their hands, and ask if it was true she’d once gotten so drunk that she ended up in bed with Grecks.

The answer was yes. She didn’t count waking up on a piss-stained mattress next to a ghoul with a lazy eye among her prouder moments, but it had happened. She’d sworn him to secrecy, but everyone had found out anyway.

But it was like she told Arcade. She hadn’t ended up with her throat slit, and in Freeside, that was an accomplishment.

He’d rolled his eyes and told her to go away so he could get some work done. She stuck her tongue out and told him that she knew just as well as he did that he hadn’t done any real work in three months. Julie Farkas had cleared her throat and told her that if she didn’t need anything, she should really be on her way.

She lifted the chipped glass to her lips. Julie was a sweet lady. Bossy as hell, but she did a lot more for Freeside than anyone else, the Kings included. Valerie was pretty sure the slum would have imploded years ago if the Followers hadn’t come in when they had.

Valerie had nothing but good things to say about the Followers. They’d helped her sober up (sort of; she still drank a lot, but a lot less than she used to) and find a job. Carrying packages wasn’t steady work, but when it paid, it paid well.

Like tonight. One hundred caps was more than she’d seen in the seven years since she’d run away from home. If she were smarter, she would be saving some of it, but as it was, she was content to drink it down in a seedy bar in a hole in the bottom of the world. She’d hit rock bottom, and she’d made a life for herself there. Not much of a life, but the world had worn her down and made her complacent. She wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t so sure she believed in happy any more. She had friends, she had a job, and she had a bottle in one hand, and that was enough for her.

Nice work, if you can get it, she thought, draining her glass and motioning to the nearest Garret for a refill. And you can get it if you try.

Thankyou! :D

Of this little fic, no. There's another one I did for the lap dance fill on page 3 of this post set way later, but right now my whole attention's on my Fallout 3 story. F:NV soon, though!

This could be adorable. Seconded!

Absolutely incredible. Love the character, love the writing style, and the story is absolutely genius. As the OP who also prompted the lapdance fill, I'd like to say that I'm officially an avid fan of your work! <3

Oh my fucking god A!A, I can't even tell you what this did to me. I was reading, reading, reading, and then... "Wait... Tara? THE TARA?" And then I saw your link! And oh my god, The Raw End of the Deal is one of my FAVORITE stories on the meme in the history of forever. I'm so excited you filled my prompt!! YAY!

Excellent, A!A. I love that your Courier is a bit unconventional and a tad bit naughty. :D And having a previous history with Arcade is really intriguing! Makes me wonder if she'll forget about him after getting shot...

Ohh lord, I hope this isn't too OOC. I just noticed, I'm one of the main proprietors of Non-con on this meme. Feels kinda weird.
Characters: Harkness, F!LW
Kinks: Non-con, Virginity
Relationship: Het
Summary: F!LW gets in a fist fight and Harkness has to subdue her.
-

The lone wanderer slunk into one of the torn booths of the Muddy Rudder. With James now gone, nothing mattered. Alcohol and gunpowder were all that filled her senses anymore, all that made her feel alive. It was bad enough that her father was gone but the only other home she had was sealed away from her for good. Fuck the vault.

Sulking in her own pity was all that mattered right now.

"What's wrong, nosebleed?"

She looked over to see Butch hovering over. Just as drunk, or even more so than herself. She had to fight down the urge to just throw her vodka at him. It would have been a waste of twenty good caps.

"Beat it, DeLoria. I'm not in the mood." Her fists balled tightly underneath the wobbly table.

"Look, I know your dad is with the birds and all now, but girl you need to get over it."

Like it was that simple. "Go away, now." Her voice grew louder, catching the attention of a few drunken patrons.

"Hey! I didn't fuckin' bitch at you when my ma' died. Don't start gettin' mad at me for your father's dumb ideas."

That was all she could take. After weeks of bottling up her feeling and crying them into empty whiskey glasses, her emotions spilled over. With a shove of the table, her fist connected with Butch's jaw faster than she could realize what she was doing.

When heading in for a second strike she was subdued by a pair of strong arms.

"I knew you were trouble the minute I let you onto this boat. I have half a mind to throw you overboard. With all the damage you have caused, it feels like that would be a waste." Harkness pulled her out of the bar while another guard escorted Butch to the clinic.

"Let go of me." She tried to elbow the chief but he blocked her blow.

"Stop resisting now." She had never heard him so angry, something about it bothered her deeply.

Out of growing anxiety she bolted away from his grip, only making it to an empty storage room instead of the exit she was aiming for.

Her face was shoved into the cold metal as she felt him pin her to the wall. A pair of handcuffs were strapped onto her wrists and he pushed her past the door.

The lone wanderer looked around the room in a hurry, still unsure of why she was here and not the security quarters or in the river like he threatened. That same fearful sensation rose again when she saw him lock the door behind him before stalking closer. A hand closed into a fist on the back of her head, dragging her by the hair to the nearby table.

She was shoved onto her back, her cuffed hands securely pinned beneath her own body. The security chief began unzipping her merc outfit, tearing apart any fabric tin enough to do so. It wasn't until he yanked her skirt off that she realized the level of her situation.

She struggled to get herself up as he tore away her underwear. As soon as she lifted her upper body off the table, a firm hand on her now exposed chest shoved her back down.

"Stop! Please. Let me go!" She cried and screamed and shouted as high as her octaves would allow, but nothing happened. As if the busy hallways and occupied rooms were all vacant. Here she was, alone with the man she trusted, attacking her.

He pressed himself flush against her, lips pressed firmly on her jugular. She tried again to move away, only to give up with an audible cry when Harkness rolled his hips into hers. He moved move her body, caressing and lasciviously groping her chest. Tears sprung from her eyes as his fingers began to touch her sex.

"Please stop. It won't happen aga-" Her plea was cut off with a small scream when he bit down on her nipple.

His wandering fingers plunged into her entrance, pumping into her with deliberate force, pressing against the thin barrier of her chastity. He flicked his thumb over her swollen nub, forcing moans out of her sore throat. The lone wanderer began trying to leave again, thrashing against the desk until her shoulder were almost pulled from their sockets.

Harkness removed his fingers from her, using them to remove his own clothing. Each unlatch of a buckle or sound of a zipper being opened made her chest hurt. She just laid there waiting for inevitable to happen with tears marring her face. "Don't!"

With a grunt he entered her, pulling out and thrusting back in with force that shook her whole body. She screamed and kicked at the intrusion but to no suffice. Her inner muscles struggled to accommodate his girth, only serving to cling onto him and cause more pain.

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Page 72 of 257

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

Torch Songs 15/?

Ballad of the Wandering Maiden 2/2

OP Again

Re: Ballad of the Wandering Maiden 2/2

Re: Rosolare la Donna 2/2

Re: Genius F!Courier manipulates Mojave

Re: Lone Wake(erer) - FLW/ Charon + Butch

Daughter of Omega 1/2

Daughter of Omega 2/2

Re: Torch Songs 15/?

Re: Rosolare la Donna 2/2

By the spirits of my tribe 1/1

Re: By the spirits of my tribe 1/1

no subject

Re: By the spirits of my tribe 1/1 A!A

Re: By the spirits of my tribe 1/1

The Moon and the Water, 1/1

Who Could Ask For Anything More? 1/1

Re: Rosolare la Donna 2/2

no subject

Re: Rosolare la Donna 2/2 OP

Re: By the spirits of my tribe 1/1 OP

Re: Who Could Ask For Anything More? 1/1

Reboot My Mechanical Heart Pt. 1/?

Reboot My Mechanical Heart Pt. 2/?